All language subtitles for Sur le départ (2011).EN

Subtitles *machine translated* from German

17 YEARS
ONE EVENING IN JUNE

Are there football tables in Paris?

Naturally. Why not?

I doubt it. It's just an idea.

Who knows if they still exist?

Idiotic idea.

Table football is provincial.

Paris is far away.

Right, violin. Paris is very far away.

And clarinet goes away.
So young, so handsome.

So gifted.

The conservatory is just an excuse.

Clarinet will often come back.

To see the piano again.

Soon only because of that,
even if he does not say so.

I wonder what I would have won if I left.

Do you have to win
something to move forward?

Besides, it's not a loss, it's an escape.

The separation does clarinet well.

The separation from his parents,
from piano, or from us?

Everything together, violin.

We wanted to push them off the pedestal.

But she is still standing.
Nobody else had this idea.

That's the only thing
children can come up with.

I also feel like being screwed down
on a pedestal. And like a child.

You have to tell me what you do in Paris.

Whether that interests you? - Yes.

Then it's like I'm there too.

It's right that you go there, clarinet.
So go, get in there.

I want to continue music education, after
the holidays, in the music school.

And your feeling of being stuck?

It's certainly easier here.

Teaching music in a city that has
so little beauty is something.

18 YEARS
APRIL 2006

At the moment I prefer to walk
endlessly through the city.

My contacts are corresponding.

They scurry over.

An anonymous city.

I, an anonymous passerby,

with anonymous encounters.

Paris offers this freedom.
Don can I be free.

You do not necessarily see each other
again, and if it does, it's like a blink.

Not something as heavy as here.
Here you "meet" someone.

That's like a blow.

Looking for accommodation and food...

and in the evening on the way home, where
bums and junkies sat, I was so helpless.

Like a little kid who has no idea
how to get around in the capital.

In November, this continued with the riots.

Like all, I've seen the pictures,
on TV, in the newspapers.

It burns for nights, without there
being any demands or people in charge.

I thought first, it goes by,
like everything, but it took.

There was a possibility, something new.

Something I did not have access to, but
which was unreservedly supportive.

That's how I thought.

You did not light any cars?

I'm talking about the riots because
I think the other one got infected.

That's why student demos
were so violent this month.

But you were not hurt or arrested?

No, I'm white, and I was paying attention.

Middle class, middle class,
workers, precariat, right, left.

These are words. I really think

in the world there are those
who fight, and others.

I do not know if I can or will fight.

This month I enjoyed being there.

Do you want to change the
world or find yourself?

I do not know.

I'm afraid I'm not fit.

I do not want to be an asshole.

That will pass.

You will find work

have a regular everyday life, free time.

Bind you to someone.

At some point in my life
I wish to join me again.

20 YEARS
AUGUST 2007

VW are 20.

What a statement.

There are only young and old in this city.
As if an entire generation was missing.

But I'm here after all.

The people of our age, despite their
presence, seem like shadows to me.

Every age has its brightness.
She shines with small children,

it is pale in adults but
even paler at our age.

In Paris, the children are gray and the
elderly too. The opposite of here.

So I am a shadow?

You have darkened yourself, piano.

Or more precisely, the
city has darkened you.

When I walk through the streets
here, I see my parents everywhere.

And the kid I used to be.

I never see myself in the present.
I never see what I am.

I see my producers and
myself the way I used to be.

And you say, I'm ruining myself,
my poor clarinet, my dear friend.

I have to go to Paris for
an exam in September.

Then I'll come to you. I'll be
bright again with you in Paris.

Do not worry about me.

Do we go dancing today in the "Passepen"?

I would rather stay here.
- You'd rather go out in Paris.

Do not be angry with me. But
an hour and a half drive...

to the "Passepen" with the melancholic
boys. That throws us back, right?

This city and me, we can not compete.

I just wanted to kiss you in public.

Well protected in the "Passeport".
A tight kiss.

In Paris, dusk is a gateway
to a thousand possibilities.

Here she is a gate to the tomb. Let's
leave that. I'm going home tomorrow.

Aha.

"At home" is there now
and not here anymore?

What do you say when you go here?

Beautiful couple.

With her is over. - Since when?

I do not know anymore. A
phase of timelessness.

You know the violin. She
always has to hang herself,

"Takes everything to heart.
A little like you.

But I was not so free with her.
I was stuck like that.

Your claims have overwhelmed me.

And you were not there anymore.
There was only you and me.

You were not there anymore.

I met someone in Paris.

It was not very long, but
at least several months.

A very gentle, good looking boy.
Somehow the story ended.

What I still can not believe
is that I coped with it.

I thought you go crazy when a love ends.

But that's nonsense. And that makes me sad.

This insight that you can
recover from everything.

Clarinet,

emptiness spreads. I only have your Biid.

Impossible to reach you.

You feel sad, unsatisfied.

What's wrong with you?

You wanted to change something,
look ahead, your life should grow.

Where is this will?

And what's wrong with me?

You will not ask me for
that and give me no answer.

I want to understand what
you are looking for.

I want to be your ally.

Want to reconcile your childhood
dreams with your disappointments.

With the other guys, every night is the
same and every morning embarrassing.

MR you is not embarrassed. But lonely.

21 YEARS

FESTIVAL OF THE MADELEINE SUMMER 2008

Horn? - clarinet! What are you doing?

I have been in Paris for 3 years.

Still in Paris? Crazy. How you do that?

Everyone really does not
know anything about Vifir.

You always act as if you were not right.

Are you here for the celebration of
the Madeleine, this dreary ritual?

I'm visiting my parents. A sad
ritual seldom comes alone.

There is a piano. I waited for that.

You were also with bassoon.
Did not you see me?

There you were alone. Otherwise you are
always together. I do not know it otherwise.

Without me, is piano invisible?

Are you going with tonight?
- No, I get involved.

I'm not in the mood for this casserole.
That does not suit you either.

The atmosphere is nice.

No manners. A degradation of body and mind.
A vulgar drunkard.

It's hard enough to avoid
all that ugliness.

Tonight, as it occurs concentrated,
I boycott it in all consequence.

And otherwise? Psychiatry.

I lead a drawing course there.
I'm fine with the crazy ones.

Do you know something about violin? She is no
longer in the class. Is she feeling better?

Violin in psychiatry? - forgot to tell.

She has withdrawn from the world.

Just disappeared.

Do you know that 1977 was the first
punk festival in this arena?

Hard to believe. A concert, like Woodstock.

Another concert next year,
and then nothing more.

I would have liked to see that.

How people looked when all the
punks came to Mont-de-Marsan!

The savages from the foreign
one can be found awful,

but one's own inspiration,
if it's tradition.

The feast of the Madeleine has
been around for centuries.

It was stronger than the punks.

I was glad to see you again.

Avoid drunken meat tonight.

The only way is to be drunk meat yourself.

I never understood why oranges
get dehydrated and rot.

That's puzzling,

This decision, whether they
prefer to dry up or rather rot.

Does it depend on the
weather or the season?

Carrots shrivel, become brown and soft.

Potatoes germinate, mangoes become fibrous.
Apples are very good.

But the orange mysteriously
has two options:

drying up and decaying.

And me?

Do I dry up or decay?

I live on anyway, only that it is dreadful.

What I do is pretend and make a good
impression. Exactly, that's my job.

Hypocrisy and make a good impression.
My full time job.

Come over.

There's a dimple you did not have before.

And your cheeks have a different shine.

And on your forehead, time has
dug in two little ruts. -I know.

O hopp! With a gesture I delete...

o, skip the time that goes by with you...

o hopping, from your face...

o hopp, the traces of age.

O hopp, your cheeks, your nae!

My fairy fingers... ..

Can do magic.

Hopp, you up! rejuvenated.

We love each other until morning dawns,

we turn back the time.

Let's love each other again,

let us...

"Be a bodice fifteen.

O hopp, I touch with a gesture...

your lips, your rosy cheeks, your neck.

O hopp, with every touch,

With each kiss, the years
pass by, very easily.

Hopp, with a gesture I delete...

with you the time that passes.

Hopp, and every gesture...

is time that stays,

is gained time for our future life.

For our passing life.

Hopp, what an adventure!

We love each other until morning dawns,

we turn back the time.

Let's love each other again,

let's be fifteen again.

Fifteen years, fifteen years, oh lover,

let us stay young forever.

MR you forever...

stay an adolescent.

Sleeping together in this city is
no longer a sin but a miracle.

22 YEARS
WINTER 2009

As a child I had this awful and
beautiful dream of becoming an orphan.

I squeezed tears at the
thought of burial and caring.

When I was back in reality,

I harbored a deep grudge
against my parents.

As if I was mad at them because they lived.

On Saturdays you looked from the classroom,

how the fathers in the schoolyard set
up the roundwoods for the castle.

In the castle we freed
princesses and fought dragons.

You were so fond of knights.

You wanted to conquer the
world, create a kingdom.

The last time I heard
music, I was not a bit sad.

I was completely emotionless.

I'm at home with you and still
feel nothing. I am not right.

You think too much.

What we experienced here was perfect.

VW were in pairs and beyond the world.

Our being together was marked by that
bond and that glorious encapsulation.

At some point it was over with
the glorious encapsulation.

We grew up.

I do not know what an
adult you have become.

I'm still a music enthusiast.

And now it's my students that matter to me.

25 YEARS

Are you in Mont-de-Marsan? Incognito?

You did not answer me.

Did not I answer or you did not?
I do not know it anymore.

Did you wander further
through Paris, out of reach?

No. The hike is over.

Since the conservatory, I've
only had small jobs so far.

Dish washer, salesman, typist, assistant
director, waiter, cleaning man.

Should I list all?

One day, one week, for a month at most.
Transitional.

Like when I was free, I had
time and walked the streets.

Now, though...

I am no longer free but work
for an unworthy salary.

It's about me.

That may be the reason for my silence.

What is? Can not one talk
about "work" and "salary"?

It was said that we were inseparable.

And now? Look at us.

Every evening when I came home,

I imagined how you stand with
your bag in front of my door.

I do not know what was worse,

knowing you would not
come, or not asking why.

The heart noise just before.

Like a formula, I mumbled
your name to conjure you.

Since when did you wait for me like that?
- Since a thousand years.

The departure came from you. You
deny that, but you turned away.

You want to break everything,

just disappeared, and yet gratefully loved,

even though you left.

I met a few characters
from the music school.

They remained figures, no more and no less.

Shortly after you leave,

I had to tell some of these
characters our story.

To make sure that our
relationship really existed.

That she was not just a character.

Nobody was surprised
that we sleep together.

Some knew it, others mock each other.

You see, we suffered
needlessly and were ashamed.

"Characters"... as you express yourself.

Do you remember Bassoon?

Surely you remember.

We meet again recently.

He left too.

But onward, to Canada and then
to South America, I believe.

I like him very much. If you
knew what he says about Paris!

Besides, Paris is just trivial, right?

And a few months ago he came
back to Mont-de-Marsan.

It's funny, he now has a job at the
city archives, in the new building.

He still makes music. He plays
in an ensemble and he composes.

I do not know why, but to know
him nearby is good for me.

Like when we met here at the age of 17
in the pub, without asking questions.

Quite natural, because that was our life.

It was enough to feel like
meeting and being together.

I am not like you. Who does
not earn money, is a dreamer.

I do not dream, piano, when I am queuing
at the social welfare office...

or compulsively ask me everyday
about what I can spend my money on

if I can afford the coffee,
the book or the cigarettes.

Please, piano, do not be like
everyone else. Try to meet me.

I respect how others live, may
it be conformist or limp.

At any rate, I confess
their way of life to them.

But they will never understand how I live.

Come out with me, I want
to show you something.

Nobody knew about it.

They have been rediscovered
by chance after centuries.

I think I know the city and
discover something new.

Such a wonderful find
reconciles me with her.

A reappearance.

I wanted to come here with you.

Like this, I have been waiting
for you without being too old.

Hug me.

We are gone.

These frescoes reappear
so intact and beautiful,

but who will remember us and our splendor?

FIVE YEARS LATER
30 YEARS OLD

My dear piano,

If you get this letter, I'll be gone.

But I write in Mont-de-Marsan
while you're not here.

You've been away, I've
heard, with your new friend.

For the first time, I experience this city
that is so connected to you, without you.

Today it seems empty,
empty by your absence.

In these winter days in
Mont-de-Marsan I realize,

that when you were all that was left
of me, I had to break away from you.

Of you and everything else.

For a long time I could only do that:

Break, get rid of the lines
and refuse any ties.

Today I walked through the
streets, through the statues.

I saw faces, welcome and unpleasant
ones that bore familiar traits.

While I feel strongly that everything
changes and everything stays the same,

I come to terms with this city and
accept it without useless greetings.

Of course, it also reminds me of
what was not, all the dreams,

the big things that did
not turn into anything.

That's too painful, but then
I look for reassurance.

I think of you, and I see you
in the street on those kids.

Surely they are your students.

Only know children. They're moving around.

You go to school, from
school to music lesson.

They cut bushes for shortcuts.

You know the Barrens and the
tunnels under the highways.

Later, they'll know the nooks where
you drink beer and smoke joints,

Girl gropes and boy sucks.
That's what teenagers do.

The adults drive through
the city without looking.

For a long time I did not want to know
about my story in Mont-de-Marsan.

But the city is part of my story,

as well as being part of the
story of some people here.

So I have a past.

I am writing you to tell you
that our story has a place.

It has given us. There is! us.

I kiss you intimately, and trust the wind.

Clarinet.