Pierrot le Fou (1965) Script

"Velázquez, past the age of 50, no longer painted specific objects.

He drifted around things like the air, like twilight, catching unawares in the shimmering shadows the nuances of color that he transformed into the invisible core of his silent symphony.

Henceforth, he captured only those mysterious interpenetrations that united shape and tone by means of a secret but unceasing progression that no convulsion or cataclysm could interrupt or impede.

Space reigns supreme.

It's as if some ethereal wave skimming over surfaces soaked up their visible emanations to shape them and give them form and then spread them like a perfume, like an echo of themselves, like some imperceptible dust, over every surrounding surface.

The world he lived in was a sad one: a degenerate king, sickly infantes, idiots, dwarfs, cripples, clownish freaks dressed as princes whose job it was to laugh at themselves and amuse a court that lived outside the law, caught in a web of etiquette, plots and lies, bound by the confessional and their own remorse.

Outside the gates, the auto-da-fé and silence..."

Listen to this, little girl.

"A spirit of nostalgia prevails, yet we see none of the ugliness or sadness, none of the gloom or cruelty of this crushed childhood.

Velázquez is the painter of the evening, of open spaces and of silence, even when he paints in broad daylight or in a closed room, even with the din of battle or of the hunt in his ears.

As they seldom went out during the day, when everything was drowned in torrid sunshine, Spanish painters communed with the evening."

Beautiful, isn't it, little girl?

You're crazy to read her things like that.

Off to bed, sleepyhead!

Why hasn't Odile put them to bed?

Because monsieur let her go off to the movies for the third time this week.

"The third time this week." Of course I did.

They're showing Johnny Guitar. Good for her education.

There are too many idiots around.

Hurry up. Frank and Paola will be here any minute.

I'm not going. I'm staying home with the kids.

No! Frank's bringing his niece.

She can baby-sit till we get back.

She's a student. She does it all the time.

His niece? Knowing him, it's a call girl.

I'm not going.

You'll do as you're told.

Papa will introduce you to the managing director of Standard Oil.

And I'll sue the TV people for firing me.

No, you won't. You'd only lose.

And when someone finds you work, you'll be good enough to take it.

That's enough now. Come on.

You're not wearing a slip?

No, I'm wearing my new "Scandale" girdle. It's invisible.

"I've got that young look with my 'Scandale' girdle!"

First there was Greek civilization.

Then there was the Renaissance.

Now we're entering the Age of the Ass.

I'll show you around.

She loves children.

You can reach us at... What's the number?

225-70-01.

This is Frank's niece. Oh?

Good evening.

Hi.

Can't you say "BALzac 70-01 "? You don't know Balzac?

Read César Birotteau, how the Fifth Symphony pounded in his poor head.

What's eating you? Let's go, daddy-o.

Chapter Two.

Surprise party at the home of my wife's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Expresso.

The Alfa Romeo has great acceleration, powerful four-wheel disc brakes, a luxurious interior, and great traction.

It's an exceptional touring car.

It's safe, fast and a pleasure to drive, with great response and perfect balance.

It's easy to stay fresh.

Soap washes, cologne refreshes, perfume perfumes.

To combat underarm perspiration, I use Printil after my bath for all-day protection.

It comes in a wonderfully fresh aerosol, as well as stick and roll-on.

But the Oldsmobile Rocket 88 has even more to offer.

Its meticulous design, its powerful yet simple lines, and its uncommon elegance all prove that beauty isn't incompatible with top performance.

You look lonely.

He's American. He doesn't speak French.

What's his name? What's he do?

Baudelaire. Very good.

I've always wanted to know exactly what cinema is.


My hairdo stayed light and soft all day thanks to Elnett Satin Spray.

And now the spray brushes out effortlessly, like it was never there.

Soft.

My hair is like strands of golden silk... shining... and clean.

Women must give up filmy negligees and romantic nightgowns.

Outdoors or in bright light, lingerie loses its allure and becomes indecent.

Olympio's melancholy.

Give me the keys to the Lincoln.

You're not staying?

No, I'm tired.

I've got a mechanism for seeing called eyes, for hearing called ears, for speaking called a mouth.

But they feel disconnected.

They don't work together.

A person should feel like he's one individual.

I feel like I'm many different people.

You talk too much. It tires me out just listening to you.

You're right. I talk too much.

A man alone always talks too much.

I'll wait for you at home.

Next chapter:

Despair...

Memory and Freedom...

Bitterness... Hope...

Remembrance of Things Past.

Marianne Renoir.

You're still here?

Sorry.

You missed the last train. How will you get home?

I don't know.

You're all alone?

I was bored, so I came home.

Anything wrong? You look depressed.

Some days are like that. Everyone you meet is an imbecile.

So you start looking in the mirror and wondering about yourself.

Come on. I'll take you home.

Frank lent you his car?

Yeah. Why? Don't you like American cars?

Sure.

Funny, our meeting again like this.

It's been four years. No, 5 1/2.

It was in October.

You're married now?

Yes, to an Italian with money. But she doesn't really interest me.

Why don't you divorce? I wanted to, but I've grown too lazy.

Like you pointed out once:

To want something, you have to be alive.

Do you still teach Spanish?

No, I was in television, but I gave it up.

What about you? Oh, nothing special.

You don't feel like talking about yourself.

A friend of mine saw you in London two years ago.

Are you still with that American?

No, that ended a long time ago.

Have you known Frank long?

Not really. Just casually.

Mysterious as ever, I see.

Like I said, I just don't like talking about myself.

Very well. Silence, then.

...a garrison massacred by the Viet Cong, who also lost 115 men.

Awful, isn't it? It's so anonymous.

What is?

They say "115 guerrillas," and it means nothing to us.

But each one is a man, and we don't even know who he is, if he loves a woman, if he has kids, if he prefers movies or plays.

We know nothing about them. All they say is "115 killed."

It's like photographs. They've always fascinated me.

You see this frozen image of a guy with a caption underneath.

Maybe he was a coward. Maybe he was a nice guy.

But at the moment it was taken, no one can really say who he was, what he was thinking about.

His wife? His mistress?

The past? The future? Basketball?

No one will ever know.

That's life for you.

That's what makes me sad: Life is so different from books.

I wish it were the same: clear, logical, organized.

Only it isn't.

Yes, it is. Much more than people think.

No, Pierrot.

For the last time, my name's Ferdinand.

I know, but you can't sing My friend Ferdinand Yes, you can. You just have to want to, Marianne.

I want to.

I'll do anything you want.

Me too, Marianne.

I'm putting my hand on your knee.

Me too, Marianne.

I'm kissing you all over.

Me too, Marianne.

You're so beautiful, my pet

We'll see.

Marianne Renoir.

On your feet, dead man!


You see? I was right. About what?

You didn't believe we'd always be in love.

No, I never told you I'd love you forever.

Oh, my love You never promised to adore me all your life We never exchanged such promises Knowing me knowing you We never thought we'd be caught in love's web Fickle as we were But gradually without a word between us Bit by bit

Feelings arose between our bodies mingled in delight Then words of love rose to our naked lips Bit by bit

Heaps of words of love mingled gently with our kisses So many words of love

I never thought I'd always want you Oh, my love We never thought we could live together And not grow tired of each other To wake up every morning Surprised to still be so happy in the same bed And want nothing more than that ordinary pleasure Of feeling so at ease with each other

But gradually without a word between us Bit by bit

Our feelings bound us tight in spite of ourselves, never to let go

Feelings stronger than any words of love Known or unknown Feelings so wild and strong That we never thought were possible before Don't ever promise to adore me all your life Let's never exchange such promises Knowing me knowing you Let's keep the feeling that this love of ours ls a love with no tomorrow Well, in 60 years, when we're dead, we'll know if we were always in love.

No, I know I love you, but I'm not so sure about you.

I do, Marianne.

Well, we'll see.

Your wife was here this morning.

I don't give a damn.

That's not all.

I said I don't give a damn.

Marianne tells Ferdinand a story all mixed up I knew some people like in the Algerian war I'll explain everything wake from a bad dream


Frank had the keys? I'll explain everything.

Were you in love with him? I'll explain everything.

Did he kiss you? I'll explain everything.


a story all mixed up leave in a hurry wake from a bad dream I knew some people politics an organization get away gun-running in silence... in silence

in silence

It's me... Marianne. Did he kiss you? a story all mixed up I knew some people were you in love with him? use my apartment like in the Algerian war my brother wake from a bad dream leave in a hurry... leave in a hurry answer clobber him argument garage who is it? down south get away no money It was time to leave that rotten world anyway.

We left Paris on a one-way street.

Recognizing two of her own, the Statue of Liberty gave us a friendly wave.

Put a tiger in my tank. We don't sell tigers.

Then just shut up and fill 'er up, pal.

I'll look less suspicious.

That'll be 4,900 francs.

Check the water and oil, pal.

Help me, dope!

Shit! Another one!

I know a trick from Laurel and Hardy. Get in the car.

Shame on you! Don't you have money? No, sir.

Then get a job. Or don't you want to work?

No, sir, we don't. Then how will you pay?

Shit! There's one more left. I'll handle him.

I'm calling the police!

Sum total it was an adventure film The Crown of Blood Sum total Tender is the Night It was a love story.

It was a love story.

Tender is the Night It was a love story.

We'll find my brother eventually.

Just what kind of smuggling is he in?

Oh, some stuff in Africa.

Angola, the Congo.

I thought he did TV shows in Monte Carlo.

Yeah, that too.

We've got to decide where we're going.

We talked about Nice, then maybe Italy.

Our money won't get us to Nice. We'd better dump the Peugeot.

Have you ever killed a man, Pierrot?

My name's Ferdinand. Why do you ask?

Because it's going to turn your stomach.

I wonder what she told the cops.

Maybe they haven't questioned her yet. Don't kid yourself.

She told them every nasty thing she could.

With good reason.

Anyway, I feel sorry for her. Sorry?

Guys like you are always sorry... but always too late.

What are you doing? Looking at myself.

What do you see?

A man about to drive over a cliff at 60 mph.

I see a woman in love with the man about to drive over a cliff at 60 mph.

Then let's have a kiss.

The next day RENDEZVOUS WITH DEATH we find the Peugeot entering a town in central France with its tank almost empty.

Marianne and Ferdinand stop at a bar and order drinks wondering how to pay for them.

Their descriptions are on the radio. People eye them warily.

Their descrip... descrip... People eye them... eye them warily.

The people are:

Laszlo Kovacs, student, born on January 25, 1936, in Santo Domingo.

Forced to flee the American invasion.

Now living in France as a political refugee.

France... the land of liberty, equality and brotherhood.

Viviane Blassel, born on March 21, 1943, in Marseilles.

I'm 22. I work at the perfume counter at a department store in Auxerre.

Eté, André, born on May 25, 1903, in Marbouie, Eure-et-Loir.

Age: 62.

Present occupation: film extra.

Let's tell stories. The right words may move them.

About what? Anything at all.

The fall of Constantinople, or Nicolas de Staël committing suicide.

Or William Wilson, who saw his double in the street and couldn't rest till he'd killed him.

When it was done, he realized he'd killed himself, while his double went on living.

Okay. Maybe they'll give us some money.

Marianne, who had the eyes of both Aucassin and Nicolette, told them about William of Orange's nephew, the handsome Vivien, who died fighting 30,000 Saracens.

Bleeding from a thousand wounds, he fought on alone, for he swore not to retreat.

Oh, young and gentle nephew, why this vow so noble yet so mad?

Ferdinand started telling them about Guynemer, but they weren't listening, so he spoke of the summer, and of how lovers long for the warm evening air.

He spoke of man, and the seasons, and unexpected encounters.

But he told them never to ask which came first, words or things, or what would come next.

I feel alive, and that's all that matters.


I've got an idea.

We'll fake an accident.

The police will think we're dead. Okay, Pierrot?

My name's Ferdinand.

All we have to do is burn the car. They'll think we died in the fire.

Always fire, blood and war! Hey, it wasn't my idea! Move it closer.

It's gotta look real. This isn't a movie.

Closer! Hurry up!

No matches. Let's go. That's okay. Give me the gun.

The same make that killed Kennedy. Didn't you know that was me?

Out of the way. Wait a minute.

Nice little fire.

Know what was in that suitcase? No. What?

The dollars you were looking for in the apartment.

Bastard! You did that on purpose.

That's right.

You know what we could've done with that money?

We could've gone to Chicago, Las Vegas, Monte Carlo. You bastard!

I'd have gone to Florence, Venice and Athens.

Let's go. Travel broadens the mind.


Chapter Eight. A Season in Hell.

Chapter Eight. We crossed France like shadows like a mirror


like shadows like a mirror I saw the café where Van Gogh decided to cut off his ear.

You're a liar. What did you see? I saw...

THE NICKEL-FOOTED GANG

Look, Pierrot, a Ford Galaxie.

My name's Ferdinand. Yeah, a '62.

Show me you're a man. Wait till I finish this.

"After covering a good distance, they came to the Bayorda desert, which they had to cross to reach Karthoum.

'Darn! Not much shade!' they grumbled, as they set out across the scorching sand.

'We'd be better off in the cool shade of a glass of lager."'

Make up your mind or I'll hitch a ride alone.

All right. Let's go, daddy-o.


A lube job, please.

Where are the bathrooms?

Come on, Mimi.

Hey, kid, how'd you like to own a car like this?

Sure! Well, you never will.


Marianne, his jacket.

Hey, kid, how'd you like to earn 10,000 francs?


The landscape rose slowly before us.

Countless centuries fled into the distance, like so many storms.

Dump our clothes while I turn around.

Hey, my book!

Hurry!


LIFE

Well? Nothing special.

They questioned her.

She said she saw us naked together in my bed.

You see? And you called me a liar.

Nothing else?

You still seem awfully interested in her.

Nothing at all happened.

I don't understand. He's lost his mind.

Ditch a woman and she'll say you've got a screw loose.

Men are the same way.

True.

I don't know why, but I'm picking up the scent of death.

If you miss her, just say so!

Cut it out! You're getting on my nerves!

I mean the scent of death in the countryside, trees, women's faces, cars.

We'll be in a hell of a fix without money. We can't even get to Italy.

We'll just stop anywhere.

We'll just stop anywhere.

And do what all day?

No, let's find my brother. He'll give us tons of dough.

Then we'll find ourselves a high-class hotel and have some fun!

All she thinks about is fun. Who are you talking to?

The audience.

I told you so. You're already sorry.

You were crazy to do this. No, I'm in love.

It's the same thing.

I've decided never to fall in love again.

It's a disgusting habit.

Don't say that.

Don't say that.

Ten minutes ago, I saw only death. Now it's just the opposite. Look!

The sea, the waves, the sky.

Life may be sad, but it's always beautiful.

Suddenly I feel free. We can do what we want.

Watch: right... left... left... right.

Look at the fool!

He's driving down a straight line and has to follow it all the way.

Oh, yeah? Watch this.

Chapter Eight.

A Season in Hell. Love must be reinvented.

Real life lies elsewhere.

Countless centuries fled into the distance, like so many storms.

I held her close and began to cry.

It was our first, our only dream.

You coming?

Where are we going?

To Mystery Island, like Captain Grant's children.

To do what? Nothing. Just exist.

Doesn't sound like much fun. That's life.

Not at all.

It's a good thing I don't like spinach, because if I did, I'd eat it, and I can't stand the stuff.

It's the same with you, only just the opposite.

There was a film like that with Michel Simon, where he fell for this girl...

Well, you wanted to start life over. I wasn't being mean.

You said we'd see it through to the end.

Yes, the end of the night.

Great view of the moon.

Doesn't look too special to me. To me it does.

I see a man up there.

Maybe Leonov, or that American... White.

Yeah, I see him too.

But he's not a Russki or a nephew of Uncle Sam.

I'll tell you who he is. Who?

The moon's only inhabitant.

You know what he's doing? Getting the hell out.

Why?

Look. Why?

He's fed up. He was glad to see Leonov land.

Someone to talk to after an eternity alone!

But Leonov tried to stuff his head full of Lenin.

So when the American landed, the guy fled to his camp.

But the American right away crammed a Coke down his throat after making him say thank you first, so now he's really had it.

He's letting the Americans and Russians shoot it out. He's taking off.

For where? Here.

Because he thinks you're lovely.

He admires you.

I think your legs and breasts are very moving.

Fuck me.

Chapter Seven.

A poet named after a gun Robert Browning get away never beloved as long as I'm me and you're you as long as the universe will hold us both I who love you and you who reject me as long as one wants to flee it's too much like fate

"I've decided to keep a journal... the urgency to describe in words..."


"Eyes: human landscapes.

Mouth: onomatopoeia.

The language of poetry rises from the ruins."

"The writer chooses to... the freedom of others."

Did you get all the books? No, but this was on sale.

By someone with your name.

Ah, Ferdinand. You've heard of him?

"I am fire, I am light, I am a miracle.

I no longer hear.

I ascend.

I pass through the air."

It's too much.

"I've seen happiness before me.

Supernatural emotion!

And then...

I no longer know anything.

I inch my hands forward...

and I dare... to the right...

I lightly stroke... my fairy's hair... that wonder whom I adore...

Virginia."

Guignol's Band. Well, are you coming?

"Perfect happiness!

Ah, my ecstasy was so intense that I dared not move.

Happy to the point of tears, numb with happiness, I'm all aquiver.

Let my heart swell and burn within me. I myself am flame.

I am in space. I cling to Virginia."

Give me that.

"You promised me China and Tibet, Mr. Sosthène.

The Sunda Islands, and wonderful plants with magical powers."

Where is all that now?

Cham cham cham ratatam. I caught him in his lies.

What's today? Friday.

You'll never leave me?

Of course I won't.

Of course?

Yes, of course.

Yes, of course.

"Thursday: Poetry is a game of loser-take-all."

What am I to do?

I don't know what to do.

What am I to do?

I don't know what to do.

Quiet! I'm writing!

"There's the crux of the matter.

You're waiting for me. I'm not there.

I arrive. I come into the room.

I only really exist for you from that moment on.

But I existed before that. I had thoughts.

Perhaps I even suffered.

So the task is to show you alive, thinking of me, and to see me at the same time, alive for that very reason."

I'm underlining that.

Still thinking about your brother and that gun business?

Why do you look so sad?

Because you speak to me in words, and I look at you with feelings.

I can't have a real conversation with you.

You never have ideas, only feelings.

That's not true. There are ideas inside feelings.

Okay. Let's try to have a serious conversation.

You tell me what you like, what you want, and I'll do the same.

Go on. You start.

Flowers... animals...

the blue of the sky... music.

I don't know... everything. What about you?

Ambition... hope... the way things move... accidents.

What else? Well, everything.

See? I was right five years ago.

We never understand each other.

What am I to do?

I don't know what to do.

"Sunday. She opened the... and then...

Monday. ...l read a lot."

DEATH How are you, old man?

All right.

I've got an idea for a novel: not to write about people's lives anymore, but only about life... life itself.

What lies in between people: space, sound, and color.

I'd like to accomplish that.

Joyce gave it a try, but it should be possible to do better.

Here are your books.

These aren't the ones.

And there's one missing. I said five.

I bought a little 45 rpm. Look.

I said one record for every 50 books. Music after literature!

If you don't like it, my friend...

Little mouse, it's on the house!

What's eating you?

I can make up stupid rhymes too.

What's the matter?

I'm fed up!

I'm sick of the sea, the sun, the sand!

Sick of eating out of tin cans!

Sick of always wearing the same dress!

I want outta here.

I want to live.

What am I supposed to do?

I don't know. I want to go away.

Anyway, I threw away our money for the winter.

Where?

In the sea, idiot!

You're crazy, Marianne.

If you want to get out of here, we'll need money.

Lots of tourists come over on the boat.

We can steal from them.

Come on, Pierrot.

My name's Ferdinand.

Come on. We've played Jules Verne long enough.

Let's go back to our detective novel, with fast cars and guns and nightclubs.

Come on!

Wait for me, Marianne!

Does this brother of yours really exist?

It's funny how you never believe me.

Listen... if we find Fred and he gives us dough, why don't we go to Miami Beach?

Deep down you're a coward.

"Courage consists in remaining inside oneself, close to nature, which is oblivious to our crises."

Will you hurry up? The tourist boat's gonna leave.

Wait. I've got an idea.

Give me your lipstick.

"In the end... the only thing of any interest is the paths people take.

The tragic part is that even when they know where they're going and who they are, everything is still a mystery."

Like the scent of eucalyptus.

That's right. You bet it is.

"And that mystery, forever unsolved, is life."

Get a move on, Paul. Shut up, Virginia.

"We are dead men on parole. And the trees?"


"To earn a little money, "To earn a little money, we drew for the tourists... modern-day slaves."

Damn! Americans!

It's okay. We'll change our plan.

It's simple. What?

We'll put on a play. Maybe they'll give us some dollars.

What play? I don't know. Something they'll like.

I've got it. The Vietnam War.


"Uncle Sam's nephew versus Uncle Ho's niece."


A little something for the actors.

A dollar! Don't worry, Pierrot.

Long live Kennedy!

I threw them off our trail. Let's go back.

No, I'm going dancing.

Come on. You can go tomorrow.

Next chapter: Despair.

I'm staying here. Okay. I'll go alone.

Hope.

You do that.

Remembrance of Things Past.

I heard there's a dance hall across the water.

I'm going dancing.

If we get killed, too bad.

They'll catch up with us. So what?

Tuesday I wanted to buy a record player, but he spends all our money on books.

Oh, I don't really give a damn.

But he can't even understand that.

I don't give a damn about books or records or anything... even money.

I just want to live.

But he'll never understand that.

To live.

My fate line is short as can be My fate line is short as can be My palm is such an ill-fated thing I'm afraid of what tomorrow may bring My fate line, my fate line Darling, what do you think of my fate line What does it matter It's fine, just fine Your thigh line is more in my line My fate line I love to hold it in my lap Your thigh line My fate line It's a feather in my cap

Just look at my little fate line Just look at my little fate line Just look at destiny's call So small it's hardly there at all My fate line, my fate line Darling, what do you think of my fate line What does it matter It's fine, just fine Give me your hand and don't say a word Your thigh line My fate line It's like a morning bird Your thigh line My fate line Frivolous bird, harbinger of fate


Such a tiny little fate line Such a tiny little fate line Almost less than nothing Barely a tiny dot in my hand My fate line, my fate line Darling, what do you think of my fate line What does it matter It's fine, just fine Every morning I'm the happiest man Your thigh line My fate line A bird is singing in my hand Your thigh- line My fate- line

Maybe I'm daydreaming.

She makes me think of music.

Her face.

We have come to the age of man and his double.

We no longer need mirrors to talk to ourselves.

When Marianne says, "It's a fine day," what's she thinking about?

All I have is that image of her saying, "It's a fine day."

Nothing else.

What good is it figuring all this out?

We are made of dreams, and dreams are made of us.

It's a fine day, my love, in dreams, in words and in death.

It's a fine day, my love. It's a fine day in life.


You know what I'm thinking? I couldn't care less.

Let's not start that again.

I said to leave me alone.

Besides, I'm not starting again. I'm continuing.

Shit! What?

Shit! Shit! Shit!

What's the matter?

Know what you should write a novel about?

No. What?

This guy's strolling around Paris when suddenly he sees Death.

So he promptly heads south to get away, because he figures his time hasn't come yet.

And then?

He drives all night at top speed, and the next morning, when he reaches the coast, he crashes into a truck and dies, just when he thought Death had lost his trail.

Let's hurry. We've got plenty of time.

No, I'm afraid.

You stay here.

So we meet again. What do you want?

I'll be back in five minutes. I'll beat him up if you want.

No, I'll get rid of him with a few lies.

I have to find Fred, Pierrot.

My name's Ferdinand. Okay, okay.

"... Eroticism, in that sense, betrays... nostalgia for continuity..."

Two beers. Two?

So when I finish one, I'll still have one left.

Remember me?

You stayed at my place in Fontainebleau last year.

I lent you 100,000 francs.

You slept with my wife. Oh, right.

So you've come south? Yes, to the coast here.

Everything okay? Fine.

Mr. Griffon?

My name's Ferdinand. Yes, it's me.

I'm scared.

They're out of their minds.

I swear this isn't a joke.


Tell me where the money is or else.

We'll give you electric shocks, like they did during the war.

Or else... like in Vietnam...

we'll strip you... put you in a bathtub full of napalm...

and set it on fire.

No, right now.

You can caress me all over. I'll be nice again.

Then come quick.


We'll walk up.


A glorious death for a little man.


What are you doing here?

I heard a noise. I live downstairs.

Let him have it.

We'll use that trick of yours.

You can't fight us, kid.

What'd you do with the money in the Peugeot?

Take him in the bathroom and use that trick you learned.

We can't forget about the yacht.

There aren't any towels.

Use that little whore's dress.

Just cover his head so the water will cut off the air.

I'll make this easy and tell you what I know.

Then I want a straight answer to one question.

I know your name is Ferdinand Griffon.

You were with Marianne when she stabbed our friend Donovan, and you ran off with my $50,000.

Ploom ploom tra-la-la.

I've got nothing against you personally.

I'm sure she dragged you into this. That's your business.

As I was saying...

I'm not interested in you. It's her I want.

Now, tell me where to find her and the money.

This is your last chance. Tell me or we kill you.

Ploom ploom tra-la-la.

The Marquise dance hall.

Maybe it's true, maybe not, but this chump's not gonna say any more.

We'll go have a look.

The Marquise dance hall.

We'll go have a look.

"I've never understood... Marianne's loyalty."

What a dreadful 5:00 in the afternoon.

I don't want to see blood.

What a dreadful 5:00 in the afternoon.

I don't want to see blood.

I don't want to see blood.

What a dreadful 5:00 in the afternoon.


Next we find Ferdinand arriving in... Toulon.

He wanders along the waterfront. He's staying... at the Little Palace Hotel.

He looks for Marianne but he doesn't find her. The days go by.

Some afternoons, he sleeps in all-day movies.

He still keeps a diary.

For words have the power to disperse the shadows from around the objects they name.

Even if it's compromised in everyday life, language often retains only what is pure.

"sea"

"soul"

"bitter"

"weapon"

In Vietnam, the Da Nang base, a major US stronghold, was attacked by the Viet Cong.

Seven planes were destroyed on the ground.

In the jungle, US soldiers fought side by side for the first time with South Vietnamese and Australian forces against Viet Cong guerilla units.

Despite this escalation, and the failure of the Commonwealth peace mission, Harold Wilson stands ready to participate in negotiations.

Your story ends there.

Yes, he turned away... leaving me bewildered.

We were looking carefully for the moment when we had abandoned the fictional character to return to the real one, if it ever existed.

I am Princess Aïcha Abadie, and despite my fragile, doll-like appearance, I am a very strong-minded woman.

I don't like people getting in my way. I want to be obeyed.

Your orders, Princess?

I am Lebanese by adoption.

In 1960 I married Emir Abadie, and I am queen of Lebanon in exile, for, as you know, my country is currently a socialist republic.

I am therefore in Nice incognito, as my husband and I have terrible enemies.

There's a price on our heads in Lebanon.

I'm often the target of machine-gun fire, which always misses me, no doubt due to Allah's protection, because to marry the emir, I had to convert to Islam.

I've flown to Beirut twice in my husband's space machine, and the marabout of Atla...

Alexis, don't let me go flying off.

The sea is choppy, and you know how light I am.

Help me, Ferdinand.

Ferdinand, we weigh anchor in an hour.

Yes, Princess.

Alexis, we're going into town.

Pierrot!

It's me.

My name's Ferdinand.

Hi.

You don't seem too surprised to see me.

What are you doing here?

I'm so happy. I've found you at last.

Where are you staying? With you, you idiot!

I'm staying with you. I've looked all over for you.

You should have waited after you called me.

I wanted to.

I got away before those men arrived.

I ran to the dance hall to warn you not to come, but I didn't see you, so I went back, and I saw those men getting into the blue Ford.

I thought they'd killed you.

So I took off. I didn't care where.

I don't even remember where. I was afraid to come back to the coast.

Then one day I ran into Fred in a bar in Toulon.

It's true. The Las Vegas bar, in Toulon.

How'd you know I was working here? That was by chance too.

It's true.

I believe you, liar.

Why don't you ever believe that I love you?

I love you in my own way.

That's just it.

I'll prove it. Look.

I went back to our beach and got your notebook.

Thanks.

Look on the last page.

There's a little poem I wrote about you.

"Tender and cruel... real and surreal... terrifying and funny... nocturnal and diurnal... usual and unusual... handsome as anything. Crazy Pierrot!"

I told you my name's Ferdinand, goddamn it!

If you think you're tough saying "goddamn it," you're wrong.

God can go to...

Don't talk like that.

You should talk.

We're wanted for murder. You know what murder is?

Sure. What about it? Does it scare you?

Answer me.

I look at you and listen to you, but that's not what counts.

Thanks a lot.

No, I mean this very moment... which is already past.

Oh, I don't know. It's the blue of the sky, our relationship.

I don't get it.

I wish time would stand still.

Look. I'm putting my hand on your knee.

That's a wonderful thing in itself. That's life.

Space, feelings.

But instead I'm following you back to our tale of sound and fury.

But I don't care. Are you coming? Fred's waiting.

Forget I said anything. Let's go, daddy-o.

I wonder what's keeping the cops. We should be in jail by now.

They're smart. They let people destroy themselves.


Why do you do things like that?

I tell you I didn't kill him.

It's funny we're still alive after that parade of corpses.

Yeah... ho ho ho. Looks like Pépé le Moko around here.

Who?

Pépé le Moko. Who's that?

You sure don't know much.

What about you? You know what you are?

I'm a man with sexual desires.

Says you!

I know who you are, but you don't.

It's true.

I'm just a huge question mark hanging over the Mediterranean horizon.

"...their truth... independent of us... our logic..."

Are your parents still alive?

Yes. They've never been apart.

They were almost separated once.

Papa was leaving on a trip. I can't remember where.

Some short trip.

They didn't have money for two tickets.

Mama went with him to the bus stop, and they looked at each other, Mama from the sidewalk, Papa from the window.

Just as the bus started up, Papa dashed to get off.

He didn't want to leave Mama.

While he got off in front, she was getting on in back, because she didn't want to leave his side.

In the end, he didn't go.

What did you do when you worked in an elevator?

Nothing. I looked at people's faces.

Where was that? The Galeries Lafayette.

Why all these questions?

I want to know exactly who you are.

I never knew, not even five years ago.

I'm just a sentimental girl, that's all.

Only a fool would make a big mystery out of that.

What's your brother do?

I never know when you're making things up.

Oh, you know...

What was he doing in Tel Aviv?

Listen: There's a war going on in Yemen.

You're really out of touch.

He gets money from the Royalists.

Are those other men with the Arab League?

I don't know. Probably.

Is there really a troupe of dancers?

What do you care?

Why does he need a cover?

Gun-running's practically official business these days.

What do you care? Answer me.

I'll tell you something.

There are 3,600 seconds in an hour.

That makes about 100,000 seconds in a day.

In an average lifetime, that makes...

250 billion seconds.

All in all, you and I have spent about one month together.

Add it up. I've only been with you a few million seconds out of the 250 billion that make up your life.

It's not much.

So I'm not surprised we don't know who each other is.

...5, 6, 7, 8.

You made it!

Will he do it? Yeah, anything I say.

What a crazy set-up

...6, 7, 8!

"to see clearly... reason... life."


What am I supposed to do?

Just do as you're told.

Keep your eyes and ears open and you'll see.

Remember the scent of eucalyptus?

With you it's always so complicated. No, it's simple.

Too much going on.

There's a little harbor, like in a Conrad novel.

A sailboat, like in Robert Louis Stevenson.

An old brothel, like in Faulkner.

A steward turned multimillionaire, like in Jack London.

With you it's always so complicated. No, it's simple.

Too much going on.

Two guys beat me up, like in Raymond Chandler.

You and me and him... see how simple it is?

No, I don't see.

They want to buy the yacht.

The old man isn't French.

My brother collects the money.

The others don't know.

They'll be furious.

They'll tail Fred. We'll get rid of them.

And then? Just do as you're told.


A woman can kill lots of people easy.

Full breasts and soft thighs don't mean she can't kill everyone to remain free or protect herself.

Just look at Cuba or Vietnam or Israel.

I love you! Me too!


Next chapter: Despair.

Next chapter:

Freedom... Bitterness.


Seen a young woman around like a Hollywood movie star in Technicolor?

None of your business.

You got it?

We all meet tonight as planned?

Some people saw me.

I don't understand.

Fred will look innocent now.

Why are you double-crossing me?

What's the matter?

Nothing. Just looking at a woman who's tormenting me.

$50,000 would make anyone nervous, Pierrot.

My name's Ferdinand.

Why did you kiss me earlier? I felt like it.

Kiss me again. Not in front of everyone.

Why do you wear such tight pants?

Listen. If you don't like it, go back to Paris.

Kiss me.

Okay, I get it.

You know, it's bad luck to double-cross us.

Speak Not, Cassandra.

What? It's the title of this novel.

Stupid jerk.

Hey!

Marianne! What?

TWA, Nice airport, the 2:45 to Tahiti. We just climb aboard.

Just the two of us, obviously.

Obviously.

Obviously.

French is funny.

Words say the opposite of what they mean.

We say "obviously" when things aren't obvious at all.

Like it wasn't obvious that I'd find the old man with a bullet-hole in his forehead.

Did you know your brother would kill him?

It was none of my business.

I'd like to run off with you, but Fred will find us and get even.

I saw him get even with a girl once.

I'll protect you.

Okay. But I have to go alone or they'll suspect.

Okay, my beautiful.

Okay, my handsome.

Well, I'm off, since we have nothing more to say.

Meet me in half an hour.

I'll count to...

137.

You're really crazy.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

The briefcase!

Start the car. Trust me and I'll trust you.

...18, 19, 20, 21, 22...


Something wrong, pal?

It's that tune.

You have no idea what it means to me.

You hear it?

No, I don't hear anything.

You wouldn't understand.

That tune's my whole life.

When I hear it, it just...

One day I was home. It was playing on the radio.

She sat beside me, this magnificent, beautiful woman.

I took her hand and stroked the back of it, like this.

I asked her... Do you love me

She said no.

So I bought the record, because that music just...

Like my own private case of mass hysteria.

One day at home, I put on the record.

It went around and around in my head! Everything was spinning!

She was beside me... a different woman.

Not as pretty as the first...

but anyway, I took her hand and stroked it on the other side this time, just for a change.

I asked... Do you love me

And she said, "Oh, I do!"

But I didn't love her, so I broke the record!

One day I turned on the radio, and it was playing.

Why that song? Why not something else?

She was beside me... no, other side, 'cause we were at her place.

This was a third woman.

I took her hand and stroked it... on both sides, just to be done with it.

It was getting on my nerves.

I asked... Do you love me She said yes.

I asked, "Will you give me your hand?"

She said, "You've been holding it for ten minutes."

And she was right.

So I kept her and her hand for ten years!

Ten years! I can't stand that song any more!

You hear it?

I can't stand it any more. You hear it?

That one, right there... you don't hear it?

Tell me: Am I crazy? Come right out and say it!

I want to hear you say it. Say, "You're crazy!"

You're crazy. That's more like it.

Going to the island? Yes, sir.

What's your boat called? The Sawonga.

Just Sawonga's you get me there!

So that song I hear isn't real?

That music that's haunted me all my life?

That tenderness? No! insensitive man!

You missed the whole point!


Do you love me


I held her close and began to cry.

It was our first, our only dream.


Get me Paris, please.

BALzac 75-02.

You've forgotten Balzac too?

Yes, I'll wait.

It hurts.

You shouldn't have done it.

You shouldn't have done it.

Forgive me, Pierrot.

My name's Ferdinand.

It's too late.

"... dynamite, machine guns... supply the rebels..."

Yes, I'll wait.

BALzac 75-02?

Is Mrs. Griffon there?

Who's this?

Is that you, Odile?

How are the children?

No, no. Nobody's calling.

"art... death"


What I wanted to say...

What's the point?


What an idiot! Shit! A glorious death...


It's ours again. What is?

Eternity. That's just the sea, gone...