Original subtitles

We're coming!

Go get it!

Based on my calculations, I started to believe I was an artist

at some point in college.

Based on the same calculations, I stopped at some point in university.

I had good reasons to think I was an artist.

I'd done two Kiss shows in the basement in primary school,

I'd acted in a mandatory high school play,

I'd taken a film class in college, I did improv

and I'd almost completed a degree in screenwriting.

I didn't think my resumé was half bad,

but I'd never landed a job in Quebec's art scene.

The closest I'd come was interviewing at an advertising agency on Grande Allée

and honestly, the interview took less time than it did to find parking.

That's why, by the spring of 1994,

I'd made peace with the idea I'd be like everyone else. Like all of you.

I was destined to become an active member of society,

an ordinary employee, a number among the masses.

And the other thing that brought me back down to Earth was...

I had to pay for my new car.

Actually, the car wasn't the issue.

I was so excited when I bought it, I'd forgotten a tiny detail.

How much? $1,580.

That's crazy!

The insurance.

For a single guy under 25, it cost almost as much as the monthly payment!

I don't know your driving habits.

I've never been in an accident, that doesn't matter?

No.

What if I only insure one side?

And so, I gave up on my dream of becoming a filmmaker. I needed to make money.

For the moment, I was a travelling salesman.

In theory, it was easy: I sold four books. Only four.

One cookbook, one kid's book, one atlas and another monster of a cookbook.

Hello, ma'am. Hello. What can I do for you?

I don't know if you remember me,

but I came by last week and left a few books on consignment.

That's right! I remember you now. The book guy!

Here are the books, and here...

We need two atlases. I've got one here.

Super. Here's another. Good.

What's for Dinner? I need three, I've got one.

Two! Great.

Plus four of the kids' books.

Three more, great choice!

Thank you.

The cheques are all there.

Super, thanks! I've got everything. Great, thanks a lot!

Oh, before I forget, the security guard wanted to see you.

Oh? The... you mean him?

OK, I'll go talk to him.

Great! Thanks.

Bye, bye!

Like I was saying, the only thing about the job

was that it wasn't exactly illegal, but it definitely wasn't legal, either.

There was something about needing a permit to sell in public places,

and as you can see, I didn't have the goddamn permit.

Christ, you'd have thought that selling cookbooks at Laval University

was as illicit as importing coke from Colombia.

I'm telling you all this because my life was about to reach a turning point.

No, that's not the turning point. It's coming up.

Did you get the parmesan? No, I forgot.

What're you doing? Going to buy the parmesan.

No, Ricardo'll go.

We asked him, so he'll go. He's got a new car!

I don't have time. What're you making?

A recipe from the book you sold us, and I need parmesan

so you have to go pick some up.

Oh, come on! You can eat squash pasta without parmesan!

That's not the point.

The point is, we asked you to get it and you forgot again.

Let's not fight over parmesan.

The parmesan's not the problem!

It's that you don't care when people ask you to help out!

Fight all you want, I'm off to the store. No! Benito...

What? He forgot! Do you want to make the recipe or not?

I'm gonna make it, but Ricardo'll go. End of story!

Hello?

Hello. May I please speak to Ricardo Trogi?

That's me.

Hello, Ricardo. Vickie Langlais from the show The Race. How are you?

Your goddamn pesto, I'm fed up.

The Race? Of course, yes. Hang on a second.

Shh, Mom! Jesus, it's The Race!

I'm good, thanks.

I have some good news for you, Ricardo.

Oh yeah?

We really liked your short film and application,

so I'm happy to say you've been selected as one of 40 finalists

for the next season of The Race!

Wow! That's... that's great!

You made it past the first round, but it's not over yet.

No, I know.

What're you doing? Going to get the parmesan.

Forget the goddamn parmesan. It's The Race!

I have the date and time of your interview.

As you probably know,

after the interview, 15 candidates will be selected to do two more films,

which our team will then score.

The eight candidates with the most points

will be the lucky winners to leave on the 180-day adventure.

Is that clear?

Yes, very. I know the process, I watch The Race.

Of course we do!

OK, then, we'll see you in Montreal... Hang on, where did I put you?

Ah, here. How does May 24 at 10 a.m. work? Huh?

Oh, uh... Gimme two seconds.

Damn!

The 24... I don't think I have any other meetings that day.

The 24's wide open.

OK, then. I can't wait to meet you.

Same here! Thanks!

Well? What did they want?

What did they want?

I was chosen to interview for The Race.

Oh my God, my son's gonna be on TV!

What race?

Relax, it's just the interview!

Will you be on TV or not? What's The Race?

No. Well, yes... You know, you watch it. You have to qualify first. And now...

I have to think, dammit.

What do you need to do to qualify? Ricardo!

The Race! The Race! Tell me.

The Race, Benito!

You don't know it anyway. You only watch the news!

Earlier, when I listed my artistic endeavours, I didn't mention this one.

Probably because I didn't believe it, but for once, the planets seemed to be aligning.

The arts scene was finally opening its doors to me.

But once I got in, I had to make sure to stay the hell in.

Tell me what you have to do to be picked!

I have to believe.

Hello, hello!

But the moment I sat down, my heart began to race.

Christ, I was nervous. Like my mother, and that's never good.

Sorry, I'll just...

OK, ready!

How are you, Ricardo?

I'm great, yeah. A little hot, but I'll be OK.

How are all of you?

We're fine, thanks.

I've got a question to start off.

Ricardo Trogi, where's that from?

Uh, it's Trogi.

It's, uh... pronounced with a soft G.

I'm sure I wrote that somewhere.

My father's Italian.

I mean, I didn't write that my father's Italian,

but the name Trogi, T, R, O, G, I... that must be written somewhere.

We got it, thanks.

Do you speak Italian?

Uh, no... Well, a bit. Yes and no, actually...

I talk like an 8-year-old. A 6-year-old, even.

I spent one summer at a university in Italy to learn the language,

so I know how to ask for directions or order food,

I can do a little small talk, but even that depends,

because like you probably know, every region in Italy has its own dialect.

It's not like here with our accents.

Like if I go to the Magdalen Islands, I can understand the people there.

It's the same language, not a dialect.

Dialects are actually pretty different. Some words change completely.

And the Italian I learned was the Italian they speak on TV.

"Standard" Italian.

They say the Italian spoken in Florence is closest to standard Italian.

I mean... I don't remember exactly, but I think that was it.

The one in Florence, yeah.

Because in Sicily, they speak totally differently.

I mean they speak Italian, but only when they feel like it.

I remember one time, I saw a man with a donkey.

Some of them are still stuck in 1880!

I asked if I could take a picture of him and the donkey,

but I couldn't understand his answer!

Not a word, I'm telling you!

He got real mad and smacked my Kodak!

All that to say yeah, yeah, yeah, I speak.

But it doesn't always end well.

Dialect.

Excuse me, I'll just grab some water.

Thanks.

Whoopsie.

I have a question.

We really liked your film, but it doesn't say everything about you.

In a few words, what moves you most in life, Ricardo?

What moves me? The most, yes.

In a few words. What moves you the most. What upsets you.

What upsets me?

I understood the question, but it wasn't the kind of thing I thought much about.

I tried to think of something big, a war, some major injustice,

something that made me cry, but... nothing came to mind.

Actually, yes. There was one thing that upset me, but I couldn't tell them.

I was thinking about Chantal with an L. That's how she spelled it.

The girl I'd been in love with for a couple of months, who'd said...

I think we're too "boyfriend-girlfriend."

Too "boyfriend-girlfriend." What the heck does that mean?

If it helps, in your application you wrote something beautiful.

"I've never be able to stop men from killing their children."

That's very touching.

Oh, thanks.

Did you write that because you love children or was it in the broader sense?

Uh-huh, that's right. I love children, and...

it's in the broader sense, like you say. It's sort of my personal stance.

That's all for me, thanks.

Yeah? OK.

Seriously? "I've never been able to stop men from killing their children,"

I clearly wrote that to sound like an artist.

I mean, sure, I agreed with the idea,

but honestly, I didn't think about it too much.

I don't even know where I got it.

All I know is that I spent the week wondering

if my quote about children would work, or if it would sink me.

As the week went by, I convinced myself that I wasn't The Race material.

I thought back on the participants from previous years, and...

there were more Leonard Cohen fans than Aerosmith fans like me.

I probably wasn't an artist,

and it was finally starting to show. Ricardo!

Ricardo! Goddammit! Ricardo!

Phone! It's The Race!

Hello, Ricardo? Pierre Gérard from The Race.

Have I got good news for you.

Really? Oh, yes, sir.

I'm happy to say you've been selected as one of 15 finalists.

OK... That's great! He didn't get in, did he?

Shh! He's on the phone!

You'll need to make two new short films,

and if we like what we see, you're off on the adventure.

OK, that really is good news!

Vickie'll call you with the details. Congrats again, son.

OK, thanks!

What was that? What did they want? Are you gonna be on TV?

Wait a minute. You're gonna be on TV!

I don't know that yet! You're gonna be on TV!

Stop shouting. What difference does it make?

A huge difference, you dummy! I have to call...

So, there you have it. I immediately got to work. I'll be brief.

I made the first film about a former Iranian soldier who'd converted to poetry.

I thought it came out really nice. Yeah.

And the second, well... It was dumb.

I filmed it on the Magdalen Islands, but all I have left

is a wide shot of Entry Island and a shot of this horse from behind.

I don't know why, but I erased the rest.

It doesn't matter. It was about a horse that left Entry Island

and swam all the way to Cap-aux-Meules.

Nothing controversial, but pretty original.

We wanted to start by thanking you all.

Two weeks later, we ended up here. The 15 finalists.

It was the day we'd learn which eight would move on

and forget the seven that wouldn't.

What's funny is that, in my memory, everyone was smiling.

As if they all thought they'd make it.

And for that, you should all be proud. Bravo!

Over the past two weeks, we've watched your work.

We've seen how passionate you are.

And all I want to say is, "I love you."

I believe you can all do The Race. I have no doubt.

You're all talented!

And now, I have the honor and the thankless job

of announcing the final scores and with it, the participants for The Race 94-95.

So, without further ado, in first place,

with a total of 83 points,

Ricardo Trogi.

Whoa! I froze.

I don't know why. I stayed calm, but I couldn't hear a thing.

To be honest, coming in first was fun and all,

but not as much fun as realizing I was finally getting my chance.

I could only think of one thing: my old life was over.

After 24 years of wondering

what I was going to do with my life, of dead-end jobs,

of unnecessary detours, of anonymity, of wanting to be someone else,

of scheming to get by, it was all over.

I was finally on my A game.

And last but not least, with 66 points,

François Parenteau!

Yay!

Parenteau screamed so loud, I realized the real thrill in this kind of competition

wasn't to finish first, it was to finish eighth,

because ninth was the end of the world.

Coming in ninth...

Éric Deslandes.

And there you have it. A few photo ops later,

and I was officially welcomed into the Quebec art scene family!

When I walked out of Radio-Canada, I was flying high.

Maybe it was all the sparkling wine,

but I couldn't help thinking of them.

I could see them now-everyone who'd be amazed to see me on TV.

Everyone who'd stood in my way over the years.

The Laverdière brothers who, in '76, had waited for me after school

to trash my brand-new bicycle.

Jasmin, my grade 9 art teacher

who kicked me out of class once a month because I made too many jokes.

Mr. Dupuis, the Bantam 2B coach who'd dropped me a level

so he could give the spot to his asshole kid, Danny.

The manager at the restaurant Turf who'd fired me after one shift

because I supposedly didn't have what it took to be a freaking busboy.

The director of UQAM's communications program

who'd rejected me countless times

and her boyfriend, the Minister of Education,

who charged too much interest on my student loan.

And while I'm at it, why not Le Furotte from the show Les Oraliens,

because I never understood a goddamn word of what he said.

But the best part was that these weren't the worst of them, oh no!

There was a group I had it in for much worse, and I nearly forgot them.

Them, yes them, all the girls who'd never given me the time of day:

Anne, Nadine, Stéphanie, Pascale, Sarah, Geneviève the brunette, crazy Geneviève, Katie

and you, my sweetheart, the beautiful Marie-Ève Bernard!

How did you not see that I was the one, for God's sake?

I could've married you, but no!

Instead, I'm gonna be on TV and become a chick magnet

because that's what happens when you mess with me!

Hey, Trogini! Hey!

We should meet up somewhere for New Year's.

Sure, yeah. Where were you thinking?

I dunno, anywhere. We'll figure it out.

You come to me, I go to you, either way. It'd be fun!

Yeah, it would. Yeah.

I'm glad we both made it.

I don't know why, but it feels like we're old pals. Don't you think?

Sure! We click. You know it!

Parenteau. It was the fourth time he'd tried out for The Race.

New Year's. You and me, let's get a drink.

He'd been rejected three times and still tried for a fourth. Then, pow!

I liked his confidence, his determination.

The guy was an inspiration.

Look! Did you make that?

Are you crazy?

Where is he? Benito, where's Ricardo?

I don't know.

Go get him, it's time for cake!

Cake!

I wish you could've been here, Chantal.

Pretty much my whole family.

So... what did you do today?

What?

Scrapbooking?

OK, uh...

I'll call you back, OK?

OK, bye. Thanks.

I'm coming.

Hang on.

What's the matter?

What's the matter?

You OK? Of course.

I didn't know you wanted to be an artist.

You know I like movies.

Everyone likes movies.

Yeah, but I went to school for it.

It's dumb, but I thought your sister would be the artist.

Her? She was always a rebel.

Hated school, never does what she's asked.

Hates authority. She's got rage in her, like all the great artists.

Yeah, but she works in a grocery store.

It's hard to be an artist.

It's not for everyone. Well, you did it.

I'm not an artist. You're a musician.

Musician... I've been playing the same song for 30 years.

Have you seen where we live? It's no dream home.

Geez, not very encouraging.

I don't want you to be disappointed.

I can at least try. Of course you can!

But promise me.

If it doesn't work out, don't push it.

Tell me, where are you going?

Oh, uh... France, Holland,

Belgium, Portugal, Italy, Turkey, Egypt, Tunisia,

South Africa, Namibia, uh...

Kenya, Nepal, Thailand, China, Japan.

OK... That's about it.

Amazing. Yeah, it's quite a trip.

And in the meantime, who'll pay for your car?

Did you think of that, Mr. Artist?

The car, the insurance.

How will you pay for it all when you're halfway across the world?

Well actually, I was thinking it could be you.

OK.

Don't push it.

I was happy to be leaving, but at the same time,

I was feeling a bit guilty.

I'd be on TV soon, while he'd played the accordion his whole life.

Somehow... I didn't know if he was happy with his life.

I guessed he was, but at the same time, I bet he'd had bigger dreams as a young man.

I say that because somewhere in the garage was an old record.

My father had recorded it in 1966, when he was about my age.

It was called Trio Azzurro, volume 1.

There'd never been a volume 2.

Out of 459 applicants, after three short films and six weeks of preparation,

here's François Parenteau, Hugo Latulippe, Brunhilde Pradier, Robert Victor,

Emmanuelle Morris, Étienne Leblanc, François Prévost and Ricardo Trogi,

eight globe-trotters who invite you along as they discover the world!

Good evening, and welcome to the first episode of The Race,

brought to you once again live from our Montreal studios.

Our participants have already been gone several weeks.

In just a moment, we'll watch their first productions.

In the meantime, let's introduce you to our judges.

First up, Michel Coulombe, director of the Quebec Film Festival...

It's starting! Hurry, Benito!

Nadia, call Aunt Alphonsine in Belgium. Ricardo's there tonight.

Why don't you call her?

I'm busy! But I don't know her!

Aunt Alphonsine! She's married to your father's brother.

So what if you don't know her? She knows you.

What time is it there? They're waiting for our call.

OK, then I'll call during Ricardo's film.

Who knows when that'll be? He might be up first.

Why don't we just record it? For the love of God!

Because your brother wants it this way. Just call! Benito!

Coming.

Hugo Latulippe will be presenting the film first this year.

Hugo wanted to chase down Tintin

and make a movie about grunge.

So, he flew to Seattle.

Come on, Benito!

It's not Ricardo.

You have to watch the whole thing to keep track of the points.

Call me when he's on.

Forget it!

Hello, this is Nadia, Ricardo's sister.

Hi, it's Nadia, Ricardo's sister.

Is Ricardo there?

Ricardo, is that you? Yes!

Your parents called twice. Yeah, I know.

He's on! Nadia, call!

I've called twice, he's not there.

I'm sick of talking to Aunt Alphonsine, I don't even know her.

Jesus.

Hello? Ricardo! Where were you? You're on!

OK, lemme hear. Right, yes! Go on!

Ricardo first went to Amsterdam,

where he met quite the character.

I met a wonderful man in Amsterdam, a barber,

who does incredible work.

His name is Pasquale. Right, Pasquale?

OK, here is a movie about Pasquale.

In the heart of Amsterdam,

nestled between two streets whose names are impossible to pronounce,

there's a place where men swap the fragrant bosom of a traditional hairdresser

for a balding 59-year-old bit of Italy.

To me, a barber is like a sculptor.

You take off a little to add a lot.

Here, you're treated like a king.

Whether you're a high-flying CEO or can barely afford a haircut.

The men don't come here for their hair, they come for the therapy.

A rather questionable therapy to help relieve your anxiety.

What does it cost to get "pasqualized"?

It's simple, really.

If you're well off, he can usually tell.

Just leave a blank cheque and he'll fill it out himself.

Your trust could cost between $80 and $300.

But if you're lucky enough to be poor, the cut is typically free.

In the tradition of Robin Hood, here's Robin Scissors,

a small barber, but a great man.

Hey, $300 for a haircut! Jean-Michel?

I thought it was excellent.

Ricardo met Figaro, who's living in Amsterdam. It was very sweet.

I liked the connection he made between a haircut, therapy, the soul, our hair.

The barber who's like a sculptor, take off a little to add a lot, loved it. 18.

Super! Onto you, Michel.

Pasquale "pasqualizes" and Ricardo "ricardizes."

As we can see, Ricardo's calling card is humour

and he's met his match in Pasquale.

His film starts very strong.

He needs an agile camera to follow the subject.

At times, the picture was a bit off-centre. Also, watch the effects.

But it was very enjoyable. 18.

18 for Michel. Louise?

Ricardo paints a charming portrait of a total stranger.

Great sense of storytelling, delicious images.

There was a small issue with the framing during the interview,

but the music was well chosen, very nice. I give him 17.

Oh, that's good! That's a total of 53 for Figaro Pasquale.

53, hell of a good start!

Bravo, little bro! Did you hear? Lemme talk.

They liked it? Did he really slap you?

Ricardo! Yeah?

You got 53! I know, I heard.

You're in second. The judges are gaga over you!

Relax, Mom. It was just my first one.

The others were boring. Except that one guy, what's his name?

What's his name? I don't know.

Parenteau, that's it! Parenteau.

His was good, a baseball movie. He's in first place.

Hey, is Dad around?

Yeah, hang on a sec. Benito!

Oh, right. He left for work.

Did he see the film? Of course!

Did he like it? Of course.

So, the next one? Where are you headed?

Hi, Chantal. How are you? I'm good. I hope you got my postcards.

The race is going well. Last I heard, I was in fourth.

But I'm always late, which doesn't help.

As Aerosmith says, I'm living on the edge.

I'm currently in Turkey in a place, how should I put it...

if Percé rock was a woman, I've found her match.

I think about you a lot, and I'm still trying to understand

what you meant by "too boyfriend-girlfriend."

Let me explain. Ricardo was supposed to send us his film

from the city of Kayseri in central Turkey, where he was supposed to be,

but for some reason he can't quite explain himself,

once he arrived in Istanbul, he got on the wrong plane

and ended up in Cyprus.

But don't worry, he's headed to Egypt now, where he'll make his next film.

We'll hear from him next week if he manages to get on the right plane.

Oh boy, I'd heard that one before. Business trip.

I didn't ask him to elaborate, these guys always have some crazy story.

You never know if they're selling weapons or lollipops.

Anyone else could've seen this guy had a screw loose.

But not me!

I know, I know, it might seem like a dumb idea to get into this guy's car,

but the fact that I met him on a plane made me trust him somehow.

I don't know if you follow me,

but I figured criminals can't fly because they have police records.

If this guy had an idea for my film, nothing else mattered.

I didn't mind washing the windows. I'd pumped gas for a living, no shame in it.

You needed an open mind to travel like I did.

Not everyone is like you.

Take Yunnis, he... Well, yeah.

His method wasn't like the airport parking lot in Quebec City.

He was different, that's all.

Like me, I quickly realized Yunnis didn't like paying for parking.

All you had to do was drive in the opposite direction!

Fuck, man!

I feel like I projected more confidence than that, but...

at any rate, Yunnis wasn't crazy.

We'd just had a few drinks on the plane.

For three months, I'd been dealing with cockroaches everywhere I slept,

so instead of worrying about it, I pretended like I was camping every night.

Hello? Hi, Vickie.

Hi, François.

No, it's Ricardo.

Oh, sorry, Ricardo. Where are you?

I just got to Cairo.

Listen, Vickie, you gave me two contacts here.

A Simon Latendresse and an Ahmed Feki, is that right?

Uh, Simon left, actually. There's only Ahmed... something.

Oh, OK. And who's he?

Look, I don't know him personally,

but I see here that he's a journalist for the Hal...

He's a journalist.

OK.

Ricardo, you lost a lot of time with the whole Cyprus thing.

You'll need to send us your next film soon.

Yeah, I know.

But I just met a guy on the plane who might have something for me.

OK. Vickie, don't forget to...

What, Monique? The mefloquine.

OK, I'll ask.

Ricardo, did you start taking the mefloquine?

There's malaria in Egypt, the guide says it somewhere.

Meflo... No, but I'll... OK, I'll take it.

The chemical formula for mefloquine, is C17H16F6N2O.

Even though I'd failed grade 11 chemistry, I gathered it was pretty strong stuff.

At the same time, the formula for toothpaste is C12H7Cl3FNaO2 so...

I don't really know what I'm talking about.

Dear viewers, we're sorry to announce

that Ricardo Trogi is disqualified from the competition.

I'll explain.

The show's Department of Ethics intercepted a postcard

in which Ricardo unequivocally expressed

admiration for the rock group Aerosmith.

This was how I did my race.

I followed the people I met and so far, it had worked.

Inspiration was found in the field, not in a Lonely Planet or National Geographic,

whose subjects were often too broad for a 4-minute film.

No, I was looking for something fresh, original, surprising.

And those stories, well, they were often hidden in plain sight.

You just had to know how to recognize them.

OK, I'm all for keeping an open mind,

but the guy was really starting to freak me the hell out.

If you're wondering what just happened,

I wondered the same thing. No idea!

All I can say is that I had three days to send in my film,

and I didn't have anything yet.

Ricardo? Ahmed!

No, Ahmed. Pleasure. Ahmed.

No, Ahmed. Ahmed.

Almost. I'll take it.

It's a pleasure to meet you! Likewise.

Can I get you anything? No, thanks. I'm OK.

I'm in a rush, President Mubarak returned from Paris this week, I have to get back.

Urgent business.

I can't stay long, but here. I brought you this.

You're looking for a movie idea?

It's a train?

Yes. Look on the roof.

I can't see much.

Yeah, it's a shitty photocopy. They're children, see?

Uh-huh. Yeah, OK.

The kids ride on train roofs illegally.

They go all the way from Cairo to Alexandria, can you imagine!

You don't think it's interesting?

I saw this earlier.

Ah, no.

No, no, you can't make a film like that here.

Why not?

CNN tried to do a story on this last month.

Every Egyptian who participated was thrown in jail.

Oh, yeah? OK...

It's dangerous! The government doesn't want it to get out.

You'll be arrested. They won't let you do it.

Who won't let me do it?

The police, the people, the government. Nobody'll want to talk on camera.

Ricardo, listen. You're better off with the kids on the train. Believe me.

Plus, I can help you with the kids.

But with excision, I can't. I just can't.

OK, well, thanks. My pleasure.

Say, Radio-Canada sent me the participant files for your show.

I read yours before coming.

Oh, yeah? Yes.

"I've never been able to stop men from killing their children."

I think that's beautiful.

Normally, I'd have jumped on it without thinking twice.

Kids riding on train roofs was a beautiful, poignant image.

It was a good idea, but excision was a bad fucking idea.

And it needed to be said.

What the hell's wrong with me?

Hi, Chantal. I don't know how you're doing, but I could be better.

I'm lonelier than I've ever been before.

I wish you were here. It would make things easier.

I've decided I don't want to make funny movies anymore.

I want to make movies that mean something.

I miss you. I send my love.

PS: I think I know what "too boyfriend-girlfriend" means.

Probably that we saw each other too much. That I was too intense.

If that's the case, I'm sorry. Ricardo.

Goddammit... What if he really has a good idea this time?

Fuck.

I should've never gotten up.

It's hard to describe a flash of inspiration.

If you've seen Back to the Future, I'm sure you remember

that Doc got the idea for the flux capacitor after hitting his head.

As dumb as that.

Well, I got the idea for my film as I watched the maid make my bed.

Bam! I could see the whole thing.

And let me tell you, I could sense a masterpiece.

A video on excision in the desert?

What I envision is that while she's dancing,

she's holding some kind of red scarf.

She's holding it and waving it around in the wind, I don't know.

But I'll use narration to explain.

I'll talk about excision while she's dancing in the desert.

So, the only thing I need is a dancer.

Could you find one for me?

Sure, but like I said, talking about excision will get you arrested.

I know, but that's not what we're filming.

We're filming a girl dancing in the desert. We won't get arrested for that.

What do you want with the girl? What will she say?

The girl? Nothing! She'll just dance.

Then what will you say?

I'll talk about excision.

But you'll need a testimonial, something from Egyptian women.

But you just told me I couldn't.

Like I said, it's too complicated.

You should make the movie somewhere else. It'll be less complicated.

No, no, no. I want to talk about it here.

What? What, what?

I don't know if I can find a girl who'd be willing to do it.

You don't know any dancers?

I might know an actress who'd be willing to do it.

But you can't tell her it's about excision!

OK, fine.

Don't mention it! No.

I won't say a thing.

Watch this.

And... there! What's that?

That's what we do when we're happy or when two friends really step in it.

The Race! Vickie!

Hi, Étienne. No, it's Ricardo.

Oh, sorry, Ricardo. It's still early here. How are you?

I'm good. Could you look up a song for me?

I need the rights for my next film.

OK, what's the title?

OK. Yalili Ya Aini.

Whoa, whoa! What?

Yalili Ya.

La, li, li...

No, no! Yalili. Ya. With a Y, not an I.

OK. Yalili. Then what? Ya.

Ya? Another ya?

Yalili. Ya Aini.

You're messing with me.

I'm not! OK, listen. Yalili. Ya Aini.

Hang on. I'll spell out what I wrote, OK? Y, a, I, I, I, I, y, a, I, n, i.

Yes! Perfect! Good.

What's your next film about?

The only thing I can say is that it'll be my best yet.

Please tell me... Bye!

Please...

I had a good idea and the right music. Things were looking up.

And now, we're back with some bad news out of Egypt

where, as you know, Ricardo Trogi has been staying.

Ricardo was arrested by the local authorities

while he was shooting a film on excision.

Fuck!

Not him, for Christ's sake!

Jesus.

Ah, shit.

It's funny, because just when I thought I'd gotten rid of Yunnis

and could finally make my movie, the idiot tripped over my charging cable

and guess what?

No! Dammit, Yunnis!

I tried to replace the lens, but no dice.

Yeah?

I can't even see through the viewfinder. It's totally kaput.

I see. We've got a camera in Paris for these types of situations.

In Paris?

The Cairo-Paris flight takes about four hours.

It should get there tonight. You can pick it up at the airport tomorrow morning.

OK, good.

So, what do you think?

She's super.

She's a great actress. Oh, yeah?

I told her you're a great Canadian filmmaker.

No! Why?

Come on, let's go talk to her.

No, wait. What do I say?

What we agreed. Say you're making a film about dancing.

Her French is good. She went to French school with me. Come on!

In Canada, what kinds of films do you do?

Documentaries, mostly.

Ahmed said you make art films too, is that true?

Oh yeah? He told you that?

Art films... Yeah, I've done some.

Like what?

What art film?

You told me about it. I've never been able to stop men from killing their children, no?

Right... Of course! Ricardo.

Right, right. Maybe.

But that one wasn't my best. I made another one about...

I hadn't lied this much in a long time.

About teacups.

In these moments, the first idea is always the best.

Suddenly, the only thing I could think of was my mother and her stupid teacup collection.

This one, Aunt Huguette brought back from...

She's dead now, but it was from Newfoundland.

But then I looked and I said to myself, no, it's Sichuanese.

So then I said to myself,

hell, I thought they made pottery in Newfoundland, but no!

I made a movie about an old woman who collects old teacups.

Teacups, you know? Especially old ones from England.

We don't care about the teacups, Ricardo!

Rania, you had some questions about the film Ricardo wants to make?

Ahmed told me what you wanted to do, and...

You should know I'm not a dancer.

I know how to dance, but I'm not trained.

OK. No. It's not OK.

Rania, it's OK. Hang on.

You want to make a film about dance? Yes.

Wouldn't it make sense to hire a real dancer?

I'm not really looking for a dance.

More of a... body movement.

That's right. Yes.

It's nothing complicated, I just want you to...

use your body to express yourself to music I play that day.

Exactly.

Basically, you want to capture pure emotion, yes?

Yes, that's it.

OK, I understand. You want to capture an emotion that...

comes from the body... How can I say...

That... unfolds before my eyes. Unfolds before your eyes.

Yes! That's right.

Not like a practised movement.

No. Yes. OK, yes!

Yeah! OK.

I don't have anything prepared, because I want us to explore.

To explore. We're exploring!

We're exploring. Yes, wow!

Oh, and your film...

What did you say it was called?

I've never been able to stop men from killing children...

From killing their children. Their children, yes.

Excuse me.

What is it about?

What was all that about teacups?

You with your art films, jackass. I never said any of that!

You want a girl dancing in the desert.

What do you want me to say? That's not a documentary!

She seems complicated.

She's an actress.

Yeah, but she said her friends are dancers.

Why'd you pick her?

Why?

Because I like her.

Ah, there it is!

Hello, Ricardo. Here's where to go to pick up your new camera.

It's waiting for you. xx. Vickie.

PS: We've received everyone's film but yours. Thanks.

Holy fuck.

Can I get a little help?

Right...

Huh?

Christ.

It's worse than in Asterix.

Oh, you...

Shit!

OK, this letter states that you're a Canadian tourist, not a journalist,

and that the camera belongs to your production.

No, dammit! The camera needs to belong to me.

But it doesn't. You said that...

Yes, I know. But if you say that, they won't give it to me.

The camera has to be in my name, OK? These people flip out over journalists.

OK, then I'll have to rewrite the letter.

But it's already 3:30, and we close at 3.

Yeah, I know, 3 p.m.

Please, you know the situation is complicated.

And there's a $15 fee plus another $20 to have it re-stamped.

Re-stamped?

What the hell?

I've never stamped anything before, and now that's 20 times today.

It proves your document was authenticated by Canada. It's important!

Look what they did at customs.

Ah! Look at that.

That's Egyptian bureaucracy for you.

They're world champs. That's not Canada.

I can't believe this. I'll have to go back tomorrow.

I get it. Getting my driver's license was a nightmare.

Hi Chantal. I see now that our relationship wasn't complicated at all.

The whole "too boyfriend-girlfriend" thing is ridiculous.

I don't know what we are, but clearly, I'm more in than you.

PS: This postcard is the tomb of Tutankhamun

and if things don't change soon, I'm gonna die here too.

So long, Ricardo.

I thought about the film, and...

OK.

I'm not sure I can do it.

OK, it's not... It's not complicated. It's more an exercise in...

Freedom! In freedom! Do whatever you want.

I don't want to mess it up.

You won't mess it up. With the music, it'll be easy.

Just follow the rhythm, it'll be so fluid. You'll be great.

What's the music?

Ricardo will give me the cassette, and I'll bring it over tonight.

That way, you can practice.

That's right. OK?

Yes.

Goddammit.

Hello? Trogini!

Trogi! It's Parenteau!

Holy shit, Parenteau!

Hang on a sec. Take your time, man.

Stupid thing...

Christ, what time is it for you?

I don't know. I'm just leaving a bar,

and I thought of you. I talked to Vickie this week.

She said you'd be in Nepal in December, around the holidays?

Uh, yeah, I think so.

I arrive the 31, man! The prophecy's coming true!

We're gonna be together on New Year's! Shit, that'll be awesome.

Dude, I miss speaking Quebecois!

Seriously!

So, how've you been? What're you filming in Egypt?

Uh... it's complicated.

I'm making a movie on excision.

Oh, boy!

Yeah, it's not an easy subject. No.

Hey, uh... I started taking mefloquine. Oh, no.

I'm freaking out, man.

Throw that shit in the trash!

I took it for two weeks and ended up in the fetal position in my hotel room.

Oh, yeah? You too? I swear!

Throw it away, man. That shit's not fit for the shelf.

I wanna have a word with the lab monkey, because it definitely lied.

Hey, Trogi, I gotta run. I'm with a girl.

Take care of yourself. You too, man.

Remember when I told you the phone call from The Race had changed my life?

Well, the one from Parenteau saved it.

We didn't say much, but just hearing his voice and enthusiasm,

the idea of getting drunk with him in Nepal, I don't know,

it put me back on track.

Honestly, I wanted to show Parenteau and prove to myself that I was better than him.

That I could make my masterpiece.

The drinks would be on him. I was on a mission!

I was going to make the film if it killed me, dammit.

Goddamn complicated fucking country...

My name's Ricardo!

In Arabic? Apparently.

Why didn't they say that yesterday? No fucking clue.

Funny as hell.

Fuck.

And that's how, on November 17, 1994, around half past noon,

Ricardo Trogi, contestant on The Race and not a journalist

became, against all odds, the first human being of sound mind

to emerge alive from the goddamn Egyptian customs office!

What does he want now?

And on that same day, around 45 minutes later,

Vickie Langlais, 2nd Assistant Director, received a phone call.

The Race? It doesn't work!

One more time, just to make sure everyone understood:

The Race? It doesn't work!

It didn't work!

Are you serious?

Yes! Usually the red light turns on, but nothing's happening.

The viewfinder's black. I don't know what to do!

It doesn't work! OK, I'll send you another one.

Here? No! Never, ever again!

Then what do you want to do?

I don't know.

I'll be in Tunisia in two weeks. Send it there, OK?

Oh, my God! You'll be so far behind!

I don't know, I'll find another one here.

It'll be faster.

I'm never going back to that circus again.

Look, Pierre isn't in yet. I'll call you once I find him.

Don't move, OK?

Come on!

Fuck, this isn't happening!

Hello? Oh, Ahmed!

Yes, hi, Ricardo. I have to tell you something.

Listen, I just got back from the airport. The new camera doesn't work.

You're joking! No, I don't know what to do.

Jesus, that's impossible! Stop it, Ricardo!

Stop laughing, jackass! We're filming tomorrow. I don't know what to do.

Sorry, sorry. It's just too funny.

Do you know where I could get another camera?

We won't be able to film tomorrow.

What?

Listen, I hate to say this. I did something dumb, it's my fault.

What did you do?

Last night, I went to Rania's place to give her the music, and...

How do I say this? I told you that...

How do I say this?

Just say it, shit! Everything's falling apart!

I tried to kiss her, and she didn't like it. There.

OK, but now what? She doesn't want to do the film?

Hah! No way. She's very angry.

She's an actress, and they can be difficult.

Fuck!

I'm really sorry.

OK. I'll try to find a new camera.

You try to find a new actress.

OK, OK. I promise.

OK, are you gonna work?

Vickie!

Ah, shit!

Enough already!

Ricardo? Oh, Pierre.

Sounds like things are tough.

No, no. Well, yes. Sorry.

Listen, I'm sorry about what happened. I don't understand.

A backup camera is supposed to work.

You want us to send one to Tunis?

Yes! Please.

I'm not sure it'll be any faster, to be honest.

I'll take my chances. I'm pretty sure it'll be faster than here, OK?

OK, fine. I'll see what I can do.

Oh, come on! Sorry, Pierre, I've gotta run, OK? Thanks for everything.

Hey, Ricardo? We'll send it via Flydex.

And don't worry about being behind, it's not your fault. We'll figure it out.

Keep it up, big guy. You're doing great work.

Good to know, Pierre. Thanks!

Yunnis, Jesus!

Hello, Ricardo? It's fixed! I apologized to Rania,

and she said she'll do the film on one condition.

She wants you to change the music. She says it doesn't inspire her.

OK, hang on two seconds.

It wasn't that bad. No, we've done 10 takes.

She can't dance. It's a disaster!

I know.

Why didn't you go with Rania? She's an actress!

Stop it with Rania, OK? With all her goddamn questions, it was...

Yeah...

What am I doing here?

If you want, the kids on the train are there every day.

We could go tomorrow... Ahmed, Ahmed!

I know those kids would make a good movie, but this is different, OK?

What the people here are doing to those girls, it's not right.

I know.

Sorry, it's just that ever since I saw that picture, it...

I have an idea.

Do it in slow motion.

Everyone can dance in slow motion.

Right?

Holy shit!

You're a genius, man!

I had about 12 hours to finish the film, but things were looking up.

I had everything I needed:

my editing equipment, my viewer, my correcting pencils, my headphones,

a pack of cigarettes to keep me awake,

and six beers so I wouldn't have to eat.

When you have good material, you can feel it.

I was making something great.

My only source was the République article,

but it would be enough for a 4-minute film.

After all that, I was beginning to understand why pain fuels great artists.

Take Van Gogh, for instance. Did you know that-

Ricardo, I've got bad news.

We can't use your song, Yalili...

I can never say the name right.

You're not serious!

I'm not sure why. Nobody knows the song, but the company's asking a fortune...

Goddammit.

I shot the movie around the song.

I know, it's my fault, I shouldn't have given you the go.

I'm sorry.

It's fine.

It is?

Yeah, I...

The whole thing's been a mess from the beginning, so...

What are you going to do?

I think I'll have a beer.

Seriously.

I'm very serious. Bye!

Shit.

After so much bad luck, anybody else would've thrown in the towel.

But not me!

The film was too important to me.

I had to change the world!

It was funny, but this was the 10th country I'd left in three months, and...

well, I never got used to it.

Leaving all those people I met, all the people who helped me.

Hello, Chantal.

I'm sorry for my last postcard, I wasn't myself.

I was on mefloquine and it made me a little nuts.

I hope you'll forgive me.

New Year's is soon, and I'm meeting François Parenteau here in Kathmandu.

I can't wait for you to see the film I made in Egypt.

The director said she'd air it last, because she thinks it's my best work yet.

I miss you and can't wait to hold you in my arms. Ricardo.

The status of women around the world often depends on two things:

the idiot she shares her life with, and the traditions this idiot imposes on her.

Modern-day Egypt is a nation that imposes its ancient history on its current population.

The result is a contemporary, advanced society that is constantly grappling with tradition.

When we learn that today, excision is still practiced here

and in 40 African countries, we are allowed to be outraged.

And I am.

Contrary to popular belief, it isn't a Muslim tradition

even though it is practiced among many Islamic groups.

It is believed to be a relic of ancient Egypt or the early Ethiopian civilizations.

Whatever its origins, the Egyptian government has promised to end the practice

despite being aware that sanctioning this barbaric tradition

will do little more than placate foreign nations.

The problem will remain ingrained in a set of beliefs

that will disregard the law in the name of utopian purism.

Every man must stop for a moment and look into the woman's eyes

to know who she is, to understand her, to touch her and to respect her.

Stop trying to decide what is or is not good for her

and let her be free. She will know what's good for her.

She's big enough, she's a woman.

Jean-Michel, let's start us off.

To begin, let me be very nuanced.

The film is extremely well shot, the images are magnificent.

With the music by Verdi, the pyramids

and the woman dancing this "dance of the clitoris," so to speak,

who throws her blood-red scarf in our face, it's brilliant.

However, it's a film about excision.

That's no simple issue.

If 182 girls really are mutilated every hour,

maybe he should explore what that means to the people.

I don't think Ricardo had...

And let's not forget, this is a tradition practised by women,

by grandmothers on their own daughters.

To say that a woman's body is her most precious gift

and that tradition overlooks it simply isn't true.

Tradition has always honoured women's bodies,

just look at how different cultures have idealized their bodies

in sculpture, pottery, etc.

I'm not sure he had the opportunity to meet these people.

Go and talk to the dancer, at least!

He sounds like an idiot who has nothing to say,

because it's not his story to tell.

So, what do you give him?

13.

Yikes. Manon? You're up.

I agree with what was said,

namely that I think it's Ricardo's best film yet,

but I think it's a trap.

I don't think you can make an aesthetic film with this kind of subject.

It's too vast.

He tells us what we already know and believe as Westerners,

but he doesn't go further, either emotionally or with the information.

We tend to buy into the film

because it's beautiful, the symbolism of the scarf and everything,

but I think he barely scratched the surface.

So, 13. It's a serious subject.

Oh, wow. Michelle?

18.

OK, 18.

I was extremely touched by the film.

Touched by his emotion.

The surprise he seems to have felt, his sincerity,

the use of the scarf... To me, it was more than just aesthetic.

There were so many emotions. I was very touched.

There you have it! A total of 44 points

for The Sound of Ignorance by Ricardo Trogi.

Gimme the phone.

It's time for a break... Ricardo? Were you listening?

Ricardo? I'm here.

It's ridiculous!

What a bunch of morons! The last one liked it.

I'm talking about the other two!

That goddamn know-it-all prick.

They didn't get it, who cares?

We care, Benito!

Ricardo, it was your best film!

She even said it at the end,

then gave it a goddamn 13! What didn't she understand?

When I got back a few months later, I realized the film hadn't been a masterpiece.

It was ethnocentrism.

If, like me, you don't know what ethnocentrism is,

it's when we use our own ethnic group as a model for others.

It was fan mail.

People from Saint-Jean-Port-Joli, Matane, Montreal, Sainte-Foy.

"The one in Holland was funny. I loved your images."

"Remember me? We were on the same hockey team."

"You should go to China, I know someone who could put you up."

"Did you fall in love?"

People I didn't know.

I don't remember what Chantal wrote,

only that she didn't write that she loved me.

Hello?

It's me.

Dad? Yes. How are you?

I'm OK.

Listen, I thought your film was good, OK?

Yeah, but... Hang on!

Not so long ago, I didn't even know you could make films.

And now, I see this and...

I can't believe I'm your father.

I'm proud of you, OK? Who cares about the rest?

Did you hear me?

Who cares?

You've already succeeded in my eyes.

I didn't know you were an...

artist.

Now I know.

Ricardo?

Yeah, I'm here.

You gonna be OK, Fellini?

Yeah, yeah.

Bravo! I'll see you when you get home?

Oh, yeah.

I fixed the windshield of your car.

You owe me $500.

Ciao! Thanks for calling.

In my whole life, my father had never called me.

Not once. No joke.

He never called. That wasn't his thing.

That night, sometime between the end of 1994 and the beginning of 1995,

I started to believe I was an artist once again.

A few days later, I picked up my camera and kept going.

I still make movies, but not because I'm chasing a masterpiece.

I make them so my father can see them.

I'd really love it if he'd call.

I really miss him.