Original subtitles

At his death in 1115, in Seville,

renown mathematician, astronomer and poet, Yasid Al Malek

bequeathed an enigmatic phrase scientists have puzzled over since:

"Time is an egg whose mystery I have solved.

He who knows its secret may cross through ages."

Welcome back to our program. This is Literary Stories,

renamed for tonight only,

"Literary Stories and Military Tales,"

in honor of the release

of Col. Béresford's book, Secret Missions.

Let's talk more about that breathtaking book.

You work your way out of every jam, with unbelievable ease.

An example at random.

A mission in the Sargasso Sea.

To summarize, you're arrested on an oil tanker.

You're knocked out, drugged,

tied up, gagged,

stuffed into a bag. The bag is closed,

tossed into a trunk, which is padlocked,

then strapped shut and thrown into the sea.

End of chapter. How on earth did you get out of that?

Read the start of the following chapter.

"So I had to swim to shore."

There you are.

-Simple? -Simple.

In this book, you come across as a man who acts alone.

What do you think?

In those circumstances, whoever you're with,

you have to act fast. And…

often alone. Action is our guide.

When you say you're retiring to work on your painting,

frankly, it's hard to believe it.

In war, retreat is the hardest part.

Quit when you're ahead!

Dear Jean-Jacques!

I'm so happy you could come.

You mind?

Come this way…

The style is just out there. The Afghanistan stuff is so Kessel.

Let me tell you, it's great!

Mr. Béresford, I saw you before. You're amazing.

Awesome.

I'm dead tired.

How was I?

Stunning!

The clarity of expression, the quick comebacks.

The modesty!

And those anecdotes.

So fresh, so surprising.

You're mocking me.

Seriously, how was I?

Seriously? Oafish!

Right.

Go on?

-Oafish. -Prudence, what's wrong?

What's wrong?

Had a nice time?

Fabulous! You didn't look at me or say a word!

And that stuck-up editor of yours, Albane,

took me for a washroom lady.

Though normally one tips a washroom lady.

-You're jealous. -No.

I'm not jealous, I'm hurt.

In any case, your book…

It's all bragging and boasting.

Chapter seven, page 122:

Who danced the dance of seven veils for Albanian border guards,

to distract them,

while you crawled, like a lowly worm, to Greece?

Prudence, I can't write that.

I told you a thousand times. It's marketing strategy.

Albane thought the book would be more widely read

if the role you played were…

secondary.

That Albane is great!

How did we ever get along without her until now?

The twins. Help!

Grammy, Grammy!

Pastrale! Pastrick!

Pascal and Patrick, pick all this up!

No, you're wet as fish!

Where is your mother?

Grammy, we saw Gramps on TV!

I told you, never call me "Grammy"!

Dad! We got another prisoner!

Geronimo! The Comanche took a prisoner!

Marie-Christine?

What the hell is this mess?

That you, Mother?

My name is Prudence.

For ten years I've asked you to call me by my name.

I don't care for "Grammy," which sounds like metric weight!

Now what is all this junk?

Nothing, Mother.

I'll pick it up in no time. It'll be ship-shape.

This is so hard.

What did I say? You're too sensitive. Rudy, don't be silly.

What about my tidy daughter? Where is she?

Marie-Christine has left.

Left?

She left me.

All she left was this.

"Rudy, I need to be alone. Don't try to reach me.

Wait with the children at my parents' house."

"My parents' house"?

She has a lot of gall.

See? You're upset too. Abandoning us like that!

Leaving you, fine.

But leaving you here, at my house.

She'll come back, she has to!

She can't leave you here forever.

She's my daughter.

I know her.

She's much too humdrum.

What if she's not? If she's left me forever?

That would be good.

The first intelligent thing she ever did.

Come on, Rudy. Don't be so dramatic.

Drink!

-TV at meal time? -It's their favorite.

Pastraque! Pascal.

-He's everywhere! -Patrick!

Pastral…

Pascal, Patrick…

Which is which?

It's so simple, Mother.

The twin who's slightly Asian, that's Pascal.

And the more markedly, so-called Helvetian…

is Patrick.

Download that to the hard disk, you can't go wrong.

True, they're hard to confuse.

But it is strange.

I know genes are capricious,

but even fraternal twins have never been more different.

That's why I get confused.

Any wine, to wash it down?

No, Mother. But if you like I have green tea.

Genmaicha.

Japanese green tea, made from roasted rice.

Very, very good.

This has tired me out. Excuse me.

The name?

Marie.

-I must go. I'm worried. -What is it?

I must go.

You can't just…

What about me?

Prudence needs me.

-It's unprofessional. -But…

-Mr. Béresford! -Go after him!

My friend.

Doctor!

Bélisaire, glad to see you.

How is she?

-Not well. -No?

These fits of melancholia

for one with such a vigorous nature, can be very serious.

But what exactly happened?

Your daughter's missing.

"Missing!" She ran away from home!

Prudence can't be shaken by that.

The house a mess, the twins unsupervised,

your loyal George who's on vacation.

And worst of all, your son-in-law who kept on crying,

whining, sniffling…

Prudence can't stand that. What did she do?

She shook him up, saying…

"Without laughs a day is wasted."

Exactly.

But since then, he tells his jokes all day long.

All of them?

Yes, Bélisaire.

All of them.

The farting camel?

The crawfish who can't put his condom on.

Alas.

Well!

You're depressed, but it hasn't effected your appetite.

Hello, Colonel!

-You're back? -Hi, Rudy.

Where can I put this?

Let me help you. There.

Reminds me of a good one.

You know what that is?

Mother, don't tell him.

Know what that is?

No, I don't get it.

-Come on! -No.

Sure!

Just a pinch of Deep Throat!

That's the third time he's told that one.

I was saying, you still have an appetite.

Something's strange.

Can't hear the children.

I bought them off.

Five euros for three hours of silence.

-Five euros each? -Each.

Time to feed the meter ten euros.

Thanks, Gramps.

A general coming upstairs…

Please, Rudy. No jokes on Sunday!

It's not a joke, Father.

There's a general coming up the back stairs!

The general!

Oh General, I'm so happy to see you!

Not as much as I.

So how is life, dear Prudence?

How can I say it? I never imagined ending my career

as the do-nothing wife of a mundane writer.

And yet that is what I've become.

You have no idea how it depresses me.

Something tells me I have a remedy for your boredom.

I feel better just seeing you.

You'll see.

When you've heard my offer, you'll be healed.

A detective friend in Brussels wants to open a Geneva branch.

He needs someone. So I thought of you.

You'd run it as you see fit.

Oh General, that's wonderful.

I can hunt down murderers,

recover family jewels, unmask con men.

Easy, easy. Forget your dime store novels.

-We will have to… -No! I will…

You will have to follow two-faced wives,

unfaithful husbands, purse snatchers.

You know what? You have a pessimistic nature.

To my future exploits.

May adventure begin again!

That's straight now.

A little… Good!

Higher!

Maybe I should pull it to the left a bit.

Hang on.

Bélisaire, answer me. I've been up here for hours.

All right.

What's happening?

Don't latch on to the ladder. No!

Don't latch on.

Unbelievable. Sit down.

May I help you?

He's fine, just vertigo.

But you were on the ladder.

So what?

You all right?

Hyper-bonding couple structures.

That's solid.

Can I this take?

You were right.

All this excitement and adventure. I'm reborn!

I love you, but you have a nasty flaw:

you mock everything.

You sought heart-stopping danger

and you're labeling empty folders while I sweep up.

I can't help but take note.

Mr. Van Luydekerke requests a meeting.

Show him in.

No, wait! Not right away.

Three minutes.

Shoo, Bélisaire. Get out of here.

He could recognize you and that could be bad.

-Your tie, Rudy! -Right.

Mr. Van Luydekerke!

Mr. Van…

Luydekerke. James Van Luydekerke.

A friend in Brussels sent me.

Mr. Van Luydekerke. Wait, I…

I can help.

Mr. Van Luydekerke.

James Van Luydekerke.

You live between Brussels, Moscow and Geneva.

You're in the oil business, engaged to Ludmilla Sakhaline,

daughter of the oil magnate, Kerov.

-The wedding is next month. -How could you know?

It's my business to know, Mr. Van Luydekerke.

So what's the problem?

Discretion is crucial.

Of course.

You can completely trust…

Captain Nemo.

He's my associate.

A former submarine captain. Very discreet.

It's ticklish.

Ludmilla went missing ten days ago.

She was to visit friends for a weekend in Gruyère.

No one's heard from her, except one email,

sent from a Rougères cyber-café.

Ah, Rougères!

-You know it? -Yes.

I had an aunt there.

Aunt Ada.

In a nursing home, the Sunny Slope.

Thanks, Nemo.

She said she was prolonging her stay.

It proves nothing.

Anyone could have hacked into her server.

-Spoke to her friends? -Sure.

They hadn't seen her.

They weren't even expecting her.

And you fear…?

Kidnapping… For ransom.

Did you call the police?

-No. -That was smart!

-Russian embassy? -Not on your life!

Nor her family.

Here, take this.

That's Ludmilla.

-Can I count on you? -Yes, I'll call.

How'd you know he was engaged to a Ludmilla?

I read the tabloids, sir.

And not for my own pleasure.

People Talk.

"Ludmilla Sakhaline to marry James."

"Ludmilla Sakhaline,

among the world's richest heiresses and jet-set darling,

is to be married

to James Van Luydekerke."

Probably Russian mafia.

An affair of state.

-You're dreaming. -Then what?

Think it through.

A super-rich young woman, caring about her looks,

goes missing near Rougères. Where could she be?

Here.

The Sunny Slope? No!

Why a nursing home?

But it's no longer a nursing home.

It's now called

the Phoenix Clinic.

Like the name implies, one rises from one's ashes there.

Considered a world leader in cosmetic surgery,

and rejuvenation therapy.

Strange to be back here.

Wait here. I'm going alone.

-You could be recognized. -Right.

-Hello. -Hello, may I help you?

Miss Sakhaline, please.

I'm sorry. There's no one by that name here.

Is that right? But this is the Phoenix Clinic?

Yes, but there's no one by that name here.

May I see your director?

I'm sorry. Dr. Roskoff isn't in.

In any case, he's only available by appointment.

No problem. I'll come back.

The receptionist reacted when I asked for Sakhaline.

Reacted how?

She blinked? Yeah, everyone blinks.

It's a reflex, to dampen the cornea.

The director's name is Roskoff. Isn't that Russian?

I can't hear you! What?

Roskoff? Sounds Gaelic, doesn't it?

I'm telling you. The Sakhaline girl is here.

Probably held prisoner by Russians or Chechens.

I have a hunch.

I have a plan.

Prudence!

Prudence, come back! Prudence!

-Dr. Roskoff! -Yes, Dr. Matarazzi?

Doctor!

A woman asked for Miss Sakhaline!

No one knows she's here!

Who was she, a reporter?

I didn't ask.

You should have!

All we need is the press!

Nicolas!

What about Prof. Lanson's other patients?

I told you, we'll see later. We have lots on our plate now.

I'll check on Miss Sakhaline.

Let's go ladies, in rhythm!

Miss Dubeau, in rhythm!

Everything OK?

Fine. Perfect.

Well, if all is perfect…

It's me, Miss Sakhaline.

Look, I told you Prof. Lanson is away.

Excuse me, Miss.

Don't be afraid.

Your fiancé sent me, Mr. James Van Luydekerke.

I'm Prudence Béresford, of Prudence & Co.,

Geneva private detectives.

He's looking for you.

You don't belong here! Get out!

Ludmilla!

I am not Ludmilla!

Ludmilla…

is my daughter.

Satisfied? Now get out!

I'll call for help!

No! I just want to know, where is your daughter?

None of your business!

And it's no business of James'!

He must forget her!

She's in Moscow! There! Moscow.

Why did Ludmilla Sakhaline go to Rougères?

Why would her mother hide under a sheet?

That's weird. Something is wrong here.

It's so simple.

On her way to Moscow, she stops in Rougères to see her mother.

No great mystery!

Without a word to her fiancé?

That's his problem. Duku…Klerk!

Not your problem.

Not the first time a girl ditches her guy. Right, Rudy?

You're not so funny.

Marie-Christine's been missing almost a month.

To look at you, it's like you don't even care.

Everyone's in a great mood.

Not one bit!

I'm off to class.

Hello, Mr. Courbet.

I still say something odd was happening at that clinic.

I'm positive!

I can't be wrong.

My powers tell me so.

Your powers? That's a new one.

It isn't new.

My Tonkinese great-grandmother had abilities.

Oh, so it runs in the family.

And my powers, I repeat,

tell me something is very odd about that clinic.

Can't you just admit

that your power, your hunches and your grandmother

are all dead wrong?

Now could I paint?

I'm working from nature

and that's when I need all my concentration.

Come on. Shoo!

-Shoo? -Yes, shoo!

How fresh!

Prudence.

What are you doing?

Just as my daughter did.

I'm leaving!

Not the first time a girl ditches her guy, right?

Welcome to the club.

No!

I won't drop you.

I'll tell you the one about the two cuckolds. Cheer you up.

Come on.

So there are two cuckolds. Well actually, three…

-Hi, Florian. -Hi, Prudence.

You've changed.

Thanks. You, too.

Anyone here?

Dad! I'm sure you're here.

Could you come down for once?

Scared to come up?

You'll see if I'm scared.

You're well-preserved.

Those memories flooding back!

If you hadn't left me for that guy in a skirt…

It's not a skirt, it's a kilt!

A guy who can't even climb up on a stool.

Not his fault. He has vertigo.

Dad!

What a shame you quit, little gull.

My little gull.

Been a long time since you called me that. Little gull.

Well?

What's going on?

-I left Bélisaire. -Why?

I don't know.

Because I'm bored.

Lately, I've been messing everything up.

It's like I failed in life.

Maybe you did.

Well, that's encouraging.

A good acrobat can keep things lined up ahead,

hold on to the rope.

Look at you. You never took anything seriously.

Not your job, not your grandchildren.

Not your daughter.

All you care about is yourself and your pleasure.

A pity.

You were so carefree, and sly…

A real trapeze artist.

You were so light.

So fearless.

You loved a problem.

And what's more…

What's more…

I forget.

I came looking for comfort. This isn't exactly it, but…

Thank you, Dad.

I'm sick of everything.

No, I'm mainly sick of myself.

It has to change.

It all has to change.

Little darlings!

My little sweethearts!

Dear George, how I missed you.

-When did you get back? -Yesterday.

Things will be better now.

Is my son-in-law here? And the dear little ones?

Your daughter showed up. They all left together.

-Didn't wait for me? -They were in a hurry.

That right?

Oh well.

My husband here?

And how! I think he's expecting you.

-How many have you had? -One.

Like that?

Like that?

Now we're even.

Oh my head.

Bélisaire?

I made a decision last night.

I'm closing the agency.

I'm tired of adventures, too.

Really? Are you sure?

You're tired of butting in where you don't belong?

I swear to you.

From now on you and I will rest.

We quit drinking.

Except for cases of dire necessity.

Or if it's really good.

We'll travel.

We'll go to all the places

with names we like.

Valparaiso,

Zanzibar,

Borobudur…

Meurthe-et-Moselle, La Charité-sur-Loire,

Rocamadour.

Bora Bora, the Nicobar Islands,

the river Amur.

Valence, Montélimar, Plessis-les-Tours…

Meantime, we will have to go to the agency.

It's lunch time. Can't we eat?

Hungry?

I don't know how you do it.

I have incredible energy.

I'm even wondering if it's a mistake to close the agency.

I could help so many people.

You just decided to close it.

Right. I'll close it, but…

Can't we make a few exceptions?

Already?

Seniors, for example.

And one-legged men.

Why one-legged men?

They need our support more than others.

Enough.

Fine, no exceptions.

But it is a shame.

This morning I could feel my parabolic powers.

Para what?

Don't quibble over words.

Paranormal, if you prefer.

What is it?

See that young woman there?

The pretty one, all alone?

Pretty? Well, fresh.

She's staring at you.

No. She's looking at you.

No, you.

The famous Col. Béresford, king of escape artists.

I think she recognized you.

Stop making stuff up.

Why's she looking at you then?

I don't know, because I'm…

not bad. I mean, sort of handsome.

Sort of handsome?

I'm the only woman blind enough to think you're handsome.

No. That young woman is looking at you

because she is in trouble.

Look, she's going to get up, and come speak to you.

Here she comes.

-Mr. Béresford? -Yes?

Are you in trouble?

My name is Marie Van Dinh.

I work at the Phoenix Clinic, and…

I'm assistant to Prof. Lanson.

He perfected a miracle treatment and only he has the formula.

And many people would stop at nothing to get it.

Now it's been a month since he disappeared.

You think he met with foul play?

I'm sure of it!

Prof. Lanson would tell me if he'd left.

For weeks before he disappeared,

he was worried. He said he felt he was being watched.

His office was repeatedly searched.

Did you tell the police?

I wanted to, but Dr. Roskoff wouldn't let me.

I didn't dare.

When Mrs. Béresford came to see Miss Sakhaline,

I thought it was about him.

Why? The professor's disappearance is related to Sakhaline?

No. But his disappearance has terrible consequences for her.

And not only for her.

Ambroise Lanson was…

not just an esteemed scientist. He was a genius.

A genius?

What do you mean?

How old do you think I am?

Thirty, thirty-five?

I'm eighty-two.

Eighty-two years old!

Four score and two.

Now that's parabolic.

Sure you're not exaggerating?

"Automobile driver's license,

Marie Van Dinh,

born January 25, 1929, in Saigon."

Unbelievable.

No scars.

Her nasolabial folds are intact.

No trace…

of hyaluronic acid injections.

How is it you know that jargon?

You know I'm into science.

There's no…

blepharoplasty.

What is that horrid word?

Eyelid surgery.

Prof. Lanson never uses intrusive surgery.

So what's the gimmick?

No one knows. That's Miss Sakhaline's tragedy.

An inversion process occurred. This is the first time.

Mrs…

No, it's "Miss."

Since this error, she…

She says she's her mother, but it's the daughter!

So you're saying…

Yes, Ludmilla Sakhaline, whom you saw, is indeed 25.

Wait a second. You've completely confused me now.

So…

You're saying you're 82,

and the woman I saw the other day is 25?

Yes, I know it's hard to believe…

Especially since we never heard of the treatment.

Which is Dr. Roskoff's problem. He wants to practice it widely.

He's right. All humanity would rejoice.

I must go now!

Lanson deserves the Nobel.

Can you help me?

Of course. I'll get back to you soon.

No! I'll contact you!

Don't be so worried.

I'll call you!

Eighty-two years old?

Do you believe it?

Could it be possible?

Lanson, Lanson…

Lanson what?

The name rings a bell.

Sure. The champagne.

Not the champagne.

Ambroise Lanson…

I've got it…

No, now it's gone again.

It's right here…

Bélisaire.

Spank me.

-Right now? -Stimulates my memory.

Come on.

Harder, harder.

Harder!

Stop! Ambroise Lanson, born 1901 in the Vienne region.

Honor student at the Ecole Normale in 1919,

earns his doctorate in '22,

co-founder of French Research Center in 1939.

Taken prisoner in WWII,

he is presumed dead. He resurfaces in 1947,

conducts pure science research in electromagnetism.

One more.

Something has changed. His staff doesn't recognize him.

He seems to have bouts of delirium.

He says he's found the secret of eternal youth.

He chairs conferences

about cell regeneration space-time curves, etcetera.

Little by little, he loses credibility, gets relieved of duty.

Then, promising proof of all his theories,

he organizes a convention called "The Ambroise Egg."

He invites scientists from all over.

-And? -And nothing!

That's the end of the story.

He never showed up.

No one spoke of him, nor the Ambroise Egg, again.

Those spankings have some effect!

How's it work?

I read it in some magazine. I can't recall…

"Ambroise Lanson, Imposter Or Visionary?"

-Another spanking? -No.

Something's not right.

Maybe it's not the same Lanson.

Why?

This one would be 110.

So what?

If he self-administers his own treatment?

Charred.

"Russian Oil Heiress Burned Alive."

"Ludmilla Sakhaline,

rich and famous heiress, has died,

casualty in a tragic traffic accident."

Mr. and Mrs. Wildenberg. We reserved.

Mr. and Mrs. Wildenberg.

Yes, you reserved a suite.

253. We'll bring your bags up.

-May I take your things? -No.

Three days' health and youth assessment, right?

Exactly.

We'll show you to your room. Welcome.

And happy regeneration.

Mr. and Mrs. Wilden…

Mr. and Mrs. Wildenberg, welcome to Phoenix.

Please follow me.

On the ground floor is director, Dr. Roskoff's office,

our administrative and guest services.

The dining room and pool entrance.

Sub-basement two is the O.R.

The basement has treatment rooms and our laser center.

Second floor, Dr. Jünger, breast surgeon.

Dr. Matarazzi, facial aesthetic surgery.

-Happy regeneration, Baron. -You said it!

Said it, edit!

Amazing.

One of our most loyal patients.

He's eighty-nine years old.

That is sort of obvious.

I'm sure he didn't get Prof. Lanson's treatment!

What? I don't know any Prof. Lanson.

I don't know who you mean!

Did you see poor Miss Sakhaline?

It was no accident. They murdered her!

Who's "they"?

I don't know. Roskoff, Jünger, Matarazzi.

Any one of them.

They're in it together.

-Why would they kill her? -Listen.

They're erasing every trace of Prof. Lanson.

His name on clinic programs.

The treatment files.

The client records. It's all gone!

It's awful!

His patients,

one after another…

Now it's Miss Sakhaline.

Two weeks ago, Mrs. Guénégaud, in the Paris metro at rush hour!

Accidents, accidents… No one puts it together!

-It makes no sense! -Yes it does!

They're appropriating the Professor's secret,

eliminating witnesses.

They will stop at nothing.

I'm begging you. I don't know where to turn.

I'm afraid to die.

Calm down, no one is going to die.

From here on, Prudence and I will take care of this.

We'll pose as ordinary clients,

and investigate. No one will know.

All you do is keep your cool,

and supply any information we might need.

All right?

These are your examination schedules.

Are you all right?

Welcome to Phoenix Clinic and happy regeneration!

What we could have done!

Genioplasty.

Otoplastics? What is that?

Never heard of this. "Radiesse."

"Injectable implants of hydroxyapatite calcium microspheres."

Morpholipostructure.

We're not here for a nip and tuck.

-It's a case. -Sure.

But we do have to play along.

Make believe.

Exactly. Make believe.

Here it is, Doctor. I would like large breasts.

Really… large.

An F cup, or at least E.

And I want them here. Is that possible?

Everything is possible, Mrs. Wildenberg.

But first let me see your breasts.

You must be kidding!

I'm a doctor.

You don't need to see them.

I just want to know what method you use.

The method, Mrs. Wildenberg,

depends on many factors.

There are various techniques of mammary augmentation.

Lipofilling, Macrolane.

And of course prosthesis.

Or "implants" if you prefer.

You don't use Prof. Lanson's technique?

What Prof. Lanson?

Who spoke to you of Prof. Lanson?

A friend from Paris. Mrs. Guénégaud.

I don't know who you mean.

Good.

Now…

-Show me your bosom. -No! I will not!

This the first time a patient

has refused to show me her bosom!

No, sir. Excuse the expression, but you've been had.

The Phoenix Clinic

has no miracle methods.

And never did.

That's…

We are doctors, not magicians.

That's what I wanted to hear. It's reassuring.

I always felt that stuff was for charlatans.

Nothing beats a surgical stab.

Speaking of which, besides the freshening up,

you think I could get a little dimple here?

Of the Cary Grant variety. I've always wanted one.

Naturally.

Only a question of money.

Have a seat over here.

I'll digitize your face.

First let me apply a few little sensors.

There.

Now, as the scan passes over your face,

you must have no expression.

There. Perfect.

Look at the left screen.

You want that dimple?

I have others. Deeper ones, wider cracks.

No two dimples are alike.

At the bottom, your chin transformation.

Well?

I want the Cary Grant dimple. I love it.

It's just right for me.

What a nightmare!

I've been examined, fingered,

handled, weighed and pinched.

They insulted the love handles you're so fond of.

They tried to give me a duck mouth.

And with all that, no one ever heard of Prof. Lanson.

Or wants to hear of him.

Total blackout.

And you?

Same. Exactly.

What?

Where's the scissors that tells you which way to cut?

You're hurting me.

Let it be a lesson.

Gisèle…

You're embarrassing me!

Isn't that the famous Colonel, Béresford?

Who wrote his memoirs?

No, doesn't look like him at all.

That guy's ugly.

I don't agree with you. I would have him for a snack.

Act your age.

No wrong age for a good humpty-dumpty.

You must think I'm a little…

off-color.

But I'm celebrating my new nose tonight.

My seventh.

Best one of all. Thanks to…

…the genius of the lady doctor…

Dr. Matarazzi.

And for me,

the nose is love.

See? You don't need…

You're still attractive.

You were gorgeous at 67, Gisèle.

But at 22, that youth of yours…

is more than dubious. I think you're silly.

I don't.

And you're drunk!

-I'm leaving! -Hector, loosen up.

You heard me, I'm going!

Well then, go. No one's stopping you.

-You won't stop me? -No.

One thing is as important as youth: good cheer!

Move it! Go join your old ladies!

You love them so much!

-I don't care anymore. -Fine!

I'll leave you to your depressing recaptured youth.

The car… is mine!

Did you see that?

Good riddance!

There are plenty of gigolos in the sea!

Schools of them!

Mrs. Wildenberg, I hope all is to your liking.

Just fine.

The ambiance is very… Very easy. Pleasant.

I'm told you were disappointed not to have the "Lanson method."

I'm sorry you were misinformed.

That method, unfortunately, never existed.

-I did believe. -So did I.

In Santa Claus.

I hope you'll get over your illusions.

Lanson never existed?

Let me laugh! They're jealous!

Does this exist or not? This here?

This doesn't exist? Is that Santa Claus?

That's Santa Claus? That's over 60 years old!

Over 60! So Santa Claus… is Santa Lanson!

So Prof. Lanson…

Maybe Santa is Prof. Lanson!

Does this look 67 years old?

So Santa Claus's name must be Lanson.

Santa Lanson!

Happy birthday to you…

Eleven-thirty in the parking lot!

Happy birthday, Baron!

Happy birthday to our dear boy!

Where are we?

His office. This is where Ambroise and I live.

Our nest. Our refuge.

It's also the professor's laboratory.

He had no office at the clinic?

No. He liked to work here.

Secluded.

Numerology, lunar astrology…

This is where he did the treatments? This sofa?

How would a session go?

I have no idea.

He did give me the treatments, several times,

but I have no memory of them.

Did he hypnotize you?

He may have.

Any particular equipment?

There was the egg.

The Ambroise Egg?

You've heard of it?

And where is that egg?

They looked all over, but they didn't find it.

But Marie, you know where it is.

Marie, you must trust us.

It's in a safe place, in Geneva.

I can't tell you anymore!

If the wrong people got it…

It's nothing. A branch.

Probably just the wind.

You must go!

If they find you, they'll kill us.

What?

-Please leave. -Wait.

You must leave!

I'm telling you, leave!

Go!

We can't leave you alone.

Marie, get some rest. And please, don't worry.

Calm down.

We'll see tomorrow.

Now that was completely unexpected.

She's crazy.

I thought she was crazy but now I'm positive.

She's bonkers.

Because she kissed me? You kiss me, you're not crazy.

In my case it's conjugal.

Mr. and Mrs. Wildenberg,

would you kindly follow me, please?

I think we owe you an explanation.

Mr. and Mrs. Béresford.

I see our cover was short-lived.

We look stupid.

One of your admirers, my colleague, Dr. Matarazzi.

I recognized you right away.

I so admired your book.

You mentioned an explanation?

We got off on the wrong foot. How can I put it?

There was a Lanson in our entourage.

He was the companion of an assistant, Miss Van Dinh.

Marie Van Dinh.

An aging doctor, retired.

A clockworks maniac. Very special. Coffee?

Despite his age, he did a lot of climbing.

Two months ago, he took a fall.

A fatal tumble.

And the body was not found.

So now…

Now our poor Marie…

She is in what we call… reality denial.

She won't admit her man is dead.

She made up a crazy tale.

Plots, scientists, a fountain of youth cure.

I imagine she told you about it.

You mean she's really crazy?

I don't use that vocabulary. I'd say she's…

in shock.

It's a fairly common phenomenon.

The problem is, she's spreading crap all over us!

She spreads nonsense, to some about others.

She tells them of secret cures,

miraculous treatments by the mysterious Prof. Lanson.

For example, Gisèle Malivose,

that very young lady.

From the next table.

We are very worried.

She's very confused.

She's now convinced she's 60 years old.

My heavens, how awful!

Poor Marie Van Dinh. She must have treatment.

Of course. We're seeing to that. Right?

It's late. I won't keep you any longer.

I'm glad you brought us up to speed.

We consider that our duty.

-Excuse me. -Yes?

Just a little scribble for me. Do you mind?

Cristina.

Thank you, you're so kind.

You're welcome.

You're very handsome!

Bélisaire!

There's a corpse in the pool.

Looks like Marie Van Dinh. Wake up.

A corpse in the pool!

Incredible. I just had a terrible dream.

Someone pulled my feet to a lake bottom.

Now I see Marie…

Well.

Back to bed?

-No, we're going. -Where?

We have to go.

-Come on. -Now?

Stop here.

We'll go cross-country, it's safer.

Marie?

Look!

Traces of water.

Perhaps…

Marie?

She's dead.

Now we must call the police.

What is this?

A key.

A storage locker key.

That's where Lanson hid his formula.

A rail station locker!

It was so simple!

Little Marie.

We thought you were mad.

We must go. They'll know we have the key.

You are so right! Give me that key.

Big cock-up!

-Go! -Stop this!

Jünger, after her! Quick!

My weight is carrying me!

My thigh!

It's happening.

Prudence, run!

Run!

Imbecile!

Stop!

Just shoot!

Don't waste time!

Let her go. We have the husband.

Oh, George. You frightened me.

Excuse me. I thought you were gone two more days.

All is well?

The colonel was captured by criminals.

What? Did you call the general?

Why?

The police, then.

If I told them, the colonel would have no more trouble.

The colonel would be dead.

What is this?

It all looks alike.

The egg…

And this?

"Electromagnetic Specters, Cell Regeneration,

by Ambroise Lanson."

A gentleman about the gentleman.

You didn't call me?

He said you have 48 hours to return what you took.

Or else the gentleman…

Don't panic. That gives us two days.

Shouldn't the police be notified?

You know the colonel always gets away.

We'll get nothing for now.

We must wait for the narcotic to wear off.

Tie him up. Tightly!

How can you concentrate on your toenail polish?

Applying nail polish is a precise exercise,

which steadies the nerves

and favors level-headedness.

That poor colonel.

The 48 hours are almost up.

Perhaps he's dead.

Or even decomposing.

That's enough, George.

Not another word!

I'm not worried, you're not worried.

We're not worried!

Prudence, if you stay outside you could catch cold.

No. The countess leaves the clinic at six.

We'll meet her in her room.

What makes you laugh?

You! A bunch of clowns you are!

In any case, Prudence will never give you what you want.

When we send you, piece by piece, back to her,

she will finally give in.

You don't know Prudence!

Once in Argentina, I had dynamite all around my waist.

He lit the fuse. Know what she did?

She went to watch polo. We had to wait till she got back.

Almost got burned that time!

So?

What's your point?

Just that no one is more stoic than Prudence.

Other people's pain won't move her.

Your wife will trade what she took for you.

First she wants to know you're all right.

Speak to her.

My flower.

My edelweiss, my snapdragon, my cactus, my azalea,

my poppy, my iris,

That'll do!

My narcissus, my gardenia…

-Enough! -Say you're fine, that's all.

If I don't recite the whole bouquet, she'll think I'm not fine.

My throatwort,

my orchid,

my nerine, my Inca lily,

my geranium, my hydrangea,

My what?

Hydrangea, with an H.

Isn't that sweet? A hydrangea with an H.

My tulip. My love,

don't worry. I'm fine.

Magnificent!

I don't get it!

-You don't? -No, what does it mean?

E.S.C.A.P.I.N.G.

T.O.N.I.G.H.T

It means they can stick their deal…

you-know-where!

Stop moving!

A prisoner gets at least ten minutes of exercise a day.

King of escape artists.

Oh, you came!

I knew it! You dirty little man.

Come! Come, darling!

I will show you such sensual delights!

You have no idea!

Yes, I love it!

My geranium, my hydrangea…

Hydrangea, with an H.

My tulip.

"Escaping tonight!"

Bastard!

Where is my wig?

Excuse me.

-See you soon, Countess. -Doctor.

Stop! Imposter!

Driver.

There you are! King of escape artists!

They're in custody.

Lanson's body was found.

A FEW DAYS LATER…

Not much more was discovered.

Length attraction, temporal faults. What a pile of hogwash.

Did you have it decoded?

And people died over this!

Lanson was a charlatan.

Our staff physicists thought it was a bad joke.

Maybe not a charlatan. He was a dreamer…

A visionary, a poet.

A poet.

One who bragged too much

to Roskoff and his followers.

They swallowed it whole!

The idea of the profit they could make from it.

Eternal youth.

They got greedy.

It drove them mad.

And to get the old man's secret,

they finally sequestered him.

But Lanson never caved.

Then why did they kill him?

Probably an interrogation gone wrong. Heart gave out.

I mean these were amateurs.

People are so gullible.

Believing some magic wand

can give them back 20, 30, 40 years!

People will buy just about anything.

Aren't you drinking, Bélisaire?

Sure.

-Something troubles me. -Here.

Marie Van Dinh…

We saw her ID. She was 82.

That Gisèle girl, and her gorgeous tits.

Why would she say she was 60? It's absurd!

Miss Sakhaline.

Who leapt forward in time, aging 30 years.

You weren't mistaken!

All right.

They do airbrush magazine photos, but not that much!

Are you listening?

I'm listening. You can't know how I'm listening.

I'm even recording you!

Don't forget Dad's birthday!

I'll say it again.

We haven't cleared this thing up.

You look splendid!

New hair-do, new dress, new jewelry!

What's that?

Can't you guess?

Prudence, that isn't…

The Ambroise Egg!

Give me that egg!

Come and get it!

Prudence, give it to me!

I remind you, I'm your superior officer!

The Ambroise Egg.

What is it? Lead? Iron?

What kind of substance could it be?

It's a jewel.

A meteor chip?

That's funny.

It moves.

What is this?

It unscrews!

What do you mean, unscrews?

Bélisaire?

What?

-What happened? -I don't know.

What did you do?

Nothing.

What on earth is going on?

It doesn't unscrew.

Not at all!

What? What will we do?

We'll see after Dad's party.

What will they take me for?

A baby.

A very cute baby.

Happy birthday, Dad!

Hello, daughter.

So you're back.

-Husband's not here? -No.

Something just came up.

He sends his best.

Mom?

What's that baby?

The baby?

He's a baby.

My baby.

My little baby.

Isn't he cute? That smile?

So he's your own baby?

Why not? We shouldn't he be my baby?

You mean he's really yours?

Sweetie, what's with the questions?

Do I ask you

where you were for a month,

dumping your husband and kids with me?

Yes, later we'll have a drink.

Yes, he's my baby.

Such an appetite.

What's the little girl's name?

Come now, Dad.

He's a boy.

His name is…

His name is Jesus.

Yes, he's Jesus.

Jesus?

Aren't you overdoing it?

His name is Jesus.

I always wondered what Scots wore under their kilts.

Rudy!

You never read Dr. Spock!

-Not really. -Obviously!

You should know babies are modest.

That beats all.

You never took care of me or the twins!

You compared kids to roast veal!

And then you show up with a baby, out of the blue!

And Dr. Spock? You don't even know who he is!

Calm down, children!

Doesn't Grammy's baby

look like a mini-Gramps?

Dad, could I use your trailer to give him a bottle?

We should tell the truth.

So your dad can use me as a freak baby? Give me a drink!

There you go.

Single malt.

Single malt!

Such a cuty, such a cuty My little beauty

Good, right?

Who are you talking to?

No one.

Need a hand?

That's sweet of you.

But I'm doing fine on my own.

I don't know where he came from but he is a cute baby.

What the…?

Mom!

He stinks of whisky!

Did you give him whisky?

Just a drop. I think he's coming down with something.

Whisky is an excellent antiseptic.

Mom!

You're completely…

You're completely unnatural!

-Marie-Christine, I'll explain. -I can't listen to you!

I can't talk to you!

OK, let's go home. We'll think this through.

And Dad?

Tell him I'm sick. He'll understand.

All right. Just one more for the road.

Hey, save me a little.

Babies must be in the rear.

In safety seats.

License and registration?

Hello, Ma'am.

Alcotest.

-Here, blow. -Really?

-That enough? -Fine.

Mrs. Béresford, I didn't recognize you.

But we have a problem. You're at .15

We have to bring you in for a blood test.

I protest, Officer. I've had nothing to drink!

Your device must be defective.

In that case, the blood test will confirm it.

Look, Officer, I'm really very tired.

I worked all day. I have a small child with me.

I can't go to the station now. And I didn't have a drop!

Unfortunately, the test says otherwise.

But your contraption doesn't work!

Look, let's try something. I'm just suggesting.

Try it on my grandson. You'll see it's broken.

No, that's not regulation.

Come on. Let's try!

Officer, you'll see it's out of order. Try it.

Well… can he blow?

Sure, he loves bagpipes!

Let me see. Come on.

You'll see.

Right, baby?

Go ahead, blow! Blow!

Very good, baby!

He blew!

Well?

-He's at .23! -See?

You're right. This is ridiculous!

Come on. Impossible.

Our apologies. I'll give you your papers.

Right behind you.

Really, those balloon tests worked better.

Where is he?

Where did he go? My baby!

I can't believe this.

Where is he?

Where are you?

Bélisaire!

My baby!

Baby?

What baby?

You don't remember?

Tally-ho! Tally-ho!

You see, Prudence? It only unscrews

when in proximity to a space-time fault.

Must be one in the Lanson chalet, one on the road.

Probably others.

And people thought him mad.

You realize?

With this, you can add or subtract years of age

without changing eras.

In the jargon, that's called getting younger.

Or older, like Miss Sakhaline!

A mishap. Slip of the hand, it doesn't count.

What an extraordinary invention!

Diabolical!

We should give it to the general.

You're crazy!

You can't leave this to the military or to politicians.

They could do something awful!

Whereas we…

We might…

-Kevin! -Give me that!

Give that back!

Kevin, come here!

Out of the way! Move!

Well!

Little boy, give us the egg. Drop it!

How horrible!

I think we made a big boo-boo.

We didn't do a thing.

But face it…

I'm thirsty!

-Aren't you? -Sure.

Kevin!

That kid was horrible anyway, right?

He would've made his poor mother suffer.

He might've murdered her. Who knows?

He had serial killer potential.

A future Pol Pot. Worse. Attila the Hun!

Whereas the old guy seems entirely fetching.

Makes you want to adopt him!

See? No one will ever know,

but Prudence & Co. has perhaps spared humanity

a most terrible scourge.

Subtitling by: Michael Katims