Original subtitles

THE SCHPOUNTZ

It's always the same thing and always will be.

We'll never ever know who left the basket of croissants

under the tap of the oil can.

And however much I investigate, I'll never find the culprit.

Well I know it wasn't me.

I was at Mass. It wasn't me either.

Who then?

Maybe a customer, who wanted a croissant,

unwittingly pulled the croissant basket in such a way

that it ended up under the tap of the oil can.

Did you have a croissant?

Sure I had one. For breakfast, to feed myself.

- No way! - What do you mean, no way?

You eat but you don't feed yourself. I'm the one who feeds you!

Your father, my brother, wouldn't have.

No one pulled the wool over his eyes.

- As you often tell me. - To no avail.

Then why tell me again?

Oh, I know I'm wrong!

Wrong to think you'll ever know you must work!

And that being a grocer is an honest trade!

And that a big boy of 25 could help his uncle,

who houses and feeds him despite being driven totally nuts!

I know where you're going. Now you'll call me a good-for-nothing.

"Good-for-nothing" would be too good for you!

You're a terrible-at-everything!

If you don't understand me, then I do!

I do understand you, and I'm deeply hurt.

See how he is.

Pulling faces and not taking in a word.

At least your brother's grateful.

He works in the shop and realises when we're in trouble.

He managed to sell that tub of mouldy anchovies

to Mr Carbonnières, which was quite a feat!

They were so green and bloated, you'd have taken them for mackerel.

Well, he managed to sell them!

Is Mr Carbonnières blind?

I told him they were tropical.

That's thinking and imagination for you!

He came up with that.

I know very well what got his imagination working!

What?

You knew that if you didn't sell them we'd end up eating them.

Here, on this very table.

We'd have had tropical anchovies every single day

until the tub was gone

and until this fine family's funeral.

Meaning?

This liver paste

is the one customers won't buy because it's off.

Here it is, with a hint of sourness, to feed me.

But I'm not stupid. I'd rather eat rat poison.

And that roast pork is putrid.

The only person to eat it is Mrs Graziani.

I say "is" today, but tomorrow maybe I'll have to say "was"!

After eating it, she went to bed.

She's probably rolling around in agony now.

Rest in peace, Mrs Graziani.

Irénée, she's 76 and has a mild dose of indigestion.

She'd need no sense of sight, smell or taste

to end up with indigestion from a heaving lump of meat!

You'll have to tie the rest to the plate.

Or it'll walk off during the night.

What rubbish!

Let him talk, Clarisse.

His exaggeration is proof of his absurdity.

This meat is excellent and I woofed it down.

But you're used to it.

When it comes to food poisoning,

you're immunised, fortified, armour-plated.

He swallows, digests and distils poison.

He's a veritable still, belonging to the Borgias!

You dare call me a still!

- Irénée, if your uncle gets mad... - He'll start choking again.

And that would upset me. For despite his savage way with me...

I'm very fond of him.

- Hello! - What do you want?

Any more of those tropical anchovies?

- Sorry, we're right out. - When will you get some in?

Oh, they take a lot of time.

In 2 to 3 months, when they're nice and ripe!

- Where can I find them? - Impossible.

- House speciality. - Too bad.

Thanks all the same. Goodbye.

Goodbye to you.

Well done! There's a lesson for you!

Admire his work.

We've been hit by catastrophe, by disaster.

50 kilos of anchovies quietly gone bad.

But he turns disaster into a house speciality.

He creates a new fish, one not even God thought of.

And it becomes a brand new nibble.

Then he was wrong to sell the whole lot to one grocer.

Because his brand new nibble

will empty the village of its population.

All poisoned by his new fish.

You have to denigrate his initiative!

Well done, Casimir. Here's 10 francs to buy a treat.

Pay no heed to this useless idiot's sarcasm.

I could get so angry...

No! You'll start choking.

I don't mind choking if it's to correct his rubbish!

My God! It's unthinkable: a man who doesn't want to work.

I don't want to work in a grocery! When I'm in your shop...

Not a shop, a store! How many more times?

OK. When I'm in your store between dry fish and wet cheese,

it makes me queasy.

Discussing potatoes with Mrs Leribouchon,

who always wants a penny off, doesn't interest me.

- I wasn't born to do that! - To do what then?

Another career. I'm sure I have a gift.

If you have anything, it's not a gift.

You never buy anything sensible with your pay.

I mean a natural gift, a born gift, a gift from God!

Glad to hear you have a God-given gift.

Other than your big appetite, big mouth and laziness,

I do wonder what God gave you.

Talent. Hidden talent.

Very well hidden!

I know.

If you break your promise you'll dishonour yourself.

I won't tell. I'm just saying you have hidden talent.

As I've long known.

And what might this talent bring in?

Millions, of course.

- Millions of what? - Francs.

- Now he has delusions of grandeur! - I knew you wouldn't believe me.

Do you know how much dry fish you must sell

to earn a million francs?

No. And I don't want to know.

But I know I'll make millions

because I have a talent.

If he said that, he must be mad.

He's not mad, he's a schpountz.

What's a schpountz?

Is there a schpountz around?

Yes. The bellboy told me he looks like Charles Boyer.

And that if we gave him a chance to be on screen...

I spoke to the one in golfing trousers.

He's the director of the film.

Come over here, you idiot.

Have you looked in a mirror?

Potato nose, cauliflower ears, pigeon toes...

- Is that Charles Boyer? - My sister told me...

Go on, clear off!

I hadn't noticed he was an idiot.

Good sir, a schpountz isn't an idiot.

A schpountz is logical and lives an ordinary life.

He even has common sense, except regarding cinema.

If he thinks he looks like an actor, he'll believe so for ever.

Play any trick you like, he won't think you're poking fun.

Do you meet many?

One or two a day.

If he's not mad, he must be an idiot.

Not at all.

Come now, Miss...

What's in that bellboy's head?

If there was the slightest resemblance,

a single family trait in common with Mr Boyer,

a similarity in the voice,

like mine and Mr Raimu's, then I'd understand.

But he has nothing.

- Whereas you sound like Raimu. - They have the self-same voice!

That's why you looked at me so oddly when we met.

- Because you have Raimu's voice. - Strikingly so!

I'm not a schpountz?

Not at all!

It's not just the voice, but his look,

his gait, his unabashed kindness...

Everything!

Not everything. There isn't room. I have my own personality too.

You could play parts that he couldn't.

Mr Raimu would agree.

And he would play some parts better than I.

- Who knows? - Exactly.

And yet it's obvious he isn't a schpountz.

I can prove it.

I know you're making a film. Have I asked for a part in it?

- Not yet. - And I never will.

- What if we asked you? - I'd be forced to refuse.

Your manager would forbid it?

I don't care about the manager, but I have my barman's duties.

Earlier you said I had Raimu's voice.

If I look at that from a personal point of view,

then Mr Raimu has MY voice!

And though it's mine, I can't use it.

Because he acted in public before me and I wouldn't like to wrong him.

- Yes, but... - No buts!

I don't have the right!

Now that's a 1st-class schpountz!

But we've seen better ones!

You should tell Uncle about your talent.

He knows nothing about cinema.

He went twice with Auntie.

The first time he said it was stupid, the second time he dozed off.

- He went though. - But he was hardly enthralled.

Can I tell him my talent is acting?

No, Casimir. No premature revelations!

No upsetting the honest grocer!

- He might try to discourage you. - Discourage me?

Don't be silly.

I know I was born with a gift for acting.

God has given me the chance

to see my name on posters and up in lights.

And the dollars... The dollars!

Doesn't "dollars" sound pretty?

Once, in a bank window in Marseilles,

I saw a 100-dollar bill. It didn't look pretty.

They didn't give it to you!

You have no English. Why will they give you dollars?

Because of my acting talent. The film industry is full of dollars!

For You always talks about it. So if God sends me my chance...

But how?

I don't know. But He owes me one.

Does God toil away for nothing?

Would He have given me this calling, this memory,

this voice, this gait,

this quivering sensitivity,

to leave me serving gorgonzola?

No, Casimir. God isn't mad!

Despite his games of famine, war, floods and plague,

God is basically someone with good common sense.

At His age, I'd be surprised if He didn't.

So I won't go looking for my chance.

I'll wait for it right here.

- Casimir! - Yes?

- Are you up? - No. But I won't be long.

It's only 8 o'clock. And it's Sunday.

I know, but go down anyway.

- Uncle, are you up? - No.

Then why torture poor Casimir?

There are cars driving past. We need someone in the store.

I'll go. You stay in bed, Casimir.

I'll do the exceptional job of working on Sunday.

He'll have no reproach.

He wants the store open, so I'll open it.

Anyway, I'm starving.

- What's wrong? - We're running on steam!

- What will you do? - Put some water in.

I'll look for some.

Anyone here?

- Hey, what are you doing? - The saucepan...

Yes, saucepan to sell.

- Of course... - More than that it's...

65 francs.

No, look... 6 francs 50.

No, look closer... 65 centimes.

Tinplated top-class steel,

nice shape and practical. 6 francs 50.

The enamel won't crack, as there is no enamel. 6 francs 50.

- I just want to fill my radiator. - Which means you have a car.

If so, 6 francs 50 is nothing to you.

I've no change. Plus it's for the cinema.

- You own a cinema? - No. I make films.

- You do? Where? When? - Here. Today.

You make films. I knew it!

I've been expecting you. I'll help you.

God most definitely isn't mad.

This way. He isn't mad at all!

Now he's saying God isn't mad.

But he's completely round the twist.

- I'll give you that saucepan. - You're too kind.

He's lending a saucepan to some clown

dressed in my grandma's trousers.

This is the first time I've ever been in a car.

Driver!

Driver!

Take the next left!

Chaps, here you are.

At the Col de Tantoi. There it is.

It looks a bit funny!

Well, thank you so much.

My pleasure. Where are the actors?

- Not here yet. - So you're not filming yet?

- No. In about 2 or 3 hours time. - And until then?

We'll play cards and have a bite until we start.

I see.

If you'll allow, I'd like to watch the filming.

But now I've shown you the col,

I'll go home and put on my collar!

Madam, gentlemen...

See you later.

This is it. It has to be.

- You doubt me. - No, I don't.

I doubt the others. They may not understand.

I'll make them understand.

I showed them the way. I told them I'd be back.

This is the chance of a lifetime!

And I'm ready.

I'm in my suit and tie... No, I'm not!

I'm in my tie, I've found my moustache.

And the best thing of all: they've only seen me in my pyjamas!

I'll make an extraordinary entrance. I'll send them reeling.

- Like lightning. - How?

With a centre parting.

What will you say?

I plan to be humble and thus obtain an audition.

- What if they laugh? - At what?

- You. - Me?

Irénée, I didn't mean to say...

But you did! You don't believe in me.

Go, false brother. I'll look after myself!

I do believe in you. But not as much as you do.

Meaning? Spit it out, you renegade!

Things never move so quickly.

It's hardly likely they'll hire you and make you an immediate star.

You need to plot out a path

and take it one step at a time.

Napoleon was a sub-lieutenant from Corsica!

He became Emperor.

You don't become Emperor one step at a time!

You're right to go.

I'm saying all this out of friendship.

I don't want you to suffer a disappointment.

You really are Saturday's Child.

Born under the influence of Saturn.

You're saturnine. I read it in the paper!

- So what? - You'll never get anywhere!

You're sad, pessimistic and dominated by distrust!

Pity for you.

I was born on a Thursday under the influence of Jupiter.

I can hope for anything.

If I'm told I can't, I'll carry on hoping anyway.

So leave me to it and shut up.

- Well, frankly... - Frankly what?

You're a good man but you're baleful. So shut it, Saturnite!

Take it from a Jupiterite!

Gentlemen, madam...

Delighted!

And he wasn't pushy!

- He was too modest. - He was wrong, very wrong!

This is really nice!

Give me the address of the genius who tailored that suit!

He's just a lowly tailor.

I'll gladly give you his address, but it won't help.

Because this suit was conceived and designed by yours truly!

He's a real all-rounder!

We should have him design one for all of us!

What a shame!

What is?

What a shame that a man like this,

due to family or social commitments,

cannot work in films.

Whenever we find a good one, we can't have him!

To work in films in what quality?

As an actor, of course.

Looks are important for an actor.

But so too does elegance.

The main thing is sex appeal.

Well he has a very sexually appealing voice!

It may sound ridiculous,

but I do think I have a bit.

It just needs cultivating.

How charmingly modest!

I'm not modest, sir. I was.

But the day I decided to become an artiste,

I sacrificed modesty.

So you'd truly like to be in films?

Not just "like to".

I dream of it, get sick with it, die with it!

Film is my passion, my folly.

I'd do anything just for a bit part.

Even do it for free. The first one, at least.

Kids, I have an idea.

I'm surprised no one else had it first.

- What idea? - The schpountz.

He's our schpountz!

- Of course! - What's a schpountz?

The schpountz is an extraordinary part

in an extraordinary film.

In 5 years, we've found no actor capable of playing it.

Not one.

- We tried every big star. - All of them!

None of the greatest screen names can do it.

It's a male version of Greta Garbo.

Sir, you scare me a little.

Let's not be hasty. In life, this chap may be a schpountz.

But on screen?

He'll be even more of a schpountz.

Not sure of that!

That's just my opinion.

Naturally, there'll be tests. And I may be wrong.

When will we do these tests?

I can do a sound test right now.

Do you know anything by heart? A poem, a song...

Yes, madam.

But I won't recite a poem or sing a song.

It would be cheating.

For a good poem would detract from its reciter.

I'll perform something different,

which will be more conclusive.

- He's so interesting! - Let him start.

Thank you.

I shall recite for you an article from the Civil Code.

The shortest and clearest.

Perhaps the most "cutting".

"Those sentenced to death will lose their heads."

- That's not very cheerful. - No, it's not. But it can be.

I will now, having been so warmly welcomed by you,

give you a complete demonstration of my modest gift.

I will, with this simple phrase,

induce diverse feelings inside you.

Everything will be in the expression.

I bet he has some expressions!

Don't jump the gun, sir. Are you ready?

Absolutely.

Then I shall begin. There.

Fear.

"Those sentenced to death

"will lose their heads."

Pity.

"Those sentenced to death

"will lose their heads."

Interrogative and affirmative.

"Those sentenced to death will lose their heads?"

"Those sentenced to death WILL lose their heads!"

Good, huh?

Excellent.

Pensive.

"Those sentenced to death...

"lose their heads..."

Keep that expression and try not to move!

Got it.

Comical.

"Those sentenced to death...

"will lose their heads."

Ladies and gentlemen, I will sing, as I have a voice,

a song I wrote

which highlights the two facets of my humble talent.

- Without music? - Sir...

when I sing, I hear an orchestra!

Have you noticed that in life Couples are badly planned?

If immense is the wife Then small is the husband

Bearded ladies wed beardless men Fat the thin, thin the fat

A quiet cock loves a noisy hen I don't understand that

It's odd but when it comes to romance

There never is the perfect balance

Grasping love is hard, I find

For it is often deaf and blind

There's not much to comprehend

Since we all find it in the end

Grasping love is hard, I find

Do you approve of the alley cat Seeking love with constant mewling?

For hours on end if we did that We'd find it so entirely gruelling

And dogs are particularly awful Doing it in the street before our eyes

And it's even worse with a bull Silly cow, it's no surprise!

Bull and cow, dog and cat

I don't really like all that

Grasping love is hard, I find

For it is often deaf and blind

There's not much to comprehend

Since we all find it in the end

Grasping love is hard, I find

Saucisson, Mme Fenuze,

is the best and the cheapest meat,

as it's the only one with no bone!

That's very true.

It'd be odd, finding a bone in your saucisson.

Quite hilarious, even.

100 grams, 3 francs 50.

- Uncle, a quick word. - What, without stopping?

- It's a locution. - What the hell's that?

You'll find out as soon as the good lady has left.

Your nephew's polite, treating me like a beggar!

Tell him I'm a customer. One who pays in good money!

And we pay you in saucisson: a currency that never devalues!

- Good day, madam. - Irénée!

Quiet! It's the greatest day of my life and yours.

The five cents you make on that lady's saucisson

shouldn't inspire respect for her.

- Look at this. - What is it?

If this paper was as heavy as the gold it's worth,

- it would break the scale. - What is it?

A contract. A contract for my talent.

Hand me my glasses.

No. I'll read it myself.

But within the family circle...

A family suddenly enriched by my talent.

Uncle, Casimir, Auntie...

- What's going on? - Who knows!

- Have you eaten? - I have.

Sit down. We'll drink champagne after.

Uncle, do you know the movies?

Yes. A dark room in which I get bored.

Wrong!

I don't get bored on purpose!

I even get bored getting bored.

But that paper...?

Uncle, my god-given gift is movies.

- What? - Yes. An actor.

Comedy... tragedy...

You like it?

It's best I know so we know where we are.

A powerful American company with a subsidiary in France

signed with me this engagement. Listen.

"Vernickel & Co of Hollywood and Mr Irénée Fabre..." That's me!

"...agree to the following:

"Mr Irénée Fabre is hired as an actor for 3 years.

"His first part will be the schpountz."

The what?

I'll explain after.

"Mr Irénée Fabre..." Me!

"...will be paid the sum of 1000 dollars per week."

Which is 25 to 30 thousand francs. That's Americans for you!

I knew it!

I bet they didn't pay a week in advance!

Why?

Because I know Americans. Anyway, go on.

"If production requirements force Mr Irénée Fabre..."

Me again!

"...to work in an unknown climate, from the North Pole to Senegal..."

Uncle, I pause to say this is surely an exaggeration.

But don't forget that these are Americans.

They foresee every detail.

Even the North Pole and Senegal!

Normal.

And if it's not normal, it's dreamable!

They have indemnities for everything!

"Above 30°C in the shade,

"Mr Fabre will receive a bonus of 100 francs,

"per day and per degree."

So for 45°C,

I'll be paid 1500 francs extra per day.

45°C is hot!

With 1500 francs he can buy plenty of fans.

And even afford to be fanned by the natives.

"Below 0°C, Mr Fabre will receive a bonus of 200 francs,

"per day and per degree."

A quick calculation reveals

that minus 40 equals plus 8000!

Simple, logical and only natural.

- I'm totally lost. - Wait. There are diseases too!

Diseases? Tell us about the diseases then.

"If a disease is contracted in a foreign land,

"indemnities are fixed to the following scale..."

In passing, indemnities are paid in the currency of the said land.

At first, it seems odd, if not rather funny.

But on reflection, it's quite logical.

It's so you can pay for treatment in the country

where you contract the disease in local currency.

"The scale...

"1: Frostbitten feet - 4500 roubles.

"2: Yellow fever - 5000 piasters.

"3: Leprosy...

"4000 rupees.

"4...

"Beriberi - 5 elephant tusks.

"5: Seal bite...

"2000 smoked fish."

Amazing Americans: both fantasist and precise!

When they read me this, I couldn't help laughing.

But the next paragraph soon calmed me down.

"In case of death,

"funeral rites and repatriation of the body

"will be paid by the company."

I can tell you, that cuts...

your laughter.

Well, Uncle?

There is one serious question

I've been asking myself for a while...

Regarding the contract?

Exactly. May I?

Be my guest. You've never dealt in millions,

but I do recognise your business acumen.

So a well posed question

could help to enlighten me.

Not for this contract: it's signed. But for the next one.

Here's my question...

Are you trying to fool us,

or did they make a fool out of you?

It's good to have a laugh, but there are limits.

Imagine if he left for Paris!

If he took the train, he'd get there!

- Then what? - We don't care.

But he would, once in Paris.

Look, it's hard enough being myself,

without having to wear another's hat!

But if he's fallen for it, then we're all responsible.

I feel terrible about being involved.

I wouldn't do it again.

You and your scruples! You've enough for the lot of us.

If someone loves you, you don't care.

But a lame duck comes along and you become totally passionate!

You can turn a nobody into a somebody.

A real sister of charity.

But don't forget that charity starts with friends.

Depends on what your friend is asking!

- You're really leaving? - Who can stop me?

I won't, for sure. But I can if I want to.

Because those tricksters are still at the hotel.

I can go and explain

that their little joke may have tragic consequences.

They'll come here to apologise.

- But I'm not going. - Why not?

Because now that I've found out

what has triggered your total madness,

I don't think you should be held back.

You'd forever blame me for ruining your big chance.

And your state would only worsen.

Worsen... my state...

And maybe, faced with reality,

you'd realise your mistake.

Who knows, it might even cure you!

Who knows, it might bring me fame and fortune!

But for now, you can't even buy a slice of saucisson.

Sorry, I withdrew all my savings.

1300 francs and 25 centimes!

Where will that get you?

Paris! All I need is a train ticket.

- And here it is. - You should've bought a return.

No need. I'll come back in my 8-cylinder.

My contract promises a 10,000-franc advance.

And next Saturday, 1000 dollars.

Softening of the brain!

Legitimate and logical hope!

Pitiful and pretentious delusions!

Common sense and sensibility of the average Frenchman!

Phantasmagoria of a fool!

Suspicions of a storekeeper!

Don't you see you've been made a fool of?

A hand from the big-hearted!

Your contract would have a forger in hysterics.

I am no forger and that is why I'm not laughing!

Who could believe such claptrap!

With my savings, I'll buy you Félix Potin supermarkets!

So sad!

However unjust, incredulous and nasty you can be,

I'll buy you Félix Potin.

And if you don't want it, I'll bin it.

I'll buy you the Olida Hams factory for your birthday.

And the Meunier chocolate works will be for Christmas.

You complained of the bread I ate,

but I'll fill you with cake!

Sad little man.

Sad, sad...

little man.

Quick, the movie woman wants to see you.

- Where? - At the hotel.

- Is she alone? - Yes. And it's a secret.

- How do you know? - She told me not to tell anyone.

- Is she insistent? - She certainly is.

See, they can't even wait for me to become a star!

Mind you, I guess I'll be harder to get later.

- You think she... - My child, you bring me the message

and you don't know what it means!

How sweet naivety can be!

She's not that pretty, but as she's the first, I'll go for it.

Later, it'll be a charming anecdote in For You.

In For You.

Hello, little Françoise.

- Hello, sir. - My brother said you asked for me.

This hotel is unworthy of you, me and my contract.

I couldn't keep you waiting. I'm all yours.

Right. We're to leave later.

Exactly.

You too?

- You're leaving? - I've bought my ticket.

- I'm sorry about that. - Why, did you want to buy it?

Not at all. But now you have, maybe I should reimburse you.

- Do I understand you right? - It's not so hard to understand.

So you confess?

Let's say I'm setting things straight.

Most elegantly and discreetly put.

I have great, sincere and deep respect for you.

I'll decree that all my life.

If fate brings me success, I owe my contract to you!

So you hold me singularly responsible for this adventure?

You and you alone deserve the merit.

There's not much merit in it.

So you really didn't get it at all?

Would it please you that I did?

Sometimes we understand very well but pretend not to.

- So your ticket was a joke? - What do you mean, joke?

Here it is.

Then you don't understand.

I do. I even understand a lady's modesty.

No need to explain further. Seen and accepted!

You truly are an idiot.

- I'm not! - You are!

I'm not! You are a rascal.

You are so forward you always get there first.

You naughty girl, you!

- What was that? - A slap.

Would you believe it?

I'm sorry if I hit you hard.

Your contract was a joke, a trick.

One signed by Messrs Bazouf and Vernickel?

A joke? After coming from Hollywood to see me.

With 20 eye-witnesses!

Mr Vernickel doesn't exist!

But you saw them!

The photographer and props man.

That night, we were bored.

We'd been drinking. You had too.

You were being pretentious, so we wrote the contract as a joke.

But you took it seriously and planned to leave for Paris.

So I had a duty to tell you the truth.

- Because you're dutiful? - Maybe I am.

How do you explain that my uncle,

who doesn't know you or about your joke,

said exactly the same thing?

- Because he's sensible. - And I'm not?

No, not really.

But you are poetic.

Thank you.

So if you don't work for my uncle, who do you work for?

Which star or group of stars has paid you

to get rid of young talents who might threaten their fame?

Sir, have some common sense. Or at least some modesty!

There could be a third explanation.

But it's so low I won't even consider it.

What?

If I'm not wrong, you're a film editor.

You fiddle with celluloid.

You cut it, stick it, patch it up, and so on.

And so on, and so on.

What if you had sought refuge in the backstage?

Because you were not wanted on screen.

You dreamt of being Greta Garbo.

Without the looks, you were sent to the wings.

This failure sits heavy in your heart.

When you see a very talented man, if I dare say so,

sign a fabulous contract you could never have signed yourself,

you are filled with rage and envy

and you do your utmost to thwart his destiny.

But no, perfidious one, it's not so easy!

I shall be on that train!

Pity for you.

I bid you farewell, madam.

Good idea, trying to trick a madman!

Shut up and get out!

Go on, out!

Beat it, Whiskers! Enough is enough.

- The president, please. - You are?

- I've a contract. - Show it.

I don't think I'm required

to show my contract to a doorman, however big he is.

Then write your name down there.

No point. Just tell the president that the schpountz has arrived.

- The what? - The schpountz!

You're the schpountz?

Indeed I am.

That's excellent. I'll tell him.

In the meantime, be so kind as to wait on the pavement.

In the street?

Naturally. That's the rule.

Which doesn't apply to the schpountz.

To the schpountz like anyone. Even more so to the schpountz.

- So please, sir... - Watch the suit!

What, what, what!

With a tierce.

- The high card? - The king.

I'm good.

I have 50 points in diamonds

who'll own no one nothing.

These two are so jammy!

I'll attack on the right flank: diamonds!

Nothing's ready.

Studio A is still Napoleon.

And studio B is full of girls in tutus.

A film called Sex Appeal, and it's long from over!

We only started yesterday.

Napoleon should have left us studio A.

We have only one scene left.

But with 200 extras, it's hard going.

We're already on the 35th take.

The Russian director is having a nervous breakdown.

The poor chap's gone crazy. He bit the props man!

- Seen the boss? - Yes, but I didn't talk to him.

He was with a sheriff.

Then he brought in some bird complaining about a poster.

Bird?

The loony one!

The furnisher's mistress who fancied the dresser.

Oh, the one who kept shooting the cabinet doors!

Rita Camelia? She's a good girl!

Listen, Meyerboom, who delivered the cash for this film?

The great Galapiat, the king of furnishings.

He gave us 1 million.

And who brought Galapiat?

His motorcar.

Stop being silly!

- Have you kissed him? - Fortunately not!

Unfortunately, I have!

I got him to fork out one million, and I had to pay for it.

And the author? Were you the one

to woo the author?

- The author too! - That's right.

Wotsisname, with one ear bigger than the other.

And the advertising head, the director, assistant director,

studio manager, sound man...

Who else must I sleep with to see my name on a poster?

You could try the printer!

- His address? - On his posters. But it's too late.

Where are you going, handsome?

To the president's office.

- The president? - The president of what?

The president of the president's office.

Can't you redo the posters?

Too expensive, my dear.

But you must redo them, my dear.

They've been sent all over France, my dear.

Then call them back, my dear.

And burn the lot.

- You're charming. - And you're stupid.

If you don't call them back in the next 5 minutes,

- I'll cause a calamity or a scandal. - What's the difference?

If I were to shoot you,

it would be a calamity for you.

If I tried to kill myself

or ripped off my clothes and cried rape,

that would be a scandal. See the difference now?

- Come, don't be childish... - 5 minutes!

- Well? - Well what?

Your 5 minutes are up!

- But... - You don't get it!

Oh, my dearest friend!

Thank you very much for coming so promptly.

Just give me one minute to conclude my important business with the lady.

She's one of our biggest stars.

One minute. Just give me one minute.

And don't stray from the door.

- Right, you... - Don't take that tone!

- I'm not your mistress. - You're mistress to all but me!

You want to start shooting?

Not before I've slapped your face.

Get it?

- But... - Quiet. Not a sound.

I can't do anything this time. But never mind.

But that young man outside is bringing me millions.

- Him? - Yes, him.

I can't tell you his name, I promised to keep it secret.

But I can tell you that his father

owns coal mines and foundries in the north of France,

four department stores in New York and two in London.

He's a multi-millionaire. In dollars!

What's he financing?

5 or 6 films with you starring.

- Right! - My word of honour.

But if you make a scene,

he'll lose confidence and won't give the cash.

But if you behave like a lady, with all your natural chic,

anything could happen for you.

So leave me alone with him. You'll see.

"With...", you promise?

Why have "with" when you can have "starring"!

Come in, my dear chap.

Give me one minute... Take a seat.

One minute to see the lady out.

Naturally.

Sir, I don't know your name,

but I'd like to say that if one day

I have the honour of appearing in one of your films,

I'd give you my best.

And that's saying something!

Madam, the honour would be all mine!

This way, dear lady.

At last.

Here we are.

But that doorman!

I guess he's right, because if he let everyone in,

we wouldn't be able to work in peace.

Saved!

So tell me, old chap... Who are you?

I am... the schpountz.

- You're... - The schpountz.

Yes, yes, of course.

Know what I mean?

You most certainly are what you say. No two ways about it.

But on this occasion,

what can I do that would please you?

Finalise my contract.

You have a contract?

- Here it is. - Excuse me... Thank you.

What do you think?

Very interesting. 1000 dollars a week isn't bad.

- To start with. - Yes, naturally.

Because after...

Yes, but for now, what would make you happy?

To know what time shooting starts.

But I must inform you that I refuse to film this morning.

I flatly refuse that.

I quite agree.

I need time to study my lines, to choose my costume and make-up.

- I hope you understand. - Perfectly.

- I'd like to start at about 4:23 pm. - It's noted.

I'll need my lines a full 10 minutes beforehand.

It's noted.

And as I left without a large sum of money,

I require an immediate advance of 10,000 francs.

As paragraph 43 of my contract states.

Your wish is my command. I'll fetch the money in banknotes.

Please don't think me a man of money.

But we need to make my contract binding.

You as a businessman, and me as an artiste!

Very well, sir. Just give me one minute.

That minute, sir...

I grant you.

Thank you.

He seems a little crazy.

A very good start.

Adolphe!

There's a nut in my office!

Have two stagehands remove him!

What's your use if you let nuts onto the lot?

There are so many nuts in here,

I don't know who to let in and who not!

What's he like?

Tall guy with a long face and a contract for the schpountz!

I threw him out. He must've sneaked back in.

Hello! Is that you, Edouard?

Can you remove a loony from the boss's office?

But nicely!

Do it nicely. Two or three thick ears, but no more.

Hello, sir.

Gentlemen.

We came to say the boss can't meet you.

What? But he's already met me.

Then the meeting's over.

Over? I think there's been a misunderstanding.

And I also think, good sirs, that you are mistaken!

We're just doing our job.

Will you walk out normally, or would you like some help?

Gents, you're dicing with your living here.

Watch it or you'll lose your jobs.

For I am not budging from this armchair.

Then the armchair will have to move.

Come on, Edouard.

I'd love to see the president's face when he sees I'm not in his office!

I saw him, I tell you!

Impossible, we're telling you!

Ask Adolphe then.

What's up?

You went a bit far this time, giving that fruitcake a contract.

- You saw him? - Sure. And not for the last time.

He's nuts. He came all the way from Marseilles to camp at my door.

And he'll end up firing shots at me.

That one? I don't think so.

You're numbskulls for letting him on that train.

There are enough loonies around Paris

without bringing more from the south. And this one's far from done!

The schpountz!

You spell the end of this!

What's up, old chap?

You're not aware of the misunderstanding?

Not at all.

First, the doorman stopped me entering the studios.

- That already seemed odd. - And it was!

I awaited my chance and slipped in surreptitiously

with a truck.

- A fine debut in resourcefulness. - Well I wasn't born yesterday!

I found the president's office and entered.

He let you in?

With open arms. He was expecting me.

He said that?

He did, he did.

I told him about my chat with the bosses and my plans...

Only natural. And how did he react?

He was enchanted. Totally enchanted.

He went to get me an advance of 10,000 francs.

- I didn't ask for too much? - Not at all.

A few minutes later, in came three gorillas

who literally threw me out.

They carried me in an armchair into the street. How about that?

Such swift action seems to result from a misunderstanding.

A misunderstanding or a cabal?

There is possibly a cabal at work.

It must be a cabal. And I know who started it.

Really? Who?

That woman with the pointy nose.

The sensual one who writes things down

and is trying to thwart me.

Françoise? Why her?

She treated me so abominably that I'll tell you everything.

I rejected her advances.

- When? - Two days ago.

She asked to meet in secret.

- What? - Yes. In secret.

She told my brother not to tell anyone.

I went and I was rather clumsy.

So in anger, she told me my contract was just a trick

and that it was best I stay at home.

- And if I were to tell you... - What?

That the contract wasn't serious

and that you could take the 20:46 train home.

I'd say it was she who put you up to it

and that you were another Judas.

Everyone's against me.

They want to bar my way, but I'll bust through the barriers.

Woe to the hypocrites, false friends and bandits!

I'll smash them like glass. How could they? To me?

Calm down, old boy, I was only joking.

I know I was stupid, but it was just a joke.

Very bad taste, sir. Very bad indeed.

- With me or against me? - With you, of course.

Fine... Sit down.

If you help me today...

I will help you later.

Thank you, you're too kind.

No, don't thank me.

Listen...

No one can get in my way

if I can keep in touch with the president.

Presently, I am out of touch.

Do you have the necessary clout and authority

over that giant doorman to get me onto the lot?

Maybe the giant doorman is a member of the cabal.

That explains everything.

So, what do we do?

Look... Take these shooting scripts.

Go round to the back door of the studios...

Is there a doorman?

There is.

Giant?

No, tiny.

You walk past boldly and say, "Lab!"

"Lab"?

If he asks why, you say, "Astruc!"

"Astruc"?

- Yes. I'm Astruc. - Oh, you're Astruc!

Very well... "Lab, Astruc..."

"Astruc, lab..."

Excellent, excellent!

Well, Astruc... goodbye.

Is it true you met him in secret?

It wasn't in secret. We met on the hotel terrace.

But you didn't tell anyone.

I don't have to account for all I do.

No, but a secret's a secret!

And the schpountz is convinced

you're thwarting him as he wouldn't sleep with you.

- You offered to? - He believes so.

He said he'd smash anyone barring his way like glass.

He was so stupid and pretentious,

I told him how to get here so we can teach him a lesson.

- Lab! - Who for?

- Astruc! - In the canteen.

Thanks.

Has anyone seen Napoleon?

What is it?

There you are, Mr Napoleon!

You're on. Come, Mr Napoleon.

Finally ready?

- Si, signor, I'm ready! - Ready ready?

Perfectly. The extras are rehearsed just as they should be.

You know, this is the 37th take.

Money's flying and the film's still not done.

My contract ends tonight. Tomorrow it's 20,000 francs per day.

But I will finish tonight!

If not, I'll shoot myself with a gun like a machine-gun

and cut my throat with the make-up artist's razor!

So calm down, Napoleon, and come with me.

- I am calm. - Then come.

You too, please, Mr Pope. And you.

It will be magnificent, splendid, superb!

Watch your step, Napoleon.

Scusate mi,

Avanti, avanti!

Who's that chap?

Bodigar Glazounow. German, Turkish, or something.

He took a Russian name but speaks Italian.

Which helped him become a big French director.

Any talent?

What would he do if he had?

Anyway, he wanted to do an epic and isn't managing.

What if we sent him the schpountz?

We make him up, dress him as a general,

and just throw him on set.

- It'd be explosive. - With fireworks up his arse!

- And Glazounow screaming! - Interesting!

In his anger, he might reveal his mother tongue!

Don't count me in on it.

Gentlemen!

- Did our friend explain? - He did indeed.

Did he tell you of my difficulties

caused by a secret, subtle influence?

- A cabal! - Of course he did.

And on my arrival, the aforesaid cabal

made a hasty exit.

Thanks to him, I'm in my rightful place.

We're delighted. It was high time.

I do admit that this cabal...

caused me to suffer deep humiliation.

I had to come in the back door under a false pretext.

- Everything starts small. - It's romantic.

In a way, yes. But let me tell you something.

In the hope that everyone will benefit from it.

I came in the back door, but I shall leave by the front!

- I'll shake on that. - Thanks.

- Maybe sooner than you think. - Thanks again.

There'll be weeping and gnashing of teeth!

- Most probably. - Maybe kicks in the butt too!

No. I'd never kick...

a cabal.

Let's get down to business.

I just saw Mr Meyerboom. He was very interested in your visit.

So he said. You have my 10,000?

Oh, yes! Where's that 10,000 gone?

Mr Meyerboom gave his secretary a cheque.

She'll bring it to you.

Now, you'll have to have a screen test.

Must I accept?

- Absolutely. - In your own interests.

Very well.

What does this screen test consist of?

Remember, this is only a test.

It's so we can classify you.

For your voice, your posture,

and especially your presence.

It will be a vital lesson for you.

Certainly. But I am a little worried about the make-up.

I'm wondering if this make-up

doesn't mask my range of expressions.

Not at all. On the contrary.

Frankly, make-up man...

I barely recognise myself.

But that look in your eyes! What are you saying?

- It's all in the eyes. - You're right.

It's all in the eyes.

Promise my name won't be on the poster?

There's no danger of that.

Because I don't know if I'll be any good

or how well it will go.

We know you'll make a sensational entrance!

And an even more astonishing exit!

Thank you.

Let's do it. Goodbye, make-up man.

After you, General.

Signal the cameraman.

Is he weeping?

- Almost there. You have your lines? - Sure I have.

Once again, whispering.

Whispering?

I'll play Napoleon. OK, start.

"Sire...

"In the name of the Grande Armée,

"in memory of Waterloo and heralding St Helena,

"I come to say farewell or rather..."

Oh, my hat!

- "Farewell" is where I kneel? - Exactly.

- All right? - Yes.

- I run in like I just dismounted? - Right.

- And I interrupt Napoleon? - With authority.

Count on me, I'll cut him off.

When it comes to interruptions...

"Napoleon", scene 1 094, take 38,

Take 38? Because I wasn't here.

Farewell, my children!

Fine voice!

My wishes go with you always,

Keep me in your memory,

- Well... - Go!

- I'm on? - Go for it.

In the name of the Grande Armée,

in memory of Waterloo and heralding St Helena,

I come to say farewell, or rather adieu!

What the hell is this?

But that wasn't even in the script!

After him!

To me! They did such a thing to me!

He's hidden in Props.

Leave the poor chap. He just earned us an extra day's pay.

You're right. Let's pretend we can't find him.

Come quickly.

Say, old boy!

They didn't hit you, did they?

Don't be so upset. It's no tragedy.

- It was just a joke. - We didn't mean to hurt you.

- You went too far. - It was just a friendly lesson.

- He should accept it. - Say, Irénée...

Has he gone mad?

Admit that I had you fooled.

True. I thought he was crying.

Cry? Me? Why?

Because I tricked you?

So you tricked us, did you?

What trick?

You don't get it? Then you don't get anything.

Get what?

That in this whole story, you're the schpountzes!

I wasn't fooled for a second.

The whole thing was a bit silly.

Did you really think I wanted to be in the movies?

Well, it was because you said so.

You know why I said that?

Because when I saw you were a bunch of heartless idiots...

I had fun with you.

That wasn't very charitable.

Why should I be charitable?

Do you know any charitable people?

Show me one here.

If one day you meet a schpountz or an imbecile,

wouldn't you try to poke fun at him?

Only... for it to succeed,

it has to be done with more skill

and much more spirit.

Luckily you happened on me.

And it was I...

who fooled you.

You did it very well. And we're not taking it badly.

- We're not at all angry. - On the contrary.

- I find you very spiritual. - Sure. And elegant too.

What you tried to do wasn't very elegant.

Especially you, the phoney American.

If I was some poor, penniless guy...

What then?

- We'd buy you lunch. - And your ticket home.

Thanks, but don't bother.

To see this through, it's what we should do.

You'd pretend not to know,

and we'd be a train ticket out of pocket.

It's only fair.

Do it for us as a favour.

When our pals find out you tricked us,

we'll be laughing stocks.

Too bad for you.

Poor chap. I like your strength of character.

You call me a poor chap?

Poor photographer!

Listen to me, the lot of you.

I'm rich. I've been in business 10 years.

My father left me a large sum.

I have offices everywhere: Marseilles, Lyons, Paris.

When I met you, I had gone to visit my uncle's grocery.

He wrote and told me business was bad so I went to help out.

Because I...

have a good heart and I don't mock idiots.

Then since I had business in Paris...

I came here just to see how far you could push your cruelty.

I saw...

and now I know.

As for train tickets, I could buy them for all of you!

And for every schpountz in the galaxy!

The railway would make a packet!

Gents, the boss wants to see you right now in his office.

- Mr Meyerboom? - There's a real hoo-ha going on.

That Russian director is screaming his head off.

They brought some idiot from Marseilles.

I don't like idiots coming onto a set where I am working.

I understand entirely.

I will impose sanctions, rest assured.

Dear friend, it's impossible. I've lost all inspiration.

My nerves are shot. I can't take any more.

How about a whisky in the canteen?

You could carry on filming later.

One, two, three whiskies...

I'll try.

- I'll try. - Take it easy.

Maybe four whiskies.

Let's go.

Look after Irénée. See you after the fight.

- He'll give us a grilling. - For this?

Worse still, his office has dreadful acoustics.

- Do we tell him the truth? - Of course. Who do you think we are?

We've enough vices, without being liars too.

Let's go, then.

So, do you get it now?

Since the very first day.

Miss, please excuse me. I must meet with my board.

Irénée, stop being silly. There's no point.

How much money do you have?

Me? One franc fifty.

What are you going to do?

Anything. Or rather, nothing.

I can't think straight. I don't know where I am.

You're at the studios. Tonight you'll have a ticket home.

A ticket? All you talk about is my train ticket!

Like it was a cure-all.

It won't cure me of being stupid.

But if only a train would!

I did warn you.

That's the worst thing.

I should've understood.

But I didn't understand.

Because you're pure and you're...

- Stupid! - No, not at all.

It's just that your confidence blinds you.

Confidence in who? In me?

You know, I admired myself.

When there was no reason to.

And not only that. I treated others with contempt.

That was the logical outcome of my self-admiration.

From my pedestal, others seemed so small.

Small, petty and stupid.

Dreadful!

For such a deception, don't imagine that...

No. I don't imagine anything.

I don't even find this episode tragic.

No one sheds a tear for the misfortunes of an idiot.

Not even the idiot.

What I truly regret are my past actions.

Take my uncle.

I despised him with all my heart.

Affectionately, sure. But I still despised him.

- You were wrong to. - Too right.

He worked hard to feed me and gave me spending money.

And I spoke to him insolently

with my lofty pretentiousness and stupidity.

I was ashamed of the grocery.

The grocery should've been ashamed of me.

Come on, it's not such a drama.

But it is.

I thought I was someone, when in fact I'm a nobody.

There's a big difference.

There are other careers than being a movie star.

Not for me.

I have a degree in For You and Movie World.

That won't make me a newsstand architect.

Lots of people aren't newsstand architects.

I can't do anything.

I can't even bang in a nail.

I tried once.

But I broke a finger.

I'm a qualified good-for-nothing.

The sad and pretentious Sir Good-for-nothing!

My uncle always said,

"You're not good-for-nothing, but terrible-at-everything."

And when he was really angry, he'd say,

"Go and drown yourself, you useless clod!"

I should've done it.

You conducted yourselves like ragamuffins.

People who owe their livings

and joys to the movies

should have the greatest respect for the filming of an epic.

By delaying the end of Napoleon,

you have also delayed Manon Lescaut.

Your charming prank will cost me at least 25,000 francs!

What say you?

Nothing!

But I do.

When you work for Meyerboom,

your boss, but moreover your friend,

and your prank costs him 25,000 francs,

you at least invite him to join in,

so that he can have a laugh too.

- If we'd known. - I could kiss him.

You're not very nice at all.

I'm in this office all day long,

tearing my hair out,

calculating, looking for a way to finance the next film.

My lawyer smiles at me like an undertaker,

while you make your own film.

You play hilarious pranks, but never invite me in.

- Why? - We daren't.

Because... well... because...

Because I'm old.

Do you know when you're old?

When youngsters stop involving you. You call everyone "tu".

But no calls you "tu" any more.

You all call each other "tu".

Director, actors, stagehands...

You all work together,

eat together, play tricks together...

You're like a bouquet of flowers,

full of intelligence, friendship and laughter.

I tried to become one of you.

Impossible!

If only you'd involved me once,

if you'd let me in on a joke,

I'd have felt I had slipped under the string that fastens the bouquet.

That would've been something.

But no, never!

He's a Jew and he's the boss!

Mr Meyerboom...

See: "Mr Meyerboom"!

When I'm not there, it's "That old fart Meyerboom".

Or "That idiot Meyerboom".

Not one of you ever has the kindness to say,

"How you doing, old mate?"

I'll never know friendship like that again.

And that's what old age is!

You're dismissed.

- But Mr Meyerboom... - It's all right, sir.

Off you go, gentlemen, off you go!

Go play pranks without me!

And if that phoney Russian, Italian or Turk screams at you,

if that director says anything at all,

give his butt a kick from me!

You're here? What I just told them was stupid.

Oh no, it wasn't stupid at all.

You weren't involved in that daft prank,

but how about a good deed?

It's not as youthful, but if you like.

It's that poor boy we brought from Marseilles.

The schpountz. He's penniless.

He can't go home because he left in a huff.

He'd rather drown himself than go home after two days.

He'd be wrong to. So what does he want?

He wanted to act. But he'd be happy with any job.

This morning he came across as a loony.

Maybe he could work in Props.

OK, I'll go back and get the rest.

A Provençal clock with chimes that work.

We have one.

A big, varnished cup-and-ball.

I can knock one up about 2 metres high.

No, one as big as a melon will do.

That's it. Ready for noon tomorrow?

I'll see.

I'll be upset if it's not.

- There's a lot. - All right.

The music-box is vital. The director insists on it.

A music-box circa 1880.

Approx 50 x 30, ebony, handle on the right

and it plays J'ai du bon tabac and La Cantinère du Régiment.

- In what key? - What do you mean?

In A-flat, C-sharp or D?

I like to know what I'm asked for.

Circa and approx always end in fights.

Say what you want and I'll find it. But don't be vague.

It complicates matters.

OK.

Irénée's not only comical in his looks,

but in how he talks, how he walks, how he sits,

in the faces he pulls...

He's a natural. He doesn't know he's a comic.

- He may be a genius. - And you may be sweet on him.

Mr Meyerboom! With his big teeth!

Grandma, why are your teeth so big?

- All the better to eat you with! - I'm not Red Riding Hood!

Always be wary of comics.

They make more women swoon than the looks of lead actors.

So this genius is in Props.

My studio would be no good if it left geniuses in Props.

So we'll find him a part.

What do you say?

- No. And no again. - Why not?

I've been happy for a year. It's a small job, but I like it.

It's the only possible job for me, because it's a madman's job.

So I say no.

Listen. Here's what I need for tomorrow.

Three monkeys. Peculiar music-box.

Sealskin kayak. E-flat hunting horn.

Orange-blossom crown. Worm in a jar.

Veterinary syringe. 2 kg of black olives. Dumb parrot.

I'm thinking of it now. I'll dream of it.

By noon tomorrow, I'll have found, rented or bought it all.

And if someone won't sell it to me, I'll steal it.

It's fascinating.

In that case, I won't insist.

You're entitled to insist, but it'll change nothing.

I no longer see the actors in movies.

All I look at are the props.

If the props are well chosen and fit the set, the film is good.

Props people aren't admired enough.

People don't realise that a badly chosen teapot

can totally ruin a love scene.

I'd blame a bad actor rather than a teapot.

Maybe. All the more reason for me not to act.

I don't mind supplying my teapot.

But not the mug as well.

And what if I were awful?

The reason I am among you is to say

I will not be at tonight's projection.

Why not?

I have no desire to see a film I star in booed.

Mr Galubert, it has never happened and never will.

I, Galubert,

France's one and only true actor,

is engaged at high cost for the lead

in a charming film called Son of the Bedouin.

The film you shall see tonight.

One of the bit parts around my own, which serve to highlight me,

featured a second comic.

A role so unimportant that Meyerboom gave it

to a debutant who was, I believe, thirty-fifth props man.

I, Galubert, accepted to play alongside this props man.

You were most kind.

But he has none of your class. Alongside you, he'll vanish.

All we see is him. That I know.

When Galubert plays, one should be thankful.

When an expensive Galubert is used

to launch a star who's paid peanuts,

Galubert doesn't stand for it.

Master...

stay with us to witness your triumph.

I will not attend this projection.

I will be presented by a bailiff.

For there are crimes against art akin to sacrilege.

Ladies, gentlemen, I take my leave.

Exit backstage!

The old ham!

What he says isn't true.

Oh, but it's perfectly true.

This former glory was enticed into a trap.

And the old ham had his throat slit.

You exaggerate!

No, I don't. I'm not from Marseilles.

The future is quite clear.

Irénée's part is perfect and will bring him as a comic.

But Galubert is dead. Time to buy a fishing rod!

He'll retire comfortably. He has millions.

So too will Irénée.

Does that bother you?

No. I'm glad for him.

Anyway, where is he?

He dressed up for the projection.

Then hit by sudden nerves, he's pacing the corridors.

He won't attend the projection. But I prefer that.

Why are they laughing so much?

Must be that idiot Galubert.

At least they're having fun.

But if that's the case, my love scene won't move them.

They'll probably laugh at that!

Especially as... Oh, if they laugh, it's the end!

At least I can fall back on the grocery.

I'll have to... Françoise!

- You did it! - What?

- They applauded twice. - Who?

- You. Personally. - My love scene?

That hasn't come yet.

- Will they like it? - I'm sure.

I'm sure too.

- Are you sure? - Absolutely!

Will they cry?

Let me be first to tell you what you'll surely hear later.

The film will be a huge hit.

But maybe not in the way that you think.

A hit for all but me?

No. You're a complete smash!

But there are several scenes...

the ones you'd call emotional...

The main ones!

Well, they're having a huge impact.

But they're inducing emotions mixed...

with comedy.

- When I cry, they laugh? - Not meanly.

- But they laugh. - Not grossly.

In fact...

the truth is, you are a great comic actor!

- Me? - Yes. Everyone says so.

The producers, the critics... You're a revelation!

They're looking for you now to give you a contract.

- And my love scene? - Will make them laugh.

- But I played it for real. - And that's why.

11:20 pm, the love scene.

They're sitting there mocking me.

There are different ways of laughing.

Of not laughing and feeling sorrow too.

Why should you feel sorrow? You'll be rich and famous.

So what? My misfortune is the worst.

Not achieving your aim is true disappointment.

But achieving the very opposite of your aim

is the absolute proof that you're a total idiot.

Untrue. You never fully know yourself.

Imagine an inventor who invents a gun that fires further than others.

At the first try, the gun shoots backwards.

The inventor, so full of hope and pride,

takes the bullet in his guts, topples over and dies.

Well my gun just backfired!

I feel sadder than if I were dead.

Your success will revive you.

You think I'll accept success as a comic? No way!

Why not?

Laugh. Make 'em laugh. Become the king of laughter.

It's less scary than the guillotine, but equally defamatory.

But why?

Around 9 pm, after dining with wives or mistresses,

men will say, "Now we're replete and the day's business is over,

"let's watch a film that will stop us thinking,

"pose no problems

"and shake up our guts to help the digestion."

You exaggerate!

No. It's even worse.

What they want in a comic

is a man that will make them look better.

So for the comic, the make-up artist deepens a wrinkle.

He accentuates a defect.

Instead of correcting my face and creating a superior being,

he degrades him with all the skills of his art.

And if I'm a success as a comic,

it will mean that throughout France, every man will be able to say,

"Tonight, I'm happy. I saw and showed to my wife

"a man uglier and more stupid than I."

And I'll have no success at all with some educated people.

Professors, doctors, priests...

I'll never make them laugh.

For their souls are so high as to be moved by pity.

Françoise, one man laughs at another,

when he feels superior to him.

The man who makes everyone laugh

shows himself as inferior to all.

- Only "shows". But he isn't. - Why not?

Because the actor isn't the man.

You've seen Chaplin having his butt kicked in films.

Would the real Chaplin accept so much as a slap?

He's more likely to give them. The real Chaplin is a leader.

Then why debase himself?

Those who make people laugh on film don't debase themselves.

Making laugh farm labourers

with hands so calloused they won't close.

Or office workers

whose shrunken lungs have forgotten the taste of air.

Or factory workers with bowed heads,

broken nails and oil ingrained into their skin.

Or those who are slowly dying.

Or those who have lost their mother.

- Who are these people? - All of us. We all lose our mothers.

He who, for an instant, makes them forget misery,

fatigue, anxiety and death,

who makes them laugh when they should cry,

who gives them the strength to live,

we love as a benefactor.

Even if he debases himself before them?

If he agrees to debase himself, he is even greater for it.

Because he sacrifices pride to lighten our loads.

We should call them Saint Molière and Saint Charlie!

But laughter itself.

It's an absurd, vulgar convulsion.

Don't speak ill of laughter.

It doesn't exist in the wild.

Animals don't laugh, trees don't laugh.

Mountains have never laughed. Only man...

Man and babes who haven't yet learnt to talk.

Laughter is human. The domain of man alone.

Maybe a gift from God to console us for being intelligent.

When you played the lead in this film, dear friend,

it was an experiment.

An expensive one, as I invested one million.

Not my million, so not the end of the world!

But you need courage to risk other people's money.

I agree. But others need it too.

No, no! Backers never understand.

As I risked this money on an unknown,

I didn't pay you much.

8000 francs for 30 days was lovely.

No, it wasn't enough. Because you played the part well.

With its foreseen success, I've rounded it up.

I'll give you an immediate bonus of 42,000 francs.

That's an entirely honest total of 50,000.

And you deserve it.

A gesture as correct as it is generous.

But first you must sign

a piece of paper, a new contract.

- Just show me where. - Is it already drawn up?

No, but he could sign the paper and I'll sort it out later.

He'll sort it out.

Sort yourself out rather than be sorted out by Mr Meyerboom.

What are the new clauses?

500,000 francs.

- 500,000 just for me? - Yes, for you.

Half a million!

Per film?

No, for my life. He's buying me for half a million.

Impossible. That would be totally nuts.

I'm not buying him. It's one year's salary.

500,000 a year is too much in my opinion.

Here's a reasonable, understanding man.

Put yourself in Mr Meyerboom's shoes.

If I could make women weep, I wouldn't refuse.

But I'm a comic.

If he risks 500,000 he'll never get it back.

Let's get that straight.

That's common sense.

Are you sure my film will be a hit?

- Of course not. - See. Of course not.

If you want to carry on being a stupid schpountz,

I'll go and leave you to it.

No, please don't go, Françoise.

Then shut up.

Not so fast!

Before signing a contract,

you read it and think it over.

Mr Meyerboom, as you have guests waiting,

you two go meet them and leave me the papers.

You can sign tomorrow.

You're right. After a good night's rest

the mind is clearer

and enthusiasm calms down.

He'll change his mind.

Only one bite at the cherry!

Especially when I'm the cherry!

Here's what I suggest.

I'll get rid of the guests while you read the contract

and we'll conclude here later. All right?

I'd rather not go. Too many people.

And I'm bashful.

He's right. Then I can give a speech on the modesty of the triumphant.

A private celebrity is always a nice thing.

Here's the contract.

Here's the cheque.

In the meantime, drink to me with a glass of champagne.

Mr Meyerboom, isn't she amazingly intelligent?

She might not be so for everyone!

- What did he mean by that? - No idea.

I'm really pleased for him.

He's a nice chap.

And he'll go far.

As long as he doesn't marry a woman of course.

Who should he marry then?

I fear he may marry Françoise.

I fear so too.

Poor old thing.

We'll lose two friends.

Until their divorce.

Because I cannot accept

that a man and woman can suffer cohabitation for long.

Come on, let's go and drink.

We'll drown our disillusions.

Basically, it's a disastrous triumph.

You could also call it a triumphant disaster.

500,000 a year is really something!

I'm thinking of my uncle's face when he learns I'll be rich,

of my brother's joy,

of my neighbours' admiration.

Indeed it must be a great joy for a man

to leave his village poor and return rich and famous.

- It deserves to be seen. - It does.

Then come see it.

- Me? - Yes. Come with me.

Where?

Eoures. My village near Marseilles.

- I can't. - Your sweetheart would get mad?

- He's jealous? - No.

- He watches you? - No.

- He's rich? - No.

What does he eat and how does he dress?

He neither eats nor dresses.

You're mocking me.

I am. I have no sweetheart and never have had one.

A maiden!

A spinster!

No... Spinsters have moustaches.

And they kiss parrots.

I see you as a maiden.

But despite your immense intellect,

it's amazing how silly you can be.

Me?

Yes, you.

When you tell the whole canteen you have a sweetheart,

you don't realise

you'll be giving some poor chap a sleepless night.

I'm talking about Astruc, Dromart and the others,

whom you've given sleepless nights.

If not sleepless, then fitful.

So why say you have a sweetheart?

So no one is shocked.

Well I'm not in the least shocked you have no sweetheart.

So where do you live and why have none of your pals been there?

Because I live with my mother.

- Like a novel. - No. Like real life.

Then there's no one to stop you going to the south with me.

Now you're rich, you think everyone else is.

I have a job!

Gimme a laugh! Your job is to look after me.

That contract for 100,000 or 50,000 or 350,000...

or whatever, I can't remember!

Is that money just for me?

No. It's for us.

As associates, of course. Let's talk business.

As a businessman, I say half the money is yours.

Otherwise I won't sign. No, no and no again!

Now I'm being cold.

What job title is worth so much?

The one you choose.

I can't choose. And what will Mother say?

I'll see to her.

I don't mean I'll strangle her.

But I'll visit her, once I know her address,

and I'll say, "Madam, I'm Irénée." And she'll say, "Irénée who?"

No. I've told her all about you.

That'll make it easier.

So I'll say, "I'm Irénée and I'm rich."

She'll say, "I know, my daughter said."

And I'll say, "I bet she didn't say I owe everything to her."

Untrue!

I'm not addressing you but your mother!

She'll say, "What do you want?"

I'll say, "Will you give me your daughter's hand...

"in... in...

"management."

- She'll think you want to wed me. - If so, too bad.

But if she gives me your hand, I'll be obliged to keep it in mine.

Would that please me?

I don't know. I'm just saying that by logic and reason

I must offer you a kind of conjugal partnership.

As you know, I rarely play the guitar beneath your window.

I've no idea where your window is and I can't play guitar!

Without you, I can't manage in life.

I need you. As a businessman.

This isn't a love scene, so it's not comical.

So let me say, in all sincerity,

that it's necessary I marry you.

Interesting, even.

Being your husband may not be paradise...

I have no desire to kiss you.

But not being your husband would be a great inconvenience.

So our marriage will be based on reason.

Reason? No, that's too sad!

If I ever get married,

it will be for love.

Then listen. By forcing ourselves,

applying ourselves and suggesting to ourselves,

let's have a love marriage.

- Love doesn't happen like that. - Of course it does.

I'm telling you, if I force myself...

If I force myself...

I'd even kiss you.

I said: if I force myself.

Then don't.

Fine. Only when I'm richer.

Yes, you're not rich enough yet.

What must I earn for you to say yes?

Let's see...

I'll marry you the day you have a car like Mr Meyerboom's.

That big, huge one?

In that case,

I'll work at being a great comic in order to win you over.

Perhaps that great desire will give me the talent

that I may not truly possess.

Still talking as a businessman?

Not as a businessman... I'm just talking, talking,

talking... Pain in the butt!

We've been waiting for you.

Everything going well?

Not exactly. But nothing is going badly.

Does the lawyer accept the contract?

We agree. But he would like one more thing.

Actors are big children, with caprices and desires.

What is it?

Tell him.

Me?

I'm not entirely sure.

You daren't tell him?

Then I will. He'd like, on signing...

Yes, he'd like, on signing...

What does he want?

He'd like to have your car.

What? My car?

No. She's kidding!

What? You don't want Mr Meyerboom's car right away?

Of course I do. I now realise I do.

I'll do 6 films for free in exchange.

- Agreed. - No. The car's a gift.

And what a gift!

A gift that could end up wound round a tree.

For one month, you can have my chauffeur too.

Now sign.

I really don't understand you.

Are all these props necessary?

Yes, because they make me happy.

If I go home, dressed like this,

with you, in that car,

I'll never find them just how they used to be.

If I go home alone,

in my old suit,

and spring my success on them, then it's more...

More dramatic.

Isn't it natural for an actor to want to be dramatic?

You'll see.

Wait here. I'll be back.

Hide under a dust-cover.

This makes me laugh.

Not me. I'm all emotional.

Why?

- What if they won't see me? - You come back here very quickly.

Indeed!

What if I changed back and you came with me?

If you like.

Then they'd look on me as a success.

And I'd think they'd welcomed me because of the car.

Naturally.

In that case, I'll go like this.

If I go like this, they'll see me as a disaster.

Then I'd say they gave me a bad welcome...

a bad welcome, because I'm poor.

Then I'd think...

Hurry up and go.

But my thinking!

You're not thinking of anything at all.

Go and get on with your experiment. But hurry. I'll wait here.

Hey, what about me?

I can't kiss you, the waiter's watching.

You've every right to kiss your wife.

Legally, yes. But what if he's thinking,

"Why is that daft comic kissing that beautiful, intelligent woman?"

I'm not beautiful and you're not daft.

- What will you do while I'm gone? - Write to my mother.

- Your mother? - Yes, of course!

Then we're not properly wed.

You'll write to "our" mother!

And I'm going to check out "our" uncle.

Very well.

And don't smoke too much.

Because you're married now.

Is that you?

It is. Hello, Uncle.

Hey, Casimir! Come and see a ghost from the past!

I'm no ghost, I'm me.

Irénée, at last!

- Are you well? - Yes. As you see.

As we see. He's lost weight, eh?

Hungry, I guess.

No, I'm not. I had a late lunch.

Tell me the truth. You're not hungry?

No, really.

If you're hungry, just say.

If I was hungry, I'd say. I had a big lunch at two.

- Too bad. - Why?

- It ruins my plan. - Which was?

I always knew you'd be back.

- How? - Common sense.

When a clown goes out into the world with only a pea for a brain,

it always ends with the crackpot coming home.

- And if he's too broke to return? - There's always a way to get home!

The Marseilles Embassy in Paris. Other family members did it.

They repatriated your dad several times.

From Mauritius, Hong Kong,

and once from Latin America... Colombia...

or Guatemala.

Anyway, some godforsaken country.

And I was right, because you're here.

Only I thought, as he's proud and pretentious,

he'd only return as a last resort.

I saw him crossing the threshold on a winter's night,

pale, teeth chattering and starving.

I'd approach him wordlessly.

No screams, no slaps.

I'd take his hand, sit him down in the corner,

then still without a word

I'd open a tin of foie gras.

- New? - New!

Then I'd grill two sausages with rosemary.

He'd eat for a long time in silence.

Then he'd turn to me, his eyes filled with tears,

and I'd say...

"You daft twerp...

"come give me a hug."

You could still say it.

No. It wouldn't be natural!

That's not how I planned it.

That's your fault too!

Prodigal sons usually return sad and thin on winter nights.

You return replete and happy on a spring afternoon!

You can't do anything normally!

Come on...

Come in, anyway.

Try not to make Auntie cry.

Come on then.

- You borrowed money for the journey? - I was lent it.

Tell me his name and address so I can send the money back.

It's a friend.

Don't want to tell me?

Then I'll give you the money and you send it.

Casimir, the bottle of Muscat and the big glasses!

He can tell us all his adventures.

Sit down, Clarisse.

So off you went to Paris, clutching your famous contract.

You took it to the office.

But they'd played a trick on you.

- A trick? - Right.

Bastards!

They met a fool and had fun with him, that's all.

- Exactly. - What next?

They threw me out.

Into the street?

No, the pavement.

- Well I never! - Imagine...

- Alone in Paris... - And broke!

Broke, yes. Alone, no. I was with the gay tricksters!

- Who were remorseful. - Almost.

- And they fed you. - Yes.

For a year?

No. They found him a job. Clerk, cleaner, doorman...

Pretty much.

He made a modest living

but hope of some minor success still gently burnt.

Did hope gently burn?

It barely simmered.

Just as I thought.

The flame of this hope gradually began to die.

And when it finally went out,

Irénée thought, "I'll return to the grocery."

Exactly.

You're amazing! You second-guess everything.

You've known me a long time, Clarisse.

And now...

let's drink to my perps... my presp...

my pers-pic-a-city!

It may be hard to say, but it's a precious quality.

Then indeed I do drink to your pers-pers-perspicacity.

Now sit down.

It's now necessary, to make things clear,

that I sum up the situation in a family speech.

Poor Irénée is back.

You departed, head high and crowing.

You return, head bowed,

totally stunned by life's hard lesson.

You now unquestioningly know

you're a hopeless, crazy good-for-nothing.

A human shipwreck.

But I have tact and I won't remind you of that.

Thank you, Uncle. But one supposition.

If I had become rich and famous, what would you have said?

- I'd have fallen on my arse! - Not me.

Shut up!

If you'd succeeded in a career I'd discouraged

you'd say it was due to a gift.

A god-given gift.

And as his uncle hadn't seen it, he'd be a real twerp.

You didn't try to stop me leaving!

But I couldn't hold you back! But if you'd succeeded...

What's this all about? You couldn't succeed.

I'm no connoisseur, but I can't see you in Faust.

Save for Act I with the long beard.

Another supposition. If I'd succeeded as a comic

and become a great comic actor...

- I wouldn't let you in. - Why not?

This is a grocery, but we're honourable.

No fart-arses in here!

I might go to see him, but he wouldn't perform here.

Imagine our good name of Fabre on a poster for tomfoolery!

Imagine a Fabre skiving off real work!

God forbid!

Why?

The name of your father and mine borne by a clown!

No way!

Anyway, thank God, you didn't succeed at anything.

Though perhaps, with time and patience,

you might make a grocer.

So you'd take me in?

Would I throw you onto the pavement like those others?

I never gave you a contract.

But you have an unwritten one which is no trick.

Thank you, Uncle.

There is one other thing.

- He's in debt! - No. Even worse.

I got married.

A Parisienne?

Yep!

- As rich as you? - About.

Is she in Paris?

No. At the bar on the corner.

- Shall I fetch her? - No, Casimir! I'll go myself.

Incredible! Irénée married!

And penniless!

Just like his poor dad.

Who on earth could this girl be?

Wait in the street next to the church.

When I signal, drive slowly past the grocery on your right.

Very good, sir.

I can't wait.

- Me neither. - Nor me.

Here they are.

It's the lady with the film crowd!

- Exactly. Hello, Casimir. - Here she is.

- This is your wife? - It is.

I mean, you're married, wed?

Married, blessed, loved and cherished.

- She's never worked in a store? - Never.

We'll have to educate her.

I'm not displeased with her. What's her name?

- Fabre. - What a coincidence!

She has the same name as us!

She has the same name as us because she's my wife!

How silly of me!

No, Clarisse. She didn't understand. What's her Christian name?

Françoise.

Françoise, I don't know you and should be suspicious.

When a Parisienne enters a Marseilles family, it's a big thing.

It's even bigger when that family owns a store.

I'll say something which may seem ridiculous

but which is true.

If we want people to trust us, we must give them our trust first.

I give you my trust.

Françoise, have a seat.

From today, this house is as much yours

as it is ours.

Sit, Françoise. Thank you, Uncle.

- I'll never forget this. - Go and sit down.

You were with the pranksters

who gave him that contract?

Yes, I was.

Well he played an even bigger joke on you.

Why?

He's big-hearted, but he doesn't have much up top.

And in a grocery, you need a lot.

- You've decided to make an effort? - I have.

A big effort that will surprise you.

I'm not asking for surprises.

You know what I want.

No. What?

To never leave the basket...

of croissants...

under the tap...

of the oil can.

OK. It'll never happen again.

So you want to put all your heart into your work?

All of it!

Here they both are in the grocery!

You may not like it much, but you'll have to get used to it.

To help you, I'll show you something.

Something very important.

The last letter I received from my brother.

Their father.

"Dear Baptiste..." That's me.

"I'm in Niamey..." That's in Africa.

"...where I thought I would find riches in gold dust and ivory.

"I found neither.

"However, I have contracted appendicitis,

"as one would in Aix or Grenoble..." Such fantasy!

"A young army doctor will operate in his tent.

"He advised me to write a will." Here it is.

"I bequeath all I own, which is mostly debts.

"See attached list."

Where is it?

I tore it up. It wasn't much. Only scrap.

A rifle, two suits and 100 francs to the local café.

- He owed us the most... - Shut up, Clarisse!

I paid off what he owed me in blood, sweat and tears.

So the debt doesn't exist and never has.

"I leave you my sons, which doesn't change things much.

"You've raised them since their mother died.

"Watch Irénée closely. He's big-hearted,

"but he's almost as nuts as I." Quite true!

"I also leave you my thanks and affection.

"You've always been a fine brother.

"In guise of thanks,

"I've often despised your profession

"and mocked your grocery.

"With my life in danger, I admit that of the two of us

"you were right.

"My idle wanderings, pretentiousness and vanity

"may come to an end in a tent in darkest Africa.

"Which is quite absurd.

"You're in back our village,

"consoling your lack of children by raising mine.

"But you know, brother, it's not ridiculous to slice saucisson

"if you do it for someone else.

"Life is as short as an African dusk.

"Those who aim too high often achieve nothing.

"So, as my good doctor sharpens his scalpel,

"I wanted to tell you that your life is beautiful, happy and noble.

"Because you have achieved your goal, however humble it is,

"with confidence and good humour.

"You know the peaceful greenery of our village,

"the glory of usefulness and the honour to serve.

"With all my love.

"Your brother, Edmond Fabre."

Our father wrote that?

- An hour before his death. - Why have you never read it?

Because it speaks too well of me.

Plus you didn't want to be a grocer, and that letter lauds grocers.

You'd have said I was fishing for my saint.

What saint?

The patron saints of grocers are very few:

Saint-Emilion, Saint-Marcellin...

They're edible and drinkable, but they're saints nonetheless.

Anyway, that's enough philosophy.

Now let's talk seriously.

We recently divided up the business.

That means the grocery can grow.

And now there are five of us!

I plan to buy Mr Arnaud's stable for a new store.

By mortgaging the house and my business,

I can pay it right off.

- How much is he asking? - 18,000 francs.

I don't have it.

I've scrimped and saved but only have 12,000.

Why only 12,000?

Because you raised your brother's sons.

What else could I do?

Many would've said, "They're not mine.

"They can go to an orphanage."

See how stupid I am? I didn't even consider it.

So before your eyes, every day, every hour,

we gobbled up Mr Arnaud's stable.

One day, one wall. The next, twelve tiles.

One day, the door. The next, the trough.

We scoffed all of Mr Arnaud's stable.

It wasn't nice of us.

It wasn't. Listen, Uncle...

You want Mr Arnaud's stable, it's yours.

I'll buy it for you.

And if you like, I'll buy Mr Arnaud with his pipe and pince-nez!

Irénée, stop it.

Don't start that again!

Uncle, don't worry about a thing.

I'll prove it to you right in front of your own door!

What's going on? Why's she laughing?

I'm very worried.

The pea has finally split.

- Well? - Well wait!

Wait for what?

Give me a few seconds.

Not a total waste of time! Casimir!

Bring the petrol pump handle!

American. If he's going to Aubagne, we sell the rubbish.

It's not American and it doesn't guzzle gas.

Since when do you know about cars?

I'm no connoisseur, but I know this one...

because it's mine.

What?

Lucien, leave the car here and wait for orders at the café.

Don't tell me...

No, not here. No family scenes in public.

Inside.

Closed for interesting conversation!

This must be a stolen car.

If you have a contract for 700,000 francs,

why this old suit?

A disguise. I wanted to know how you'd welcome me.

It's nothing. A fake moustache.

Make-up. Stuck on hair by hair.

How handsome he looks!

Very true!

- Despite looking like you. - Thanks.

- Do you make women weep? - No.

- You're the bad guy? - No.

- You don't sing? - No.

- What are you then? - The clown.

I make them laugh.

Shall I leave now?

- Why? - He said it.

No. I said: the name Fabre on a poster for tomfoolery.

I didn't say: the name Irénée.

You get a lot of laughs?

I'll say. People are in stitches.

I earned 50,000 for it.

50,000 means a comedy, not tomfoolery!

- So Irénée is your stage name? - Yes.

That's not your full name. You're Irénée Fabre.

But I thought you said...

When this poster was painted, I hadn't spoken.

So by some inadvertency, a contract of 500,000 francs,

you can put Fabre.

Fabre is so common, no one would know

it was us, unless we told them.

- And you'd tell them. - Only my pals.

There's room for it.

Because Irénée alone looks a bit pretentious.

If you involve the family, it seems more modest.

- I'm just saying that for your sake. - Right. For my sake!

The car!

It must be those pesky kids...

I'll go.

The first one to honk the horn gets a kick up the butt!

The second, two kicks. The third, three kicks.

The fourth, four kicks. And so on.

All of them up the butt!