All language subtitles for The Rays and Shadows (2026)

Paris, March 1948

Here's your sweater.

People leave them any old way.

Let me help you.

They played yesterday.

I'm Eva.

Fourth floor Building B.

Thanks.

Let's go get a snack.

Hey.

Enjoying the sunshine?

Think people don't know you?

Answer us.

You're not polite.

Is that you, bitch?

-Piece of shit.
-Take this, bitch.

Stop!

Help!

Stop now!

Slut!

-Stop!
-Shut up!

Ma'am?

Are you alright?

Ma'am, come sit down.

Should I call someone?

Will you be alright?

They're gone.
I couldn't do anything.

You alright, ma'am?

-Do you know her?
-She's my neighbor.

You should press charges.

-Go see the police.
-Okay.

Feeling better?

Yes, thank you.

-Is anyone at home?
-No.

You can't stay alone.

Come to my place.
We'll call the police.

No, not the police.

-Why not?
-Not the police.

Brigitte, go play with them.

-Come in.
-I don't want to bother you.

You're not. Come in.

Something to drink?

I don't feel well.

Go lie down.
I'll watch your daughter.

Don't worry.

I've been attacked before.

Why do people attack you?

Because they know nothing.

What's your name?

Corinne.

Identity Card

-She lives in the building?
-Yes.

-How long has she been asleep?
-Four hours.

She refuses to go to the police.

She said it's happened before.

Her name is Luchaire.

Corinne Luchaire.

I'm sorry.

Feeling better?

I'm on medication, so...

The girl's fine. She had dinner.

This is my husband.

Good evening.

I'll go home now. Thank you.

-Corinne.
-Lorenzo.

We arrived from
Santiago last year.

Chile.

You work with children?

Yes.

I'm a speech therapist at St.
Joseph's Hospital.

I work with children

who lived through
bombings during the war.

We record things.

We draw.

Thank you.

RAYS AND SHADOWS

It's my old one, but it works.

You turn it on here.

Don't talk too close
to the microphone.

You have two hours of
tape, but I can get more.

What time will you
pick her up tonight?

I can make her dinner.

Yes, okay.

Several days ago,

they killed my father.

There was a trial.

A verdict.

And he was executed.

I want to tell how
this all came to pass.

I'll try to find the words.

I could never write it all.
No one taught me.

I'm sure I'll get
the dates wrong.

But to understand,
they're important.

Dates explain everything.

Even if they explain nothing.

I remember the water was black.

Black, and I was afraid.

There was a lake,

mountains,

and a forest.

It was the border between
France and Germany,

right after the Great War.

Please welcome our
friend, Jean Luchaire.

Hello, everyone.

Several years ago, the
doorbell rang one morning.

I found a young man standing
there, holding out a friendly hand.

He spoke perfect
French, almost no accent.

The art teacher from Karlsruhe,

and me, the Parisian journalist.

Welcome our friend, Otto Abetz.

He liked our articles on
French-German reconciliation.

He was fighting for
the same ideas as us.

We belonged to
no political party

and we still share that
same idealism today.

Maintain peace in a
Europe devoted to humanism

and progress.

Yes, progress!

I speak with emotion
and humbleness,

as we stand before
combatants from both countries.

They knew the hell of the trenches.
The barbarism.

And I swore one thing.

Never again.

Never again!

War resolves nothing.

It only prepares the next war.

My little girl,
Corinne, is here.

I swear to her,

she will not grow up in a
Europe torn time and again

by armed conflicts
between nations.

Joy, bright spark of divinity...

I wish to thank the
representatives of the associations

who support us today.

The Wandervogel.

Hello, friends.

The Social Democratic Youth.

And our friends from LICA,

the International League
Against Anti-Semitism,

who honor us
with their presence.

Okay!

Let the party begin.

Bookmobile Library

Paris Union for Secular Works

A Free Voice for Peace,
Justice and Europe.

The famous Otto!

My respects.

Tosia, my stepmother.
My dad, Julien.

-Delighted.
-Happy to meet you.

Thanks.

I hear you're a
literature lover.

Otto's dream is a collection
of translated French classics.

-You know people in publishing.
-I do.

You must dine with us one night.

I mentioned you to my
friend Baronet at the Ministry.

He allots subsidies.

With pleasure.

We'll do that.

My father introduced
Otto to many people.

A whole network of writers,
journalists, academics, politicians.

No one loved
France more than him.

He wanted to reconcile the
two countries, at any cost.

In the 30s,

even the respected
weekly, Time Magazine,

published a cover with Hitler.

He said he was a man of peace

who wanted to revive Germany.

We were blind.

-At last.
-How are you?

-Very well. And you?
-Just fine.

We're going to the ministry.

-For a subsidy?
-That, I don't know.

They said how much?

Ideally, 50,000 would save us.

How's Corinne?

She'll be thrilled to see you.

-I like the format.
-Yes?

-It's new paper too.
-The photos render well.

The print shop is over here.
Let me show you.

Nice set-up you have.
I'm impressed.

We just need to survive.

Hello.

-They need your signature tonight.
-Alright.

-Suzanne works with us.
-Hello.

We can't pay her, but she works.

Hello.

Nice to meet you.
I translated some of your articles.

So, you speak German?

Of course.

How many copies?

We're modest.

3,000 or 3,500?

-Yeah, 3,500 a week.
-At most.

Not enough to pay our wages.

And if the cost of
paper keeps rising...

You must hang on.
Now more than ever.

Every journalist I know
in Berlin reads you.

-You're a reference.
-Oh yeah?

You think Hitler will take over?

I couldn't finish Mein Kampf.

No one can, it's unreadable!

Concepts above his head.

Nostalgia for Teutonic knights.

And the Jews, again and again!

It's a mess.
An incompetent mess.

You see his interview?
Le Matin calls Hitler a man of peace.

Nazis don't have the majority.

They represent 30%
of voters, no more.

Our government is
centrist, not far right.

They hope to gain
control by joining forces.

-That's irresponsible.
-Or realistic.

Realistic?

Whose reality?

The German people's.

Ask Otto, he knows.

Negotiating with them is a trap.

What would you prefer? War?

Guy is right,
discussion is the way.

This is the world I grew up in.

Or rather, didn't
want to grow up in.

Later, I'd skip school
to go to the movies

or hang out in acting schools,

wondering what my future held.

Corinne Luchaire, Test take 1.

Introduce yourself, miss.

My name is Corine
Luchaire, I'm 18.

Well, almost 18.

I was born in Paris.

You can put the board down.

I left school.

Rather, I was
expelled because...

What was your problem?

-Work? Discipline?
-Discipline, yes.

I wanted to study acting.

I love the cinema.

Who have you studied with?

Raymond Rouleau, in Boulogne.

It's been one year.

Be yourself.

That's what I want to film.

The movie is about
a rebellious young girl

who's confined
in a reform school.

Did she do something bad?

What did she do?

Cut.

Corinne Luchaire, Test take 2.

You're all the same.

I don't care, I'm innocent!
Innocent, you see?

You're all the same.

No, you don't believe
me, but I'm innocent.

I'm innocent, I
didn't do anything.

I didn't do anything!

You don't believe
me, I don't care.

Take 3.

You're all the same.

Again!

You're all the same.

You don't believe
me, I don't care.

I'm innocent.

-Innocent.
-I'm innocent.

Innocent, innocent!

I'm innocent, innocent!

I don't care.

And I don't give a damn!

You don't believe
me, but I don't care.

Take 4.

You're all the same.

No. You're all the same!

No.

You're all the same.

I'm innocent, I
didn't do anything.

I dropped out of school.

My parents let me.

They called it a
"free education."

It was modern.

I knew my father had a
weakness for young actresses.

Maybe I wanted
him to look at me.

Me too.

She's not too prissy, is she?

He was always
chasing after money.

His newspaper didn't
make much, to the contrary.

Actually, I never really knew.

-My daughter, Corinne.
-Mademoiselle.

Your first visit?

-Yes.
-Welcome.

He had to pretend he
could afford anything.

I think he liked
showing off for me.

Adress for a special occasion?

No, we wanted
to see your latest.

Everything, for day or night.

I trust you.

Pavelia.

A double-faced coral
crepe and satin piece.

Lunelle.

-What?
-I like that one.

Soleane, a powdery pink lamé.

Come with me.

Here.

Do you like this?

A daytime dress for an
elegant lunch or for tea.

Well?

Very pretty.

Not for school, but it's pretty.

Perfect with your eyes.

Here's the new collection.

This will highlight
your complexion.

What do you wear
under a dress like this?

Nothing at all. It's worn naked.

Don't worry.

Here.

Mr. Luchaire?

An evening dress
for a grand occasion.

It flatters your figure.

Very feminine.

Not bad.

He'd invent a thousand reasons

to put off paying bills.

He charged
expenses to the paper.

He had to go places where
he'd meet useful personalities.

Shake hands, form bonds.

Get information.

Take part in a world that
was above his means.

He'd always spent
money he didn't have.

But money would get revenge.

We'll tell your mother the
dress is a present from Tosia.

He raised me in a sort
of reassuring illusion.

He helped others.

Friends like Otto,
who barely scraped by.

He'd moved to
Berlin with Suzanne.

My father ordered
articles from them.

What are you doing?

Looking at you.

-Are you expecting someone?
-No.

Mr. Abetz?

Yes.

Who are you?

Follow us, please.

What is this about?

Don't worry.

Mr. Abetz,

we hear you are
a true Francophile.

I often go to France.
I have good friends there.

You write directly in French?

It's my second language.

Very good.

According to our
information, you are close

to various pacifist
circles in Paris.

I'm a journalist for Jean
Luchaire's periodical, Notre Temps.

Our office works alongside
official departments.

The prevailing anti-German
view concerns us.

Your contacts in
France could help us.

Meaning?

We need reports
on the French press,

summaries of French opinion,

and any other
useful information.

Why aren't you a member
of the Nazi party, Mr. Abetz?

The French talk to me
because I belong to no party.

The situation here worries them.

You live with a Frenchwoman.

Mademoiselle...
Suzanne de Bruyker.

According to our files, she was
the mistress of Jean Luchaire.

Why are you telling me this?

It would be best
if you married her.

Naturally,

we wish to support your
"French-German Alliance."

This would suppose

expanding your
circle of relations

and traveling extensively.

We must strive to keep
channels of discussion open.

I've always...

sought to protect
French-German amity.

That's very good.

You're still young.

You can play an important
role for our two countries.

Carry on being a liaison.

Germany wishes
to maintain peace.

Make your friends understand.

To you, dear Otto,

my old friend,

now definitely
married to France.

And France is very
pretty this evening.

At a time, when the
storms of war threaten

the world once again,

your love gives us hope.

Thank you. Cheers!

To love!

I hear you'll be in a film.

No, I only auditioned
for a director.

We'll see if I get the part.

Still no sweetheart?

No.

I meet boys, but I can't.

We'll see.

I could never
introduce a boy to Dad.

Why not?

Maybe he'd be happy for you.

-No?
-No, I don't think so.

My accountant told me off.

We'll publish November's issue.
After that, I'm broke.

Sales aren't taking off.

Not enough ads or subscriptions.

Yet we have a loyal following

and a solid team.

My first bankruptcy.

I hear that the German
Foreign Ministry has secret funds

to defend pacifist ideas.

I know who to talk to.

Corinne.

Your father's not well.

Dad?

Breathe, I'm here.

Jean, what's wrong?

Can I have a glass of water?

A glass of water!

Someone get a glass of water.

-You can wait here.
-Thank you.

I'll be back, honey. Don't move.

That's it. Spit again.

That's good.

Very good.

Inhale deeply.

Hold your breath.

Here, here, and here.

These are cavities
caused by the germ.

The bacillus attacks the
lungs and forms cavities

that scar and create

the scabs we see there.

This is what causes
the blood in your phlegm

and the outbreaks of fever.

I've read about tuberculosis.

I know there's no cure.

It depends on each
person and their lifestyle.

No more cigarettes,
no more alcohol,

and less tension.

How long?

Does it advance fast?

Research is making progress.

Real progress.

Is the disease hereditary?

Certain studies

show that...

Yes, or no?
Did I pass this filth onto my daughter?

It's possible, yes.

Has she showed any signs?

Coughing, fever,
abnormal fatigue?

-Thank you, Doctor.
-Goodbye.

Thank you. Goodbye.

Good day.

This disease terrified everyone.

It killed over 100,000
people each year.

There was no
vaccine, no treatment.

You lived with a foul
taste in your mouth.

The taste of death.

A threat that never let go.

Soon the world would
be spitting blood.

My father and Otto
traveled extensively

to preach the
good word of peace.

Keep the dialogue going.

The enemy today,

is Russian communism,
not Germany.

Germany, is still Europe.
It's the West.

We need to keep the
dialogue open with Hitler.

Continue negotiating
and talking.

Avoid escalation.

-Make concessions.
-Find a middle ground.

You really think other democracies
have lessons to teach us?

In parts of America,

Blacks can't ride the
same buses as Whites.

They slaughtered hundreds
of thousands of Indians

to acquire more land.

In France, heads
fell during the Terror.

Not to mention the October
Revolution in Russia.

Each revolution has its horrors.

It's a sad historic reality.

There can be no
great European project

without a strong
and safe Germany.

So you too are fleeing Germany?

You're right.

No, he now has an
official cultural mission.

I believe in dialogue.
More than ever.

You believe in dialogue
with Hitler, dear Otto?

While waiting for better.
Don't you agree?

Racial persecution is
exaggerated by Germany's enemies.

It's toxic disinformation.

Not everything you read is true.

Germany wants peace.

My father never
spoke politics with me.

He told me not to worry.

He wanted to protect me.

I was still a kid, who
preferred her magazines.

A young actress, who
had to prove herself.

And I knew it.

Go on, it needs to look real.

She's right. Let her do it.

We're ready, Mr. Moguy.

Go on, Corinne.

Philippe, here.

Make her nice and dirty.

She's been hiding
in the fields for days.

Don't be afraid.

She's slept outside.

I don't look too prissy?

Time to shoot.

Stand by everybody.

Silence!

Camera!

Rolling.

Scene 63 slash 1.

Take 1.

Action!

Good work.

Come here.

-Come.
-Who are you?

-The new warden.
-Who?

I came while you were gone.

Turn your back, they
change everything!

Last time, it was plates.

Food was still shit.

This time it's the warden.

Tell me all about
your adventure.

Stop!

Put me in jail with
bread and "cold."

Cut!

Focus. Your lines!

You were off.

Start over.

-Your lines, Corinne!
-Sorry.

-Mark it.
-Scene 63 slash 1. Take 2.

Action.

Good work.

Come here. Come.

Tell me all about
your adventure.

Stop!
Put me in jail with bread and water.

You're like them,
you don't believe me...

Cut! Focus, Corinne.

Start over.

From the start.

-Mark it.
-Scene 63 slash 1. Take 3.

Good work!

-Can we start over?
-From the top!

-C'mon.
-Scene 63 slash 1. Take 4.

-Thanks for the comparison.
-Sure.

Tell me all about
your adventure.

Stop!
Put me in jail with bread and water.

Let the guards
beat me like usual.

Why did you run away?

Because I'm innocent.

-You're innocent?
-Absolutely.

You're like them,
but I don't care!

It's not my fault I'm innocent.

I swear to god, I'm innocent.

Innocent, innocent!

Who said the contrary?

I ran away to protest
against injustice.

I'm tired of not
being able to laugh.

We obey and eat like dogs.

We can't speak, read, or sing.

Why not forbid us to breathe?

We're not convicts!

Cut!

Bravo, Corinne.

-You're not afraid?
-Of course, I'm afraid.

Excuse me.

Bravo Corinne, it was great.

-Sorry. Philippe Delcourt.
-Hello.

-We rehearse tomorrow?
-Sure.

-Tomorrow night?
-Yes.

-Good evening. And bravo.
-Thanks.

Philippe...

-Want some dinner?
-Yes.

Yes?

With Philippe?

You should've told me.

Keep going.

Thank you.

I didn't hurt you?

No, don't worry.

Thanks for waiting.

I'm starving.

You have time for lunch?

Yes.

Forget him.

It's already done.

PRISON WITHOUT BARS

Mademoiselle Luchaire.

Thank you.

Coming?

Go on alone.

I'll meet you inside.

-No.
-Go on, my love.

I need to talk about the
director who changed my life,

Léonide Moguy.

A Russian exile who
made audacious films.

Melodramas on social injustices

such as abortion, prostitution
and reform schools.

Often portraits of
solitary young girls.

He was a true
humanist, like my father.

He saw me without preconceptions

and without indulgence.

Is it late?

-Should I make her dinner?
-No, I will.

Getting on with the recorder?

I can't remember everything.

You like that?

The Free Movie Review

The Famous Corinne Luchaire

THE WORLD OF MOVIES

Right before the war, I made
two more films with Moguy.

Then with other filmmakers.

I wanted to be different.
Change my looks.

Take risks.

I played older women.

For me, it was important.

I wanted to deserve my fate.

I was going to be a star,

like others back then.

They would be
forgotten, like me.

I'll miss you, Your Father

I always wrote:

"See you right away."

Maybe I sensed it
wouldn't last long.

Mr. Moguy, Ciné-Mondial!

Mademoiselle Luchaire!

My dear friends, thank
you for being here tonight.

At a time when war threatens us,

I raise my glass to Humanity.

To human sentiments,

to art,

to the cinema

as a pacific response
to the madness of men.

And thank you

to my young actors.

Thank you, Corinne.

To your youth.

To the films we've made

and will make together.

To peace!

-I loved the film.
-Yeah?

The man has great talent.

Ukrainian Jew, is that right?

-I never denounce.
-What?

See you right away, Corinne

-Léonide, my friend Otto Abetz.
-Pleased to meet you.

It's a great film, sir.

Impossible, sir.

I know who you are.

Your country is
a threat to us all.

Have a pleasant evening.

Léonide!

I know Otto, he's
not who you think.

He's not who you think either.

I have an early train
tomorrow morning.

I'll join my family.

Be careful.

I care about you, Corinne.

I love you too.

Do you know how we say

"I'm innocent" in Ukrainian?

No.

Follow us, please.

-It's a mistake.
-Inadmissible!

Let us do our job, thank you.

I wish to call my embassy.

Let's go with him.

Go inside with him.

-Can I use the phone?
-Sure.

Thanks.

This is an immediate expulsion
order to Germany for you.

You understand French?

Very well, sir.

Please, may I speak with
my wife for one minute?

-Just one.
-Go ahead.

I'll call you tomorrow.

Okay?

The interior minister
gave the order.

His mind's made up.

He knew there'd be
a crowd of journalists.

They wanted to humiliate me.

-Get photos.
-I won't let them disgrace you.

I don't know when
we'll meet again, Jean.

Give Corinne my best.

She was stunning.

The next day,

the press announced Otto's
expulsion, accusing him of espionage.

An agent of propaganda

who'd misled the French
about Hitler's true intentions.

I never knew he
was a special adviser

for the Nazis on
French-German relations.

A DOUBLE AGENT

Who's Behind Abetz Scandal?

He'd always sought
to avoid an escalade.

Waged war on war.

He was a liaison,

the enemy of no one.

CORRUPT IDEALIST

The idealistic drawing teacher

who slept on our couch
and barely made a living.

My father tried to defend Otto,

a victim of a nationalistic
right-wing scheme against pacifists

who were accused of
weakness and cowardice.

The threat of war

caused violent
reactions on both sides.

"The Abetz Affair"

From one day to the next,
I was in a real spy film.

Journalists said I
was Abetz's mistress.

It was only the start
of the defamation.

People had loved me,

now they had to dirty me.

England and France
have declared war.

And yet, nothing would
happen for months.

No combat.

A strange calm.

-Why take that?
-We're taking everything.

Not our material! Leave that!

Typewriters, cameras
and telephones.

You can't seize our typewriters.

How can we work?

That's mine.

-And freedom of the press?
-Let us do our job.

Jean didn't say anything?

He said he'd paid the
rent and our suppliers,

but I guess not.

No idea where he is.

We're out of money.

We can't publish the paper.

Something's off.

"As the soldier thinks, so
do the people of France."

He'd always fought against war.

And now it was
here, like a mockery.

The failure of a lifetime.

His newspaper was
bankrupt and he was ruined.

Up to his ears in debt.

So for a short while,
he disappeared.

He didn't want us to see
him like this, so he hid.

Even I didn't know where he was.

Combat hadn't started.
We called it the "phony war."

We waited.
No one believed anymore.

I would soon be twenty.

The best age, they say.

Couples form.

The sun rises.

The dress is shimmering.

We banter, this morning.

Dear Corinne, you
are a great actress.

Thank you.

Is this your home?

Not really. Well, not yet.

The owners fled the war.

Fainthearted cowards.

What are you, a businessman?

A bandit?

No, I was a bit of a banker.

Race car driver.

Gigolo.

Soldier in Syria.

I even ran a casino in Honfleur.

And I will marry you one day.

I'll never marry.

-Oh no?
-No.

-She's with me now.
-My god.

She's done with men.
Men make war.

War, what war?
The champagne war!

There's no war!
Where are the Germans?

Then suddenly, the
Germans were there.

So fast.

They'd told us:

"Don't worry, we'll win,
we're the strongest."

France was on its knees.

Humiliated within weeks.

This great country collapsed.

Total defeat.

"I say to you, we
must stop the combat."

I sent a message to
the enemy last night,

asking him

if he would meet with
me, between soldiers,

after the fight,

"to honorably seek a
means to end hostilities."

It's an honor, Mr. Ambassador.

-Do you speak French?
-Yes, of course.

Good evening, Madam Ambassador.

Your private
quarters are upstairs.

Please follow me.

Thank you.

-Who is it?
-We want Mr. Jean Luchaire.

From His Excellency
the Ambassador.

Mr. Luchaire is in Vichy.
He'll be home late.

Tell him it's urgent.

It's from Suzanne.

Otto wants Jean to come
to the embassy, Rue de Lille.

Otto is ambassador?

Our Otto?

The one who was expelled
from France, like a rogue.

I'll try to reach your father.

Thank you.

-Mr. Luchaire?
-Yes.

You are expected.

Thank you.

What do I call you now?

Mr. Ambassador?

Come on.

No one disturb me.

So, you saw Laval in Vichy.

He summoned me.

He knows we're friends.

Are we still friends?

Stop it.

Are Suzanne and the baby here?

They must be lost somewhere
upstairs in the apartments.

I'm not used to such luxury.

What's your view?

I was called two days ago

and told to leave for
Paris with wife and child.

Can you imagine?

Maybe they'll send a
replacement a week from now.

A governor.

You know they razed Poland?

It's a mere province
of the Reich,

run by a Gauleiter.

I hope to avoid the
same thing here.

What did Laval say?

He said to come see you

and find out what
the Germans want.

Then this is an official visit?

You're a diplomat too.

Like me.

Then he opened his drawer

and pulled out a big
wad of bills for my...

What did he say?

My mission expenses.

Did you take the money?

Of course.

I have to live and
pay my voyages.

You know, I don't
even have clear orders.

They weren't expecting
such a rapid victory.

I don't think they have
an occupation plan.

Sure they do.

Plunder the country.

That's what war is for.

The great looting.

Exactly like in Poland.

France is not Poland.

What do people around you say?

Would anyone
agree to work with us?

Since Pétain's speech, people
accept the state of affairs.

They trust him to avoid
fighting and bring back prisoners.

How many are there?

You have numbers?

Over one and a half million.

They'll be sent to German
factories to help the war effort.

Can you imagine?

Workers, farmers,
civil servants.

France can't
function without them.

-What good's a paralyzed country?
-Exactly.

I must return to Berlin with
a report on the situation.

And you, could help me.

Draft notes,

be my liaison with Vichy.

We'll encourage keeping
communication open.

Deal with the most pressing.

After that, we'll see.

Hello, Jean.

Madam Ambassador.

How are Corinne and Françoise?

They're safe.

Good.

-Tell us if we can do anything.
-Thank you.

-Give them my best.
-Sure.

He's waiting.

How's your health?

It's giving me a break.

I can't think about it.

Not right now.

I'm going to need you, Jean.

We must limit the damage.

I understand.

I'll need to find new clothes.

You know how
catty Parisians are.

I'm not a woman of the world.

You have nothing
to prove, Suzanne.

We'll always be provincials.

Social climbers.

Invaders above all, today.

How's Jean?

I think he's very ill.

I won't forget
everything he did for us.

He's a good man.

Generous.

I know about you and Jean.

I know you have
history together,

but it doesn't bother me.

It was long ago.

I had my life, you had yours.

It's what made you
the woman you are,

the one I love and respect.

I'm sorry to impose
all this on you.

I stand by you, Otto.

It's my decision.

I'll be right back.

Come with me.

Paris was occupied,
but still strangely calm.

Life carried on.

FOR DISPLAY ONLY

German soldiers tried to
be accepted by the Parisians.

Be korrekt, as they said.

We pretended they didn't exist.

Not even a look.

So the Germans baptized Paris:

"The city without eyes."

At the start, I moved back
home with my parents.

I knew my father was ill.

I wanted to be near him.

We didn't know if
filming would start up.

We had to wait.

Coming!

Back in your old bedroom?

We didn't touch a thing.

There's no food.
Shops are closed.

We'll find something.

We're ready, mademoiselle.

I think I caught a cold.

Sometimes I posed for magazines,

while waiting for
shoots to start.

No one could
know that I was sick.

It would've been the end.

May I have a handkerchief?
Thank you.

As you know, the
paper went bankrupt.

Well, I went bankrupt.

But the situation has changed.

The German ambassador
is a lifelong friend.

It's common knowledge.

He hopes for a
sincere collaboration

between our two countries.

What kind of collaboration?

That's up to both
parties to decide.

We want our freedom.

What's "sincere"?

You still trust Abetz?

He wants to help us.

Avoid a bloodbath.

He wants trains to run
and schools to open.

He has enemies.
Helping us is dangerous.

Don't forget, the far
right is getting organized.

They're investing in the press.

That's not okay.

Who'll finance your paper?

You say you're ruined.

No German funds if
that's your question.

I raided the piggybank,
mortgaged everything I could.

The in-laws' house
in Brittany, etc.

With a small team,
we can manage.

According to Jérôme.

The paper will belong
to a new company.

Jean will hold a majority and
pledge his shares as collateral.

Here are the by-laws.

That's great.
Who are the investors?

There are several.

The main one, is Hibbelen.

An Alsatian industrialist
who's in textiles and chemicals.

We checked up on him.

His goal is to
create a press group.

Publishing house,
radio, newspapers.

He's making the rounds in Paris.

He might even buy out Havas.

What are his political leanings?

None, he's an industrialist.

He knows that the
press is struggling.

He's buying everything he can.

I need to protect
my journalists.

Guarantee a certain
independence.

Otherwise, the best will leave.

You're quite close to
Ambassador Abetz, I hear.

I also found a homeopathic
pharmaceutical company.

Besides investing, they'll
buy advertising slots.

The embassy will help
with paper restrictions.

We should do 50,000 copies.

I also negotiated
extra ration cards

for the workers,
a free cafeteria,

passes to visit family
in the unoccupied zone.

You'd have made
a fine communist.

I know that censorship will
be tricky, but that's my job.

I'll negotiate with Abetz.

He needs our support too.

I'm to give you this.

What matters is
publishing the paper.

We argue or
disagree, but we print.

That's our life.

Publishing the paper.

Anyhow, it's mine.

I'm nothing without it.

What'd they ask for in exchange?

To give the new Vichy
government a chance.

An observation period to see
how the collaboration works out.

See what they obtain
from the Germans.

They'll obtain nothing.

I'm not sure. We need to see.

Your Hibbelen

is backed by the Germans
to take over the French press.

He's a front for the embassy.
It's a fool's game.

You know damn well.

You're mistaken.

I hope you have good reasons.

If we deal with them, we lose.

We've already lost!
What're you saying?

-Don't say that.
-We deserved it.

You want Blum? Paid vacations?

So Hitler's better
than communists?

There's another
way possible, Jean.

Listen,

I respect you, but
I'm not onboard.

Be careful, my friends.

Sorry.

Sorry, Jean.

You're a coward for
leaving, Labarrière.

Don't forget it!

I couldn't pay everyone.

I've been calling for French-German
cooperation for 15 years.

Had France extended a
hand after the Great War,

Germany would've accepted.

Today, France lost.

Germany extends a hand

with a sincere and
constructive collaboration.

Many of you worked
with me at Notre Temps,

the small review with
grand pacifist ideas.

I'm very happy to
continue with them.

With you.

Our team is strong,

driven by deep patriotism,

and intent on
serving its country.

We will not rebuild
on the ruins of the past.

We wish to build.

Hence the title, Les
Nouveaux Temps.

We must welcome these new times.

Give them a chance.

The layout is four
pages like The Times.

A compact model to
save space and paper.

Seven columns and a
front page political editorial.

I chose a classic font,

no flashy typography,

nothing sensational.

Just precision.

The idea is to be
the reference daily.

The one where other
papers get their news.

We've always
dreamed of this daily.

You have to seize opportunities.

Even in these difficult times,

we can be useful.

We must be.

What about the print run?

How many copies?

We'll start with 100,000 copies.

A morning and
an evening edition.

We'll see if people subscribe

and if advertisers buy spots.

You know the score.

My friends, to Les
Nouveaux Temps!

Thank you.

-There you go, we did it.
-Yep!

Did you hear about Labarrière?

What?

He left for London.

I hope nothing happens to him.

For me, courage is staying.

It couldn't carry on.

All those corrupt, scheming,
powerless politicians.

They were a disgrace.

This war is our punishment
for letting France rot for years.

It's our turn to propose
something new.

You'll see.

Our defeat is also
an opportunity.

People chose to forget,

but at the start, everyone
supported Pétain.

The hero of Verdun.

People trusted him to
protect us, despite the defeat.

Like a father, or a grandfather.

Meanwhile, my
mother led her own life.

Another man, maybe more.

Some were even
my father's friends.

And he knew.

A "free couple" as
people would say later.

I didn't judge my parents,

they loved in their own way.

Mademoiselle, for you.

A few flowers... for your heart.

And this wedding?

-Next Saturday?
-Perfect day.

Stop it.

An unsavory adventurer
and a cabaret dancer.

It was dubious, and I liked it.

I wanted to live!

Forget about this illness.

This filth, this menace
deep inside me.

I wanted to be 20, despite all.

Forget myself.

Paris was occupied

and I'd never been so free.

Gentlemen!

Here she is, Corinne Luchaire.

Come with me.

No!

Corinne!

What's this music?

Richard Rogers.

-You like jazz?
-I like to dance.

I saw.

I'd like to ask something,
but I don't dare.

Go ahead, dare.

I heard you can help
people get papers.

That you know
people at the embassy.

Who told you that?

A friend of yours,
she's been here.

Tamara.

A brunette who
models for Rochas.

-I see who she is.
-Yes, I imagine.

-She told you a lot.
-Yes.

I don't work for the
Germans, darling.

You mustn't say such things.

Dear journalists,

dear newspaper directors,

this meeting will take
place every week,

to enlighten you, step-by-step,

about our collaboration policy.

More importantly,

our goal is to avoid all
forms of disinformation.

Disinformation

is the great peril in
these times of upheaval.

As such, every day,

you'll receive a document
resuming national and international

situations.

You're free to consult or use
these elements of discourse

in your articles.

I'm counting on an
exchange of goodwill.

I hand over to my friend,

Ernst Achenbach.

Hello, I'm advisor
for political affairs.

My door is always open.

Today, I wish to address
the new status of Jews.

It was not a German initiative.

The French government
chose to enact this.

We of course approve this policy

and interpret the decision
as a sign of political goodwill.

The daily Parisian press.

And tomorrow's articles.

We're waiting for Le Petit
Parisien and Le Matin.

Luchaire wrote his editorial

on the American's
wait-and-see position.

The true power of a journalist
lies not in what he writes,

but in what he doesn't write.

Thank you.

We believe in freedom of the
press for we believe in debate.

Perhaps you know the saying:

"I seek not to convince
my adversary of his error,

but to unite with him

in a higher truth."

And this truth,

is a sincere collaboration

between our two great countries.

The embassy will buy 15,000
subscriptions for your paper.

We'll distribute them in
universities and libraries.

I can't get more, not yet.

I understand.

I have a few
small favors to ask.

Ausweis for friends and family.

News about prisoners.

Who can I ask?

If you need something,
see Friedrich.

He'll take care of it.

Thank you.

Call me directly.

Nothing written

and as few people
as possible involved.

Okay?

Don't hesitate.

I'm warning you,

I'm in love.

Did you see her little breasts?

-She holds nothing back.
-Yeah.

Know who her godfather is?

No.

Hitler's ambassador.

Otto Abetz.

He has Paris in the palm of his hand.
Everything.

Everything.

C'mon.

Look at the babe.

You can't dirty
a girl like that.

You're awake?

I want more.

What about the Jews' new status?

What do we write?

We'll publish a precise
list of the new measures.

The census, the
organization of businesses.

You'll do the editorial?

There's also...

the obligation of
signs on shops.

And forbidden professions.

The judiciary, education
administration, cinema and others.

Some dozen articles.

-Did they publish an edict?
-Yes.

The editorial, yes or no?

We have no leeway
with censorship.

We knew this was coming.

It's not a surprise.

Pétain acted first to
look like he's in charge.

He's overzealous.

I can write the editorial.

Certain measures are acceptable.

-Acceptable?
-Yes.

It's important

that our readers understand
this anti-Semitic policy.

How it's being organized
throughout Europe.

Its coherency.

Later.

-Not only in France.
-Later!

My editorial is on Roosevelt.

The American elections.

We always had Jews in our home.

Family, friends.

My grandfather's wife, Tosia.

My uncle, my godmother.

The filmmaker who made
me an actress, Léonide Moguy.

I knew they were Jewish, but it
made no difference to any of us.

It wasn't a topic.

There'd never been
ideas like that in my family.

Call me when you get to Tours.

A car will take you across.

The house is ready.

Your tickets and ausweis.

I know what I owe you, Jean.

But forgive me,

I can't manage to thank you.

Why not?

Because the embassy arranged it?

Go on, say it.

What matters is your safety.

Jean, I need to talk to you.

Corinne...

is famous.

She's exposed.

Protect her from all this.

I'm her father, I
know what's best.

I'll write you, Jean.

It's better if I write.

At least read it.

HOPE

The Führer will be
sensitive to this attention.

It's a question of
protecting these artworks.

They were seized from museums

or private collections
namely Jewish ones.

I brought you a first list.

A full inventory is underway.

This is merely a sample.

The small one.

A true treasure by Greuze.

The confiscated works

will be gathered in various
chateaux around Paris.

This is a first list.

Many here do not
back this collaboration.

Field Marshal Goering
says it's a strategical error.

It will restrict requisitions

and allow the Resistance
to get organized.

France has accepted
every concession demanded.

Every one.

Raw materials, industrial goods
and considerable requisitions.

The French state is
working hand-in-hand with us.

The population primarily
thinks of survival.

Increasing requisitions

would only turn public
opinion against us.

Maybe even spark an uprising.

Whereas our interest

is for the population
to remain calm.

Passive.

And above all, divided.

Speaking of which, I brought
you a book published in '32

by this General de Gaulle

who calls for resistance.

It's a military treatise.

The Edge of the Sword.

To whom did he
dedicate his book?

To Marshal Pétain.

The man who calls for resistance

pays homage to the man
who wants collaboration.

A divided land is
more vulnerable.

Easier to manipulate.

For this,

we have control over
some fifty newspapers.

May I?

The journalists cover
the entire spectrum,

from extreme
right to radical left.

Look for yourself.

Likewise with the
radios and cinema news.

Another example,

the reference newspaper.

Moderate thus credible.

Center left.

It's read by journalists,
decision-makers and politicians.

The sincerity of their support

for the collaboration
is faultless.

And during this
"collaboration game,"

you enjoy the Parisian
lifestyle with your French wife.

Some accuse you of
being too Francophile.

My loyalty to the
Führer is unwavering.

Our embassy could
be a meeting place

for influential personalities

who will help spread our ideas.

In the end, the
collaboration will win out.

Moreover, there is no
common front against us.

Resistant fighters
are a tiny minority.

The French are
largely pro Pétain.

What do they think about
our anti-Jewish policy?

Cultural anti-Semitism has
always existed in France.

Many great writers have
written anti-Semitic texts.

Celine, Bernanos,
Claudel, Gide, Drieu,

Giraudoux, Blanchot,
Brasillach, Rebatet,

Voltaire and others.

There is already an
anti-Semitic sentiment.

Support my collaboration policy

and I will obtain rich
yields from the French.

THE FIRE WITHIN

I've known them for years.

"With all my friendship"

I can avoid armed combats.

To put it simply,

better a cow you can milk
than a cow you must butcher.

At his trial after the war,

Otto claimed that he'd played a
double game during the Occupation.

He'd done his best to protect
the French and limit damage.

Ciné-Mondial, Mr. Guitry!

Mr. Guitry, please!

Much later,

people would call my
father and I bastards.

Traitors to the homeland.

Collaborators.

But where is the line?

Is it going to cocktail parties?

Perhaps.

I knew many people
who were there.

I'd seen them with my
father since childhood.

I was happy to see
Suzanne and Otto.

I'd grown up with them.

It seemed unreal to be
together, under the chandeliers.

Many people attended
these receptions,

everyone who was anyone.

Parisian high society,

despite the war

and the restrictions.

There were artists,

journalists,

profiteers

and crooners.

It was "the place to
be" as the English say.

78 Rue de Lille.

In the posh area.

A welcoming and
reassuring embassy.

The French art of entertaining.

Modern chic,

but false.

There were sincere
collaborators,

but also fanatics
and opportunists.

Revanchists with no scruples

who used the war to advance
their ideas or interests.

And above all,

to meet women who'd never
have looked at them before.

Like my cinema friends,

whom my father asked
me to invite to the embassy.

There had to be
women, always women.

Like a brothel needs whores.

So it's true,

I followed along without
asking many questions.

Because I followed my father.

He couldn't compromise me.

Take a good look at them.

They'll all be hung.

Who was that girl?

An actress I know.

She's jealous.

We're doing nothing wrong.

We need to talk and debate.

Pay no attention,
they're envious.

People are delighted to see you.

Want a tour?

This is a big secret.

Come on.

This is a Renoir.

The wife of his son
Jean, the filmmaker.

And this

is a surrealist.

Picabia.

They call this "degenerate art."

What do they know?

Do you still draw
or take photos?

Maybe the war will end one day

and I'll return to my dark room.

Where did they come from?

I can't tell you everything.

This is Egon Schiele.

Sorry, I don't want
to embarrass you.

Embarrass me with what?
I'm not a kid.

I'd like to ask you
something, but don't tell Dad.

I heard you could get ausweis

for after curfew.

Clandestine dance halls!

I hear they're everywhere.

Let's make a deal.

I'll get ausweis
for your friends,

and you'll come to my
parties from time to time.

Alright?

Mr. Ambassador.

-Thank you for tonight.
-Likewise.

Thank you.

Mr. Luchaire, goodbye.

See? Everyone came.

Thanks for your help.

To you,

the happy camper
become King of Paris.

What did Berlin say?

They want more requisitions

and a more repressive policy.

They reproach me for
befriending the French

who reproach me
for being a Nazi.

I can't win.

More requisitions...

Did you agree?

You know,

when a diplomat says "yes,"

it means "maybe."

And if he says
"maybe," it means "no."

And if he says "no"?

Then he's not a diplomat.

Come, let me show you something.

Here you are.

The master bedroom.

Quite modest, right?

Watch your head.

French francs,

German Reichsmarks,

dollars.

No idea how much.

I've never seen this much money.

Remember us scrounging
pennies to pay for our trips?

Who do you
report to for all this?

To my conscience.

We hoped for you... in despair!

-Princess.
-Good evening.

Mr. Luchaire.

Guy de Voisins at your service.

This way, please.

Have a seat. Drinks?

Mademoiselle
Luchaire, good evening.

Champagne, please.

You see the show?

Fabulous.

That's Lydia onstage.

Lydia Rogers.

It's her new number.

Where'd you find them?

Come on, they're sweet.

Good evening, girls.

Lydia.

This is Jean.
Tell him about your problem.

Good evening.

Did you like the show?

Very much.

What can I do for you?

Guy said to ask, but I
don't want to be a bother.

My parents are in the free
zone, but getting papers

isn't easy.

I'll see what I can do.

Here's my card, call me.

-I don't want to bother you.
-Don't worry.

Thanks.

Lydia, right?

Lydia Rogers.

Jean, you alright?

What happened? Did you fall?

I'll write you, Jean.

It's better if I write.

Dear Jean, my dear son,

I decided to write,
for the time has come

to say some important
things to you, the journalist.

To you, the news publisher.

Several weeks ago,

a list of newly banned books

was published by German
propaganda services.

This list bears the name
of your friend Abetz.

It's called "The Otto List."

The list contains many
remarkable writers,

who nourished our
reading and your education.

The list also contains a
book written by my wife,

your stepmother,
Antonina Silberstein.

It relates the German atrocities
in Poland before the war.

You see the article?

What article?

Your father wrote an article.

Well,

a letter.

A letter?

You said nothing
about this list,

as if it didn't exist.

You looked the other way.

I don't understand you, Jean.

Not anymore.

EXERCISE OF VIRTUE

The moral heritage we gave you,

why ignore and betray it?

For the collaboration

not only muddles the
contours of a doubtful policy,

it offers lost souls

permission to engage
upon a murky path.

Who are you becoming,
Jean Luchaire?

A lost soul?

Do you truly support
the collaboration?

Or the illusory power it gives
you as you dance with treason?

I hope you find the time to
reflect on your loved ones,

whom you drag into this chaos.

Your father.

Did everyone read his letter?

He wasn't writing to me.

It's for their
well-meaning friends.

To show them he
doesn't share my ideas.

It was a horrible thing to do.

Thanks for your trust.

Back to work.

What else is left?

I think we should
talk about Egypt.

For many people,
"collaboration" was still just a word.

But for these journalists,

it was thousands of
words, phrases and articles.

The Germans were
here for a while,

maybe even forever.

We had to find a way to
coexist with the occupier,

negotiate a privileged
place for France

in this new Europe.

The common enemy
would now be the English,

the Gaullists and
Jewish capitalism,

as it was called back then.

Such would be the new world,

the new times.

It was winter.

Paris was freezing cold.

Germany wanted to give France

a highly symbolical gift.

The return of the
ashes of Napoleon's son,

known as "the Eaglet."

One hundred years to the day

after the return of the
Emperor's body to Paris.

Heeding Abetz's advice, Hitler
himself made this decision.

A gesture to encourage

the new harmony between us.

I don't want to go.

We promised Otto, sweetheart.

Do it for me, it's important.

An embassy car is waiting.

Look, French friends!

At last, Germany will achieve
Napoleon's great dream.

And this new world order,

we will build it together.

"From the sublime to the
ridiculous, is but a step."

Napoleon.

Abetz asked that every
church bell in Paris

toll for the occasion.

He had announced

the presence of Pétain and
Hitler in person at Les Invalides.

Great History taking place

before worldwide photographers.

It was to be the baptism
of the collaboration.

But the Gods had
decided otherwise.

At the last minute,

Pétain refused to leave the
free zone to come to Paris.

He was afraid of schemes,
of being abducted.

Or else, to make people
believe he was above orders.

Hitler didn't come either,

nor Goering, nor Goebbels.

So Abetz found himself
alone in this funereal comedy,

surrounded by
courtiers and ghosts,

but very few celebrities.

That night, I don't know if
anyone was duped by the staging.

Personally, I felt like I was
taking part in a black mass.

Abetz was furious
and humiliated,

but he put on a brave face.

He'd only found out the
morning of the ceremony

that neither Pétain nor Hitler

would be at Les Invalides.

That old fart Pétain shook
Hitler's hand at Montoire.

And today, he refuses to come?

He's gone totally senile.

He's put all of
France in the shit!

That's your reactionary France.

Your musty France!

You proved my enemies right.

Everyone who is
against the collaboration!

Otto, have you
seen the guest list?

Guitry, Lepidon, Verdoux
maybe even Celine.

I drummed up industrialists,
publishers, the press and radios.

Even Corinne's friends.

What good was all our effort?

It was all for nothing!

My plan was simple.

Pétain and the Führer

hand-in-hand before the tomb.

An emblematic
and powerful image.

And what do we have?

Absolutely nothing!

From here on, you can deal
with Goering and Goebbels!

They're just waiting to
wipe France off the map!

We thank Chancellor Hitler
for this chivalrous gesture,

which proves his desire for
reconciliation with yesterday's enemy.

For Napoleon

was also heir of
a great revolution.

He too fought
against reactionaries.

It was Napoleon

who revived the great
popular movements

whose modern equivalents
are found in National Socialism

and in Italian fascism.

Glory to him

and Heil Hitler!

After the ceremony,
people even said:

"We need coal and
they send us ashes."

My daughter, Corinne.

Good evening.

Lucien Rebatet.

Delighted.

-Pierre Drieu la Rochelle.
-Mademoiselle.

Mr. Louis Ferdinand Celine.

Good evening.

Thanks for coming.

It was fabulous.

-You got in easily?
-They had our names.

Show us around?

I'd like to make a short speech.

Mr. Celine, I'm listening.

Thank you, Ambassador Abetz.

I have an important
announcement to make.

Isn't that so?

Hitler

is dead.

He's dead, but
people won't say it.

He's been dead for a long while.

Look.

He's dead and a
kike took his place.

Look at the nose
in the painting.

Because kikes want to
take everyone's place.

Even Hitler's.

Dear Ferdinand, I don't think...

It's the hack, Luchaire.

The girl's father.

The little blonde

who stole the show.

"Prison Without Bowels."

A finger in every pie, I hear.

Know what they say
across the Channel?

He'd pay to sell himself.

-You think so?
-Beware!

He's prudent.
He's not a moderate man.

He's tepid.

He's a Jew lover.

He even has some in his family.

And he's a regular here.

That's enough.

Your collaboration is rotting.

So young and so rotten!

A house of cards!

Crap political nobodies!

Dancing puppets!

Dancing puppets!

Exactly! Long live the Emperor!

-You okay?
-Yes, I'm fine.

I bought Journey to
the End of the Night

in 1934, in a French
bookstore in Munich.

Celine,

is a genius.

A French genius.

A genius of language.

But when he goes astray,

he is disappointing.

I condemn his outbursts,

but will ensure
nothing happens to him.

History will judge.

And Corinne,

you are a great artist.

-What's wrong?
-I'm not well.

Here.

Are you sure?

Sweetheart.

You're burning up.

It hurts.

It hurts.

I was so afraid.

The people around
you frighten me.

This miserable place
reminded me at once of a boat.

A liner to take me
far into the forest.

Far from the living.

From my life as a star in Paris.

It's this way.

Here's some oxygen.

A spittoon and towels.

I'll get some more.

Dr. Barache will come by.

Thank you.

It's like a hospital.

Time will fly.

You'll breathe
clean air and rest.

They have the best doctors.

If you're unhappy,
I'll find another place.

Don't worry.

Don't you worry either.

I'll be right back.

SPITTOON

What do we know
about the bombing?

Any deaths?

No, not the front page.
Let me call Abetz.

Thanks.

He spent the night there,

then he left.

I wanted him to go, there'd
been bombings in Paris.

We heard a new
word: the Resistance.

SPITTING ON THE FLOOR
ENDANGERS OTHERS

There was no vaccine for this
illness that killed haphazardly.

Men, women, poor, rich.

It was pure carnage.

A contagion without pity.

So they isolated the sick
to slow down the epidemic.

Banished them, like
the plague-ridden.

The war,

the Resistance and
the collaboration...

We gave it no thought.

We had our own war.

Against the pain, the spittle.

An inflammation that
could kill you within days.

They told us:
pure air, sunshine,

rest.

Most importantly, fatty foods.

Six nauseating meals a day.

I'd vomit each time.

I emptied myself.

My periods stopped.

My body was abandoning me.

An empty chair in the
morning, and we understood.

They burned the clothes.

There was no recovery,

only remission, and we knew it.

We waited for our turn.

Hello.

Hello.

Can I sit down?

Yes.

I'm Marina.

Corinne.

Yes, I know who you are.

You'll die of boredom here.

It's like Prison Without Bars.

Do you have a cigarette?

-We're not allowed.
-Who cares?

I gotta smoke or
I'll kick the bucket.

Because I'm innocent!

You'll see.

People hide bottles
to booze it up.

They're all over.

Under nearly every tree.

Here you go.

Welcome to the bar.

I think it's rum. Go easy.

It's rum.

Amber rum, I think.

We'll leave it here.

We're not scroungers.

-What does a pneumothorax do?
-It hurts, I think.

But they give you morphine.

That helps.

I'd even say it's
extremely pleasant.

You'll give me some, I love it.

-Have you been here long?
-Three months.

The Krauts don't come
here, they're afraid.

My family and I
fled the roundups.

When they had some,
they gave us morphine.

Especially before an operation.

You'll lie down on the table.

The worst of all

was called a pneumothorax.

Ice cold air was injected
into the pleural space

to raise the lung, eaten
away by the infection.

On the skin.

Needle.

Take a deep breath.

More, more. Hold your breath.

Injection.

Be brave!

One.

A second time.

A third time.

After the operation,

you lived in fear of the
next one the day after.

It was like a
life within a life.

My body had become my enemy.

So, it's true,

I thought only of my own pain.

Not that of others.

It's true.

There's talk of a roundup.

Thousands of arrests.

Essentially foreign Jews, yes.

The French police
organized the operation.

They showed little enthusiasm.

You said nothing.

I can't tell you everything.

Not everything.

Where are they going?

You're taking them where?

To labor camps and factories.

We need workers.

Children too?

They need their parents.

Who'd take care of them?

It's a political
necessity, Jean.

It's Phase 1.

Hitler wants to deport
every Jew from Europe.

We've studied a plan to camp
them in Madagascar or Palestine.

Give them a country of refuge.

They're the ones
responsible for this war.

You didn't think so before.

Yes, I know.

I've changed.

It's become clear to me now.

Jews will never assimilate.

Never.

It's their decision,
so it's their fault.

They're so smug
about their difference.

The public will
never accept this.

That's why the
press must help us.

Explain this policy.

Get people to accept it.

You want to help your family,

your friends.

You're right.

Know what people say about you?

Celine, the nutcase.

You know what he
shouts all over Paris?

That you have no conviction.

That you've become Jewified.

Even Berlin has gotten wind.

It could be detrimental
to you, to me,

and to Corinne.

So your paper must
support our Jewish policy.

Celine is a madman.

I know how to talk to him.

Then go ahead.

Mr. Ambassador.

They're here.

Lunch is served.

Excuse me for being late.

Jean Luchaire.

-My pleasure.
-Likewise.

I wish to reassure
you, Mr. Luchaire,

paper will be delivered

directly to your printer.

It was a simple
administrative problem.

Thank you.

My employees and
workers are grateful too.

They need to work.

Mr. Ambassador is the
one you should thank.

Your longstanding friendship

is a fine example of
French-German solidarity.

Very well said.

To friendship.

To friendship.

To friendship.

Dear Celine,

with your very
particular ferocity,

I know you condemn
me irrevocably

as a man without faith,

without courage

or resolve.

You even accuse
me of being Jewified.

I believe the
collaboration is necessary,

but it must be managed
with intelligence and tact.

With a political vision,

not frothing with hatred.

I have not forgotten
about the Jews.

I've even become
anti-Semitic myself,

which was not the
case only months ago.

What you call
lack of conviction,

is perhaps the prudence of a man

who would rather
think than shout.

I will not insult you by answering
your invectives one-by-one,

but I do wish to say this:

I have not become Jewified.

I have my eyes, my ears,

and above all, my memory.

I've seen and I've understood.

I've changed.

Rest assured, I have an
editor-in-chief of great talent.

Guy Crouzet.

He will attentively cover
these questions in my paper.

With my sincere
friendship, Jean Luchaire.

I don't feel well.

Excuse me.

Of course.

Clotilde, can you leave us?

Of course.

-What's wrong?
-We need to talk.

I chased after you all week.
It's important.

Sales are down,
advertisers are leaving.

We need money, now.

Wages, the
printshop, overhead...

Here's a financial statement.

I can't hide the
situation much longer.

Paper restrictions
could wipe us out.

No, that's okay.
Abetz promised me.

But, can't the embassy give
us a subsidy or some help?

Maybe talk to the bank?

No, that's all changed.

One last thing.

Be careful with your expenses.

If we're audited...

I'm working.

I invite German
officers to negotiate,

cajole them,

obtain concessions.

I put myself on the line.

I take risks.

You understand?

I understand.

Don't give me orders,

I've nothing to justify.

Nothing!

Don't move, same as yesterday.

Here we go.

Perfect.

Give me some.

Thanks.

I don't want to die too young.

Don't worry.

You're too noisy,
you'll get caught.

The patrols know there's a
printing press in this building.

Can I see?

CALL TO COMBAT

I know who you are, sir.

You shouldn't
publish such things.

Out with the Germans.

They execute and
torture people every day.

Write shorter sentences.

Take your things and get out.

Be more quiet next time.

There's some paper.

We never saw each other.

We give the Krauts billions to
cover their Occupation expenses.

They have more cash
than they can spend.

But the French don't
want to work with them.

Doing business
with Nazis looks bad.

So we created a network
of dummy companies.

Shell intermediaries

with figureheads between
French suppliers and the Germans.

The French can say:

"I work with a French
company, not the Krauts."

These shell companies

pocket a large percentage
on each transaction.

Hundreds of millions

change hands with no taxes,
no administration, no nothing.

So that's your "business"?

Shell companies?

I wish.

But there's a problem.

You need German
authorization to open a company.

One that could handle big
business with the German army.

Not minor trafficking.

Your name appears nowhere.
Mine either.

We use strawmen.
The Russians dream of that.

The critical part, is
obtaining authorization.

Give this to him in person.

We called them
"Gestapo Countesses."

During the Occupation they
became black market royalty.

They had Russian names,
like Countess Tchernitscheff,

specialized in
liquor trafficking.

There were princesses
Mourouzy and Wolinska,

a heroin addict who
supplied girls and boys

to German officers
in exchange for favors.

Or Baroness Ivanov, who
worked directly with the Gestapo.

Former actresses,
showgirls and prostitutes

posing as White Russians

who fled the Bolsheviks
with their fortunes.

They were the figureheads
for Guy's famous businesses.

Everyone wanted to profit,

feast on the great
banquet offered by the war.

Look at him.

I taught him everything.

My friend is over there.

Thanks.

Thank you.

I have a chance to
buy a theatre in Paris.

Expensive?

I'll advance the funds.

You front your shares.

Here's another one.

She'll love it.

I don't want you
near my daughter.

Of course, you do.

To be honest,

I don't think you can refuse.

Stay away from my daughter.

Easy does it.

Jean, here.

This will help.

Jean, are you alright?

WORK-FAMILY-FATHERLAND

Your daughter knows
you have affairs?

She doesn't judge me.

We're not like that.

Have you slept with her?

You'll never let her love a man.

That's Marina.

They've been hiding for months.

They requested passes for
Portugal, but were turned down.

We can't use that name.
Too dangerous.

Think we could ask Otto?

Yes.

Mr. Luchaire.

Mr. Ambassador said you needed

information and ausweis.

Exactly.

This one is like last time.

One of my workers received
summons to work in Germany.

I need him taken off the list.
His name is Bartoldi.

They have no news of their son.

He was arrested, but
they don't know where.

The name is René Morel.

This family lives in Haute-Savoie.
They need passes.

Their name is Bergeron.

First names and
birthdates are here.

Very well, I'll take care of it.

I'm sorry, I need
my recorder for work.

People told you who I was?

It's not my business.

I don't want to
know what you did.

I didn't realize.

In any case, I'm guilty?

Right?

People didn't know, Eva.

I didn't know.

We only knew when
they came back.

We knew about
roundups and labor camps.

But nothing about
extermination or gas chambers.

No one could've imagined that.

Your father didn't know?

With everyone he knew?

He never told me.

I saw my father being generous.

He constantly did
favors thanks to Otto.

He handed out passes.

What are "favors"?

That excuses nothing.

He was my father!

Can't you understand that?

My father!

"The Jews' responsibility"

in sparking the conflict

is now as clear as the
star on their breasts.

Had their skin color
differed from ours,

no doubt, pureblood Frenchmen

would've reacted far
before the Israelite empire

imposed itself on our soil,

on all social levels

"and often in
positions of power."

Has Jean seen this editorial?

He said he trusted me.

"We see nothing wrong with
imposing a distinguishing sign,

a yellow star,

on a group whose
sentiments, passions,

and interests

"are not those of
pureblood Frenchmen."

This goes on the
front page tonight.

His courage

and commitment to a
responsible press corps

elevated him to the
top of our profession.

Please welcome

the new head of the
French Press Corporation,

Mr. Jean Luchaire.

Thank you, dear Bertrand,

dear colleagues.

I am honored to have been
chosen to defend our profession.

You know my passion
for journalism and debate.

You also know my
sincere commitment

to the collaboration.

I obtained a number of
important concessions for you.

Wage increases,

canteens, free holiday camps,

and new insurance.

I thank Ambassador Abetz

and his embassy, for
being attentive to our needs.

The needs of both
journalists and press workers.

There you go.

I'll stop here or else

I'll be accused of being a
communist and a collaborationist.

Thank you, do a good
job and don't forget,

you honor the French press.

Thank you.

Goering no longer
believes in the collaboration.

They could call
me back to Berlin.

Stalingrad didn't
open their eyes?

The defeats in North Africa?

The war will go
on, that's how it is.

No it's over, Otto.

You know it's over.

But don't worry,

my journalists will obey you.

I won't write anymore.

I'll focus on

my new functions.

How is your health?

I cough up more blood.

See, I'm already punished.

They can't harm me.

I'll be dead before they try me.

Well,

before they try us.

They saw your medical record.

They refuse to insure you.

No film production
will take the risk.

And believe me, I tried.

But I need to work.

Make movies.

Make a living.

Not even a small role?

And you still smoke?

In the meantime,

we have other proposals.

Radio shows, photos,

and a perfume.

-Perfume?
-Yes.

I'm not making perfume
ads Are you crazy?

Listen,

I know a doctor who
will falsify my record.

Corinne,

people know you're sick.

No one will insure you.

Do you understand?

Many movies were made
during the Occupation.

Some produced by the
Germans and Continental Films.

I'd never worked for them.

I didn't know it yet, but I'd
never make another movie.

I was what, in my early 20s?

And I was already a phantom.

The phantom of an actress,

with black spots eating
away at my lungs like filth.

Stains.

I was no longer
supposed to drink or party,

let alone smoke.

The doctors said my
lifestyle could kill me.

It was suicidal.

Why not?

Something wrong?

I have to change
my bandages, it hurts.

You okay?

-Need some help?
-No.

I think I love you, Corinne.

You can't say that.

What right do you have?

No!

Don't play that game with me.
Stay where you are.

You're scaring me.

Have you lost your mind?

Have you lost your mind?

Look at me!
Have you lost your mind?

-Why?
-Hang on.

No, go away! Leave me alone!

I found horrific
articles about myself

in the American
and English press.

They published lists
of "bad" French people

who should be
shot after the war.

The world saw my name
mingled with Pétain, Laval,

Celine and others.

Everyone from the embassy.

They still insisted I'd been
Abetz's mistress since age 15.

That I was even
Goering's favorite whore

when he came to Paris.

A true French whore, the
daughter of a collaborator.

A bastard.

Put that in the basement.

Do what he says.

Gently!

It's fragile.

How are you?

Excellency.

Okay.

I'll leave this here.

I trust you.

I have no war treasures.

I spend everything.

Jean, I'm worried about Corinne.

I hear she has no work.

Can I do anything for her?

She's very ill.

She refuses to
go to a sanatorium.

She can't film anymore.

-Does she understand?
-I don't know!

Scream.

It's eases the pain.

You married him?

Without telling me?

Or your mother?

Why'd you do that?

-Why now?
-You said you liked him.

That he could help
you with money.

Help me with what money?

The guy's a gangster.

Is he your partner or not?

Yes or no!

With my disease, I
might not have children.

He said it changed nothing.

I needed to hear that.

Forgive me.

In the end, I never really
lived with De Voisins.

We stayed as we were,

comrades, bed companions,

party friends.

He moved Lydia in with me.

Soon after, I learned
she was pregnant.

He promised me
it wasn't his child.

I wanted to believe him.

In any case, I'd have
believed anything

and anyone.

In French, please.

The French police passed on info

concerning Luchaire and his
daughter's supposed relations

with certain shady
characters and even gangsters.

The report is in the file.

There are figures.

Debts.

We learned that
Les Nouveaux Temps

has the lowest
print run in Paris.

And that Luchaire
doctored the accounts.

Subsidies are no longer
enough to keep him afloat.

Carry on, don't be afraid.

He's looking
everywhere for money.

He spends a lot.

More and more.

His daughter seems

to have married for money.

A crook who deals in
business with her father.

Enough.

We had a very simple agreement.

I advanced money.
I want it back before your bankruptcy.

-I don't have 2 million.
-Show me the books.

I own 10%, show me!

There's no money left.

Abetz can't protect you.

He has less power
and you know it.

You'll all be shot! Crooks!

You're the crook.

The key.

They attacked you to get me.

They know your links with
black market companies.

They took everything.

Money, the books
with all the names.

Does your name appear anywhere?

I don't think so...
I don't know.

You don't think so?

They'll search every
aspect of our lives.

Each subsidy,
each wire transfer.

They have De Voisins.

Corinne's husband, a shareholder!
They'll understand.

Why'd you have to get tangled
up with a scumbag like him?

And let him marry your daughter?

Leave her out of this.
She never asked you for anything.

Is that what you think?

To the newspaper.

I too was compromised,

sullied,

damaged.

So I ended up being
what people said I was.

Cowardly, blind,

wretched.

Put that all on my bill, please.

I'll come by to pay.

TRAITORS

FILTH

COLLABORATORS

WHORE

COLLABORATOR

Filthy collaborators!

Long live De Gaulle!

To the Resistance!

To De Gaulle!

Don't shoot, they're kids.

Are you okay?

It's blood.

Come in.

Your Excellency.

We looked everywhere for you.

I hear the paper even paid
for your mistress's rents.

That you paid
yourself insane wages.

I'm one of the most
hated men in France,

may as well be best-paid.

Must everything end like this?

In decadence.

There can be order in life.

Yes, order.

De Voisins will
talk to save himself.

And you'll fall too.

He told me everything.

How he bought your protection.

The girls.

The bachelor flats in Paris.

Trafficking in
artworks and so on.

You can do nothing against me.

De Voisins will no longer talk.

We found him
hanging in his cell.

He was a parasite.

Vermin.

His life was worthless to me.

He'll never touch Corinne again.

It's unacceptable that
everything be dirtied.

You speak of purity now?

I don't judge you, Otto.

I'm your friend.

I still believe in friendship.

I accepted it long ago.

To live is to compromise.

Not everyone is corrupt.

Labarrière,

for example,

said nothing.

Hitler's better than us?

The only name he gave,

was his own.

So, not everyone is corrupt.

When the day comes, we
won't be able to say that.

Germany was losing the war.

It was time to settle
scores, for revenge.

People denounced
their neighbors,

friends,

those they owed money
to or who knew too much.

I say, as a
Frenchman and patriot,

we must help vanquish
the Jewish Bolshevik filth!

There's no other way!

Adolf Hitler is the savior

to whom Europe
will owe its survival.

So yes, we must sacrifice
everything to help him!

There's no other way!

It's too cold.

It'll lower the fever.
It's important.

I'll bring her
morphine tomorrow.

Call if there's a problem.

Who are they?

Airmen from the base nearby.

Austrians, I think.

They said there
would be a landing.

Don't worry.

So this is it?

They'll kill us all?

To the embassy.

"The destruction of
Paris must be prepared."

We must take radical measures.

Public executions of insurgents.

Dynamiting of the
Seine's bridges.

Annihilation of
historical monuments.

Losing Paris,
means losing France.

Defend the city
down to the last man,

"to the last cartridge."

Orders from the Führer.

"Paris must not fall
into the enemy's hands,

or only as a pile of ruins."

Those are the orders.

I never saw this telegram.

I have no military authority.

Understood.

Would you like

to go down in History as
the man who burned Paris?

I got your message.

We must leave.

We've prepared passes

for you and your family.

We can give you a car to
Germany when you're ready.

Corinne is coming with us.

She'd be in danger here.

I saw your films in Salzburg.

I liked them a lot.

Especially the
one with the soldier.

Three Hours, right?

It's been so many more.

How do you speak
such good French?

I'm sick of speaking German.

They lied to us too.

I can't anymore.

Exactly.

I can't be here either.

Who cares?
That's not what matters.

The Allies will enter Paris.

We lost.

There were no more
sedatives for the pain

or for the fever.

I'd accepted that I was dying.

Then this young man came along,

an airman.

With his kind gaze.

His gentleness.

For the first time in a
long while, I felt respected.

Protected.

And yes, he was a German.

Well, an Austrian.

And so what?

Among the poor girls

whose heads would
be shaved by bastards,

some were surely sincere.

Rays and Shadows

"Humanity rises,"

still faltering.

Its brow bathed in shadows,
it marches toward dawn.

Every man on
earth has two faces,

Good and Evil.

To blame everything is
to understand nothing,

the human soul is
made of gold and lead.

The wise man's spirit is grave,

he hurls not thunderbolts
upon every head

in raging bursts.

For the age in which we
live how we suffer, alas!

"We are unjust, everything
seems like a crime."

Wolrad wanted to
take me with him.

To Salzburg, the city of Mozart.

Have a family,

a life called "normal."

Far from my father.

I didn't go.

I never saw him again.

I'd never leave my father.

We'd been on the wrong side,

so we fled.

To Sigmaringen in Germany.

I'd just found out
I was pregnant.

The collaborators
all washed up there,

under the protection of Abetz.

Always him.

Some stayed in a large chateau,

others were packed
into local inns.

An end-of-the-world ambiance

where we clung to our illusions.

Former ministers,

gangsters,

militiamen,

socialites and whores.

They were all there, the
Rue de Lille castaways,

the damned.

We refused to hear the
Allies' planes above us.

People even said Hitler
had a magic new arm.

Rockets that would change
the course of the war.

You should watch it.

Who are you to talk?

Ladies and gentlemen, please.

"Americans Retreat
in the Ardennes."

It's in the paper.

Then it's certainly true.

We'll win this war!

Our brothers march
with calm, steady step

Comrades shot by the Red Front

and reactionaries

march in spirit
within our ranks...

It's going to rain.

Who knows?

Sweetheart, we have to go.

-And Suzanne and Otto?
-Gone.

We need to find gas. Hurry!

-What now?
-We need water but there is none.

-Is the border far?
-That way.

I'm leaving.

-You're leaving us here?
-Good luck.

We'll cut through here.

I'm fed up, we have to stop.

Stop it!

Why'd you bring me here?

Paris is dangerous.

Because of you!
I didn't do anything!

It'll be okay.

We heard terrible things
about the hunt for collaborators.

The violence,

the summary executions.

So we ran for days,

like vagabonds.

Sleeping wherever we could.

In Austria, then
in Italy, I think.

There'd been too much suffering.

It was like civil war.

Hello.

Watch her.

What're you doing?

Where're you taking him?

Where?

Don't touch her!

Don't touch her!

What's your name?

Don't touch her!

What's your name?

Corinne.

Hey, miss Luchaire.

Slut.

C'mon, Corinne!

We're gonna film, Corinne.

Go on, faster!

Don't look at me like that.

C'mon Corinne, move it.

Hey, faster!

Don't touch her!

C'mon, Corinne.

Captain Marino,
First French Army.

Who are you?

We're with the U.S.
88th Infantry Division.

Oh yeah?

What're you doing here?

Take that off.

The armbands.

That's an order.

Bastards.

This isn't why we
liberated France.

Get up, miss.

Where's my father?

What did you do with my father?

I'm here!

Hitler was dead.

The bells tolled.

The victors would write History.

We would soon face
those who hunted us down.

Some were last-minute Resistance
members with no shame or limits.

May I see an officer?

Get up!

Get up!

Filth!

Get up!

Faster, c'mon!

Abetz abandoned
the collaborators,

his marionettes.

He hid for weeks
in the Black Forest.

He had put Suzanne
somewhere safe in Germany.

Hands in the air!

Otto Abetz?

I'm Philippe Lauman,
I have my papers.

We've followed you,
we know who you are.

Do you speak French?

I can try.

I work with children.

I'm a drawing
teacher, gentlemen.

Drawing teacher?

Yes.

Can we find an arrangement?

Perhaps...

talk.

Otto was imprisoned
while waiting for his trial.

After the Liberation,

collaborators were
executed, one after the other.

They called it "the purge."

My father tried to explain.

I walked through the
city I'd grown up in,

a stranger in my own country.

Among those who
betrayed by the pen,

treason was often
inspired by ideology.

Fascism.

But for Luchaire,

it was inspired by venality.

The taste for gain and luxury.

Social vanity.

He was not a
manipulated ignoramus,

nor a lost civil servant,

even less, a soldier
caught up in the turmoil.

No.

Jean Luchaire

was a man of power.

A man who knew.

And because he knew,

he is even guiltier.

He had the qualities
to act otherwise.

Intelligence,

culture,

relations.

But he chose the enemy.

He chose gold.

He chose to betray.

Collaborating with
the enemy was:

"Speaking on intelligent terms."

We know that cowardice
renders one subtle.

But cooperating with the enemy

is the gravest betrayal of all.

For the words of bastards

arm the hands of imbeciles.

Some would say,

Luchaire was a sick man,

and knowing himself damned,

he wished to dance with death.

Taste every compromising
act, to intoxication.

But lurking death

can also make one
rise above oneself,

not necessarily liberate
one's most vile instincts.

Lurking death can make
you a Resistance fighter,

not a traitor.

Some would also say,

Luchaire was a paradox.

He played a double
game with the occupier,

supposedly to better defend
the interests of France.

Like his great friend Abetz,

the Francophile Nazi

complicit in the worst
roundups during the Occupation.

Lastly,

some would say that beneath
the skin of the collaborator,

there is the man,

with his weaknesses
and contradictions.

A man precipitated into a tragic
moment of our national history.

Then comes the famous:

"What would I have
done in his shoes?"

Enough of this
shameful morality!

By publishing
unforgiveable texts,

he encouraged the
demoralization of the country

and the banalization of
the most despicable ideas.

Her name is Brigitte.

You'll hear terrible
things at my trial.

I won't come.

They would maintain

that Luchaire was
not truly anti-Semitic.

He even helped Jews.

He had Jewish
friends and family.

That he published,
without conviction,

revolting texts often
dictated by the occupier.

They would also say

that he rendered
many small favors.

The so-called morality
of "small favors."

An ausweis for a family,

whilst tens of
thousands are deported,

and you're sure you
did what you could.

So where is Luchaire's truth
among his contradictions?

No need to look far.

It was money.

Money, time and again.

The forever elusive
promise of fulfillment.

Luchaire, the man of the left,

let his youthful ideals rot

to endorse a newspaper
that served the extreme right.

Luchaire, the
humanist of the 30s,

close to leagues that
fought anti-Semitism,

would show indulgence for
the foulest ideas imaginable.

Out of pure political
opportunism.

Out of interest.

While the Resistance
grieved its dead,

Luchaire's daughter

drank champagne in clubs

on the arms of gangsters
and Nazi officers.

Your words are despicable!

What do you know
about "despicable"?

Indignation doesn't
suit you, Luchaire.

Not at all.

When the time
comes to judge him,

remember those who refused

to compromise.

Remember the heroes
who sacrificed their lives

while Luchaire

"spoke on intelligent
terms" with the enemy.

Dining every day,

and I say every day,

at Maxim's.

Or when they got bored,
at La Tour d'Argent.

While the country starved.

Remember Labarrière

and his brothers, Resistance
fighters who died for France.

Remember the
hostages who were shot

or hung from balconies.

Remember the families decimated

in the horror of the Nazi
extermination camps.

All those people died.

And this traitor should live?

I ask for the
ultimate punishment.

Cleanse France of this filth.

Do we become someone else
when we know we're going to die?

I don't know.

He looked death

in the eye.

And maybe his errors too.

Aim!

Fire!

Is that her?

Find her apartment.

Who's there?

It's Léonide, Corinne.

Léonide Moguy.

I'm innocent.

Remember?

Hello.

I'm Léonide.

And you?

Brigitte.

Brigitte, nice to meet you.

What's that?

It's a friend's. For her job.

You still smoke?

At this stage, what matter?

How is your family?

Your sister, Hélène?

She didn't return
from the camps.

I didn't know.

We knew nothing.

Did you try to find out?

I hold no grudges against you.

I'd like to make
a film with you.

All that is over.

I was sentenced to 10
years of national indignity.

I can't even work anymore.

We can film elsewhere.

Would you have the
right to work in Italy?

The cinema is all we have left.

The cinema.

Corinne Luchaire died on
January 22, 1950 of tuberculosis

before shooting in Italy.

She was 28 years old.

Otto Abetz was sentenced
to 20 years' hard labor

and pardoned in 1954.

He died with his wife in
a car accident in 1958.

French secret services
were suspected

of wanting to eliminate a man

who knew too much
about the collaborators.

Corinne's tapes
turned out to be blank.

No doubt, a problem
with the machine.

Subtitles: Julie Meyer