All language subtitles for The.Fire.Within.1963.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

THE FIRE WITHIN

At that moment, Alain studied
Lydia's face relentlessly…

as he had been doing
since she came to see him

three days earlier.

What was he looking for?

Lydia turned her head away,

lowered her eyelids,
and grew absorbed.

In what?

In herself?

Was it her contented rage
that swelled her neck and belly?

This sensation that emanated
nothing, but was so clear?

Once again the feeling

had eluded him.

Like a snake between stones.

Poor Alain.
You look so uncomfortable.

It's been so long.

It's my fault.

Let me see you smile, Alain.

It was fine. I feel satisfied.

It's light out.

I have to hurry.

I have packing to do.

Your plane isn't until 11:00.

I have a lot to do this morning.

Francesca is picking me up at 8:00.

It was so good to see you again.

You know…

I love you in a very special way.

Thank you for coming.

Thank Dorothy for that.

She's the one who asked me
to come see you.

She gave me the clinic address.

What shall I tell Dorothy?

Nothing. Why?

I said I'd phone her
when I get back to NY.

She wants to know
how you're getting along.

What will you say?

The truth.
That you're completely cured.

I'll ask her
what she has planned for you.

- Will you tell her we —
- No, Alain.

Unless you ask me to.

I won't ask you to.

She'll suspect something.

It won't even occur to her.

She has other things on her mind.

Then again…

it's more likely to suit her.

Have you two discussed divorce?

We did, once.

Six months ago, just before I left.

And since then?

We haven't spoken since then.

She sends the doctor
a monthly check.

She never writes?

She did, at first.

And you?

I wrote her two weeks ago.

Didn't she mention it?

Do you still love her?

I don't know.

Dorothy isn't the woman for you.

She isn't rich enough.
She lets you do what you want.

You need a woman
who won't let you out of her sight.

Otherwise you get depressed

and act foolishly.

You know me so well.

When I get depressed,
I do foolish things.

Of course I know you.

In fact, I think
I've always wanted to marry you.

Even in Dorothy's day.

I can't take you to the airport.

The doctor will be angry
about my spending the night out.

If I don't go back now,
they'll throw me out.

Francesca will drive me.

In any case, Alain,

we'll see each other again soon.

How long has it been?

Four months… or thereabouts.

Without a drop of liquor?

Since I finished the cure,
not a drop.

The cure consists
of having you drink.

Drink… drink…

until you burst.

Is it rough?

Had I known,
I wouldn't have done it.

And now?

Now?

Nothing.

Lydia…

I wanted you to know —

What're you doing?

I insist.
You've forgotten, but I haven't.

A gambling debt on the Zographos'
boat, four years ago.

This forgotten city.

So sad.

That strange clinic.

You're cured, Alain.

Why do you stay there?

I like it there.

A patient's life is ordered
and simple.

It shelters us.

I'm not eager to face life again.

Paris scares me.

Think I'm a coward?

No, Alain.
I think you're unhappy.

Come to New York.

Promise you'll come
as soon as you can.

To settle things with Dorothy.

Even if you get back together.

Don't go. Don't leave me.

I need you.

Don't leave, I'm begging you.
It's serious.

I have to.

I have to be in New York tomorrow.

They want the designs.

- It's important?
- Everything depends on it.

I'm a businesswoman now.

I know, I'm leaving you
with your worst enemy. Yourself.

Come to New York.

No, Lydia, and I mean no.

I won't come to New York.

I won't marry you.

You'd be unhappy.
Another Dorothy.

Anyway, you can't help me.

It's too late.

Take madame to Paris.
Hotel Raphael, avenue Kléber.

HEALTH CLINIC
DR. LA BARBINAIS

REST CURES
MEDICAL SUPERVISION

They're all at lunch.

July 23

Thomism comes from St. Thomas.

So "Saint" implies theology.

Nonsense! St. Thomas separated
philosophy from theology.

Some small-town professor

who posits Racine's world against
that of Proust, Cocteau, Genet.

The prig should read La Palatine.

Believing is not knowing…

You came in this morning.

Credo ut intelligam, my dear man.

"I believe in order to understand."

Not if you claim St. Thomas
separated philosophy and theology.

Don't confuse faith
and understanding. St. Thomas says,

"Where knowledge is, faith is not."

Some lovely persons must
have been so happy to see you again.

- Lovely persons aren't demanding.
- But you are.

If you weren't,
you wouldn't be here.

Ever been to America?

No, it's hard enough getting to know
our old Europe.

And they're so brutal there,
they might kill me.

Our young man looks pale
after his little jaunt.

- He was handsomer before.
- He still is.

You stare at him enough.

Compared to Aristotle —

I refuse to discuss Aristotle.

But reason dominates will.
It's what determines —

Why only talk to Mr. D'Averseau?

We'd like to hear this.

We sure would!

It might be very interesting.

Are you leaving us?

No. Why?

That's what the doctor implied.

Aren't you happy with us?

Yes, I am.

I feel at home here.

You're my family.

Without it, Nothingness
wouldn't have any quality.

Where do your parents live?

In the provinces.

They're very old.

I don't see them anymore.

Poor boy.

Poor boy?

A misspent youth in riotous living,

and now, problems!

You're not being sensible.

You should take a nap
this afternoon.

Go back to bed.

What a shame.

What a crying shame!

Checkmate in five moves…
the great man!

"Shocking! Jean-Jacques (age 5)
tries to fly

but hangs himself on curtain cord."

July 23

"Naked, she lay there dead,

her dying husband beside her."

Dorothy.

Money.

It slips right through your fingers.

Am I disturbing you?

Not at all, Doctor.

I knocked several times.
I thought you might be asleep.

Sit down.

You went to Paris last night?

I never left Versailles.

I hope you didn't do anything
foolhardy on your first time out.

Don't worry, Doctor.

I was with a lady.

- Like a good little schoolboy.
- Well done. Fine. Excellent.

Make up for lost time.

- Once you leave here…
- Are you throwing me out?

Not at all!
I'm delighted to have you here.

But you've been fully cured
for quite some time now.

I can't keep you here
without reason.

Doctor, I'll start again.

If I leave, I'll start
drinking again. Sooner or later.

What else can I do?

No news from America?

There won't be any.
There's no connection.

There is.

Be patient.

I am patient.

I've done nothing but wait.

All my life.

Waiting…

for something to happen.

What, I don't know.

Now you do.

You love your wife
and she loves you.

That's what you think.
Because that suits you.

You insisted I write to her.

Dorothy knows I'll never make it.

But you have made it.

- I haven't, and you know it.
- I can see it.

It won't last.

Wait for her letter.

It could come any day now.

She won't answer, I tell you!

She can't have believed me.

When we married two years ago,
I swore I'd stop.

As if I could.
Especially in New York.

You're on the right track now.

You still have feelings of anxiety?

It's not feelings
of anxiety, Doctor.

It's a single feeling
of constant anxiety.

If you hang on a while longer,

it will gradually let up.

A matter of willpower.

A contradiction, Doctor.

How can you talk about
my willpower?

That's where my sickness lies.

That's what you're treating.

You weren't always this way.

What do you mean?

You were in the army.
You went to war.

- As an officer.
- Leave that alone.

There's no connection.

Send her a telegram.

Tell her to take the next plane.

Take her down south.
Or somewhere else.

Anywhere but Paris.

American women are strong
and healthy. She'll help you forget.

Don't worry.

I'll be gone by the end of the week,
come what may.

As you like.

What about your shop idea?

Selling prewar objects,

'37 World Fair-style.

A good idea.

You see me running a store?

I'm drowning in debt.

I can see I'm wearing you out.
I'll leave.

What about our game?

We can play tomorrow.

Get some rest.

Life is good.

Good for what, Doctor?

Tomorrow.

Life…

flows too slowly in me.

So I speed it up.

I set it right.

Tomorrow I kill myself.

Good morning.

I brought your breakfast.

Hand me my bathrobe.

You're in a rush today.

- I'm going out.
- Where?

To Paris, city of orgies,

which I left for good —

When will you be back?

I won't be long.

I have to cash a check,
see some old friends —

And come in at dawn.

The doctor asked me
to remind you about the telegram.

For your wife.

I was just thinking about it.

Telegram.

"Await your letter

with impatience.

"… with patience and hope. Stop."

More abrupt.

"Thank you

for your silence. Stop.

You have a lover

in Versailles.

"Stop."

Why not shake her up a bit?

"Send reply.

Stop.

Need you. Stop.

"Minutes count. Stop."

No, reassure her.

"Disregard this letter.

Stop.

Worries over.

Stop.

"Be happy."

Sure, more like that.

"Worries over. Be happy."

My letter? Throw it away.
It's meaningless now.

Sure, I have plans.

To take a trip.

What?

No, I won't come to New York.

Don't worry.

Yes, I'm cured.

Lydia must have told you.

She told you everything?

That's fine.

For New York! It's urgent?

Telegrams usually are.

A pack of Sweet Aftons, please.

What's that?

Irish cigarettes.

We don't carry 'em.

You should.

Not enough demand.

I'm asking.

One's not enough.
The stock would go bad.

Too bad.
A pack of Luckys, then.

A glass of white.

A quick one.

Going to Paris?

Would you give me a lift?

It's against regulations.

I'll buy you a drink.

This one's on me.

To your health.

- What are you having?
- Nothing, thanks.

You have to drink with us.

I don't drink.

You work in Versailles?

I don't work.

Private income?

I'm sick.

So that's why.

What?

Why you look so pale.
What's the problem?

My heart.

Don't you mind not having money?

Well, I mind.

But you look well-off.

I only look it.

Florence, look who's here!

Mr. Alain! You haven't changed.

- You put on weight, maybe.
- You're looking good.

You just got in?

Do you like America?

You live in New York?

Does Mr. Bernard still live here?

No, he left.
Not long after you did.

Leaving already?

- I want to use the bar phone.
- You can phone from here.

I must see Charlie.

Poor guy. He's really changed.
His face!

And his voice…
Did you notice his voice?

- Mr. Leroy, of all people!
- Hello, Charlie.

I was talking about you
just yesterday with René.

"The Beach" bartender
in Monte Carlo. He's in town.

We made a bet
about where you were.

I bet you were still in America.

I lost.
But I'm real glad to see you.

The usual Scotch Sour?

You serious?
It was your first drink of the day.

"To tune up," you'd say.

Mr. Lavaud, please.

This is Alain Leroy.

Say hello from Charlie.
Tell him he's a quitter.

He never comes in now.
Married men are all the same.

Is Mrs. Leroy with you?

She stayed in America?

Yep, Mr. Lavaud is a quitter.

When Mr. Castellotti is in town,
he always stays here.

We remember old times.

"That sweet Alain," he says.
He worships you.

He lives in Milan now.

Married, two cute little girls.

He showed me photos.

He comes for business,
and a bit of fun on the side.

The other day he brought in
this gorgeous brunette, a stripper.

Fine. Tonight at 8:00.

Do you want a coffee?

No, I'm late.

Call me tonight at 7:00.

A beer, Charlie.

What time did you get in?

Late, Charlie, very late.

Or early, if you prefer.

Got some Alka-Seltzer?
My head's bursting.

The Minvilles don't answer.

- They're not home.
- Why not?

Because they're in prison.

Algeria again?

The war's over,
but not for the Minville brothers.

Don't you remember me?
Michel Bostel.

We met at the Pamplona Feria
five or six years ago.

You were with an American girl.

I was only a kid then.

Then I was called up,
and you left Paris.

- Is Francis down yet?
- Not yet.

I'll get him up.

Who's that?

Nice guy. He lives in the hotel.

The room I used to have.

He's my successor.

Hardly!
We've put a plaque on the door:

"Here, for several years,
lived Alain Leroy."

Those were the days.

Not like today.

I didn't ask how you were.

You don't look too good.

I've been ill,
but I'm better now.

You don't look it.

- Problems?
- Not really.

I've been in a Versailles clinic.

For how long?

Four months.

Leaving tomorrow?

For New York?

You didn't touch it.

I don't drink anymore.
Not a drop.

If I'd known —

I always said you drank too much.

You used to say, "Funny thing
for a bartender to say!"

Poor boy.
He was so full of life.

- And depressions, too.
- But never for long.

I don't have any change.

Never mind. Keep the change.

Are you nuts?

What a dope!

Is Mr. Dubourg in?

Now?
They just sat down to lunch.

Who is it, Chantal?

It's Alain.

Comrade Dubourg.

I was expecting you.

Liar.

Faveur, say hello to Alain.

Now run along.
Tell Mommy to come in.

Playing Daddy now?

I do lots of things now.

- Still into Egyptology?
- More than ever.

I sensed it in you from the start.

I remember catching you in bed
with a blonde, your back to her,

your nose buried in a book
on esoterics.

Yes. While dissipating my youth
in St. Tropez, I studied Kabbala.

You still find it fun?

I don't find it fun.
I find it interesting.

Remember the famous Alain
you stole me from?

- Alain's staying for lunch.
- I shouldn't.

Set another place, Fanny.

It's done. Lunch is served.

You never wrote or phoned,
but we knew where you were.

La Barbinais told me.

I call him occasionally
to ask about you.

How good of you.

But he wouldn't let me visit.

Total isolation.

I was tired.

The cure was rough,
especially after New York.

- It has nothing to do with NY.
- Yes, it does.

It's no place for us.

It's like a crazy whirlpool.

I love New York.

Fascinating, but hard to live in.
It gets into your system.

People disappear into the city
like drug addicts.

I felt good there.
It wasn't home.

- I always felt like a visitor.
- And Paris?

Pretty much the same,
but I prefer New York.

People leave you alone.

- Why come back, then?
- For treatment.

Why not there?

Dorothy had seen enough of me.

She knows you're cured?

She's been told.

And you — do you know it?

I feel it.

You feel completely sterilized,
body and soul.

That's something.

In "sterilized" there's "sterile".

You're telling me.

Do you like Françoise Hardy?

Who, then?

Sylvie Vartan.

What's that?

A teen idol.

You forget population growth,
old man.

Young people today are hopeless.

Good-looking, elegant, well-fed.

They're all alike,
like California oranges.

But you know nothing about them.

Have you worked at all?

I'd been keeping a diary lately.

Of no interest whatsoever.
I tore it up today.

How are you now?

Feeling empty.

With some atrocious moments.

Can you hold out?

Hold out? It's all over for me.

I'm leaving.

Don't you understand?

There are still things in life.

You must have
a sense of your life.

That sense can't perish.

I hate things
that stay locked up.

A man's got to show
what he's made of.

Doing something well is wonderful.

I never knew what that meant.

I've only run after money,

like everybody else.

Then you would've worked or stolen.

No, what you call money
is an excuse for daydreaming.

Go on. I don't want
to spoil your pleasure.

What I love about man
is not his passions,

but what those passions produce.

Ideas. Gods.

Where do you see passions here?

You got me wrong.

Don't judge by appearances.

You see me as a resigned bourgeois.

But my life's more intense now

than when I drank
and slept around.

I'll end up writing a book

on the virtues of ancient Egypt.

They run in my blood.

Others will learn from it.

The sun —

you can touch it.

Come to Egypt with us.

Those people
have the sun inside them.

Let's take a walk, prophet.

The Minvilles are different.

They're addicted to action.

Do you ever see Eva?

I don't see her or the others.
What for?

You're harsh for a happy man.

Does your life satisfy you?

It doesn't matter.

What if you get bored?

Fanny and her daughters,

the musty house —

they're part of my passion.

And the old glint in your eye?

Your superb energy?

I'm older.

Really!

Yes, I'm older. The hopes are gone,
but I have certainties now.

I left my youth for another life.

You turn your back.
You reject adulthood.

You're stuck in adolescence.

Hence your anxiety.

It's hard to be a man.

You have to want to be one.

Aren't you sick of mirages?

I can't stand mediocrity.

You've just spent 10 years
in gilded mediocrity.

And I've had enough.
I'm calling it a day.

I refuse to grow old.

You miss your youth
as if you'd lived it to the fullest.

It was a promise. And a lie.

I was the liar.

You're tormented
by the idea of women.

I have no power over them.

That's a laugh.

I was handsome at 20.

They still find me fun and nice.

But it's not enough.
I have no hold on them.

And yet, it's only through women

that I've felt some hold on life.

It's not life itself I blame,

but what's contemptible in it.

Where did all this start?

If I knew, maybe I could help you.

Alcohol was in my blood
before I realized it.

What do you mean?

I started to drink
while waiting for things.

Then one day I realized
I'd spent my life waiting.

For women.

Money.

Action.

So I drank myself stupid.

But you had Dorothy,
and a lot of others.

I never had them.
I don't have them now.

You've got Dorothy. You don't have
to sleep with her to prove it.

I don't. I wasn't a good lover.

She fled your drinking.

I drink because I'm a bad lover.

Funny lives we lead,
clinging to women.

You don't seem to cling to Fanny.

I wallow in her warmth
like a pig in a trough.

She makes you want to touch her.

Paris is like her, and so is life.

You and your mediocre certainties!

Let that mediocrity be enough.

You'll recover some of your verve.

You're spineless. And weak.

And lazy.

Certainties frighten you.

You defend the shadows,
since the sun hurts your eyes.

Are you my friend?

If you are my friend,
take me as I am. Not otherwise.

Let me look at you.

I wanted you to help me die.

That's all.

Promise to come see us again.

We lead an organized life.

You can write.

Move in tomorrow.

Dubourg,
what will you do tonight?

I'll write a few pages
on my Egyptians…

Then I make love to Fanny.

I fall into her silence
as into a well.

At the bottom is a great sun
that warms the earth.

I work, Alain.

I'm patient.

Come live with us.
You'll see what patience is.

Alain, I love life.

What I love in you
is that irreplaceable thing…

the life inside you.

You look like death warmed over.

You're no spring chicken yourself.

You have lovely eyes.

You choose your friends.
You hang out with healthy people.

You go to see Dubourg again.
That deadbeat Dubourg.

Manners, manners.

How's your American witch?

New York?

We have amazing friends.

They think time changes them.

So they run around like mad,
not knowing what they're doing.

Having children, making deals,
writing books.

Or else they kill themselves.

Or they get mystical, like Dubourg.

The party's over.

The bastards talk about sincerity
and go about their grubby lives.

- And you?
- Me?

Abandoned, ruined,

utterly devastated…
unshakeable!

I never change.
I never try to understand.

Sleep is all I believe in.

You have changed. You work now.

Painting? My one weakness.

The only one?

And Carla? Where is she?

She got herself killed.
It was last year in a car accident.

Along with some fool.

It's absurd.

You can stay here if you like.

Thanks, but I'm leaving.

I came to say good-bye.

You too?

Disaster, honey!
The stove's died on us.

That's Urcel. I warn you,
he's a real chatterbox.

Detoxication. A strange thing.

Why do we pretend
to go into detox, dear God!

Out of kindness.

To make a few worried
friends happy.

So as not to leave poor mankind
alone with its misery.

Shut up, Urcel.

You went into detox
because you were afraid of dying.

Wrong.

We poets have no need for drugs

to attain the borderline
between life and death.

What brought me
back to drugs, in fact,

was the love of risk in our blood.

Where do you find death,

the madness in all this?

Drugs are life.
They're boring,

just like life.

Nice system you have
to put your mind at rest.

Some addicts live to be 70.

All you risk is deadening your mind.

It's all right for you to talk.

Urcel is taking a huge risk.
He has to produce his work.

Oh, please, my dear.

His work… more alibis.

You poor man,
you have no sense of such things.

You're empty inside.

What a boor!

He's become unbearable.

Basically he's a failure,
and an envious one.

Nonsense.

He's a very sweet guy…

and he's deeply unhappy.

I shouldn't have let him go.

Don't worry.

He may be unhappy,
but he won't kill himself.

How do you know?

Just shut up.

I know you don't like me.

I just came for news about
Jerome Minville and his brother.

Try the Café Flore.

I hear you were in prison.

I was, last week.

It's good to see you.

You don't look so good.

Pretty-boy Alain!

He says we need some mountain air.

He hasn't changed a bit.

What did you do over in JFK-land?
Party a lot?

- I should've been with you.
- We did ask you.

Your plan was doomed
from the start.

Sure. History marches on.

They'll hear from us again.
We're stubborn, you know.

You won't give up?

- Are you crazy?
- No. We're going skiing in Spain.

Alain Leroy…
an old pal from Algeria.

- And Left Bank dives.
- A fine officer in his day.

- A great friend.
- A bit of a drunk.

More than a bit.
Always with the ladies.

No political conscience.

- Not to be counted on.
- Too bad.

Carrying on with your plot now
is grotesque and stupid.

You haven't a chance.

You're just boy scouts.

You don't know
what you're talking about.

We're stubborn, I said.

When it's all over,

we'll go on a binge,
just like old times.

Not living there anymore?
I thought you were.

No, I came back.

Life is so disgraceful.

The humiliation of it all.

In St. Tropez,
for the whole month of June!

What a madhouse!

It was ten years ago. The whole
crowd was there, remember?

It was something!

We told Coppi, the cyclist,
his girl had killed herself.

It wasn't funny.

Once he hijacked
an American Express tourist bus

and gave them
a tour of the Ritz

while talking
about Scott Fitzgerald.

See that face?

Alcohol.

He's done for.

A shame. He was good-looking.

Richard was in love with him.

Go-kart racing
in the streets of Paris!

He organized it.
It drove the cops nuts.

Look out!

Are you all right?

Mr. Leroy!

- Come dry off.
- Don't worry.

You're soaked.

I'm not feeling well.

I'm early.

I fainted in the street.

Lie down until dinner.

You've got time.

Brancion won't be here before 10,

as usual.

You know Brancion?

No. That is, yes.
Don't we all?

He's a big man nowadays.
He's the talk of the town.

That shock-trooper egghead
amuses me.

Him and his strongman act.

Don't speak ill of strongmen.

I'll be up later.

Ring if you need anything.

Let him sleep.

I know what happened.

The first drink after detox
makes you very sick.

And then?

Then it's all right,
unfortunately.

Poor Alain.

It's nice to see him again.

You're looking ugly today, Ma Ubu.

Safety.

The peace of mind of these people!

Nobody would touch the story.

The Anglo-American press
has more guts.

Excuse me.

What did my mother used to say
when I was late?

"Alain, you'll start
with the current course."

Sit down.

You know everyone?

I don't think you've met Brancion.

Marc, may I present a revenant,
Alain Leroy.

An old friend of Cyrille's,
and an old flame of mine.

Hong Kong is overrated.

Oriental eroticism,
based on my own little experience,

is nothing like what they say.

But there's Chinese erotica.

There's nothing erotic about it.

Eroticism is a Western invention,
a Christian concept

based on ideas of good and evil,

transgression and original sin.

These concepts don't exist there.

I'm not hungry, Louis.

I'll just have cheese.

Young as ever.

We've met before.

On Long Island, at the Fairmans'.

How is Dorothy?

I don't really know.

I hear she's happy.

I said something
I shouldn't have?

Not really.

Chinese libertines

are pure hedonists
for whom love is a pleasure

which they seek to refine.

It's something esthetic,

whereas for us it's a concept.
- Brancion!

My friend Alain can't take
his eyes off you.

Let me tell you a story.

A famous one.

One day, at 7:00 in the morning,

a policeman finds, sleeping
the sleep of the dead drunk,

a young man lying on the Tomb
of the Unknown Soldier.

The said young man,

sure he was home in bed,

had laid his watch, wallet

and handkerchief
next to the memorial flame,

as if it were a night table.

Who was the hero of our tale?

Alain Leroy, here present.

Brancion doesn't like drunks.

He has a bad liver.

In New York
I heard you were divorcing.

Mental cruelty?

Who's that?

François Mignac, a model Parisian.

In bed at 3:00 a.m.
Riding from 9:00 to 11:00.

Then off to the stock exchange,
to win or lose a quick million.

Business lunch.

Some time at the office.
A woman.

A few drinks.

Dinner out. A nightclub.
Then he starts over again.

Twenty years,
and he still loves it!

It's nice to see you.

We've missed you.

You're sweet.

Once he gets his divorce.

Good for you. That's true love!

This is all new.

I've never felt this way.

And you know me.

A woman in love.

Do I know him?

No. He never goes out.

But you'll meet him.
He's coming to pick me up.

So that's the fabulous,
legendary, irresistible Alain Leroy.

Harlequin, Watteau, gallant revels.

Don't be mean.

He's not himself tonight.

Say something nice to him.

It would wound him even more.

We could help each other.

Give me a call.

Do you have my number?

Corrupting a minor.

You're husband's crazy.
He gave Alain a drink.

A shame you don't get along
with Brancion.

He's irritating, but he's someone.

Is he?

Go on. Shoot him down!

A man of many parts.

A good sport.

Wears his dentures with confidence.

Has had every woman here tonight.

Except Solange.

A real Martian!

I envy his serenity.

Get off my back!

I'll do as I like!

Cyrille…

Your Piranesis are superb.

The best prints I've ever seen.

I admire what you do.

Because you don't believe in it.

You're wrong.
I damn well do.

I just want to say, sir…

that like you,
I don't find it funny

to sleep on a tomb…

when it's so easy to open it
and sleep inside.

That's all.

Forgive me. I never get drunk,

and I hate stories about drunks.

I'm a poor drunkard.

Liquor is stupid.

We drunks are poor cousins,

and we know it.

Anyway,

we fade away fast.

Alain, you're too far gone.

I'm not gone yet, but I'm going.

I have to go. I'm late.

As it happens, I'm a man.
But I've never had money or women.

Yet I'm very active.

The thing is…

I can't reach out with my hands.

I can't touch things.

And when I do touch things,

I feel nothing.

Come say hello to the Filolies.

I'd like you to meet Frédéric.

And you, sir?

Do you believe in your actions?

I don't like talking about myself.

Then you don't like talking.

I enjoy listening to you.

You believe in Maria?

Congratulations on finding Maria.

You have a woman.

I have nothing.

Come now!

You don't know what it's like,

being unable to touch anything.

I'm incapable of wanting.

I can't even desire.

The women here tonight…

I can't desire them.

They scare me.

Scare me!

Take Solange, for instance.

Five minutes with her
and I'd feel like an insect.

I'd vanish into the woodwork.

What's wrong, Alain?
You're a bit tipsy.

And so sad. What is it now?

You're life itself.

Yes, life.

But I can't touch you.
It's horrible.

You're here in front of me,
but there's no way.

There's no way.

So I'll try with death.

She should be more accommodating.

Life is strange.

You're a beautiful woman.
A good woman.

You love making love.

And yet…

between the two of us
nothing's possible.

To leave without having
touched anything.

Beauty. Goodness.

All their lies.

You can work miracles.

Touch the leper.

It's a matter of timing
between a man and a woman.

And your beauties —
Dorothy, Lydia and the others.

They're lovely.
They adore you.

Not lovely enough.
Not good enough.

They've gone.

They're waiting for you.

They love making love
as much as I do. Things well done.

That's it.

Things well done.

I'm leaving.

Stay with us. Talk to me.

I'll be back.

But I have to go now.

Without a word.
Enough humiliation.

You'll be back?

- Need any money?
- I'm loaded.

Let's lunch tomorrow
and we'll talk.

Good-bye, Alain.
We're very fond of you.

Good-bye, Solange, Cyrille.

Don't forget: lunch tomorrow.

Cyrille has a hold on Solange.

He's a good lover
and he's worth millions.

Brancion hasn't much of a chance.

When I was 18
and fairly good-looking,

my first mistress cheated on me.

Eighteen is an age
for being two-timed.

At 18 or at 30.
They're always nice,

but they all leave
or they let me go.

You really surprise me.
Call it what you like,

but you attract them.

I'm awkward, inept.

The sensitivity was in my heart,

not my hands.

When you care about people,
Milou, they're nice.

They give you everything.

Love.

Money.

You must make people feel
you want them

and that you'll hold on to them.

You're sensitive, Milou,
but you don't want them.

I don't love them.

I never could love them.

I can't touch. I can't take.

It has to come from the heart.

What is it you wanted?

I'd have liked to captivate people,

hold on to them,

bind them close.

So that things would stay still
around me.

But it always went to hell.

You really love people that much?

I wanted so much to be loved…

that I feel love.

Want some breakfast?

No, thanks.

I'm not to be disturbed before noon.

Is that you, Alain?

Did I wake you?

Solange.

Dearest Alain, I'm calling
to remind you about lunch.

We're expecting you without fail.
Don't be late.

We'll have a nice chat.

How are you today?

Not bad.

With that tone of voice?
We can count on you?

Sure you can.

That's sweet of you.

I care for you.

You care for me.

And Brancion?

Brancion is your opposite.

He's a force of nature.

And you like forces of nature?

I like all sorts of people.

I'm not a force of nature.

You have heart.

I don't understand any of this.

Good-bye, Solange.

Solange answers for Dorothy.

I'm killing myself

because you didn't love me,

because I didn't love you.

Because our ties were loose,

I'm killing myself to tighten them.

I leave you

with an indelible stain.

Subtitling: Eclair Group