All language subtitles for Pierrot.le.Fou.1965.720p.BluRay.x264.[YTS.MX]-English

"Vel�zquez, past the age of 50,
no longer painted specific objects.

He drifted around things
like the air, like twilight,

catching unawares in the shimmering
shadows the nuances of color

that he transformed into the invisible
core of his silent symphony.

Henceforth, he captured only

those mysterious interpenetrations
that united shape and tone

by means of a secret
but unceasing progression

that no convulsion or cataclysm
could interrupt or impede.

Space reigns supreme.

It's as if some ethereal wave
skimming over surfaces

soaked up their visible emanations
to shape them and give them form

and then spread them
like a perfume,

like an echo of themselves,

like some imperceptible dust,
over every surrounding surface.

The world he lived in
was a sad one:

A degenerate king,
sickly infantes,

idiots, dwarfs, cripples,

clownish freaks
dressed as princes

whose job it was
to laugh at themselves

and amuse a court
that lived outside the law,

caught in a web
of etiquette, plots and lies,

bound by the confessional
and their own remorse.

Outside the gates,
the auto-da-f� and silence..."

Listen to this, little girl.

"A spirit of nostalgia prevails,

yet we see none
of the ugliness or sadness,

none of the gloom or cruelty
of this crushed childhood.

Vel�zquez is the painter
of the evening,

of open spaces and of silence,

even when he paints
in broad daylight or in a closed room,

even with the din of battle
or of the hunt in his ears.

As they seldom
went out during the day,

when everything was drowned
in torrid sunshine,

Spanish painters
communed with the evening."

Beautiful, isn't it, little girl?

You're crazy to read her
things like that.

Off to bed, sleepyhead!

Why hasn't Odile
put them to bed?

Because monsieur
let her go off to the movies

for the third time this week.

"The third time this week."
Of course I did.

They're showing Johnny Guitar.
Good for her education.

There are
too many idiots around.

Hurry up. Frank and Paola
will be here any minute.

I'm not going.
I'm staying home with the kids.

No! Frank's bringing his niece.

She can baby-sit
till we get back.

She's a student.
She does it all the time.

His niece?
Knowing him, it's a call girl.

I'm not going.

You'll do as you're told.

Papa will introduce you
to the managing director of Standard Oil.

And I'll sue the TV people
for firing me.

No, you won't.
You'd only lose.

And when someone finds you work,
you'll be good enough to take it.

That's enough now.
Come on.

You're not wearing a slip?

No, I'm wearing my new
"Scandale" girdle. It's invisible.

"I've got that young look
with my 'Scandale' girdle!"

First there was Greek civilization.

Then there was the Renaissance.

Now we're entering
the Age of the Ass.

I'll show you around.

She loves children.

You can reach us at -
What's the number?

225-70-01.

- This is Frank's niece.
- Oh?

Good evening.

Hi.

Can't you say "BALzac 70-01"?
You don't know Balzac?

Read C�sar Birotteau, how the Fifth
Symphony pounded in his poor head.

- What's eating you?
- Let's go, daddy-o.

Chapter Two.

Surprise party at the home of
my wife's parents, Mr. And Mrs. Expresso.

The Alfa Romeo
has great acceleration,

powerful four-wheel
disc brakes,

a luxurious interior,
and great traction.

It's an exceptional touring car.

It's safe, fast
and a pleasure to drive,

with great response
and perfect balance.

It's easy to stay fresh.

Soap washes, cologne refreshes,
perfume perfumes.

To combat underarm perspiration,

I use Printil after my bath
for all-day protection.

It comes
in a wonderfully fresh aerosol,

as well as stick and roll-on.

But the Oldsmobile Rocket 88
has even more to offer.

Its meticulous design,

its powerful yet simple lines,

and its uncommon elegance
all prove

that beauty isn't incompatible
with top performance.

You look lonely.

He's American.
He doesn't speak French.

What's his name?
What's he do?

Baudelaire. Very good.

I've always wanted to know
exactly what cinema is.

My hairdo

stayed light and soft all day
thanks to Elnett Satin Spray.

And now the spray brushes out
effortlessly, like it was never there.

Soft.

My hair is like
strands of golden silk...

shining...

and clean.

Women must give up

filmy negligees
and romantic nightgowns.

Outdoors or in bright light, lingerie
loses its allure and becomes indecent.

Olympio's melancholy.

Give me the keys
to the Lincoln.

You're not staying?

No, I'm tired.

I've got a mechanism
for seeing called eyes,

for hearing called ears,

for speaking
called a mouth.

But they feel disconnected.

They don't work together.

A person should feel
like he's one individual.

I feel like
I'm many different people.

You talk too much.
It tires me out just listening to you.

You're right.
I talk too much.

A man alone
always talks too much.

I'll wait for you at home.

Next chapter:

Despair...

Memory and Freedom...

Bitterness... Hope...

Remembrance of Things Past.

Marianne Renoir.

You're still here?

Sorry.

You missed the last train.
How will you get home?

I don't know.

You're all alone?

I was bored, so I came home.

Anything wrong?
You look depressed.

Some days are like that.
Everyone you meet is an imbecile.

So you start
looking in the mirror

and wondering about yourself.

Come on.
I'll take you home.

Frank lent you his car?

Yeah. Why?
Don't you like American cars?

Sure.

Funny, our meeting
again like this.

- It's been four years.
- No, 51/2.

It was in October.

You're married now?

Yes, to an Italian with money.
But she doesn't really interest me.

- Why don't you divorce?
- I wanted to, but I've grown too lazy.

Like you pointed out once:

To want something,
you have to be alive.

Do you still teach Spanish?

No, I was in television,
but I gave it up.

What about you?
- Oh, nothing special.

You don't feel
like talking about yourself.

A friend of mine saw you
in London two years ago.

Are you still
with that American?

No, that ended a long time ago.

Have you known Frank long?

Not really. Just casually.

Mysterious as ever, I see.

Like I said, I just don't like
talking about myself.

Very well. Silence, then.

... a garrison massacred
by the Viet Cong,

who also lost 115 men.

Awful, isn't it?
It's so anonymous.

What is?

They say "115 guerrillas,"
and it means nothing to us.

But each one is a man,
and we don't even know who he is,

if he loves a woman,
if he has kids,

if he prefers movies or plays.

We know nothing about them.
All they say is "115 killed."

It's like photographs.
They've always fascinated me.

You see this frozen image of a guy
with a caption underneath.

Maybe he was a coward.
Maybe he was a nice guy.

But at the moment it was taken,

no one can really say who he was,
what he was thinking about.

His wife? His mistress?

The past? The future?
Basketball?

No one will ever know.

That's life for you.

That's what makes me sad:
Life is so different from books.

I wish it were the same:

Clear, logical, organized.

Only it isn't.

Yes, it is.
Much more than people think.

No, Pierrot.

For the last time,
my name's Ferdinand.

I know, but you can't sing
My friend Ferdinand

Yes, you can.
You just have to want to, Marianne.

I want to.

I'll do anything you want.

Me too, Marianne.

I'm putting my hand
on your knee.

Me too, Marianne.

I'm kissing you all over.

Me too, Marianne.

You're so beautiful, my pet

We'll see.

Marianne Renoir.

On your feet, dead man!

- You see? I was right.
- About what?

You didn't believe
we'd always be in love.

No, I never told you
I'd love you forever.

Oh, my love

You never promised
to adore me all your life

We never exchanged
such promises

Knowing me
knowing you

We never thought
we'd be caught in love's web

Fickle as we were

But gradually
without a word between us

Bit by bit

Feelings arose between
our bodies mingled in delight

Then words of love rose
to our naked lips

Bit by bit

Heaps of words of love
mingled gently with our kisses

So many words of love

I never thought
I'd always want you

Oh, my love

We never thought
we could live together

And not grow tired
of each other

To wake up every morning

Surprised to still be
so happy in the same bed

And want nothing more
than that ordinary pleasure

Of feeling so at ease
with each other

But gradually
without a word between us

Bit by bit

Our feelings bound us tight
in spite of ourselves, never to let go

Feelings stronger
than any words of love

Known or unknown

Feelings so wild and strong

That we never thought
were possible before

Don't ever promise
to adore me all your life

Let's never exchange
such promises

Knowing me
knowing you

Let's keep the feeling
that this love of ours

Is a love with no tomorrow

Well, in 60 years, when we're dead,
we'll know if we were always in love.

No, I know I love you,

but I'm not so sure about you.

I do, Marianne.

Well, we'll see.

Your wife was here this morning.

I don't give a damn.

That's not all.

I said I don't give a damn.

- Marianne tells
- Ferdinand

- a story
- all mixed up

- I knew some people
- like in the Algerian war

I'll explain everything

wake from a bad dream

- Frank had the keys?
- I'll explain everything.

- Were you in love with him?
- I'll explain everything.

- Did he kiss you?
- I'll explain everything.

- A story
- all mixed up

- leave in a hurry
- wake from a bad dream

- I knew some people
- politics

- an organization
- get away

gun-running

in silence... in silence

in silence

- It's me... Marianne.
- Did he kiss you?

- A story
- all mixed up

- I knew some people
- were you in love with him?

- Use my apartment
- like in the Algerian war

- my brother
- wake from a bad dream

leave in a hurry... leave in a hurry

- answer
- clobber him

- argument
- garage

- who is it?
- Down south

- get away
- no money

It was time to leave
that rotten world anyway.

We left Paris
on a one-way street.

Recognizing two of her own,

the Statue of Liberty
gave us a friendly wave.

- Put a tiger in my tank.
- We don't sell tigers.

Then just shut up
and fill 'er up, pal.

I'll look less suspicious.

That'll be 4,900 francs.

Check the water and oil, pal.

Help me, dope!

Shit! Another one!

I know a trick from Laurel and Hardy.
Get in the car.

- Shame on you! Don't you have money?
- No, sir.

Then get a job.
Or don't you want to work?

- No, sir, we don't.
- Then how will you pay?

Shit! There's one more left.
I'll handle him.

I'm calling the police!

- Sum total
- it was an adventure film

The Crown of Blood

- Sum total
- Tender is the Night

It was a love story.

It was a love story.

- Tender is the Night
- It was a love story.

We'll find my brother eventually.

Just what kind
of smuggling is he in?

Oh, some stuff in Africa.

Angola, the Congo.

I thought he did TV shows
in Monte Carlo.

Yeah, that too.

We've got to decide
where we're going.

We talked about Nice,
then maybe Italy.

Our money won't get us to Nice.
We'd better dump the Peugeot.

Have you ever
killed a man, Pierrot?

My name's Ferdinand.
Why do you ask?

Because it's going
to turn your stomach.

I wonder
what she told the cops.

Maybe they haven't questioned her yet.
- Don't kid yourself.

She told them
every nasty thing she could.

With good reason.

Anyway, I feel sorry for her.
- Sorry?

Guys like you are always sorry...

but always too late.

- What are you doing?
- Looking at myself.

What do you see?

A man about to drive
over a cliff at 60 mph.

I see a woman

in love with the man
about to drive over a cliff at 60 mph.

Then let's have a kiss.

The next day

RENDEZVOUS WITH DEATH

- we find the Peugeot
- entering a town in central France

- with its tank
- almost empty.

- Marianne
- and Ferdinand

- stop at a bar
- and order drinks

- wondering
- how to pay for them.

- Their descriptions are on the radio.
- People eye them warily.

- Their descrip... descrip...
- People eye them... eye them warily.

The people are:

Laszlo Kovacs, student,

born on January 25, 1936,

in Santo Domingo.

Forced to flee
the American invasion.

Now living in France
as a political refugee.

France... the land of liberty,
equality and brotherhood.

Viviane Blassel,
born on March 21, 1943, in Marseilles.

I'm 22. I work at the perfume counter
at a department store in Auxerre.

Et�, Andr�, born on May 25, 1903,
in Marbouie, Eure-et-Loir.

Age: 62.

Present occupation: Film extra.

Let's tell stories.
The right words may move them.

- About what?
- Anything at all.

The fall of Constantinople,
or Nicolas de Sta�l committing suicide.

Or William Wilson,

who saw his double in the street
and couldn't rest till he'd killed him.

When it was done,
he realized he'd killed himself,

while his double went on living.

Okay. Maybe they'll give us
some money.

Marianne, who had the eyes
of both Aucassin and Nicolette,

told them about William of Orange's
nephew, the handsome Vivien,

who died fighting
30,000 Saracens.

Bleeding from
a thousand wounds,

he fought on alone,
for he swore not to retreat.

Oh, young and gentle nephew,
why this vow so noble yet so mad?

Ferdinand started
telling them about Guynemer,

but they weren't listening,

so he spoke of the summer,

and of how lovers long
for the warm evening air.

He spoke of man, and the seasons,
and unexpected encounters.

But he told them never to ask
which came first, words or things,

or what would come next.

I feel alive,
and that's all that matters.

I've got an idea.

We'll fake an accident.

The police will think we're dead.
Okay, Pierrot?

My name's Ferdinand.

All we have to do is burn the car.
They'll think we died in the fire.

- Always fire, blood and war!
- Hey, it wasn't my idea! Move it closer.

It's gotta look real.
This isn't a movie.

Closer! Hurry up!

- No matches. Let's go.
- That's okay. Give me the gun.

- The same make that killed Kennedy.
- Didn't you know that was me?

Out of the way.
- Wait a minute.

Nice little fire.

- Know what was in that suitcase?
- No. What?

The dollars you were looking for
in the apartment.

Bastard!
You did that on purpose.

That's right.

You know what we could've done
with that money?

We could've gone to Chicago,
Las Vegas, Monte Carlo. You bastard!

I'd have gone to Florence,
Venice and Athens.

Let's go.
Travel broadens the mind.

- Chapter Eight.
- A Season in Hell.

- Chapter Eight.
- We crossed France

- like shadows
- like a mirror

- like shadows
- like a mirror

I saw the caf� where Van Gogh
decided to cut off his ear.

- You're a liar. What did you see?
- I saw...

THE NICKEL-FOOTED GANG

Look, Pierrot, a Ford Galaxie.

My name's Ferdinand.
Yeah, a '62.

- Show me you're a man.
- Wait till I finish this.

"After covering a good distance,
they came to the Bayorda desert,

which they had to cross
to reach Karthoum.

'Darn! Not much shade! '
They grumbled,

as they set out
across the scorching sand.

'We'd be better off in the cool shade
of a glass of lager."'

Make up your mind
or I'll hitch a ride alone.

All right.
Let's go, daddy-o.

A lube job, please.

Where are the bathrooms?

Come on, Mimi.

Hey, kid, how'd you like
to own a car like this?

- Sure!
- Well, you never will.

Marianne, his jacket.

Hey, kid, how'd you like
to earn 10,000 francs?

The landscape
rose slowly before us.

Countless centuries fled
into the distance, like so many storms.

Dump our clothes
while I turn around.

Hey, my book!

Hurry!

LIFE

- Well?
- Nothing special.

They questioned her.

She said she saw us
naked together in my bed.

You see?
And you called me a liar.

Nothing else?

You still seem
awfully interested in her.

Nothing at all happened.

I don't understand.
He's lost his mind.

Ditch a woman and she'll say
you've got a screw loose.

Men are the same way.

True.

I don't know why,
but I'm picking up the scent of death.

If you miss her, just say so!

Cut it out!
You're getting on my nerves!

I mean the scent of death
in the countryside, trees,

women's faces, cars.

We'll be in a hell of a fix without money.
We can't even get to Italy.

We'll just stop anywhere.

We'll just stop anywhere.

And do what all day?

No, let's find my brother.
He'll give us tons of dough.

Then we'll find ourselves
a high-class hotel and have some fun!

- All she thinks about is fun.
- Who are you talking to?

The audience.

I told you so.
You're already sorry.

You were crazy to do this.
- No, I'm in love.

It's the same thing.

I've decided never
to fall in love again.

It's a disgusting habit.

Don't say that.

Don't say that.

Ten minutes ago, I saw only death.
Now it's just the opposite. Look!

The sea, the waves, the sky.

Life may be sad,
but it's always beautiful.

Suddenly I feel free.
We can do what we want.

Watch:
Right... left... left... right.

Look at the fool!

He's driving down a straight line
and has to follow it all the way.

Oh, yeah? Watch this.

Chapter Eight.

- A Season in Hell.
- Love must be reinvented.

Real life lies elsewhere.

Countless centuries fled
into the distance, like so many storms.

I held her close
and began to cry.

It was our first,

our only dream.

You coming?

Where are we going?

To Mystery Island,
like Captain Grant's children.

- To do what?
- Nothing. Just exist.

- Doesn't sound like much fun.
- That's life.

Not at all.

It's a good thing
I don't like spinach,

because if I did, I'd eat it,

and I can't stand the stuff.

It's the same with you,

only just the opposite.

There was a film like that with
Michel Simon, where he fell for this girl-

- Well, you wanted to start life over.
- I wasn't being mean.

You said we'd see it
through to the end.

Yes, the end of the night.

Great view of the moon.

- Doesn't look too special to me.
- To me it does.

I see a man up there.

Maybe Leonov,
or that American... White.

Yeah, I see him too.

But he's not a Russki
or a nephew of Uncle Sam.

I'll tell you who he is.
- Who?

The moon's only inhabitant.

You know what he's doing?
Getting the hell out.

Why?

- Look.
- Why?

He's fed up.
He was glad to see Leonov land.

Someone to talk to
after an eternity alone!

But Leonov tried to stuff
his head full of Lenin.

So when the American landed,
the guy fled to his camp.

But the American right away
crammed a Coke down his throat

after making him say thank you first,
so now he's really had it.

He's letting the Americans and Russians
shoot it out. He's taking off.

- For where?
- Here.

Because he thinks you're lovely.

He admires you.

I think your legs and breasts
are very moving.

Fuck me.

Chapter Seven.

- A poet named after a gun
- Robert Browning

- get away
- never

- beloved
- as long as I'm me

and you're you

as long as the universe
will hold us both

- I who love you
- and you who reject me

- as long as one wants to flee
- it's too much like fate

"I've decided to keep a journal...
the urgency to describe in words..."

"Eyes: Human landscapes.

Mouth: Onomatopoeia.

The language of poetry
rises from the ruins."

"The writer chooses to...
the freedom of others."

- Did you get all the books?
- No, but this was on sale.

By someone with your name.

- Ah, Ferdinand.
- You've heard of him?

"I am fire, I am light,
I am a miracle.

I no longer hear.

I ascend.

I pass through the air."

It's too much.

"I've seen happiness before me.

Supernatural emotion!

And then...

I no longer know anything.

I inch my hands forward...

and I dare... to the right...

I lightly stroke...

my fairy's hair...

that wonder whom I adore...

Virginia."

Guignol's Band.
Well, are you coming?

"Perfect happiness!

Ah, my ecstasy was so intense

that I dared not move.

Happy to the point of tears,
numb with happiness,

I'm all aquiver.

Let my heart swell and burn within me.
I myself am flame.

I am in space.
I cling to Virginia."

Give me that.

"You promised me
China and Tibet, Mr. Sosth�ne.

The Sunda Islands, and wonderful
plants with magical powers."

Where is all that now?

Cham cham cham ratatam.
I caught him in his lies.

- What's today?
- Friday.

You'll never leave me?

Of course I won't.

Of course?

Yes, of course.

Yes, of course.

"Thursday: Poetry is a game
of loser-take-all."

What am I to do?

I don't know what to do.

What am I to do?

I don't know what to do.

Quiet! I'm writing!

"There's the crux of the matter.

You're waiting for me.
I'm not there.

I arrive.
I come into the room.

I only really exist for you
from that moment on.

But I existed before that.
I had thoughts.

Perhaps I even suffered.

So the task is
to show you alive, thinking of me,

and to see me at the same time,
alive for that very reason."

I'm underlining that.

Still thinking about your brother
and that gun business?

Why do you look so sad?

Because you speak
to me in words,

and I look at you with feelings.

I can't have
a real conversation with you.

You never have ideas,
only feelings.

That's not true.
There are ideas inside feelings.

Okay. Let's try to have
a serious conversation.

You tell me what you like,
what you want,

and I'll do the same.

Go on. You start.

Flowers...

animals...

the blue of the sky...

music.

I don't know - everything.
What about you?

Ambition...

hope...

the way things move...

accidents.

What else?
Well, everything.

See?
I was right five years ago.

We never understand each other.

What am I to do?

I don't know what to do.

"Sunday.
She opened the... and then...

Monday.
...I read a lot."

DEATH

How are you, old man?

All right.

I've got an idea for a novel:

Not to write
about people's lives anymore,

but only about life - life itself.

What lies in between people:

Space, sound, and color.

I'd like to accomplish that.

Joyce gave it a try,

but it should be possible
to do better.

Here are your books.

These aren't the ones.

And there's one missing.
I said five.

I bought a little 45 rpm.
Look.

I said one record for every 50 books.
Music after literature!

If you don't like it,
my friend -

Little mouse,
it's on the house!

What's eating you?

I can make up
stupid rhymes too.

What's the matter?

I'm fed up!

I'm sick of the sea,
the sun, the sand!

Sick of eating
out of tin cans!

Sick of always wearing
the same dress!

I want outta here.

I want to live.

What am I supposed to do?

I don't know.
I want to go away.

Anyway, I threw away
our money for the winter.

Where?

In the sea, idiot!

You're crazy, Marianne.

If you want to get out of here,
we'll need money.

Lots of tourists
come over on the boat.

We can steal from them.

Come on, Pierrot.

My name's Ferdinand.

Come on. We've played
Jules Verne long enough.

Let's go back
to our detective novel,

with fast cars and guns
and nightclubs.

Come on!

Wait for me, Marianne!

Does this brother of yours
really exist?

It's funny how
you never believe me.

Listen...

if we find Fred and he gives us dough,
why don't we go to Miami Beach?

Deep down you're a coward.

"Courage consists in remaining
inside oneself, close to nature,

which is oblivious
to our crises."

Will you hurry up?
The tourist boat's gonna leave.

Wait. I've got an idea.

Give me your lipstick.

"In the end...

the only thing of any interest

is the paths people take.

The tragic part is that
even when they know

where they're going
and who they are,

everything is still a mystery."

Like the scent of eucalyptus.

- That's right.
- You bet it is.

"And that mystery,
forever unsolved, is life."

- Get a move on, Paul.
- Shut up, Virginia.

"We are dead men on parole.
And the trees?"

"To earn a little money,

we drew for the tourists -
modern-day slaves."

Damn! Americans!

It's okay.
We'll change our plan.

- It's simple.
- What?

We'll put on a play.
Maybe they'll give us some dollars.

- What play?
- I don't know. Something they'll like.

I've got it.
The Vietnam War.

"Uncle Sam's nephew
versus Uncle Ho's niece."

A little something for the actors.

- A dollar!
- Don't worry, Pierrot.

Long live Kennedy!

I threw them off our trail.
Let's go back.

No, I'm going dancing.

Come on.
You can go tomorrow.

Next chapter: Despair.

- I'm staying here.
- Okay. I'll go alone.

Hope.

You do that.

Remembrance of Things Past.

I heard there's a dance hall
across the water.

I'm going dancing.

If we get killed, too bad.

They'll catch up with us.
So what?

Tuesday I wanted
to buy a record player,

but he spends
all our money on books.

Oh, I don't really give a damn.

But he can't even
understand that.

I don't give a damn
about books

or records or anything -
even money.

I just want to live.

But he'll never understand that.

To live.

My fate line is short as can be

My fate line is short as can be

My palm is such an ill-fated thing

I'm afraid of what tomorrow may bring

My fate line, my fate line

Darling, what do you think
of my fate line

What does it matter
It's fine, just fine

Your thigh line
is more in my line

My fate line

I love to hold it in my lap

Your thigh line

My fate line

It's a feather in my cap

Just look at my little fate line

Just look at my little fate line

Just look at destiny's call

So small it's hardly there at all

My fate line, my fate line

Darling, what do you think
of my fate line

What does it matter
It's fine, just fine

Give me your hand
and don't say a word

Your thigh line
- My fate line

It's like a morning bird

Your thigh line
- My fate line

Frivolous bird, harbinger of fate

Such a tiny little fate line

Such a tiny little fate line

Almost less than nothing

Barely a tiny dot in my hand

My fate line, my fate line

Darling, what do you think
of my fate line

What does it matter
It's fine, just fine

Every morning
I'm the happiest man

Your thigh line
- My fate line

A bird is singing in my hand

Your thigh-
- line

- My fate-
- line

Maybe I'm daydreaming.

She makes me think of music.

Her face.

We have come

to the age
of man and his double.

We no longer need mirrors
to talk to ourselves.

When Marianne says,
"It's a fine day,"

what's she thinking about?

All I have is that image of her

saying, "It's a fine day."

Nothing else.

What good is it
figuring all this out?

We are made of dreams,

and dreams are made of us.

It's a fine day, my love,

in dreams, in words and in death.

It's a fine day, my love.
It's a fine day

in life.

- You know what I'm thinking?
- I couldn't care less.

Let's not start that again.

I said to leave me alone.

Besides, I'm not starting again.
I'm continuing.

- Shit!
- What?

Shit! Shit! Shit!

What's the matter?

Know what you should
write a novel about?

No. What?

This guy's strolling around Paris
when suddenly he sees Death.

So he promptly heads south
to get away,

because he figures
his time hasn't come yet.

And then?

He drives all night at top speed,

and the next morning,
when he reaches the coast,

he crashes into a truck
and dies,

just when he thought
Death had lost his trail.

- Let's hurry.
- We've got plenty of time.

No, I'm afraid.

You stay here.

- So we meet again.
- What do you want?

- I'll be back in five minutes.
- I'll beat him up if you want.

No, I'll get rid of him
with a few lies.

I have to find Fred, Pierrot.

My name's Ferdinand.
Okay, okay.

"...eroticism, in that sense, betrays...
nostalgia for continuity..."

- Two beers.
- Two?

So when I finish one,
I'll still have one left.

Remember me?

You stayed at my place
in Fontainebleau last year.

I lent you 100,000 francs.

You slept with my wife.
- Oh, right.

- So you've come south?
- Yes, to the coast here.

- Everything okay?
- Fine.

Mr. Griffon?

My name's Ferdinand.
Yes, it's me.

I'm scared.

They're out of their minds.

I swear this isn't a joke.

Tell me where
the money is or else.

We'll give you electric shocks,

like they did during the war.

Or else...

like in Vietnam...

we'll strip you...

put you in a bathtub
full of napalm...

and set it on fire.

No, right now.

You can caress me all over.
I'll be nice again.

Then come quick.

We'll walk up.

A glorious death for a little man.

What are you doing here?

I heard a noise.
I live downstairs.

Let him have it.

We'll use that trick of yours.

You can't fight us, kid.

What'd you do with the money
in the Peugeot?

Take him in the bathroom
and use that trick you learned.

We can't forget about the yacht.

There aren't any towels.

Use that little whore's dress.

Just cover his head
so the water will cut off the air.

I'll make this easy
and tell you what I know.

Then I want a straight answer
to one question.

I know your name
is Ferdinand Griffon.

You were with Marianne
when she stabbed our friend Donovan,

and you ran off with my $50,000.

Ploom ploom tra-la-la.

I've got nothing
against you personally.

I'm sure she dragged you into this.
That's your business.

As I was saying...

I'm not interested in you.
It's her I want.

Now, tell me where to find her
and the money.

This is your last chance.
Tell me or we kill you.

Ploom ploom tra-la-la.

The Marquise dance hall.

Maybe it's true, maybe not,

but this chump's
not gonna say any more.

We'll go have a look.

The Marquise dance hall.

We'll go have a look.

"I've never understood...
Marianne's loyalty."

What a dreadful
5:00 in the afternoon.

I don't want to see blood.

What a dreadful
5:00 in the afternoon.

I don't want to see blood.

I don't want to see blood.

What a dreadful
5:00 in the afternoon.

- Next we find Ferdinand arriving in...
- Toulon.

He wanders along the waterfront.
He's staying...

at the Little Palace Hotel.

- He looks for
- Marianne

but he doesn't find her.
The days go by.

Some afternoons,
he sleeps in all-day movies.

He still keeps a diary.

For words have the power
to disperse the shadows

from around the objects they name.

Even if it's compromised
in everyday life,

language often retains
only what is pure.

"Sea"

"soul"

"bitter"

"weapon"

In Vietnam, the Da Nang base,
a major US stronghold,

was attacked by the Viet Cong.

Seven planes were destroyed
on the ground.

In the jungle,

US soldiers fought side by side
for the first time

with South Vietnamese
and Australian forces

against Viet Cong guerilla units.

Despite this escalation, and the failure
of the Commonwealth peace mission,

Harold Wilson stands ready
to participate in negotiations.

Your story ends there.

Yes, he turned away...

leaving me bewildered.

We were looking carefully

for the moment when we had
abandoned the fictional character

to return to the real one,
if it ever existed.

I am Princess A�cha Abadie,

and despite my fragile,
doll-like appearance,

I am a very
strong-minded woman.

I don't like people getting in my way.
I want to be obeyed.

Your orders, Princess?

I am Lebanese by adoption.

In 1960 I married Emir Abadie,

and I am queen of Lebanon in exile,

for, as you know, my country
is currently a socialist republic.

I am therefore
in Nice incognito,

as my husband and I
have terrible enemies.

There's a price
on our heads in Lebanon.

I'm often the target
of machine-gun fire,

which always misses me,
no doubt due to Allah's protection,

because to marry the emir,
I had to convert to Islam.

I've flown to Beirut twice
in my husband's space machine,

and the marabout of Atla -

Alexis, don't let me go flying off.

The sea is choppy,
and you know how light I am.

Help me, Ferdinand.

Ferdinand,
we weigh anchor in an hour.

Yes, Princess.

Alexis, we're going into town.

Pierrot!

It's me.

My name's Ferdinand.

Hi.

You don't seem
too surprised to see me.

What are you doing here?

I'm so happy.
I've found you at last.

- Where are you staying?
- With you, you idiot!

I'm staying with you.
I've looked all over for you.

You should have waited
after you called me.

I wanted to.

I got away
before those men arrived.

I ran to the dance hall
to warn you not to come,

but I didn't see you,

so I went back, and I saw
those men getting into the blue Ford.

I thought they'd killed you.

So I took off.
I didn't care where.

I don't even remember where.
I was afraid to come back to the coast.

Then one day I ran into Fred
in a bar in Toulon.

It's true.
The Las Vegas bar, in Toulon.

- How'd you know I was working here?
- That was by chance too.

It's true.

I believe you, liar.

Why don't you ever believe
that I love you?

I love you in my own way.

That's just it.

I'll prove it. Look.

I went back to our beach
and got your notebook.

Thanks.

Look on the last page.

There's a little poem
I wrote about you.

"Tender and cruel...

real and surreal...

terrifying and funny...

nocturnal and diurnal...

usual and unusual...

handsome as anything.
- Crazy Pierrot!"

I told you my name's Ferdinand,
goddamn it!

If you think you're tough
saying "goddamn it," you're wrong.

God can go to -

Don't talk like that.

You should talk.

We're wanted for murder.
You know what murder is?

Sure. What about it?
Does it scare you?

Answer me.

I look at you and listen to you,
but that's not what counts.

Thanks a lot.

No, I mean this very moment -
which is already past.

Oh, I don't know. It's the blue
of the sky, our relationship.

I don't get it.

I wish time would stand still.

Look. I'm putting my hand
on your knee.

That's a wonderful thing in itself.
That's life.

Space, feelings.

But instead I'm following you
back to our tale of sound and fury.

But I don't care.
- Are you coming? Fred's waiting.

Forget I said anything.
Let's go, daddy-o.

I wonder what's keeping the cops.
We should be in jail by now.

They're smart.
They let people destroy themselves.

Why do you do things like that?

I tell you I didn't kill him.

It's funny we're still alive
after that parade of corpses.

- Yeah - ho ho ho.
- Looks like P�p� le Moko around here.

Who?

- P�p� le Moko.
- Who's that?

You sure don't know much.

What about you?
You know what you are?

I'm a man with sexual desires.

Says you!

I know who you are,
but you don't.

It's true.

I'm just a huge question mark
hanging over the Mediterranean horizon.

"...their truth...
independent of us... our logic..."

Are your parents still alive?

Yes. They've never been apart.

They were almost
separated once.

Papa was leaving on a trip.
I can't remember where.

Some short trip.

They didn't have
money for two tickets.

Mama went with him
to the bus stop,

and they looked at each other,

Mama from the sidewalk,
Papa from the window.

Just as the bus started up,
Papa dashed to get off.

He didn't want to leave Mama.

While he got off in front,
she was getting on in back,

because she didn't want
to leave his side.

In the end, he didn't go.

What did you do
when you worked in an elevator?

Nothing.
I looked at people's faces.

- Where was that?
- The Galeries Lafayette.

Why all these questions?

I want to know
exactly who you are.

I never knew,
not even five years ago.

I'm just a sentimental girl,
that's all.

Only a fool would make
a big mystery out of that.

What's your brother do?

I never know
when you're making things up.

Oh, you know -

What was he doing
in Tel Aviv?

Listen: There's a war
going on in Yemen.

You're really out of touch.

He gets money
from the Royalists.

Are those other men
with the Arab League?

I don't know. Probably.

Is there really
a troupe of dancers?

What do you care?

Why does he need a cover?

Gun-running's practically
official business these days.

- What do you care?
- Answer me.

I'll tell you something.

There are 3,600 seconds
in an hour.

That makes
about 100,000 seconds in a day.

In an average lifetime,
that makes...

250 billion seconds.

All in all, you and I have spent
about one month together.

Add it up. I've only been
with you a few million seconds

out of the 250 billion
that make up your life.

It's not much.

So I'm not surprised

we don't know
who each other is.

...5, 6, 7, 8.

You made it!

Will he do it?
- Yeah, anything I say.

What a crazy set-up

...6, 7, 8!

"To see clearly... reason... life."

What am I supposed to do?

Just do as you're told.

Keep your eyes and ears open
and you'll see.

Remember
the scent of eucalyptus?

- With you it's always so complicated.
- No, it's simple.

Too much going on.

There's a little harbor,
like in a Conrad novel.

A sailboat,
like in Robert Louis Stevenson.

An old brothel, like in Faulkner.

A steward turned multimillionaire,

like in Jack London.

- With you it's always so complicated.
- No, it's simple.

Too much going on.

Two guys beat me up,
like in Raymond Chandler.

You and me and him -
see how simple it is?

No, I don't see.

- They want to
- buy the yacht.

- The old man
- isn't French.

- My brother
- collects the money.

- The others
- don't know.

- They'll be
- furious.

They'll tail Fred.
We'll get rid of them.

- And then?
- Just do as you're told.

A woman can kill
lots of people easy.

Full breasts and soft thighs
don't mean

she can't kill everyone
to remain free or protect herself.

Just look at Cuba
or Vietnam or Israel.

- I love you!
- Me too!

Next chapter: Despair.

Next chapter:

Freedom... Bitterness.

Seen a young woman around

like a Hollywood
movie star in Technicolor?

None of your business.

You got it?

We all meet tonight as planned?

Some people saw me.

I don't understand.

Fred will look innocent now.

Why are you double-crossing me?

What's the matter?

Nothing. Just looking
at a woman who's tormenting me.

$50,000 would make
anyone nervous, Pierrot.

My name's Ferdinand.

Why did you kiss me earlier?
- I felt like it.

- Kiss me again.
- Not in front of everyone.

Why do you wear
such tight pants?

Listen. If you don't like it,
go back to Paris.

Kiss me.

Okay, I get it.

You know, it's bad luck
to double-cross us.

Speak Not, Cassandra.

- What?
- It's the title of this novel.

Stupid jerk.

Hey!

Marianne!
- What?

TWA, Nice airport, the 2:45 to Tahiti.
We just climb aboard.

Just the two of us, obviously.

Obviously.

Obviously.

French is funny.

Words say the opposite
of what they mean.

We say "obviously"
when things aren't obvious at all.

Like it wasn't obvious
that I'd find the old man

with a bullet-hole in his forehead.

Did you know
your brother would kill him?

It was none of my business.

I'd like to run off with you,

but Fred will find us
and get even.

I saw him get even
with a girl once.

I'll protect you.

Okay. But I have to go alone
or they'll suspect.

Okay, my beautiful.

Okay, my handsome.

Well, I'm off, since we have
nothing more to say.

Meet me in half an hour.

I'll count to...

137.

You're really crazy.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

The briefcase!

Start the car.
Trust me and I'll trust you.

...18, 19, 20, 21, 22...

Something wrong, pal?

It's that tune.

You have no idea
what it means to me.

You hear it?

No, I don't hear anything.

You wouldn't understand.

That tune's my whole life.

When I hear it, it just -

One day I was home.
It was playing on the radio.

She sat beside me,
this magnificent, beautiful woman.

I took her hand

and stroked the back of it,
like this.

I asked her...
Do you love me

She said no.

So I bought the record,
because that music just -

Like my own private case
of mass hysteria.

One day at home,
I put on the record.

It went around and around

in my head!
Everything was spinning!

She was beside me -
a different woman.

Not as pretty as the first...

but anyway,
I took her hand

and stroked it on the other side
this time, just for a change.

I asked...
Do you love me

And she said, "Oh, I do!"

But I didn't love her,
so I broke the record!

One day I turned on the radio,
and it was playing.

Why that song?
Why not something else?

She was beside me - no, other side,
'cause we were at her place.

This was a third woman.

I took her hand and stroked it -
on both sides, just to be done with it.

It was getting on my nerves.

I asked...
Do you love me

She said yes.

I asked,
"Will you give me your hand?"

She said, "You've been
holding it for ten minutes."

And she was right.

So I kept her and her hand
for ten years!

Ten years!
I can't stand that song anymore!

You hear it?

I can't stand it anymore.
You hear it?

That one, right there -
you don't hear it?

Tell me: Am I crazy?
Come right out and say it!

I want to hear you say it.
Say, "You're crazy!"

- You're crazy.
- That's more like it.

- Going to the island?
- Yes, sir.

- What's your boat called?
- The Sawonga.

Just Sawonga's you get me there!

So that song I hear isn't real?

That music
that's haunted me all my life?

That tenderness?
No! Insensitive man!

You missed the whole point!

Do you love me

I held her close
and began to cry.

It was our first,
our only dream.

Get me Paris, please.

BALzac 75-02.

You've forgotten Balzac too?

Yes, I'll wait.

It hurts.

You shouldn't have done it.

You shouldn't have done it.

Forgive me, Pierrot.

My name's Ferdinand.

It's too late.

"...dynamite, machine guns...
supply the rebels..."

Yes, I'll wait.

BALzac 75-02?

Is Mrs. Griffon there?

Who's this?

Is that you, Odile?

How are the children?

No, no. Nobody's calling.

"Art... death"

What I wanted to say -

What's the point?

What an idiot! Shit!
A glorious death -

- It's ours again.
- What is?

- Eternity.
- That's just the sea, gone...

With the sun.