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This film won the International Critics Prize

awarded at this year's Cannes Film Festival

The prize was previously awarded

to the following films:

Miracle in Milan by Vittorio De Sica

Monsieur Hulot's Holiday by Jacques Tati

Hiroshima mon amour by Alain Resnais

La dolce vita by Federico Fellini

The Virgin Spring by Ingmar Bergman

Rocco and His Brothers by Luchino Visconti

CHRONICLE OF A SUMMER

This film was made without actors, but lived by men and women

who devoted some of their time to a novel experiment

of "film-truth."

You see, Morin, getting people together to talk

is an excellent idea.

But I don't know if we can succeed

in recording as natural a conversation

as we would without a camera present.

For example, I don't know if Marceline can relax

and talk normally.

We should try.

I think it won't be easy.

I'm a little nervous.

What about?

Nervous because...

at some point you have to be ready and I may not be.

You're not nervous now?

Not right now.

Since you're not right now,

what Morin and I are deviously asking you

is to just talk, to answer our questions.

Anything you object to we can always cut out.

So there's no reason to be nervous.

I'm less nervous now, because you've been easy on me.

He's the rascal!

Go, Morin, bully her.

Here goes.

You've no idea of our questions.

Nor have we, for that matter.

What we have in mind with Rouch is a film about this:

how do you live?

We'll start with you, then we'll talk to others.

In other words, what do you do with your life?

We begin with you,

because you're going to be intimately involved

in this adventure, our film.

To start...

What do you do all day?

When you get up in the morning?

Work, usually.

I do surveys

in applied psycho-sociology.

My job is to interview people...

I analyze the interviews, and if necessary synthesize them.

That takes up a lot of my time.

- Like it? - Not at all.

When you leave home in the morning,

do you have a plan for the day?

Sometimes, when I leave home, I have things to do.

But I don't necessarily do them.

I never know what I'll do the next day.

I live by the principle that tomorrow's another day.

For me, adventure is always just around the corner.

If we sent you out to ask people on the street

if they're happy, would you do it?

Excuse me, are you happy?

He said, what do you care?

Excuse me... are you happy?

Don't be afraid, we won't bite.

I'm too busy.

- Are you happy, sir? - Don't talk to me about it!

Are you happy?

Always.

Never mind.

It depends what you mean. I'm happily married.

Can't you tell by my face?

You have a very happy face.

I'm happy to be alive, even if I am 60.

And I travel a long way to work every day.

I'm healthy, I have a kind husband.

It depends.

Depends what money you have.

A worker's never happy.

I have my share of troubles.

- But you're not unhappy? - My sister died.

She was 44.

I'm in a bad way, believe me.

I don't try to understand.

Are you unhappy?

Unhappy? What for?

Question of philosophy.

We're conducting a survey about happiness.

You wouldn't quote a name?

What about Descartes?

No, no philosophy.

I'm just reading this.

Are you happy?

No? You're not?

Off duty, he would answer.

It's a sociological survey.

- A logical survey? - Sociological.

- Aren't you allowed to talk? - Not on duty.

Off duty, I would have answered.

About happiness? I've been happy, I've been sad.

I've had a bit of everything.

It has to be that way, you have to share...

- Why are you unhappy? - Because I'm too old.

I'm 79.

I'm telling you. Born in '82.

Don't be afraid, it's the mike.

Are old people always unhappy?

I've lost my wife.

I'm on my own, with the rent to pay each month.

I live in a hotel.

- Are you happy? - Yes, very much so.

- You too, miss? - Sure.

We're young and the sun shines.

This'll be easy to fix.

Daniel told me you were willing to be interviewed.

I've only one question to ask.

Are you satisfied with your living conditions?

We don't need anything.

We just want... to move up in the world.

We don't complain.

Frankly, we can't grumble.

But...

To get ahead,

you must work.

It's not just about living conditions.

We manage because we cheat a bit.

We do a lot of things we shouldn't be doing.

It's true. I'm just answering you.

No one could manage if they stuck to the law.

If I invoiced all my customers,

if I didn't fiddle the books, life would be impossible.

Depends... Sometimes I'm happy.

Paris isn't much fun,

the bad air, no sun...

People are mad.

They work all week.

On Sunday they don't want to damage the car, so they park it.

They set up a table and chairs by the roadside.

A dirt road might damage the car.

It takes them three hours to drive home. Call that sane?

Do you live differently?

I try to. We try to.

We do things not for money, just for the fun of it.

What kind of things?

Well, my friends and I

mess about with things which will have no use.

We spend our time doing nothing.

We're here for that survey.

What's your name?

Nadine and Marceline.

- And you're... - Madi.

I'm told you're happy?

I don't know. I don't consider happiness a goal.

I try to live...

a normal life.

In harmony with myself.

Being a couple hasn't changed my idea of happiness.

I'm trying to find it with her, instead of by myself.

What about you?

I lived at home till I was 17.

Then...

I decided with friends to go into business

to make money quickly...

naturally!

Hard work isn't so fulfilling, it's a waste of time,

if it's just for the money.

We got hold of Louis-Philippe chests.

We took them apart

and made them up as Louis XVI antiques.

People were fooled by the old wood.

It's not easy to tell the real age.

Sometimes we would add pillars on both sides

and reduce the drawers from five to three.

Using old wood, we even faked Louis XIV furniture.

We added curves and fresh veneer.

Did you make money?

My partners did, but... eventually I left.

Now we're in a law suit.

That just shows how horrible the business world is.

I made nothing out of it, but I learned my lesson.

I'll never do it again, it's a dead loss.

I'm a painter. I've got no theories.

Painting's the way I learn. I love it.

I paint to understand the painting of others.

I'll just have a grape, I'm not hungry.

What do you do every day?

We've been together for a year and a half now.

It's been like a honeymoon.

Most mornings, we stayed in bed,

reading.

In the afternoons, we painted.

At least we have for the past six months.

Before that, we travelled.

Last May we went away. That was our honeymoon...

We were away till September.

We went to the Camargue, we rented a studio in an old house...

We were flat broke and had to make a living somehow.

We discovered that you can live over there just like here.

I painted names on boats, that sort of things.

We lived well on 2 hours' work a day.

We lay about in the sun, then we did some painting.

We don't worry about happiness.

It's an empty word anyway.

Happiness, unhappiness, it's all one.

Unhappiness is meaningless, it shouldn't be in the dictionary.

Grief is another matter, but not unhappiness.

We don't have much money,

but even friends of ours who make lots

don't have the books and records that we do.

When we sell a painting,

we buy something to make life richer.

When I think that every morning you get up at the same time.

You have breakfast, the same old road to the station.

You get to the station,

you go up the steps, get in the train.

You walk through the same gate every day.

Clock in.

Sit at your desk and draw.

It's the same at lunch.

You talk, eat, go back to work, and in the evening,

you take the train, go home, eat,

go to bed.

It's always the same. I find that ridiculous.

In the morning, when I get to the factory gates

I get a feeling... I feel certain I'll rebel.

Then I think to myself, what the hell!

No one's ever told me he finds his job interesting.

Angelo, you feel the same way?

Just about.

Lots of fellows just want

to climb the ladder.

Workers want to be technicians.

Technicians want to be...

engineers, perhaps.

So they attend courses.

That's their hope.

But what would they leave for? Working on markets?

Many leave and end up working on street markets.

Then they come back.

Some start their own business.

Some succeed, others don't and come back.

The problem is the same for office workers.

Anyone, anywhere,

no matter what department, in the factory.

It's the same.

The job is so split up, so...

it's become so narrow,

that you end up doing monotonous work

that's boring, that's always the same.

I work 24 hours a day.

We only do a 9 hour shift.

But the rest of the time

you spend sleeping, and you sleep so you can work.

So it comes to the same thing, work all the time.

I think he's right.

You wanted to meet Landry. Here he is. Go ahead.

What are you doing in France?

I'm a student at Villeneuve-sur-Lot,

in the Lot-et-Garonne.

I like the place.

I work at Renault.

That's a household name in Africa.

- It's that well-known? - Very well-known.

For Africans, it's the only make that exists!

There are no others.

But I wouldn't dream of working in a factory.

In a factory,

you're shut in all day, with all the noise...

You're right, it's shitty!

I don't know how we can stand it. We're shut in.

We're watched.

Workers are set up against each other,

then there's the harassment by foremen,

always on our back,

that's real shitty.

You're right to wonder how we can stand it in the factory.

It's real tough, but we have no choice.

Sometimes there's nothing else.

When you came to France,

knowing nothing and no one,

that's what I'd like to hear about.

True, I knew nobody, no one.

I knew nothing of life in France

and I had to...

to get by, somehow.

For someone like me, it's not easy.

An African in France is not...

Our problem is adjusting.

Another thing.

Some people have an inferiority complex.

When I talk about inferiority complex,

I'm talking about myself.

But I wanted to ask you...

Can I say "tu"?

What I wanted to ask is...

do you still have this complex?

Not any more.

When I got here, I soon realized

that the French in Paris aren't like the French in Africa.

So you don't mind being Black?

I got a trick. I knock on a door. If it opens, I get in,

if it stays shut, I go away.

You're great! I like you.

What do you think

of workers?

In France, I don't know them too well.

I don't know how it is here.

Every worker owns a car, in the evening he has a good time.

So I don't know how it is.

Maybe it's not like in Africa.

At Renault...

80% of the guys have cars.

The French worker is an individualist.

He works for himself, thinks only of himself.

He wants his salary, so he plugs away.

He labours and saves. He piles up dough, he spares.

He wants to act rich.

But he's just a jerk, really.

I eat at the cafeteria.

I don't care, I'm broke but I eat.

Some of the fellows at Renault

just pick at some salad

and a piece of bread.

But, as you say, they own a car.

So you think

the French worker has money.

He makes lots of dough, never had it so good.

He can afford a car, a home. Don't believe it.

The guy's broke, he's a loser.

Believe me. I live with them. They're losers.

Another thing.

You get into a restaurant.

You see this guy all dressed up. You think he's got money.

But he's pathetic!

Most of the time, he's a loser. That's how I see it.

He scrimped and saved for that suit.

Well-dressed, rings on his fingers...

It's all an act. I'll tell you why.

On Monday he'll be back at his dirty bench.

Inside and outside the factory, he's not the same guy.

I remember that for many years not having a home

bothered you and weighed on your whole life.

And now,

you live at Clichy, in a social housing...

It's better, light and quiet...

Could you tell us about this problem?

It was terrifying,

having no home.

Not having a roof, depending on others, that's terrible.

Not only that.

First we were in a boarding house...

Before that, in a single room.

We heard everything through the walls.

No running water in the room.

And bedbugs!

I wanted to sleep outdoors.

I didn't want her to.

I would have liked it better.

I'd never seen a bedbug before!

I woke up about 5 in the morning...

Before that, I'd had a few...

a few pimples on the arms, I thought it was a rash.

Then one day I woke at 5 AM,

I saw something climbing behind the bed.

I'd never seen a bedbug!

I screamed!

I didn't care, I was used to them.

But Simone wasn't.

So she wanted to sleep out on the hill.

I didn't want her to. The Buttes-Chaumont Park was...

risky. Anything could happen at night.

I didn't want her sleeping on the grass.

I told a colleague at the office.

He said, "God! A bedbug...

"it's like a drop of blood running down your body."

I thought about it all night. I fell asleep at 4,

thinking that I'd feel the blood. It was awful.

I was wondering: are you happy?

Almost.

- How about you? - Almost!

What's missing?

I'm ashamed to say.

Money.

To do what I'd like.

What I'm interested in.

It's always the same,

if we had money he could do what he likes.

And what makes you happy?

I can consider myself pretty lucky because

I love my husband and my son.

I have a small job,

but I like it.

For me, work is a waste of time.

But you were an activist.

We both fought in the same party, for a better life.

Goodbye to all that?

Alas, ideals

can't always be realized.

We either accept or reject

life as it's been given to us.

You have to adjust?

Precisely.

I admire and envy anyone who can fully adjust.

I'm split internally, intimately.

I give up on part of myself.

And what happens to the rest?

Well, I keep it intact.

Or rather, I preserve it.

What part of you is that?

The real me.

I think that

the tragedy of our times

is that you're less and less able to choose your work.

You don't get into anything, you fall into it.

You must have...

if not a degree,

a job, a regular employment

to get an ID card, a work permit.

What's a man today?

An identity card, a bundle of forms!

That's what a man is today.

Everybody can't be an artist

or a craftsman. You're a drudge.

You have to fight boredom all day long,

you don't care about your work,

it doesn't mean a thing to you.

But of course you have to do it,

to endure,

until 6PM.

And after 6PM?

After 6,

you try to become yourself again.

You work until 6,

and then you're another man.

- What does that man do? - He's vibrant, he's alive!

Maybe he's still a prisoner,

maybe the other one has handcuffed him.

But I think we should...

get less involved

with so-called regular work,

and always more

with life on the fringe.

Is there anything you believe in?

I believe in life.

In the possibility of fulfilment.

In spite of everything, and because of everything.

Mary Lou.

You're 27, you came from Italy to France three years ago.

These 3 years have been a totally new experience.

In Cremona, you lived with your father,

in a middle class home.

Here you live in an attic with no running water.

You live as a foreigner. Also you've met men,

you've come to know Paris.

You've made new friends.

That's my question. What's new for you?

You mentioned the difference between my life in Italy and my room in Paris.

Well, my attic has been a good thing.

I spent several winters there.

There was no heating,

I'd never gone without modern conveniences.

At first it was a relief. I felt so guilty when I came to Paris,

stupid as it is, I felt good having a hard time.

It was the first time I'd ever worked.

I'd wake up at 7, exhausted,

but almost happy to take the subway with the crowd.

I really felt I belonged.

But that didn't last.

Now I'm sick of my room, sick of the cold.

I'm sick of the subway at rush hour.

I don't find human contact.

I find it all unpleasant

and pointless.

You've got some goal, some hope?

To be honest, I don't know.

Sometimes I'm happy to be in Paris.

I feel I've made up for lost time.

When I came here, I didn't fit in at all.

I was shut up in myself,

isolated,

when I was in Italy,

I'd exhausted my inner resources.

I wanted to come up against reality and I did.

Now I wonder if it was the right thing to do.

I drink, for instance.

I wanted to free myself

from alibis when I came to France. I wanted to live...

not by proxy, I wanted to live on my own terms.

By now I've destroyed...

phoney reasonings and alibis,

only to find them again in drinking, in sleeping around,

in a nonsense attitude, in bullshit.

What do you mean by reality?

Having a job you're interested in?

Doing what you like?

Or is it to live

with a man you love, instead of living day-to-day

and sleeping around?

It's all one.

I want a job that doesn't scare me.

To live with someone who...

no matter for how long, an hour,

two hours, a month, two weeks...

to be with him, relate to him.

Without any ghosts preventing me

from being able to come with him.

Above all,

to get outside myself, living or dying,

provided I'm in touch with something...

which takes me outside,

instead of relating everything to myself.

I don't even have the right...

to kill myself, it would be phoney.

Why do you relate everything to yourself?

If I only knew.

Jean-Pierre, you're a student, you're twenty,

and I wonder how you make out in life.

I live, sure I do,

probably better than most students my age.

But only because I give in

to dreadful compromises.

I agree to things not being what I wanted.

If I agree to getting screwed, things are fine.

Most guys my age, or even older,

can get by

once they've agreed to getting screwed.

I'm talking about real impotence.

For example, failing my exams.

I tried living with a woman.

I tried to make her happy, and she tried,

and things are falling apart, it's all fucked up.

That's impotence.

It's the same with politics. Not that I give a damn.

It matters so much less now.

All of my political expectations have died down.

The expectations are still there, sure.

But I wouldn't say I'm unhappy,

or ready to take any positive action.

It's no longer true.

I can justify myself intellectually.

I've seen

the failure of your generation's commitment,

their impotence when facing obstacles...

I give up. I've seen too many

practically reduced to tears.

Shattered, helpless.

It applies to almost all of you.

It's my justification to keep out.

But I know

deep down that it's not that at all.

It's just a lack of courage. And emotionally...

it's selfishness.

We've had our dreams of passion, of high ideals.

We have to realize, at least I have,

that everything is middle-of-the-road, colourless.

There's no black or white, only grey.

Just varying shades of grey.

It's a damn bore.

Marceline?

I feel responsible for it all.

I introduced you to these people who feel sorry

about their political experience.

Including myself.

When you talk of trying to make a woman happy...

I know you mean me.

So I feel responsible for your feeling of impotence.

I took you out of your own world.

When Jean-Pierre says impotence,

Marceline might think of failure.

I've felt a failure for a long time.

When I met Jean-Pierre...

I wanted so much to avoid that.

I didn't want him... to live his twenties as I had.

I thought I could make him happy,

in spite of everything.

I loved him so much, I still do.

And then...

it's another failure.

And not only a failure for me...

but a painful experience for him.

Because I think he still has some love for me.

This is where we stand.

So far, the film has confined itself

to a somewhat personal world.

Now it expands

to take in the events of this summer of 1960.

Fire away!

I'd like to hear them.

If I were a student,

right now,

especially a young man,

eligible for draft,

I would worry about the war in Algeria.

You don't give a damn, do you?

Of course I do.

If only because some day,

next year, two, ten years from now,

it'll make for fantastic film material.

You're talking as an aesthete, about films,

and why not?

If a majority of French people went against it,

showed public opposition...

What for?

To make this stupid war end!

Why should France give up overnight

its rights, there's no other word...

The war'll end with negotiations.

Like any other war.

The Algerian Provisional Government

probably can't end it.

That's not the point.

This war must end eventually!

It's been going on for six years. Don't you forget that.

It's become a habit,

something we take for granted.

Crimes are being committed out there, they're not mistakes, but facts,

and people turn a blind eye.

There's an Algerian problem, and a students' problem.

They've been mixed up.

It affects you young people specifically.

And I'm putting the blame on you

for not playing your part. And you don't.

You don't go all the way.

The youth you talk of is a myth!

Your vision of youth is a myth,

aspiring, glorious...

Just because we're 20, we should be able to do anything?

Speaking about the Algerian war,

everybody's mixed up right now,

even those who think they have...

clear cut opinions and solutions...

France is mixed up.

If we want to clear up that mess that you revel in,

we've to fight this nonsense,

each of us.

Without thinking in general.

Let's not start with the group, with abstract words,

let's start with the individual.

Let's take a gamble, with all the French,

that in the end people can squash that war.

FLN hard-liners counter-attack

FLN envoys have arrived

Tough negotiations with the FLN

Negotiations halted

Envoys return to Tunis

Whites in Congo call for help

100 dead in Congo

Belgian commandos move in

UN ♪ Belgium to evacuate Congo

I'd never marry a Black.

Me neither. Because of the kids.

Why?

For me, there's no connection whatsoever.

I'm not a racist, I can understand marrying a Black...

But...

But you don't like Negroes!

You're a racist sexually.

I'm not. It's not racism.

I can have sex with someone I fancy, not with someone I don't.

So you don't fancy Blacks?

I still don't think it's possible.

Just because I don't feel like it.

But I remember, two years ago, on Bastille Day...

You weakened?

I didn't, but I remember it was the first time...

at a July 14th ball, that I danced with a Black.

You were aroused?

His dancing was so extraordinary...

Go on!

I'm not OK with that. Blacks, in France,

are usually liked for their dancing.

I wish people would like Blacks for other reasons than dancing.

But the reason of our meeting

is to discuss the Congo issue

with our African friends.

Before we start,

I wonder,

in spite of the headlines in the press

about what's happening over there,

do we in Paris feel real concern about it?

Jean-Pierre, Marceline, Régis,

do you feel involved, and in what way?

I felt involved once, physically,

when watching the news on TV.

After showing a few pictures, mentioning a few incidents,

the newscaster summed it up:

"This is what they do with their independence."

Belgium came to Congo and said:

"There's money to be made."

No, not even that. They thought:

"No elite, no trouble."

Nadine, what do you think?

I agree with Landry.

You lived in Leopoldville. For how long?

For a year, I was boarding with the nuns who got raped.

It was horrible!

The Africans were cooped up together.

They weren't allowed in certain parts of the city.

Does a national of Côte d'Ivoire feel involved, as a Black,

in what a Black in Belgian Congo is doing?

Is there racial solidarity?

Do you feel responsible?

Yes, I do.

We can disapprove of violence, but it is an angry outburst.

Had it been between Congolese and Ivorians,

a national of Guinea would not feel involved.

But when a White man oppresses the Black...

All the African states were colonies once.

When Whites crack down on an African state,

we all feel we share in the others' sufferings.

I agree.

It's not quite the same,

but if there is anti-semitism in any country at all,

I feel involved, I can't tolerate it. Whether a German Jew,

Polish, Russian or American, it's the same to me.

Let's ask Landry a question.

Landry, have you noticed

the number on Marceline's arm?

What do you think it is?

I've no idea.

How about you, Raymond?

I know sailors wear tattooed numbers,

but she's no sailor...

I don't know what it means.

A tease?

Why a number?

A heart would look better.

It's not a phone number, too long.

First of all it's not a V, it's a triangle.

Half of the Jewish star.

The Jewish symbol is the six-pointed star.

On the other hand, it isn't my phone number.

I was sent to a concentration camp because I'm a Jew.

This is the number I was given in the camp.

Do you know what a camp is?

I've seen a film about them.

"Night and Fog."

The Place de la Concorde is empty,

Empty as it was twenty,

fifteen years ago.

I don't remember

"Pitchipoi"

"You'll see...

"well go there,

"well work in factories.

"Well see each other on Sundays," father said

And you'd tell me:

"You're young, you'll come back

"I'll never return."

And here I am, Place de la Concorde.

I came back, you didn't

When I saw you, we'd already been there six months.

We fell into each other's arms.

Then that bastard SS officer

rushed and hit me in front of you.

You said, "She's my daughter"

He threatened to hit you too.

You had an onion in your hand

You put it in mine and I passed out

When I saw you, you asked,

"How about Mother and Michel?"

You called me your little girl

I was almost happy to be in the camp with you, because I loved you so.

How I wish I could have you now

When I came back, I was hardened It was hard

I saw them all at the station. Mother, everyone...

They kissed me. My heart was a stone.

Michel was the one who touched me.

I said, "Don't you know me?"

He said,

"Yes, I think.. I think you're Marceline."

Well, Mary Lou.

It's been a month since we had our talk.

It's August now.

And there's one thing which struck me.

Two nights ago,

we were walking along,

and I told you about a question for this film

that I asked my friends Jacques and his wife:

"Are you happy?"

They answered: "Almost."

You told me: "I could say 'almost' myself."

Yet when I saw you a fortnight ago,

you were depressed, and not feeling well at all.

Yet you can answer, "Almost?"

I don't know what's happening to me...

once again.

Just as...

I didn't know

in the evening of July 14.

The faces of all the people I'd known were coming towards me.

I didn't know what to do with them.

I thought I was done for.

I think things came to a head that night.

Afterwards there were days of emptiness.

And then suddenly... things fell into place.

I was able to see people again.

I left my fantasy world.

Then it all became simple and easy.

Did it happen suddenly,

on its own?

From the moment

I started

seeing the people around me,

feeling part of it,

I became available,

open to anything.

To friendship...

and to love.

That's what made the difference?

But what's overpowering

is that fear, in spite of everything,

as it's happened hundreds of times,

that I might find myself all alone again.

I don't believe you will.

What can I say?

One can't talk about those things.

Angelo, Edgar tells me you're in trouble.

What happened?

That morning in the workshop, I started work again after you left.

They came and told me I was wanted in the office.

I thought it was about my work,

I might have botched something and they were going to yell at me.

But it wasn't that at all.

The section head told me: "So we're in movies now."

I said, "What's that got to do with my job?"

"Forget it, that's not the problem," he said.

"We're moving you to another shop.

"There's no work for you anyway."

In short, they're harassing me. Yesterday,

the foreman came up to me and said:

"You've got to do ten parts.

"If you do them in the morning, I'll leave you alone."

So I did them, on a grinding wheel, real filthy work.

When I'd finished it was around 1 PM.

He brought me 20 more and said: "You're here to work."

It was too much, I nearly went for him.

I realized he was out to break me.

So I took the afternoon off.

Another worker told me:

"You got to go. Clock out.

"If you don't, you'll bash them,

"and you'd better not."

- At Renault, what's your future? - None.

Won't you be a foreman one day?

Definitely no, not a chance!

Whites in Congo call for help

So Landry became the Black explorer of holiday France.

It's awful, awful!

He's stabbing him in the neck, that's the kill.

I like his passes.

He's cute.

Great!

It's beautiful to watch.

They watch the animals die and they go.

These are the joys of country life!

St. Tropez is a town, in some ways a village.

It reminds me...

of black Africa.

The same old houses and red roofs.

St. Tropez! Everybody talks about it, even in my forest,

in my African bush, I'd heard of St. Tropez.

I find women in St. Tropez funny.

They wear bikinis

and do all they can to attract attention.

They wear extravagant dresses just because they're in St. Tropez.

To think that in Africa,

in some regions,

women wear leaves to hide their sex,

and the French colonialists make fun of us.

But in a bikini a woman hides nothing at all.

It's no great fun being a model.

By now I'm getting used to it.

I've got to make a living, and publicity photos pay a little.

That's why I do it.

Those who don't need to

can always blame me. They're always the first

to ask for a picture, because back home,

it looks good to have a snap taken with a St. Tropez girl.

They show it to their friends and are happy.

That's the way the crowd thinks.

A lot of bystanders don't think that way.

It's only a minority.

You can't help it.

The crowd, including us, isn't that clever.

Catherine, you're quiet.

I don't want to think.

All I want to do is swim, ski, especially here.

I'd still like to know what Sophie is thinking.

Do you really know St. Tropez?

Not really well.

You need some time to know a place.

I came here last year, touring the casinos,

so I rented a little villa.

Now, on the street, we ask people: "Enjoying St. Tropez?"

To sound smart, they say: "What a bore!"

It's the snobbish answer,

that's what you're supposed to say now.

No kidding!

People are bored everywhere now.

But boredom comes from within.

If you've got an inner life, you're never bored.

So sweet and simple with their little push-up bras!

There are lots of stars here and they draw the directors.

So all the little Parisian girls come down here

with their bikinis and tight pants,

their long hair and mascara,

their eyes made up just so...

very chic.

They all hope to meet a director.

They've got everything but brains,

which few of us have.

Right, Marceline?

So what more can I say?

St. Tropez

is a really lovely spot, with fantastic scenery.

A pity about the people!

But they're elsewhere too. Why hold it against St. Tropez?

Personally, I'm not bored down here.

You know Rouch and I are making a film.

I heard about it.

We don't agree. Rouch thinks life is fun,

and I don't.

You got nerves!

I think the reverse, I tend to agree with Rouch.

Life's fun?

Why?

Well, perhaps it's because we're on holiday.

And outside of holidays?

We couldn't say.

We're not in your place.

You go out at night with Mom, that's fun.

Why is life so dreary suddenly?

Here's my friend, Landry.

I think...

you don't know the way...

French children live.

These two girls are 12 and 13.

It must be different in the Côte d'Ivoire.

It's not the same.

At home, a girl, when she's...

six years old...

her life's already begun.

When I was seven,

I could already cook.

We just do school work.

Sure, we clear the table now and then,

but we don't do much of that.

That's wrong. You should learn.

You shouldn't take life too easy, because some day

it won't be about just clearing the table.

Go on, put your foot there.

Angelo, put your foot there and hold on.

Put your foot here, and the other one there.

This is where you should put it.

No, you're putting it too high!

You dummy! Put it lower, here!

You've got it!

Put your foot on the step!

There you are!

I can't do it with you shouting down there!

I'm shouting because you're dumb.

Your arms are much stronger than mine.

You don't know where to put your feet,

you're good with your arms, but not with your feet!

Who's next?

Take the foot out and hold the rope behind you.

Let go and grab the rope.

Let go,

and keep away from the rock.

Let go of the rock! Don't be afraid.

Dad's here, there's no danger.

Go on, let go!

Lean back from the rock!

Put your hand behind you and catch the rope.

Over there, on this side.

Don't bully her.

Use your other hand.

Behind your back!

What can you do with those kids?

You've just seen yourself on screen.

Edgar and I would like your opinion.

Children first. Véro?

Did you like what you saw?

Charlie Chaplin's better.

What was your impression?

I don't know, you explain.

Some say it's not true, others that it is.

What's not true? You don't lie in front of a camera.

For most, whenever trying to express themselves,

they spoke in general terms.

You don't do that in life.

An example?

The conversation between Angelo and Landry.

It's a mass of generalities.

On the contrary, it's great when he tells Landry, "I like you."

They connect, they share the same problems...

They don't.

But there is some connection.

They discover each other.

It was a meeting of minds.

It's one of the most authentic scenes we did,

because we see friendship as it develops.

You're saying Angelo and Landry like each other, that's obvious.

But that's not my point.

It's all unnatural, it's completely phoney.

I don't agree. When the scene with Landry happened,

I didn't know anything about him.

It just happened that when talking to him,

I forgot the cameras.

I was caught up in what we discussed.

Looking at it, I found the film extremely painful.

When it's not terribly boring,

it's at the cost of total indecency.

In order to get a sparkle of truth,

the character has to be...

alone and on the verge of breaking down.

He has to talk about a very intimate matter.

With that approach, you can only get artificial scenes,

or scenes bordering on,

or in fact, outright indecent.

I agree with him.

You asked us if we felt like meeting some of these people.

Regarding some of those present, I'm sorry,

but I really don't after seeing this.

As to Mary Lou,

I'd be horribly embarrassed,

she said too much, she stripped herself too bare.

I thought Mary Lou was wonderful and I'd love to get to know her.

To me, what Maxie said is monstrous.

Such reactions block

the emergence of truth in life, in relationships.

Mary Lou doesn't act in front of the camera.

The camera doesn't inhibit her,

it prompts her to search for herself.

The same goes for Marceline, she talks to herself.

And we're embarrassed because we feel we're intruding.

But it's also when we get completely caught up.

Marceline's scene is better than the others,

you say it's truer than true, but it's because she's acting.

These were very intimate, vivid memories.

When I was saying the words,

I was re-living the past, feeling it.

But between scenes, I wasn't involved,

as Mary Lou mentioned.

So I don't at all agree with her

about being about to break down. I wasn't.

What's great is switching from phoney naturalness,

like these meaningless street interviews,

to a close-up of Mary Lou

that is beautiful and much more true.

This movement back and forth is what gives the film its strength.

So, Edgar, what do you make of this screening?

I found it very interesting.

It can all be summed up in two arguments.

Either our characters are blamed for not being true enough.

For instance, Jacques claims that Angelo is acting when with Landry.

Or they're being blamed for being too true.

Maxie, Jacques' wife,

blames Mary Lou for stripping bare in front of the camera.

What does that mean?

We're reaching a stage

when we question truth which is not everyday truth,

we've gone beyond that.

As soon as they're more sincere than in life,

they're labelled either as hams

or as exhibitionists.

That's our basic problem.

If the audience thinks these are actors or exhibitionists,

our film's a failure.

But I know and I feel

that they're neither.

- But they won't know. - Who?

The audience won't.

Marceline said she was acting at the Concorde.

We were there. She wasn't acting.

Or if she was, she was at her most authentic.

Talking about her father was no play.

This film, unlike standard cinema,

places us back into life.

People react to the film as they do in life.

They're not being guided, we don't direct the audience.

We don't say, this one's nice, this one's not, this one's bright.

These are people the audience could meet,

so they're thrown off, they feel they're on the spot,

and they reject that.

Others were moved.

I noticed that some were very moved by Mary Lou,

others by Marceline, or Jean-Pierre or Angelo.

So I believe that part of what we wanted will get through.

Were you moved?

I've seen the film so often, the impact's lessened.

Still it does move me very much.

But in a different way by now.

At first I thought everybody would be moved.

Now that I see people I'm fond of,

like Mary Lou and Marceline, being criticized,

that upsets me.

I thought the audience would like the people I liked.

We wanted to make a film about love,

but it turns out to be about indifference,

or if not indifference,

one that triggers off a reaction,

not necessarily a sympathetic one.

It's the difficulty to communicate.

We're in it.

Taking part in this film

were workers

students

office workers

artists

one cover girl

and chance encounters in Paris