All language subtitles for He.Died.With.His.Eyes.Open.1985.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX].en

YOU ONLY DIE TWICE

These are designer spats.

Frankly, I don't care. He's just a bum.

A bum who wears designer spats,
can't be just a bum.

He found them in a dumpster.

These spats in a dumpster?

Superintendent, your career advancement
is a mystery to me.

Don't piss me off, Staniland.

What's so special about these spats?

My dear boy, look at this cut,

the delicate hem,

the quality of the buttons...

The guy in those spats, what could he be?

A retired colonel, a clown?

Maybe a dancer at the Moulin Rouge?

Maybe a spy?

"Charles Berliner, musician"

I wonder what he played.

I'd like to learn to play the accordion
or the saxophone.

It's almost the same. Only with the sax,
you blow inside.

I've had enough of your silliness. It's
freezing here.

I expect your report by noon,
at 1 pm on my desk!

A single death doesn't concern
Superintendent Bauman.

He only cares about massacres,
hostage taking...

things that make headlines.

He's a real jerk.

Isn't your boss a bit weird?

He's a master of asides
and quotation marks.

Did you hear his thoughts on
the saxophone? Brilliant.

Let's go.

He got himself in a fine mess.

Did they drop him from the airplane?

At least, he died quickly.

I don't think so.

One doesn't die quickly with a look
like that.

It's as if he wanted to keep a memory...

of God-knows-who that he'd take with him
to God-knows-where.

- Who are you talking to?
- Not you.

- What did he die of?
- Everything.

First they broke his fingers,

then his legs, smashed his left kneecap,

then rammed into his rib cage...

The final blow was delivered to the
frontal lobe with a blunt object.

What could provoke such hatred?

The more I look, the more I get
an impression

that Charles Berliner yells silently.

I hear you, Charlie.

He won't yell here for long.

We'll fill him with formalin, put him
in a drawer and shut the drawer.

And goodbye, Charlie.

You see, guys...

Dying isn't the hardest part,
it's afterwards...

to lay before guys like you...

We won't leave you to these jerks,
Charlie...

No way!

- Mrs. Berliner...
- Yes...

When I told you about your husband's
death, you responded: "I knew it."

I dreamed it.

It was in a big garden...
with roses...

Charles came from under the arbor
and reached out to me.

Then suddenly his face became blurry

and his hands were covered with blood...

He said "Goodbye, Margo" and fell down...

I had this dream on Friday night.

Your husband died on Friday.

Would you like a drink, Inspector?

No, I don't want to bother you.
Were you going out?

Not really. Well, I was going to meet
with a friend.

We were going to have a drink
to pass the time.

...at the Bar des Artistes.

A musicians' place. Charles loved it.
Maybe you know it?

No, I don't know much about bars or music.

What instrument did Charles play?

He played the piano, of course.
He was great.

His talent bothered him.

He was wasting it.

He made fun of himself.

Here is a picture from the happy days.

It was in L'Isle-Adam.

We rented a house there so he could work.

But Charles was restless there.

He went out like a meteor.

I should have never let him go.

I want to talk about him.
I really want to.

Scotch, cognac, martini?

Why are you looking at me?

You remind me of a lovely lady
I used to know.

She also drank cherry liqueur.

I see.

I thought you'd say you don't drink
on duty.

No, it's a line from the movies,
Mrs. Berliner.

All cops drink on duty.

I'll have a cognac.

My God, why did he leave?

He was fed up with the piano,
the concerts...

fed up with being here, with me.

He was a wonderful lover.

I just couldn't keep him.

At that time, he hooked up with
that slut Barbara.

Who's that?

A police officer.

Inspector Staniland.

The Inspector came to tell me
Charles is dead.

So what?

At least, at the cemetery,
we'd know where he is.

Maybe we'll see him more often than before.

My son Eric. Charles was his stepfather.

I'm a love child, dear Inspector.

A love child in a society without love.

My mother didn't tell you about her fling?

How she met Daddy...

When was the last time you saw
your stepfather?

Why the fuck you wanna know?

He was murdered. I'm investigating.

I don't give a fuck.

I asked you a question.

I gave you my answer.

- Yes?
- I'm looking for Charles Berliner.

Go straight ahead. In the alley,
on your right...

there's a staircase and the door
on top of it...

with no sign.

Not hard to miss...

Damn.

I have to fuck you...
Do you hear me, Barbara?

...to fuck you right now on the table...
through your panties.

Oh yeah!

I have to fuck you, Barbara...

right now on the table... through
your panties...

Oh yeah, like that... don't move...

You're great.

I was already drinking when
I was still with Margo...

to keep her company, now I drink hard.

That night at the Pub Royal,
I was dead drunk.

Mark beat me up in the crapper
and then he left with Barbara.

Everyone in the bar was overjoyed.

I'm sure this moron will kill me some day.

Usually, Barbara falls asleep in a bad
mood and wakes up in a bad mood.

This morning she was in a good mood.

I was stupid enough to talk about
tenderness.

She suggested I'd buy a teddy bear.

Then she went out, slamming the door.

How anyone can be

so beautiful and so
disgusting at the same time?

That is to say, maybe...

I talk because my heart and mind
are empty...

I was dead drunk...

Mark beat me up in the crapper
and then he left with Barbara.

Everyone in the bar was overjoyed.

I'm sure this moron will kill me some day.

Everyone in the bar was overjoyed.

I'm sure this moron will kill me some day.

Hello.

What are you doing here?

And you?

I'm a cop.

My name's Robert Staniland.

Coworkers call me Bob,

Women call me Bobby.

And you are?

I'm Barbara.

Barbara Chalon.

Barbara is good, Chalon isn't so great.

It's the name of my ex-husband.
He wasn't so great either.

I asked what you're doing here.

You really want to know?

Yes.

I came to get my things
that of no interest to others.

No, the police is also interested now.

You knew Charles Berliner well?

Yes, really well.

He was murdered on Friday night.

I know it.

Don't tell me you dreamed it.

No.

So how do you know?

Because I murdered him.

Closed.

I need a glass of water to take my drops.

I told you we're closed.

I was prescribed to take 5 drops
3 times a day with some water

for my hypertension.

If you're looking for kicks,
maybe I can help you...

If you're looking for trouble
I can oblige you.

This will do?

All right.

A guy in grey spats, sounds familiar?

You think I spend all these nights
looking at the customers' feet?

Charles Berliner rings a bell?

Charlie? I haven't seen him for
at least two days.

I saw him.

- Where?
- In the morgue.

That explains it.

No, it doesn't explain everything.

It doesn't explain why a certain Mark
beat him up.

Here? This place?

Seems like it.

This water is disgusting.

Warm.

Funny, I didn't figure you out.
I thought I knew all the cops' tricks.

They come here looking for a girl
or a payoff.

But to come here to take their
drops is something new.

So you don't know this Mark?

And Barbara?

You know Barbara Chalon?

Nope.

And if you think really hard?

If I think really hard...

I'd say maybe it was the girl
who came here with Charlie.

Did she ever come here with someone else?

You mean this big blond brawny guy?

Maybe that's him.

You see.

Listen...

Listen here.

I'll explain how the police brain works.

Despite of what one may think,
this brain's no bigger than any other.

But it's more alert, more concerned
about others...

It's preoccupied with respect for
liberty and public well-being

to the point of a headache.

You want an aspirin?

No, a cognac.

And your drops?

- You aren't gonna take your drops?
- Yes. All right.

I'll get cold water.

Tell me, was anyone giving Charlie
a hard time here?

I mean this moron Mark.

He annoyed everybody, they all hated him.

Once he got ahold of you,

he'd go on and on about
the piano, chicks, philosophy...

A nuisance.

Just like me.

- A nuisance?
- Yes.

Didn't you say 5 drops?

5 drops.

Damn! I have to start all over again!
Why don't you pay attention?

OK, let's do it again.

I recall Margo sitting on the terrace

in L'Isle-Adam, last spring.

Margo wore a gardener's straw hat

in which I put a poppy...

A picture worthy of Renoir.

When I mentioned this to Barbara,
she responded

that my story is rubbish,
Renoir didn't have a painting

called "A Floozy in a Straw Hat."

How nice of her.

Hello?

Mrs. Berliner,
you aren't busy?

I'm very available, Mr. Staniland.

Tell me, a house with a terrace,
a straw hat with poppies...

are they from the days of L'Isle-Adam?

Is it related to your investigation?

Not at all.

You just wanted to talk to me?

Yes, that's it.

Good night, Margo.

You told me you murdered him
but do you have proof?

Unfortunately, no.

You do it on purpose?

I can tell you what would be
the perfect scenario for me.

I'll bust you.

Like that, right now?
Can we have a drink first?

I say I'm taking you in.

You'll go on trial and will get 20 years.

Like that. Clean and proper.

But if I have to release you
next morning, I'd look like a fool.

But I'd rather talk about Mark.

I'd prefer Mark to be the murderer.

Wouldn't you?

Yes, maybe.

Who's he?

A moron.

Cassette #2, Side A.
Charles Berliner says:

"Yesterday, at the Pub Royal...

Mark beat me up in the crapper
and then he left with her.

Everyone in the bar was overjoyed.

This moron will kill me some day."

I know a lot of morons

but none of them is called Mark.

How did you find me?

Cassette #5, Side B:

"She dances every night at
the Pink Elephant...

and then in the morning...

she leaves with some guy."

You aren't gonna do the same to me?

We aren't there yet, Bobby.

Bobby.

See you later.

I haven't gone out for a week.

I drink beer, play the piano...
I'm bored.

They say our chances to live
until 100 increase with each year.

Mine seem to decrease with each day.

No matter what, I've decided to die
with my eyes open.

Will they give me the occasion?

Mark hates me for sure.

Does Barbara love me? Not so sure.

But there's venomous complicity
between this moron and this nympho.

The tip of the iceberg they'd like
me to discover.

Maybe to finally find a reason to kill me?

"venomous complicity...

The tip of the iceberg they'd like
me to discover.

Maybe to finally find a reason to kill me?

I talk, I talk, I always talked...

to all those Francoises, Sonias,
Jeanines... then to Margo and Barbara.

Today I'm talking to a tape recorder,
that is to say, to myself."

Hello?

Don't do anything! Don't move!

I'll call a friend.

Judicial Police, Brigade...
It's you, sir.

What? Of course, I have a gun.

A 357 Magnum.

You go elephant hunting?

You have by any chance, bullets
of the 7.65 caliber?

No? Then ask Chabert!

The boss is asking if you have bullets
of the 7.65 caliber.

No.

Chabert said...

OK, I got it.

Sophie?

You're his Mom's friend, the cop?

At your service.

We've holed up like rats for
the last 24 hours.

Eric doesn't dare to go outside.

He cut off the phone because these
guys call him every 5 minutes.

What guys?

The guys he owes money to.
It happens.

Of course, it happens.

When his stepfather refused to give him
money, Eric decided to get it himself.

He became a pusher.
To sell 10 grams of heroin.

He found a buyer, all right.

But he thought he's so clever.

He sold the heroin and pocketed the money?

Yes.

The love child isn't his usual top billing.

You didn't tell me you were
milking your stepfather.

That's interesting.

I need some details.

Was it any of your business, stupid bitch?

I called your mother, she wanted to
save you, and I do too.

Do you understand, Eric, we're trying
to get you out of this mess?

What's got to do with him?

All he cares about is to pin
Charlie's murder on me.

Nothing else.

Why nothing else?

I'm also curious about your drug dealing.

Well, you wanna know what I think?

An idiot who thinks aloud is fascinating.

You're right. And it'll get even
more fascinating.

When the idiot finds the link between

Charlie's death and your drug deal...

Wait, it's gonna get crazy.

It was crazy to begin with.

This little shit squeezes money out
of his weak stepfather.

One day, the poor guy's out of money
but Eric doesn't believe it.

He hires some pals to browbeat Charlie
but they go too far.

They bashed him to death, and to
disguise it as a crime of a maniac,

they dump his body at a wasteground.

You said he hired some pals?
But Eric doesn't have any pals!

I'll go to these creeps myself...

If they go on with this shit,
I'm going to the police!

I got these guys' address!

The police is here, miss.
Give me the address, please.

He came from Eric.

He brought the dough?

Nice ambiance you got here.

There seems to be a confusion.

I'm not here for the stepson.
I'm here for the stepfather.

Charles Berliner.

Murdered, butchered.

What's this got to do with Eric's debt?

Wait, I'm coming to it.

It's for that money you murdered
Charles Berliner.

Probably with Eric's complicity.
I can even tell you when...

Friday night.

He talks like a cop.

Excuse me?

He talks like a cop.

Yes, because I'm a cop. You see this?

So what?

Makes all the difference.

Instead of pissing me off,
you'll answer me.

Right.

We couldn't bump off your pal
on Friday night

'cause we're busy beating up someone
else on the other side of Paris.

Ah, really?

Get the press-book.

Yeah, get the press-book.

"Last night, when she was closing her shop,

a pharmacist from Rue Vaugirard was
assaulted and then savagely tortured

by two thugs who demanded all
the morphine she had in stock."

Yes, of course.

What'd we get for that? Two years?

A holiday compared to what
you're trying to pin on us.

In a company where one can pick
crimes like in a menu,

I must take precautionary measures.

Back off!

He broke his shinbone!

No, his kneecap, that's for life.

He'll be called "Jelly Leg."

And you'll be called "Headless Guy."

OK, now I propose you a little
exercise in collective amnesia...

that will restore peace on earth.

I'll forget about the pharmacist...

and you'll forget about Eric.

You said Eric? I'm not mistaken?

No.

I want to talk about L'Isle-Adam again.

I know I annoy everyone with it but
these were the best days of my life.

Both sentimentally and professionally.

It was going marvellously well
with Margo and Beethoven.

This morning, a bird fell diagonally
past my window.

A little bird, green and yellow,
the color of spring.

Why are you telling me all this?

So you'd listen...

and stay here a bit longer.

Let me try to fuck you...

Remember, in the beginning, you said
I was the best fuck you've ever had.

OK, Charlie, let's try it.

Why not? It doesn't have to
be successful.

You do it on purpose.
You want to drive me crazy.

I told you let's try it, Charlie.
I'm being nice.

You know well I can do anything
with anybody.

Because I don't care what I do.

You don't seem to be happy
to see me. Just a thought.

I was waiting for you at the
Pink Elephant for a very long time.

You've wanted that from the beginning.

What?

To screw me.

Are you crazy or what?

Why not?

You've already tried on his vest,

his shoes, his cigarettes,

his bed...

Why not try me?

What are you getting at?

Stop this circus for a bit.

I wanna make love to you.

I came to tell you. That's all.

To make love to me? Just like that?

For no reason!

The idea that you'd make me come...
you don't think it's a good reason?

All right. Let's do it right now,
on the table.

Clear away.

I can understand why you're
so crazy about me.

Women adore the big blond guys from
the land of the fjords.

I'm used to it. Women attack me
every evening.

There's nothing new to it.

What are you doing?

Clearing away. That's what you
told me to do.

Charlie was less complicated than you.

Did you fuck on kitchen scraps?

You won't humiliate me.

I don't have an ego.

Even dressed as Berliner, you'll
never be able to think like him.

'Cause you aren't crazy.

Maybe stupid, I'm afraid,

but not crazy.

I met Charlie before a concert...

We talked about Schumann and Grieg...

He said he didn't care about these two,
and the rest.

I said, he could always drop out.

You know what he did?

The next evening, in the middle of
a concert at the Salle Pleyel,

in front of 600 people, he stood up,

turned his back to the audience,
and dropped his pants.

How one cannot fall in love with
a man capable of doing such thing?

He only had to take me by the hand,
and I followed him.

Here?

Yes, it looked less tacky at the time.

All this disintegrated gradually,
the apartment and our love...

The apartment lasted a bit longer.

Charlie could've been a great lover.

He only had one fault:

he wanted to put me in a cage.

His need to possess

isn't that the mania of all men?

All the love in the world in one bed.

"Let me try to fuck you...

Remember, in the beginning, you said
I was the best fuck you've ever had."

And this was true.

"You do it on purpose. You want
to drive me crazy.

No, not like this. I love you.

Don't do it. Not you."

You wanna know what we were doing?

I don't care. There's no account
for taste.

Right, Bobby.

Let's talk about yours...

No, don't tell me.

I'll find out myself.

I always find out these things.

It's the search that excites me.

We'll search together.

Some other day, when you have more time.

Why you wanted these tapes back,
to destroy them?

No, just to listen. I never destroy
anything.

Except the people around you.

If I settle here, I'd have to buy
some bread and butter.

I'll do shopping for you.

On big occasions, I bought croissants
for Mr. Berliner to have with his coffee.

What do you mean by big occasions?

The days when she stayed here.

I watched her leaving early in the morning.

And she was beautiful even in the morning.

I get up early, I often see
the droves of women

rushing to the Metro at dawn,
with caked-up faces,

like old candles soaked in cups of coffee.

Working women aren't a pretty sight.

We can't have only whores.

Why not? Just the workers
and whores...

At least, we'd know what we're working for.

Right. You're an idealist, Mr. Leonce.

Did she come here often?

In the beginning, almost every night,
and then less and less.

You know how it is.

I imagine.

Another one.

Hello? The Pub Royal.

Hello, beautiful.

Yes, he's here...

Hold on. It's for you, detective.

What are you doing?

We said at 11. You know
what time it is?

Yes, I know. I'm waiting for you.

Waiting for me where?

Impatient, aren't you?

You want it?

Yes, sure.

So say it.

I just said yes.

Say it: I want to jump your bones.

If you don't, I'm hanging up.

I want to jump your bones.

Are you embarrassed?

Don't you think it's too personal?

I have a middle-class clientele here,
if you wanna talk dirty, use the booth.

Who's that talking?

It's the barman.

Why he called you dirty?

He didn't say that.

Of course, not.

He only said... Oh damn!

OK, I wanna jump your bones!
Is that clear?

Yeah, for sure.

Hurry up.

Where are you?

Outside.

There's a red car.

In the red car,

there's a yellow fur coat.

Guess what's inside the yellow fur coat.

What's your game?

I put up a whole show:

a transparent corsage, a waspie,
black stockings...

Then I was afraid you'd laugh at me,
and I dismantled the entire circus.

Look, Bobby.

Close it, or we'll get busted!

How did it go? Why didn't you call?

I would've picked you up at Roissy.

Good.

Jean-Lou Soeren, the author
of all this and many other things.

Inspector Staniland.

Hello.

So how was Albania?

Just like in the pictures, only worse.

Take good care of Inspector Staniland.

I put a lot of effort for him.

I'll put on something.

White or red?

Red.

Bordeaux, Burgundy, the Loire Valley?

Bordeaux.

Bordeaux.

Inspector of what?

The police.

Is she in trouble?

No, I am because of her.

She lives here?

She spends a night sometimes.

Excuse me.

Thanks.

I know this photo.

It was in a few magazines,
don't know why, I think it's so so.

Charles Berliner had it.

Why the past tense, it's no longer there?

No, it's Berliner who's no longer there.

He was murdered on Friday night.

You knew him well?

I introduced him to Barbara.

Maybe it wasn't one of your best ideas.

Why did he keep that photo?

I could've given him more interesting ones.

Would you like to take a look
at my little museum?

You bet.

Good.

Here it goes.

Barbara Chalon, nee Spark. Irish.

She said she used to tend sheep
which isn't necessarily true.

Then she heard about a Miss
Londonderry contest on the radio.

Shepherdesses often hear voices.

The first prize was a trip to Paris,

Barbara won it but in the meantime,
the organizers went broke...

But somehow, mysteriously, Barbara
Spark came to Paris anyway...

where, some time later, she met
the famous photographer.

No.

Why no?

Barbara Spark came to Paris, and later,

the famous photographer met a certain
Barbara Chalon.

Between Spark and Chalon there's
some kind of a shadow zone...

that we could also call Mr. Chalon.

You could've made an excellent
police detective.

Who knows.

Chalon or Spark, she's stunning, isn't she?

Not especially beautiful...
but stunning.

Some women inspire poems or sonatas,

some other inspire crimes - why not?

This one inspires rape.

Phenomenology in its pure form.

Inspector?

Inspector? You hear me?

What is it?

Can you come here?

Come.

Come. He doesn't care.

What are you waiting for?

Come.

Come.

All right.

So?

So what?

You like them?

If you can wait a little,
I'm developing the last batch.

You're right. These are
the most expressive.

I'm Mark.

You've been looking for me?

Here I am.

Good night.

Moulard, wake up!

The phone.

Hello, sorry to bother you...

No, I never sleep.

I'm glad you called.

I've three pieces of news for you.

First, I couldn't find bullets
of the 7.65 caliber...

Second, I couldn't find Mark either.

I've seen him.

You have? Bravo! How was he?

Charming, sporty.

All right but his description?

5 ft 11, short blond hair,

blue eyes, no, grey eyes, overall...

overall, not unattractive, if you will,

but rather ill-mannered.

Good, we'll look for him.

Third, I've found Mr. Chalon.

It's Arthur Chalon,

"an ovine wholesaler in Rungis."

What's that mean?

Rungis?

No, "ovine."

Listen, Officer Moulard, we've only
300 millions neurons at our disposal,

Let's not encumber them with
useless things. Bye, big boy.

How's it going? You want a drink?

Why were you looking at me like that?

I tried to imagine you
in the arms of a slut.

I often think of it myself but
it doesn't solve anything.

You think of any particular slut?

Barbara.

Whatever happened to her?

Barbara!

Those were the days, sir.

Arthur's heyday.

When I think about it now, I still
can't believe it happened.

Why are you asking about her?

She may have murdered someone.
I say: may have.

It's not certain. I'm investigating.

You're a cop?

I'm asking because they don't like
cops here.

They don't like them over there either
but at least we know why.

The worst thing with her was
her mania of going out at night.

She had this since she was a kid,
she told me.

That's what she told you, I heard
a different version:

she tended sheep as a kid.

Barbara's stories changed
from day to day...

an eccentric mother, an alcoholic
father, bus driver in Belfast...

Once when he was completely drunk,
he drove his bus into a police station.

Two people died and 20 people were wounded.

So her dad is behind bars,

her mom ran away

with a dishwasher from a restaurant,

and Barbara was left alone
with her kid brother.

She has a brother?

Not all the time, only when it suits her.

I put up with everything:
her nights out, her lies...

until she started bringing guys home.

I'd return in the morning to find a
squatter in my own bed.

One day I'd had enough,

and I told her: "Look, Barbara,
either you change or get out!"

You know what she answered?

She said "I'm getting out."

Right.

And she did.

I had a hard time with that bitch.

At least, we had some good laughs.

But with my new companion
...not so much.

You can't spend all your life
laughing, Mr. Chalon.

What time is it?

3 p.m.

Oh shit!

Since I no longer see him at work,
let's have a conference at his place.

Tomorrow we'll go to your deputy, then
to me, and we can close the office.

What's with your face?
You look sick.

- I am.
- Why don't you take a shower?

I was showering all night, and
even with my pictures taken.

Tell me where you're at.

Regarding what?

The dead bum.

He wasn't a bum, he was a pianist.
You wanna hear him play? I got a tape.

Schumann's concerto. Opus 54.

Schumann gets on my nerves.

Oh yeah?

And you get on my nerves too.

Oh yeah?

I don't know what you're up to,

I give you another 48 hours,
and then I'll close the case.

If you do this, I'll resign.

Or will take my planned retirement.

And what are you gonna do with your time?

I'm gonna get married. Maybe.

It's not certain yet.

I was thinking about you as my groomsman,

my best man.

And whom are you marrying?

Barbara Spark, an Irishwoman.

You'll have a signed confession
on your desk in 48 hours.

May I ask who it is?

Barbara Spark.

That's why I said, it's not certain.

I may be wrong.

While waiting for the confession,
read this.

What is it?

Some additional information.

The wasteground reveals its secrets.

The forensics got the footprints

around your bum...

Pianist!

Next to your pianist, there were
at least two murderers:

one in moccasins, size 43,

another in high-heeled shoes, size 37.

You only need to find these shoes.

I'm full of tears but I can't
produce a single one.

I'm like a cup about to crack.

Don't depart for long, Charlie.

You're entering a zone of oblivion.

You'll return in my memories
but by refraction,

like a ghost... eh, Charlie!

We've located him... 18 Villa
Vie des Anges, in the 14th district.

We found you-know-who at 18 Villa
Vie des Anges, in the 14th district.

Good. Thanks.

If you don't bolt the door, you'll get
robbed one of these days.

Any of your business?

Get out of here!

- Or you'll beat me up?
- Yes.

I just wanted to get a little
clarification from you.

Why you beat me up the other day?

Because you're scum.

No way. And Berliner?

Because you also beat up Berliner.
I've a recording where he states:

"This moron will kill me some day."

Why do you think he meant me?

Nobody ever told you that
you look like a real moron?

No, not yet.

So I'm telling you, and since Charlie
said that too,

it's no longer an adjective, it'll be
your second name,

it'll stick to you, you'll see.

It's true, I've been looking for you.

You took me by surprise the other day.
It won't happen again.

If you even try, I'll tear you into
pieces. I admit I'd love to do that.

Let's return to Berliner.

If this pig thought I might kill him,
we was right.

I often thought about it but
it was just that.

Why do you say "this pig"?

Because you are pigs:

he, you, the photographer...

Pigs.

When she showed me this, I almost cried.

Don't you realize Barbara is a queen?

Did you see her dancing?

Did you see her walking? A queen.

But queens need love.

And there you are, sniffing around.

It's obscene.

Should I tell you?

If you please.

You're the worst of the bunch.

At least, Charlie was an artistic
type. He had a talent.

But a cop?

How can one sleep with a cop?

Turn off the light, close your eyes
and think about something else.

You're right. It's very vulgar.

No, no, obscene. You used the word
"obscene."

A simple question: you guard
Barbara's honor in what capacity?

You're her confessor, her lover,
her husband?

Her brother.

Just her brother.

I didn't know this neighborhood.

It's very charming.

It looks provincial but there are
businesses all around.

Even copper-coating.

No way.

I thought they weren't doing it anymore.

As you can see...

A small Scotch?

A large Scotch.

Not a large Scotch... a cognac.

No, Madam, I didn't know
Marcel Proust personally.

I can't possibly know what he ate.

But I heard that he dined in his room.

He liked to go to bed early.

My family might seem a bit
eccentric to you,

but we weren't doing so badly.

The streets of Longford were as tough
as the streets of Paris, especially ours.

They were called "slums of the town."

I would've become a whore,

and Mark would've become a thug.

I admit that he often behaves
like a thug, and I, like a whore.

And I'm like a cop.

If I asked you where you were
the night of Charlie's death,

you'd probably give me a bunch of lies.

Like with Mark.

The first time I mentioned him,
you asked: "Who is it?"

You could've simply said:
"He's my brother."

You dragged me all the way here
to question me?

No, that would've been pathetic.

Now can I ask you a question?

That night, was it good?

No.

Well, yes.

I always dreamed of going
to the seaside with a woman,

of walking along the beach and
picking up starfish...

But something was always missing?

Yes, there was neither a beach
nor starfish.

The life in Ireland was difficult
but full of charm.

Sometimes I miss it.

Why did you come to Paris?

Dunno, I always wanted to come.

My father often spoke about France
where he fought in the war.

He was a career officer.

In 1944, he landed not far from here.

Right, with his bus.

You went to Rungis?

Yes, madam.

And what Arthur told you?

Something funny?

You know, your father driving
his bus into a police station

isn't exactly sad.

What else Arthur told you?

About my nights out?

Yes.

That I brought guys home?

Exactly.

Did that also make you laugh?

Much less.

Barbara Spark's question:

When did you fall in love with me?

Inspector Staniland's answer:
When I heard your voice on a tape.

A voice that said to another:

"I would do anything to anybody."

These are foolish things one would
say to turn men on.

You also said strange things
in the beginning:

"Confess... I'm taking you in..."

"You'll get 20 years."

Not very cheerful.

These are kind of things one would
say to turn women on.

Charles Berliner, Jean-Loup Soeren,
Mark, Arthur Chalon...

You know almost everyone now.

Everyone but you. How did you
earn your living? From what?

Doing photos.

They pay well?

Depends on the kind of photos.

Anyway, Soeren's ones cost him well.

Inspector Staniland's question:

Did Barbara Spark and Jean-Loup Soeren
have sex or didn't they?

Barbara Spark's answer:

From time to time, Inspector.

Inspector Staniland's question:

Was Berliner aware that you're
up to something?

Barbara's answer:

Of course. Otherwise,
what's the point?

Now, I'm gonna tell you
something important:

I hate to be questioned, I hate the beach,

what I hate the most is to stroll with
a cop who questions me on the beach.

And you're also old and ugly,

and stupid too.

See you tomorrow.
Promise not to be late.

Where are you going?

To Paris. But I prefer
to drive alone.

Me too, but I'm in a hurry.

I hope you don't drive like an idiot.

Yes, like that is good.

Get closer to her.

Good.

Put on more powder.

Yes.

Like that.

- Do we smile or not?
- Just a second...

Lean more like that.

Sorry to interrupt.

I can't say your timing is good.

Please.

Sorry.

I'm looking for Barbara.

I thought she was with you.

She sent me a postcard from Cabourg.

Incredible, because I couldn't
imagine you there.

It's so literary, so tacky.

Cartier-Bresson did a great series.

He invented everything, the imaginary
greys, the non-existent whites...

"The Old English Lady in her Cabin",
remember?

No? Too bad.

Ah Francois, I can't speak right now.
I'm working.

Call me back. Wednesday is fine
but call me before then.

OK, Tuesday then. Thanks, bye.

On the second day, she told me
I was old and stupid.

You're lucky then. Usually she leaves
without explanations.

OK, I'll let you work.

Your cop's out of here.

He's getting as clingy as Charlie.

It's you, Inspector...

Mr. Berliner was better than you.
He was cleaner.

But he'd also lean on the counter to
ask me if I hadn't seen his witch.

If you wanna relax, I can suggest
that blonde in the corner...

She goes for guys of your age.

Detective, may I ask you?

If you already have your big love,
why you come to my place?

Because you stay open longer
than the others.

When there's no one left to talk to.

I remember Berliner, some nights
he'd fool around on the piano...

A great pianist like him,

an expert on Beethoven, you know
what he played?

He played "Roses of Picardy",
that old shit from the '20s.

Yes, I know that one.

You don't take your drops anymore?

No, I'm looking for 7.65 bullets...

No, the drama of life is that
you can't get out of it alive.

So the only real question is
to know how you're gonna die.

You talking to me?

No, miss. I'm talking to Charlie.
I don't know you.

Ideally, if one could record what
happens at this last moment,

and even after that moment.
So some day, someone would know!

To see that far, one should follow
in Charlie's footsteps,

in the footsteps of Charlie's sorrow,

all the way through Charlie's hell!
A cognac, please!

For me too.

No, one! One cognac!

Good.

It's not very smart.

Sorry.

Good timing, Mr. Leonce.

I came to bid you farewell.

I won't come back again.

It's too bad. I was getting
used to you.

You may lack Berliner's culture
or his intelligence but...

how to put it...

You make do with me.

I'll miss you, Inspector.

And the lady?

What about her?

If she comes by, what do I tell her?

That you were dying to see her.

Hello, sir.

Hello, boss.

Hello, sheriff.

What's he doing here?

I'm paying you a visit. It's called
"courtesy of the castle."

Your deputy was really nice to me.

Great, but he doesn't have
to sit in my office.

But Mark Sparks isn't just anybody.
You wanted to see him...

All right.

Where are you at?

On what?

With Barbara. You were looking for
her, she was looking for you...

What happened?

You don't wanna tell me?

Nothing happened. She told me
I was old and stupid.

Oh well. I was afraid of
something irreparable.

Barbara is waiting for a gesture.
So make it.

She dines with me tonight.
If you drop by, say, by 10 pm...

I'd be good for both of you.

Despite her ball-busting demeanor,

Barbara is a very unlucky girl.

You don't think Charlie was
also very unlucky?

Well, it's true.

Poor guy. But she loved him
in her own way.

In her own way? Strange way!

You don't have to endorse it
but to understand.

You said: 10 pm?

Alone and unarmed.

You already know how to get in.

I'm late, gotta go. Bye.

You aren't ready yet?

Beethoven's 1st Symphony.

By the time you're ready, I'll be
done with the other eight.

They expect us by midnight.

So allow me...

You aren't going out in this?

Not just in this...

but in this too.

Come on. Hurry up.

How was Cabourg?

Waste of time.

Whose fault?

Staniland believed you can change
life by changing the venue.

And besides that?

What's that mean?

You know very well.

How was he in bed?

Tell me.

Was he as good as Charlie?

Better than Charlie.

Better than me?

I forgot.

You have to try hard.

My dear.

I knew it.

I knew you'd do well, bastard.

My little sister.

Are you my little sister?

Yes.

Say it again.

I'm your little sister.

I am.

Escuse me for for starting with
an extra question:

Friday, the 6th, what time did you
tell Charlie to come by?

I'm asking you because Charlie's body was
found at 7:15 near the Porte de Pantin.

So if you invited Charlie like me,
around 10 pm,

that'd give you enough time to present
your show, to kill the spectator,

to get to the Porte de Pantin,

and to dump the body by the railroad.

Your question is very precise,

so I'll try to answer it clearly.

Charlie came here at 10 pm.

He lasted probably as long as you did.

Then he tried to strangle me.

Such a primitive reaction.

The pianist started to take
himself too seriously.

He took Barbara to Dinard for a week,

like you took her to Cabourg for two days.

It seems the sea air makes you all horny.

And your sister?

I'm usually vulgar but
you force me to be trivial.

I hate this.

I should've hated you for
making me come here.

But that was necessary.

I had to see it.

There are things that have to
be seen to be believed.

You love is one of these.

When did it start, when you were 10, 12?

He's still 12, this poor Mark,
he hasn't grown up.

Yes.

When he's sad he runs to his big sister...

I guess, in this weird relationship
she played both the Devil and God,

consoling her little brother for
the sorrows inflicted upon him.

Yes.

Without the incest angle, your
love story is vaudevillian!

Barbara makes love to anybody,
Mark can only make love to Barbara.

Though I'm sure you tried to
make it to someone else.

How did it go?

Life is complicated.

I'll kill you!

And even with her, does it
really go that well?

Maybe...

she cheats a little?

"Oh yes, Mark, it's you, you're the most
handsome, and yours is the cutest"

If this were true, you would've been
glowing, Superman!

You wouldn't have had the look
of a kid who peed in his bed!

I'll kill you.

You already said that. You're
rambling on.

What are you waiting for? I'm sure you
still have the weapon that killed Charlie!

Go for it!

Shut up!

You don't realize that's exactly
why I came here?

That I was unable to nab you
for Charlie's murder?

Staniland's corpse will send you
to jail for the rest of your life.

But don't worry, your big sister
will continue to fuck around.

You had no right to say I cheated.

I never cheated.

Not with Charlie,

not with you,

not with anybody.

Least of all with him.

Poor child.

He was 16, when we made love
for the first time.

I knew right away, it was like
the beginning of a cancer.

The cancer that killed Charlie.

And almost killed you.

You never tried to escape?

That's all I do.

That's why I came to Paris.

But after 6 years, he found me.

As if we had never parted.

We made love right away,
and it started all over.

You know German poet Heinrich Heine?

When he was dying, he said: "God will
forgive me because it's his job."

Unfortunately, it's not mine.
You murder, God forgives,

and I investigate.

Thanks.

The other end.

You're into gentle treatment.

I was expecting to be insulted and beaten.

You only see the pleasant side of things.

And my pal Charlie, what about him?

And us? What will become of us?

Us?

You and I. We exist too.

You can release me,

kick me down or forget me...

I have to flee again...

to go where?

Maybe I don't really want to.

I'm afraid it's too late now.

Why did you shoot him, not me?

Because the danger didn't come from you.

You had no future.

I can send someone to get you warm clothes.

Because I'm not going home?

No.

Meet Superintendent Bauman,
he'll explain what happens next,

he does it well with the ladies,
you can call your lawyer...

Mark was self-defense, Charlie was...

an accident, overall, you can plead this.

What's that mean?

That means 10 year minimum,
you'll get out in five,

not a high price to pay.

With reading and reminiscing,
time passes quickly.

Obviously, with remorse, it seems longer.

From the beginning,

have you, for a second,

even for a second, been sincere,

or have you always been just
a filthy stupid cop?

I keep asking myself the same question.

"Have you, for a second,

even for a second, been sincere,

or have you always been just
a filthy stupid cop?"