Original subtitles

Since last September, all I've done is wait for a man.

For him to call, to come to my place.

I kept working, I went to the cinema, I did the shopping...

I read...

But everything I did seemed to be...

cut off from reality.

I have vague memories of my life then.

A SIMPLE PASSION

When I can't sleep, I think of Porto

where I spent a week before I first saw him.

I remember my schedule,

all my walks...

I recall my room in the annexe of the Hotel Albar.

In my mind, I list the things found there.

The objects, for instance.

And I also think back

to my journey to that party

where I first saw him over dinner.

Everything that happened before we met, before it all began.

As if a perfect inventory would let me live it again.

I'm obsessed by the idea of returning to that same hotel room in Porto.

Actually, since he left,

all my deeds and thoughts are like a repetition

of the time before I met him.

As if to force the past to become the present again -

open to happiness.

I won't ask anything of you.

But do you have to go?

Yes.

Have you done your homework?

Yeah.

Don't say "yeah". Say "yes".

What did you eat at school?

Nothing. It was ratatouille, dog food.

Oh, Paul...

Stay in Hiroshima with me.

He'll come towards me.

He'll lay his hands on my shoulders.

He'll kiss me.

He'll kiss me and I'll be lost.

- Is there no coverage here? - No idea.

Did you like it?

Him, yes. Her not so much.

Why him and not her?

It's like any other film.

A beautiful, desired woman for whom it's normal.

It's a male fantasy.

Some women are never loved, even that beautiful.

And less beautiful women who deserve love...

stay invisible.

You're overanalysing it, Hélène.

Let's get a drink.

- Everyone does it. - Really?

There are thousands of apps.

You can see who's free around you, anywhere, even in your suburb.

Try it, it works.

I haven't done it, but my sister keeps trying guys.

I'd like to try something like it.

Why would I try?

You're free.

- Free? - I mean, you barely see that guy.

For me,

you're not like the woman in the film.

Will here do?

Thanks.

He has a great body and butt.

- It helps. - Not you. Well, I don't know...

Does a man in love close his eyes to kiss?

Hélène...

Be careful.

He's married, he'll go home to Russia. Be reasonable.

Of course.

Forget it. Here's to us.

I'm not in love with him.

No. Not a bit.

From what you say, you're in love with love itself.

The other day, when I got whisky from the kitchen,

I remembered an aunt of mine.

My mother always told me

she'd receive her lover in the afternoon.

The whole village knew and gossiped about her.

I wonder if people blamed her for being unfaithful

or for making love instead of cleaning her windows.

Just then, I thought of her with a lot of satisfaction.

It's good when that happens.

I mean...

those women with a sudden urge

to flee comfort, bourgeois boredom, cheat on their men

and bang some little hood with nothing to offer.

Thanks a lot.

I don't mean you.

"A strong-headed woman defying the conventions of society

"in 1660."

Hello?

How are you?

Fine.

- How are you?- I'm OK.

- What are you doing? - I'm working.

Can I see you?

Yes. Now?

In twenty minutes. OK?

All right. I'll be here.

Love is wonderful, it's fantastic

It's too complicated to explain

It comes and goes, it runs, it's fickle

Love is a wonderful thing

Happy or unhappy, it's a dilemma

Lovers encounter no end of problems

It's a dangerous game, but when you love

Love is a wonderful thing

It cries out

It rules our life on earth

It weeps

And it takes up hours on end

Whatever we do or say

When it sweeps us off in its whirlwind

It takes on superhuman proportions

And like it or not it's a chain

Binding us night and day

Yes, love is a wonderful thing

I want you.

Mum! Mum!

I've been here an hour!

- What time is it? - Pain in the arse!

It's no big deal.

"All we can do is name things,

"listing them in a banal and precise manner,

"trying to forget nothing...

"Forget nothing..."

Where are my football shorts?

Your shorts? On the...

- Have you lost them? - No, I'll find them.

Who's that guy?

There is no guy.

I've dreamed of kissing you for days.

Are you OK?

Yes.

I've never felt this with anyone.

Poetry's own goal is poetry.

And no poem is as beautiful, noble and worthy of being called a poem

as one written for the pleasure of writing a poem.

Baudelaire knew that.

He was stigmatised, humiliated and called a poser,

the ultimate slight, for writing.

Aphra Behn, the writer I'll talk about, was even referred to as a prostitute

or a hermaphrodite, a monster half-man, half-woman,

because she wrote.

Well?

Well?

Well what?

I drove like crazy to get here.

It's a little note.

Don't read it now. Read it in the car.

You can throw it from the window or tear it up.

You don't have to.

That's kind.

Tell your wife you bought a new shirt.

I THINK OF YOU EVERY DAY

My boyfriend's left.

I can do a mask. And the ends, too.

I don't know...

I feel exhausted.

I'm on anti-depressants.

I think it shows. It must damage my hair somehow.

I'll look after you.

Relax.

- Did you manage to find a parking spot? - Yes, it was easy today.

Thank you.

Where did I put my bag?

Here it is.

Thank you.

- Thank you and goodbye. - Goodbye.

It's snowing today.

It's going to rain in Moscow.

The sun is shining.

It's a lovely day.

You know, I'm working on a writer called Aphra Behn.

Did I tell you she was a spy?

She had two names, for instance.

Who did she spy on?

The last time...

she was spying on the Belgian court, but she got arrested.

So she began to write.

You...

Do you have two names?

You think I'm a spy?

What do you do at the embassy if you're not a spy?

I work in security, you know.

It's complicated.

And...

How did you get into that? Were you in prison?

Your tattoos... What's this?

That?

And you?

You're not afraid of me?

You know,

I'm very happy to see you, Alexandre.

I don't care about all the rest.

That you're married, that I can't call, write or send messages.

That you decide when we see each other.

I don't care about that.

I'll be away three weeks, maybe more, with my wife.

Thank you.

You're really kind, Miss.

What if we went away tomorrow to Florence?

- Well? - You forget I have school.

You forgot the alarm yesterday.

There's time, don't worry.

Friday is off anyway.

You'll only miss two days.

It's not your exam year.

We won't go far. I'll write a note.

Mum...

I don't want to go.

Please, sweetheart.

Paul!

Why is it white there?

- What? - Why is it white there, not brown?

Because all the leftists in the city

write slogans on the church wall.

And then the priest comes out every morning

to paint over them.

My dear...

What's wrong?

No...

Listen.

Make three wishes.

One of them will come true.

But you have to believe. OK?

Chin up. Don't cry.

- Shall we go? - Coming.

Come on.

When you study past centuries' literature,

try to understand the life of those who wrote it,

enter a vague and familiar world underlying ours,

yet foreign at the same time.

So...

So, what is a female writer's life like?

Hélène?

How are you?

Can I see you?

Excuse me.

Can I see you?

It's been three weeks.

Aren't you afraid someone will see us?

No.

Where did you go with your wife?

Did you miss me?

Yes.

Very much.

You go out in a skirt like that?

Yes.

Are you jealous?

Men can see your arse.

So?

So...

Shit.

What did you do?

I love you, sweetheart. You're my life.

Fruit, then bed. You have to be up early tomorrow.

Can I stay at Antoine's Thursday?

When's Thursday?

When's Thursday? You ask when it is?

Between Wednesday and Friday.

- Are you OK?- Yes. I'm calling about Friday.

- Yes.- You haven't told me if you're coming yet.

Listen... I have to check if I can.

Try your best.

Yes, you're right, it's...

All I want to do is see him, understand?

I'd like to do nothing else.

Just see him, all day long.

This morning, I was...

My guy is an inveterate crook, living off his stepmother's Visa card.

It takes a real beating that weekend.

He decides to let his stepmother enjoy it a little.

After all, she lets him live the high life...

What a beautiful moon

What a beautiful sea

From this night on, I must live without you

Mad with love

I wish I could die...

But you didn't call me.

So you'd think of me...

and so you'd dream of me, Mrs Augoust.

Thank you.

But it's not Mrs Augoust.

It's Mrs August.

I dreamed of us yesterday.

There were a lot of people around. I forget their faces.

We were in a big car.

A mysterious man was driving. I saw him from behind.

I only saw the back of his neck.

He took complicated roads.

You sat next to me, saying nothing,

until the man took a bend

and I saw a beautiful, vast landscape appear.

I felt weightless all of a sudden, as if I was flying.

And I think I actually flew.

And the others? Me?

Where was I?

The others? No idea. They had vanished by the dream's end.

And you had vanished, too.

You've never said... What do you drink at breakfast?

Coffee.

You don't eat anything?

No.

Your wife makes your coffee?

No.

Where did you live in Russia?

What street in Moscow?

Tverskaya. In the city centre.

Are you going to Russia at Christmas?

With your wife?

It's funny, we're so different.

He likes Dior suits and cars, big cars.

He drives fast,

flashing his headlights, without speaking,

as if basking in the feeling of being free and well dressed

on a French freeway.

He hates books and intellectual stuff. He loves Hollywood crap and Putin.

And I don't really care.

But he's married and he's younger.

It doesn't matter.

- Hello?- Hello, it's the Arsenal Library.

Oh. Hello.

The complete works of Aphra Behn, the English writer, aren't available.

OK.

There's a single copy in Antwerp at the Hendrick Conscience Library.

- Thank you, but I can't really talk now.- Ah, OK.

Sorry for bothering you.

Goodbye.

I love you.

I love you.

I make love to my wife often at times, you know.

"Often at times"?

What does that mean?

Does she turn you on like I do?

How do I know this isn't the last time?

I have to go away. Don't call me on my phone.

Is that an order?

Stay.

- Please. - No.

Why do you look at me that way if you don't care?

Why keep waiting? It's all you do.

I don't know.

What else can I do?

Want to know what I think?

I think that when men get what they want,

they panic and turn nasty.

It's true of your guy and mine, but mine hasn't the guts to leave.

Great things are happening. These feminists are right to cry out.

I support them.

We've waited centuries to speak.

What? We have to rely on a man for sex, life, everything...

It's unbearable!

That's not the point.

Even feminists turn submissive once they're in love.

Lots of them.

I don't know or perhaps you're just blind.

Maybe he doesn't love you.

I'm sorry.

I'm in no position to lecture you.

What place are you playing today?

Not place, position.

Position? So what position?

- Striker. - Striker?

Near the other team's goal to score.

- OK! So that's the plan for today? - Yes.

I'd love to see that.

But you can't?

No, I can't. I have to work on my research.

You said that last time, too.

Last time I lied, but today it's true.

Maybe you're lying now.

Don't worry, I swear I'll come next time.

I really will.

You said that last time, too.

Malo's mum will drive me home.

OK.

- Have a good day, Mum. - Have a good day.

Stop!

- Are you OK? - You nearly ran me over!

- You're not hurt? - I am!

What?

You're not letting me in?

No.

I have to work.

You didn't say that yesterday.

No.

It just landed on me.

You want to play at that?

I'm not playing.

- Is that what you want? - No.

And now?

No.

Welcome. You have no new messages.

Main menu...

Hello?

Hello. Could I speak to Alexandre Svitsine, please?

Yes.

Hello, is this the Russian consulate?

Yes, madam. Who's calling?

Hélène August.

Hello?

We were cut off. I'd like to speak to Alexandre Svitsine, please.

Mr Svitsine?

I'd like to speak to Alexandre Svitsine, please.

Just a second, please.

- Hello? - Are you OK?

Yes, I'm OK.

Yes... I'm sorry, I hope this isn't a bad time.

Meet me at the Hôtel d'Albion at midday tomorrow.

- Yes.- OK?

Yes. See you tomorrow.

Orange voicemail. The person you are calling is...

Hello?

Hello, could I speak to Alexander Svitsine, please?

He has left.

I'm sorry?

Mr Svitsine has left for Moscow.

When is he due back?

I don't know that, madam.

- Need a lift? - No, thank you.

Where are you going?

I don't know.

Are you driving? Walking?

Sorry?

- Are you here on foot? - Yes.

It's a risky area.

I know that.

You seem a bit lost.

I'm waiting for a taxi.

- A taxi? - Yes.

There aren't any here.

One is bound to arrive.

Shall I call one?

It's OK, thank you.

Can I drop you somewhere?

No, thank you.

Unless you take me to the station or to my car.

Where's your car?

- Sorry? - Where's your car?

I can't remember.

Hold on a second. Sorry, I sound a bit stupid.

No, not stupid, just lost.

I was near Place de l'Étoile.

Near Étoile.

Étoile? That's back there.

That way?

You have to turn back.

It's a five-minute drive. Really...

I'm a bit lost, too. We can both be lost.

You're a bit lost like me.

You thought, "If she's lost and I'm lost, she'll listen."

Well, yeah. But maybe I have things to say.

Life's cruel, isn't it?

Hélène?

Hélène.

Hélène.

Why are you here?

Paul asked me to fetch him.

What?

He'll stay till Wednesday.

Why?

It doesn't suit you?

What's wrong with you? Do you need a doctor?

No, I had the flu.

- It'll pass. - What'll pass?

Paul, can you leave us?

No need, we're going.

What's that crap?

Leave it there.

You take this crap?

Mind your own business. Leave it.

Paul, leave us, please.

You spend all day nude.

- Mind your own business. - That's not for the flu.

I'm not totally stupid.

You fuck all day, you can't even cook pasta...

Don't hush me, he told me.

- Come on... - Two weeks he's fended for himself.

You don't even buy food?

You nearly ran him over!

- It's OK. - You say it's OK?

- You're losing it. - I know.

I left you the house, I pay alimony...

- Not again... - Every month.

Are you losing it or what?

I'm screwing up, I know.

Is this some teen meltdown?

- You're a wreck. - Give me a break.

I'm sorry, Paul.

And now you have to piss me off, too!

Let's go, Paul.

What an arsehole.

Alexandre!

Alexandre!

Alexandre?

Alexandre!

I miss you.

Excuse me.

Sorry.

I need a prescription.

Tranquillisers. I can't sleep.

I need a sick note for my classes, too.

To have a few weeks off.

I can't go on. I teach at university and...

It's complicated.

I'd like to sleep, but I can't.

How long has this been going on?

Tell me.

Since last September,

all I've done is wait for a man.

For him to call, to come to my place.

I kept working, I went to the cinema,

I did the shopping, I read...

But everything I did seemed to be...

cut off from reality.

I have vague memories of my life then.

Of the people I saw...

Without him knowing, that man connected me to the world.

He gave my life rhythm. I measured time by him.

I tried to be normal with others, not to reveal anything.

But when I was in a group of women,

at the supermarket checkout or at the bank,

I wondered if they had a man in mind at all times like me

or, if they didn't, how they managed to survive.

I've given up working on my thesis.

I can't even raise my son.

I even went to Moscow for a few hours

to smell the air he breathes.

Was that good?

Oh, yes.

8 MONTHS LATER

I'm so proud!

It's eight o'clock. Rise and shine.

I liked it when you forgot.

You did?

Get dressed.

Wait till I go. Spare me that.

Nice...

Hello.

Thank you.

16.28 euros.

There you go. Have a good day.

Hello.

Excuse me, madam.

Your cart isn't empty.

- Sorry. - No worries.

Can you get that?

Don't know where it is.

- Hello?- Hélène.

Can you sleep at Malo's? Call him.

No, I don't want to.

Can you call him?

- No reply. - The neighbours, then. Call Valentin.

But why?

Why?

I don't want to go.

Do it for me, OK? Don't worry, everything's fine.

Get ready.

Where are you staying?

At a hotel.

Stay here, then.

No, I'm expected.

People I work with.

I'll drive you in your car, then get a taxi. You've drunk too much.

Our affair...

Is it over?

I'll never see you again?

I'll call you.

Know the meaning of those words?

Your son, Paul... Is he well?

Yes.

You never asked about him before.

Have you finished your work on the spy?

I found nothing.

Well, no, I found a lot of stuff.

She was more a lover than a spy.

The man who came back that night wasn't the one I'd loved all that year.

That return didn't occur.

I'll never see that man again.

But with him, I saw what I am capable of.

Basically, of everything.

Thanks to him, I approached the limit between me and others,

close enough to imagine crossing it.

My love...