All language subtitles for Made.In.U.S.A.1966.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX] (2)

TO NICK AND SAMUEL, WHO HAVE
TAUGHT ME ABOUT FILM AND SOUND

NEW MOTOR-RAIL TRAINS WITH SLEEPING BERTHS

PARIS TO MONT-BLANC PARIS TO NICE

"Take happiness. for example…

If he was looking for something,

I was, too.

Even honor, for him.

If he had no desire,

neither did I.

So I gave up my desires, for him.

When he was silent,

he was like me.

My only desires were his."

-Where do I leave the whisky?
-There.

-Do you want new towels?
-Yes, please.

-What's the population of Atlantic City?
-63,000.

Maybe more than 62,500.

There was a heavy police crackdown
on motorists last weekend.

In Paris too.

Wasn't the Communist Party
defeated here last year?

Seems they were going to requisition
all the bathrooms.

Thanks.

Still just as beautiful, Miss Nelson.

What are you doing here?

-What do you want?
-To talk with you.

What?

Not here in the corridor.

So, you want to talk? Go ahead.

The war in Morocco made you cruel.

You know, the war ended for me long ago.

Yes, it's well over.

It's never over! Trafalgar, Sedan,
Le Chemin des Dames,

Mers el-Kebir, Leningrad,
Okinawa, Berlin, Hanoi.

The names change but it's the same.
The proof!

What proof?

-What are you doing here anyway?
-You're a jerk!

A real jerk.

So, what do you have to tell me?

Eh…

How did Richard die?

Was it really a heart attack?

How should I know?
I read it in the newspaper.

-And I came immediately.
-Immediately, right!

-You weren't there when it happened?
-Why me?

Mr Typhus, if you want to talk to me,
you'd better get on with it.

I rushed here this morning,
without even unpacking.

I got off the train at 8:13.
And I walked here from the station.

I crossed the street
and saw you entering the hotel.

I asked for your room number,
took one next to it

and came straight to talk to you.

Why can't we work together?

-We have in the past!
-Not with me.

With Dick, maybe. Work at what anyway?

-Work at what?
-We're both looking for the same thing.

Oh, really?
And what is it we're looking for?

You know very well, Paula.

You're just trying to find out
if I know more than you.

More about what?
You're getting on my nerves.

I got the telegram three days ago.
I was only able to come yesterday.

We hardly saw each other anymore.

I don't know if I even still love him.

But I owed him something
because of that love.

I was told he had been taken
to the hospital of the 5th district.

I thought the newspaper said
he had been buried already.

I don't know.
They didn't tell me anything.

Now tell me something
that I don't already know.

You know very well that it's a secret.

-What secret?
-Don't start playing games.

Never mind, I can do it myself.

You know, there must
be some scared people in Paris.

The Information Bureau,
and maybe even the government itself.

You think the situation is serious?

Yes, it's serious. Extremely serious.

If we work together,
will we share the benefits?

Yes, alright. OK.

Which shoes go better with my dress?

-Blue or white?
-The blue ones.

Already fiction wins over reality.

Already there's blood and mystery.

Already I feel like I'm in a Disney movie,

but one starring Humphrey Bogart,
is therefore in a political movie.

DOCTOR KORVO IS THE CORONER

What have you done to Uncle Edgar?
What have you done to Uncle Edgar?

-Are you his nephew?
-Yes, madam.

-Don't mind me.
-Is he dead?

No.

I am the one he wanted to talk to.

-Are you going to tell the police?
-I won't say a thing.

-What's your name?
-David Goodis.

-And who's this girl?
-The girl I love.

Doris Misoguchi.

We were on holiday in Paris.
Uncle Edgar invited us.

How long were you in Paris for?

-Exactly?
-Yes, exactly.

-How long were you there?
-Exactly?

Exactly?

Exactly…

-127 years.
-Really? That's what I thought.

You mustn't have seen her often
during that time.

Hardly ever, she lived too far away.
I'd see her only everyday.

For breakfast, lunch, tea,

sometimes before dinner,

and we went to the cinema after dinner.

She couldn't come more often, because
she lived too far away, in Levallois.

Since Levallois isn't Paris,
and Paris isn't France,

she had to get a visa
every time she came to see me.

Couldn't you go to see her?

Yes, but only outside breakfast,
lunch, tea and dinner.

You really are an idiot.

If I were an idiot,
I wouldn't speak French.

What are you in Atlantic City for?

"I'm trapped alive in this mirror.

I'm real, like an angel,
and not like reflections."

What are you writing?

A novel that will never end.
I'll call itThe unfinished novel.

"Who's the actress with deep eyes,
black like a bouquet?

That Japanese girl
suddenly has something of a Manet.

Maybe, like me, she is
just tired of their conversations.

But the girl just uses simple words.

You'll miss me, honey,

One of these days. Some of these days.

How can I explain
this feeling of endless pain?

My life, the world,

who could still believe in it?

She only loved things which happen.
I was the color of time.

She kept speaking of other places.

I would listen and dream.

A woman is a gateway to the unknown.

A woman is always
the victory of bare feet.

Do you remember the words
of her solemn song?"

I can't find a rhyme for that bit.

"One day, alas, you'll be gone, Alice,

Along with Lewis Carroll."

Thank you, Madam.
Will you help me if I'm stuck again?

I will, if you help me too.

Dan't say anything to the police, OK?

-Does he still work at…?
-No, they fired him.

When he wakes up, say I disappeared.

Are you really the one who died,

Richard, my king?

In what kind of second-class tragedy
do I have to play for you?

Fortunately, I was now a brunette,

and Dr Korvo didn't recognize
the blonde student from Agadir.

-You don't look happy.
-Yes, yes.

Haven't you found it?

-Isn't this funny?
-No.

Okay.

-Hello, Thomas.
-Hello Sir.

Don't call me sir, call me Barman or Paul.

I'm not much older than you.

-Please!
-Yes.

Another baby, sir.

Here you go, Miss Nelson.

Don't call me sir, call me barman or Paul.

-I'm not much older than you.
-Then how old are you? I'm 22.

-In 22 years, you'll be twice that.
-Yes, in 22 years, I'll be 26.

She is wrong, sir, sorry, barman or Paul.

In 22 years, she'll be 44.

You are good at maths,
but her French is better than yours.

I can catch her, I'm only two years older.

-I didn't know you were 19.
-Come on, 22 plus 35 isn't 19.

Except during the war.
The result of 70 plus 14 was 40.

As you're so good at maths,

-I got something to ask you.
-Yes.

Count every object in the bar,
for the inventory.

-What's a bar?
-Coming!

A bar is… A place, I mean, a room.

It's several people who gather
under the eye of a barman,

and also a room where liquids are served.

It's several people who gather
under the eye of a barman,

and also a room.

A bar can't be two things.

Can she be a woman and a crocodile?

Embarrassing question.

I'll think about it,
but tell me what objects are here.

I can see a glass, bottles, a rose,

windows to my right,

a door that is both
in front of me and behind you.

You see, one thing can be
in two different places. Go on.

-A barman.
-Where is he?

-Right in front of me, it's you!
-Right, I couldn't see myself.

-Go on.
-An ashtray,

cups, plates,
a coffee machine, three taps…

-A cigarette, a striped dress.
-Four walls around the bar,

the floor under our feet, a worker and me,

Paula, in a situation
from which she sees no way out.

You gather words at random.
You have to order them.

-What for, Barman or Paul?
-What are words for, Miss?

-Is it really necessary?
-I believe so.

I make sentences, but I don't like it.

Why don't you like it?

Sentences are pointless or empty words.

That's what the dictionary says.

But it also says

that sentences put words together…

-…to make them meaningful.
-I don't agree at all.

-Why?
-What's wrong with her definition?

Sentences can't be meaningless
and make words meaningful.

You're complicating things.
If you don't make sentences,

I can't understand you,
and I can't serve you a drink.

OK, Barman or Paul, I'll give it a try.

The glass is not in the wine.

The barman is in the pocket
of the pencil's jacket.

The counter kicks the girl.

The floor is stubbed out on a cigarette.

The tables stand on top of the glasses.

The ceiling is hung from the light.

The window looks the girl in the eyes.

I open them and see the door
sitting on the stool.

The telephone has three bars.

The coffee is filled with vodka.

The Cinzano is surrounded by four walls.

But the dictionary only has three windows.

One American and two French ones.

The doors jump out the window.

The barman fills a cigarette with whisky.

He lights up the tap.

I am what you are.

He is not what we are.

They are what you are.

I have what you have.

He has what they have.

They have what we don't have.

-What do you want?
-If they ask you, say you don't know.

Say something at least.

"What's the maximum speed for love?

The answer is 68 kilometers per hour.

One kilometer more
flips you around the wrong way."

Fine.

ARMED FORCES WILL BE DISPATCHED
TO PROTECT THE 535 CANDIDATES

IN SUNDAY'S ELECTIONS

-Say something at least.
-I'm sick of this.

-This is the address you asked for.
-Thanks.

Whatever I do,

I can't escape my responsibilities
towards others.

My silence has the same effect on him
as my words.

My departure troubles him,
as does my presence.

My indifference can be his downfall,
as much as my help can.

My concern, sometimes thoughtless,

kills him.

This life is either nothing,
or it has to be everything.

Considering losing it,
rather than making it absurd,

I place at the heart
of my relative existence

an absolute standard

called ethics.

The absolute in this sense
is nowhere else.

No past justifies it.

No future could promise it.

I chose to live to become more faithful

to myself,

to Dick

and to the others.

Miss Daisy Canion,
please go to the solarium.

Miss Daisy Canion,
please go to the solarium.

Miss Ruby Gentry, please go
to the oxygenation room.

This way.

Calling Dr Edward Ludwig.
Dr Edward Ludwig.

Calling Dr Edward Ludwig.
Dr Edward Ludwig.

-Is it you?
-Yes, Miss…?

Paula Nelson.

If you need a special consultation,
this is not the place.

No.

I just want to ask you something.

-Are you a journalist?
-Who told you that?

You came from Paris?

I just want to know
if it's true that Dick…

That Richard P… died of a heart attack.

-Are you his sister?
-No.

We were supposed to get married
two years ago.

When things went wrong in Marseilles.

Why don't you answer my question?

Yes, look.

This is his record, it's no secret.

Yes, but even in the concentration camps,

people ended up dying of a heart attack.

What did he do
before coming to Atlantic City?

Did you work together?

Excuse me.

Tell Mr Widmark
that you-know-who has called.

Why did they call you
to certify his death?

Because I saw him often,
we played tennis three times a week.

I am the president of the club.
He was lonely.

I introduced him to some friends.
He was very lonely.

Loneliness doesn't kill a man.

How can't you see the relationship

between loneliness and illness?

Why are you telling me stories

when all I ask is the truth?

If you don't like stories, it's a mistake.

Dickens, Melville or Hammett

can be more useful than movies
if you want the truth.

Weren't you
the mayor's secretary until 67?

He was a communist.

He, too, was killed

in an explosion at a gas station.

The communist utopia doesn't lie
in a revolution, like 40 years ago.

You sure he had no family?
We'd have to tell them.

He had only me.

-I'll avenge him.
-I don't understand.

Well, then. There's no point in going on

with this stupid conversation.

I got it immediately:

this case had to remain a mystery
for everybody

and I was risking my life.

But I might also find something

that I could later sell
to the opposition's press office.

To get back Richard's belongings,

I went back in the afternoon
to the address I had been given.

Again, the weather was perfect
for making a color movie outdoors.

I'd spoken to a stranger
who told me to go to a garage.

I thought she had the northern accent
of the typist

who had run away with him.

Where am I?

I am traveling across countries
full of blood.

War is war,

no matter what it's called.

War…

And life?

Has it been anything apart from war?

Killing less than war,

is that the rule in this life?

Where am I?

Please

Why was I told
he was in a military hospital?

Who gave you this address?

Someone from the neighborhood.

And I remembered that he liked cars.

And I saw his Alfa Romeo.

I asked that idiot, Donald, to burn it.

-Was it because of the elections?
-Maybe.

-You killed him.
-What makes you think that?

The dead man at the doctor's.

Dr Korvo? I know nothing about that.

You might fool a movie audience,
but not me.

Why do you want to avenge P…?

It may surprise you, but for my ideals.

True.

He once wrote in an editorial:

"Fascism is the dollar of ethics."

-What did they do to him?
-You're mistaken.

It was Dr Korvo who told Ludwig
that you had come.

How did you get to Atlantic City so fast?

-Who hit me?
-I'm the one asking questions.

So you may as well answer them.

He had kept evidence
of the mayor's murder.

It had to be destroyed.

Thus committing a crime again.

The situation here was worse
than in Marseilles or Chicago.

You know, I am the one in charge
of the settlement

of the fifth district.

No.

If you kill me, you get no information.

Your theory doesn't make sense.

The main thing is to find out
if you know where it is.

I don't.

I tell her I know what she is looking for.

She found out about P…'s death
and she thought things would be easy.

And I answer that all this
is double Dutch to me.

Cold.

Very cold.

Still very cold.

South Pole.

Still South Pole.

Still South Pole.

Still South Pole.

It's getting warmer.

Warmer.

We pass the Equator.

The Sahara.

It's starting to burn.

It's burning.

It's burning.

Come and listen to it.

Paragraph three.
Permanent revolution only makes sense

if the diversity and seriousness
of the political and economical team

allow one to get past the hazards
of the situation.

Paragraph seven.

What Robespierre and St. Just
had already sensed

in the elaboration of a program…

What Robespierre and St. Just
had already sensed

in the elaboration
of a still to be defined program,

but surprisingly topical,
others have ideas sketched out.

I am one such person
and you shouldn't blame us, comrades.

Paragraph 12.
As the independence of the colonies

ends the fatalist evolution of the regime,

the internal conquest and the fight
for the presidency of the Republic

should open a new scope
in the activity of the clubs.

-Now I have changed my mind.
-Why did I go to Dr Korvo's?

Why did I go to the military solarium?

There was no danger.

I could kill you right away.

I stand here in my black suit

and with a colorful tie.

I tell her I still have
many friends in Paris

who will be back in power one day.

The case is closed.

OK.

We ask nations not to base
their public opinion on the analysis

of contradictory debates
with limited scopes,

nor on the analysis
of solid proofs, but on…

but on secret information
that leaked from some officials.

Such methods, comrades… I'll start again.

We ask nations not to base
their public opinion on the analysis

of contradictory debates
with limited scopes,

nor on the analysis of solid proof,

but on secret information
that leaked from some officials.

Such methods, comrades,
characterise a police state.

As I looked at them both together,

I understood the meaning
of the adjective "parallel"

if applied to the police.

The inspector looked as if
he had studied political sciences.

He shouted to me to be careful
with those from the land settlement.

Dick had no secrets.

He was a liar, I knew him well.

Someone killed Typhus.
It wasn't me or you.

Someone else is looking
for the same thing as we are.

Help me. I'll help you.

We'll share the benefits.

Why would a cock flatter a cuckoo?

-I don't understand.
-Usually the cuckoo flatters the cock.

Mr Kruschev's speech to the Komsomols!

I'm sure you killed Dick.

Why? I don't know yet. It makes no sense.

Yes, it does.

You'll see.

-Then you did it.
-You're annoying.

-Not really.
-I don't get it.

Let's say I didn't do it alone.

What if I told him what I know,
what I reckon?

You won't do that.
He thinks you killed Typhus.

I'm the only one who knows
I was with you at that time.

He doesn't look too cruel
for someone from homicide.

His parents shot mine
in Dakar and Mers el-Kebir.

They worked for Bony and Lafont.
My parents, in London,

for Colonel Passy,
the one we used to call:

-I'll take care of her.
-OK.

I'll be right back.

Talk.

Enough.

You don't know how much I hate the police.

-It's her.
-You don't know how much…

-She killed Uncle Edgar.
-Can't you see? He's crazy.

-It's her.
-I told you to wait outside. Out!

It's her.

You don't know how much I hate the police.

You had some business going on
with Mr Typhus, right?

-I did not. You are mistaken.
-Really?

That's what I thought.

So, you and Mr Typhus
were only friends then?

-Let's say we met several times.
-I see.

You don't know how much…

-What do you want?
-I'm from The Atlantic City Magazine.

Mr Typhus, wasn't he
the Lieutenant of Jo Attila?

-No comment.
-Always the same.

Why are the Paris police
so scornful of local newspapers?

Do you want to say anything, Miss?

You knew Richard P… well?

No comment either.

25, rue Benech?

He worked there 3 months.
From January 25th to April 25th.

-Is that all?
-Yes, see you in the car.

What secret?

Richard P… died a natural death.
At worst, he committed suicide.

A bullet to the back of the head
from three millimeters away?

It wouldn't be the first time.

I asked her her real name.

Marie Dufour.

Was she the girl who called me?

Yes.

Why?

I told her not to be scared.

Because I tried to kill myself.

Why kill yourself?

Was it long after Richard's death?

-Or because they tortured you?
-With a razor blade.

Richard told you something.

They tortured you
in order to find out what?

With a razor blade.

What did he tell you?

You're afraid they'll do it again
if you talk to me?

Yes.

FREEDOM

NO PARKING - TRUCK EXIT

Excuse me, sir. I'm Richard's sister.

He worked here in February or March.

Yes

-Did he leave a letter or parcel for me?
-I don't know.

Hello, sir.

CLOSE THE DOOR

Miss…

What is it?

Did I hear you earlier
mentioning the name Richard P…?

I heard it from the accountant's office.

They are scared. They doubled
our salary so we won't speak.

But Mr P… was really nice with me.
He was the only one.

Once he asked me to go to his house
to help with his accounts,

to a villa in the suburbs.

-Where?
-Close to the military aerodrome.

Rue Preminger, or something like that.

-That's all I know.
-Thank you.

Well, well.

You found anything?

-No more than you.
-What makes you think that?

You would either leave me alone
or make me disappear.

Officer Aldrich looks more intelligent.

You know what he'll do
if he finds out first who killed Typhus?

He takes himself too seriously.

He gets on my nerves.

I have to find a way.

-Did he say what he thought of me?
-What do I care?

I'm in charge of the fifth district,
not him!

Yes, of course.

-What did you tell him?
-Tell who?

David Goodis.

When Aldrich questioned him again,
he got nothing.

He said all this was a misunderstanding,

that you looked like someone else,

that he never saw you with his uncle.

-What did you tell him?
-Nothing.

I've been thinking.

Whoever killed Typhus is probably
the same person

that attacked you.

I know it's silly, but it proves
that he found nothing either.

-And Dr Ludwig?
-What?

It might be him.

I really don't understand.

I really don't understand.

-Why wouldn't he be involved?
-Yes.

-Like you, he is my precious hostage.
-Do you really think so?

What if Richard was just a dreamer.

You know any communist dreamers?

He was evicted from the Party
when Picasso died.

That was all arranged.

All arranged.

What?

You believed it, like everyone else.

The deputy who had lent him his Citroën

had taken it back for the weekend

and Widmark took me to the hotel
in his killers' Chrysler.

I couldn't go out or I would be killed

since I refused to tell him
where the villa was.

THE ROOM ON THE FIRST FLOOR

RIPOLIN - THE MODERN PAINT

WILL BE, TO US,

…DES JARDINS…

LIKE PARADISE.

DO YOU HAVE…

So, since the police still suspected me

and Widmark had me locked up,

I gave him another call to tell him the
name of someone

who, we thought, could have killed Typhus.

Paragraph 19.

Comrades, times have changed.

But lies are still here.

With those you know well,

those who feel their patriotic
influence threatened.

The government uses patriotic speeches

and the excitement
of the nuclear adventure

to prevent people
from noticing the social awakening.

Paragraph 47.

Dumouriez already denounced
the right wing's taste for parades

that gives the mass the easy sensation
of courage with no danger

and pride with no sacrifices.

Politics.

Money.

I wonder why it doesn't make me puke

to have been involved in all that
for so long.

Richard!

Paragraph 48.

Someone asked me, with outraged eloquence,

how French politics can aim
to release us from this huge power

when part of the government
contributes to such crimes?

Comrades, I'll answer this question.

It wouldn't be the first time
a government had been divided between

catholic courts and protestant lords.
What about Danton? Dumouriez?

Would it be the first time
politics swing right and left,

shared between the requisites
of a superior power…

Would it be the first time
politics swing right and left,

between the whims of an old power

imposed on the people
at the expense of food

and the next generation,

who know they won't be able to
feed the nation.

Paragraph 89.

The main cause for our mistakes

is that left-wing politicians
still accept communist votes

while signing agreements
with the opposition.

What progress can there be with
politicians like Lecanuet, Pinay, Pleven

who say that only the anti-American
voices inside the government

separate our politics from theirs?

How can we want the end
of the present government

when the only possible results
are the following:

the survival of De Gaulle's Party,

even if they lose the next elections,

or a lasting discredit
for the democratic regime

if the non-communist left came into power

together with the progressive republicans.

It is to avoid, comrades…

It is to avoid, comrades…

It is to avoid such options

that the communist party
will keep fighting

for a real victory of the left.

That's probably
what the anti-communists fear.

They don't want the left to win.

It's probably…

That's what I thought.

To retaliate against his boss,
who no longer wanted his help,

Donald brought me photos
of Richard's death.

It was really a political movie.

Just like a Walt Disney movie,
only with blood.

He also told me
he had killed Typhus and his niece,

just because they caught him
searching my room.

He was looking for a treasure,
but now he was scared.

He didn't believe there was a secret
document or a political mystery.

He only believed in money.

He confirmed there was a villa

and offered to take me there
for two million francs.

He wanted to go to South America,

and, as the idealist he was,

finance an army of killers
to eliminate, once for all,

all the Jews, Black people,
Chinese and Indians.

If you had to die,

would you prefer to be warned
or a sudden death.

Sudden death.

Mummy!

Mummy!

Mummy!

That's probably
what the anti-communists fear.

To find out why Richard died

was to find out why I would live.

"He finds in memories…

…the lock of brown hair."

-Won't you help me anymore?
-Yes.

"He no longer believes…"

And then?

Go now, the police are here.
Help me, madam.

"In our two strange destinies."
At the villa in an hour. Go.

-You can leave the city if you want.
-Really? Thanks.

I'm not investigating Typhus anymore.

Okay.

It's always the same.

Orders came from Paris
to close the case temporarily.

-It mustn't surprise you.
-I don't care.

Was the false suspect your idea?

False suspect?

According to Widmark, someone called…

Marc Dickson, a private detective,
killed Typhus.

It's plausible.

Result of an old feud
between two Moroccan War veterans.

Have you arrested Mr Marc Dickson?

I think it's impossible.

-Why's that?
-He died in a fire near Agadir.

Then why do you want to arrest him?
I don't get it.

He'll be condemned in absentia.

Only two people know he's dead.

One is me; I was engaged to his sister.

-The other one is…
-Widmark?

No, not him.

It's a woman with a nice dress.

Exactly the same as yours.

Is it orange or yellow?

Isn't the case closed?

Yes, I know.

Did you suspect me?

I didn't, but I had to consider
all the possibilities.

He was killed in your room.
Did you let him in?

No. Maybe he was looking for something,

something to steal.

Were you in the same hotel by chance?

No.

Had you arranged to meet?

No, I didn't expect to find him there.

I read in the newspaper
that Richard P… was dead.

So I came. I believe he did the same.

-Who did you vote for two years ago?
-It's none of your business.

I can easily find out.

You worked forL'Express earlier, in '66?

-Yes, so what?
-Nothing.

This Richard P… is the one
who signed the editorials?

Yes, he stayed.

I quit when
they started accepting advertisements.

Why?

Because advertising is a form of fascism.

When Goodis reconsidered
his declaration, I understood.

I'm not as stupid as you think.

You're mixed up in a political matter

where personal feelings play a part:

revenge, jealousy, friendship.

If I were you, I'd go back to Paris.

Something bad is going to happen.

Do yourself a favor.

We are living in an old part
of the universe

where nothing happens,

when somewhere else, galaxies
are still being created by explosions.

Goodbye.

GOODBYE TO LIFE. GOODBYE TO LOVE.

Quiet! Quiet!
You'll get everybody into trouble.

I don't believe it.

Tell Ludwig I'll call him tonight.

OK, but it's the last time.

-What's your name?
-Robert MacNamara.

-Aren't you fed up with killing?
-It's my job. Makes me happy.

-What about you?
-Richard Nixon, I agree.

Let's see your boss.

-I don't know where he is.
-I do.

Get moving.

FREEDOM

I still wear the yellow and red dress

but my has voice changed.

I told him it was barbaric
to torture the woman

to get the address of the villa.

I answered that it's not the first time
I have blood on my hands.

Agadir, the subway in Charonne…

…Mehdi Ben Barka.

I paid that fat woman 100,000 francs

to invent a story to justify her burns.

Always blood, fear,

politics, money.

I wonder why it doesn't make me puke

to have been involved in all that
for so long.

Richard!

THE LEFT, YEAR ZERO

It is to avoid such options
that the communist party

will keep fighting
for a real victory of the left.

-I dismissed the others.
-Richard killed Lacroix.

-If I have to kill her, I want no one.
-The fire was nothing.

The Party met at the villa…

-The Party blamed the socialists.
-Without its own members.

-It was good for them.
-Two years ago, in '67…

-They killed Richard…
-…they split from the left.

…because he was too involved.

Ran away.

That's how it started. That's my opinion.

-Lacroix, the mayor,
-As for me…

-Richard P…,
-I'm sinking.

-…all had to shut up.
-I should've gone back to Paris.

Because of her, the fight goes on.

-Now I have to end it.
-Killing and eliminating opponents…

-Play, pretend, lie.
-…instead of quietly using power…

I'd rather be on an Italian beach.

-…to open dams and boost the economy.
-Dreams of sun and water.

We can't trust each other,
it's impossible.

There is too much to lose. It's a pity.

We won't get anywhere
if we keep spying on each other.

Don't forget who killed Typhus.

Maybe you're right.

We should trust each other.

That's what I've just said.

I'll speak frankly, Paula.

Even if you swore on all Lenin's works
that it were sunny outside,

I wouldn't believe you
without checking it for myself.

I can't trust you,

it's absolutely impossible.

-I think there's a way.
-What's that?

I provide you with a weapon

that turns against me if I betray you.

I really don't understand.

I write a letter

in which I say I killed Typhus.

I sign it.

Then I give it to you.

That's clever.

That's not a bad idea.

That way, I can trust you.

Yes. But you too.

-Me too, what?
-You have to write a letter, too.

To say what?
That I killed Typhus? Are you stupid?

No, you'll write that you killed Richard.

I'd stay alive at any price.

Otherwise, sooner or later,

I'd end up like the 17 witnesses
to Kennedy's death, killed too,

as Le Monde stated on October 10th.

-"I killed Richard P…"
-"I killed Edgar Typhus."

"He tried to extort money from me."

"He came into my room."

"His death was an accident."

"We argued."

"Dr Ludwig knows all about it."

"I knocked him out with an ashtray."

"He helped me hide the facts
thanks to his political contacts."

"September 17th, 1968."

"Paul Widmark, September 17th, 1968."

"Paula Nelson."

-Is it OK?
-Sure.

-Hands in the air!
-What's wrong?

Don't move.

Now I know you've found it.

That's why you got the idea of the letter.

I haven't found anything.

There's no secret, no mystery.

You're lying.

I don't have any reason to lie.

Not anymore.

Because you know you're going to die?

Yes.

Thanks, David.

"Far from time and space…

…people are confused…

…as thin as hairs…

…as large as dawn.

They have foamy ears,

disgusted eyes.

They stretch their hands forward
to touch the scenery,

a non-existent scenery."

Thanks, Madam.
This way, I can finish my novel.

No, David.

No, David. You have to prepare to die.

The truth mustn't be revealed.

If you finish it,
the world will learn the truth.

Poetry shows the truth.

Why do you always use metaphors?

If I speak about time,

it's still to come.

If I speak about a place,
it has disappeared.

If I speak about time,

it's gone already.

If I speak about a man…

…he's about to die.

Paula, you stole my youthfulness.

David…

Sadness.

Where am I? Am I the one talking?

Can I say that I am
this language that I speak,

invaded by my thoughts?

Can I say that I am
these murders I committed,

which I don't see as a job,
not only when it's over,

but before it even starts?

Can I say that I am
the life I feel inside of me?

It's all around me at incredible times of…

The night is as long as the day

in this never-ending equinox.

When it comes,

I go on.

I'll go before dawn.

Birth.

Death.

The life of things around me.

The life of my own body,

the body that Richard would kiss.

This knowledge is by its very nature
incomplete and misleading

because it comes only
from changes to my body

and to my thoughts.

The problem of my consciousness

is that, having lost my world,
I attempt to survive,

but this attempt causes my death.

Philippe!

Why are you here?

I'm making a documentary
about Châteauroux. And you?

I got mixed up in a bad case.

-I killed two men.
-I can't believe it.

-Can you give me a lift?
-OK.

THE LEFT, YEAR ZERO

You shouldn't be scared.

-Fascism won't happen.
-Yes,

On the contrary,
it has to happen, and it will,

like sailing boats, miniskirts,
rock and roll.

We've years of fighting ahead of us,

often fighting within ourselves.

That's why I am scared,

scared of being tired beforehand,

scared of abandoning the fight.

-Have you got a cigarette?
-In the glove compartment.

-Want one?
-No, thanks.

You know,

I think Richard's death was a revenge.

But none of it's very clear.

Was Ben Barka's case clear?

-That's an old story.
-True,

but I have principles.

-Do you still work for that paper?
-Yes.

Are you going to write an article

or a book, like the one
you wanted to write about Oswald?

Probably.

Then don't say you have principles.

No.

You won't ever change.

What?

Remember Elisabeth,
inLes Enfants Terribles?

The left and the right are the same.

They won't ever change.

The right,

because its cruelty makes it stupid,

and the left because it's too sentimental.

Actually, the right and the left

are obsolete terms.

We shouldn't phrase it like that.

What should we say then?

THE END