Original subtitles

No... No...

Recording - rehearsals with Hamdias

No, no, no.

You keep letting out the same scream.

It's missing the main thing - life.

Now start again.

Stop, stop, stop...

How many times do I have to tell you?

I've no use for your actor's yelling.

An Arab terrorist being tortured,

that's what we need.

Unbearable physical pain, beatings, electric shocks,

cigarette burns...

Plus the nakedness

of a rebel Muslim girl

facing her torturers: European paratroopers.

Do you understand?

Now relax.

Concentrate.

Shut up!

Shut up!

Shut up!

Shut up! Like a real bitch!

What's got into them?

- That's not a terrorist's scream! - What's got into them?

You scream like a whore in the red-light district!

This isn't a whorehouse!

We're in France!

The bastard found me out.

Bitch! He does it on purpose.

He knows who I am.

He knows everything.

That I'm from over there, from Algeria...

That I was a paratrooper.

Shut up!

They do it on purpose.

Him and his fucking bitch of an old woman.

- Stop it. - So are you gonna talk?

Shut up!

Bastard! Motherfucker!

Fucking terrorist!

Hello?

Hello?

Hello?

It's starting again.

Who's there? Hello!

Answer me!

Speak, you coward!

Wait till I get you both.

I'll show you a real coward.

Bullshit.

I can't take any more.

It's been going on for two weeks.

Ever since you left, Hamdias.

I keep thinking it's a job offer.

The agency, a director,

or a producer, who knows?

Some madman interested in your film, Hamdias.

Hamdias, where are you?

I'm waiting for you.

Will you bring our child back?

It's the last day.

I said I'd only start worrying today, and it's already 3 o'clock.

Something isn't right.

What isn't right?

It isn't normal.

They put the recorder on day and night.

So?

They insult me.

Always the same: digs at Algeria.

Very odd.

They do it on purpose.

We've been found out!

We need to pack up.

Get the microphones out of their place ASAP.

Yes, pack up and leave, and quick.

Alright, boss.

Shut up!

You yell like a bitch!

Those aren't terrorist screams, Mrs. Fat-ma.

This isn't a whorehouse.

We're in France.

You all yell like the shitbags you are...

Israel was born of the victims

of Nazi and Palestinian camps

Israel will prevail!

Hello? It's me, calling from a booth.

I need to contact Gilles.

Trouble?

Yes.

Serious?

I think so.

222-17-42.

I hope I don't have many calls to make.

I've only got one coin left.

No money? - No.

Ask Gilles.

Alright.

Hello?

Gilles!

West Operator, here. I've been trying to reach you.

- You're out. - Yes.

Right, I'll put Mr. Philippe on.

Thanks.

Thank you.

Mr. Philippe?

Miss Galai for you.

Ah, Mr. Lepromarsi just got here, to see Mr. Raftal.

Have him wait.

Yes... hello, Galai?

- Is Hamdias there? - Oh no.

He's meant to be back today.

Is this about his torture script?

Have you heard?

- Why yes. - How silly of me.

You're one of the main players.

I wanted to pass on what Raftal - the producer - said.

Yes?

He's not in the least bit interested.

That's a shame.

But - wait till you hear this -

he wants to see you.

He wants to see me? Why?

He'll tell you himself. He's in a meeting with the boss.

Try to be here in an hour.

I will be.

Hung-up, underdeveloped, a brown-nose...

A bit of dough.

Save my kid from my mother's clutches.

What line to adopt?

Take the advice of Hamdias:

Be intransigent.

Do things my own way.

I don't want to screw up.

A producer!

Work, a bit of dough...

Dough!

I don't want anymore letters from my ma.

“You two are useless, embittered.

“Good job your mom is here to look after for your kid.

“You play the intellectual. Nothing but talk.

“Politics, politics.

"Dealing in politics when you've no food.

“Wasting your time with that nut. You'll be old soon.

“Open your eyes!“

I'm squinting.

Hamdias, your torture script didn't go down well.

I get flayed, rehearsing your scenes.

I'm a wreck, full of blisters.

Will you ever make this film, Hamdias?

Make it one day?

Sorry about Hamdias, his film will never get off the ground.

- Why am I here? - For Raftal's next number.

The leading man is signed.

He wants an unknown female lead.

Which film is this? What's the part?

He'll tell you.

That's him...

Remember, this is Raftal.

In 2 years and 3 films he's become Paris's leading producer.

Sit here.

Remember this is Raftal.

Stay here, I don't need you.

Right, boss.

Ah, Philippe! Will you call Maitre Messe?

He's back in London tomorrow. A Goya.

Jacqueline?

Maitre Messe for Mr. Raftal.

My office, yes.

The auctioneer, then.

I'm not here for anyone else.

Only Messe.

Only Maitre Messe. Otherwise forget it.

So what about this painting?

Are you deaf?

A Goya, I said!

Getty is after it.

Headlines in tomorrow's France-Soir:

“Getty and Raftal lock horns over Goya.

“Raftal wins.“

Good publicity, right?

- You read it? - No, but...

Don't waste your energy.

Neither have I.

He sends me this.

Three films on the go. I've no time to read it.

He calls me.

So I tell him:

“Let's hear your story.“

He can't be bothered.

“Well, if there's no story, tell me something."

Nothing. Torture.

I ask him what it costs,

he says: "60 million.“

Old francs!

He comes to me for a film costing 60 million?

My latest movie cost a billion old francs.

Banks, distributors, credit, on budget...

Not a penny of my own cash.

7% of overheads to start.

Do the math. Not to mention automatic aid.

12.5% commission on every ticket

and he wants a 600-grand movie?

So I told the halfwit:

“Hire a Stan"

He goes, “No stars.“

Loftily, if you please.

Yeah, no stars...

is the road to ruin.

- Know what he says? - No.

It's crazy.

He says...

“Fuck you.“

Fuck. ...?

Listen...

“Fuck you.

“You...

“your crew, your stars...

“and your lullabyers.“

Meaning the producers,

the director and his colleagues.

Those who are lulled

are - get this - the public.

He wants to make movies that piss off his public!

Isn't that sweet?

Anyway, up until now,

producers and public have pissed him off.

All that scum!

The so-called committed director.

Torture...

I won't hear of it.

Does he even know what it is?

I've been there.

I know it well.

It's time to move on.

Move on.

Right...

Mademoiselle...

I need to see your thighs and your breasts.

Tell her.

It's...

Lepromarsi is directing.

A prestige movie.

Lepromarsi, the author. You know him?

- Sure she does. - Yeah, well, the fag's late.

Ah, but...

People get the chance to talk and they're late!

The first thing he wants is thighs and breasts.

What's up?

It's not about the kind of breasts!

It's esthetic eroticism.

The author's special vision.

Not: I show you, you get a hard on, I leave.

Anyway, dammit...

You'll never get a chance like this from a jerk like Hamdias.

Appearing alongside a star.

Prestige movie... Cannes...

Sadomasochistic passion.

A Paying role.

It'll boost your career.

Not good enough for you?

This time, Philippe...

guys...

prepare to be astonished.

This time, I'm going for it.

Like with the Goya.

For this movie...

I'm putting up my own money.

Yes!

When it's worth it...

I don't hesitate.

Guys?

Hamdias

- her guy '

told Raftal:

“Raftal, fuck you.“

Well I, Raftal, have his old woman,

naked,

right before me.

What's that?

It can't be.

That's him, right?

That bitch?

Answer me, dammit!

No, sir.

It's identification. Legend.

Come!

Hamdias will understand, better than anyone.

It's a power struggle.

Like in politics.

We're the biggest agency in Paris.

Producers have only money. We're the strongest.

Hamdias, with a hit, will be in a position of strength.

All the producers will be after him.

The press, critics, festivals

take notice of the power struggle.

- The powers, Chile... - And the scream?

Scream?

My scream.

I let out a scream. What was it like?

How powerful was it?.

No one will identify with my belly,

with my chest,

with my lovers,

the exploits of my thighs,

my kidneys, my urine...

No legend.

No career boost.

You express only misery.

You're mine only when slaughtered,

humiliated.

A corpse.

I know how to wince.

But how to make you wince,

skeleton?

Nine paces from the entrance,

on your right, is the bar:

5 meters long, with 8 stools.

The bartender is at the end, by the office wall.

Rehearsals, scene 23, arrival in bar. Planting bomb. Exit.

On your left, the long, rectangular room.

It has 17 tables.

One wall seat,

on the left,

along with the stairs to bathroom and phone,

accessible by squeezing past tables.

First stop, the bar. You order a drink.

Place the bag with the device

at your feet, open your handbag, take out a calling card,

ask for a telephone token

and head for the bathroom.

Right, let's go.

If you get bogged down

in rehearsals in my absence, put yourself

in real danger.

Take the explosive, plug in a detonator and go.

I'll give myself five...

No, seven minutes.

Gilles?

Yes.

You did as I said, you didn't touch anything?

Nothing!

I turned up the TV.

Don't change anything, do exactly what you always do

until Hamdias gets back.

Turn it down?

No, no, leave it.

Here.

It's not much but it's the best we could do.

- Where is he? - He never says.

Of course.

If he isn't back tonight,

then there's been a hitch.

How can he be made to understand

that his parallel, individual

adventurist actions

put us all in danger?

Ah!

He's meant to be bringing my child back too.

At the last meeting,

the comrades decided to exclude him,

maybe to punish him.

Or even eliminate him.

Discipline. We'll see how.

No reason to play games with other people's lives.

If he wants to play

with yours or his kid's, that's his business.

I'm taking a risk, coming to his place.

The equipment you have is valuable to us.

There's no point in me hanging round here.

Plastic explosive?

Yes.

You have explosive here and didn't tell me?

- I thought... - It's outrageous!

What are you doing with that?

Keeping it, for my work.

For your what?

Don't keep that here.

Give it to me, we must get rid of it.

Nothing would make me get rid of it.

It's my work tool.

I rehearse with it.

Be sensible, if it was found here...

Hamdias, my director, gave me the order.

Discipline.

No reason for you to play games with my work,

with other people's lives.

Listen...

If you get bogged down in rehearsals in my absence,

put yourself in real danger.

Take the explosive, plug in a detonator and go.

Give it to me.

That's an order!

Go and check out the bathroom.

Go ahead.

Maybe then you'll understand.

- Did he...? - No, it was me.

He made me.

Is trying to play the part

of a terrorist

as truthfully as possible

so surprising to you?

No one has the right, do you hear?

You shouldn't play around with that!

You're out as far as I'm concerned. The nuts need to be eliminated.

Now give me that explosive!

No one, you hear?

No one has the right

to stop the game of life and death

of those who have only that.

No show can ever equal the revolutionary truth

contained in the explosion of 100g of explosive.

Hamdiasism.

The contradictions of a tightrope walker or clown

does not scare him.

For the last time, give me the explosive.

It belongs to the organization.

You're lying.

And so that we're quits

of an even more clownish contradiction...

I'll return the money you gave me.

You belong to a party

and this money belongs to you.

Hamdias is dying...

for nothing to ever belong to him

that belongs to nothing.

That Way!

Gilles!

Open Up!

Toris!

Toris!

Wrong door.

Toris doesn't live here.

Isn't Toris there?

No, not here.

Wait, I'll be right back.

He's on the 5th or 6th floor.

He jostled me.

Had a knife, covered in blood.

He really scared me.

They're all the same!

Hey, Ahmed, come down here.

Police!

You hear me? Police!

And the nuclear arms race continues.

In a warning to its Arab neighbors

- even those further away, like Algeria, Morocco and Kuwait -

about aiding Palestine,

the President of Israel implied

that his country might use atomic weapons.

Successful test flight

at Mach 1.32 for French prototype F1M or F1E.

"E" for "export".?

After an aircraft was hijacked by Palestinians,

the UN is ready to adopt an American-led proposition

for more efficient laws against terrorism

around the world.

The terrorism of the rich against the terrorism of the poor.

Hamdias...

You're on the wrong side in the power struggle.

You are condemned.

Threaten lives of comrades.

Order - get rid of all gear now

You have two hours.

Disobedience means unavoidable consequences.

equals consequences danger run.

Wholly responsible.

You have two hours.

“Lives of comrades in danger.“

Yeah, right!

Blackmail, you mean.

It has to be taken seriously, though.

They're dangerous

when they're afraid.

Like cops who fire when they're pissing themselves.

They'll turn me in, for sure.

Denunciation and slander are their weapons.

That's all they know.

My boy...

I don't want to be arrested the day of your...

Hamdias...

This sonD...

Hamdias...

You made him...

Don't make me lose him...

We're being spied on.

The place is bugged.

Don't communicate with anyone.

I'll call.

Only answer when you hear one ring, then four, then two.

That'll be me.

Of a white man they say, "Yes, he's white"

Of the black man, "But he's black"

Of the yellow man, "Yes, he's yellow"

Yes, but... yes, but... yes, but...

But whether white or black or yellow

Small or big, rich or poor

Socialists, capitalists

States have their police... Police!

Whether white, black or yellow

Green, blue or pelisse

The police is the police

Service, service, service

Let them torture you, degrade you

Demolish or admonish

In green, blue or pelisse

They'll give you no peace Police

From the GPU to the CIA

The KGB to the FBI

Dark command to the CRS

SS, SS, SS

Civilian or military police

No peace, no peace, police

Don't stay here, I don't want any trouble.

I'm fed up of it.

No more guys who can't get it up.

I'm sick of immigrants with problems.

Let him try you on the hustle.

Plus I have to lend you money.

Just pretend. What are you waiting for?

Making any movies?

The ones they put me in aren't easy.

Yeah, whatever. Bye.

INDOCHINESE REVOLUTIONARY FRONT

Under the Mirabeau... Concorde, Colombes

Pont des Arts, de Bezons

...runs the Seine.

Running in October '61

The hatred running still

Hatred of the towel-heads

Blacks... all the floaters

You run, you run

Betrothed of the drowned of Algeria

Thrown into your arms over bridge

by your light cops of the City of Light.

Your lover, in October of the year 1961

during the one and only Algerian demonstration...

Galai...

You must remember.

Cut!

It wasn't convenient.

I called you all morning.

I went out very early.

- I came to tell you... - He's back?

No.

There.

So where did he get to?

We'll give them their Virgin Mary, crouching.

With some solemn music, say Bach.

Maybe an oratorio. Or Gregorian chants.

Or Verdi, like the Italians.

So what about tonight?

This screening, with no Hamdias?

It's for him, with guests producers, distributors,

the press...

We called twice today.

No answer at your place.

I'll be there, on time,

with a copy to screen. As for the rest...

Son of God.

My son.

You will atone for the sins of man.

You will be crucified by him.

You will accede

to the throne of the archetype, your father, by screams,

by your elevation, your deification,

by suffering, murder, torture...

committed by man, for you,

on you... the Father...

celestial provocateur.

You will lock away man, your slave,

in absolute abomination,

an act of deicide, for eternity.

Love is your instruction.

Murder, hatred, torture,

the foundation of your divine essence,

your testament.

Where did he go?

And with what money?

He never says.

I work.

They demand money, I beg to work,

and he just heads off.

Politics is fine but you have to pay your workers.

He can have his revolution afterwards.

It's a choice.

Work or the Chileans, Greeks, Palestinians...

Otherwise you do nothing.

Here's proof.

Revolutions need money.

Being broke, he wants to go it alone.

Should Mrs. Marsanne call,

would you be kind enough to tell her

that Hamdias will be at the screening tonight, as arranged?

I'll be at her place later to wait for him.

Only answer when you hear

one ring,

then two.

Hey, watch it!

Stupid cow!

Alas,

one thing is for certain.

The monster engendered by the evil in man

- I'm talking about torture -

is, rather than being in decline in our society,

steadily increasing.

As Christians, we must denounce this,

the word of the Gospel.

No one will look for you here.

Keep it for me. My life is in danger.

I'll come back for it.

Tomorrow at the latest.

Go.

Go!

Immediately!

Not this way, that way.

Are you not ashamed?

Here, in the house of God!

Here,

an instrument of death.

Go before I call the police!

It's a provocation!

Truly!

A provocation!

Under the Lord's roof.

Avant-garde...

That's me.

Naki.

New forms... that's Naki.

I want the entrance hall

of the Palais de la Culture in Paris.

Hello?

Don't go it alone.

Hi, Naki?

This is Galai.

Galai?

Alone?

What about Hamdias?

Sure.

Yeah, come right now.

Right now. Come on.

Hamdias, your wife...

My scream...

Wait!

Explosive...

She comes over with plastic explosive in a guitar.

Bastard. I'd be better off breaking a leg

than bothering with your bullshit.

You want money?

Money, yes.

But explosives in my home? No.

Violence? No!

Even if he knew you had it,

he'd never look for it at your place.

You're too well known. Can I go?

No. Wait.

Seeing a man in your state

convinces me I was right to keep it.

Meaning?

Fear. Fear!

Fear!

Wait, wait, wait...

Don't exaggerate.

Forget your atmospheric number.

Just show us your ass.

I'll show my ass

but for the opposite reasons that make you show yours,

rehabilitated artist!

I know your parents.

You deserved more than that half-wit.

He wants blood...

violence...

An armed struggle.

In May 1968,

you had to sweep the streets to the Dance of Death.

Revolution.

Rounding up immigrant workers, the only ones mobilized by despair.

Utopia is bullshit!

“Be coherent", he said.

A revolutionary in art,

you have to be one in politics.

Me...

I settle for art.

Look, look...

How's his coherence coming along?

Look at you.

How beautiful the Foreign Legion is

at the Bastille Day parade.

It's beautiful and moving

to see a foreigner volunteer,

whether in the French army

or the other army

we call French culture.

The Foreign Legion

of subjugated creators,

desperadoes of a burning imagination.

No explosives around here. I'm a legionnaire,

loyal to the homeland that feeds me.

Ah, legionnaires are also rebellious.

Sometimes communist, i.e. anarchist.

But such brave soldiers

when it comes to defending and enriching our cultural heritage

and giving it newfound radiance.

A foreigner?

He has gorged on French art and literature.

No matter that in his country

a dictatorship tortures, mutilates and massacres

men, women and artists like him.

Hearing that from the mouth of Hamdias is unpleasant enough

but from yours...

it's perfectly grotesque.

Tell him this when you see him,

if you're capable of passing on

something other than stupid remarks.

Tell him he lives in a tunnel.

His intransigence is akin to a mole's.

Art is universal.

The artist too.

Art is universal.

Repression, torture,

camps and prisons are universal.

The artist is universal.

So is cowardice.

Provocateurs.

Provocateurs!

You're just provocateurs.

“In the violence we are committed to,

“we will often encounter death.

“The death of women, children

“the elderly, teenagers...

“And our own.

“Better get used to it.“

That's what you told me during the Algerian war.

Today, Hamdias...

you shall meet your own.

Here...

in this apartment.

According to you

it's the site of my resignation, my treachery,

my abjectness.

The site too

of your degradation,

of your own betrayal of your abiding principle.

You will come crawling here

begging for money.

A principle that had you proclaim

that the only pure money funding revolution,

whether political or esthetic,

the only money free from state, party or business pressures,

is swindled, embezzled,

stolen money, torn from the grasp of its owners,

from the mud of the swamp.

The mud before which you knelt,

that's going to suck you in.

Hamdias...

My passion.

She wants to get rid of Kateb and me.

If we need to leave, there's no one home.

Yes, you may go.

Thank you, Mr. Sainoff, we'll obey.

You will not flinch.

We've handled many cases together, some of them tough ones.

This is where the past looms large...

your youth...

its naivety. . . Hamdias. . .

I was obsessed with him during the Algerian war.

We were accomplices.

I'm still obsessed by him.

He's in the opposing camp.

He is the enemy.

He's aware that I am his.

Actively.

We must prevent him from hijacking people's image of us,

that of the intangible victim.

It's our prerogative...

as is intelligence,

thought...

knowledge.

Acquired over thousands of years of martyrs,

thanks to which - and to its seductiveness - we have survived.

Then we built a nation.

Our mission is to consolidate it,

maintain it,

at all costs.

Even were the rest of humanity to vanish.

I had trouble getting rid of the servants.

Yes, it's always hard to get rid of them.

Help me.

What am I to do?

I don't know anymore.

Help me.

Hamdias?

Has he come?

I'm Galai, his interpreter.

It's him I'm waiting for.

He's late, as usual.

May I wait for him here?

When he gets here, if he does,

he'll react violently to his girlfriend's humiliation.

I'll take care of the rest.

Now go.

- Come in. - Was it Hamdias?

Unfortunately no. But come in, I'm sure he won't be long.

No, thanks.

I'd rather wait for him here.

Take off your coat.

Have you been to a concert?

- I'm not very presentable. - True.

Many of the guests might be useful to you.

Get changed.

The hairstyle will suit you beautifully.

Come in.

Here...

This is my friend Sainoff.

Good evening, ma'am.

Good evening, sir.

May I use the phone?

I can't wait to see Hamdias's face when he sees you in my dress.

No matter, you have to look beautiful.

It's the most spectacular I could find for you.

- Is that him? - I'll go.

It's the gear for the screening. Is Hamdias here?

No, not yet.

This is Galai.

Galai...

The protagonist of our broken-down film.

We'll see if it's an imperiled masterpiece.

And whether it's worth my investment!

This classical beauty is also

- the companion of Hamdias... - Lucky them.

I'd even say...

she's his... creature!

In a philosophical sense, of course.

I hope you won't contradict me.

You won't contradict me?

Ma'am...

Quit calling me ma'am.

Hasn't he purged you of your poshness?

- I think... - It'd grate on his ears,

hearing her being so familiar.

Typical of my chauvinist Pygmalion.

Before he has his revolution

and sets free the oppressed

in the whole wide world,

he should set free his old woman.

There's a way to go...

submissive and reactionary as you seem to be.

Ma'am, please...

Allow me to talk to you respectfully.

She's so unfriendly!

Let yourself go, he isn't even here yet,

your anarcho-communist despot.

Make an effort, you're an actress.

Permanently demoralized by her boyfriend.

She's stuck with her tics.

Tic for tic,

we like people to be clearly placed,

class-relations wise...

Now she's droning

Hamdias's hackneyed sophisms.

Ever heard of the decolonization of women?

Equality of the sexes?

Scientifically,

in terms of genetics...

Women's resistance,

their superior longevity,

mystifying digression... It's scientistic.

While society offers me

an infinite range of alienations,

I wish to be free to choose my own shackles.

I've chosen to submit to men.

To phallophorus.

Phallo-what?

Phallophorus.

Drive a reactionary middle-class boy

into the arms of half-baked revolutionaries

and he'll come back pronto... by the johnson!

Taking shape in our era

is an irresistible movement

that seeks communal happiness,

one in which happiness as a couple

is doomed.

And they are still wedded

to the submission of the clitoris to the penis.

And all because they tremble

at the idea that one of them will go fuck elsewhere.

Well, let me reassure you, my little reactionary parrot,

that a dick, wherever dipped,

or a pussy, whichever click is dipping into it,

is like new once washed.

Madam Marsanne,

I'm not saying I love Hamdias, or that he loves me.

It's reactionary.

I'm not saying we don't have ulterior motives,

each towards the other.

I'm saying I'm crippled by him,

and he's sick over me,

that we are both maimed by each other,

wounded by each other, and the things around us,

powerless to fight

that which suffocates us.

Sick to make you scream!

And I scream from people like you, madam!

The bourgeois proletarian gentlemen!

And vice-versa!

Sick from dogma and the dogmatic!

Plagued by liberating pseudo-libidos!

Valiant ideological decolonizers!

Lenins, Maos, Stalins!

Neo-christos!

Neo-spiritos!

Cancer ridden from Freudotiono!

Imperial-socio-bourgeois!

Syphilitic, phthisical!

Galai,

please, it was a friendly chat.

Recognize me? I'm a director.

I did Le Retour de Judith, remember?

- A sell-out. - It's doing well.

I'm opening two new theaters.

Anything in the pipeline?

A political film? Sure.

With porn and disaster, that's where it's at right now.

I serve it up on a sliver platter

to distributors.

You're nervous because Hamdias isn't here.

I understand.

Check if he's arrived home.

Revelations by the US Senate commission

investigating the activities of the CIA

and the part it played in Chile

during the overthrow of Allende,

in which the socialist leader died.

No new information about yesterday's attack

on the Syracuse oil pipeline that claimed two victims.

A terrorist, killed instantly

- apparently a member

of a Palestinian organization -

and an unidentified child whose presence is unexplained.

Now a clip from the interview

given to Christian Ru by Monseigneur Oujiroux

that will be broadcast...

400,000 tickets sold in Paris alone.

What does a distributor do?

Distribute.

I reinvested it all in theaters.

Quite right.

Well?

Right, we'll start without him.

Anna, I don't think it's suitable for children.

At last.

At last, yes!

Yes, it's me.

Option 2 is the one,

in case he doesn't come back here.

Don't hang around. You have one hour for the operation.

Make it clean.

Don't worry.

They've given me a hard enough time.

The baby.

The baby!

Will she refuse the breast?

If I don't hear her scream from hunger when she should,

she won't know what's hit her.

If I don't hear her scream from hunger when she should,

she won't know what's hit her.

Howl!

Wail!

Beg!

France is listening.

Our empires feed off your starvation, kid.

Terrorist...

Strip.

Now talk, wretch.

Confess.

Names.

Talk.

The sooner you talk, the better it will be for you.

Who gave you orders?

Talk.

Answer me.

Talk, you fucking bitch, talk!

Spit it out.

My mother!

You're lying. Bitch!

Filthy Arab.

You're mother's dead.

She was a whore.

Who's your chief?

Talk!

No, she isn't dead.

- She is. - No!

I checked!

No, she isn't dead!

So where is she?

Can you say?

Name? Address?

Yes.

You're lying, vermin.

You don't know what's in store.

Are you going to talk?

Spit it out.

Here.

Where here?

Here.

Name: Algiers.

Address: Algeria!

Just shut up! Shut up!

You've got no mother.

Your mother is France.

You Arab fucker.

Take it away.

Out, I said!

This is all very nice.

How about a snack?

Great! On to more serious matters.

I think we all need to eat.

Galai, you...

Do you want...

to help me serve?

Would you clear the table, please?

It's a disaster.

Mademoiselle?

I'm prepared to help you.

Hamdias and you.

But torture... I don't subscribe to it.

Maybe it's to do with being sensitive

but I'm sure most viewers would share my reaction.

It's uncomfortable viewing, an actor or actress

being tortured.

Mimicking torture. It upsets me.

Galai, would you wash these glasses and fetch them back?

Bring them back, not fetch.

Mademoiselle, I'm a psychiatrist.

A psychiatrist.

My name's Setlanche.

Fascinating, the obsession with the mother's vagina,

when it swallows the soldier's sperm.

A soldier regarded as pure and tough.

It's about attaining the identification of the father.

It's prodigious.

Purification comes from her vagina.

One, I don't believe it.

Two, broken chairs is one thing but paras? No way.

No film is going to stop torture. It will carry on.

Tell me, mademoiselle...

Intransigence.

Lovely, isn't it?

How does Hamdias make a living?

And how do you?

We rummage through garbage. Like here tonight.

We nourish the homeland...

It's both inhumane and a political mistake.

Israel has held...

Palestine hostage for 30 years, through its own power and the USA's.

The ransom it is forced to pay

is called exile,

persecution, misery, despair.

Flagrant bad faith!

Like the rest of your species.

We are, and have always been,

supporters of every revolutionary movement.

We hastened the end of war in Algeria

and Vietnam.

You did well out of it.

Fame, fortune, power...

You ended up a media magnate

and an MP for a reactionary party,

welded to the institutions you put down,

hand on the controls,

ready to trigger repression and torture

if your political power base is threatened.

Tell me please...

this man... what's he like?

What man?

The director, mademoiselle.

The director.

I believe he's yours.

I think he's like you.

Like me?

The resemblance is striking,

especially right now.

So, mademoiselle...

if he's close...

he's...

What is it?

What's going on?

- What's the matter? - Did he faint?

What happened?

She's possessed.

Schizophrenic.

Bewitched...

I wish to speak.

I wish to speak!

I have my scream.

You have three minutes

and a few seconds left to live.

This is a kilo of explosive.

Don't try it. I can blow you up at any moment.

Throw aside your weapon.

I promise you a nice community death, Mrs. Marsanne.

Get down!

Lie flat!

Everyone on their bellies!

People of good conscience,

we have often proclaimed our solidarity with the dead,

the tortured, in Vietnam,

Algeria, Chile, Brazil, and much more discreetly,

in Palestine,

in our assemblies, our marches, our meetings.

To spread the word

we have created spectacles,

written articles and testimonies,

unfortunately quickly assimilated,

digested, expelled

and recovered, as they say.

These defused messages

encouraged our enemies to perpetuate their crimes

and cast us alongside

not the victims but the executioners,

not those dying

under torture, but the torturers

and barbarity.

In reality, no one can stand alongside the dead,

unless dead, or ready to die for the same cause

as the torture victim, and ready to undergo torture,

so that one day it all stops.

The rest is but a trap

and confiscation.

And that's what we go along with.

You'll have a chance to escape it

in around thirty seconds.

No force,

no system can recover

- aside from our mutilated bodies -

the final seconds of life,

our last breath.

Of course we can always distort the meaning of this act:

massacre, slaughter, bloodbath,

collective suicide!

But only the Palestinians in their camps and tents

are able to discern

the meaning of their acts,

regarded by all as despicable.

You, the international community,

have decided that being despicable

is the only way appropriate to them.

Only ten seconds.

It's a put-on,

a fake.

Modeling clay.

Modeling clay!

A grim farce!

Hamdias,

it's not true!

Hamdias...

Oh yes, mademoiselle, yes.

Look.

Please with yourself, weren't you? Bitch!

I missed the show of my life:

seeing you in shreds, you ham!

In the phony revolutionary style, it takes some beating!

Come now...

That's enough.

What, leaving already, mademoiselle?

The fun's only just starting.

Wait,

I may have some good news.

Hamdias is home.

Come and call him.

Damned girl.

- Scum. - Whore.

- Bitch. - Piss off!

- Cow! - You shit!

- Slut. - Bullshit.

Bitch!

Mademoiselle, wait.

What was it you mentioned?

An explosion, that was it.

Someone just alerted me.

Now it's my turn to give the alert.

An electronic system has been set up on your phone.

Yes, electronic. These people have ways and means.

As soon as it's answered... up they go.

The dress.

Do you receive me?

Receiving you loud and clear.

Don't pick up!

Don't answer it!

Don't answer it!

Don't answer it!

Don't answer it!

Don't answer it...

Don't answer it...

Don't answer it!

Don't answer it!