Original subtitles

Algiers, this splendid modern city

was more or less like this in 1830.

Run down houses, packed tight like pomegranate seeds.

Fromentin's shadow could return to one of these cafes,

the Casbah is still the one he described:

a mix of faces, colors, smells and sounds,

a fantastic maze of twisting alleys and stairways.

But Algiers is now more than the old Casbah!

France knew how to open its windows.

The new city surged up towards the heights,

widening its arteries, bolstering itself with grand monuments,

with buildings too tall and too Parisian.

The inseparable blend of Western and Arab life

is one of Algeria's charms.

They meet in Algiers more than anywhere else in the country.

Algiers is like Algeria's first smile.

The city unfolds before the dazzled tourist, spreading...

He's asking what you did.

I killed an Arab.

THE STRANGER

-Hello. Mr. Meursault? -Yes.

-A telegram for you.

Have a good day. -Thank you.

YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY FUNERAL TOMORROW DEEP SYMPATHY

-Come in.

Ah, Meursault.

Yes?

-I'm sorry, it's not my fault.

-How many days do you need? -Two.

-How old was your mother?

-Around sixty.

-You may go.

(-Here.)

(You only have one mother.)

-No! -Do you want to go that way?

-No! -Go sit down.

-No

-What are we going to have?

-But I want the spinning top!

-He wants his spinning top.

-Enjoy your meal, my friend.

-It's hot, isn't it?

-Ah!

Ooh la la!

-Mr. Meursault? -Yes.

-Good morning, sir.

The director is waiting for you.

-During her three years here, your mother

she was happy, wasn't she?

I know your income is modest. You couldn't provide for her.

-Yes.

-Alright.

The funeral is at 11 tomorrow. You may keep vigil tonight.

Your mother wished to be buried religiously

and to have a mass.

So I took care of everything.

-Thank you.

-I just need a quick signature down here.

I had her moved to our morgue, so as not to upset the others.

Whenever there's a death, they're nervous for two or three days.

Hello. -Hello.

Please.

Ah!

Mr. Meursault.

I'm going to open the coffin.

Don't you want to see your mother one last time?

-No.

-Why?

-Because there's no point.

-Do you want dinner?

-I'm not hungry.

-Coffee?

-Yes, please.

Thank you.

-Come in.

Ladies and gentlemen.

Take a seat.

There's a seat there.

-Your mother was her only friend here. Now she has no one.

Alright, wake up! Go back to your rooms.

Would you like more coffee?

-Yes.

-Good morning. -Good morning, Father. You alright?

Amen.

(It’s Mr. Perez. He was your mother’s fiancé.)

(Go ahead.)

Are you okay, Mr. Perez? Lean on me.

Amen. -Amen.

-In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.

Amen.

Come on, come here!

You bastard! You lousy dog! No!

Bastard, come on, come here.

You’re pissing me off!

Come here!

What are you looking at?

Huh?

Bastard!

(Thank you.)

Hello.

Hello, Marie.

- Are you okay? - Yes.

- And you? - I’m fine.

- You still work at...? - Yes.

And you?

Still a typist.

Good.

It’s hot.

Want to go for a swim?

Okay.

- Shall we go? - Mm.

Are you in mourning?

My mother died.

- I buried her yesterday. - I’m sorry.

Do you want to go to the cinema?

Yes.

Why not.

- Hello. - Two tickets.

*Well then, I’ll begin.

*Fear...

*Every man condemned to death

*will have his head cut off.

*-Pity. *-Every man condemned to death

*will have his head...

*cut off.

*

*-Affirmative.

*-Every man condemned to death will have his head cut off.

*Isn't that right?

*-And thoughtful!

*-Thoughtful.

*Every man condemned to death...

*cut off.

*-Funny!

*-Every con...

Sunday, lunch at my aunt’s See you soon Marie

-It's not open. Get up, get out!

Get up, that's all.

Get out! -But why?

-I told you to leave! Come on, go.

Come on!

-Enjoy your meal.

How's it going, wasn't too rough?

-No.

-Good. Hello. -Hello.

-Here. -Thanks.

-Dirty Arab bastards! Damn, my suit.

That pisses me off!

Damn! Oh Meursault, how's it going?

I've got wine and blood sausage, want some?

Come on, let's go.

There you go, good blood sausage.

You see that Arab from before? He's Djemila's brother.

And he's got it out for me because she's my girl.

I support her, that bitch. I pay for everything.

If she worked half a day, that'd be fine with me.

But she won't, says she can't handle it.

I give her 20 francs a day.

I pay for her stockings, her rent,

and she drinks coffee with her friends all afternoon.

Then I found out she was cheating.

I hit her,

and she told her brother.

I told him exactly what I thought:

her only goal,

for her, was to have fun with her body.

Mmh.

What do you think about my situation?

-I don't know.

-You think she's cheating?

-You can never tell.

-Well, anyway, my idea,

would be to write her a letter.

That way, she comes back, I sleep with her,

and I kick her out.

You could help me out.

-How so?

-To write the letter.

Djemila. Djemila Hamdani.

You have nice handwriting.

I knew you knew life, but not like this.

Now you're a real buddy!

Yeah, you're a real buddy.

Don't let yourself go, old pal.

I heard about your mother. It's sad, but that's how it is.

That's life.

Between men, we always understand each other.

(-What's that?) -It must be Salamano.

a neighbor.

He has a dog, he beats it and yells at it.

(Poor thing.)

-Like an old couple.

I'm going to the store.

I'll be right back.

-Do you love me?

-It doesn't mean anything.

-Well it does.

-I don't think so.

-Is it your neighbor and his dog again?

-No, it must be Raymond.

-What's going on? -It's coming from here.

We have to do something.

Can we call an officer? -One is coming.

-Over here, officer!

-So, where is it?

-Police!

Open up!

-Yeah, yeah

-You, come out! Hurry up!

-Come on -So, what is it?

-He hit me.

He hit me. -That's not true.

-Your name? -Raymond Sintès.

-Put out your cigarette. -Let me finish it.

Oh, yeah.

Yeah Can I at least pick up the butt?

-You should know an officer

isn't a clown, understood? -Yes.

-He hit me.

He's a pimp. -Calling a man

a pimp, is that legal? -Shut up.

-You'll see, bitch. -That's enough.

Sintès, expect to be summoned

to the station. And you, get out!

Get out before I summon you!

Stop drinking, look at yourself. You should be ashamed.

Come on, go home!

Everyone, clear out!

Hey! Move it!

-Do you know that woman?

-No.

-Is she a prostitute?

-I don't know, she's his mistress.

-Didn't that bother you?

-What?

-That he hit her.

-It's their business.

(-I'm going to leave.)

-Am I bothering you?

-No. -Oh, good.

I punished her. She got what she deserved.

As for the cop, I don't give a damn.

I know how to handle them.

You expected

me to hit him? You're not saying anything.

-I wasn't expecting anything.

I don't like cops.

-That's normal. They're all assholes.

Come on, let's go out. I'll buy you a drink.

Hey, could you be my witness?

-How so?

-To back me up at the station. -I wouldn't know what to say.

-You say that bitch disrespected me.

-And that's all? -Yeah, that's it.

-Alright.

-Then we'll hit a brothel. It's on me.

-Thanks, but I'm not into that. -You're right.

That girl at your place was cute.

What's her name? -Marie.

-Marie. That's a pretty name, Marie.

You know, I like blondes. Come on, five minutes.

Five minutes! Come on, damn it.

These virgins are a pain in the ass.

Salamano, what's going on? -Rotter!

-Where's your dog?

-He was with me at the Champ de Manœuvres,

I stopped to watch 'Le Roi de l'évasion' and he disappeared!

-It's fine, he'll come back.

-I was supposed to change his collar,

but I never thought he'd run off like that.

-Go to the pound.

Pay and they'll give him back.

-How much?

How much is it going to cost?

-I don't know.

-Pay for that piece of trash, huh?

He can drop dead!

-Alright Well then, see you.

-Yes?

-They won't take him away, Mr. Meursault?

They'll give him back?

Otherwise what will I do?

-The pound keeps dogs for three days.

After that

I don't know.

Good evening, Mr. Salamano.

-Hello?

Meursault. It's for you.

-Hello?

-Yeah, it's Raymond, you good? *-Yeah...

-I just wanted to tell you

*-What?

-Some Arabs followed me all day.

*And Djemila's brother was around, so if you see him, let me know.

-Okay.

-How about taking your girl to the beach? A friend has a cabin.

*-Yeah.

I'll talk to her about it.

-Meursault.

Come into my office. -Yes, sir.

I have to go.

-Alright.

-I plan to open an office in Paris.

To handle our business with major companies.

Would you be interested?

You're young. You might like it.

Live in Paris, travel part of the year.

-Yes.

I don't know.

-A change of life doesn't interest you?

-Changing your life, I don't think that's possible.

Besides, all lives are the same.

Life here suits me fine.

-Your lack of ambition,

there's nothing worse in business.

You may go.

-So he offered you a job there? -Yeah.

-I'd like to see Paris. What's it like?

-Filthy.

The walls are black, pigeons are everywhere,

and people have white skin.

-Oh

-Would you like us to get married? -I don't care.

If you want.

-So you love me?

-I've told you already, it doesn't mean anything.

-Then why marry me?

-Because it doesn't matter.

If you want, let's get married.

-Marriage is something serious.

-No.

I don't think so.

-Would you have said yes to another woman?

-Of course.

-Me too,

I sometimes wonder if I love you.

You're strange, not like the others.

You say exactly what you think.

-That's normal.

-I don't know.

Sometimes it can hurt.

That must be why I like you.

Maybe one day you'll disgust me.

But I want to marry you.

-Alright.

-I just came from the pound, my dog's not there.

They told me he must've been run over.

-Do you want to come in?

('Yes.')

I got married late.

I was never happy with my wife, but I got used to it.

When she died,

I felt very alone.

So a workmate gave me a puppy.

I bottle fed him.

Dogs don't live as long. We ended up growing old together.

He had a nasty temper,

we used to argue,

but he was a good dog.

-He was a fine breed.

-His coat was his best feature.

You didn't know him before he got sick.

Every day, I put ointment on him.

But his real illness,

was old age.

There's no cure for that.

Your poor mother,

she liked my dog a lot.

You must be very unhappy since she died.

I hope the dogs won't bark tonight.

I always think it's mine.

-Shall we go?

-Sintès will be here.

-Do we wait for him?

-Madam, my respects.

How are you?

You good, Meursault? Ready for a swim?

What does he want?

-What's going on? -Some Arabs are after Sintès.

-Why? -Oh stupid stuff, miss.

Come on, we'll miss the bus.

Come on, come on.

Hey, Masson!

-Raymond! -What are you staring at?

-Nice to see you.

-Let me introduce everyone.

Meursault, Marie. Marie, Meursault, Masson.

-She's amazing, right?

-Yeah, she's cute.

Such a waste.

-You didn't kiss me today.

You're covered in sand!

Come rinse off.

Come on!

Come on!

-Cheers, my Raymond.

It's nice to have you here.

-Here's the bread.

Enjoy your meal!

-How's the fish?

-It's delicious. -Ah, I was starving!

-Ah! I like this kid, huh!

It was really good.

-Do you know what time it is? -No.

-Eleven thirty. -So early?

-Lunch time is when you're hungry, right?

-That's true.

-All right, then.

-After lunch, she naps. I go for a walk.

All right, let's go for a walk!

Come on! -Come on.

Come on, up you get, Meursault!

Shit -What?

-Hey, Meursault, do you recognize him?

-Who is he? -Djemila's brother, he follows me everywhere.

Masson, if it kicks off, you take the one with the beret.

I'll take the one in blue. If there's a third, he's yours.

Come on!

So, sweetheart, I've got pretty eyes, but still

You piece of shit! Meursault, look what I'm doing to him!

-Watch out!

-Fuck!

He cut me!

Bastard, he cut me. -Raymond, are you okay?

-For fuck's sake.

-What happened? -Nothing.

-But you're bleeding! -No!

-There's a doctor

who comes on Sundays.

-Hurry up! Yeah, yeah

-Who was it?

-The Arabs from earlier.

-Did they follow us?

-Probably.

-What do they want? -I don't know.

-You weren't scared?

-No, not really.

-I want to leave.

-Marie.

So?

-The doctor said it was nothing.

-I'm going back.

-Where? -I'm going for a walk.

-Cut it out, Raymond! -Don't piss me off.

-We'll come with you.

-Hey! Go fuck yourselves.

-What are you doing?

-I'm going. -You sure?

-They're still there.

What do I do,

Should I take him out? -No.

What do you mean, no? -Not unless he pulls a knife.

No. Deal with him man to man and give me your revolver.

If he pulls a knife, I take him out. -Yeah, all right,

here.

There you go, one gun and it's all over, right?

All right, let's get out of here.

Oh, Raymond are you okay?

Yes, there's no need to panic like that!

When you see evil everywhere, you end up drawing it in.

I want to get out of here.

Would you like something to drink?

That was when everything wavered.

The sea carried a thick, burning breath.

It felt as if the sky was opening wide

to let fire rain down.

My whole body tensed and I clenched the revolver.

The trigger gave way,

I felt the smooth curve of the grip, and then,

in a sharp, deafening crack, that it all began.

I shook off the sweat and the sun.

I knew I had shattered the balance of the day,

the rare silence of a beach where I had been happy.

Then I fired four more times at a lifeless body

where the bullets sank in without leaving a mark.

And it was like four quick blows

struck on the door of misfortune.

Come on, we're taking you.

- Can I have a cigarette? - No.

Hello, I am your court-appointed lawyer.

You did not want a lawyer, but

every man deserves a defense.

That is the law.

Information has been gathered about your private life.

We know that your mother died

in an asylum.

The investigators wrote that

'you showed insensitivity' at the funeral.

Is that true?

It makes me uncomfortable, but it is very important.

It could weigh heavily for the prosecution.

Were you upset,

that day?

I have lost the habit of questioning myself.

But you loved your mother?

No doubt, like anyone else.

But we have all wished the death of someone close.

You must not say that at the hearing,

or to the examining magistrate.

When I buried Mom, I was very tired,

I was sleepy,

I did not realize what was happening.

And of course, I would have preferred she not die.

Could you say at the hearing

that that day you controlled your natural feelings?

Your emotions?

No.

Because that would be false.

I warn you, the asylum staff will testify.

It could really backfire on you.

I do not see what that has to do with my case.

Listen, you are not the first or the last to kill an Arab.

That is not what they will hold against you.

So trust me,

I know the French justice system.

Meursault!

You have a visitor.

I'm here!

I'm here.

- I saw the lawyer yesterday! - So?

Do you have everything you need?

Yes, everything.

Raymond and Celeste send their regards.

Thank you.

- I went back to work. - Jeanne would not take it!

I said you would get it back when you get out!

Is he doing well?

- He's doing very well! - You have to keep hope!

When you get out, we will get married.

You think so?

Yes.

You will be acquitted.

We will be able to swim again, swim together.

Take care, I love you!

Don't you have anything else to tell me?

It's over, we're moving out!

-I don't know.

-Goodbye, Mom.

Come on, move it!

-What do you do all day?

-Line up! Move!

-I just kill time.

I read an article

in an old newspaper,

a crime story.

-Yeah?

-About a man in Czechoslovakia.

-Come on, come on!

-He left to make his fortune.

After 25 years, he was rich, married, with a child.

So he went back to his village.

His mother ran a hotel with her sister, he wanted to surprise them.

But they didn't recognize him.

To play along, he took a room

and showed off his money.

At night, the mother and sister went up to his room.

To rob him, they beat him to death with a hammer.

Then they dumped him into the river.

Did that really happen?

Yes.

The next day, when they realized who they had killed,

the mother hanged herself,

and the daughter threw herself into a well.

That's horrible!

He deserved it. -Why would you say that?

You should never gamble.

Gamble? -Yes.

Why lie?

(Thank you.)

Today, I went back to the baths.

I swam out to the buoy,

I lay out in the sun,

I closed my eyes and

I felt your head resting on my stomach.

When I opened my eyes again, you weren't there.

Why did you kill that man?

Why ruin the happiness that was waiting for us?

Your hands.

The court is taking its seats.

Want a cigarette?

Got stage fright?

No.

I'm curious, I've never seen a trial.

You'll see,

it gets tiring fast!

-All rise for the court!

-The court is now in session.

Before we begin, I ask the public to remain calm.

Any disturbance, and I will clear the courtroom.

We will begin with the questioning

of Mr. Meursault.

Defendant, please stand.

You are described as a taciturn person

and withdrawn.

What do you make of that?

-I never have much to say, so I keep quiet.

-That is reason enough.

In any case, what matters to us

is you.

There are things we do not grasp, and you must help us

understand them.

First, do you regret what you did?

-I mostly feel a kind of boredom.

-Order!

On the day of the tragedy, you fired five shots in a row?

-I fired once.

and a few seconds later, four more shots.

-Why did you wait between the first and second shot?

And why did you shoot a body already on the ground?

Mr. Meursault?

-Mr. President, my client is exhausted, and in this heat

-All right.

All right, all right.

Mr. Prosecutor,

any questions?

-Yes, with your permission, I would like to ask Mr. Meursault,

when he went back to the beach near the spring,

was it with the intention of killing the victim?

-No.

-Then why were you armed with a revolver?

And why go back to that exact spot?

-It was chance.

-Chance?

Was it chance that made you shoot a native man?

-Yes.

-And five times?

-Yes.

-Thank you, Mr. President.

-Order, please! Silence!

-Did Mrs. Meursault complain about her son?

-Yes, but all the residents complain.

-Did she blame him for placing her there? -Yes.

-And what did you notice about Mr. Meursault's behavior

on the day of the funeral?

-He was very calm.

-Calm?

-Yes, it surprised me.

He refused to see his mother's body, he didn't cry,

and he left without paying respects at her grave.

-Mr. Meursault drank

coffee with milk,

he slept, smoked

-But you smoked with him, didn't you?

-Who is the criminal here?

And why smear the prosecution witnesses?

-Answer the question.

-I know I was wrong, but I didn't dare refuse his cigarette.

-Mr. Meursault, is that correct?

-Yes, I offered him a cigarette.

-But I was the one who gave him the coffee with milk.

-Thank you.

The jury will take note.

-I mostly knew Mrs. Meursault.

I met her son only once,

on the day of the funeral.

-And what did he do that day?

-I don't remember very well.

I was overwhelmed and then

I fainted.

I didn't see what he was doing.

-Did you see Mr. Meursault cry?

-No.

-But did you see him not crying?

-No.

-That sums up this trial.

Everything is true and nothing is true!

-Was Mr. Meursault one of your clients? -Yes.

But above all, he was a friend.

A good man.

He didn't talk just to fill the air.

-Did he pay his board?

-Yes, those were matters between us.

-And what do you think of his crime?

-To me, it's a tragedy, Mr. President.

-Can you elaborate?

-A real tragedy. -Thank you.

-A tragedy leaves you defenseless.

-Yes, understood. We are here to judge such tragedies.

Thank you.

Next witness!

You knew Mr. Meursault's mother? -Yes.

She was my neighbor.

But

they had nothing left to say.

The poor old woman hardly spoke at all.

That's why he put her in a home.

You have to understand.

-Very well.

-I'd like to add something. -Yes.

-Mr. Meursault was always very kind to my dog.

-Would you say, Mr. Salamano, that Mr. Meursault

was kinder to your dog than to his mother?

-Thank you, Mr. Salamano.

Next witness.

-Miss Cardona!

- Hello, miss. - Hello.

How long have you known Mr. Meursault?

We met

about three years ago,

but we had lost touch.

What was your relationship with the accused?

I was his girlfriend.

We were going to get married.

When exactly did your affair begin?

It was a year ago.

Last summer.

The day after Mrs. Meursault died, correct?

Yes, maybe.

Can you tell us about how you met?

I do not remember

the details.

The details do not matter, we want the facts.

We met again at the swimming baths,

we swam together,

then we went to the cinema,

then

Yes?

We went to his place.

His place?

Yes.

Following your statements,

I checked the listings from that date.

Do you remember the film you saw?

It was a Fernandel film, I think.

Gentlemen of the jury, the day after his mother died,

this man was going swimming,

starting an illicit affair,

and laughing at a Fernandel film

Le Schpountz!

- That says it all! - No, it does not.

That is not it, there is something else!

They are forcing me to say the opposite of what I think.

Then tell us

what you think,

Miss Cardona.

It was an accident.

A misunderstanding.

An accident or a misunderstanding?

You have to believe that.

It was not intentional.

He is not lying.

Never.

Thank you.

Last witness. Mr. Raymond Sintès!

Mr. President, Meursault is innocent.

We are not asking for your opinion.

I am saying it anyway. Just the facts.

What was the nature of your relationship with the victim?

The victim did not like me much because I once slapped his sister.

Did the victim have reasons to hate Mr. Meursault?

No, it was a coincidence,

their meeting on the beach. - But it was Mr. Meursault

who wrote the letter that caused this tragedy?

Yes, but it was a coincidence.

Again! Hm.

The same coincidence, I imagine,

when you slap your mistress and he does not intervene.

Yes, exactly.

And when he serves as your witness with false statements.

-That's right. -And what are

your means of living, Mr. Sintès?

-I work as a warehouse clerk.

Really?

-Yes, really. -Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,

it is common knowledge that Mr. Raymond Sintès,

a defense witness,

earns his living as a pimp.

And that the victim's sister

was a local prostitute

whom he forced to work in a brothel.

Nonsense. Absolute nonsense.

-And the defendant, Mr. Meursault, was his accomplice

in a sordid crime of the worst kind.

-He's starting to piss me off. This is bullshit!

-Mr. Prosecutor, continue. -I have little to add.

Ah yes...

The defendant was he your friend?

-Yes, he was.

I mean, he's my buddy.

-And you, Mr. Meursault, would you say he was your friend?

-Yes.

-So he killed a local man for trivial reasons,

to help his buddy, the day after his mother's death.

-But is Mr. Meursault

accused of killing an Arab or of burying his mother?

-Between these two facts there is

a deep, tragic, essential link.

And I accuse this man

of burying his mother with the heart of a criminal.

The court is adjourned.

Proceedings will resume tomorrow.

-I am sorry about your brother.

-My brother, no one gives a damn.

He is an Arab.

Only your Frenchman matters, with his mother.

He should go back to where he belongs.

-His home is here.

-Come on, come here.

Come on, move.

-Gentlemen of the jury,

I will prove before you the crime was premeditated.

and I will do so in two ways.

In the blinding clarity of the facts, already established,

but also under a darker light,

cast by the psychology of this criminal soul.

Indeed,

this man killed in full awareness.

I stress this, because this is not an ordinary murder,

a rash act you might see as softened by circumstances.

This man This man, gentlemen, this man

is intelligent.

He knows how to respond.

He knows the weight of words.

And he did not act without knowing what he was doing.

Did he ever express remorse?

Never, gentlemen.

Never.

Not once during the investigation did this man

appear moved by his abominable crime.

Yet I examined the soul of the accused,

and I found nothing.

In truth, he has none.

None of mankind's moral principles

are accessible to him.

For here before us stands

a man who morally kills his mother

and cuts himself off from society

whose most essential rules he refuses to recognize

and whose basic reactions he ignores

of the human heart.

The horror of his crime almost gives way to what I feel

before his utter insensitivity.

Never have I felt

this painful duty

offset, enlightened, balanced

by the awareness of an imperative and sacred command

and by the horror I feel when faced with a face

on which I read nothing but monstrosity.

I therefore ask you simply for this man's head.

-Mr. Meursault?

Mr. Meursault?

Do you have anything to add?

Mr. President, I did not intend to kill the Arab.

-But that Arab was threatening you with his weapon?

-I do not know.

-I have trouble understanding your line of defense,

and it would help if you clarified the motives

behind your act.

-It was because of the sun.

-Silence, please!

The floor is now for the defense. -Sit down.

-Mr. President,

gentlemen of the jury,

I too examined the soul of Mr. Meursault,

but unlike the eminent representative of the prosecution,

I found something there

and read it like an open book:

an honest man,

of modest means,

a steady worker,

tireless,

a devoted son

who supported his mother for as long as he could.

Hoping that a nursing home

would offer the old woman all the comfort

his means did not allow him to provide.

But

I am surprised, gentlemen,

that so much fuss was made around this institution.

After all, if proof were needed

of the usefulness and value of these institutions,

it must be said the State itself funds them.

So, yes

It is true,

I killed.

Yes, I killed a native,

certainly regarded Why is he saying 'I'?

Lawyers often do that.

But it was a pure reflex,

in a moment of confusion,

under a blazing sun,

in oppressive heat,

facing a deadly threat

from an Arab holding a weapon,

that very knife

which had already wounded Mr. Sintès,

my friend.

...be guilty!

But if he is blamed

for showing no emotion,

that is his right,

it is his freedom.

On what grounds should society punish

a man

for a lack of tears?

It will be fine. A few years in prison

or hard labor.

I did not file arguments to avoid upsetting the jury.

And anyway, there is an appeal. The outcome will be favorable.

Bring in the accused!

After deliberation,

the accused is found guilty of premeditated murder.

As the jury found no mitigating circumstances,

Mr. Meursault will be beheaded in the public square.

Silence!

Silence, please!

Mr. Meursault,

do you have anything to add?

-No. -Officers, take the defendant away.

Court is adjourned.

-One day, in Algiers,

your father got up at dawn to watch the execution of a murderer.

He felt sick at the thought of going.

But he went anyway.

When he came back home,

he vomited all morning.

-Meursault!

The chaplain is here,

do you want to see him?

-No.

-Did you miss me?

-How would I know?

Now that our bodies are apart, nothing binds us anymore.

I had come to terms with it.

I thought you were tired of being a condemned man's wife.

Or that you were sick,

or dead.

You don't get too bored?

No.

Yesterday, I thought about my room again.

The furniture,

where everything stood,

and every single object that was in it.

Each time, I try not to lose track of my inventory.

It takes hours.

I think a man

who had lived only a single day

could easily live one hundred years in prison.

He'd have enough memories not to get bored.

You know, Marie,

I'd understand if you forgot me after I died.

If you loved other men.

If you were dead too, I wouldn't care anymore.

That's normal.

(-But you're not going to die.)

-If my appeal is rejected, I'll die.

Dying at 30 or at 70, what difference does it make?

Either way, other men

and other women will come and live after me,

for thousands of years.

(-And if you're granted a pardon?)

-Don't be afraid.

It's a friendly visit.

-Do you know about my appeal?

-No,

I know nothing.

Why did you refuse my visits? -I don't believe in God.

-Are you sure?

-It's not an important question.

-Really?

I'm not sure what interests me,

but I'm sure what doesn't interest me.

And what you're talking about doesn't interest me.

-You're speaking out of despair.

-I'm not desperate.

I'm just afraid. That's normal.

-Then God will help you.

Everyone in your situation turns to Him.

-And that's their choice.

I don't want anyone's help.

-I don't say this because you're a death row inmate. We all are.

-That's no consolation.

-Granted.

But if not today, you'll die later.

The same question will come up.

How will you face your final hour?

-Exactly the way I face it today.

-Do you have no hope at all?

Do you live knowing you'll die completely?

Body and soul?

-Yes.

-I pity you.

I'm certain your appeal will be accepted.

But you carry the weight of a sin you must rid yourself of.

(Human justice is nothing,)

(God's justice is everything.)

-That's the one that condemned me.

-Yes, but it still hasn't washed away your sin.

-I don't know what a sin is.

I was simply told that I was guilty.

So I pay.

I pay, but don't ask anything more of me.

-You're mistaken, my son.

More could be asked of you.

It may be asked of you. -What?

-You might be asked to see

-See what?

-When I see these walls

...all these stones

that sweat with pain

I've never looked at them without anguish.

But deep in my heart, I know

that even the most miserable among you

have seen a divine face emerge from their darkness.

That's what I'm asking you to see.

-I've been staring at these walls for months.

I know them by heart.

I searched them for a face for a long time.

Marie's.

I looked for it in vain.

Now it's over.

(-Let me kiss you.)

-Have you ever wished for another life?

-Naturally, but it no longer matters.

-How do you picture this other life?

-A life where I could remember this one.

That's enough. Leave now. -I still want to talk about God.

-Sir, I don't have much time left.

I won't waste it on your God.

-Why do you call me 'sir' and not 'Father'?

-You're not my father. You're with the others.

-No, my son, I'm with you.

But you can't know that because your heart is blind.

(I will pray for you.)

-Stop.

Stop!

With your prayers.

I don't want it.

Your certainties aren't worth a woman's hair.

You're not even sure you're alive,

you live like a dead man.

I may look like I have nothing,

but I'm sure of myself,

sure of everything.

Of this life, here,

and of the death that awaits me.

So yes, that's all I have.

But I hold on to this truth

as much as it holds on to me.

I did this, I didn't do that,

I lived one way, I could have lived another. So what?

Nothing.

Nothing matters.

And I know exactly why.

And you too,

you know why!

This whole life is absurd!

What do I care about other people's deaths,

A mother's love, your God, the lives we choose

What does it matter if I kill a Frenchman or an Arab

if I'm executed for not crying over my mother?

What does it matter if Marie wants me to marry her? Or that

Salamano's dog is worth as much as his wife!

Or that Sintès is as much my friend as Céleste, who's worth much more!

What does it matter if Marie gives her lips to someone else!

Do you understand?

(Calm down.)

-Don't touch me. -Calm down.

-Answer me. Do you understand or not?

-Guards!

-Do you understand?

We're all guilty! We're all condemned!

-Let him go! -Answer me!

-Don't hurt him.

Leave him alone.

For the first time in a long time,

I thought about my mother.

I felt like I finally understood why, at the end of a life,

she had taken a fiancé.

Why she had chosen to start over.

Over there,

over there too,

around that asylum where lives were fading out,

the evening felt like a melancholy truce.

So close to death, Mom must have felt free there,

and ready to live it all again.

No one,

no one had the right to weep for her.

And I too,

I felt ready to live it all again.

As if that great anger had cleansed me of all harm,

drained of hope.

Before this night, heavy with signs and stars,

I opened myself, for the first time, to the world's tender indifference.

Feeling it so much like me,

so brotherly at last.

I felt that I had been happy,

and that I still was.

For everything to be complete,

so I would feel less alone,

all that remained was to wish there would be many spectators

on the day of my execution,

and that they would greet me

with cries of hatred.

'Killing an Arab' (The Cure)