Puissance de la parole (1988) Script

What now?

In the bowels of the dead planet, an ancient tired mechanism shuddered.

The Power of the Words Tubes emitting a place and flickering light awoke.

Slowly and reluctantly, a neutral start switch changed position.

Last warning!


There is really nobody?


Hello!


It's over, Frank

So do me a favour, give me peace!

I am alone.

They left, Belma No, it's not too late!


Why couldn't they leave us alone?

Before!

Why couldn't they let us fight it out together?

I know we would have lost But I wouldn't care

Even if it would take me in…

You know, we would have had our love.

That's all we ever had

But the very first time they started their meanness, you turned on me.

And you turned on me, don't forget that. turned on you

Well, that makes it even!

We both turned on each other.


Look at us now!

We were up on a mountain

We were up so high, Frank! It was so beautiful!

That night

I didn't know I could feel anything like that!

We kissed!

And we sealed it so it would be there forever,

no matter what happened.

Now that we will stroll through the space, Mr. Agathos

Tell me about the Earth I didn't understand what you hinted to me just now We were accusomed to call it Creation during mortality

Do you mean sto say that the Creator is not God?

I mean to say that the Deity doesn't create So explain me or explain yourself!

At the beginning only, he created.

Among men, my Agathos, this idea would be consider as heretical in the extreme.

Among angels, miss, it is seen to be simply true.

Are not the starry worlds that, from the abyss, burst hourly forth into the heavens

are not these stars, Mr. Agathos, the immediate handiwork of the King?

Let me endeavor, miss, to lead you, step by step, to the conception I intend.

You are well aware that, as no thought can perish, so no act is without infinite result.

We moved our hands, for example, when we were dwellers on the earth, and, in so doing, gave vibration to the atmosphere which engirdled it.

This vibration was indefinitely extended, till it gave impulse to every particle of the earth's air, which thenceforward, and for ever, was actuated by the one movement of the hand.

This fact the mathematicians of our globe well knew.

And they saw that the results of any given impulse were absolutely endless.


And they saw that the results of any given impulse were absolutely endless.

They saw that a portion of these results were accurately traceable in the space and in the time.

And how, my Agathos?

Through the agency of simple analysis.

Explain me or explain yourself!

By an easy calculation, these men saw, at the same time, that this species of analysis itself, had within itself a capacity for indefinite progress.

So there were no bounds conceivable to its advancement?

Except within the intellect of him who applied it.

But at this point our mathematicians paused.

And why, Agathos, should they have proceeded?

It was deducible that, to a being of infinite understanding, would have no difficulty in tracing every impulse given the air To the remotest consequences At any even infinitely remote epoch of time.

Why, my Agathos?

Because, miss Oinos, it is indeed demonstrable that every such impulse given the air must, in the end, impress every individual thing that exists.

We were up so high, Frank!

It was so beautiful!


No matter what happened.

Forever, no matter what happened.

Must, in the end, impress every individual thing that exists.

We had more

than any two people in the world.

Might trace the remote undulations of the impulse And then we fell down! First you!

Trace them upward and onward.

And then me!

Upward and onward in their influences upon all particles of an matter in the modifications that undulations impose to old forms, or, in other words, in their creation of new, I see.

Until he found them reflected unimpressive at last-back from the throne of the Godhead.

And not only this, but at any epoch, should a given result, one of these numberless comets, for example, be presented to his inspection

We are so low.

he could have no difficulty in determining, by the calculation, to what original impulse the star was due.

We kissed

No We kissed

I don't care If we are together

Sure I don't care! If we stay… I thought an awful a lot, Frank


I thought about you, and me,

why I flopped,

about the road on which we left.

I've always wondered why like this road

We're just two punks, Frank.

God kissed us on the brow that night.

He gave us all that two people can ever have.

Good evening!

Can't hear you!

And we just weren't the kind that could have it.

Then all motion, of whatever nature, creates?

That mustn't not be:

but a true philosophy has long taught that the source of all motion is thought and that the source of all thought…

It is God.

I have spoken to you, miss, as to a child of the fair Earth which lately perished, of impulses upon the air You did, my Agathos And while I thus spoke, did there not cross your mind some thought of the physical power of words?

Is not every word

an impulse on the air?

We had all that love, and we just cracked up under it.

It's a big airplane engine, that takes you through the sky, right up to the top of the mountain.

But when you put the engine in a Ford, it just shakes it to pieces.

That's what we are, a couple of Fords.

God is up there laughing at us.

The hell he is.

Well we're laughing at him too, aren't we?

He put up a red stop sign for us, and we went past it.

Come back!

I love you.

But why, Agathos, do you weep?

I love you

Why do you weep?

And why, oh why

do your wings droop as we hover above this fair star

which is the brighter and yet most terrible of all we have encountered till now?

Its brilliant flowers look like a fairy dream, but its fierce volcanoes like the passions of a turbulent heart.

They are! they are!

They are dreams and passions.

This wild star, it is now three centuries since,

with clasped hands and with streaming eyes,

at the feet of my beloved


I spoke it, with a few passionate sentences, into birth.

Its brilliant flowers are the dearest of all unfulfilled dreams, and its raging volcanoes are the passions of the most turbulent and unhallowed of hearts.