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Can I put my hand in yours?

No, you're too ugly.

The jew and France

GAINSBOURGI A HEROIC LIFE

What now?

My finger slipped-

Do better than that, Lucien.

Play.

What is this?

I don't like the piano!

I'm not interested in music!

Why should I learn? You play and you earn nothing.

Play.

What are you up to?

Just looking.

No, you're not.

You'll put your dirty paws everywhere!

Take a hike!

Over us the bloodstained banner

Of tyranny holds sway

Of tyranny holds sway

Oh, do you hear there in our fields...

To slaughter sons, wives and kin...

Blood, blood everywhere...

The jew and France

Well, well, Brochaut!

Not only do you smoke at work,

but you also corrupt our youth. Bravo!

He gave me the cigarette, Mr. Poletti.

Why are you in my office before opening time?

The kid wants his star before the others.

Thank you. If I'd been late today,

I'd have been ashamed forever.

Hey, you...

Who do you think you are?

I'm Lucien Ginsburg. I'm Jewish. My dad plays piano at a bar.

Eager to wear your star?

It's your star, sir. You want me to wear it.

You're a cheeky one.

Shouldn't you be at school?

I've left school for the Montmartre Art Academy.

The Montmartre Art Academy!

How about that!

If they take cocky lads like you, the place must be a disgrace!

You'd be wrong to believe that, sir.

Some very reputable people go there.

For instance, I often see SS Lieutenant Karl Heinz von Mayer.

He likes me a lot.

One day, he even gave me a brioche.

What is this nonsense?

Shall I introduce you?

He could help your career along...

What are you painting?

An adventure.

A little pianist. Everyone tells him,

“We're sick of seeing your mug.”

So he's out of work.

Even the worst dives are sick of seeing his face.

The more they say it, the bigger his mug gets.

He's helpless. It's all anyone ever sees.

It makes his life hell.

He realizes he can't get rid of it,

so he makes it swell up as much as he can.

In the end...

it explodes.

Does he die?

No.

His mug took such a beating,

it turned into something else.

Professor Flipus.

Who's that?

He's a really scary man, but very elegant,

so people like him.

The way they like the ogres in Brothers Grimm stories.

They love to hate him.

When he plays, everyone shuts up.

What does he play?

The stuff people like. Women mainly. He's a ladies' man.

Sorry-

No, carry on. You play better at night.

I should have asked first.

But I have to leave Paris and can't come here again.

I wanted to take a drawing of you with me.

There are lots of models here,

but I always wait for you.

Will you pose for me?

I might be a great artist one day.

May I get dressed while you work, Mr. Great Artist?

Not really.

What nerve!

It's not the clothes. If you move too much, I can't draw.

I'll stay like this then?

No.

What?

It's the bra... I don't know how to draw one.

We could take it off...

My family has to hide.

Once the war ends, I'LL come to find you.

I'll be too old!

No, I'LL still fancy you.

I doubt it.

I'll seduce women who look like you.

What a pretty little girl!

I'm a guy!

Forgive me, little one.

You have a very pretty mom.

Not my mother, my model. I'm a painter.

- What? - It's Fréhel!

Madame Fréhel?

If I've made a blunder,

let me buy you a cordial, to apologize.

Only natural.

What do you say?

Dickhead.

This fellow...

He's my model too. My little model.

Boss man!

Get out the lemonade!

I had a son too, you know.

But my job kept me too busy to take care of him,

so I left him with a wretched nurse

who let him starve to death.

You mustn't starve to death, ok?

I know one of your songs.

All of it? That's wonderful! Sing it for me.

- No. - Not that one?

All the children sing it.

Later. The one I know is The Coke.

That's no song for a boy!

But I'm wiser than my years.

The band played a dashing tango tune

His beauty was spinning in his arms

And, in my hand, I gripped a knife

And I took my bitter revenge

Yes, I was tipsy, I did a dumb thing

I killed my gigolo

In front of my friends, like a silly tart

I plunged my knife into his heart

Let me have some coke

To give my brain a poke

Let me have some coke

To give my brain a poke

Your teacher is Mademoiselle Lax.

You'll like her. She's kind.

What else... There's a choir.

Practice is every Wednesday evening with Father Barratier.

He's very kind, you'll see.

This is the country. It's nice and quiet.

Lucien, can you put more hairs on mine?

There's no more room!

Not on her pussy, under her arms.

I like hairy armpits.

You're a bunch of hicks!

So are you.

Not bad. You draw well.

Could you draw me Paulette Dubost in the nude?

Hey, kiddo!

The Germans are coming. Your mug will give you away.

Take this ax to the woods.

Just say you're the lumberjack's son off gathering branches.

Let's go.

Come on, we have to hide.

We'll build a hut like in The Last of the Mohicans.

No fires. Nothing to give us away to the enemy.

Lucien!

What's going on?

You took no food. Here's some sausage.

You were right to hide. They looked everywhere for jews.

So? That doesn't concern me.

- Why hide then? — I have a date.

Scram, she'll be here soon.

She?

Yes. When I have a rendezvous, it's with a chick.

How else did I learn to draw pussy hairs?

I'm cold. I've been waiting too long.

Sorry. I've kept you waiting.

I have to make you pose outdoors today.

You haven't written much.

No. I draw you every day.

Could you take your clothes off, please?

I'm already naked.

But I feel cold here. Can I snuggle against you?

If you like.

Lucien, I feel good.

Will you marry me?

No way, baby.

Kiss me on the mouth... with your tongue.

Really?

If you insist.

Then you pose. You're not here to mess about.

Yes.

But recite a poem to warm my heart.

“Your eyes where nothing is revealed Neither bitter nor sweet

Are two cold jewels that mingle iron with gold

To see you walking in cadence with fine abandon

One imagines a snake that dances at the end of a staff

Beneath the weight of indolence your childlike head

Sways gently with all the sluggishness of a young elephant.”

And your body leans and stretches like a slender vessel

That pitches from side to side and dips its yardarms in the sea

Like a torrent swollen by the thaw of rumbling glaciers

When the water of your mouth rises to the edge of your teeth

I feel I'm drinking Bohemian wine Bitter and conquering

A liquid sky that scatters stars in my heart

Well, well...

Baudelaire first thing.

Am I here too early?

The light is best at daybreak.

Get undressed.

What for?

I'm not a model.

Sorry. In that case...

I'LL stay dressed for now.

Of course. I'LL help you set up.

The light in this spot is perfect if you're right-handed.

Are you always here so early?

I haven't slept. I play the piano.

So do I.

What do you PW?

Bach.

Ah, right... I play piano bar stuff.

I have no illusions about it.

I only do it to pay for my canvases.

Where do you play? I'LL come and listen.

No, certainly not.

You can't stop me.

What if I don't tell you where?

That'll be even more fun.

I'll follow you.

What if I forbid you to?

Even better. I'LL follow you in secret.

I'm not a jukebox! Who do you take me for?

Because your eyes are blue

Because your hair defies the sun with its fiery sheen

Because you're twenty

Because you bite in to life like into a red apple plucked in joy. ..

Pretty. You wrote it?

Aznavour.

He leaves old masters on the floor.

I know.

But his own works go on the wall.

He can spend all evening looking for his name in the papers.

If he doesn't see Salvador Dali once,

he gets furious.

I do the same, but I never find my name.

That's tragic.

Absolutely.

I can't really draw you.

I'm easy enough to do.

Yes. But...

I want to kiss you.

How am I supposed to concentrate?

How do you think Klimt managed it?

He was always drawing irresistible girls,

putting their fingers in different places...

But his work was clear and precise.

I don't know.

Even drawing you dressed, I get excited.

Lucien...

I was thinking...

Klimt...

He screwed them first, then he drew them, right?

I'll finish this later.

Not on... Not on Dali's bed...

Not on Dali's bed. I couldn't...

Elisabeth, I can't sleep.

Count animals.

Imagine a big panda nibbling its way through a bamboo grove.

Then it vanishes.

Now think of a second panda in the bamboo grove.

It looks at you...

Then it vanishes as well.

Now a third panda...

All these pandas are freaking me out.

I hear voices night and day.

If I don't write or paint,

they get louder and louder.

It's too much to deal with.

It's not me speaking, it's another voice.

Yeah...

You're possessed.

Some nuns have that too.

A devil inside.

Don't exaggerate.

The devil is your double.

It's someone you can talk to. All great writers have one.

Ok, but how do I get to sleep?

You obey me!

Drop the art crap. I'LL make you a fortune, pal!

But I love painting.

What are you saying?

Don't worry.

She's been asleep for ages.

Who are you? Why are you here?

Hey, don't be so stuck-up.

I'm your mug.

Don't you recognize your ugly mug?

You've grown so much!

You've become hideous.

What do you want?

I have things to offer you.

- Who are you talking to? - To my mug.

Forget it.

You know Yiddish folklore?

A little.

Russian tunes mainly and jazz.

I'd advise you to be tactful, not to clown around.

These children are fragile.

They're sick? I wasn't told about that.

We take in children

whose parents never returned from the German camps.

It's hard to describe these children.

They seem petrified at times.

I'm not right for this. Sorry.

Won't you spend a little while with them?

Just today. To help me out.

Go on...

Go on.

Go on!

I'm Lucien. Take your instruments.

Let's see what you know.

Over to you!

No, I...

I'm useless at improvising.

Go to your dad's and play piano then.

I learn Django's chords that you wrote for me.

Django can't write.

You think that helps?

At least he looks at his guitar.

Go on.

Look at it...

and tell yourself a story.

Plain and simple.

With words?

No, just notes.

A minor chord?

Django can't name the notes,

but he can play them.

See you next week?

About the guitar,

go for it!

Work at it night and day

and show him what you can do next week!

What'll you do to play like Django Reinhardt?

Django uses two fingers!

The rest, he doesn't need.

The rest can be sacrificed!

Look...

With just two fingers.

That's how it goes.

You need to make sacrifices.

I told you to drop the painting and all...

I mean...

Take a look around you.

Seen your wife?

What? I find her attractive.

No. You used to.

You're a real scumbag.

She's a Rubens, she's a hippopodame

With a “D” like in marshmallow

I've got a thing for this hippopodame

Because with her, I get the bulk rate

What suspense on my hippopodame

With a “D” like in take it easy

The springs creak under the hippopodame

But on top of her, I can get under her skin

All those losers leave me cold

And only Antoine gets me hot

My feelings for him are so deep

Only he has got to the depths of me

Antoine acts tough

But he's never stuck-up

I'm his moll, I'm his chick

Antoine is the man for me!

A song by Lucien Ginsburg!

This is fame, pal.

I'm heading straight back to painting.

Cut the crap.

Boris Vian...

You're lucky. He's come to hear you.

I only heard the last song.

It's good. Keep at it.

“The Fried land Wooden Leg.”

There was once a wooden leg out looking for a taker

It told itself, “If no one wants me,

I'll shoot myself in the heart.”

Out on the battlefield amid the volleys of shots

It met this cannonball whistling with all its might

It told him, “You look cute. You're off to kill Cossacks

Be a dear just for me before launching the attack.

I don't like the Russkies, see

So help me out and change sides a second

Aim for that French officer there”

That sucks!

Shut up!

“Swipe off his pin and take my word for it

If gangrene doesn't settle in I 'II be his wooden leg”

Brilliant!

Don't you feel I lack a little...

What?

Stage presence.

Yes. It's clear it pisses you off.

I'm putting up the Fréres jacques.

I love them!

Look...

They're all here...

Grumpy...

Dopey...

Doc...

sleepy-

I drink

Systematically

To forget my wife's male friends

I drink

Systematically

To forget the worries life sends

I drink way too much

I see pink elephants

Spiders on my tuxedo front

Bats on the ceiling of my living room

I drink whenever! have the time

To be drunk enough to forget my mug

I drink without enjoying it

To avoid thinking I should end it all

Love...

I drink. ..

Means nothing anymore

I drink

The pink elephants The spiders on my tuxedo

Systematically

The bats on the ceiling

The worries life sends

I drink

Coffee! Some bread, sir?

What time is it?

The right time, sir. Breakfast for the pianist!

Incredible...

We're all-around athletes

whose biceps serve the cause of popular songs!

I thought you only did choreography on stage.

Are you joking? The job requires total sincerity, as you'll learn.

My girl won't believe the Frères jacques buttered my bread.

The audience has to believe it.

You don't know her, she's a hellcat.

Time for me to go. Thanks for the show.

Don't go!

Sir hasn't paid!

— The rascal! - I'm broke.

Never mind. Sing us something instead.

A quick one then.

I punch tickets on the metro line

The guy you pass but never see

There's no sun underground The ride's a weird one

To pass time, I bring pages from Reader's Digest

And then...

I have to go. My girl will be mad.

Get lost then!

But leave us your song, Mr... Mr. what?

Lucien. Lucien Ginsburg.

Lucien sounds like a hairdresser's boy.

You need a new name.

I punch tickets on the metro line

North and South, East and West

I'm sick to death of life in this pit

I want to get some air Leave my cap hanging there

A day will come I know when away from here I'll go

That day I'll hit the road however heavy my load

And if it comes too late I'll give up the wait

Punching holes, then more holes

Holes and holes Holes day in, day out

It's enough to drive you mad Get a gun, do something bad

And make a hole One last tiny hole

A tiny hole One last tiny hole

Then one big hole And no more holes

No more talk of holes Of tiny little holes...

Thank you, you apathetic lot. The first Gainsbourg concerto,

with words and music

by Serge Gainsbourg!

Did you write it?

Absolutely.

That's lucky. I'm a singer.

Serge, let's go.

For a song, write to me at my parents'.

Rue Chaptal, Paris 9.

I punch tickets on the metro line

Heads of state don't even know my face

My son is a star A star

But week in, week out he comes to see his Mom and Dad...

Lucien, I always said popular songs are shit.

Yes, Dad.

But I'm proud anyway.

I have lots more letters for you.

Show me.

It's none of my business, but some

have fancy writing on them.

I don't think it's government mail.

Your girl will be furious with me.

She hates you already.

What if your mother sees we're getting love letters for you?

Mom just wants me to dump her.

Maybe.

But leaving and cheating aren't the same.

Dad!

May I read them?

You can open all these. I'll open this one later.

Why? Secrets from your dad now?

No secrets. It's work, that's all.

So why hide it?

Don't insist.

It's human nature to insist.

The Lord God gave Adam and Eve the whole Garden of Eden,

with one tree off-limits.

And that was the one tree that interested them.

Yes, Dad, I know,

but the Lord's telling you to give me a break!

Mom! Hide everything!

What a useless family!

Lucien is here and no one told me.

I just got here.

Staying for dinner?

No.

Want some borscht?

No thanks, Morn. Your bottles...

they leak and I get it everywhere.

Here.

I don't know why I bother.

Your woman will throw it out.

- Don't say that. - I know.

Lucien...

Who's this girl writing to you?

You think I'll tell you?

Is she a singer?

I'm not saying.

Is she famous?

You won't know.

Juliette Gréco.

Who's Juliette Gréco?

Don't go to see her.

Stop exaggerating things...

How many women drive their men to Gréco's at night?

Men who can't drive...

We'll get a taxi next time.

What are you waiting for?

Get off my back, ok! I'm catching my breath.

The hell you are!

— Come on! - Shift just go!

Is this clear enough?

Cut it out. I'm on your side.

If you want to seduce Gréco, go with the flow.

I'm here to sell songs, not to seduce her.

You think she sent for you this late at night

just to hear you sing?

Stop touching me, ok?

Mr. Gainsbourg?

My mistress said you can wait in the lounge.

Drink what you like.

I have the evening off.

Doing the housework?

I have staff for that.

I like your songs.

And I love you.

See, we do agree on something.

We love each other. We're lucky.

Excuse me, I'm totally hopeless.

You find me funny?

I'll play something.

Because your eyes are blue

Because your hair defies the sun...

I have dark eyes.

If I'd wanted to hear Aznavour,

I wouldn't have sent for Serge Gainsbourg.

This is called The Javanaise.

I admit I've suffered Unlike you, my love

Before hearing of you, my love

Like it or not

Dancing the Javanaise

We were in love

As long as the song lasted

I like it.

How do you dance the Javanaise?

I don't dance well.

May I?

What do you think we've seen of love?

To tell the truth you tricked me, my love

Like it or not

Like it or not

Dancing the Javanaise

We were in love

As long as the song lasted

Alas, April returns me to love in vain

I wanted...

Expecting someone?

It's for you.

Corning, Serge?

I wanted to see that love in you

Like it or not

Dancing the Javanaise

We were in love

As long as the song lasted

Don't you ever sleep?

Come here!

Carry me in your arms.

Serge...

Coming?

Serge...

Coming?

Back to Gréco's?

I was a total flop at Gréco's.

Take me to my parents'.

She loves your songs.

My songs are one thing!

My mug is another!

You're mistaken.

I'LL drop you at your parents' and head over to Gréco's.

You go nowhere without me!

L-A-E-T-I-T-I-A

That's music, see.

Fantastic.

You'll sell three copies. To your parents and yourself.

Write for johnny Hallyday.

I'd rather die!

- Sheila then? — Get off my back!

I don't write for prepubescent girls.

Why are you rereading Lolita then?

That's different. I'm fine with corrupting youth.

So do that.

You'd give them what they want.

Just pretend.

Make some poisoned apples.

Maybe...

Turn some 20-year-old

into an object of scandal and desire.

France Gall?

No.

I set up a meeting with her father.

No way. I'm not going. France Gall!

So, Mr. Gainsbourg,

Joining the popsters?

Take the money where it lies.

Let's not be cynical. One can be popular and demanding.

Kids' tastes are strange. They seem to like everything...

They like what they're given.

Not always.

Do you smoke?

No.

Even when Dad's not looking?

It's sad, but I always obey my dad.

Did you like my songs?

I think my father does.

That's not an answer.

It is. My father has taste.

Everyone likes what he picks.

Don't you feel like pissing him off?

Why?

A teacher at art school told me,

“if your parents like your work, it's shit.”

Shall I write you a dirty song?

See, you're laughing.

My songs are work.

If my father sees me having fun...

We'll do it in secret.

It's all about a girl who likes lollipops.

And?

Gentlemen pay her to suck lollipops...

That's kid's stuff!

Sweetheart!

Come and sing.

You have dreams about love

But one day it's bound to happen

You'll be just another poor kid

Alone and abandoned

You'll end up getting married

Maybe even against your will

And on your wedding night

It'll be too late for regrets

Sing and dance, Baby Pop

As if tomorrow, Baby Pop

Shouldn't ever, Baby Pop

Ever come again

Sing and dance, Baby Pop

As if tomorrow, Baby Pop

As the new day dawns, Baby Pop

You were due to die...

Brilliant! It'll be a huge hit!

Just you wait, Mr. Gainsbourg. My girl will make you rich.

The threat of war

Is clearer by the day...

At that moment, Baby, you know

As the suns are about to rise

Somewhere on this earth

Bullets whistle, blood is shed

Sing and dance, Baby Pop

As if tomorrow, Baby Pop

Shouldn't ever, Baby Pop

Ever come again

Who is in?

Who is out?

Up to 9, it's ok, you're in

What's going on in there?

Pardon me?

This is an artists' residence, not a bordello!

No one can sleep or practice their music!

But I'm working.

Sure! We hear more moans than music from your room.

Been listening at my door?

I moved here for peace.

The thing is, life is chance working against destiny.

Serge!

Keep an eye on my dog.

My prince...

Excuse us...

You've read the story of Jesse James

How he lived, how he died...

You liked it.

You're asking for more.

So now listen to the story of...

Bonnie and clyde.

Hold on.

What's wrong?

It's fine, but let's switch. I start and you finish.

Now Clyde has a girlfriend.

She's pretty. Her name's...

Bonnie.

Together, they make up the...

Barrow Gang.

- Their names... — Bonnie Parker and James Barrow.

No, Clyde, not James.

Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow.

I don't sing well.

You do.

I don't.

I can manage other people's songs.

But you intimidate me.

Serves you right.

Watch it!

First time I saw you, I was terrified.

You're kidding! You came on to me right away.

No, I'm not talking about this year. I'm talking about...

It was ten years ago. I was a pianist in a film.

You were a huge star already. I bet you don't even remember.

I do.

It was Come Dance with Me.

See, I do remember.

And you scared me.

What then? I scare you or I intimidate you?

I could tell it was easy to hurt you.

That's what scares you?

Yes.

I don't want to disappoint you or hurt you.

And I just can't sing for you.

Me neither.

I hear my voice and I hate it.

Cancel. I'm busy.

Brigitte, you'll be back soon?

Of course!

Just say I can't. Not today.

What a drag.

I shouldn't have given them your number at work.

Get off.

Yes, Serge is here.

Try to guess.

Yes, I'm very fond of him.

Can you put her on so I can tell her?

No?

All right.

You want to speak to Serge?

Here he is.

It's your father.

He wants you.

Hello, Dad?

Your morn won't believe that's Bar dot.

Me neither, Dad.

What's wrong? Are you ashamed of us?

We'll talk later.

Someone was laughing a lot.

Brigitte Bar dot...

Let's celebrate at the Rasputin.

Why? You haven't seduced a star.

You're my star, my love, my sun,

and my Brigitte Bar dot...

Oh, my love.

Go to the piano and write me the most beautiful love song.

Say “Oh, my love” again.

My love...

No.

Say, “Oh, my love.”

Louder.

I'll keep you awake.

I don't care.

Are there any croissants?

No, but I have three songs.

One's about motorcycles.

I hate motorbikes.

Pity. Thigh boots suit you.

In that case...

What about the love song?

I don't know...

Did you like Barbarella?

I have a comic-strip character...

Is that how you see me?

Come, little girl, into my comic strip

Come make balloons, come say...

I deal out swings and uppercuts

Don't be scared, baby, hold on tight

I'm here...

To protect you

Close your eyes

Kiss me...

And the last song?

Tell me you're mine.

I feel good with you.

It's my first ever love song.

Want to hear it?

Yes...

We'll need to record it in secret.

Is it indecent?

Stay there. Bardot's here, talking to Lucien.

Why here?

The press is at his place. It's bad.

Lucien wrote her a song

but her husband's furious and won't let her sing it.

Why did he pick a married woman?

Shut up!

Sorry to bother you.

Not at all...

ls something wrong? A glass of water?

I have to go.

No.

— Something to eat? — Yes!

No, thank you.

Was it a pretty song?

No one has ever declared love to me like that!

- Lucien, what do you think? — About what?

- The house? - I'll take it.

On your own?

No, I have lots of friends.

Didn't Gréco live on Rue de Verneuil?

Yes, it's a good spot.

Spend the New Year with us, not among these boxes.

I'm throwing a party here with friends.

With friends, that's good.

Oh, my love...

I don't give a damn, you promised me Marisa Berenson.

Instead, I get this...

She's wonderful! She has a cute accent!

After an affair with Bar dot, who cares about some English girl?

Give Bar dot a rest, I have a film to shoot.

Go back there and...

All right, if it's for the film, I'LL grant her...

my polite attention.

I didn't know dinner was over.

I think you're pissed off at me.

That's no reason to dump me like a...

A kid, boring, stupid and rude.

Is that how you see me?

Not at all...

You detest me.

If the producer hadn't trapped us here together,

you'd never have wanted to see me.

No...

You know, that's pretty.

You said I had legs like a little girl and a baby's dress

but now you think that's good?

No, it's pretty when you cry.

You seem so lost.

Talking to someone else?

A jerk of a husband like you!

I've had husbands who were jerks too.

You have pretty legs.

Your dress is pretty too. You're very brave...

to wear it in this cold.

You want me to stop crying to get some peace.

I saved your life!

I always challenge death.

My crib was so close to my coffin.

Give the fancy talk a rest!

I'm a wounded animal. I'm not trying to pick you up.

Talk slowly or I can't understand a word.

I said I'm trying to...

resist the desire to kiss you.

That's a pity.

Because I really want you to.

Sergio, can I see?

It's no good.

Let me see...

No, it's terrible. I'll drown myself.

Sergio!

Like Ophelia in Millais's painting.

You're beautiful.

You're beautiful!

I'm so happy!

It's a tragedy. I can't draw anymore.

Sir, could you stop

playing with a firearm when we're on the beach?

— I imagine it's loaded? - Of course.

Do you plan to use it in my presence?

Maybe. My girl's filming with Delon.

If he touches her, I'll kill them and then myself. Good idea?

No doubt, sir.

What's wrong?

It's the Lincoln, sir. It's stuck in the sand.

Do something, goddamn it!

Serge!

Your car's beautiful!

A Continental Blue Lincoln. just like Delon's.

A big car is good. That way, we can fit Kate's things in.

You're not filming? Let's take a drive... no, a walk.

Of course I'm filming.

But there's no one to look after Kate.

Serge, can you take her?

— No, stay with me... - I can't.

It's important. It's Alain Delon!

What are we going to do?

You know, I used to come here when I was little.

Before turning on the gas she thinks of her canary

Before putting an end to this life for good

She takes the cage and goes out to the balcony

The icy winter wind chills her to the core

Making her teeth chatter

Somethings not right.

It's good. Your fragility works beautifully.

Sorry. I wasn't talking about the song.

I was looking at your clothes.

They're no good.

What?

Maybe you could dress a bit more casually.

Open your shirt...

Grow your hair longer...

Try not shaving...

Have I upset you?

A little Brit, teaching me elegance?

Let's get back to the song.

As over...

London night slowly falls

Hey, stay in the box! Don't come out yet!

What's that?

Meet your new sweetie.

A surprise for you.

Your name's Sweetie?

What the hell's going on?

I'm sorry?

Didn't you want to be a Pygmalion?

Take a girl and shape her?

You're doing the exact opposite.

Miss England tells you how to dress,

how to wear your hair...

And you obey like a toy poodle.

A poodle that chooses its master. I don't need you anymore.

Get lost.

You're dumping me? Are you crazy?

Far from it.

And never come back!

What did you say?

I like my new mug.

You see.

Serge...

What's new in London? Still raining?

Sit down.

Listen to this.

I love you

Me neither

Oh, my love

You're the unbroken wave

I go and come

Between your loins

And I hold myself back

If we release that...

we'll end up in jail.

Me as the publisher and you as the writer.

I'm willing to risk prison, but not for one song.

So here's what you'll do.

Take your umbrella, go back to London

and record another ten songs like that one.

You have to release that one first.

Ok, but it'll be a huge scandal.

Maybe.

It's going to be one hell of a scandal!

Right, kid, I'd like to move on to more serious things now.

Your big album?

That symphonic project of yours?

I'd like to marry a British lady.

Is she pretty?

Not bad.

Does she look like me?

No, not at all.

Sergio...

You know...

We could have a baby.

Yes, I agree.

I agree, it's perfect.

What's your name?

Melody.

Melody Nelson.

Lucky you could call us.

Who's your doctor?

The American Hospital...

What's that filthy rag?

There's a Hermès blanket on my bed. Go and fetch it.

On the stretcher now.

No, I'm not lying on that.

If I leave lying down, I won't come back alive.

My job is to get you to the hospital in one piece.

Ole, but I want to walk out of my home.

Shit, I'm the one paying!

You asshole!

My little chicken... I scared you, huh?

They said it's benign.

Quit smoking and messing around.

Does the press know?

We kept it quiet.

Why get sick if no one can pity me? Pass me the phone.

France Soir, phase.

Here's a scoop. Serge Gainsbourg has had a coronary.

He nearly died but he's over it.

He's working on a hot new album.

Feeling better?

Get me some cigarettes.

No.

Get your mug out of here.

It's time to smoke the pipe of peace.

Let's split.

- Come on, pack. Let's go! - No way.

Photographers are coming tomorrow.

Why didn't you say so?

I don't want to miss that either.

The martyrdom of Saint Sebastian!

Flashbulbs instead of arrows...

You had a close call. How will you get over it?

I plan to step up my intake of alcohol...

and cigarettes.

The greatest singer in the world.

Monseigneur, the solar star

Since I don't admire him a lot

Turns his light off me but I care not

My rendezvous is with you

The light that I prefer

Is that of your jealous eyes

Nothing else matters to me

My rendezvous is with you

Monsieur, my landlord

Since I wreck everything

Has thrown me out but I care not

My rendezvous is with you

Serge, we're running late.

Do your whining on stage.

Want to get yourself run over?

I'm waiting for a taxi!

Hi, guys.

Why are you lying there?

I'm on stage in 30 minutes.

I don't know how to get there. I sold my Rolls.

All that's left is the radiator cap.

Give me a police badge.

Use the siren!

Cover your blond curls, guys

Slick them back with gel and grease

Let's dance the...

Nazi rock

Let's dance the...

Lucien,

even the girls cried less over the dog.

You didn't cry this much when your poor father died.

Pull yourself together.

Look at me.

Comb your hair.

You want little Charlotte to see you in this state?

They're used to seeing me whine.

Why didn't you ever get your ears fixed?

Hey, Gainsbarre, he looks like us, huh? The cabbage.

I'm the cabbage head man.

Half vegetable, half guy.

What are you doing up?

And you?

Put everything back where it belongs!

Then get to bed. Shit!

Next time, play in your own room. This is my room here!

Your things are disgusting and scary!

You're scared of Professor Flipus? Don't be, he's just paper.

Why is he called Flipus?

He looks like my brother and he makes me flip out.

You don't have a brother.

Before I was born, my morn had a little boy.

He didn't last long.

But, all my life, I've felt he was watching me from his grave.

He's watching us too.

That's why I don't go to pee at night.

So she pisses on the carpet.

Not true!

It's all right, chicken.

You're a little snitch, aren't you?

Check it out...

Heart hat, Charlotte?

What are you up to?

Professor Flipus is sick. We're operating.

What's wrong with him?

It's really bad. He's dead.

Yeah, he's screwed.

Let's put an end to his suffering.

You're a total asshole...

Calm down, chicken.

Kate, Charlotte...

Come here.

Don't talk to me ever again!

Take it easy, guys...

No, kiddo...

What's their problem?

They wonder what you want them to sing.

It's best not to explain the sexual songs.

Why? Don't they fuck?

Reggae's a serious thing.

It's sacred music.

Tell them we'll be singing the French national anthem.

How do I explain that?

Arise you children of our Motherland

Oh now is here our glorious day

Over us the bloodstained banner

Of tyranny holds sway

To arms, et cetera

Oh do you hear there in our fields

The roar of those fierce fighting men

Who came right here into our midst

To slaughter sons, wives and kin

To arms, et cetera

Into the fight we too shall enter

When our fathers are dead and gone

We shall find their bones laid down to rest

With the fame of their glories won

To arms, et cetera

Bastard!

You shit on our national anthem!

My jamaicans were...

It's not their problem. They come from Kingston.

They were frightened by the police deployment...

and by the bomb scares!

In every hotel in town!

I'm a rebel!

And La Marseillaise is a rebel's song!

I'd like you to sing it with me.

Arise you children of our Motherland

Oh now is here our glorious day

Over us the bloodstained banner

Of tyranny holds sway

Oh do you hear there in our fields

The roar of those fierce fighting men

Who came right here into our midst

To slaughter sons, wives and kin

To arms, oh citizens

Form up in serried ranks

March on

And drench our fields

With their tainted blood

“With his parody of La Marseillaise

Gainsbourg thought he'd have a hit.

When he looks in the mirror,

Serge Gainsbourg must dream of a society with his face.

A gummy eye,

three days of stubble,

a droopy lower lip.

When I see Serge Gainsbourg,

I become an ecologist,

fighting the pollution his person and work give off,

like certain exhaust pipes.

The most difficult aspect of this foul quagmire: anti-Semitism.

The field has its propagators

and also, unfortunately, its agitators.

Serge Gainsbourg stirs up anti-Semitism.

All that to keep the royalties rolling in.”

Jane has left me.

Little Charlotte is living with her morn now.

My mom is in the stars.

And my dad...

ls my dad proud of me?

Hey, Gainsbarre.

Jane left because I screwed up too much.

Mr. Gainsbourg would like to buy you a drink.

Screw that old jerk.

The old jerk's here to see you, you cow.

I'm warning you, I'm a total wreck.

You need a daddy?

I want someone to save me.

That's life...

For God's sake!

Stay here!

You leave when I say so.

You match my aesthetic criteria.

Diaphanous beauty

with the despair of a tragic character.

Understand what I mean?

You want to screw me?

Maybe.

But I'm saying it more poetically.

In any case, you're so plastered you won't hurt me much.

Actually...

On a horizontal level, I've never had any complaints yet.

A manuscript written and signed by Rouget de Lisle.

We'll open bidding on this manuscript of La Marseillaise at 40,000 francs.

55,000!

100,000!

105,000!

115,000!

- 120,000! - 125,000!

- 130,000! - 135,000!

No further bids?

Sold for 135,000 francs.

It's a high price.

I was ready to bankrupt myself.

I wanted a daughter.

Still, you look like your morn. That's better.

Let's give you your dad's name.

King Serge?

No, Lucien. Lucien ll, destined to rule France like his dad.

And Navarre too. Let's not forget Navarre.

The sun is rare

And happiness too

Love goes astray throughout life

The sun is rare

And happiness too

But everything moves in Melody's arms

The walls

Of the labyrinth

Open up to the infinite

“Gainsbourg transcends reality. I much prefer his lies to his truths.”

Subtitles by Captions, lnc., Burbank