All language subtitles for 5rFF-gprplaisir.eng

SUCCESSIVE SLIDINGS
OF PLEASURE

What time
did you come home last night?

Why were the blinds pulled?

Where did you go on vacation?

Do you like eggs?

Can you swim?

You know a man named Boris?

How many shoes do you have?

When was your first communion?

What are you? Actress?

Dancer?

Model?

Call girl, cover girl, girl?

Script girl?

Someone came.

Someone else was here.

Someone came.

Nora's dead.

I'm alone on the beach.

The sea breaks at my feet.

Someone else came.

Do you recognise this?

No!

Don't you recognise this?

Shit, no!

It was found in your room.

Maybe it was Nora's.

They found your fingertips on it.

They were fresh.

No other traces?

Only from the other cop who searched
the apartment after the murder.

Did he take much?

I'm talking about this!

The murder weapon?

No. You know that.

So what's it to you?

It could have been
the murder weapon.

It's a bit of glass,
a toy like children play with.

So, you keep claiming
a man you know nothing about,

but who seemed to be following you
for weeks,

suddenly entered your house.

How did he enter?

With his keys.

He had a key to your flat?

A copy, of course.

How did he get it?

He had it made.

We kept ours under the doormat
when we were not together.

Nora and I only had one

One day he took it and had
a duplicate made at the locksmith.

How do you know?

I only suppose so.

Or he said he'd lost his key...

and had the locksmith
work on the door

when we were both out.

- Or...
- That's enough!

Guess work isn't your position.

You asked me to cooperate.

Maybe he took our key
and left us the duplicate.

Once we noticed
it didn't have the same band.

If this man exists,
he didn't use a key.

The inspector found
the lock forced.

The killer came from outside.

No, you could have forced the lock...

was a part of setting the scene.

Please continue with your version.

With or without a key,
this man entered your home,

and he calmly tied your friend to her bed,
so he could kill her at ease.

I'm the one who tied her.

I told you.
We were playing.

She was the model
for a painting.

It's true,
there was no easel in the room,

and no unfinished or blank canvas.

I wanted to take a photo
and then work alone in oils.

The inspector must have seen
the brushes and paintings.

Only red paint?

Yes, why not?

When all was set up,
the killer arrived

and put a knife in Nora's breast?

- Scissors!
- Yes, scissors.

With only your fingertips on them!

Because they are mine.

He wore black gloves.

Why would he do that?

He was probably insane
because the brothels had been closed.

Maybe he, too, wanted to play.

What they call a "transfer"?

And you just sat and watched?

You're putting me on!

Are you going to rape me
to make me confess?

Leave me alone, you dirty man!

That's a classic trick.
It won't help you at all.

He tried to kiss you?

You mean rape me?

And kill me by stabbing me
in the belly and between my thighs.

All men are maniacs.

They say you're guilty of murder.

Not guilty - accused!
That's different, almost the contrary!

Come in.

They say you stabbed a beautiful girl
in the heart.

Was she your friend?

Did you love her?

I don't know.
I guess she loved me.

That means nothing.

She had long hair,

red lips and green eyes.

They're lying! I didn't kill her!

I only thought
it'd make a pretty corpse.

Maybe you'll kill me, too?

You're not pretty.
Your robe hides you too much.

Will you strangle me?
Using what?

Listen. I don't need to.

I have a magic power.

I only need to pronounce
a certain phrase.

I've known it for some time now.

It was at the seaside.

We had a French teacher,

a young lady from Paris about whom
all the other girls were crazy.

I also wanted to be alone with her,

but she was fickle
and had private chats with anyone.

One day we went for a walk
on the cliffs.

The face of the rock was too high,

and the edge
was unstable, steep, dangerous.

The path was too close to the edge.

Now, love is going to slip.

What are you doing?
Are you crazy?

Her head stopped.

Your lips are bloody.

I tried mouth-to-mouth
resuscitation.

She didn't drown.

She could have lost her breath
in the fall.

What are you up to?

Listening to music.

Here.

This could be a murder weapon.

Your tales are a lot of crap.

So let it drop,
if you'll pardon the expression.

"Theme of broken glass."

"Talk to the doctor about it."

Shit, I cut myself.

I better suck it.

Will you suck it?

If not, I might die.

Now it's you who'll die.

Maybe you ate some glass.

There was a woman's shoe

under glass in your room.

What exactly is it?

It's a fetish.

We dipped it
in holy water at Notre Dame.

It's for bustling.

When we're broke,
Nora goes whoring.

Me too sometimes,

but it's more dangerous
when you're under 18.

We find it very entertaining,
like an adventure or a party.

The blue shoe's
a talisman against bad luck -

cops, mad guys, STDs
and trouble in general.

Stand up.

Spread your legs.

Bend it!

Arch your back.

Dirty whore.

Maybe you'll pick up a sadist
who'll want you to...

Hello, Miss.

Sit down.
Make yourself comfortable.

You're a prostitute, too?

Yes, like everybody nowadays.

Do you like it?

Yes, it's pleasant enough.

It excites the mind,
if you understand.

You mustn't be a slave to it.

I understand.

It's better to ask
for a lot of money

and do things more
rare and dirtier.

I'm ready.

Goodbye, Miss.

We're going to torture this whore...

but rape her first.

We had a wild time that day.

How did she bleed?

A phoney African fakir
taught me a trick.

I'll show you one day.

You're a monster.

Here's lawyer David.

Nora.

What?

Who are you?

I'm your lawyer.

You look like Nora.

I doubt it.

Stop playing games.

Likeness, repetitions,
substitutions, pretence. Enough!

Your case
is bad enough as it is.

What do I think?
They don't guillotine little girls.

Shut up, idiot.

You're innocent,
but you try to prove the contrary.

Why doesn't the judge come any more?
He was nice.

He's sick.

Yes. It's my fault.

He's going to die.

He ate glass and drank my blood.

Don't play games with me.

I'm here to help you get out.

Your spoiled brat imagination's
a waste of time on me.

Just tell me about Nora
and your connection with her.

Our exact connection...

connections, police connections...

sexual connections...

inverted connections,

Nora was a bitch.

She scared me
and was always punishing me.

I had to kneel
and eat my soup on the floor,

nude, my hands tied behind me.

When she was broke,
she made me sleep with men.

Depraved men, like all men are.

Sometimes she'd watch
and caress herself.

On days when I couldn't...

because I was bleeding...

she'd tie me on the bed
and whip me with a dog whip.

She'd scare me by playing dead.

Nora?

Nora!

Nora!

You're a beached ship,

an open shell,

a sticky bitch, a crushed frog.

You'll go to hell.

You'll be burned alive,

disembowelled, impaled,

buried alive.

Fish slipping
through the syrupy algae,

caught in the iron bars
of the sheetless bed,

reddened on the spearhead
that rips the silk beneath the skin

when the sea is receding

with dead algae in the evening

a black border
edged in white foam.

Without moving the other hand,
nor looking to the sea,

in the sand it drowns
the violent wind,

and the pale, slow, cold knife
slips into the flesh.

The body pauses in a last sigh.

I am the sole cause,
and death passes.

Blackbird...

Black beauty, weary seagull.

Sure, that's nice and cheap.

It's over.

It doesn't hurt anymore.

Don't cry.
It'll be all right now.

I'll paint you that way,
as St Agatha.

Why St Agatha?

She was the prettiest.

She was martyred
on her wedding day.

They tore her white gown

and tore off her breasts
with red-hot tongs.

She's always painted that way.

What do you do in bed a night?

I say my prayers.

Afterwards,
all alone in your bed?

You caress yourself?

Maybe you do it wrong?

I'll teach you if you want.

I read an article by a doctor

who gave advice
if you're alone or a couple.

With scientific words:

vulva,

algolagnis,

cunnilingus.

That's really disgusting.

What have you done?

Leave, Sister Maria.

You'll be punished.

Here's your lawyer, daughter of demon.

The sisters look upset.
Did something happen?

It's their problem.

You know how nuns are.
They have odd private relations.

Really? What sod?

Sadomasochist.

You should change your hairdo.

Don't you want me to try?

Stop. This is serious.

What? That I'll be guillotined?

Do you think it will hurt?

Listen. You must help me.

What about the shovel?

What shovel?

Don't be a fool.

The one found in your cupboard.

The investigations are curious,

because you couldn't explain
its presence.

It's odd to have a shovel
in a city apartment.

Tell me why.

To kill the killer.

Explain yourself.

The man who spied on us
had a duplicate key.

So, we wanted to defend ourselves.

All right, but where did you find
that shovel?

In the basement.

There was a shovel
in the basement?

There must have been.
How do I know?

I'm trying to help.

So you refuse to leave here
when it could be so easy?

I want to get out.

You have no idea
what goes on here.

The cells are very clean,

and so are the nuns
and the prisoners.

But for the least error
we're taken below...

to the underground dungeon.

It's horrible. It's medieval.

Come on.

Calm down.

I'm here.

Nothing can happen to you.

You've had a bad dream.

Enter.

Hello, my child.

You're not as I expected.

You heard about me?

Of course.

I'm the shepherd of all lost lamb.

I'm interested in every fresh arrival
of this flock.

Sister Julie says you want
to confess a crime...

That is my client.

I'm only her lawyer.

Ah, well...

I'll begin again.

To confess a crime
that the justice of Mankind

doesn't punish enough:

Invention.

Are you hurt?

No. Why?

It's red paint, not blood.

A splash of our young
artist's work.

I see.

I'm somewhat reassured.

I'm going now.

That's a hard chore.

It's good exercise.

I wanted to ask you something.

I was told that...

ls there corporal punishment
if you misbehave?

Punishment?

Don't worry. I'm a lawyer.

I heard of dungeons, chains, whips...

and even worse.

No, I've never seen such things here.

Pity. It might be amusing.

Really?

Amusing for whom?

I don't know...
for the spectators.

Are you hurt?

No, it's nothing.

I must have been scratched by a button
or bitten by a mosquito.

I didn't notice.

You're a lawyer?

Can I help you?

No, but you don't look like one.

Why not?

A lawyer like a judge?

Yes, if you wish.

Or maybe quite the contrary.

What a strange lawyer.

The devil's advocate perhaps!

You chose her?

No, she was appointed.

Ah, not a holy appointment!

Beware of these people!

Beware of this place!

Why, Father?

Accusation
is a prologue to crime.

Confinement entices vice!

Religious prisons
are schools of sin.

Vice, Father?
What are you saying?

I'm not your father!

I'm Pastor of the Non-united Church.

This place is hell!

Don't act holier-than-thou.

I saw you game
with that Devil-branded creature.

But Father, where's the evil?

Evil is there...

and there...

and there!

It's true, Father,
one sister often touches me there.

I thought it was by accident.

What? Poor child!

Tell me the details.

As many as possible,
for your salvation.

I've seen acts
I don't understand.

Is that what you mean?

Acts between whom?

Nuns and prisoners,

mostly the pretty ones.

Tell me!

Quickly!

Describe it all,

or the God of Anger will burn you alive
over a slow fire.

Father, I dare not.

Speak, you whore!

So I told him what
he wanted to hear.

That's why you requested
paint and paintbrushes?

Yes, Sister, isn't it pretty?

Maybe you don't like modern ad?

Get dressed!

And wash your body...

if that's possible.

How can I wash myself
in this pail?

- All the perfumes of Arabia...
- Don't touch me!

Slimy, shameless, criminal child!

One can see you're an assassin.

I don't understand.

Jesus was innocent.

He was condemned because he had
a talent for irritating people.

I'll tell my lawyer
what you said.

Tell her!

Do you know
where she is right now?

And what she's doing?

Come on! Follow me!

That's an order.

Here you go, Sister,
here's Veronica's cloth.

Now.

I'll get it open.

Caress me'.!

- Here?
- Yes, here.

Better than this, idiot.

Last night
I dreamed about the pastor.

He came to celebrate my wedding,

but when I knelt to pray,
he caressed me.

His hand groped through the lace
and up my thighs to my scar.

I knew he was sexually obsessed.

He won't last much longer.

He'll commit suicide now.

All who approach you
are perverts, insane.

But it's all
in your little mind.

How's your girlfriend?

You have too much imagination.

I don't know
what you think you saw.

Sister Julia saw, too.

I only saw you in a nightgown,
like a sleepwalker.

You say sister Julia hates you.

So she'd say anything
to hurt you.

Who talks of hurting me?
That's not within your power.

Don't try to be so familiar with me.

The re-enactment is tomorrow.

Try not to act foolish.

I'll take you to your apartment.

The police will meet us there.

The judge too,
but probably not the same one.

Probably not the same one.

Listen...

Father, listen to the blood
pounding to escape.

Hear the flow of pleasure
no love can purify.

You've seen a young girl's blood
streaming on her flesh like fire?

Touch my breasts.

Touch my hips.

My body's a sweet, violent sea
slowly flowing away and beyond me.

Father, exorcise me!

Leave me, devils.

I'm already old and sick now.

Exorcise me.

Rip my dress.

Claw my delicate skin.

Crush my flesh
in your hands and arms.

Leave me.

Leave me in my tomb.

Punish me, if you still are able.

Once you'd have
burned me as a witch

after prickling my body
with needles to find the Devil's mark,

hidden in the most secret spot.

You'd have thrilled
at my cries and gasps.

It's too late.

Leave me, demon.

Libertarian!

Li... ber... tarian!

Offence!

Structure!

Disorder, disorder, disorder!

Relapse!

Relapse!

Relapse!

Re-enactment.

Re-enactment.

Re-enactment!

Pleasure.

Backsliding, backsliding...

Backsliding!

Permutation.

Relapse!

Disorder!

Toad.

Rape.

Parricide...

Disassociation.

Inversion.

Inversion.

Bitch.

Games.

Sperm.

Sloth.

Whore.

One pair of shoes...

Two pairs of shoes...

Three pairs of shoes...

Theme of broken glass.

Blood!

Blood.

The sea breaks on the beach.

So, what do we do?

We wait a little.

Wait for what?

Well, for the prosecutors,
the police superintendent,

all the people who have to be here
for the re-enactment.

Who will play the murderer?

I don't know, a cop probably.

Maybe that guy
who's on guard at the door.

And to play Nora?

They surely have someone.

When is it supposed to start?

Theoretically, right now,
but they are always late.

We're always waiting for someone,
or something.

What are you doing?

Well... the re-enactment!

They aren't going to arrive right now?

In my opinion, if they are all here
in an hour, we'll be lucky.

I'm thirsty.

Do you want some?

It's amazing how much you look like her.

You are insane!

Here, put this on!

Nora...

Nora...

Nora!

Above all, do not scream...

It's going to stop and they won't know...

I think I Will...

You have no more blood.

You're going to die.

You're beautiful.

There. It's over.

The re-enactment won't take place.

Your innocence is finally proved.

We found the murderous voyeur,
and he made a full confession.

Are you injured?

Really?

Then, we have to start all over again.