Original subtitles

It's too windy, we won't catch anything this morning.

Come on, let's pack up!

Yeah, you're right.

Hang on.

I've got something!

It's super heavy!

What's on the end of your line?

A whale?

(Music)

Camille!

Sorry, but I had a rough night.

I know.

I counted the bottles.

What are you looking for?

A saucepan? In the closet.

You'll get used to it.

How are you settling in?

You'll see, you'll like it here.

During the day, there's not a sound.

There's the garden.

Yeah, I'm getting used to it.

It takes a little time, that's normal.

It's only the first night.

- What about you? - What about me?

It's not too hard living on your own? With your wheelchair and everything?

I'm not on my own.

I've got my wheelchair!

If you need anything, just say the word.

It's okay, I'm used to it.

Make yourself at home.

You're home now.

Well, I'm off. I've got to go to work.

- What time will you be back? - Uh, I don't know.

Don't wait up, it's safer.

Tonight I'm making dinner, we've got to mark the occasion!

If the wind hadn't blown him down the coast,

we'd never have found him.

Without wishing to state the obvious,

I'd say he took a nasty blow to the head before going under.

Appearances are deceiving.

Look at the burn marks on his face.

It's typical of electrocution.

An electrocution in the Mediterranean?

There must other marks on his body.

And probably deep burns too.

His muscles contracted and he died of cardiac arrest.

The victim's name is René Ferrara.

He's a local celebrity.

He has a restaurant in Martigues, La Mer.

Ever heard of it?

The critics rave about it.

I ate there once, and it wasn't...

Reviews are like fish.

They go with the flow.

The only way to find out...

I know what you're up to.

Forget the gourmet tour, I don't reimburse expenses.

Who said anything about spending? It's my treat.

This weekend, my place, everyone.

I didn't know you cooked.

When you're head of the family, you have to know how to do everything.

Are you afraid of being alone with Camille?

La Mer.

A simple, elegant name that whets the appetite.

Our victim was a poet.

A poet with a record.

He got two years in 1997 for extortion.

Poet and blackmailer.

If he applied his old methods to his new profession,

he must have made a few enemies.

He got what he deserved!

Whoever killed him did everyone a favor!

Well, looks like the rumor worked.

Please, gentlemen!

This is a police investigation.

I'm going to ask you to split into two groups.

Those who deplore the death of René Ferrara on the right,

the others on the left.

Hurry up, please!

All right,

the group on the left, you're under arrest.

What's he talking about?

Are you going to do it, or is your girlfriend?

He's crazy!

Who does he think he is?

Captain Cain, in the service of France.

Marius Pardon, in the service of bouillabaisse.

If you're looking for someone to blame, look no further.

He's right in front of you, it's me.

Everyone here will tell you that Ferrara was my bête noire.

Lucky for you, I don't like the obvious.

Besides, it seems like no one cared about Ferrara.

And with good reason:

for years, people have been coming from all over the world to eat at my restaurant.

He opens his restaurant, and after two months

I discover that he's stealing my fish, undercutting prices,

filling up with Japanese buses, and diverting my clientele.

And I'm serving tables of two and four, how can I make it?

Big industry versus small artisans.

Classic. We all know how it ends.

David kills Goliath.

I warn you, we're tiptoeing.

- I promise, I'm walking on eggshells. - This time, there's no two ways about it.

We find the boat from which the body was thrown, we deduce who the killer is, period.

Let the facts speak for themselves, don't torture anyone.

You know me, I just ask questions.

This isn't the Inquisition.

Don't you find a kitchen comforting, the smells, the warmth?

Sorry, you can't come in here, it's forbidden to the public.

I'm not just any public.

I have the magic card, the sesame that opens every door.

Hello.

Are you Sylvie Ferrara?

Bad news sure travels fast around here.

If you could refrain from spitting in the soup.

Literally or figuratively?

I'm sorry.

Did your father receive any threats

or have any arguments with anyone recently?

Are you kidding?

Arguments were a daily occurrence.

I've got drawers full of threats.

Didn't we tell you about Marius Pardon?

The guy who owns the restaurant across the street.

They hated each other.

We skipped the introductions.

You are?

Julien Pardon.

Pardon?

That's how I like it.

Marius is my father.

Biologically speaking.

But apart from that...

- How long have you worked here? - A few months.

René recruited me.

Right after we opened.

Now I understand why your father's so upset.

You went to the enemy.

Now you're the enemy.

It's Shakespeare.

Can I make you something to eat?

No, don't bother.

I'm going to eat across the street, if you don't mind.

I'll leave you to your mourning.

How long have you been open?

About twenty years.

Do you mind if I seat?

I'm a bit lonely.

Have you come to arrest me?

That depends on your alibi.

It's no good, I slept on my own.

My wife died years ago. So I have no witnesses.

Well, in the absence of an alibi, I'll have to rely on your cooking.

Are you serious?

I'll have the bouillabaisse.

No, that's impossible. Bouillabaisse is for two.

Fine, I invite you to sit down.

It's quite unusual for a father and son to hate each other so much.

You've met Julien.

What can I tell you?

Kids think they know everything before they've lived.

I know, I'm a father too.

So we understand each other.

I worked for my father for 10 years as a kitchen assistant

before he allowed me to touch a plate.

My son, as soon as he left school, came across Ferrara

and let himself be bought, like most sports fishermen.

Double betrayal, your son, your fishermen.

What have you done to them?

A great chef once said that to make good food, you have to love people.

Ferrara, on the other hand, loved money.

So, gentlemen, anything biting?

What are you fishing for around here?

Wrasse? Scorpionfish?

Quiet, you'll scare the fish away!

You're a pain in the ass!

Give him a rod to keep his hands busy.

Did you sell fish in Ferrara?

I say that out of curiosity.

I was just wondering what he put on the plates of those Japanese customers.

Because it takes a lot of fish to sell all those gallons of bouillabaisse.

There's no secret about it, you need a net.

The rod isn't enough.

But the real bouillabaisse is made with rock fish.

The kind we catch here on the dyke.

Sea fish is essentially trawl fish.

It's caught offshore.

Anyway, the Japanese can't tell the difference.

So why did Ferrara bother buying your fish?

To piss off the other guy, of course.

We don't catch enough to fill his plates.

But it's enough to empty Pardon's.

He swore he'd sink Pardon.

He sank first.

Yeah, he didn't need that.

His business was doing well.

He even got good food reviews.

Why all the hate?

Hatred has deep roots.

- Is it biting? - Yeah.

Beginner's luck.

Murderer!

- It's you, come on out, come on! - Miss Ferrara!

You killed him! You scum!

I didn't do anything to your father. He got what he deserved.

Scumbag! You did it!

You ruined his whole life here and then you killed him.

You murderer!

Are you all right?

Stay with us.

- You shouldn't get yourself into such a state. - What's wrong with her?

I don't know.

Emotionality, irritability, dizziness.

Someone's on edge or someone's pregnant.

Maybe both.

But who's the father?

Don't you touch her!

Don't worry, darling, it'll be all right.

The cursed son sleeps with the enemy.

Great art, an explosion of flavors,

the La Mer restaurant gives a second life to fish.

I find such unanimity suspicious.

You'd think all the critics were Japanese.

You really can't help it.

I didn't say anything.

I understand your policy.

The facts.

That's just it, it's a bit confusing.

So if even the facts get in the way...

According to the harbor master's office, no boats left port last night.

Because of the wind.

On the witness side, it's no better.

Everyone hated Ferrara, even those who sold him fish.

But nobody has an alibi, of course.

That's rather reassuring. Only the guilty have alibis.

Unless you're acting in bad faith,

it's hard to deny that Marius Pardon makes a credible suspect.

I'm not concerned. I'm a lawless man.

I think I've just found something.

Pardon's son had just teamed up with Ferrara.

Together, they created Les Poissonneries Pardon.

Les Poissonneries Pardon?

How clever!

Teaming up with the son to take over the father's name.

Little Julien is beginning to interest me.

But put yourself in my shoes, Julien.

When I look at you, I see your father.

Sylvie, Sylvie!

Leave her alone.

A woman needs her space.

It's like a fish out of water.

It loses its color.

I'm almost blamed for killing her father because I didn't keep mine.

Still, your father would have to be the murderer.

With or without a gun, he's the one who killed him.

To want to maintain this idiotic war.

What about René Ferrara?

René was like my father.

My real father.

He recognized my talent.

He gave me a chance and shared my ambitions.

He was a great guy.

That's not what I've heard.

They say that with him, everything was calculated.

He opened his arms very wide, but he closed them very tight.

If you listen to the gossip...

So, I wonder what interested him most in you.

Your name, your talent?

Because the Pardon brand on the Ferrara logo makes for quite a marriage.

You make a mess of everything.

So you say great?

I say not very recommendable.

And I wonder to what extent you were aware of it.

Naivety is a dangerous weapon, but lucidity

is a crime buster.

Speaking of crime, do you have an alibi for last night?

I closed the restaurant.

I finished late.

And you didn't run into anyone?

Not even the killer?

Ferrara took Julien in his clutches and made him his puppet.

He poisoned everyone's lives.

He's the one who died, but they were the victims.

And one of these victims

finally freed themselves through murder.

The relationship between a father and his child is a strange one.

We love each other, we hate each other, we love each other.

You want to do the right thing, but you screw up every other time.

You're afraid of making one mistake too many.

I know it's not easy.

No, it's really not easy.

For all we know, Julien and his father are accomplices.

What do you think of this one?

Now they own both restaurants.

A good way to kill off the competition. Who benefits from the crime?

What I like about you is that the more twisted it is, the more you like it.

You'll have to answer her.

Aren't you glad to have her home?

I'm scared, Lucie.

Afraid of making the same mistakes I made with Ben.

- Are you coming tomorrow? - Yes.

- See you tomorrow then. - See you.

Marius, did you get lost?

I thought you were in Martigues.

I wanted to see if you still had the same look as your scorpionfish.

If you've come to reclaim lost ground, it's too late.

I sold everything to your son.

René's death changes nothing.

Tell me, Marius,

I've extended a rather risky invitation to lunch

and I'm afraid my fish has turned into cat food.

Could you give me a refresher course?

What kind of fish is that?

Sea bass.

I love predators.

This is no time for vacation dreams, Lieutenants.

We've earned our vacation.

Surprise me.

We found this photo in the boxes from the search.

So we tracked down the boat.

Minorcan-style motor launch.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

It's moored in the port of Carry.

And this boat belongs to Ferrara.

I checked with the port office, it went out on the night of the crime.

It's not bad.

I don't know if it deserves a vacation.

The port has a surveillance camera system.

They'll send us the footage.

We'll know who got on board with Ferrara.

We've got our killer.

Congratulations.

Proof with facts.

Captain Cain will love it.

I'm in for a treat.

We're frying the onions, but gently. We don't want them to stick.

Meanwhile, I'll take care of the marinade.

Let's check.

- Shall I put it in? - Yes.

Very good.

You're unbelievable.

I'm cooking, you're not coming. I'm not here, you're cooking.

- You didn't come home last night, right? - I came home late and left early.

Too bad, Eva and I waited up for you.

I called you lots of times. I was worried sick.

You could at least call!

You don't live alone.

You don't live alone anymore, you can't ignore us!

Do you think this is the moment?

- I'll leave you to it. - No.

Let's carry on, you know how kids are.

Yes.

Come on in! That was foreplay.

What is this?

It's called a family reunion.

It's very therapeutic.

- You've got the wrong family. - I don't think so.

That's not what my picture says.

Is this your hotel school graduation picture.

Do you know where we found it?

On your Facebook page.

How funny.

It proves you didn't always hate each other.

It's never too late to turn back the clock.

What are you trying to prove?

You want to know what happened?

He stole my recipe.

It's my recipe as much as yours. I've earned it. I graduated.

It's my inheritance.

No, to inherit, I'd have to be dead first.

- Exactly! - I'd rather it had been you!

Do you mind?

You shouldn't have done that.

I was wondering, have you ever tasted his bouillabaisse?

That would hurt.

I know what we eat at La Mer.

Bouillabaisse without scorpionfish isn't bouillabaisse.

- Whatever the critics say. - He's still your son.

Yes, Stunia?

Cardiac arrest due to electrocution.

I can confirm that.

He took a shock on the boat, fell overboard and hit his head.

No, that's not it.

I found water in his lungs.

He swallowed water while struggling.

Fresh water.

Wait, unless the sea has been desalinated,

what does that mean?

It means he didn't die on a boat.

And since I also found some washing-up liquid,

I'd say he died in a kitchen.

In my opinion, he was pushed,

bumped and fell headfirst into a basin filled with soapy water.

But what killed him was a falling electrical appliance.

Look for a blender or toaster instead.

Stunia, I've always found you fascinating,

but this goes beyond my expectations.

Stop it, you'll make me blush.

That doesn't leave a lot of possibilities.

There's only Marius' kitchen.

And Julien's.

This time, the facts are against me.

Yes, science is like cooking, it's a bit magical.

A few drops here, a little powder there...

Captain.

Over here.

Abracadabra!

Mr. Pardon, the tests will tell us if the blood found in your kitchen

is that of René Ferrara,

but I don't have much doubt about that.

We also have a video showing you carrying a body

aboard the victim's boat.

I didn't kill him.

Well, well, well!

I'll tell you what happened.

Ferrara came to provoke you.

- You argued. - And you killed him.

And you transported the body away from the port

so as not to attract the attention of the fishermen

and tried to make it disappear.

Unfortunately for you, the wind brought the body back.

I advise you to confess, Mr. Pardon.

Yes, confess now.

This crime is poisoning the general atmosphere.

Can I talk to you for a minute?

What are you playing at?

I'm not playing Lucie, I'm investigating.

You're leaning towards the son and now you're accusing the father.

The facts are here.

For the first time I'm not on a wild-goose chase, as you usually say,

so you should be happy I'm proving you right.

So you agree with me?

Of course.

Why deny the obvious?

I feel you're putting one over on me. I don't know why, but I feel it.

You see evil everywhere.

Trust your intuition.

Shall we go back?

I heard a noise in the middle of the night and since I sleep upstairs,

I went downstairs to see what was going on.

I found the body.

What would you have done in my place?

But if not you, then who?

And why in your kitchen?

I don't know.

It's all I've been thinking about since yesterday.

Anyone can get into my house. I leave the keys in the courtyard.

So, they killed him at your place and left the body?

Are you serious?

Cain, what do you think?

I'm sorry.

You're adorable.

What do you think you're doing?

I'm bored, so I came to see you. There's nothing to do at home.

This isn't a leisure center.

It's not a day-care center either. Borel, don't you have something else to do?

Camille, wait.

Why are you ruining everything?

I'm not ruining anything, I'm working.

- You work all the time? - Yeah, that's the life of a cop.

Your life sucks.

- What's wrong? - You're being hard on her.

She hasn't done anything wrong.

Is this a conspiracy or something?

So, what do we do about Pardon?

I don't know. Let's arrest him.

He concealed a corpse.

What bothers me is that I think he's sincere.

You'll think it's crazy, but I believe him.

In spite of the facts.

So we don't arrest him.

Yet.

I don't know what to do!

- It's because of you, you're twisting things! - Not at all.

I'm accused of everything here.

Let's suppose for a moment, just a moment, that Julien is the killer.

Why commit murder in his father's kitchen?

He'd need a motive, and a good one.

An element of our personality

that expands in proportion to the praise of food critics,

in three letters.

Ego.

The crème de la crème of culinary journalism.

Thank you for accepting our invitation.

It's more of a summons than an invitation.

That's journalism for you, playing with words.

Since you like to play games, I've got just the game for you.

How about a little blind tasting?

I'm not really comfortable with the blindfold.

Can you smell that delicate aroma?

I'm just asking you to taste it and tell me what you think.

You do this every day, don't you?

What do you think? Do you like it?

Excellent? Mediocre?

You're entitled to all the adjectives, so speak up!

I'd say inconsequential.

Inconsequential? That's interesting.

Another opinion?

I agree, it's just plain.

Game over.

You've all lost.

Now I expect an explanation.

"The food at La Mer is grandiose, inspired, elegant."

Those are your words.

So explain to me why you find it so unremarkable today.

The press is free to express its opinions, isn't it?

I have the unpleasant feeling that it sometimes lets others dictate its articles.

Am I wrong?

I just want to know one thing.

Did René Ferrara pay you or blackmail you?

- It's intolerable! - I couldn't agree with you more.

So imagine for a second the pain it must have caused Julien Pardon

if he discovered the truth.

How frustrated he must have been to discover that he'd been manipulated.

You may have turned a man into a murderer.

The truth is, you traded your freedom for a gilded cage, Julien.

You discovered it was built on a lie.

Ferrara didn't care about your talent.

He bought the critics.

Like your name, he paid for it.

You found out, and you couldn't take it.

Who am I?

What am I?

I became a chef to be like my father.

If he'd been a sailor, I'd have become a navigator.

I'm pathetic.

My whole life is pathetic.

Crap!

Looks like your theory's going off the rails.

Back to square one: Marius.

Until proven otherwise.

Could you fetch me that young man's better half, please?

Looks like the proud captain is having trouble admitting his mistake.

What was it again?

Three letters?

- Ego? - Yes.

Come on, Julien.

You're young.

You'll bounce back.

I'm not sure where I stand.

I don't have any talent.

I don't have a father anymore.

And I don't have a wife anymore.

We were just talking about you.

I just heard.

I'm so sorry.

Sorry for him, sorry for your father.

I never thought Dad would do something like this.

He used you.

He used us.

Shit!

Hi, you've reached Camille.

I'm not in right now, but feel free to leave me a message.

When he was 15, my father started working as an assistant

for the Pardon family.

One day, Marius made a mistake in the kitchen

and let Dad take the blame.

So he was fired.

That's why he moved across the street.

This is where it all started.

Hatred has deep roots.

If you know anything, Sylvie, please tell me.

For Julien's sake.

What makes you so sure that Marius Pardon is the killer?

Last week, my father told me he'd found a terrible weapon to use against Pardon.

A weapon that would force him to shut down.

- Did he say what it was? - No.

Maybe he meant an administrative closure.

Things can happen very quickly in this industry.

All it takes is a hygiene problem or spoiled food.

And then your reputation is destroyed.

Open up, by all the saints in hell!

Yes.

I've never seen any saints in hell. Which saints?

The firm and round ones.

Enough to comfort a sailor in trouble.

You're a pal, a real pal.

You're a pal, you understand the hearts of men.

No, you're my pal.

You're the only one who believes in my innocence.

I blew it with Julien.

I'm an idiot, all alone.

He won't talk to me. My restaurant is going down the drain.

And I'm accused of murder!

But if you're not the murderer, who is?

Who knows?

My theory is that I sleepwalked and killed him in my sleep.

Good one!

Theory: he killed himself to make your life miserable.

Theory: I'm drunk and definitely agree.

Oh, nice! Nice!

Theory, I'm a witness-fish.

I've seen it all.

But I won't say anything.

You're going to talk, believe me!

I'll be here all night if I have to.

Who's the murderer?

Talk or you'll suffer!

Careful, you'll drown the fish!

Fish?

Fish, of course!

Shipmate, where are you going?

Debrief! Reloading, captain.

It's a devil's thirst in the kitchen of hell!

Hell again?

You've put me through everything.

One corpse is worth another.

Scalpel.

What do you think?

Healthy individual,

organs surprisingly well proportioned,

with the exception of a small congenital heart defect.

The gills have been severely compressed,

with crushing against a nylon rope resulting in asphyxiation.

In all likelihood, the cause of death was drowning.

A drowned fish? Is this a joke?

Yes, it's black humor.

In a fishing net, the fish are crushed against each other.

They can't breathe.

They drown.

They do?

Suddenly less appetizing.

Any chance this fish was line-caught?

The gills are intact and the mouth has been pierced by a hook.

And for completeness,

when you say that the organs are surprisingly well proportioned...

The rockfish is a predator.

It's at the top of the food pyramid,

which means it's gorged with chemicals absorbed along with its prey,

resulting in frequent organic degeneration.

Deep-sea fish are in better shape.

That's a trawl fish.

I'm not sure I understand.

Marius Pardon, signatory of the bouillabaisse charter,

cheats on the contents of his plate.

That's why he killed René Ferrara.

I was wrong.

I see liars every day, but you take the cake.

Ferrara is supposedly the champion of junk food,

and you accuse your son of treachery and do exactly the same.

What do you want me to do?

Quality comes at a price.

If people don't want to pay it, I can close up store.

Yes, we manage.

Until the day Ferrara came to confront you.

He didn't come, I didn't kill him, I told you the truth.

Now if you want to arrest me, go ahead.

Go ahead, I'm tired of fighting. Go ahead, fuck up what's left of my life.

No, it won't work with me.

Don't try to make me feel guilty.

Either way, you're going to suffer, Marius.

Really suffer.

Because the killer is either you or your son.

That's the truth.

That's your truth.

You say you're innocent?

All right, then.

Then he'll have to take the fall.

You're actually worse than Ferrara.

What gives you pleasure is finishing his work of destruction.

I pity you.

No, I pity you.

Your hatred poisons you.

Sylvie curses her child's grandfather. Do you think that's normal?

You'd rather she cursed her kid's father?

My son is not a murderer!

So that's it!

Despite all your grand declarations, your insults, your anger,

you still love your son!

Shut up!

What do you know about our life?

What do you know about our life?

I'm sorry.

No, don't be sorry.

Love, love

Love

Love...

So, you fell in love at first sight

and she's got tiger nails?

Better than that. I've had a revelation.

If this is about your non-regulation outfit, you can go get dressed now.

I guess you're right. I'm going to freshen up.

By the way, did I tell you that Marius is innocent?

But I've got a good idea.

Legrand, with me.

Here we go again.

It's all in this idea of love.

Marius thinks his son hates him, so he might kill him,

but not Ferrara, out of anger.

But it's exactly the opposite.

Marius almost cut my throat out of love for his son.

And Julien killed Ferrara out of love for his father.

Love explains everything, not hate.

Ferrara had to drag Julien into Pardon's kitchen,

strutting like a rooster with a trawl fish in his hand.

Julien couldn't stand the humiliation of his father.

And everything went wrong.

He hit him, but unluckily, he killed him.

Electrocution in dishwater, a simple accident.

Julien panicked and fled.

Marius found the body and hid it.

Now all we have to do is push Julien into a corner.

I'll be five minutes.

Captain...

- Camille! - Go to hell!

Camille!

- Camille, wait! - Why?

What use am I to you? Who am I?

Who are my daughter and me?

We don't mean anything to you!

Where in the world do you get that?

You've got to be kidding me!

I call you, you don't answer!

I wait for you, you don't come!

I make you dinner, you don't eat, you live on your own!

Don't stand in the middle of the road! You'll get me run over, come on!

Good! If you get to investigate my death,

that may give you a chance to take an interest in me!

Maybe you'll finally find out who I was!

I am interested in you!

Can't you see I'm busy these days?

Then prove it!

Tell me that I mean something to you, that you've missed me all these years,

or I swear I'll throw myself under the next car!

But how could I miss you? I didn't even know you existed!

Cain, what the hell are you doing?

There you are. We were about to start without you.

A technical hitch.

I got here as fast as I could.

What are we doing here?

Didn't anyone tell you?

You're the star of the big show.

You and your son.

You're going to cook for us.

Let's see who makes the best bouillabaisse.

No more prejudice, no more lies, no more truncated feelings.

Make way for the truth.

Facts will speak, gentlemen.

I'm not going along with this charade.

Come on, Julien, don't tell me you're not tickled.

Show your father what you're made of.

Force him to recognize your talent.

And Marius, crush that worm who stole your recipe.

In order to respect the conditions of strict equality,

the ingredients at your disposal have been taken from your respective kitchens.

By our two production assistants.

Bailiff.

Start cooking!

May the best man win.

Well, Marius, what's the matter?

Come on, what's stopping you?

Wrasse, scorpionfish, red mullet, weever, red scorpionfish.

Our rockfish all looked like boxers.

The daily fight for survival isn't easy.

Julien, aren't you going to say anything?

Is something bothering you?

Don't you like boxers?

You're a daddy's boy.

You prefer behind-the-scenes workers.

Sea bream, whiting, monkfish.

They're more presentable.

Julien?

Julien, say something, the suspense is killing us.

I'll stop.

He's the best.

He's always been the best.

In that case, why don't you look up?

What don't you want to see?

My shipwreck.

His cooking is better than mine.

There are no lies on his plate.

This is trawl fish.

He knows that.

In that case, why doesn't he say so?

Speak up, Julien.

Take your chance.

Crucify the cheater, the liar.

Your spiritual father died because of him.

If you could choose your parents... but you can't.

We're forced to make do with the ones we've got.

Ties of the heart don't erase ties of blood.

When Ferrara dragged you into Marius's kitchen,

when he told you that he got the revenge he'd waited for all his life

and that he'd destroy him, humiliate him, ruin him, by revealing his secret,

when he opened Marius's refrigerators and showed you Marius's fish,

that fish that was there in front of your eyes, and you saw the appalling truth,

what did you do?

I hit him.

In the end, René Ferrara's death was not in vain.

He succeeded, in spite of himself,

in bringing father and son closer together.

Are you trying to send me a message?

If you think it's easy...

I'll do everything I can to make it right, but...

I know my shortcomings.

I don't know how to love simply.

Make fun of me.

I'd love to.

- I'll be back in a minute. - Yeah.

It's unnatural for me to live with Camille.

Even though she's my daughter, family life isn't my thing.

I don't know how to talk to her, I don't even know what to say.

No matter what we say, we're both strangers.

You say that today, but tomorrow...

Tomorrow what?

A wave of my magic wand and I'll turn into Daddy Charming?

Do you believe it?

I don't believe it.

I just can't believe it.

It's amazing how men can never see beyond the end of their noses.

What a generality!

You've got to admit it's easy with you.

When it comes to feelings, you're the cliché

of the guy who's good on the inside, rough on the outside.

Give your daughter time.

Get to know her.

And the baby too.

She looks just like your granddaughter...

Grandpa Cain.

I think she likes me.

But I don't see her mother.

She was here a minute ago.

Camille?

There's a note.

They say it's easier to be a grandfather than a father.

Try to do better with her than you did with me.

She's gone.