Original subtitles

24 HOURS IN THE LIFE OF A CLOWN

“'Tis a strange profession to make respectable people laugh.”

J.B. Poquelin, known as Molière

Montmartre.

Twenty to midnight.

Why not leave the fairgrounds for the circus?

From carousel horses that spin

to another sort of ring:

the circus

with its acrobats, music and clowns.

For one night more,

Maïss and Béby enraptured an audience

of children of all ages.

For one night more,

Maïss takes off his sequined costume...

and Béby stretches his tired old muscles.

For one night more,

the same gestures repeated for the millionth time.

They scrub off the greasepaint of white,

vermilion, blue and black,

necessary artifices of clownish illusion.

Scrub hard. Clowns are thick-skinned.

Béby says tonight's bottle concert was a big hit.

Maïss agrees. They'll keep it in the act.

Quitting time at the factory.

“Good evening, Doorman.”

At least they don't have to clock out.

At home, Mrs. Béby darns socks while awaiting her husband.

Only in the ring do clowns wear socks full of holes.

“Finally! You're half-frozen. Come eat. I made you something tasty.”

"Hello, darling.

Yes, it's cold out.

Spaghetti?

Again? I've been eating it for 50 years!

Can't you ever vary the menu?”

“Actually, I love spaghetti, but I won't tell her that.

You have to keep women in their place.”

Speaking of “place,”

did you know that in China,

the birthplace of spaghetti,

they eat it with chopsticks?

I'd like to see Béby try that!

Time for bed.

Tomorrow is a new day. Good night, old friends.

Medrano, of the famous “Boom Boom!”,

said to have saved a dying child solely by his presence.

Good night, Mistinguett, Préjean.

Good night, companions of the sawdust ring,

now almost all gone.

Good night, dear old Jules.

Before going to sleep, a look at some favorite books...

THE CIRCUS ROAD

which speak of our home, whether it be of canvas,

wood or stone.

TO BÉBY - IN FRIENDSHIP

CIRCUS AND MUSIC HALL

TO ANTONET AND BÉBY

WITH GREAT ADMIRATION AND WARMEST REGARDS

Especially this one about clowns.

THE CLOWNS

A signed copy for “the Admirable Béby.”

TO ARISTODEMO FREDIANI, AKA “THE ADMIRABLE BÉBY"

WHOSE STAGE NAME IS THE EPITOME OF THE ART OF CLOWNING

Isn't that a wonderful nickname?

The souvenir trunk.

All jumbled together:

Jean Rigaux, Georgius.

Raymond Cordy.

Raymond Cordy again.

Deniaud dressed as a fireman.

Marguerite fleeing in this magnificent touring car.

Rastelli, the greatest juggler,

and Antonet, the greatest clown, with his student Grock.

Antonet, Béby's longtime friend and partner.

Not always a friend, for Antonet had a terrible temper.

Béby forgave him when Antonet fell ill.

He's on the right, a few months prior to his death.

In the middle, a few days prior to his death.

With Antonet gone, Maïss took up the torch.

This is the house in Castres

where Ma and Pa Frediani died, surrounded by their children.

Here's Willy's circus, a long time ago.

The Nouveau Cirque de Paris, now forgotten.

Father Frediani, the fiercest ringmaster of all.

Béby in Berlin, in front of Café König, now gone,

like all the rest.

A friendly note from an overseas admirer.

Negus.

Gentleman.

Detective.

Turn-of-the-century dandy.

Equestrian acrobat.

The three Fredianis performed an act

since abandoned for being too dangerous.

It caused Béby 17 leg fractures.

Béby at 18 as an acrobat.

“Good old Béby,” the photo seems to say, “how we've changed.”

Yes, how we've changed.

Oh, well.

Slumber beckons.

But before going to sleep, my dog and I, good Christians,

always say a prayer,

because in the circus, beasts and clowns share the same god.

“Dear God, allow me to continue to serve young and old,

give me a long career in the sawdust ring,

as necessary to me as spaghetti.

In God's name, amen.

Come on, Swing, time for bed.

Good night, my son.

Your mom sleeps in the next room.

Keep women in their place, I always say.”

Now we'll let them get some sleep.

What a short night! It's already morning.

Get up, little doggy!

Yes, Béby, it's morning.

Check your alarm, buddy. Time to get up.

Please note Béby's wonderful electrical system,

practical and aesthetic, using invisible buttons.

Here's the guardian angel with piping-hot coffee.

A bit too hot, in fact.

Poor Mrs. Béby. It's always her fault.

“Mail? Let's open it.”

Swing finds his master's mail quite interesting.

“My glasses.”

“Sir, Please tell me how to become a clown.

I'm eight-and-a-half years old and I'm sick of school.”

Béby receives thousands of such letters.

“Hello, Madam Concierge. Fine morning, isn't it?

Hello, sir.

Darn, I forgot my hat.”

Luckily, the guardian angel is watching.

There you go. Fast delivery.

It's never too late to be polite.

Béby feels quite perky.

The apartment is tiny, so Béby keeps the bathtub across the street.

Béby has many friends in the neighborhood

ready to lend a hand, or at least, a strong grip.

BATHS & SHOWERS

Don't forget Swing.

Here's our pinup.

This is where Béby really shines.

Squeaky clean and fresh as a daisy.

“What a beautiful world! It's good to be alive.

Good Lord, what a pretty girl.

Let's pour on the charm.”

It seems to be working!

Careful, Béby, you'll get in trouble!

Luckily, the guardian angel keeps an eye on him.

Béby is back on the straight and narrow.

And a bit embarrassed too.

Watch out! His tailor often frequents this café.

“That lamppost should look where it's going.

I'll knock its lights out.”

“Is the tailor here?” “No, come on in!”

“Hi, everybody! How are you?

Hello, boss.

You wouldn't happen to have a pack of cigarettes,

under the counter?

Sorry!

The usual: an Alexandra with lots of cream.

Want to see something amazing?

Did you see that?

Even better:

And best of all:

There!”

Wouldn't Béby have had a brilliant career in the cavalry?

When we need a laugh, we go to the circus,

but Maïss and Béby go to a café terrace.

“The circus in the street is just as funny,” they think,

“and it gives us ideas.”

A street peddler hawking something for 25 francs a pound.

Not very interesting.

An absentminded man reading as he walks,

who falls

right in front of her.

“We might be able to use that. We'll see.”

Some men love animals.

What a tender gesture!

A new scene.

Is she a student, dancer or post office clerk?

In any case, that's a gorgeous sweater.

This young man is in his element.

He has a discerning eye...

and an even finer sense of touch.

The innocent takes the fall. It's the law of the circus.

That's just the way it is.

The slap is never for the one who deserves it.

Life on rue Lepic isn't always funny.

A dropped piece of bread won't be there long.

It's time.

Some go the circus to be entertained,

others go there to work.

Maïss swears this street was named rue des Martyrs

after all the clowns who still frequent it.

The antitheft system you're about to see

is of Béby's own invention.

No one can take the car without the lamppost

and vice versa.

Don't forget Swing.

Back to the factory.

“Good evening, Doorman. Mail?

Maybe a Hollywood contract. Who knows?”

Maïss is not a typical clown.

Usually a clown is an ex-acrobat,

the son of a clown, himself an ex-acrobat,

who is the son of a clown, also an ex-acrobat.

Not Maïss.

Once there was a ballerina in Toulon.

One night in 1905,

a fire at the ballet caused part of the set to fall on her.

They asked the doctor on duty, in the audience, to treat her.

His name was Dr. Maïss.

He found the ballerina so lovely

that he asked to marry her while he treated her leg.

And the result

is here before you,

powdering his face.

“Good evening, Madame Moon.

Your friend Pierrot has come to say hello.”

A white-powdered clown and a Pierrot are one and the same, aren't they?

As children, we confused them in our dreams.

Like every night,

greasepaint of white, vermilion, blue and black

coats the skin of Maïss-Pierrot.

Miss Maïss is her father's official dresser.

As punishment, she's threatened with, “No circus for you tonight!”

“We're agreed.

We'll do the peddler on rue Lepic with the man who falls, right?”

Before going onstage,

our friends rehearse one last time the jokes they invented this afternoon.

Elegant, noble Maïss in his glittering costume.

Stocky, clumsy Béby.

The juggler.

The acrobatic dancer.

The clowns.

The odor of horses.

Music.

Backstage at a most extraordinary circus.

And now,

they're on.

What were you up to earlier, on rue Lepic?

I was watching a street paddler.

What? You mean a street peddler.

No, a street paddler.

A “peddler” is someone who sells on the street.

Well, she said she'd paddle me if I touched her apples!

As I passed,

the street peddler was hawking her wares. Out loud.

I understand. So?

Twenty-five francs a pound.

With the special 10% discount, it's only 35 francs.

A man walking by hears that and suddenly drops dead.

Dead?

We immediately called for the midwife.

- The midwife came - - What?

I mean, the doctor,

and he said the deceased's demise was due to death.

Then a woman came running up, shouting:

He's dead as a doornail.

I asked the woman, “Do you know him?”

“Yes, he's my husband.

He's English, you see.

So when he heard her yell, 'Twenty-five francs per pound' -

Yes?

He thought the pound sterling had fallen to 25 francs,

my poor husband,

and it killed him.”

For a slap to get a laugh in the street,

it can't be aimed at the one who receives it.

It's an old law that Bergson has analyzed

and an old tradition still respected in the circus.

Good-bye, Béby,

and thanks for all the slaps you took in your life as a clown.

Twenty-four hours have passed.

It's 10 to midnight.

From the sawdust ring...

to the carousel horses, asleep for the night.