All language subtitles for Schmetterling und Taucherglocke (2007)_en

THE DIVING BELL
AND THE BUTTERFLY

Look! He's waking up.

Page Dr. Cocheton, quick!

Dr. Cocheton to room 119.

Mr. Bauby, keep your eyes open.

Keep your eyes open.

Mr. Bauby, keep your eyes open.

You're waking from a long sleep.

Can you hear me?

I hear you.

What's going on?

God, a hospital.

Open your eyes wide.

Try to keep them open.

That's it. Good.

Now follow the light.

That's it.

Don't be afraid.

You're in a hospital.

I'm a doctor. My name's Cocheton.

These are orderlies.

We're here to take care of you.

Do you remember what happened?

- Vaguely.
- Do you remember what happened?

Like I said, vaguely. Images...

You're in the Naval Hospital
in Berck-sur-Mer,

on the coast, near Calais.

You were treated in Paris
and then brought here.

Do you remember?

Jean-Dominique.

You've had a stroke.

You were in a coma
for almost three weeks.

But now you're waking up,
and you'll be fine.

I promise.

Thanks.

I need to do a few tests.

Keep your eyes on me.

That's it.

Follow my finger.

That's it.

When I say blink...

Blink, please.

Very good!

Now, try saying your name.

Jean-Dominique Bauby.

Go on, try.

- I just did.
- Try hard!

Tell me your name.

Jean-Dominique Bauby.

Try to say your children's names.

Théophile, Céleste, Hortense.

Don't worry.

It's a very slow process.

But your speech will come back.

What?

Can't you hear me? Doctor!

What's going on?

I can't speak?

They can't hear me.

My God!

I can't speak?

What's happened to me?

My name is Jean-Dominique Bauby.

Doctor!

Okay...

I've had a stroke. My speech
and memory will come back.

You'll be okay, Mr. Bauby.

- It'll be okay.
- Relax. We'll take care of you.

I'll be patient.

Okay.

Okay, I believe you.

Who brought those flowers?

Roses.

Inès!

Did you sleep well?

Let's see, now.

You have an important visit
this morning.

Dr. Lepage, the neurologist.
We hope you'll be at your best.

Morning.

I'm Alain Lepage, your neurologist.
You know Dr. Cocheton.

Jean-Dominique...

No, your friends call you Jean-Do,

so that's what I'll call you.
Think of me as a friend.

Just be a doctor.

As a friend,
I know how hard this is for you.

And I know no one
has told you the full truth.

That's my job.

That's my job.

You've had what we call
a cerebrovascular accident.

It's put your brain stem out of action.

The brain stem is

a vital part of our internal computer

that links the brain and the spinal cord.

In the past, we'd have said
you had a massive stroke,

and you'd probably have died.

But now, resuscitation techniques
have come so far that we can...

We can try...

I mean, we can prolong life.

This is life?

This is life?

Prolong life.

I won't mince words, Jean-Do.
You're paralyzed from head to toe.

As you have realized,
you can't speak.

You can't speak.

You have what we call

locked-in syndrome.

Locked-in syndrome.

It won't comfort you to know
that your condition's extremely rare.

We simply don't know the cause.

You don't smoke, you don't drink much.

I'm afraid it's just one of those things.

But even so,

although you're physically paralyzed,

everything else seems normal.
So there's hope.

- Normal?
- There's hope.

Your brain is functioning.

You understand me,
your eyes follow our movements.

Though I'm not thrilled about that eye.

The muscle's not working, see?

The eye's no longer irrigated.

I'm afraid we may have to occlude it.

Occlude?

Occlude what?

I'll get a second opinion.

So, I'd like you to rest up for a while.

- What else am I doing?
- When you're stronger,

two beauties will visit you.

And when I say beauties,

- I mean it.
- Terrific.

They're gorgeous.

Excellent therapists.
Miracle workers, you'll see.

Please, no miracles.

Like I said, there's hope.

You already said that.

We'll take care of you, Jean-Do.
Trust me.

Great start.

We'll take care of you.

Hello!

Am I in heaven?

I'm Henriette.

I'm Marie.

You can blink, right?

Blink once for yes and twice for no.

Just my luck!
Two beauties, and I'm stuck.

Can you read this?

Where?

"Durand, Speech Therapist."

You see "Durand"?

- Good, Mr. Bauby.
- Miss or Mrs.?

I'm your physiotherapist.

First I must teach you to swallow,

so we'll work on your tongue and lips.

- Sounds fun.
- I'm a speech therapist.

We'll work on a way to communicate
until your speech comes back.

Your case is very rare.

- So I heard.
- We have our work cut out.

Let's get started.

Exactly.
I only came to introduce myself.

See you later.

See you later.

I just want to say

this is the most important job
I've ever had.

I'm determined to succeed.

With your help, of course.

I think you understand, but

I'm going to ask you
some more questions.

Okay?

Remember. One blink, yes.

Two blinks, no.

Am I a man?

Am I a woman?

Does the sunlight bother you?

Is it midnight?

What are these questions?

Are we in Paris?

Are we in Berck?

Does wood float?

Come on!

Do you remember having a stroke?

Were you the editor of Elle?

Yes, I was the editor of Elle.

To Alaia's.

Your right eye's not good.

Can you hear me?

Your right eye is not good.
I'm going to sew it up.

Sew it up?

It'll save

your cornea from going septic.

I just got back from skiing.

St. Moritz is superb at this time of year.

Screw that.

Nothing beats skiing down a trail
with the wind in your face!

Get away from me!

- Don't be scared.
- Get away.

- You won't feel a thing.
- Please!

To hell with that.

You won't feel a thing. Relax.

He's not going to close my eye...

Please don't.

I've done it 1,000 times.

Pretty clean.

Don't worry...

Almost done. A couple more stitches.

Good job...

Even if I say so myself.

All done.

We'll dress you. It'll cheer you up.

And then a surprise for you.

Let's try the wheelchair.

Here we go...

There.

Wheel him back and forth.
Towards me...

And back...

Pay no attention to them,
they're just my students.

I want to be sure that he can sit
without going into spasms. See?

He needs a headrest.

Sorry to inflict this on you, Jean-Do.

Excellent, excellent.

You're good for a wheelchair!

Good for a wheelchair.

- What a verdict.
- This is good news.

Now for the surprise.

God, who's that?

Me?

I look like
I came out of a vat of formaldehyde.

How awful!

Is that the surprise?

Seeing myself?

Céline.

How are you?

Let me explain.

How's that for a surprise?
Your first visitor is your wife.

She's not my wife.
She's the mother of my kids.

He understands everything.

Everything.

Ask yes or no questions, okay?

He blinks once for yes, twice for no.

I'll leave you to it.
One more important thing.

Talk to him like this. Straight at him.

Here, he can't see you.

Here, neither.

Talk like this.

Right, Jean-Do?

I'll go.

You must have lots to talk about.
I mean...

They said you...

Everyone's praying for you,
and sends you prayers.

I didn't bring the kids.

I wanted to see you first.

They're doing fine.

They miss you.

Céleste prays for you every night.

Should I bring them?

You don't want to see them?

Laurent wants to visit you. Can he?

Him you want to see.

I'll tell him.

Has she been to see you?

I met your speech therapist, Henriette.

She's nice.

She thinks she can help you.

Please...

Don't cry.

I know Berck train station.

I can picture it right now.

The most depressing place on earth,

or at least it was when I spent
my childhood holidays here.

Berck, the end of summer.

Waiting with my father
for the train to Paris.

It was desolate then.
It must be worse now.

I treated her so badly.

And the kids.

And now...

I can never make amends.

Never.

Look at this.

It's not the schoolroom alphabet.

The letters are listed
by frequency of use. See?

E, S, A, R, I, N...

Frequency of use?

I've done lots of research,
talked to colleagues,

and devised what I hope
is a viable scheme.

- Good for you.
- It's this.

You decide what to say.

When you're ready, blink.

I'll recite these letters very slowly.

When I say the first letter
of your word, blink.

I'll write it down,
letter by letter, and so on.

Maybe we'll make words, sentences.

- Two other things.
- What?

When we finish a word, blink twice.

Like hitting a space bar.

If I go wrong, blink rapidly.

I know, it sounds really hard,

but trust me, we'll make it.

Your friends and family can use it, too.

Ready to try?

Look at me.

You want to try?

Have you thought what to say?

Good.

- Let's go.
- Wait, no...

I don't know what to say.

E...

E is your first letter?

It's not E.

I don't even know...

I know it's difficult.

We'll take it slowly.

This is too slow.

I can't keep my eyelid open.

Hurry up!

I.

I?

"I"?

Well done.

"I" is your first word?

My first word is "I". Myself.

E, S...

S?

No!

Not S.

You go too fast.

We won't make it.

It's a nightmare. Your thing won't work.

Let's go on.

I don't want to.

Leave me alone.

Above, below...

My chest...

Under my arms...

Behind my legs...

I'm 42 years old,

and I'm being washed like a big baby.

My ass gets washed

and wiped...

It's all quite laughable.

But as the poet said,

only a fool laughs
when nothing's funny.

Blow me a kiss.

Go on.

Try.

Go on.

Try.

I know it's hard.

- No mirror!
- It'll take work.

Not that face...

When you're resting
or watching TV, or whenever,

I want you to practice
blowing me a kiss.

- Okay?
- Fine.

One other thing you must practice

is sliding your tongue
to the back of your palate.

That's how you'll learn to swallow.

Watch.

This isn't fair. Not fair!

Your turn.

Get rid of that mirror!

Open your mouth.

Good.

Try to slide your tongue back.

I can't.

Go on. Try!

I can't.

Good! You moved your tongue.

- Don't mock me!
- Brilliant.

Try again.

Incredible.

- Good.
- But true.

I'll help you to move your head
by yourself.

Like this.

You're doing it all.

Left...

Good.

Right...

Good.

Left again...

Can you feel my hands on your face?

No.

Not to worry. It'll come.

We're very honored to have you here.

I subscribe to Elle.

I love it.

But I think the models
look like boys. Don't they?

- You don't.
- They get thinner and thinner.

It's an odd fashion.

She's so beautiful...

I'm very devout.

I pray for you each day.

Only his left eye works.

Speak right in front of him.

Who's this?

Pierre Roussin.

Don't you remember me?

Of course I do.

- He blinks once for yes...
- Shit! I never called him back.

Should I go?

No, please!

Why didn't I call him back?

I heard what happened to you
and I wanted...

No, I had to come
because of what I went through.

I think I can roughly guess
what you're feeling.

Because being held hostage

isn't so different from your situation.

- Am I right?
- Hostage?

Jean-Dominique kindly gave me
his seat on a flight.

Unfortunately for me,
the plane was hijacked,

and I was held hostage
in Beirut for four years.

Four years,

four months, two weeks,
five days and seven hours.

I was kept in a tiny, dark cellar.

It was very hard to breathe.

I called it my tomb.

I know a lot about wine.

What happened to his hand?

Every day, I recited the classification

of top Bordeaux wines of 1855.

Château Margaux,
Château Lafite-Rothschild, etc.

I think it kept me sane, more or less.

Of course, much of the time

I was in despair, suicidal, angry.

The brutality, the filth, the cruelty...

Above all, the waiting.
That was the hardest part.

But I survived.

By clinging to what makes me human.

I had no choice.
It was all I had left, same as you.

Hold fast to the human inside of you,

and you'll survive.

The human? Easy!

That's what I came to tell you.

Why didn't I phone him
when he got back from Beirut?

I felt too guilty.

It sounds ridiculous...

It's not ridiculous. I'm ashamed.

W?

A?

I want?

What do you want, Mr. Bauby?

D?

E.

A.

T.

"Death".

You want to die.

How dare you?

There are people who love you,
to whom you matter.

I hardly know you,
but you matter to me already.

You're alive. Don't say you want to die.

It's disrespectful. Obscene.

Do you want to go on?

Very well.

Let's hope you change your mind.

I'm sorry.

What for?

I was out of line.

Get some rest.

Like it?

I didn't know what to bring.

I brought this, too.

- Just a sec.
- What are you doing?

What is it?

I don't believe it.
I'll look like a rabbit.

I recite the letters, and you blink, right?

- Don't bother.
- Okay?

S or A?

- Whatever.
- A.

Okay... A.

Okay... N.

Anne.

- You have to look at me.
- Damn!

I forgot to watch you blink.

Sorry. I'll start again, slower.

If you say so...

You're funny.

I'm useless at hospital visits.

I'm liable to bring grapes
and eat them myself.

Christ, why did it have to be you?

It's the talk of the town.

In Café de Flore yesterday,

I heard somebody, I forget who, say,

"Did you hear?
Jean-Do Bauby's a vegetable."

- A vegetable?
- He can't see you!

Who said I'm a vegetable?

God, I'm a jerk!

What kind of a vegetable?

- I hope I didn't upset you.
- A carrot? A pickle?

Today, my life feels
like a string of near-misses.

Women I was unable to love,

opportunities I failed to seize,

moments of happiness I let drift away.

A race whose result

I knew beforehand
but failed to pick the winner.

Had I been blind and deaf,

or did the harsh light of disaster
make me find my true nature?

I'm still here.

Feeling more cooperative?

Good.

We're both here to make progress.

- Agreed?
- Yes, teacher.

Good.

So I'll begin.

T?

H.

A.

N.

"Thanks".

Thanks.

May I call you Jean-Do?

Women aren't complicated.

Thanks, Jean-Do.

I.

V.

"I've..."?

I've decided to stop pitying myself.

Other than my eye,

two things aren't paralyzed.

My imagination

and my memory.

They're the only two ways
I can escape from my diving bell.

I can imagine anything,
anybody, anywhere.

Lazing in the waves of Martinique,

being with the woman I love...

Bowing to Ozymandias,
King of Kings...

I can imagine anything I want.

Live out my boyhood fantasies,

and my adult ambitions.

Now I'll remember myself as I was.

Handsome, debonair,

glamorous,

devilishly attractive.

Glamorous and very handsome,
to some people...

That's Marlon Brando, not me!

That's me.

Could I speak to Betty Mialet?

Yes, speaking.

I'm Henriette Durand,

a speech therapist
at Berck-sur-Mer hospital.

I'm calling on behalf of a patient,
Jean-Dominique Bauby.

Jean-Do?

How is he?

He's okay, but...

I heard he's paralyzed,

incapable of communicating
with anyone.

That's not quite true.

Come in.

I'm calling to ask
if you'd do him a favor.

Of course. One moment.

Anything he wants.

He says he has a contract
with you for a book.

He says? I thought he couldn't speak.

He expresses himself,
in a way I'll explain.

About this book...

He has a contract with us,

but under the circumstances...

He wants to do it.

To write a book.

You don't mean it. He can't!

I assure you, he can.

But can you find somebody

to take his dictation?

Somebody patient,

someone who'll be here every day.

Someone special.

I understand.

I'll get back to you.

Betty said
Claude Mendibil is a godsend.

The perfect person for the job.

Betty always exaggerates.
I need to practice with Henriette.

Anytime. It won't take you long.

He wants to say something.

"Don't"?

"Don't panic"?

Claude's in a hotel here.

You should agree on a routine.

The nurse wakes me at 5:00 a.m.

I'll memorize what I want to write.

You can come at 8:00 a.m.,

and I'll dictate it to you.

Right. I'll do my best.

I'm sure you will.

Can we start tomorrow?

Fine.

"Through"?

Through the frayed curtain,

a wan glow heralds the break of day.

My heels ache, my head weighs a ton,

my whole body is encased
in a kind of diving suit.

My task now is
to write the motionless travel notes

from a castaway
on the shores of loneliness.

Originally, this Naval Hospital
was a home for children with TB.

In the main hall is a white marble bust

of Empress Eugénie,
wife of Napoleon III,

the hospital's patron,

who visited it often.

There was a large farm, a school,

and a place where, reputedly,

the great Diaghilev
rehearsed his Ballets Russes.

They say it was here
that Nijinsky made his famous leap

twelve feet in the air.

Nobody leaps here anymore.

These days,
we're all elderly and feeble,

or like me, rigid and mute.

A battalion of cripples.

I like being wheeled
to a place I call Cinecittà,

a deserted terrace
overlooking a landscape

heavy with the poetic
and offbeat charm of a movie set.

Below the dunes, some buildings
conjure up a western ghost town.

I enjoy seeing the suburbs of Berck.

They look like a model train layout.

And the sea foam is so white
it looks like a special-effects job.

But my favorite sight is the lighthouse.

Tall, robust and reassuring
with its red and white stripes.

I place myself
under its brotherly protection,

guarding not just sailors, but the sick,

whom fate has cast
to the far edge of life.

"The two highlights
of this mini-museum"

"are a white marble bust
embodying the radiant youth"

"of a princess who died at 94,"

"outliving her empire by half a century."

Five hours of work.

Not bad.

It's not Balzac.

Should I go on?

"And a letter..."

Read me some Balzac.

"It was best to hear nothing..."

Or Graham Greene.

"When the light
came half-heartedly back."

"Suddenly, a policeman slapped him."

"He felt shock rather than anger."

"He came from a law-abiding class
who saw the police as protection."

"'I'm 45, divorced,
and I want to phone the Consul.'"

"The officer who had called him a pig
demanded his passport."

What's that?

Is it a man or a woman?

A man, I think.

He winked at you.

Excuse me...

Did you order a phone
with a loudspeaker?

Did you order a telephone?

Let's get out.

What are you doing here?

Who let you in?

We're the phone company.
Somebody ordered one.

You should have gone to Reception.

There was nobody there.

Install it on the table, please.

Be quieter, please.

We'll tell your friends and family.

They'll book a time to phone.

We'll make sure someone's with you.

Excuse me, can't he speak?

Don't act like he's not here.

Ask him.

Excuse me, lady.

What use is a phone if he can't talk?

Maybe he's a heavy breather!

Think you're funny?

Some nerve!

You have no sense of humor,
Henriette.

And three...

Gently... Four...

A big black fly lands on my nose.

I wriggle my head to dislodge it.

It clings on.

Olympic wrestling has nothing on this.

You moved your head? Since when?

Thank you.

"Just now"?

It's a miracle. You moved your head.

Marie sees miracles everywhere.

Dr. Lepage!

He moved his head!

Hello.

Just one hello?

- Progress, progress.
- That's better.

How's his tongue?

- Show your tongue.
- I'll open your mouth.

You see?

It moves a little.

So his speech will make progress.

Tongue movement is crucial,
so there's hope.

Good, excellent.

From now on, we'll work flat-out
so you can eat normally.

A text doesn't exist until it can be read.

"When I last saw my father,
I shaved him."

"The week of my accident"

"he was sick,"

"so I slept over
in his small apartment in Paris."

"The next morning,
I shaved off his stubble."

- Who cares if I'm shaved?
- I do.

I'm terrified.

Of what?

Of you shaving me.

You were always so clumsy.

Runs in the family.

Sure.

Coffee?

Don't tire him. He's not well.

How can a shave tire him?

- Your mother was prettier.
- That's not hard.

Do you remember your mother?

You always ask me that.
I always say, "Not really."

What are you reading these days?

I'm re-reading
The Count of Monte Cristo.

What for?

I want to write a modern version.

Of The Count of Monte Cristo?

Vengeance will still be
the driving force,

but I want to make her
a modern woman.

- The Countess of Monte Cristo?
- Yes, a woman.

I don't want to read it.

I haven't written it yet.

But I have a contract with a publisher.

Yes, I do.

If you cut me, I'll sue you.

The doctor came yesterday.

And?

He says I'll live to at least 100.

Great. We'll throw a big party.

Count me out.

Who wants to live to 100?

Jean-Do?

Don't tell a soul.

I still miss your mother.

I won't tell.

It's our secret.

You should have married Céline.

What difference would it have made?

You couldn't have left her so easily.

And your children.

Can we change the subject?

I know what I'm talking about.

I've had more affairs than anyone,

except maybe Casanova.

Having a mistress

is no excuse for deserting
the mother of your children.

The world has lost its values.

It's not funny. It's true.

Bring your children to see me.

Céline does. You should, too.

I will. I haven't had time.

Here!

What is it?

Orange blossom.

You want me to smell like a hussy?

It's an aphrodisiac.

Good! It'll make the girls come running.

You bet. Just give them half a chance.

Let me look at myself.

Not bad!

God, they don't make them
like me anymore.

I wanted to tell you something.

I've forgotten what.

It'll come back.

I'm not so sure.

- Nothing comes back anymore.
- Don't exaggerate.

I remember what it was.

I'm very proud of you.

Really, very proud.

And something else.

I've forgotten.

A father's approval.

It comforted me then,

and comforts me even more now.

We're all children.

We all need approval.

I want to see my children.

I want to see my children.

So, here we are.

It's Father's Day.

Happy Father's Day.

Even a sketch, a shadow,

a fragment of a dad is still a dad.

Father's Day.

My son wipes the saliva
from my sealed lips.

This invented holiday was never part
of our emotional calendar.

You cry because you're not allowed.

To marry a handsome boy like me.

Poor little rich girl...

Claude says the book's coming along.

It's great that you're writing it.

You're the most amazing man
I've ever met.

All these visitors...

Laurent, Anne-Marie,

Michel...

Has she come?

She hasn't?

I thought
she was madly in love with you.

That's her business.

Shall we try the alphabet?

"When I started a diet
just before my stroke,"

"I never dreamed the results"

"would be so dramatic."

Silly!

"Now they know what it's like"

"to have a zombie for a dad. Thanks."

Don't do that.

Kids!

Want to play Hangman, Dad?

I'll help you. Whisper a word.

First letter C, last letter E.

It's a 7-letter word.

No, no N.

The kangaroo escaped from the zoo.

"Goodbye, zoo!" cried the kangaroo.

He cleared the wall
with one clean jump.

Leaped right over
with a great big thump.

There.

Let's go, kids. Say bye to Dad.

Bye, Dad.

Bye, Dad.

Bye, Dad.

See you next week.

Words can't express
the grief that engulfs me.

I, their father,

can't even ruffle their hair,
pinch their downy necks,

or clasp their smooth,
warm little bodies.

But I rejoice to see them live,

move, laugh...

That's what I call a fine day.

I'm pitying myself, right?

You were sincerely happy.

You think so?

Perhaps.

Don't miss it!

Get away from the TV!

Damn!

A good square meal for you. See you!

See you... Don't do that!

I'm sick of TV dinners.

Where could I dine tonight?

I want to treat myself

to a great meal.

At Le Duc!

Fancy meeting you here.

Isn't it amazing?

An oyster?

It feels like we met yesterday.

"Gentle."

I don't like compliments.

What's the next chapter heading?

Sunday.

I dread Sunday.

If they put the TV on,
you have to get it right.

It's highly strategic.

It could be several hours

before a good Samaritan
comes in to change the channel.

I dread Sunday.

No speech therapists, no shrinks,

no physiotherapists,

no visitors.

A skeleton staff.

Sundays are a long stretch of desert.

But today, Marie has nobly offered
to take me to church.

I tried to tell her I'm not religious,

but to no avail.

People are praying for me all over.

Top of the list is my daughter Céleste.

And Marie, of course.

Multiple deities
have been enrolled to help me.

I'm told they chant mantras
for me in Nepal.

In Cameroon,

a witchdoctor implores
the African gods.

I've promised him my right eye.

I can't deny my involvement in
creating this vast spiritual network

to support my existence.

It's not admirable,

it's probably hypocritical,

but I'll try anything.

I'm very happy to see you here.

I visited you a few days ago,
hoping to give you communion,

but you were asleep.

Yes, he was.

What?

Would you like
to take communion now?

No.

- Yes.
- Shall I bless you?

No!

Yes.

Lord, have mercy
on Jean-Dominique in his affliction.

Help his body to heal.

Lift up his spirits.

- Guide him to faith.
- My spirits are up, sir.

In the name of the Father...

You really got me.

"Fa"?

"Father"?

"There are..."

Father, there are monks in Bordeaux
who regularly pray for me...

I'm glad to hear it.

With unremarkable results.

We must be patient.

That's what the doctors say.

But Jean-Dominique,
can I suggest something?

I will soon be escorting
a pilgrimage to Lourdes.

Lourdes?

Marie and I thought
you might like to come, too.

- That's a trap!
- Miracles have happened.

It's true.

I've already been to Lourdes.

Let's stop and turn back.

I'm not turning back.

It's my car. I go where I like.

You said you wanted a dirty weekend!

- I didn't!
- Yes, you did.

Lourdes is no place
for a dirty weekend.

You have a one-track mind!

I want to see the Madonna.

I don't believe you.

I want to see the Madonna
and drink holy water.

Spare me that.

- You can, too.
- Very funny.

Do you good.

Impressive, huh?

I'll buy some bottles for the holy water.

I've had it. I'm leaving.

You shouldn't, it'll be good
for a sinner like you!

Don't be so sure.
It could be dangerous.

Someone healthy,
devastated by the Virgin's appearance,

- is crippled for life.
- You're awful!

Hello!

I've found my Madonna!

Forget about it.

Get out of my life! Go away.

Okay...

I'll buy it for you.

Madame has a good eye.
That piece is one of a kind.

It was blessed by the Cardinal.

We got any more 318s?

Check the stockroom.

How much is it?

1899 francs.

You don't say!

Haven't we met before?

I don't think so, sir.

I've got no change.

I can't make love with her watching.

I understand.

I'm not stating a fact. I'm complaining.

Let me turn her off.

She's one of a kind,

blessed by the Cardinal.

When we get back to Paris,
we should split up.

Because of her?

Because of everything.

Okay.

You're right.

I'm going for a walk.

Turn off the light.

But not my Madonna.

Come on, Jean-Do.

Once you can say "L",
you'll be able to swallow.

And say "Lourdes".

This okay? Are you comfortable?

"The Pressure Cooker"
could be the title of a play

I may write
about my experiences here.

I could also call it "The Eye"
or "The Diving Bell".

You already know
the plot and the setting.

A hospital room in which Mr. L.,
a family man in the prime of life,

is learning to live
with locked-in syndrome

brought on by a serious
cerebrovascular accident.

Ambitious, somewhat cynical,

heretofore a stranger to failure,

Mr. L. Takes his first steps
into distress.

We could follow
this slow transformation via a narrator

who reproduces
Mr. L.'s unspoken inner monologue.

I already have the last scene.

It's night, suddenly Mr. L.,
inert since the curtain rose,

flings off his bedclothes,
jumps from the bed,

and walks around the eerily-lit stage.

Then it grows dark again,

and you hear Mr. L.'s inner voice
one last time,

"Shit! It was only a dream!"

Get up.

You can get up.

Everything's fine.

"I want to remember
what happened to me."

Should I ask someone?

No?

- Room 119.
- Who is this?

I'm Claude Mendibil.
I'm here with Jean-Do.

This is his father.

We've been expecting your call.

What do I do? Just talk?

Jean-Do can hear you. He'll answer.

You'll hear me saying letters...

Yes, Céline explained it.

Go ahead, Mr. Bauby.

Can he hear me?

Jean-Dominique? This is Papinou.

I'm sitting by the open window.

How are you?

Or is that a stupid question?

"Yes, it's a stupid question."

I miss you.

"I miss you too."

It's impossible to talk like this.

I forget everything I want to say.

I remember.

I've sent you a present.

A surprise.

I've had a thought...

About us.

We're in the same boat.

I'm stuck in this apartment,

unable to use the stairs.

You try four flights of stairs
when you're 92!

You see, we're both locked in.

You in your body,

me in my apartment.

Remember this.

In the top right drawer of my desk,
there's a letter.

It states my last wishes.

It's in a file marked...

"Miscellaneous."

I have to go.

"Don't cry."

It's easy to say that,

but you're my son, for God's sake.

Goodbye, Jean-Dominique.

I nearly forgot.

It's your birthday soon.

I'll phone again.

Happy birthday.

It can't be easy to speak to your son,

knowing full well that he won't reply.

I thought you could use
a change of scenery.

I have another surprise for you.

Close your eyes.

Close your eyes!

Now open them.

THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO

You shouldn't have!

In two volumes!

Not a first edition, but still, pretty old.

Shall I read you some?

Which chapter?

We should try Roman numerals.
We didn't plan for numbers.

What would it be in Roman numerals?

L, I, X.

It'd be quicker.

Next time.

Fifty? More?

Yes, more.

Nine? Fifty-nine? Okay.

Hold on... Here we are.

There's even an illustration.

This coincidence scares me.

"They both took seats beside him..."

"Noirtier sat in the wheeled armchair"

"as he did from morning till night,"

"before a mirror where he could see
the whole apartment"

"without moving,
not that he was able to."

"Sight and hearing
were the only senses"

"that still glimmered
in his moribund frame."

"In his moribund frame."

That's me to a T, isn't it?

- It's not.
- It is.

I scare people. I make them shudder.

Not true.

I shouldn't have tried
to rewrite Dumas.

You don't touch a masterpiece.

It's fate. It's a lesson.

I didn't know that Noirtier
was the man I'd become.

My diving bell drags you down
to the bottom of the ocean.

Jean-Do,

I don't mind you dragging me
to the bottom of the ocean,

because you're also my butterfly.

A declaration of love, my word!

When we finish this book,

we'll write another one
about a long-distance runner.

Who knows?
Maybe I'll take up running.

"I missed you at the bullfights this fall."

"Hope to see you there next year.
Jean-Paul."

"Le Tango, Nîmes."

"Dear Mr. Bauby,"

"concerning your request
for a custom-fitted camper van,"

"the company can deliver
within six to eight months"

"after receiving your order."

"Sincerely, Henri Raynaud."

That's good news.

This one's from Papinou.

"This is a present."

Look. A picture of you as a boy.

"Jean-Do, age 8, Berck-sur-Mer."

From Anne-Marie.

Jean-Dominique Bauby's room.

Who is this?

Céline Desmoulins. Who's this?

Inès.

I want to talk to Jean-Do.

Hold on.

I've put the speaker on.

Talk, he'll hear you.

I can't talk with you there.

You have no choice.
There's nobody else to translate.

- Isn't the speech therapist there?
- Not today.

My love?

I know I said I'd come.

I got to the station
and then turned back.

I can't do it.

Please, forgive me.

Céline?

Can't you go out for a minute?

I have things
I need to say to him in private.

I'm sorry.

I can't go out.

There's no one else.
Wait, he wants to say something.

"One"?

"One minute"?

Okay, I'll leave. But not for long.

Are you there?

My darling...

I love you more than ever.

I want to see you,
but not in that condition.

I want to think of you as you were.

I hope you'll pull through.

I miss you.

I miss you so much. I feel so alone.

I can't bear it.

I know you understand.

I think about you all the time.

I know you've got
your whole family around you.

Do you want me to come?

I'm back.

Do you want me to come?

Do you want me to come?

I'm back, Inès.

"Each."

"Each day..."

"Each day I..."

"Each day I wait for you."

I didn't hear. Can you say it again?

I didn't hear.

He said, "Each day I wait for you."

Sorry, Jean-Dominique.
I need a seat on this plane

or I'll miss my flight to Hong Kong.

Have mine.

I'll take the next flight.

Thanks.

Have a good trip.

It's not Hong Kong you're going to.
It's Beirut!

You all right, Mr. Bauby?

Don't worry.

I don't usually remember my dreams.

Only bores tell people their dreams.

But I can't shake this one off,
for some reason.

I'm afraid.

The sense of doom wouldn't leave.

It took what I can only call a miracle
to lift my spirits.

Believing in personal miracles is risky,

it makes you feel self-important.

But still, I must report

that something miraculous occurred.

I began to sing.

I grunt, I sing.

My hearing is weak.

Sometimes
I think I can hear my heartbeat.

I tell myself it's a butterfly's wings.

I'm making undeniable progress.

I may have butterfly hearing.
I look forward to the future.

Soon the summer will end,

and I'll begin my first autumn
in this hospital.

My life is here.

A constant repetition.

Here.

How's it going, pal?

He's talking!

You can talk!

He sings songs, too.

Come on, sing a song for Laurent.

Please, Jean-Do. Or for me.

Are you okay?

Is he singing?

He's not singing.

I have pneumonia.

Just when I thought...

Like a sailor
seeing the shore disappear,

I watch my past recede,

reduced to the ashes of memory.

What a return!

That's our office!

And that couple.
I know them. What are their names?

That's my car!

My new car.

Where's the horn?

Dad!

Get down. Let me hug him.

See the car?

Too cool!

You okay, Théo?

Had a good week?

Can we go to the theater?

To the "theatah"? Yes, if you like.

And eat oysters?

You eat oysters now?

We're going to eat. I promised Théo.

Don't bring him back too late tomorrow.

Bye, Dad.

Let's go!

Can I sit in front?

There's nowhere else to sit!

I'll give you a ride all by yourself.

How about this!

How's the team?

The team's good.

Do you shower afterwards or what?

We shower and pack up our gear.

Got any hair on your dick?

Not yet!

When I was young,
one kid wouldn't strip...

He showered in his clothes?

They took him off the soccer team.

His dad threatened to punch the coach,

but he didn't.

The mother calmed him down.

Finally, nothing happened,
but the kid had to leave the team.

Not your problem.

No, luckily.
Showering in your clothes...

Say the word, I'll punch...

What else is new? Is Mom okay?

Yeah, she's okay.

Recognize that road?

It's the way to Aunt Diane's.

Aren't you... Isn't it hot?

I'm not hot.

We could have...

We could have...

We could have...

Could...

Could...

It's gonna rain.

I'll stop the car.

I'm gonna stop.

Dad! What's the matter?

Run back to the house!
Call your mother!

"I had time for one last thought.
'Have to cancel the theater.

"'We'll be late in any case.

"'We'll go tomorrow."'

"Then I sank into a coma."

"Does that make..."

"Does that make a book?"

"For Théophile, Céleste and Hortense,"

"wishing them lots of butterflies."

"All my thanks to Claude Mendibil,"

"whose vital role in writing these pages"

"is spelled out within them."

She was a hard-working girl
from the North of England.

If she could only hear me.

Here's what I'd say to her.

I was always there.

You know that.

The reviews are fabulous.
Want to hear them?

"The man who dictates in silence."

"Deprived of speech and motion."

"Jean-Dominique Bauby had to learn
to speak with one eyelid"

"to write
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly,"

"a shattering visit to the castaway"

"who haunts the hospital in Berck."

Signed, Bernard Chapuis.

"A deeply moving book."

Bauby, 43, a renowned journalist,

family man and free spirit,

was planning a book
about female revenge...

Jean-Dominique Bauby died
on March 9, 1997,

10 days after the publication
of his book,

"THE DIVING BELL
AND THE BUTTERFLY".

For Ferdinand CHESNAIS, 20

Jack SCHNABEL, 92,
Jean-Pierre CASSEL, 74