Original subtitles

A FILM BY ALICE ZENITER AND BENOÎT VOLNAIS

It seems impossible to anticipate

which idea will affect which individual.

Often, reeling off facts and figures

fails to provoke indignation or the urge to revolt.

Tristan had heard about global warming for years

without feeling a thing.

Until the day he saw a video of a polar bear...

For the first time,

the idea of ecological catastrophe affected him.

Referring to that video,

Tristan later spoke with more emotion than about his mother's death.

It may seem strange

but it is no less true.

BEFORE WE COLLAPSE

PART ONE THE HEAT

Count me out For anything but noodles

Anything but noodles, count me out

- I'm dripping sweat, sorry. - Can I recite my poem?

Leave Tristan alone and eat your pasta.

Eat your pasta.

Glass of wine?

Eat your pasta.

Naïma?

Glass of wine?

No, thanks.

Can I recite my poem?

Mati came by with a report

on cities requisitioning land

for urban agriculture.

Sounds cool. Get on it for tomorrow.

No problem.

It's pretty big. 200 pages.

That's right.

Okay, I won't stay for dinner.

Drink though?

- You took the report? - Didn't touch it.

Twice.

The phone's non-stop since I ripped Bussière.

Journalists call it a "misstep."

Pisses me off. I fell into his trap.

Naïma, he rocks up at your event.

Sure, the asshole laid a trap.

Swear word!

Sorry, but if you knew Bussière, you'd swear.

Can't find it. Marc, it hasn't just disappeared.

She just gave me it. Green folder on the table.

Or on the couch.

Maybe it was blue.

Or red?

You did great, Naïma.

Nobody wants you to go easy on the incarnation of the system.

You'd have kept calm.

And quoted Marx or Spinoza, as usual.

And no one would listen.

You're not the cookie-cutter politician.

Losing it at times is a strength.

Be pragmatic. We're all over the news.

Know what? It was so good

to see him go bright red and keep spluttering...

"Mrs. Bouhoune!"

Can I recite my poem now? Unless I'm bothering you...

- Yes! - There it is.

Why won't anyone listen to my poem?

Safi, you're done eating?

- Not that. - Brush your teeth.

Now! Let's go.

You up on erotomania?

I have a student named Basile,

who keeps declaring his love for me.

He's increasingly insistent

and increasingly poetic.

I'm scared he'll rip his heart out

and drop it on my desk.

I said he's delusional and I'm a lesbian...

You're lesbian?

I'm not. That's not the point.

Fact is, nothing deters the guy.

See for yourself.

It's insane.

It's murderously hot and I have 200 pages to read.

No, thanks.

I dream of having a huge fan over my bed.

Colonial-style.

Enormous!

Shut your...

When Tristan and Fanny met,

over fifteen years ago,

she was all he wanted to be.

Something totally...

Parisian, born and bred, lecturer parents,

whereas he had grown up in a nondescript village in Brittany.

Now they live together in Paris's 18th district,

proud to be roommates not for economic reasons,

but as a reflection of the importance of their friendship.

It's 7 o'clock!

...the heatwave enters its 15th day, the longest on record

for the month of June.

Temperatures have not dipped below 30 degrees.

Paris is a ghost town because of hazardous pollution.

PREGNANT

The candidates running for Congress continue to campaign.

Congratulations.

What?

It's...

Was it you?

Was what me?

What's that look? I'd never pull a stunt like that.

It can't be me. We used a...

But not right away, remember!

Knock it off. It wasn't me!

Seriously. Out of line!

I apologize.

Sorry.

What did you want?

The meeting's waiting for you.

So what if we make the runoff?

We didn't want to get ahead of ourselves,

so we're late

with fundraising to keep campaigning beyond next week.

Get the word out

and find me contacts who'll pledge money.

Florence, go see the printer about our flyers.

He's not taking calls.

Lay siege, run the presses, whatever.

Just get the flyers.

You're going home?

You can't go. Don't go.

Confirmation codes arrive on your phone.

What codes?

Purchases with the campaign card.

It's paired to your phone.

Couldn't you do it earlier? It's 8 p.m., I'm late.

Earlier, I was looking for a band

for our runoff rally.

It's not easy to book a band for hypothetical dates.

I'll stay.

We'll talk tomorrow.

"West Bank is the heart of the city.

"Across the bridge, the church, a square,

"a few cafés, struggling shops, and the side streets.

"All around, it's agricultural and working-class.

"Downtown, there are as many temp agencies as bakeries.

"Small towns.

"Names don't matter. A face is enough.

"'Yeah, I see who you mean.'

"Boredom is a process.

"It needs structure and stimulation.

"It requires a sense of proportion.

"Our workaround is having fun getting bored.

"We defuse.

"We may get frustrated

"but the priority is to know our place.

"From there, there's no chance of falling."

Thank you.

I missed the readings. Your daughter won't be pleased.

Don't worry about her. Say...

Roussel! Think I didn't see you?

You missed it all!

Not all of it.

Kitten, you know he works like crazy.

Seriously, don't exaggerate.

Just typical!

Always taking his side. For 15 years now!

While he chases electoral glory,

I educate French youth.

Tonight was my big night, and he knew it.

Good evening, everybody!

Basile, I'm talking here.

She was done, don't worry.

Congratulations on your text...

- Basile, right? - That's right.

The erotomaniac I told you about.

Nice to meet you.

"Erotomaniac"? Let's define our terms.

What a nerve!

- Fanny misuses the word. - No way!

If you think I'm an erotomaniac,

report me or have me locked up.

I'm considering it.

That's how you treat all your students?

How come? Too familiar, you think?

Did you know sweat doesn't smell?

What stinks is bacteria eating the fat in your sweat.

Icky, right?

This morning, I got an anonymous letter.

Containing a positive pregnancy test.

Okay, fine.

How is that fine?

An anonymous positive pregnancy test.

And so?

You'd know if you got a girl pregnant.

And in your situation, you use condoms, right?

Tristan's tenth birthday coincided with his mother showing signs

of symptoms of a rare genetic disease,

named Huntington's Chorea.

It's an incurable disease that breaks out around age 40,

and results in neurological decline,

provoking serious motor and cognitive disorders,

which evolve into complete loss of autonomy.

Tristan's mother died of it

five years after the first symptoms appeared.

Huntington's Chorea has a 50% chance of being transmitted.

Tristan never resolved to take the test

that would establish if, yes or no,

he'll die in his forties, like his mother.

If, yes or no,

his potential offspring might suffer the same fate.

Remind me why you never took it.

I had to wait till I turned 18.

And you never did?

Then came college and work, and it's six months...

To two years of tests.

- It's tricky... - Dude, wake up!

Age 35, maybe checking out,

don't count on me for end-of-life care.

Dial it down, will you?

Force is not always the answer.

I need your help here.

Okay.

I stewed it over all day. It's absurd.

I hooked up four times recently,

so four girls and a risk, however tiny,

that it's one of them but I doubt any of the four is...

It's insane, a stunt like this!

Or I'm dumb or blind.

How can I tell you? I'm mangling words,

I sound like a moron!

Earlier today with Mati, I flat out accused her.

She was bemused and lost her temper.

For sure! I was shooting from my paranoid hip!

I don't understand a word. Who do you mean?

Mati, our intern for the campaign.

Why think it was her?

Because she was there.

And I remembered that we began...

Surely not "making love"?

We began fucking without a condom.

But only a few seconds.

Suddenly, I thought, hold on...

Cousin Nicolas was conceived like this.

His parents claim they didn't sleep together,

- just humped a bit, you know. - You're out of your mind.

That's what I'm telling you.

The three other girls, same schtick?

No!

Maybe we should start there.

The nursing assistant who cares for your dad?

Last time, we had no condom but we did it.

She said she's on the pill but...

If she forgot her pill...

- That happens, right? - I guess.

And if she forgot her pill, she might forget she forgot.

Yes, and so she gets pregnant,

and despite seeing you almost weekly,

she sends an anonymous test.

I know, possible but illogical.

Exactly.

And the other two?

BAR GIRL

A month earlier, after a drunken night out,

Tristan took home a girl he met in a bar.

He doesn't remember much.

She was gone when he woke up.

What was her name again?

You know! It was kind of wack.

When I said it was dreadful, you said it was "unusual."

I really don't remember.

You don't know her or what she can do,

and she has your address.

She's our prime suspect.

Trouble is, she's almost impossible to find.

It terrifies me to think I behaved for a few hours

like a guy you'd send a pregnancy test to,

thinking it was a good idea.

What the hell did I do?

What did I say?

There's no going back now.

You know?

I fear I do.

THE LAST GIRL

The name Tristan doesn't dare tell Fanny

is that of Pablo.

The reason's simple.

Tristan met Fanny and Pablo at college.

For a long time, they were inseparable.

But their trio dissolved when Tristan and Pablo separated

Fanny categorically took Tristan's side.

Pablo went to live in Brittany.

She lets Tristan know whenever she's in Paris.

They meet up.

They sleep together.

The situation has been going on for several years

and they never discussed its significance.

You're shitting me? Why didn't you tell me?

I never told you for fear you'd react like that.

I'm reacting like this because you never told me.

It can't have been her.

Stop! Drop the faithful spaniel act.

She knows my situation.

Mom's death, my never taking the test...

She wouldn't risk it.

So you don't use condoms? Logical.

She uses the Ogino method.

The what?

The Ogino method.

She counts days in her cycle, observes her vaginal secretions.

Have you heard yourself?

Finger in her pussy, hold it up, check the wind?

Pablo's a biologist. She knows her stuff.

So I trust her and we don't use condoms.

Quit guilt-tripping me. You know it's better without.

Without a condom or guilt?

- You called her? - We talk by email.

It really can't be her?

No.

You don't have to do anything.

I mean, you're reacting how the sender wants you to react.

You can not give a damn.

It doesn't make you an immoral person.

You get that?

Looking at that,

I wonder if it's time to quit

or if it makes any difference anymore.

It's wack, Paris is like that now.

We gotta get out. It's unlivable.

Imagine what the girls are breathing.

But for Naïma...

No way. We're gonna stay and fight.

Same for you, I guess,

or else why put life on hold to campaign?

I hardly put my life on hold.

You believe.

We're late, Naïma. Let's go!

Two more minutes.

Looking at that, you still think change is possible?

Naïma.

Cool it, Tristan. I said two minutes!

Tense, this morning.

You're at different levels on the team.

You should have considered that before trying to bed her.

I didn't try to bed her.

- It just happened. - What the hell!

Nothing "just happened."

You have authority over her.

She's your intern.

You call the shots.

It raises the thorny issue of mutual consent.

After your pregnancy test hokum,

if she accuses you of harassment...

Boom, scandal.

You should've come straight to me.

The test must be another dirty trick.

- You really think so? - You see the shit sent to my office.

You see what they're capable of.

They send me death threats.

You get a pregnancy test.

Nobody took us seriously, and I know what I owe you,

but don't give out on me, okay?

Don't give out on me.

We're nearly there, and it freaks them out.

Every candidate, whatever their party,

will tell you it's serious.

What's happening to the planet is serious.

But when it comes to finding causes or solutions, forget it.

"It's not so bad. Don't get carried away."

"Technology will find a solution."

"The planet's big. Catastrophes could hit elsewhere."

Saying the ecological situation is very serious

should lead to only one thing. Radical measures.

But nobody shifts on the basis that they'll be unpopular.

So, politicians say it's serious, and then...

they quit thinking and avert their eyes.

An absolute lack of consistency.

Not me. I'm not scared of radical measures.

And I'll go as far as to say,

I want to reinvent radicality.

Yes, so the word

no longer scares people but offers a desirable future.

You were a nurse and lost an eye on a protest march.

Are you running in this election

to take revenge on the institutions of state?

You invert cause and effect.

I lost an eye,

and I didn't lose it, I didn't drop it.

I got beaten up by police officers

because of my political activism.

There's such an urgent sense of being muzzled

that we must welcome any movement of revolt.

PABLO,

I NEED TO TALK TO YOU.

Fuck.

Screw this screwdriver.

Fanny, you okay?

Just great.

I did some investigating today.

I did a composite of Bar Girl. Not bad, right?

I went to see the bartender, showed him the sketch,

and his answers suggest the girl is a regular.

So she lives locally.

I checked out other, better bars

but nobody knew the girl.

Which leads us to conclude

that the Girl, capital G,

lives very close to the bar.

Or she'd go to another, better bar.

Logical, right?

Sorry. Thanks, that's great.

Try not to look too happy.

I appreciate it really but...

Our only chance of finding the Girl

would be to stake out the bar

and hope she turns up.

We just don't have time.

It's no biggie. Give me a hand.

If we haven't heard from Pablo by tomorrow,

let me write her to announce your death.

Sudden death in atrocious agony,

and boom, you force her to react.

I will not do that, no.

Tomorrow, I'm seeing Dad.

Hand me the...

And Anna.

Isn't that super high-drain?

Totally.

I'll struggle with the bills this month.

Chill, you pleb. I've got it.

It won't be the first time.

PART TWO THE NORTH POLE

Mireille, don't read and walk.

SAINT-JOSEPH RESIDENCE

Tristan!

- Hi, Anna. - Hey.

Come along.

My old ladies are reading for kids at the library.

I won't have time.

To catch my train,

I need to be on the 4 o'clock bus.

I absolutely need to talk to you.

I'll drive you to the station.

Anyway, your dad's with your brother...

Half-brother.

He picked him up earlier.

No way, you're kidding me!

He does this on purpose. He knows Friday is my day.

What are you exactly?

Some kind of big dog?

No, says the bear.

I'm a bear!

Mr. Beaver burst out laughing so hard

that his big teeth started to rattle.

He fell backwards onto his tail.

Look, my boy,

bears can be nasty...

GARBAGE COLLECTORS ON STRIKE IN PARIS

DISRUPTION IN SEVERAL DISTRICTS

"A bear is a real terror.

"It makes the whole forest tremble.

"A bear eats little sisters

"on a slice of buttered bread."

But this time,

the bear did not let him slam the door in its face.

Mr. Beaver looked alarmed.

He peered once more at the bear and shook his head.

"Impossible.

"I have lived by the river for ten years.

"My father lived here before me and my grandfather before him.

"Never, ever, have we heard of a bear here.

"This is not a place for them.

"Here, it is a peaceful forest

"where little animals live quietly

"and rabbits dance in the fields.

"You cannot be a bear,

"you are just a big, crazy dog."

Who'd hold it against him?

Beavers never like surprises.

They need to keep things simple, and for people to be like them.

You might refrain from using your phone during the reading.

Sorry. I'm working on the election campaign.

So Anna said.

And the garbage collectors are on strike

and my team's at action stations.

I'm really sorry.

I teach my class school's no place for that.

And it's difficult enough.

Hi, Tristan.

Hi, Cédric.

Dad, what's with the disguise?

To breathe more easily.

How come?

He stresses over pollution surges.

Butt out, will you.

Yes.

It's because of the pollution.

It scares me.

That's not a respirator mask.

Why let him do that?

That's your answer.

Your father's down in the dumps. A real grouch.

So negative about everything.

Try to get him out of the doldrums.

We do our best, but it's not the same.

What is that manner of speaking?

Tristan.

Don't.

It's condescending, not medical, to talk like that.

"A grouch, the doldrums..."

Sure, he's in the doldrums. He's not dumb.

He know he's old, sick and dying.

Not much to be happy about.

I disagree. He's not old.

These days, 72 is nothing.

He has years to look...

Working as a builder from age 15, after his life,

sorry, you're old at 72.

Look, if you won't make an effort, I...

That's why we pay so much.

For healthcare with moral superiority.

That's what justifies your rates?

You need money?

How come?

What you said to her about the rates...

If you want me to cover it for a few months,

just say so.

I don't need a thing.

Absolutely nothing.

I'm going back to see Dad.

Alone.

The gaps in Tristan's father's memory are increasingly frequent.

Sometimes Tristan encounters his father at age 20.

Sometimes at age 40.

Sometimes he's a little boy.

Sometimes Tristan has to inform him his beloved wife is dead.

Or inform him he has children,

including Tristan himself.

And sometimes his father is present, in the present.

But it's increasingly rare.

Sometimes Tristan thinks

he could tell his father any tall tale.

Why doesn't he?

Why doesn't he tell his father,

"You were an explorer.

"You discovered the North Pole"?

Yes, Dad?

Sir...

Will you give me back my mask?

No, Dad. I won't give it back.

Why fight to piece together a life

that involves a wife who died too soon,

two sons who clash,

and 70 years in one village,

from school to care home?

And is that story true?

It may only be Tristan's version of his father's story.

And if his father could tell himself his own life story,

he probably wouldn't tell that one.

You'll stay longer next week?

Right now, it's hard to plan anything.

Too bad you can't stay.

A great new festival opens tonight.

Don't start that again.

Quit thinking that life here is a sign of failure.

You think moving to Paris is the best thing you ever did,

great.

But I'm very happy here.

I don't want to move to Paris. Not everyone does.

On my salary, I'd be miserable in Paris.

Promise me you'll abort if ever I get you pregnant.

It might sound nuts,

or very tasteless to ask you,

and I'm sorry...

but I need you to promise me.

I'm not pregnant.

I may have a serious disease.

That your mother died of?

You know?

Your father mentioned it but I didn't know you might...

It's 50-50. Maybe it's all good.

But just in case,

promise me.

I don't need to promise you.

I don't want children.

PART THREE TRISTAN

The bar's closing. Let's go.

Was I asleep long?

No.

Stop right now.

It's not the disease. You're beat.

Fuck!

Hello.

Naïma, I'm going to be late.

- What? - I need to stop by HQ.

- How long will you be? - 15 minutes.

- Mati's with you? - No, you're both late.

- Tristan, can we talk? - Not now.

- Naïma just called... - Not now!

Hi Anna, I can't talk now.

Tristan.

It's the end. You need to be here.

The end? What does that mean?

You dad's in intensive care.

Maybe he only has days left.

- You need to be here. - I can't.

Tristan.

I'll try.

- It might be very quick. - Okay, I'll be there.

Thanks, Anna. Thanks a million. Bye.

"Thanks a million."

"Thanks a million"!

What a jerk.

I talk like a jerk.

I behave like a jerk.

I'm a jerk.

A million times over.

I've had it with me.

- I hope we're not too late. - We just arrived.

It's great to meet up.

Sit down, let's begin. Coffee?

No, thanks.

Gents...

We're all ears.

Let's cut to the chase.

We suggest you stand down in my favor.

We all know it's why we're here.

Let's discuss your conditions.

Honestly, I didn't think that's why we're here.

Why else then?

So we can say it happened.

I don't follow.

You announce we talked and I refused to stand down

despite the threat of the far right winning, which is your next move.

And I announce we talked and, who knew...

- You're a right winger. - I am not.

Most left wing electors

see your party as hard right on law and order.

I publicly criticized certain government positions.

So they made you candidate in a "working-class" district,

but really, sir,

your criticisms don't make you a man of the left.

Just left of center.

Your notions of left and right are outdated.

Given the gulf between us,

giving you a clear run seems dubious,

but go ahead, try to convince me.

I'm a progressive, Ms. Bouhoune.

We can agree on numerous issues.

If you're elected...

They didn't all die.

But they were all affected.

Seeking to fall back on...

expiring life.

...a position I can offer you.

That's the wrong strategy.

Try asking the mainstream right winger to stand down for you.

Shoot, you can't.

Because Bussière leans toward the extreme right wing

that you still claim to oppose.

So I'm your only hope,

but you're wasting your time.

No, gents,

as the only left wing candidate in a left wing district,

I won't stand down, I'll win.

What if Bussière wins?

Do you want a guy in parliament

who favors an inclusive approach to the extreme right wing?

Surely it matters to you not to open doors to the racist right.

It will have repercussions.

Perhaps not for me.

Definitely for you guys.

Weird that it scares me more than you.

In case I was wondering,

thanks for proving that all you see in me is a black woman.

Let's leave it there.

35 years old.

I'm 35 years old.

Hi, Fanny?

Bar Girl just arrived. Move it.

We'll try to keep her here

but it's looking like abduction.

You heard me? Drop everything and get here.

I can't leave HQ. We're planning the next rally.

Make up a story, any story.

By the way, her name's Persephone.

How did we ever forget? Move it.

I agree. Let's stay in touch.

I had spotted some...

Yes, talk. Fast.

My father's in a critical condition.

I have to go there.

Shit.

Naïma.

Yes, I understand.

Be back tomorrow.

Before five.

You're in charge here.

I can't be without you tomorrow. We have no choice.

Sorry.

Vodka, Tabasco.

Where is she? You let her go?

Restroom.

We're a bit wasted but it's well worth it.

It's her, I'm sure of it!

How did it go with Naïma?

I told a vile lie.

There he is!

The white male has arrived!

Hey, Tristan.

The pregnancy test was you?

The what?

The test!

To quote Bruce Willis in The Fifth Element,

Wanna play it soft? We'll play it soft. You wanna play it hard...

We'll play it hard. Start by saying hello.

And you lame-asses wasting an hour of my time for him?

I don't much like

that look in his eye.

Sure, he's not too friendly,

but don't blame him, he's sober.

- Can I get a beer, please? - No time for games.

Did you send me a positive test or not?

I send so many, I lose track.

A confession?

It was her. I knew it.

There were pussy hairs in the envelope?

If so, it was me.

It's my personal touch.

Did you send the damn test?

Why would I?

Because you know my address.

That's completely dumb. It's no reason.

Persephone, Tristan's looking for...

Tristan's looking for his manners.

They must be in his other pants.

Sorry, let's start over.

Okay.

Good evening, Persephone.

Good evening.

I remember we met here and...

went back to my place.

- We were drunk. - Yes, we were drunk.

I don't remember...

I don't remember what happened.

Soon after, I received a positive pregnancy test,

sent anonymously and...

I was wondering if it was you.

You're joking!

It's not funny. Was it you or not?

Sure, it's funny. You really don't remember.

You couldn't get it up.

"I wouldn't say it was a failure. I'd say...

"it didn't work."

Emmanuel Macron.

So now we know...

It wasn't her. I knew it wasn't.

It didn't stack up.

I'm sorry.

Sending an anonymous pregnancy test, that's ultra-sordid.

I'll keep it in mind for next time.

I really am sorry.

It's so fucking embarrassing.

One for your hall of fame.

- For sure. - What?

- It's a good one. - It is a good one.

- What? - What what?

I was telling them about my hall of fame.

My collection of guys who ghost me

after hooking up.

I mean, I know, I have niche appeal.

In total, four or five guys in France think I'm hot.

But they go all-in.

It's all wrist-slitting, harassment and priapism.

It's hell.

The problem is...

they don't appeal to me.

So what do I do?

I go drinking in bars

until I meet someone I like.

Like you.

And who likes me back.

Unlike you.

- I'm so... - Sorry, Persephone.

You already mentioned it.

You okay?

I'll go to Brittany tomorrow. I'll go see Pablo.

Wait till after the election.

It's not worth wasting all your hard work.

Bouhoune won't understand if you don't show.

Bouhoune the candidate?

He's her campaign manager.

I love her! I'm voting for her Sunday.

See? Don't ruin everything over this test.

You can still not give a damn. It's no biggie.

Evening, Cédric, sorry I didn't call back.

He's dead.

You need to be here.

I can't.

How come?

Is Bouhoune or anything more urgent than your father's death?

I don't know.

I do.

I know.

I could say there's nothing urgent in a death.

Even your own father's.

Death is the opposite of urgency.

Looking after the dead is for the benefit of the living.

I don't want to do it for you, or with you.

I could admit to the jealousy I felt as a teenager toward you,

who had zero risk of inheriting the mutated gene.

Who had never listened to your body at night,

wondering if you heard the disease developing.

Who had not lost your mother.

I could throw in your face I always thought it was easy for you

to be and seem solid since you had been spared.

When's the funeral?

I don't know yet.

I'll be there.

If I could tell you all that,

we'd have a real bond.

But there is no bond.

I have nothing to say to you.

Of course, I didn't tell you all that,

and I never will.

Fanny.

Basile, can you sleep in my room, please?

My father's died.

PART FOUR

Hello.

Excuse me...

Do you know Pablo?

Yes, of course.

We're Fanny and Tristan.

Gaëlle.

I'm Yohan.

And this is Alba.

Sorry but she went to Turkey two weeks ago with her parents.

No fucking way!

She'll be back tomorrow or the day after.

But we can't guarantee it.

- She fell? - Yes.

She fell down.

Are you hungry?

We were about to eat.

What do we do?

Hi.

Good evening!

I met some friends of Pablo's.

Hello.

Good timing.

There's way too much of my best ratatouille ever.

He is modesty incarnate.

Hey there. I'm Fanny.

- And he's Tristan. - Welcome, both of you.

For the meal, can we contribute somehow?

No worries. Grab a seat and eat up.

Fanny, right?

Can you pass me your plate?

Like a sip of wine?

Tristan, ravenous? Hungry?

Just peckish.

Smells great, Bear.

Well?

- Really good. - Yes, really good.

It's good.

- Honestly. - Great.

It's better than last time.

Last time it was disgusting.

- It sucked, you nailed it. - I don't know what I did.

One time, it's pesticides...

Are you guys a commune?

Not really. More a bunch of friends

helping each other out.

Who's the old, quiet guy?

Looks like the boss.

He's not the boss, he's my dad.

How come Pablo moved here?

I suggested she join us

when we switched the farm to permaculture.

The old guy wasn't keen.

Before he retired,

he was a big fan of pesticides,

see what I mean?

Why do they call you Bear?

And so, Pablo...

We met at a commune in the Ariège,

where I was building passive houses.

You see?

I read a Junior Woodchucks album about them.

Passive houses are built for optimal energy efficiency.

You have no idea, do you?

No.

But I love listening to you.

Anyway, when...

When Yohan, a childhood friend, just so you know,

called me to say they were taking on his dad's farm with friends,

I persuaded Pablo to come with me

to be part of the project.

You guys want a drink?

With pleasure.

There's no signal here?

No, you need to head up the trail,

way over there.

We call it the Booth.

New message, today, at 5:02 p.m.

Tristan, where are you?

You've dropped off the radar.

Sorry, I mean, call me back when you can.

I hope your father's okay.

Just keep me posted. Call me.

New message, today, at 6:33 p.m.

Hi, Tristan, it's me.

The funeral will be on Monday at 2 p.m.

I hope you'll be there.

Look, don't mess up. Be there.

Lots of love.

New message, today, at 6:55 p.m.

Tristan!

Where the hell are you? The rally's starting.

Text me to tell me what's going on.

New message, today, at 9:49 p.m.

Well...

I guess it's more serious than you thought.

I don't get why you can't even send a text.

Get in touch, Tristan.

All my love.

Been awake long?

I got no sleep.

Go get changed.

You reek of stress and acidic sweat.

Wondering what happened with big bear?

Want to discuss it?

I don't discuss my sex life.

It'll be fine.

Reflex.

Not right away.

You can also try switching around.

So it's not always the same...

I vote for.

You attack, I lift up...

Up.

Yohan, Dad's lost a sheep again.

We keep telling him not to look after them.

- He can't see with that cataract. - I can't lock him indoors.

Need some help?

Any idea how to find sheep?

Aren't we kind of lost?

Where'd you go?

Good question. You found the sheep?

Pablo's home.

She's taking a nap.

She said to wake her when you got back.

I'm glad you came.

Wait.

What have you done?

I should have told you first.

I didn't because it's not yours.

What?

This child is not yours.

I'm ashamed.

I'm so ashamed.

Go get a test for Huntington's Chorea.

You need an irrevocable answer.

It's for your own good.

You can't keep living in ignorance.

We've discussed this.

It won't help me...

knowing when I'll die.

We discussed it when we were 20.

Things have changed since then.

Not so much.

Recent experience shows, you need to know.

Face the facts.

Don't be scared anymore.

You see?

Putting a ballot in a box every five years is not enough.

Politics is a public, collective undertaking.

Stop right there.

The classic anti-vote rhetoric of folks lucky

to live in peacetime democracies.

But guys...

Farming, herding and renovating houses is great,

but it's not politics. Don't kid yourselves.

Best-case, it's a lifestyle.

Worst-case, it's selfish.

There are ten of you out of 70 million people in France.

Oh dear!

There's way more of us. Thousands of us!

I betrayed you.

Actually, all we're trying to say

is that we put our convictions into practice.

What you call politics

is an electoral high sanctioned by those in power.

It's a sliver of expression that deludes voters into thinking

they're free and taking part in decisions,

but meantime...

In the timespan between elections, what do you do that's political?

First of all, I teach literature.

Can we be serious?

It's no joke.

I teach at a college in an urban ghetto

to students from every background.

I share with them the beauty of texts.

With kids excluded from literature,

ignored by literature.

With kids who can't go out

without being stopped and frisked.

I try to empower them with and through language,

against the shitty society they are moving in.

What should I offer them?

To go live in the mud?

To bust their backs in fields

and freeze their asses off in winter like medieval peasants?

Thanks for the caricature!

And so you prepare them to confront a society

that's bound to fall to pieces?

I prepare them to knock society to pieces.

I try to sharpen their critical minds

so they don't wind up like zombies,

capitalism's easy prey.

I prepare them for revolution, if you prefer.

Yup, dude. Revolution isn't a swear word.

Conventional farming isn't all we need to overthrow.

You're a democrat or revolutionary?

You've lost me.

I'm both.

We don't have many levers

so why not use them all?

Until there's a revolution,

let's explore institutional possibilities.

Electing Bouhoune is important, too.

What can she do if she wins?

What point a left winger in a right wing parliament?

Any left wing party in power

is brutally undermined by the markets.

Look at Syriza in Greece.

Look at Chile under Allende.

Good examples.

But it doesn't have to be that way.

And even if I agreed with you,

and despaired of the electoral process,

there'd still be revolution.

What? What revolution?

People marching to overthrow governments?

You can't believe in that,

in the era of globalization. It makes no sense.

There'll be global revolution,

just not the one you think.

It's the incrementally growing ecological catastrophe

we're living in.

- Here we go! - Read GIEC reports.

The stats are terrifying.

It's outlandish to expect exponential growth

when the earth's resources are limited.

Oil running out, less land and minerals.

You know it.

You know biodiversity is disappearing.

You know global warming

will have terrible consequences.

We can't keep ignoring the imminent

and inevitable global collapse.

It's too late for an intellectual revolution

leading to economic, social and civilizational revolution.

Too late!

Wrong!

Precisely because the collapse you mention has not taken place.

Nobody knows what form it will take

or its intensity and imminence.

We're not even sure "collapse" is the right word for our future.

There's doubt over specific circumstances, sure.

But we know disaster will happen.

Then, our "peasant" existence, as you call it,

becomes the only viable solution.

I never contest scientific data,

but announcing upcoming disaster, war,

general and irreversible collapse,

smacks of a new type of millenarianism.

You can't know the future.

Your convictions and the lifestyle they entail

are all a matter of belief.

Sure, your millenarianism seems smarter

because it's based on science,

not on religious texts,

but it makes no intrinsic difference.

You're acting the prophet.

And you are refusing to think through the future.

To plan long-term.

All you're proposing is to make do and mend.

I'm saying thousands of lifestyles are possible today,

and between them,

there are colossal inequalities

that a section of the population endures,

and it seems urgent to me to level it up.

You cannot say,

by planting potatoes, we'll get rid of social classes.

Actually, you can say it, since it's all a game for you.

Like when we played penniless students in Paris.

You and I had our folks to fall back on,

and we knew it.

That's what drives me up the wall.

You know you have an out.

I don't know about you guys, but Pablo's like me.

A bourgeois. The real deal.

Sure, she can play the farmer and quit washing,

but if her pregnancy became difficult, for example,

her father would rock up here

and whisk her to a private clinic in Paris.

What you're doing, Pablo,

is class tourism.

I totally get it.

Being bourgeois is a ticket to exploration

and adventure.

But one thing the ticket doesn't allow

is to stop being bourgeois.

- Here. - Thanks.

Thank you.

I admire how you talk of revolution

while reveling fully in your privileged lifestyle.

And you have the nerve to call me a tourist.

Sure.

I adore my class benefits.

But I know the bourgeoisie must be forced to share.

That leads me to conclude we need to assault the bourgeoisie.

I am what's known as a class traitor.

And you're a tourist. I reiterate what I said.

You bore me with your dusty Marxist vocabulary.

Let's say I agree with you,

the only choice is total revolution.

What does that mean in practice?

I struggle to see what form the revolution should or could have.

In practice, what?

Power is seized on the streets or in elections,

as it turns out, by a collection of

eco-anticapitalists, feminists and antiracists.

Not a single xenophobe. No religious masses.

Hallelujah!

We rewrite the constitution,

and hope our neighbors' armies refrain from massacre,

while the world's poor and needy ride the snowball effect.

But remember...

Once again, without the racists,

misogynists, homophobes

and religious crackpots.

And then...

it's all good?

New governments agree on new ways of living?

New social and economic relations?

New forms of life?

You're really buying it?

I can't see beyond the aporia

of it being the only solution but unfeasible.

I see exactly what's going on here.

I can even offer you some group therapy.

You're all disenchanted left wingers,

who no longer believe in revolution.

- You never stop? - Never.

Collapsology has given new meaning to your lives.

Fresh hope.

Capitalism will collapse, obviously.

As Pablo said,

a system based on infinite growth in a finite world

must collapse.

That's the genius idea!

Capitalism will collapse. No need to fight it.

Except that being left wing

is about fighting capitalism by all possible means.

It's about relentlessly identifying and unpicking class interests.

So what if, as the reactionaries keep pointing out,

it never worked before,

and every revolution eventually fizzled out?

I insist on a rational calculation...

Capitalism devastates the planet

and will never reform itself,

so to save the planet,

we need a revolution.

There is no other solution.

You're depressed, Pablo,

because you deserted.

As usual.

52.1, did you see?

Yes, you must have.

I mean, maybe you didn't.

52.1%!

We won.

And...

We miss you. All my love.

You'll come with me to bury Dad?

No.

Will you come back?

Looking good.

Honestly, it's a bummer.

I'd love to look in the eye the person who sent you that test.

Sure, I told you not to give a damn,

but it's frustrating not to find out who it was.

If it was a political dirty trick,

it worked.

It knocked you out of the game.

Thinking about your dad?

If it's Pablo, I can't help you.

I don't understand you guys.

But on your mom's illness, I agree with her.

It'll do you good to find out at last if you...

If you'll die young like her.

Dammit, Roussel, get a grip!

We gotta stop. I can't drive.

Let's go to the sea.

And be late for the funeral?

Let's go to the sea, not the funeral.

We'll all move on, I guess.

Hear that, Tristan?

You hear the music?

THE TWO TESTS

I clearly remember the day the test was positive.

I'd slept at my friend Anna's place

and did the test when I woke up.

My first thought, when I saw the result,

was that it could be a false positive.

Anna ran to the pharmacy for more.

They all came up the same.

A few weeks later,

Anna came to see me

and said she'd done something horrible.

She'd taken one of my tests from the trash

and sent it to the guy she'd been sleeping with.

A guy named Tristan, whose father was in her care home.

He'd grown up locally but now lived in Paris.

She told me they'd had unprotected sex.

Next day,

he described it as a mistake they shouldn't make twice

because of another girl he slept with, without condoms.

Anna realized then she was in love with him,

But he wasn't in love with her.

He was only sorry about the risks,

while she was sorry because of the other girl.

Later, when she saw my test,

she thought she wanted to hurt him.

And even that she had the right to hurt him,

since he was happier than her,

since there was a person in his life who seemed to matter more.

But when Anna came to my place, she was overwhelmed.

She'd seen Tristan again

and realized

how much her prank had messed up his life.

He was devastated, truly devastated.

Anna was full of remorse and shame.

But she didn't dare tell him she sent the test.

She told me, if he'd asked point-blank,

she couldn't have lied.

But anyway, he didn't.

She often told me she wanted to own up,

but after his father died Tristan never came back.

Not even for the funeral.

Anna never saw him again.

I'm ashamed, too.

While I did nothing wrong...

I feel bad about that test,

which for me was a source of great joy,

reached that guy, Tristan,

and was a source of fear and pain.

It's fairly common

for the need to know to stem from the family and loved ones

rather than the actual patient.

We have observed, in such situations,

that the diagnosis can be devastating,

absolutely devastating.

That's why it's a multi-stage process,

so that patients are completely sure

that they genuinely want to know.

Whatever the result of the test,

psychological support at various intervals is available.

You might imagine that...

only patients diagnosed as positive make use of it.

But those with negative results are also affected.

Very affected.

Some of them are

unsettled by the disappearance of a threat

around which they had structured their lives.

Some of them

feel they betray their sick relative by not inheriting it.

Still others panic

over the sudden prolongation of their life expectancy.

All of them are in need of support.

LAST PART THE PARALLELS

Come on, nod off now.

Who are you?

Tristan, is that you?

What...

What's with the mask?

To give to the child.

That's why you came?

What's going on? What brings you here?

Well, I got the results of the test.

And I'm...

not sick.

That's...

- That's good news. - Yes, it's good news.

It's damn good news.

Now we know the baby's not carrying the disease,

you can tell me I'm the father.

I get you not telling me so I wouldn't feel guilty over a kid.

Tristan.

You protected me from myself. It's cool.

But you have no need anymore to protect anyone.

You can tell me the truth.

Tristan.

All right.

Maybe he's not my child.

But if he's not, he should be.

There should be a moral right, a loving right, to paternity.

To hell with the laws of genetics,

it accords love its true importance.

Your baby's father should be me.

My baby's mother should be you.

Messing it up for ten years won't change that.

Subtitling: TransPerfect Media