All language subtitles for 14 días, 12 noches (Jean-Philippe Duval, 2019)

14 DAYS 12 NIGHTS

I believe your orphanage
can accommodate one more girl.

For the children, madam.

You can leave the child at the gate.

Tonight.

See that she's sent to the barbarians.

That's my only condition.

Hello! You timed your trip well.
The weather's been nice in Hanoi, lately.

Sorry, could you please ask him to stop?

OK, stop here, please.

This?

This lady is from Canada.

She adopted a child here.

She would like to meet Ms. Thao,
the woman who looked after her baby.

Please, come have some tea.

I'll get the person you're looking for.

We can wait in the foyer.

Children are the voice of the world.

Without them,
our planet would have no future.

On behalf of all our orphans,
thank you for your support.

Your certificate.

Do you have any information
regarding the child?

None. None at all.

It's been a long time.

Do you remember me?

This is for you.

Thank you. Have a seat.

I couldn't come to Vietnam
without visiting you.

This is Diêm Lê.

I never really had
a chance to thank you

for all you did for her.

For one whole year,
I raised her like my own.

I saw her take her first steps.

I saw her first smile.

She's asking why you came here.

That must be her!

Hi, Clara!

Translate, please.

These foreigners arrived one day.

They killed our parents
and stole our children.

Hi, it's me.

How are you?

I'm OK.

I miss you.

I miss you too.

I went the orphanage today.

Yeah? What was it like?

It hasn't changed at all.

Is it nice out?

Yeah, it's nice out.

I'm in Room 301.

What happened?

What happened?

No! Clara?

Clara? It's Mom!

The night your daughter
was left at the orphanage,

I found a piece of paper
in her clothing

with a name and a phone number
written on it.

She thinks that's the person who should be
informed of the child's death...

if you have the courage.

Pardon me,

I'd like to speak with Thuy Nguyen.

Thuy doesn't live here anymore.

Why are you looking for her?

I need to ask her some questions.

Can you tell me how I can reach her?

She works at Ly's Travel Agency.

You'll find her there.

WE ORGANIZE EXCURSIONS
WITH FRENCH-SPEAKING GUIDES

This portrait is the most famous work
of Tran Van Can,

one of the pioneers of
Vietnamese modern art.

Coincidentally, I have the same name
as the portrait's subject:

‟Em Thuy,” or ‟Little Thuy.”

Is this your first time in Vietnam?

Yes.

I had a very close Vietnamese friend
back home, in Canada.

He died last year.
I wanted to see his country.

I see.

Do you have any questions about
our itinerary for the next few days?

No. I trust you.
You're the expert.

This way.

Isabelle, I'd like you to meet
Maï and Sol.

They live here.

She's getting ready for
a school party.

- I see!
- Yes!

This is where we'll sleep.

This is my guest.

They own the property.

What are you up to today?

I'll probably go to the market

this afternoon.

We'll see you later.

What beautiful colours!

Around here,
business is women's work.

The opening is small.

Yes, so your money doesn't fall out!

Hold it this way.
The money won't fall out.

Can you ask how much this scarf is?

How much for that?

- 400,000.
- 400?

It's 400,000. It's too expensive.
Let me deal with this.

I think it's worth 150.

That scarf is made of linen
that I wove by hand.

I have to charge more.

If you want something cheaper,
take this one.

- 200 for this one.
- No, I can't accept 200.

Then I'll go somewhere else.

No, I can't.

It's handwoven linen.

We wove it ourselves.

If she wants this one,
she can have it for 150.

- I think...
- Is 200 enough?

- Hold on. Let me look at it.
- 200.

This linen is from...

This linen is from the monks of Tau By.

It's a deal! 200,000.

200,000.

I'm not trying to rip you off!
It's worth more than 200,000.

It means ‟thank you.”

- It's for you.
- Thank you.

- It suits you.
- Thanks!

Do you smoke?

Yes. But I don't usually
smoke with clients.

Well, no one's going to tell on you,
especially not me.

All right. Thanks.

Was your Vietnamese friend
from the north or the south?

The south.

Do you know how to distinguish between
northerners and southerners in Vietnam?

Northerners like their coffee hot,
and southerners like it cold.

- Of course! Makes sense.
- Yep!

Also, we northerners are very thrifty
compared to southerners.

Southerners are big spenders.

They love going out.
They're very welcoming, very generous.

I'm not saying we're not generous
in the north, but...

Maybe it's the harsh climate...

We keep our feelings to ourselves.

We're more introverted.

But once we open our doors,
it's like we're opening our hearts.

On the other hand,

if someone hurts us,
we're not very quick to forgive.

We tend to hold grudges.

- Are you married?
- Yes. You?

Yes.

What does your husband do?

My husband is an outdoorsman.

An outdoorsman?
What's that?

It's a man who loves being alone
and hunting and fishing

without his wife.

Sounds like a Vietnamese man!

Is your husband an outdoorsman too?

No, he's not an outdoorsman.

I meant Vietnamese men in general.

My grandfather was a hunter.

- Oh yeah?
- Yeah.

What do people hunt in Vietnam?

Anything that moves!

What do people hunt in Quebec?

In Quebec, people hunt moose, partridges...

- Moose?
- Yeah, moose.

It's big. Very big.
It's bigger than a horse.

It has this big beard,
big eyes, long eyelashes...

It's beautiful and ugly all at once.
It depends.

How can it be both?

Go on, have some more.

Well, here's to moose!

And to anything that moves!

Do you have any children?

Do you?

Good morning!

- Do you want some juice?
- Sure!

- Did you sleep well?
- Yeah. You?

Yep!

- Are you working today?
- Just this afternoon.

- Here you go!
- Thanks!

Simon's here!

Hey! How's it going?

- Will you be back for dinner?
- Yep!

Yeah?

See you later!

Everything repeating itself,
day after day...

For me, that's God.

- Are you a Buddhist?
- No.

I'm a scientist. An oceanographer.

I've always been fascinated by the sea.

It's funny:
This place reminds me of home.

I didn't know you had
a Ha Long Bay in Quebec.

A more modest version!

See you at the back of the boat later?

Are your parents from Hanoi?

My mother was.
My father was from central Vietnam.

But I never knew them.

I'm sorry.

It's OK. You couldn't have known.

I was four months old
when the Americans bombed Hanoi.

I lost everyone:

my mother, my father,

my brother, my aunts and uncles,
my cousins...

They were all wiped out
by American bombs.

My grandmother, my great-uncle and I
were the only survivors.

I'm so sorry.

My grandmother raised me.

Take us to Ninh Binh.

- Now?
- Yes.

I have a surprise for you.

Welcome to my home!

Don't look at me like that.

You're my guest!
We'll go to Hanoi tomorrow.

Come!

Please, come in!

That's my great-uncle,
the one I mentioned.

What was his name?

Uncle Lam.

He was a painter.

You come from a family of artists?

No. He was the exception.

I come from a family of doctors.

My grandmother raised me in her own image,

while my uncle invited me
into his studio.

He taught in Hanoi, at the art school.

This was his oasis.
I spent every summer here.

Who knows where I'd be
if it weren't for him.

I owe it all to him:

my culture, my passion for art,

my studies in fine arts,
my love for Paris.

I must be boring you with my stories.

No, not at all!

It's weird: When I speak French,
I'm chatty.

When I speak Vietnamese,
I clam up.

Is that you in the photos?

Yes.

Have you lived here long?

Ten years or so.
Since my great uncle died.

He left everything to me.

Now, I work as a guide
for the first half of the year,

then I come here to be an artist
for the second half.

When I started art school,
everything Uncle Lam had said was true.

I was raised in such a rigid world.

Suddenly, I entered a world of freedom
where anything was possible.

I could finally breathe, live!

Let me show you
where you'll sleep tonight.

This is my studio.

I like your work.

When I was 17,
I fell in love with my art teacher.

He was 30, and he was French.

In my grandmother's opinion,
I had slept with the enemy...

the same enemy that killed her husband
during the Indochina War.

I was the whore who dishonoured
our family and our country.

I got pregnant...

and my grandmother decided...

to bring me to the country to give birth.

And I never saw my daughter again.

I didn't give her up.

She was taken from me.

I'm sorry.

You never had this child.

Isabelle?

Isabelle? I looked everywhere for you!

- Are you OK?
- Yes, I'm fine.

Are you sure?
You don't look fine.

I need to talk to you.

Go on.

I lied to you.

I'm not who you think I am.

I adopted your daughter in 1991.

My husband and I.

I'm sorry.

Last year...

she was in an accident, and...

and she died in the accident.

I'm sorry.

I wanted to tell you so many times, but...

I guess I didn't have the courage.

Please forgive me.

For days now,

you've been watching me...

spying on me!

You took advantage of me!

Forgive me.

Of my trust!

Forgive me.

Of my private life!

Forgive me.

What was I to you?

A puppet prattling on about Vietnam?

You were part of my life...

part of my little Clara.

That's what we named her: Clara.

Oftentimes, I allowed myself to
imagine her life.

But never her death.

I hope you'll be able to
forgive me one day.

There's nothing to forgive.

Clara was your daughter too.

You gave her a better life.

I wish I had done a better job.

I know.

ANTHOLOGY OF VIETNAMESE POETRY

You took my daughter from me!

You're forgetting...

that I gave you the opportunity
to start over.

You did nothing for me!

Everything you do,
you do it for yourself!

You never accepted me

with my daughter.

You never accepted
that I loved her father...

that I loved a White man.

You think he's a barbarian
because he's not like us.

I mourned him when he left...

and now I mourn my daughter,
who's no longer among the living.

For a long time now,
I've been asking you to forgive me

and to recognize my daughter
as your own granddaughter.

Grandmother, recognize us,

so my daughter's soul
can enter heaven,

so we can finally
make peace with the past.

CLARA, BE OUR ANGEL.
PROTECT US.

Translation by Patricia Rudnickas