Original subtitles

The future belonged to him.

He was respected worldwide,

adored as much by Jean Renoir as by the Beatles,

as much by Fritz Lang as by the Rolling Stones,

unanimously regarded as the most gifted of his generation.

He was the Nouvelle Vague.

Jean-Luc Godard.

His very name embodied a certain idea of Cinema.

Indefinable, wild, fascinating,

funny, unpredictable, disconcerting,

political, charming, impertinent,

young, free.

And I loved him.

I was lucky enough to admire my lover,

who had left a print on me.

This man, who had revolutionised film ten years earlier,

had shaken up my life too,

and was about to revolutionise himself.

I always knew she'd leave.

I didn't know when, or how, or even why. But I was right.

This girl, probably too beautiful,

too young, too bourgeois,

will soon be 20.

I'm in love with her.

This image is from 1967.

My first footage of her.

The film is La Chinoise, and she plays a Maoist student.

In real life, she studies philosophy.

She's the granddaughter of a famous conservative author.

Rebelling against her background, youthfully carefree,

she dared love a man like myself.

Her name is Anne,

and she's the one who has decided to tell our story.

Here, she sees me as successful,

confident and seductive,

but I am no longer that Godard.

Mozart died aged 35, and he got it right.

Artists should die at 35, before becoming old farts.

In a few months, I'll turn 37.

So, are you pleased?

Very. Anne is wonderful.

She brings spontaneity and youth to the film.

I'm amazed.

You amaze me, Anne.

No really, I'm thrilled.

I'm planning a Chinese tour after Avignon.

The Chinese are going to love the film.

You'll be a revolutionary icon.

Mauriac's granddaughter, lauded by Mao...

- Yes. - And your grandfather?

- Is he aware of the film you're making? - No. But he can say what he likes.

I'm proud to do this film.

If he can't see that, tough. Nobel prize or not.

I adore my grandfather, but I'm in love with Jean-Luc.

- He must accept that. - All that, and only 19!

- So are you going to America? - Yes, after shooting's finished.

Harvard first. I'm giving a lecture.

Then two days in New York.

Only two days in New York? Why so little? Pity.

It's not New York Pity, it's New York City.

And Anne must study, she's back at university next year.

I want her to get a good political education.

She's an actress now.

Yes, an actress... I'm not sure It's a real job.

Real actors are dumb. They're beneath contempt.

They cry and laugh on demand,

even crawl...

I find that grotesque.

They aren't free.

If you tell an actor to say actors are dumb, I bet he'll do it.

SHEILA, HAPPY AT LAST

Here, silence is the rule.

Like a huge, grey metal whale,

the submarine the Redoubtable, launched today, March 29th,

establishes its silent supremacy at a depth of several hundred metres...

Calmness and serenity reign

in this 128 metre-long cylinder.

135 submariners are given 70-day missions.

They must not be claustrophobic, and they need hard heads.

In the maze of staircases,

ceilings are low, corridors are narrow, and obstacles numerous.

To stay sane, and to carry out their mission successfully,

the men must deal with the daily nuisances philosophically.

Everyone mucks in,

and the many leisure activities

are aimed at keeping morale high.

An anticyclone of 1028/1000 bars

is spreading to the east of France with little change.

The southwest Atlantic current

is still moving to the north of Ireland and Scotland.

- Hello. - Hello.

A revolutionary creature,

the submarine the Redoubtable

glides along peacefully, conscious of its strength.

Although it's always ready to attack,

it is through its calmness that the Redoubtable distinguishes itself.

Such is life on board the Redoubtable.

"Such is life on board the Redoubtable."

- This is unbelievable! - What?

The births column. A Mr and Mrs Me have had a daughter

and they've called her Mary.

Mary Me?

Yes, my darling. Marry me.

On the contrary To be pro the cons

Always never agreeing

- Shall we go out? - To do what?

I don't know. Just go out, like everyone else.

Just because everyone else does?

You know what that's called?

- Alienation. - Oh, yeah?

Well I'm like everyone else, and it won't stop me living.

Very spiritual. But unlike you, I don't feel I have to be like everyone else.

I don't have to, precisely because I'm living.

Look, I feel like walking backwards.

So I Will.

I like doing what other people don't do,

you see, everything which isn't allowed, or isn't the done thing.

I like this precisely because no one else does it.

Apart from you, the great Jean-Luc Godard.

- I know what you like. - You do?

I know what interests you.

You want to live

like they do in the movies.

But that's impossible. Look.

In real life, people forget their keys, catch buses...

In real life, there's no voiceover saying,

"Anne loved Jean-Luc."

In real life, you don't "love Jean-Luc".

You do other things.

You eat, see a film, go shopping.

But if you love me, you do things differently.

And you do things differently because you love me.

You don't need a voiceover.

Anne loved Jean-Luc,

but he talked too much.

At times, she was surprised by his desire to be different.

As her friends said, she'd picked an oddball.

What are you doing? You're not ready?

Halt, amigo!

It won't do you any good. There's three of us.

Hey, you!

You know you got a face beautiful enough to be worth $2,000?

Yes.

But you don't look like the one who'll collect it.

Come on, amigo, a couple steps back.

MAO'S ALL GREEK TO ME

Alice in Swann's Way.

Don't Mess with the 40 Thieves.

Ali Baba and Virginia Woolf.

Love and a Country Priest.

24 Hours in 80 Days.

1001 Midsummer Nights' Dreams.

The Rise of the Three Little Pigs.

You lose!

- The Three Little Pigs isn't a book. - Really?

What is it then? An opera?

No. A fairytale. Not a book.

You always change the rules.

Yes, I do change the rules. So?

That's the advantage of Marxist-Leninist rhetoric.

It gets you out of anything.

In spite of my role in La Chinoise,

my bourgeois education kept me far from Chairman Mao's aphorisms

and General Lin Bao's analyses.

Jean-Luc had finally been invited to the Chinese Embassy

to arrange the film's tour of China.

- Hello, my love. - Hello.

Are you OK?

No.

The Chinese said my film was shit.

What? Which Chinese?

Which Chinese? I have no idea which Chinese!

I didn't catch their names. Chinese names are very complicated.

The Chinese at the Chinese Embassy.

- Oh, no. - You said it.

What did they say?

They said it was the work of a reactionary imbecile,

that I misunderstood the revolution,

and that if they could,

they'd ban the film from being called La Chinoise.

Those Chinese are crazy!

Stop with the Chinese!

The Chinese aren't the problem.

Yes. Sorry.

I suppose the tour...

Well, the tour will be limited to the Avignon Festival.

Don't worry, darling.

I love your film. I'm proud to be in it.

Yes, I am.

I'm sure plenty will love it.

Really? I wonder who.

Don't worry.

Such is life on board the Redoubtable.

You got married in Switzerland?

Is it true you married Mauriac's granddaughter?

Wait for the press conference. We'll talk then.

Like the Beatles. We're not the Beatles.

So, the Avignon Festival is proud to welcome a world premiere,

at the Palais des Papes, for the first time ever,

film director Jean-Luc Godard.

I thank him for the honour he's given us of screening his film La Tonkinoise.

No, La Chinoise, Mr Vilar.

La Chinoise, sorry.

Mr Godard, just one quick question.

You have just married François Mauriac's granddaughter.

- Can you tell us about the reaction? - Yes, of course.

She was delighted, she smiled, we kissed.

Yes. I meant François Mauriac's reaction.

I know. Thank you.

You don't want to reply, or...

If you don't mind, we're here to talk about art, not showbiz gossip.

If you wish to ask Mr Godard questions,

please make them about his film, La Tonkinoise.

- La Chinoise! - What did I say?

- You said La Tonkinoise. - Oh! It's impossible!

- All the time... - Don't worry.

Mr Godard, is it true you married in secret?

Please! I only want questions about La Chinoise.

La Tonkinoise!

- Sorry? - No! I'm kidding.

You're here to show a film which tells a story set in Maoist circles.

Are you a Maoist yourself?

If I am,

I expect you'll want to know what François Mauriac thinks?

But are you a revolutionary?

I'm for 100 flowers blooming and 100 thoughts contending.

- A Mao thing? - A Mao Tse thing.

He's a jerk, for example.

What does the Avignon Festival mean to you?

I'm very glad to be here, with my wife.

And I wanted to thank Hervé Vilar.

Jean Vilar!

- You're teasing me again! - Exactly.

Fair enough.

It's the Communist Party's fault.

So we need to go thousands of miles for our ideal.

To Peking. Listen.

Whatever his view,

a communist cannot automatically, without other examination,

treat the Chinese Cultural Revolution as banal, as any other argument.

It's unprecedented fact.

And there's this, as well.

It's not about exporting the Cultural Revolution,

because that belongs to the Chinese revolution,

but its political and theoretical lessons concern us all.

All communists.

Answer it, Guillaume!

Guillaume!

Vietnam is on fire and I yell "Mao! Mao!"

Johnson is laughing and I'm high, Mao! Mao!

"La Chinoise could have been a great film,

"about tragedy, dreams and reality,

"but sadly, that's just a cruel description,

"sympathising with the foolishness of bourgeois political puberty.

"And when asked how to change the world and what the revolution should be,

"La Chinoise could have provided a beautiful response.

"With Godard, it's just sickening platitudes.

"We loathe the chattering classes

"and their endless pathetic lecturing..."

Well... it all goes on in the same vein.

They don't like it either.

Yes, but Les Lettres Frangaises loved it.

Les Lettres Frangaises?

- We wrote a good piece. - But everyone knows we're pals.

But what they say is good. Doesn't that count?

That's not the point.

I must accept my mistake.

The Chinese, critics, students, Mao, no one likes the film.

- Not to mention the public... - Yes, but... it's not that important.

Well, it is in a way. Only the commies like it.

A perfect failure.

I thought it was a revolutionary film, but it's just conventional.

Films aren't exciting. Actors, spotlights, stories, all dead.

Today's cinema is dead. I can't do it any more.

It'd be like making love with a dead woman.

Oh, stop. You're being ridiculous!

You can't stop just for three idiots!

I agree. You're the talented one. You're Godard.

Stop saying that. I'm not Jean-Luc Godard.

He doesn't exist. I'm just pretending to be Godard.

I'm an actor playing Godard.

Not even a particularly good actor.

Let's go. We'll be late.

Yes, let's go.

I don't know what to do, it's very unsettling.

Sometimes he doubts simple things, like he forgets who he is.

I just wish he'd enjoy making films again.

With charm and lightness, which he does so well.

I want to help him but... I don't know how.

Times are changing.

In today's world, lightness and charm...

I feel he doesn't even want to.

- Or he doesn't like cinema any more. - No!

I don't think so. Trust him, he's Godard.

What else is he good at?

He won't open a butcher's shop.

You're right. I'm probably naive.

Wait...

- Are you OK, darling? - Yes, carry on!

The problem is I don't know what to do.

I got La Chinoise wrong, that's all.

I need to invent something new.

True political cinema.

- You've always been political. - No, I just pretended.

I'm tired of amusing the middle class.

Now I'd like to make a film about the Canadian Indians

refusing to let an oil well be built on their land.

How do I turn that into cinema? That's my question.

Use Alain Delon with a feather up his arse?

No, but you do films. Not politics.

Same thing. It's all political.

Pretending it's not is bullshit.

Opting out of politics is a political choice.

OK. But what about cinema?

That's what Truffaut is for.

Romantic films. All people care about is love.

As Guitry said, it makes your heart weary.

Enough of the dictatorship of sentiments.

Sentiments don't make revolutions.

- You believe in the revolution? - Of course!

I'll explain. Politics is like shoes.

There's left and right.

Eventually, you want to go barefoot.

I think France will soon want to go barefoot.

- Well... - Yes it will.

If the workers wake up, the police and the army will follow...

It can happen fast.

Shitting and farting soothe the stomach.

Guitry again?

No, that's Mao.

JOIN THE ANGRY!

Long live the revolution!

Jean-Luc was wrong about the workers, the police and the army.

But less than a year later,

just because sentiments were involved,

the revolution came to Paris.

At last, Jean-Luc was in the right place, at the right time.

He felt in step with the world.

De Gaulle is a shit pump!

Pompidou is a shit pump!

They're all shit pumps!

Free our comrades!

Free our comrades!

The Government must resign!

Excuse me, are you Jean-Luc Godard?

Yes.

I knew it!

When are you going to make funny films again?

When people can laugh in Vietnam, Palestine and Yemen,

or black people in America, maybe then.

Not for a while, then.

Who knows? Look around you...

Do you only like funny films?

No, but... real life is not much fun as it is,

so at the movies...

Why should movies be different to life?

Vietnam is part of your life, no?

Don't the Kurds exist?

OK, but you make movies,

you're not the Foreign Secretary.

Maybe not, but I can take an interest in people.

But we want you to get people interested.

Before taking an interest in them.

It's complicated talking to you.

Stay close to me in these situations.

- I am close to you. - That's what I said. We agree.

De Gaulle, resign! De Gaulle, resign!

We're leaving!

- What? - We're off.

OK. See you later, then.

- You're not scared? - No, not at all.

I think the atmosphere is great.

The police are the SS!

Fucking fascists! Bastards!

- Godard's not happy! - I'm so angry!

It shows!

Are you OK, darling?

The police are the SS!

Motherfuckers!

- You OK? - Yes!

Are you OK?

- Yes. - Do you need help?

- No, no. Go on, comrade. - OK!

- OK? - Yes. That really hurt.

- Your glasses... - They're screwed.

- Does it still hurt? - Yes, but it's normal.

It's just the muscles cooling and seizing up.

- Oh, shit... - What?

Sorry, Mr Godard, I didn't recognise you without your glasses.

Pardon?

No... do your job...

My wife and I loved Contempt.

Off you go. Carry on the good work.

Thank you.

Thank you? You actually said thank you?

Well, yes.

“Well, yes"? She says "Well, yes," too!

Well, what?

Now it's "Well, what?" We're improving.

Such progress. From "Well, yes“ to “Well, what?"

Why not make him a salad too?

Never say thank you to a cop, OK? Do you understand? Ever!

Even if he helps you. You never thank them. That's all.

- So what should I say? - Nothing!

If you must speak, say, "Die, you piece of shit!

"I'll hang you by your balls with the guts of the last priest."

That's all you should say! Nothing else!

Anger is adding to the tension, which has been rising all day.

For the past three hours now,

students have occupied the boulevard, confronting the police.

Over a thousand demonstrators just built a barricade from stones...

Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,

the police have asked us to pull down the shutters.

- Why? - The riots, madam.

- What? - Fighting in the neighbourhood...

- So you're obeying the police? - Unbelievable.

- It's OK, never mind. - I'm sorry.

You can order, we just have to pull the shutter down.

Good. Peace at last.

What did he say?

He said good.

Then we won't hear those young idiots playing at war.

Arsehole.

Pardon'?

I said arsehole.

Very clever.

Sir, you called us young idiots.

Your friend proved me right, didn't he?

I'm proud to be a young idiot.

Better than a traitor and his whore.

My husband has a Croix de Guerre.

- I'm no traitor! - Where are your medals?

- I fought in two wars, understand? - And look at the result!

- Jean-Luc... - I think if you're still alive,

you must have been hiding!

You're lucky I'm too old to teach you some respect.

- Respect my arse. - You little shit!

That was totally uncalled for.

You just called that old lady a whore.

How could I know? I don't have my glasses.

Better to be a whore than married to an arsehole.

Am I right, darling?

Does a teacher exist if his students negate him?

He no longer exists!

A boss doesn't exist if the workers negate him.

Same for the police!

That's what we're doing here.

We don't want things to stay the same,

because as they are, they're no good!

Hey. Quiet! I'm told Jean-Luc Godard is here.

Where is he? We'd like him to speak.

- He's here! - I'm here.

Here, Damien...

We're bringing you a mike.

The director of Breathless and Contempt.

La Chinoise. I've not seen it, but I'm told it's very good.

Thank you...

I came here to listen. But if you want me to speak...

Well, the thing is...

I think the first question should be, what is the revolution?

Mao said "Revolution is a drama."

MOVEMENT OF AN OBJECT

Che Guevara said nothing different...

AROUND A CENTRAL POINT

...when he said, “Create a Vietnam within us."

BRINGING IT BACK PERIODICALLY

Revolution starts with oneself!

TO THE SAME POINT.

As for me...

"Me, me, me!" It's always about you!

Grow some balls, Jean-Luc, instead of filming bullshit!

Shut the fuck up!

Please! Quiet! Please!

Godard is a consumer product!

- Shut the fuck up! - An accomplice of power!

Just like Coca-Cola or Mickey Mouse.

- That's what you are! - Shut up!

- Quiet, please! - You're no danger, Godard!

You're pissing in the wind!

Hey, Godard! And my balls, you like them?

- What's wrong? - Nothing.

But I don't understand why you let them say those things.

As soon as you're with a student, you lose all your confidence.

You let them say whatever they want. I don't understand.

You're probably right.

Maybe because he's young.

He speaks from the heart, so he's right.

Even if he's wrong, it doesn't matter.

I don't like old people.

So when the old guy is me...

I don't like myself.

Deep down, Jean-Luc liked these young people they called Situationists.

They were political, witty,

intelligent, arrogant,

rowdy, incorrigible,

pertinent, impertinent, caustic,

subversive and young.

Unfortunately the Situationists despised Jean-Luc,

and he agreed with them.

He was at a dead end.

He had to change.

DANGEROUS LIAISONS

It's not your films as such, it's just that they're from another era.

If we accept a revolution, we must decide who we are.

Either we're a cop, or a revolutionary.

So either we make cop films or revolutionary films.

That's why everything must change.

It's not about giving an account of the revolution. It's about living it.

Making films in a revolutionary way.

Working like workers freed from the patriarchy.

It's not giving the workers a voice.

The role of intellectuals now is to be a sounding board.

Who is Jean-Luc talking to over there?

He looks enthralled.

Jean-Pierre Gorin, from Le Monde.

- He created Le Monde des Livres. - Oh yes. He's very young.

A bit pedantic but charismatic.

He worked with you on La Chinoise, no? As a consultant or something?

Yes, but...

it was mainly with Jean-Luc, I...

Obviously.

...the problem is how to self-manage with a film crew.

- Excuse me. Do you want a drink? - No, thanks, my love.

Sorry, carry on.

Yes. I was saying the question is,

how do we apply the same line we do for schools and factories

to a creative piece of work...

Excuse me.

Which implies an Author with a capital

but is also a group enterprise.

So what do you do about power?

Excuse me... Who is that guy over there?

A dancer. A very good one.

A little cocksure, but very good.

You're so annoying when you idolise people like that.

- Me? - Oh, please.

You were staring at him, practically drooling.

You've got a nerve. You hardly spoke to me at all.

I was talking to Gorin.

That's different.

Not to a ballerina!

When you admire guys like that, I wonder why you're with me.

You're like a feather at the mercy of the wind. Very reassuring.

This way!

- Are you OK? - Yes.

- Are you hurt? - No, it's just my glasses.

Where are they?

On the ground, probably. I can't see a thing.

I think they're here...

I don't believe it.

Now they've had it. Now they really are fucked.

It's because of my shoes.

I need some that don't slip when I run.

They're very good, perfect.

Thank you. I'll take them.

Sorry for yesterday.

It's OK.

I didn't mean to make you jealous, but you ignored me all evening.

I felt left out.

You need to be more independent.

Come out of your auto-alienation.

Especially as I was with Gorin.

Yes.

But I need you to love me.

We'll love each other later.

- Now it's the revolution. - Who said that?

Chairman Mao or General Lin Bao?

Don't be so bourgeois.

Some things are more important.

Vietnam, for example.

Fine. But I married Jean-Luc Godard, the film director,

not a political commissar.

Don't play the idiot.

Freedom!

Paris in the streets!

Oh, look! Jean-Luc!

- Hello. - Hi!

- Hello, how are you? - Hello, Godard.

- What's your name again? - Jean-Jock.

Michel, this is Jean-Jock, a comrade.

This is Michel Cournot, film critic, director.

He's made a film called Les Gauloises bleues,

which is selected for Cannes.

- Oh, that... - Cannes? The film festival?

- Yes, well... - That's ridiculous!

Who cares about Cannes?

Only a fool would go this year!

With all that's going on now!

- That is hilarious! - He's got a point.

OK, we're not going to laugh all day!

Hello!

Bravo for La Chinoise.

My friends and I enjoyed it.

- Thanks. - Seriously.

- Seriously thanks, then. - You're welcome.

Are you going to make any more films like Breathless?

- I don't know. - Because that really was good.

- Really, it was excellent. - All right, thank you.

You should use Belmondo, he's good.

Funny too! You should make more with him.

I'll think about it.

OK. I won't bother you any longer, Mr Godard.

- Yes. Goodbye. - Bye.

He was nice, that guy.

Oh, yes, very nice.

A good producer, too. I should have asked for his card.

Excuse me. Are you Jean-Luc Godard?

- Yes. - I just want to say you're amazing.

You, but especially your films.

Well... thank you.

But I'm not...

I'm a film student. I did my thesis on you.

Seeing you is amazing. To me, your films embody freedom.

For example, the subjects you treat

such as, for instance... urbanism!

Sorry, what exactly do you want from me?

Nothing. I just love your films, I've studied them.

I sent you a letter...

This is all very annoying.

Sorry. I didn't mean to...

Yes, but that kind of cinema is dead.

It's irrelevant. Dead.

Like you. You may think you're alive, but you're a zombie.

Come on, let's go.

And you ruined my shot, by the way.

That's better. My feet were so sore...

I don't know how far we walk each day...

It's not even that.

It's my new shoes.

I should put some wet newspaper inside.

To stretch them.

EVERYTHING IS BRIGHTER WITH MAO

I think this generation is bored.

Who cares about Vietnam when it's so sunny?

I love young people!

They're so funny!

On a wall near my home, someone wrote

"God also created shit".

Isn't that great?

God also created shit.

Are you coming to Cannes?

- I don't know. - You must.

At least for Cournot's sake...

Jean-Luc won't agree.

They want to stop the festival.

But do you want to go or not?

Yes, I think so.

Then go. Just tell him.

And it's not fair on Cournot.

You can come with us if you want.

They might not even manage to stop the festival.

Godard! Are you going to make a film about all this?

The film-maker of youth and rebellion.

No, I won't make a film.

I'll start a revolution. Like everyone else.

Yes. But starting a revolution means chopping off heads.

Can you do that?

I'm ready to start with my own. Afterwards, I'll see.

Nice motto.

What do you do, to have such a nice sweater?

Who's he talking to?

Eric de la Meigniére.

He works for Publicis.

- Ouch. - You said it.

- I hate advertising. - Really? But you're an expert.

No. Advertising is fascism.

So what is fascism, then?

Fascism is...

It's fascism too...

- You think you're funny? - No, but your rhetoric is.

So mock me. It won't change anything.

You'll just look stupid.

I'm not mocking you. Mao's the problem.

Exactly. Mao means revolution. It means your death.

You talk of revolution. You must hate the Chinese, to plug Mao like this.

Hang on... Plugging Mao?

Plugging Mao? Who's talking here, when you say that?

Is it you talking, when you say "plugging Mao"?

Or is it Publicis talking? Is it Pompidou?

Where are you, when you say "plugging Mao"?

I'm down here. But you're sitting on a pile of corpses...

The defeat of intelligence.

Those two are such jerks.

You can't go to Cannes, it's impossible.

Solidarity with the students is vital. Cinema must be in touch.

No, don't say hush.

Why invent talking movies if no one speaks...

Sorry, but...

Oh, OK.

I didn't realise.

OK, I'll ask him. I'll call you back.

Talk later.

It was Rosier. She says the strike will cause travel chaos.

So?

She thinks we should leave today.

Tomorrow at the latest, but today is better.

So my opinion doesn't count?

I'm your husband, but I may as well just piss in the wind?

No, I heard.

But I want to go.

If only out of friendship for Cournot.

Friendship for Cournot.

Anyway you can't. Nothing's been organised.

She says I just need a dress.

We can stay with her stepfather.

You mean father-in-law...

- Bamban's father, or... - No.

Her stepfather, Pierre Lazareff.

50 years of journalism.

Pierre Lazareff wrote his first article aged 15.

By 20, he was head of news.

In 1940, as Europe slid into war,

Pierre Lazareff went to America.

He came back in 1944 and created the newspaper France Sow.

A staunch Gaullist, Pierre Lazareff is a loyal man, above all,

to his friends, his colleagues, his wife,

but also, and perhaps especially, to General de Gaulle.

Pierre Lazareff.

This takes the biscuit.

Hello!

Jean-Luc called. He's in Cannes.

Oh. Thanks.

End of the holiday...

Now to cinema.

Today in Cannes, a delegation

comprising François Truffaut, Alain Resnais,

Claude Lelouch and Jean-Luc Godard,

demanded the immediate cancellation of the film festival.

Mr Godard began the conference jovially, even playfully,

with irony, and I quote,

"It was a hard-fought struggle to conquer the hall at the Palais des Festivals.

"Only ice cream can get us to leave!"

But things heated up.

As you will hear, the subject turned to politics.

The action committee for French film

asks all the directors, producers, distributors, actors,

and journalists present here in Cannes to oppose the continuation of the festival

in protest against the de Gaulle government

and the structure of the film industry.

We are late!

It is time to show the film industry's solidarity

with the student and worker movements.

The only way to do this is to stop all screenings now!

I demand the festival stops!

I'm talking about solidarity with workers,

you're talking tracking shots and close-ups, arseholes!

In this toxic context, the festival was officially cancelled.

Fortunately, no one was hurt,

but Mr Godard was jostled in the clash,

and broke his glasses.

Luckily, it was no worse.

Over to you in Paris.

PIERROT THE CONTEMPT

- Goodbye. - Goodbye.

Yes, bye.

- But you're tanned! - Yes! It looks good, doesn't it?

No.

You'll look like Ursula Andress.

Great.

What's the problem, Jean-Luc? You achieved your aim.

- You should be happy. - Being happy isn't the problem.

I just did what I had to do.

But you don't get a suntan in a revolution.

Maybe not Lenin, but Che was tanned...

Very funny. Has anyone got a car to get us to Paris?

Yes, but there's no petrol.

That's impossible. There must be!

Yes, but not enough for Paris.

That's absurd.

It can't be that hard to get petrol.

OK. How long will it take?

No blinking idea!

Blinking idea?

Listen, you wanted a general strike. You should be happy.

It's because I am happy that I don't want to sleep in Lazareff's bed.

You won't be sleeping in Lazareff's bed. You're in the guest room.

By the way, I should let you know that we're very fond of him.

So stop talking about him like that.

OK. I'm just impatient to get back to Paris. I'm sorry.

It's OK. But without a car, you'll have to walk back.

Feel free.

Or, if you can wait for a car,

you're welcome to stay In Pierre Lazareff's house.

Life's funny.

You talk about Mao all day, now you have a kimono.

Oh, shut up.

Anyway, that was completely idiotic. Kimonos are Japanese.

And, between you and me, why has Lazareff got a kimono in his closet?

- Is everything OK? - Yes, fine.

I'm reading.

I'm going to the bedroom.

OK.

It's All Going Sour

Strategy of Violence

Sparks Will Fly

The Grapes of Wrath

Desires and Envy

Misfortune

What are you doing?

- Want to come swimming? - No, thanks.

I'm expecting a phone call.

Makes no difference if you stay here or come down to the beach.

It makes a big difference to me.

But you go ahead. Go swimming.

It's just what we need right now.

You go swimming. Relax. It's vital to the country.

OK, I'll do that. With Rosier, my fellow bourgeois revisionist.

Stupid little idiot.

Are you OK?

Yes.

Look, I'm sorry.

I regret what I said.

It's OK.

What's going on?

Emile can find us enough petrol to get us to Paris.

Very good. Wonderful.

Well done, Emile.

- Hello. - Yes, sorry. Hello.

We'll pick up Cournot in Cannes on the way, then get going in the afternoon.

We're taking Cournot?

What kind of car is it?

No, but... No, fine, we'll pick up Cournot.

The thing is, the film is fragile.

The Cannes festival would have put it in the spotlight.

But the film is great. Lots of people will go and see it.

It's not really about that.

It would have helped the film make a mark.

And premiering in Cannes,

for a film, for a director,

is something rather special, I think.

Listen, that's just the way it goes.

Of course.

From a collective angle, I understand it was the only way.

From a personal angle, however,

I'm a bit disappointed.

A bit frustrated.

It's understandable.

If I could've shown the film, at least--

Is he going to piss us off all night?

- Oh, please, Jean-Luc. - No, leave me here. I'd rather walk.

It's impossible, Michel. You can't whine for 800 kilometres.

I'm not whining! Try to understand my frustration.

No. Sorry. You would've looked like a fool.

Les Gauloises bleues, in Cannes, with the country in turmoil.

We've saved you from looking like an idiot.

Of course Renoir's films are bourgeois!

- Very good, but bourgeois! - But if you...

He uses the dominant bourgeoisie's system like everyone else.

Only a fool can't understand that.

A revolution means killing and mistrusting existing forms of film,

including my own, but also Lang, Renoir, Ford and so on.

You can scoff, but only some of the subversive comedies are worth saving.

Jerry Lewis, the Marx Brothers. The rest must go in the dustbin.

If Renoir's only fit for the dustbin, there's no point talking.

It's not easy talking to Jean-Luc.

Of course, if it's too complicated for you...

We've got 800 kilometres to go, so...

Well, I...

You... I...

I don't go... I don't go to the cinema much.

I don't know anything.

But I know, for example, what I like is nice stories.

Because there is enough bad stuff in life already.

I don't want to see that in a film too.

Well, that's how I choose films, anyway.

When I go.

Yes, of course.

It's true, cinema is also for entertainment.

One doesn't want to... Of course.

- What do you think, Jean-Luc? - Nothing.

I'm sorry, but I'm not going to view cinema in relation to Emile.

In the same way as I don't tell peasants how to run a farm.

- You're such an arsehole! - Oh, come on.

- He's getting you back to Paris. - Stop. Enough.

- And this is how you treat him! - Stop.

- You're only interested in yourself. - What are you talking about?

- Oh, a lecture from the bourgeoisie. - Fuck you!

- You're not bourgeois? - Yes, I'm bourgeois, but I'm aware of it!

You talk about peasants, but you don't see them!

I'm always the scapegoat.

Once you had a super-ego, but that's gone.

- Now you're just an arsehole! - It's complicated, talking to you.

Doesn't anyone ever think for a moment that maybe I'm right?

You're lucky we're friends, otherwise your film...

I'd say what I really thought of your film.

And you'd have experienced the taste of shit.

SAVE YOUR ARSE (AND YOUR MARRIAGE)

I'm sorry, darling.

I'm stressed at the moment.

I'm totally on edge. Sorry.

Don't worry, darling. I'm patient.

Things will soon go back to normal.

No, they won't.

It's a revolution. A permanent state.

Sure...

This may be a historic moment.

Perhaps, right as we speak,

the miracle of life is beginning.

Perhaps we just made a baby.

The thought did occur to me, Mr Godard.

If it's a boy, we'll call him Salvador.

Why?

I've always wanted to be Salvador Daddy.

You're so silly, Mr Godard!

Don't say we stayed at Lazareff's house, OK?

We already look like tourists.

Paul!

- Anne, how are you? - Good! You?

- Good. Hello. - Hello.

You look lovely.

You've been in the sun, it suits you.

- Thanks. - You look rested, it's good.

Thank you, you're very kind.

OK, then...

Bye!

We mustn't just talk about France, or Paris. We must talk about the world!

We must talk about Vietnam, about Yemen, about the Black Panthers,

we must talk about the Kurds, about Sudan...

and we must also talk about Palestine.

We must!

We must say, and we must not be afraid to say that the Jews...

have become today's Nazis!

We have to say it!

Hang on. Do you seriously think our committee

will say the Jews have become Nazis?

Why not? No one minds saying we're all German Jews.

So we should all be Palestinians too.

Today's Jews are yesterday's Nazis!

Or more precisely, yesterday's Jews are today's Nazis.

No. That's it! Yesterday's Jews today, are yesterday's Nazis. That's it.

Anyway, we have to ask, who are the Jews today?

And who are yesterday's Nazis?

No. Just, who are the Nazis? Today.

No?

OK... Thank you, Jean-Luc.

That's very good, but it's not really today's subject.

- We'll move on-- - It's never today's subject!

Remember Che Guevara said we must create inner Vietnams?

And so first, we must...

We must begin... What?

We must begin with our own Vietnam!

Now we're going to listen to the account of François Berthier...

Please. Please.

François Berthier, a worker from Sud-Aviation.

Is François here?

It's important to hear his story.

We won't get anywhere, we're too sentimental...

Godard, the supreme Swiss-Maoist arsehole

Godard, the supreme Swiss-Maoist arsehole

There's no point staying here.

Jean-Luc, it's just a slogan.

It's unfair, flippant, underhand.

True. But the problem is, they're right.

That's what Godard has become. A teen idol.

A celebrity pretending to be a revolutionary.

I can't stand the arsehole.

I'll change the record.

No. Leave it like that.

THE FIRST OF THE MOHICANS

We can't aspire to freedom of speech, spending our time and energy,

while begging money from producers like tenants begging from landowners.

It's a disgrace! This 19th-century paternalism is shameful.

We must reclaim cinema.

Cinema should be like a hammer.

A simple tool that everyone can and should use.

You're right, it's the only legitimate type of cinema,

and it's exciting too.

For the first time in ages,

I've got the right conditions and I'm going in the right direction.

Exactly where I'm meant to be.

RINGO - I MADE A MISTAKE.

Here come the Marx Brothers.

Great idea!

Very jaunty!

- Hello. - How are you, Jean-Jock?

- Good, and you? - Couldn't be better.

- I've just died. - What?

Not me. But Godard is dead.

I've set up a group with Jean-Pierre, and I'll only work within it.

So I feel like I'm reborn.

What is this group?

- Dziga Vertov. - Dziga what?

- The Dziga Vertov Group. - Bless you!

- You don't know him? - That's normal, not to know him.

Dziga Vertov. Russian avant-garde?

No...

Man with a Movie Camera? The cine-eye method?

- Means nothing to you? - No, I've never heard of it.

Cinema with no script, no actors,

no theatre, no literature.

No viewers, either?

- Stop joking around. - It's annoying.

Who's in the group?

Just Jean-Luc and me for now. You too, if you want.

That's right.

I don't know. What do you think?

I think... what he just said...

What's wrong?

Just after I learn you're dead, you ask me to join...

Well, if you put it like that, I understand, but...

It's not a death, it's a renaissance.

The Renaissance. You're completely off.

- What time is it? - Almost two.

I've got to go. Meeting with the directors' union.

- I thought you didn't like them. - I don't.

That's why I've got to see them. Shit-iers du cinéma.

Have fun, darling.

As May wore on,

maybe due to the unpredictable rising costs of opticians,

Jean-Luc lost interest in the student demonstrations.

He became a radical, dedicating himself exclusively to the Dziga Vertov Group.

As always, he summed up his ideas in slogans. The latest was...

What I like about the student movement is the movement, not the students.

That's how May ended for us,

without us really knowing what we had revolutionised.

What are you doing?

It's an militant activist trick.

Glue on the fingertips,

to hide your fingerprints.

What for?

What for...

Hello?

Ah, hello, Bernardo. How are you?

Good. Good, thank you, yes.

As you can imagine, a bit chaotic, but very interesting.

Yes, yes. I'm very excited by what's happening here.

Yes, yes.

Yes.

Yes, why not? That could be very interesting.

OK, I'll talk to her.

OK. I'll ask her, then call you back for the details.

OK, good. Bye.

This stupid glue...

That was Bertolucci.

We're invited to a conference on political cinema in Rome. Want to go?

I don't know. Conferences and debates...

Please come. Bernardo and Paola want us.

It'll do us good to spend a few days in Rome.

I don't know...

Please. You're my wife.

Don't make me go alone.

They love us over there. It could be great.

I have nothing...

I have nothing to do with what you just said.

You have a revision...

You have a revisionist idea of cinema.

It makes me sick,

your romantic idea of cinema and art in general.

What? How can you say that?

You're insulting your own masterpieces!

Pierrot le fou! Contempt! Breathless!

Shall I go on?

I disown them, and all my other films. They're shit.

I don't agree with Jean-Luc.

They matter to us.

They've shown us a new way of making films.

I've said all I had to say.

I've nothing to add.

Continue with the struggle, comrades.

I'm starving.

I hope they've booked dinner. Coming?

Why did you do that?

No one merits such scorn.

Who decides that? You?

You can thank me, as I didn't address you directly.

Because of Paola and Anne.

But now, here's the truth.

You and I have been making shit.

But you'll carry on doing it,

knowing perfectly well what you're doing.

You've betrayed the ideals of your youth.

I'll tell you something.

We've become enemies.

Have you finished?

Fuck you.

You and your pretentious sermons.

You're not even aware you're spouting bullshit.

You talk about the working classes, but you don't know them.

You don't realise how they despise you.

You're a little... You're an ignorant little shit.

Fuck off.

Well, at least things are clear.

Time to part company.

Coming?

No.

No. I'm staying.

Let's go.

Listen, we'll go to Prague with Gorin.

It'll do us good to make a film together.

Exciting things are in store.

More exciting than this bullshit.

We're gonna invent something new.

What do you think?

I don't know.

I don't know what I want.

Don't worry. I know I was hard on Bernardo,

but he's a revolutionary.

I promise to call him for a real discussion, and apologise, OK?

Or even apologise first, then have a real discusslon.

You're attracted to him, right?

He's handsome.

What can you do? Such is life on board the Redoubtable.

Any plans today? Are you in a good mood today?

No. What's it to you?

Is the bread fresh? I choose the conversation. I'm your master.

Want some? I don't want you to get angry.

No, thanks. I'm fine. That's all we need.

Nothing planned? I'd like to be alone.

No. Nothing. No, I'm staying to keep an eye on you.

Ferreri sent a telegram. I have bad news.

He's sending round a script today. I want to be free.

Good. Don't even try it, sweetheart.

No idea what... Better to talk about it later, I guess.

You'll soon see. Yes, you're right. Let's do it this way.

I loved Jean-Luc as much as I could.

For as long as I could.

Although this man had opened up my mind and shown me the world,

our horizons began to shrink.

Insidiously. Little by little.

Look who it is!

Hello, how are you?

- Good, and you? - We're great.

- How about you? - Fine.

- Good. - It's sad it's ending this way.

- No, this is just the beginning. - Yes, perhaps.

Not as spectacular, but change is coming.

I feel it's all gone back to how it was.

No, it's the opposite. I think something in people's minds is really changing.

Maybe... I don't know.

We've got to go. We'll talk soon.

- Bye, Jean-Luc. - See you soon.

- Bye, Anne. - See you.

This guy is completely crazy.

Every single scene.

Naked in every one.

- You'll turn it down? - Yes, of course.

Actually, could you phone him for me?

- Tell him no for us both? - Of course.

Thanks.

And I'll even enjoy telling him.

The guy may be talented, but he's insane.

Needs locking up.

Hi, maestro. How are you? It's Jean-Luc.

Yes, good.

Thanks.

Listen, I'm calling because we've read it.

I think it's a wonderful script.

This shipwreck story, it's political, metaphorical, romantic...

It's superb, very strong.

But my wife doesn't want to do nude scenes.

She's very young. It would be inappropriate.

Yes, that would be different,

but I don't see how, it's for every scene.

That's the beauty of the script.

The Adam and Eve allegory, the return to nature.

Call us if you find a solution.

But please don't spoil it on our account.

Yes, I'll tell her.

Bye, then, maestro.

- What did he say? - That he'll think about a solution.

I don't know how, the movie is radically nudist.

It's always surprising, this obsession directors have with undressing actors.

I don't get it.

Sometimes a script justifies it, don't you think?

No, I don't think so.

Except for porn films,

where the story needs it, but apart from that...

Probably my Swiss Calvinist side,

but I find it ridiculous.

Well, if I was offered a film with a nude scene,

which the script justified,

I think I'd do it.

Really? I wouldn't.

Well, I would.

Hello?

Hello, Marco.

What a good idea. That's great.

I'm really pleased.

Yes, I'll tell him.

OK. Bye, Marco.

Ferreri's found a solution.

A trunk of women's clothes is found.

So I'll be dressed. Only the man will be naked.

He says hello, by the way.

The son of a bitch.

Damn it.

- Will you accept? - Why not?

We're supposed to be going to Czechoslovakia.

You're going to do it?

You'll abandon me for so long?

You in Italy and me in Czechoslovakia? It's absurd. We're married.

It's a lead role. I can't refuse it.

I suppose I can't forbid you to do it.

It means two months apart.

KILL GODARD

Jean-Luc was in Czechoslovakia,

making the film not yet called Pravda.

I was in Italy

shooting Marco Ferreri's film,

already called The Seed of Man.

So, do you have the scene?

You go over there.

You kiss him.

Silence! Camera!

- Rolling! - Clap?

The Seed of Man, 24-1, first.

Action!

Jean-Luc had called to say he was coming.

He'd seemed agitated.

I could immediately tell he was in a bad mood.

- Hello. - Hello.

Excuse me, miss. Your husband's arrived. He's waiting for you in your room.

Godard's here!

Tell him you're very welcome to join us for dinner.

But if you'd rather be alone...

- We'll be very discreet. - Thanks.

How are you? Been here long?

- What's wrong? - Nothing.

If you've just come to sulk...

I didn't say anything.

What is it?

What is it?

You're never in when I call.

It's strange.

You think I'm cheating on you?

I don't know.

You don't know?

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

How's your film going?

It's going without you.

So it's slow...

lonely...

But you all seem happy.

Yes. Everyone is very jolly on set.

Marco always tries to make it fun.

I know that type of cinema well.

The set is like a holiday camp.

If only his films were as fun to watch!

Which one is the actor?

Brown hair, opposite Marco.

Why are you pointing?

Wonderful. That's all we need.

Evening, maestro. I'm Marco Margine, the actor from the film.

It's an honour to shake your hand.

I wanted to tell you, I love your films.

All of them.

If you ever need an Italian actor, don't hesitate to ask.

I'm here. Even just to open a door, I would be honoured...

Good.

Sorry, I have to get back to the others.

I promised to dance with the young lady.

It was an honour to talk to you.

I hope I haven't bothered you.

Sweaty palms, the actor.

Finished?

Yes, we're finished.

- Would you like the dessert menu? - No. Do you want anything?

Nothing else, thank you, Claudio.

- Shall we go? - Yes, please.

That actor... Have you slept with him?

You're not answering.

What you say is disgusting.

I don't see why.

It's a simple question. You just need to reply.

I note that you're not.

You're sick, Jean-Luc.

That's right. I'm sick, yes.

We're all sick.

- What do you want me to say? - The truth, that's all.

If I say I've slept with the actor, Marco, the makeup girl, the receptionist,

will you be satisfied, is that it?

OK. Make me out to be crazy.

It's always the same story.

If you want to kill your dog, say it's got rabies.

Same old story.

You're acting like an arsehole.

You're not the man I married.

Well, I'm still your husband.

That's not nothing. That counts for something.

You also have a duty to me. You seem to forget this.

I don't understand what's happened to you.

What's happened to me? Look at you! You look like a starlet, a little floozy.

I made a choice. So you can't say anything to me.

So no one can say anything to me. OK? You can't ask anything of me.

Go on making shit with that arsehole Ferreri.

That holiday camp host.

Having fun on your holidays?

Is that what you really want?

That mediocrity? Crappy films?

Your aim in life is having fun?

You're mixing everything up.

I'm talking about us. You're talking about cinema.

I know what we're talking about. You've gone over to the other side.

To the other side of what?

I knew if I let you go, it would end like this.

You're so ridiculous, my dear. It's such a cliché.

An actor!

You've turned into a stupid, common little actress.

You've turned me into a jealous loser.

It's so clichéd, it's pathetic.

Stop crying, it's annoying.

You women think crying makes you right.

It just makes us pity you.

You're the one who is being disgusting,

it's you that's putting us in an impossible situation.

There must be a reason I don't trust you! I'm not crazy!

I don't love you any more, Jean-Luc.

There's no magic left.

You no longer try to seduce me,

or anyone else.

You complain of being lonely,

but it's you who rejects the whole world.

Of course it's my fault people hate me.

The truth is you don't love me any more, but that's your choice.

I'm not at all sure it's my fault.

I won't let you talk to me like that.

There you go.

You've found an excuse to abandon me.

You're like all the others.

You match your thoughts to your acts, instead of the opposite.

I don't want to talk any more. I have to get up early, I need to sleep.

You're impossible to argue with.

You're so cruel and mean.

You're cold.

A domestic dispute is like a phrase.

There's no obligation for it to stop.

Each partner dreams of having the last word.

"Concluding" assigns a destiny to all that has been said.

The dispute proceeds with this in view.

There is no question that each remark should contribute

to the victory of a truth,

only that the last remark be the right one.

It's the last roll of the dice that counts.

Jean-Luc, I'm going.

For a last word to be truly peremptory,

only suicide will suffice.

Jean-Luc? Jean-Luc?

Jean-Luc didn't totally die that day.

But the Jean-Luc I had loved vanished for ever.

His suicide attempt was too violent an act against me. I could never forgive him.

We split up almost a year later, while filming Vent d'Est,

an attempt at a Maoist Western by the Dziga Vertov Group.

The Jean-Luc who had survived won.

It was auto-managed cinema, there was no boss,

all decisions were made collectively.

Every morning, in the name of democracy,

the crew held a general meeting

to decide on the afternoon's shooting.

So every morning, Jean-Luc was confronted with the same dilemma.

Respect the revolution in defiance of cinema,

or make a film in defiance of the revolution.

Try to understand him. You're making no effort.

- If you're the only one defending it... - No, there is a language!

If you decide to use it, you must learn it.

- Every morning... - You're pissing us off.

We earn peanuts, we can't afford dead Indians.

We have to! It's the most important thing.

The film must mention the Indian genocide.

- We can't cut corners. - So pay them with your money.

If you make the decisions alone, you can pay alone.

You're pissing everyone off with all these tracking shots.

If it's just so you can talk about the Indian genocide, talk about the Indian genocide.

But without all the extras and endless tracking shots!

Excuse me, but making revolutionary cinema is still making cinema.

And if you're making cinema, there's no rule against tracking shots.

Especially if it has a meaning,

and especially if it means the revolution.

You say you don't want to change anything...

You alone are pissing everyone off with your tracking shot!

We propose simple solutions, you never want them.

- Aren't you acting exactly like a boss? - No, absolutely not.

- I feel like I'm the lone man... - Really?

Yes, I'm alone, because I can see things you can't.

- Jean-Luc... - I understand things you can't.

- At least I have doubts. - We can't do this.

- We have to make a decision now. - It's simple. You've got to choose.

Either respect the principle of auto-management and follow the majority,

or go on acting like the boss, like all directors,

which means forget the revolution.

You have to choose. Either it's politics, or cinema.

OK?

OK. I'll go with the majority.

Thank you, Jean-Luc!

I'm not sure when I lost the plot.

Something broke and was never the same again.

Maybe that's what the revolution is about.

I killed Godard, I killed Jean-Luc.

But that's how I became myself.

And it's not because I was mistaken that I was wrong.

I did disappoint many people.

Some felt betrayed.

But you know what?

It doesn't matter in the end,

for such is life on board the Redoubtable...

Subtitles translated by Caroline Maraval

Subtitles edited by Yasmeen Khan