Original subtitles

This series is loosely inspired by the life of Karl Lagerfeld.

Some of the characters, their intimate and professional relationships,

their actions and statements, places, incidents and events,

as well as artistic creations

have been invented or altered by the authors for dramatic purposes.

In the case of such invention or alteration,

any similarity to the actual character or history of any person

is entirely for dramatic purposes

and is not intended to reflect an actual character or their history.

♪ Baby, you understand me now ♪

♪ If sometimes you see that I'm mad ♪

So, this is the famous Club Sept.

I've heard so much about it.

Karl, Bergé is there.

If he says anything, ignore it.

If you take the high road, he'll get tired of talking.

Are you the one being called a whore?

Let's just show our guest a good time.

It's an important night for our parfum.

It'll be all right.

Are you ready for our grand entrance?

- What a beauty.

You are.

You're a bouncer now?

Take your whore and go.

What did you say?

Settle whatever problem you have with me, Pierre.

I'm not talking to you.

And you don't make the laws around here.

Listen here, you toad. Keep your dog on a leash.

-Get off of him!

Who do you want in your club? Lagerfeld or Saint Laurent?

Saint Laurent, obviously.

There you go.

I'll break your knees next time.

You're dead, German!

I'll shout it out to all of Paris.

We know things are dire if Jacques is here at 7:00 in the morning.

What do you mean?

I could have done without that.

Well, listen, I...

I'm sorry, you should never have been involved in this.

I'm gonna go see Pierre.

Why would you do that?

Well, to explain myself and make him understand that...

What are you going to tell him?

"So sorry, but I'm afraid my dick popped out on its own.

"I can't tell madness from sanity."

Are you going to see Saint Laurent, too?

And my reputation.

How are we going to save my professional reputation,

which helps me live and helps you live,

and in a week could be destroyed by Pierre?

Twenty years.

Twenty years of working every day of my life

to try to get just a modicum of respect from others.

And no one likes me here.

Nobody wants to see me succeed.

And you, you destroy everything.

So, fine.

You go head on home.

And let me handle things.

Karl, let me... Let me help you.

No, you don't say anything or do anything.

You disappear. I don't want to see you again.

But my honor is being insulted, too.

Honor?

Honor is a farce.

Plenty of people live just fine without it.

"Jacques, in the doghouse."

Jacques, in the doghouse.

Uh, and when Pierre threatens to send his people to come deal with you,

he's entirely capable of it.

I told you it's a start.

Good for you.

What's wrong with you, huh?

Did you see me? Huh?

What? Am I invisible? Piece of shit!

Bernadette Maurice of The New York Times, ill.

She apologizes and wants to postpone the date.

Mont-Servant from Le Monde is too busy, not sure he can come to the show.

And it's the same for Macy's, last minute conflict.

That's a lot for one morning.

The person who helped me understand what was going on was John Fairchild.

"Sort your shit out with Pierre Bergé." That's what he said.

I couldn't imagine it would be this fast.

Oh, yes! I forgot. The girl, from the parfum, the American.

The one who called me in a fit to tell me there was no way

she was taking part in such a scandal.

And she was going straight back to New York.

What did you do to him? To Pierre Bergé?

Nothing.

But he obviously spent his morning calling every editorial in the world

to say they had to make a decision between Saint Laurent and Lagerfeld.

They made their choice. Saint Laurent.

The reasons why aren't worth getting into.

But in spite of my best efforts, that has impacted Chloé.

And I'm very ashamed of that.

All I can tell you is that I'm committed to fixing the problem,

and the reporters will be there at the parade.

This, I promise.

Tell me how.

How do you intend to solve this?

-Everyone hates Pierre Bergé. -Hmm.

We've all been picked on by him at one time or another,

but we keep quiet.

In our business, he holds the most power, and he tends to go for the head.

I'm sure your stories are already all over Paris.

I don't care.

Get a meeting with Bergé and make your peace.

Whatever you have to do.

Just a piece of friendly advice.

And a direct order.

Do we have a number for a good florist in New York?

Uh, maybe. I can find one.

Can we get a bouquet delivered to the perfume chick?

Forsythia, azaleas, daffodils.

And go all out. Something big and expensive.

Okay.

Saint Laurent's office, please.

Uh, yes, Anne-Marie Muñoz, if you would.

Tell her it's Roland.

Yes.

Come in, it's open.

Madam in a nightgown?

Do you want me to unclog your sink?

You know, I don't use that kind of wood.

Great.

Ta-da.

I'll take it all. Speedball, cocaine...

Is this a suicide or a soirée?

That depends.

What are you up to? You got time?

We'll do a line, chat, maybe listen to music.

Mmm-mmm. It's a nice thought, but I've got work.

-Too much work? -Yeah.

It's not the song from Modern Times, is it?

All right then, get working.

-Here you go. -Merci.

You're a little famous now.

I've heard lots of customers talking about you.

Well, you can tell them to piss off.

Well, be careful with the speedballs.

They're strong.

See you, Jacques.

Anne-Marie, it's so good to see you.

I think this place is good.

We can be sure no one will see us here.

As far from Saint Laurent as possible.

I know what you risk with our friendship.

Well, Pierre might kick me out tomorrow.

I don't have immunity.

I know.

I was hoping you could tell me, what's going on with Yves?

-Where'd he go? -Uh...

Vanished.

What do you mean, "vanished"?

We looked everywhere for him for two days,

Until finally we got a call from the Center for the Homeless in Nanterre.

He had no idea where he was.

No papers or ID.

No jacket, no shoes.

No way to know what went on.

Said he looked like he was in a fight.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

But it's not the first time he's lost control, right?

We'll get him back on his feet.

Mmm. When Pierre took him to the hospital, Yves threw a marble bust at him.

Well, crazy or not, he never forgets how he should treat Pierre.

Stop it. He doesn't deserve that. He might have a loud bark,

but he carries everything Yves can't without complaint.

Back in '61, he had to be committed as well.

Six months later, he was released to set up his house.

It's worse than in '61.

There's not just nerves but alcohol, too, and drugs.

I include Jacques under those drugs.

He no longer designs.

The whole of Saint Laurent stalled,

250 employees waiting around like hungry birds.

We have a show in a month.

I'm the one who will be designing a collection for Yves.

So who knows?

Nobody knows.

Just Pierre and me.

We've lied to everyone.

We keep wondering if this is the end in a lot of our talks.

That way.

You did this on purpose.

What did I do?

-What am I supposed to have done? - That's what Pierre says.

He said you encouraged Jacques to hurt Yves.

He said Jacques was being used by you.

And do you believe I'm doing this?

I'm not sure.

Why would I do that?

Because I'm jealous?

Because I want to be Yves and I'm not?

He and Jacques are two consenting adults.

The truth is that Pierre is furious

because he doesn't want to admit that Yves is crazy.

And for that, Jacques and I are not responsible.

-Okay. - Great.

My Karlito.

Are we getting out of here?

I did nothing to you.

He came looking for me.

He loves you.

But you don't know how to.

Where are you going? Karl!

Don't leave me alone here!

- Karl? -Not now, Mother.

Karl, now.

It is time to get on with your life, hmm?

What is it, Mutti?

I went to the hairdresser.

Who is gossiping in the next chair?

The Countess of Ribes and the Baroness of Rothschild.

Good friends of Yves and Pierre's, if I've understood correctly?

I'm not interested in hearing all the bad things they have to say about me.

I know they talk.

It was not about you, though.

-About you? - Mmm-hmm.

They were talking about Karl Lagerfeld's Nazi Mutter.

-To the French, we're all Nazis. -Hmm.

I have never said anything.

Yes, well, Pierre Bergé is very well-informed.

He already knows your father wasn't Swedish or some baron, so...

And that he used compulsory workers in his factories.

Now he's decided to share those things with everyone.

-You're losing control, mein Sohn. -Nein,

I'm dealing with it. Hmm.

It's very pretty on you, Amina.

Nice volume. Very good work.

Is she still with that journalist from Paris Match?

Amina? Why? Are you interested in Paris Match?

Hang on.

Have you seen Pierre Bergé?

Amina. You live in Champs de Mars, don't you?

-Yeah. -Mmm.

I'll drop you off later. It's on my way.

Okay.

Jacques?

It's me. Open up.

Can we talk? Huh?

Mr. Jacques de Bascher

You're my vice

my life my religion

my sin and my death

Blessed are you Your Yves

Karl, this isn't fun anymore.

And since I still have a bit of pride and energy left in my legs,

I, the gigolo, the genius's assassin,

am returning to where I'll still be allowed to stand up straight.

Farewell, Paris.

Good riddance.

Jacques.

Oh, my God, you're stupid!

-What are you doing here? - My cute little mother.

Oh, my darling.

I'm back.

You're so handsome.

Where's Papa?

He's resting.

Trying to.

Hello?

Okay, so what's the story?

Yves Saint-Laurent has passed?

Anna. Have the rumors already reached Milan?

Yes. The article in Paris Match got picked up by the entire press.

Who started this rumor?

We're all asking ourselves that question.

And Pierre? What did he say?

Pierre Bergé was Pierre Bergé.

He refuses to pick up the phone when journalists try to ring up.

None of us has managed to get through to talk to him.

And now I'm wondering if he's hiding a cadaver in the closet.

If Saint Laurent has perished, we'll have to look for him.

I don't want to believe it's true.

Well, I'm coming to Paris.

I'm going to stand in line at Bergé's with all the others from Vogue.

He'll have to talk to us then.

All right. Would you keep me in the know?

Of course, my dear.

-Merci.

Come in, doctor.

Bonjour, Monsieur de Bascher.

Oh! Ah!

My little Jacques!

Oh, you're back.

-Oh, I'm so happy! - Me too.

So where's my hot chocolate?

-Where is it?

I'll go fetch some.

Where's Mama?

Don't ask me, out in the vineyards?

Okay.

Are you here for us or are you bolting off to Paris?

I'm here for you guys.

Lagerfeld turned you down. Now you're broke.

-No. -Are you sick?

No.

If you're sick, stay away from Papa. He's got an immune disorder.

I don't have anything.

Hmm.

No, just here for company and a bit of love.

You ignored us for three years after Papa got cancer.

You barely even returned our calls anymore.

I didn't forget you, Anne.

You better go up and see Dad.

Come on! Don't be like that!

I'm here now, we're having lunch, we're talking a little,

what is that if not trying!

Who's Beaumarchais?

Because when my friends run into you at parties in Paris,

apparently, you go by the name of "Jacques de Bascher de Beaumarchais."

So I'm wondering...

Who is Beaumarchais?

Is our name not enough for you?

Is it too bumpkin for you?

Not good? Too old?

-Not gilded enough for the socialite?

You don't know anything about that world, okay?

I know what it is. It's everywhere.

And I despise it. And that's not how we were raised.

Shh! You're yelling! It's fine. I'm fine.

I thought you were writing a love story with Lagerfeld.

Well, yes, I wanted to.

I don't know, because to me, it sounds more like a fairy tale.

You could be so many things, Jacques, and this is what you're doing?

You put off your studies and denied us, all for what?

You like to tell yourself

that Papa rejected you because he knew you were gay?

Maybe you were rejected because you always want things to be easy.

Mutti, turn on the TV.

If I were dead, I'd be the first to know.

Since this morning, I've been allowed to leave and work in the studio.

I am ill. Very ill.

I have been for a while,

but nobody ever took the time to notice.

Mr. Saint Laurent is suffering from a nervous breakdown.

And we're confirming here, on our honor, of course, that it is nothing else.

Ugh. What are they thinking?

This is ruinous.

Maybe now they'll stop nit-picking others for a little while.

...we wouldn't try to hide away from that truth.

All these rumors that have persisted are nothing but vain attempts

at slandering our name, the House of Saint Laurent.

Mr. Saint Laurent is still the genius we know.

-Karl? - He is, above all, a human man...

Is this your doing?

Just listen to this.

This is Yves destroying himself.

We assure you he is surrounded by the best doctors.

But don't worry about me. I'll take care of myself.

I'll get better soon.

I'm still capable of great things.

As for those behind these rumors,

they should know, we won't let things rest here.

Hello?

Could you connect me to Saint Laurent's office, please?

- Who are you calling for? -Anne-Marie Muñoz.

- Who's calling? -Roland.

- Hello? -It's me.

Yes?

Forgive me for what I'm about to do, but I'm afraid I'm left with no choice.

What?

I have found all the letters Yves ever wrote to Jacques.

How does that concern us?

Let Pierre know, if he slanders me or causes any trouble,

I will not wait. They'll be sent to every journalist.

Am I clear?

Yes.

We're really glad that you're here with us.

Merci, Chantal.

Bonsoir, Papa.

The vines doing well?

Budding yet?

Not bad.

There's no frost in the forecast.

Good.

So then, we'll soon be ready for debudding.

Uh, sure.

Augier called me.

He might lend us some loaders.

No more than one or two.

While we try and go look for others.

I think our youngest, Xavier, might be able to help out

if he passes his midterms on time.

He might be nearly finished now.

Yeah, I think he's almost done.

He's good.

Our youngest is so responsible, we can count on him.

Wow.

What are you doing?

You know what your issue is?

Being useless.

Mmm.

If you got things done, you wouldn't feel lonely.

-I mean, I never do. -You've got to quit it.

I'm not interested in marching with these dykes and faggots you're associating with.

Aw, but why not?

Because... No.

Homosexuality isn't just private, or how you dress,

or a specific way of partying.

Hmm.

It's about living your life and letting others live theirs.

It's profoundly political.

It's a cause, and it's important to have a cause.

You're in need of cause, Jacques.

A revolutionary and a gigolo. That's good.

I'm happy Dad found other kids to save us from perdition 'cause...

-...this is all so wrong.

That's him?

-Are you joining us? -Yes.

-Shall we go? -Yes.

I'll go with.

- Papa, you don't wanna miss mass. -Come on.

I could have given you a bit of warning.

No, that's not as funny.

I'm sorry. Seeing you... I just didn't expect it.

When I was younger and first came to Paris,

we'd refer to this kind of look as the fashion of "Tala."

-Clothes for the man going to mass.

No makeup or anything.

I got this worked out.

Everything's going to change, hmm?

We'll fly out to the States. We'll make that damn parfum.

Reinvent ourselves. Have fun, keep things light.

We'll come back stronger. And finally have our revenge.

I wanted to apologize.

I was harsh.

Too harsh.

I was worried. I... I was upset.

I said things I never meant to say.

That's putting it mildly.

Don't be mad at me.

I'm not at you.

Okay.

Let's go home then.

The grace of Jesus, Our Lord, the Love of God, the Father,

and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you always.

And with your spirit.

Let us prepare for the celebration of the Eucharist

by acknowledging that we are all sinners.

Jacques.

Papa says to switch.

-Huh? -Stand next to him.

♪ Hallelujah, Hallelujah ♪

♪ Hallelujah, Hallelujah ♪

♪ Hallelujah, Hallelujah ♪

♪ Oh, Lord Jesus, praise unto you ♪

♪ I am the good shepherd says the Lord ♪

♪ I know my sheep and my sheep know me ♪

♪ Hallelujah, Hallelujah ♪

♪ Hallelujah, Hallelujah ♪

♪ Hallelujah, Hallelujah ♪

♪ Oh, Lord Jesus, praise unto you ♪