Saint Laurent (2014) Script

Hello, sir.

You have a booking for Mr. Swann.

Yes, indeed.

May I pay in cash?

Certainly, Mr. Swann.

In Paris for business?

No, to sleep.

Thank you.

Hello, this is Yves Saint Laurent.

I'm calling as I've decided to do your interview.

Yes, I'm ready.

You know, 16 years ago, in the Algerian War, I was committed.

The army doctors sedated me so much, I became hooked on tranquilizers.

They gave me electroshock therapy too.

It was hell. I was with genuine lunatics.

Some wanted to touch me but I didn't let them.

In two months, I used the toilet once, I was so scared.

By the end, I weighed only 35 kilos.

And I had disorders.

Yes, disorders.


32...

BU...

60...

82...

88...

30...

33...

11...

47...

Can you note this please?

For the neck, 30 centimeters.

Bust, 80 centimeters. Waist, 60 centimeters.

Hips... Which model?

Number 28.

I'm on number 17.

When do we do 28?

They're asking for it.

See Mr. Jean-Pierre.

Where is he?

He's taken number 29.

He'll be back.

It's taut. Too much tension in the lining.

I just continued Madeleine's work. I didn't sew it like that.

I don't want to know. Undo it and redo it.

Mr. Saint Laurent has his music on.

Put it on a Stockman.

Mr. Saint Laurent wants more lapel and more overlap to give it volume.

Do the fabric mock-up in organza.

He wants a satin backing.

Yes, Mr. Jean-Pierre.

Do the threads. I'll be back in 10 minutes.

That's not possible.

I have to redo the front panel and cut it.

It will alter my neckline and the buttonholes.

I know.

10 minutes...

I'm not Houdini's wife.

Very funny.

180 hours of work wasted...

What can't you do?

Get the tension right.

I've tried it four times now.

You have to manage, you'll delay everyone.

Silence, please.

Yes, Madame Munoz.


Too complex. It has to be simpler.

Wait. Remove them.

Tug on them.

That's it.

As short, neat and precise as a gesture.


Let's find a more muted satin or a satin backing to avoid glints.

Canvas the backing.

Mount it on organza.

Quickly, please.

It will drape better.

I'll see to it right away.

Thank you, sir.

Do you need anything, sir?

No, thank you.


Try the fabric from yesterday's design on Michelle, please.

There are Deneuve's costumes for the Cavalier and Truffaut movies.

Doing all the fittings at once would be too simple.

Francoise Hardy's show can wait until the 28th.

Sylvie Vartan would like something too but in September.

The urgency, Yves, are the designs for the play L'amante Anglaise by...

Marguerite Duras.

We have to arrange fittings.

Maybe between the photos on the 14th and the spring-summer designs.

I'll ask Jean-Pierre.

We need the spring-summer designs by December 20th.

They can make the patterns between January 1st and 20th.

Some chocolate mousse?

No, thank you.

For autumn-winter, we'll want the designs by the end of June.

They'll need you for fittings around July 20th, with the show between August 25th and 30th.

Therefore, you can begin spring-summer haute couture after completing ready-to-wear in December...

Can't you let me listen to the music, please?


It gives the impression, as you say in America, that being beautiful is the most important thing in a young girl's life.

They take it further in America by giving the impression that if you're beautiful, you're happy.

And, in young girls' minds...

Here, Kikou...

A chocolate religieuse.

I'm not hungry. I'm beat.

If happiness is beauty, one does all one can to be beautiful.

It becomes very superficial and, if the girl is already pretty, she has temptation all around her, and, instead of thinking, instead of studying, instead of knowing solitude...


I'd like you to work for me.

I model for Chanel.

I don't care. I'd like you to present a collection.

I can't.

I'm asking you.

I can't.

I'm asking you.

I can't.


I'm trying to fart but I can't.

Quiet, the situation is serious.

How do you feel?

As comfortable as in pajamas. Pajamas to go dancing in.

It's divine on you, Betty.

You should try it too. I'm sure it would suit you.

Thank you, Colette.

Walk now, Betty. Walk.

It's magnificent, Yves, magnificent.

Marlene...

People will love it.

Oh, you know, people...

They forget. So Marlene...


Let's go to Regine's in disguise and terrorize everyone.

That biker movie everyone's going to see...

Know the one I mean?

The whole movie is bikers in a garage, dressed in leather.

All they do is work on their bikes like mechanics.

No story, no dialogue...

I forget who made the film.

Let's see it. It sounds fun.

My Berge?

I love you but I won't follow you blindly.

You can vanish here too without realizing it.

What would you do?

Nothing.

Perfect. I'll come and help.

Only money and his power interest him.

When he arrives, you can hear his balls knocking.

He's a monster.

Do you know why?

Because he's ugly!

He has a hang-up about his size and his big nose.

I'm 33 and I feel 100.

I've had no life. I'm old.

I have no life.

I have to go and do the finishing touches.

What are you doing?

I'm dancing.

AUTUMN-WINTER COLLECTION

THE ANSWER'S NO! DE GAULLE RESIGNS SPRING-SUMMER COLLECTION

AUTUMN-WINTER COLLECTION

SPRING-SUMMER COLLECTION

AUTUMN-WINTER COLLECTION


I saw.

I'll wait for you in the lounge.

The turban?

The flea market.

The jacket?

Ossie Clark.

The skirt?

My mother.

The blouse?

The flea market. In London.

The bracelet?

A napkin ring pinched from a restaurant.

And that silly first name?

No one can manage Louise Le Bailly de La Falaise.

So Loulou is simpler.

The freckles?

Ireland. On my mother's side.

The posh accent?

My father.

The count.

The shoes?

The Clignancourt flea market.

It's a complete mess but I love it.

Hello, Mr. Saint Laurent.

I'll fetch your coat.

Give me all my coats.

This one...

That one...

Those at the back too. I'll take them all.

Even the copies. I'll burn them all.


Magnificent!

The final scene from a musical that I'll stage in Paris, London and on Broadway.

It's called Vicious.

It's set in New York in a completely underground world already verging on the popular.

I, Samantha, I go on with a huge chorus of women who all work in fashion, of course.

All dressed as endives in tribute to our friend Endive Warhol.

Opposite her, opposite Samantha, there's a man.

And what a man he is!

Johnny.

Of course!

He stood up as I approached Once up, he was smaller I told myself. It's in the bag!

That cutie there is for my bed!

He only came up to my shoulder...

Look how beautiful she is.

Champagne makes you say sweet words.

Not at all. You don't realize. One wouldn't see that in Paris.

You don't see how ugly the street is.

Hideously ugly.

The end of civilization, the collapse, the decline, that's what we're seeing.

You complain, but you dress the world.

I don't complain.

If we must go on, let's do something important, rather than stupidly sell just anything anywhere.

It's as if I were modeling nude, so we'll see what happens.

If the dresses don't sell, we'll sell the firm.

You all heard. Yves is ready to drown our child.

Let him suffocate. Let his body float like ajellyfish.

Yves, you're worse than Callas.

It's true. The French are so melodramatic.

I'll make cocktails.

Champagne for me.

If you go to the sea and follow the coast to the rising sun, you reach Oran.

That's where I grew up.

There are no palms in Oran. No trees.

Nothing but heat and light.

The houses are much lower.

But the smell is the same.

The smell and the colors too.

That was the first thing that struck me in Marrakech.

Everything came back to me.

Drawing here is amazing.

All those feelings coming back...

In Oran, I'd spend my time trying to find Y-shaped pieces of wood.

I thought they'd bring me luck.

I was bored more than anything.

Even so, Mother and I were always being silly, playing tricks all day.

She'd throw huge parties.

The ladies would arrive in fur coats...

Astrakhan, fox...

And their dresses, so 1940s...

Sorry.


Kikou!

Loulou has left a present for you.

What is it?

A surprise.

Hurry.

What is it?

I'm not allowed to say.

It's in the closet.

Where?

There. At the back.

Pierre! Let me out!

No.

I have work to do, Pierre!

Let me out.

No. You're being punished.

Open up!

Stay there until tomorrow.

This isn't funny.


Will you let me out?

It's unlocked.


Number 1.

Number 2.

Number 4.

Number 5.

Number 33.

Number 34.

Number 35.

Number 36.


Number 37.

Number 38.

Quit!

Manage on your own! I quit!


Do you need to drink so much?

It helps me think.

By the way.

I had a call from Ganz in Bremen.

He's found a silver and gilt bestiary from the 17th century.

Magnificent.

With a swan, a greyhound, a horse, a unicorn and a stag.

Each one about 30 centimeters tall.

Buy them, they must be beautiful.

I already did. I just wanted to tell you.

Wonderful.

What are you doing exactly?

You want a scandal, is that it?

Yes.


I don't want anyone thinking I attempted suicide.

I'm ready.


Revenue fell by 3 million, to the lowest level since '63, just before launching.

You talk about haute couture revenue.

But the ready-to-wear, "on the street," as Mr. Saint Laurent calls it, really paid off.

This year the Rive Gauche boutique registered sales of 15 million.

In 50 square meters.

It's unheard of.

The Cipriani in Venice, Rue Paradis in Nice, Rue du Rhone in Geneva, Fifth Avenue by the park in New York...

Like Caracas, Zurich, and others.

"Yves will soon be the only one to shine.

As shareholders, we must be as visionary and ambitious as he is."

We could have done nothing.

Just savored the success of the Mondrian show.

Customer orders went from 1.3 million to 2.6 million.

On the buyer side, from 800,000 to 1.4 million.

We ventured into ready-to-wear.

When I approached Didier Grumbach about production, he said no.

Once it was in the papers, he had to come on board with us.

I held 80% of YSL for nine years.

Nine years of developing licenses, launching our first perfume, "Y", launching ready-to-wear with the Rive Gauche store, developing American-style franchises, expanding our stores...

Nine years of setting trends and doing things never done before in fashion.

Is Yves still making the same dress?

Does he redesign Mondrian?

You should learn English, Mr. Berge.

This year, overall turnover is up by 7%, with the luxury division at 12%.

That's not what I see.

Your figures don't include Richard's shares.

They're incomplete.

Here's what's missing.

In getting my 80% of YSL, you get the 50% share that YSL has in Rive Gauche.

By adding the 40% in profits, you get the 7% growth.

And Grumbach holds the other 50% of Rive Gauche?

But in acquiring your group, Richard, we wish to follow modern business logic.

I think presenting just one collection combining haute couture and ready-to-wear is the safest option.

I'm strongly opposed to it.

Do you realize the impact haute couture has abroad?

In Japan? In the USA?

We can't rule that out.

While the others carry on selling dresses, we can sell Yves Saint Laurent.

It's a huge opportunity.

You're already doing that.

Sunglasses, cigarettes, ties...

You sell his name. Not his name.

We sell him, Yves Saint Laurent.

Why do you think the '40s collection sold?

He's more famous than his clothes. Look at this photo.

Who? Hechter? Cacharel?

Ken-Lo? The Jacobsons'?

You're right.

That's why I plan to found a group uniting designers and couturiers to have them represented in the fashion trade union.

I want Yves and myself to recover 100% of Saint Laurent.

I want us to get the name Saint Laurent back.

An illogical decision, given the figures.

You'll pay license fees on all sales.

I have a percentage proposal for you to consider.

You'll find it to your advantage.

You cannot launch any product without the permission of the brand's founders.

Can't we continue this over dinner?

Business is not done in a restaurant, but in an office. I think we all agree on that.

However, once this is settled, I'll gladly invite you to dinner, David.


Actually, I need more pills.

The blue ones again.

What were they? Captagon.

The same again, then, but stronger.

They help me work.

And others to help me relax at night.

Valium, say.

It won't relax you, it'll knock you out.

Still getting dizzy spells?

Now and then, before collections.

I have two to do.

I don't have any ideas for ready-to-wear.

I haven't sketched a thing for haute couture.

That's why I need the pills.

I'll give you something but respect the dosage.

Don't worry, it's just for the collection period.

Not too much drink either.

Of course, I'm not mad.

There's one I like a lot, about the way you draw.

I don't draw like Matisse.

You're Yves Saint Laurent and you'd like to be Matisse?

You can't be Matisse at your age, Yves.

Wait awhile.

It takes a lifetime.

I've also found a poem you wrote when you were little.

"How happy you are! You need nothing. You have it all.

Wealth, beauty, youth!

It's beautiful being that way.

Yet you're already weary of this life.

You no longer want it."

I'll put it all in a box for Pierre.

Mumsy...

Do you love me?

I hope you like feathers. I've gone overboard.

You'll see, the dancers are like huge birds.

It should be magical.

With each movement or step, they look as if they'll leave the world.

Yves, you've left the world.

Why do you say that?

Surely you realize?

I don't know... No, I don't think so.

Honestly, you have no more contact with reality.

Look at your life.

You've never been to a supermarket.

You can't change a lightbulb.

Why would I need to know how to change a lightbulb?

Because everyone knows how to.

What if one burns out?

Pierre changes it.

What if he's out?

I'll wait in the dark.

I'll do some thinking instead.

You wear me out, Yves.


The dog's the new trendy accessory.

Even a dog deserves love and consideration.

Leave me be.

I don't get it. You send me 10 letters yesterday.

You say you're mad about me.

Go on, take a bow.

Look out, Yves, ostrich attack!

Yves, come and take a bow.

All right, but with my dog.


Jacques de Bascher de Beaumarchais.

Yves Saint Laurent.

It's a French product, entirely made in France.

You're going to ask me what it's made of.

Looking at it, you're intrigued.

It's wax cloth that has been varnished.

You can't tell because it's worked like leather.

We made them wide to fit the Saint Laurent logo between the straps.

In the middle.

You mean the initials YSL?

Yves, it's Madame Duzer's fitting.

I'll be right there.

Yes, the initials YSL.

Exactly.

We may sell the brand to Mr. Saint Laurent's brother, Victor Saint Laurent.

Then the logo would be VSL.

But that sounds like "vaisselle," crockery in French.

My sister was a possibility but her name's Veronique, so the problem remains.

In any case, my friend, to make "Saint Laurent," you've a long way to go.

It's good.

Does it really suit me?

It seemed much less masculine

when I saw it the other day.

It may seem masculine but it will give you amazing allure.

You'll realize that when you move in it.

Here, try this.

Are you sure it's the fashion?

This is style.

Fashion passes like a train.

Maybe we need something...

Perhaps a brighter belt.

Yes, a little sparkle.

In any case, it's such a joy to have you to myself for a while.

To catch up...

I'm doing poorly, you know.

It's hard working all the time.

There's the move too.

You know we're leaving Rue Spontini?

I liked it here.

But Mr. Berge sees things on a big scale.

It's exhausting.

Show me.

Yes, that's better.

It lights everything up.

Show her neck.

I have a short neck.

I didn't say that.

Over the jacket is better.

Like this?

The hair too, maybe. Let it down.

May I?

Give it a little motion.

Much better.

This was just delivered. Thank you.

Could you walk a little?

Hands in your pockets.

They're real pockets?

Of course.

You can go out with just your keys and cigarettes.

Unburdened.

Relax. Be more lissome.

You're right, it's lissomeness.

It's divine.

With a bolder lipstick, you'll look wondrous.

I feel very different.

Thank you. Thank you so much.

I think you're the only one today.

I know, there's no competition. That's my misfortune.

I've created a monster and have to live with it.

A beautiful monster.

I must return to my work now.

Thank you, Mr. Saint Laurent.


Don't be afraid.


You see? No names, no words...

Animals, driven by need...

Why not step into the bushes?

I'll join you.


Good evening.

We're neighbors, from the local fire station.

What's your name?

I'm Pierre.

Pierre Berge.

People think I don't work but I do.

I inspire Karl.

I've had it made in 12 different shades.

Do you like it?

I'll wear it in beige tonight.

With Karl?

Of course.

How does he feel when you're with me?

I don't know.

I think he's pleased.

For me.

For you too.

Even for Pierre, I think.

Karl is very intelligent. Stop it.

A fine collection.

You use them with him?

No, we don't do that kind of thing with Karl.

Do you want one?

Thank you, but I have my own.

Pierre calls them the Olympic rings.

You look like a Weimar Republic gentleman.

At least they knew how to dress.

For a funeral or a picnic, nothing but silk ties, wing collars, a neatly tapered waist...

Not what you see these days.

Now you're dressed, what do you do?

I undress.

Tomorrow evening? I forget.

This week is very...

Check with... All right, good job you're here.

Has everyone been served?

I'm sorry, I didn't want to cry in front of you, sir.

Don't be sorry, Madeleine, please.

Don't you have the pill now?

Of course, if you take it.

But it's not obligatory.

When will you do it?

Next week, sir.

Here, Madeleine.

Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.

But it costs much less.

Keep it, for other expenses. For the journey.

I'll only be gone a few days.

Dry your tears. Everything's all right.

Let's have lunch.

It's my favorite dish.

I have it when I go home to Alsace.

Alsace?

It's not just from the southwest.

Alsace produces goose liver too.

Yves...

Perhaps you remember that afternoon in 1960 at the Val de Grace.

I came to tell you in hospital that the couture house employing you had fired you.

I remember your reaction.

"In that case, we'll found one together and you'll run it."

After a few months in that tiny mezzanine on Rue La Boetie, we moved to these premises that we occupy today.

The adventure now leads us elsewhere.

But we must remember that we thought each collection would be the last and that we would close Rue Spontini.

Yet we've spent twelve years here.

Twelve years of artistic creation, ivy.

Fear, and pain.

Madeleine will be away next week.

I know. I'd rather she didn't return.

Very good, sir.

Twelve years that show how far we've come, and, above all, give us a hint of what the future holds.

So thank you, Yves.

Thank you.

You've always been here for women and will be for a long time.

Thank you.

I'm very happy to spend these final moments here with you.

Thank you all.

Thank you for your work, your courage, your tenacity and your talent.

Without you, I'd be nothing.

I decided in five minutes.

The early '20s fittings were already here.

All these wooden panels like at Marie-Laure de Noailles's.

I love it.

There's still a lot to do.

800 square meters to furnish without the garden.

We're looking for Cheurefs cobra tables.

Black marble slabs held up by three bronze cobras.

Rampant and impressive.

We want some tall mirrors here. There too.

And there, perhaps, a Matisse one day.

That would be fabulous.

That's really you...

Only calmer.

That's mainly me by Andy Warhol.

The music room is over there.

Lalanne will make 15 mirrors fitted with candelabra so we can light it with candles as in the Bavarian castles.

And there, perhaps, one day, a Mondrian.

Perhaps.

You know, my Buddha has always brought me luck.

I've asked Jacques Grange to give him a special place.

In this alcove.

With my cameo collection.

I'm very fond of it.

Grange finds that aesthetically incompatible.

But he knows how important it is for me.

He'll come up with something.

On the other side, a library, two bedrooms, and a study at the far end.

It has to be redone.

Once again, I want the same but new.

And I want to add mirrors. Banks of mirrors on the walls.

All the walls and the ceiling.

With the effect of the light and images diffracting.

I want a room of almost infinite scope.

Open your mouth.

Wider.

You really are a spoiled child.

They're just things, Jacques.

I know.

Not the bed. You'll get bitten.

Can't you hear them hissing?

I love you, Jacques.

I love you too.

True, he's not a great artist.

But it's Proust's bedroom. A dealer had it.

I thought you'd be touched.

I like it very much.

Thank you.

True, I like this humility.

Not just the room's, but the artist's too.

He hasn't tried to eclipse his subject.

It's done with a lot of fidelity.

Look.

He wrote before his father's portrait.

Imagine drawing before a portrait of yours?

No, I'd be terrified.

It makes me want to enter it...

To lie down on the bed...

Don't let him destroy us.


Certainly, Mr. Swann.

In Paris for business?

No, to sleep.

Hello, this is Yves Saint Laurent.

I'm calling as I've decided to do your interview.

Yes, I'm ready.

Pierre Beige speaking.

If you publish Mr. Saint Laurent's interview, I'll sue you.

For libel and forgery.

It wasn't Yves Saint Laurent. It was an impostor.

How do you know? Did you see him?

No? Well then.

You shouldn't risk it.


Everything all right, Yves?

Yes. Thank you.

I'm drawing.

That one has tiny balls.

I love it... Listen to this.

"The guard wears laced, black leather boots.

They cover the ankle."

Why does that turn me on?

"They swell at the instep, like those from Delicate Orthopedics, 84, Boulevard St. Germain."

I love it! Why can't I write?

Why can't I write?

"The eyelid seems stitched up, the nose broken, the mouth painted or transplanted.

The electrode wires are fixed to his wrists and ankles for 90 minutes.

Fragile. Synthetic."

I don't understand the words anymore.

So beautiful, you don't need to.

The more splendid you are, the more lucid you are.

We should have a party in tribute to Ulrike Meinhof.

She was sentenced yesterday.

A party for her and Baader.

Everyone in black.

Either in leather or mourning.

At the Anvil in New York, they do fistfucking on stage.

Humiliation to the songs of Jacques Brel.

I'll try to organize a party like that.

Okay, but tonight, what can we do to have fun?

Let's drop acid and talk to your Buddha to learn the truth at last.

Grange has managed to save him.

He put him in the center and lit all the cameos from behind, placing them in niches.

It's a lovely effect.

Screw Grange.

Why didn't he pick me as Buddha?

I want to be your Buddha.

Yves, should I wear such large glasses?

Careful, they can make shadows under your eyes.

I think shadows are sexy.


I want to talk to you.

I'm busy.

Playing the gigolo? The little whore?

I want to talk to you. Not now.

Yes, now!

No, Berge, you're not coming in.


We are above all a pharmaceutical group known in the USA for our anti-drug stance.

Sir, the dog breeder...

I'll be right there.

Mr. Saint Laurent?

I think he's all right.

You may support an anti-drug campaign, but you're linked to Yves Saint Laurent. Remember that.

If you back down it will make more noise than a few protesters' flyers.

Hello.

I think we have them all.

Here you are, sir. All between 12 and 18 months.

Maybe, but he didn't have a patch right here.

This one, perhaps?

No, Moujik was nothing like these. Keep looking.

Very good, sir.

Take the dogs out, please.

Yves might have a fatal hallucination.

Is number 18 ready? To check the volume.

Yes, Madame Munoz.

Hello, ma'am.

Am I disturbing you?

A little.

Come up after to look at the bags.

You never answer my letters but I don't care.

Do you remember Ali?

Do you remember him the way I do?

One night with an almost full moon, a building site behind the Gare du Nord.

He had the good manners of the working class.

His simple trousers and sweater were clean.

But his gestures were dirty.

Like yours.

When I think of him, I think of you.

When I think of you, I think of twenty boys standing out against the sky.

I think again of Mohamed.

I think again of Claude.

Do you remember him?

That night, my heart was pounding so hard, I thought my chest would burst.

I can still hear him undoing his belt, mounting me, and penetrating me with blind violence.

I thought it would never stop, that I would faint.

That I would die on my knees.

I still recall the smell of the ground, the taste of the soil and stones in my mouth.

Do you truly remember the way I do?

I have the clothes you left on the ground.

Probably so I would pick them up.

I still recall their gaze on me.

I thought I could relax after they had all discharged, but the opposite was true.

The very opposite.

I don't know what Pierre said to terrify you so much, to make you vanish, but I shall go on writing to you.

To tell you.

I haven't left him but I'll carry on.

You refuse to see me but I'll carry on.

I returned to the railway station urinal and I'll return there again, as I shall to the building site.

I want to see them once more: Ali, Claude, Mohamed...

Because Ali and Claude are you.

Mohamed is you.

I want to see all those I don't know who'll lead me to the dawn light.

The dawn that terrifies me so.

You see, Jacques, I love bodies without souls because the soul is elsewhere.

Mr. Berge said to bring this to your room, sir.

Get the hell out!

A bad time, I think.

It's always a bad time. I have nothing to work on.

I'll speak to Mr. Berge Don't worry.

Hello, Yves.

Hello, sir.

Michele, will you do me a favor?

Of course, Mr. Saint Laurent.

Could you post this for me discreetly, please?

All right. Discreetly, please.

I didn't speak to you, I gave you nothing.

It wasn't me, you haven't seen me.

I'm no longer here.


Honor and loyalty, loyalty Let us march, legionnaires In the mud and the burning sand Let us march with light souls and brave hearts Let us march, legionnaires Everywhere battle rages We see the 1st Foreign An example of heroism and courage Covered in laurels of glory We're all volunteers...

Hello, Madame Aillot.

Mr. Saint Laurent is unwell. He won't be joining us.

But your dress is ready as per his instructions.

Lovely, isn't it? Perfect.

Shall we try it on?

All right, let's do that.


I'm sorry.

Mr. Saint Laurent also requires plucked eyebrows now.


Yes, very good.


Here.

The show is approaching.

We have nothing to work on.

Yes, I know.

Isn't this all insignificant?

Sometimes, I close my eyes and see clothes gliding and floating.

Just shapes and colors in motion in the air.

But when I open my eyes, I see only heavy, dark things.

Come on.

Here's Joan Crawford.

Dressed in a terribly boring way.

Forgive me, miss, it's not you. You're ravishing.

But I'm sick of seeing myself.


Moujik.

There you are.


My dear Christophe, I feel like a monster.

Not at all.

No, you're very handsome.

Can I have the same color as Johnny Hallyday?

It's not a very nice color, Mr. Saint Laurent.

Do it for me, please.

All right, for you then.

Thank you.

You're a darling.

So are you.

Are you smoking a lot lately, sir?

It depends.

Here we go. Johnny's color.


Shall I serve you, sir?

Yes, thank you.


Where's Moujik?

Right next to you, sir.

Oh, yes...


By day, he's fine. But at night, he becomes horrendous.

Imagine seeing a man you've loved for 18 years out of control.

I can't bear seeing it any longer.

It's wiser to live separately.

Loulou, he tried to kill me. To kill me!

Last night, you understand?

I won't abandon him, but I can't bear that life anymore.

I'm doing it to protect myself.

By protecting myself, I can protect him too.

He's just...

...so incredibly fragile, it drives him mad.


How happy you are!

You need nothing. You have it all.

Wealth, beauty, youth!

It's beautiful being that way.

Yet you're already weary of this life.

You no longer want it.

Look, it's a lock of your baby hair.

See how soft your hair is?

Can I write to you?

The maid will send you my address.

Come back soon.

I don't love you, I don't love you...

Come back.

Like this?

There. Do you like it?

The neck like this?

I don't love you...

Come back.

Hands on your hips.

Smile.

Turn round.

There.

No, Aunt Renee, I don't like the dress. You must be perfect.


It's not so bad here. They take good care of me.

It's true, they adore me.

They give me all the pills I want.

Uppers, downers...

Pills to travel, to sleep...

You seem a little better.

Optalidon.

They're crazy, locking you in the pharmacy.

Has Pierre had my sketches brought from Marrakech?

Yes, don't worry.

I wanted to try things.

Go somewhere else.

I think I found grace.

"This exhibition shows that a couturier can and must be an illusionist, a child, an astronomer, a simpleton and a genius, a Sunday or nocturnal writer, an imitator, a tamer, a smooth talker, a clairvoyant."

Herv? Guibert wrote that, didn't he?

Yes. When was it?

Five or six years ago.

Shortly after, I started to work on a collection in chiffon.

It was a few months before the death of Fabrice, the owner of Le Palace.

Is Le Palace still open?

Yes, it is.

But it's gone downhill since he went.

The soul's gone.

Les Bains is boring too.

The music is getting industrial.

It's like going to a factory.

Do people talk about me as a...

...a has-been?

Why do you ask?

I don't know. No reason.

I feel as if I've become a nail varnish in a cheap store...

Or a handbag.

That's not a has-been.

YSL has become interplanetary, that's all.

Perhaps.

But, right now... it's more a case of Y...

...am I all alone?

I've brought Voici. Here.

Thank you, that's kind.

I'd like to stop.

But I can't.

Your letter worried me a little.

Yes, I'm sorry.

But I felt really terrible.

I didn't know who else to write to.

Have you been able to do anything for me?

Of course.

Thank you, Pascal.

Thank you.

What do you want from Friedrich? Everything!

You're mad!

I want what's mine!

The time has come to demand it!

I won't let you!

Knee! down!

Mother!

Ask forgiveness! Kneel down and ask forgiveness!

Mother!

He'll ask forgiveness.

He had lost his mind...

Where is it going?

To the Louvre, for the group's IPO announcement.

Mr. Saint Laurent won't be there?

Mr. Berge Said his photo can fill in for him.

Mind the door.

Keep going.

Tilt it your way. Okay, tilt it my way.

Go on, try it.

Shit...

A couple of inches short...

Mind the door and the boss's head.

Nothing like the usual stuff.

I don't understand these sketches.

The colors...

Look.

They're very precise in fact.

The sketch shows the motion.

Each line, each color...

It's a complete break.

We'll need other suppliers.

All silk, chiffon, velvet...

We won't have enough time.

The cuts are all voluminous. It's anything but precise.

True, there are no suits, but these blouses and skirts need a flou cut.

Madame Felissa is going to have a lot of work.

He must come to the studio soon. Can he?

Not right away.

He has to come to choose among these sketches.

Yves wants them all made.

He wants to show them all.

He has big ideas.

Mr. Jean-Pierre and myself will be here, entirely available to make sure that, on his return, Mr. Saint Laurent will be proud of his collection.

For him, we must move forward, outdo ourselves, understand his ideas...

And give them life.

I have now decided to bid farewell to my cherished profession.

I have fought the fight for elegance.

For elegance and beauty.

I have experienced no end of anxiety and torment.


Sophie, bring me a violet taffeta, please.

Here, Madame Munoz.

The velvet has just arrived.

Do exactly as Madame Felissa says.


Too many sketches haven't been started yet. Speed it up.

Cuts on a slant must fall nicely.

Hang the fabrics for two days before cutting them.

Everything must be nice and loose.

The weight at the bottom.

If not, the weight will fall later and distort everything.

The velvet must hang perfectly.

Don't touch anything until then. I'm counting on you.

Ladies, this way, please.

First the studio, before the finishing touches.

The studio is to your right.

Perfect. Walk now.

People here are 20 meters away.

There's never been such a distance.

Our lighting mustn't blind the audience and models.

This system lets the models emerge from the darkness.

Two spotlights.

The YSL logo. That's important.

Music too. Loud music.

Beautiful. I hear she walks like a goddess.

I need a lot more. I know.

Any others?

That's all for now.

I want her.

This one too.

We need to see the girls doing the show.

From the beginning.

If not, they'll look absurd.

Will Mr. Saint Laurent be there?

Your arm, Mr. Saint Laurent.

There.

I'll button you up.

You know, when you arrived at the studio, you...

You freed me.

You... totally... freed... my sketches... Completely.

You're a magician, Madame Felissa.

It's not magic.

You just restore the fabric's balance.

That's all.

You're right.

Tell me, do you still receive Mr. Berge's checks?

He doesn't forget you, does he?

No, he sends me a check every month.

Good. That's the least he can do.

There are people in the next room.

Yes, my doctors. They're always here now.

In case I fall down the stairs again.

It's tragic.

But I always get back up.

Moujik, my son.

Beautiful, isn't he?

He always has been.

Which one is he?

The fourth.

He's my fourth.

Have you seen this week's Elle?

Jean-Paul Gaultier?

Have you seen the missile-like breasts he makes?

Hideous.

Your dresses spoke of Proust, his speak of comic strips.

You have nothing in common with such people.

You were the first to reveal women's busts.

Now they model naked.

No more emotion.

No more mystery.

I know, I'm the last.

Yet, at the same time, I don't want to be in museums.

I'm still alive.

But you're already in museums.

I don't like that at all.

It just proves to me that I'm a failed painter.

Perhaps only the '76 collection was a painter's collection.


Thank you.

Will he last the evening?

Yes, he'll be fine.

Stay with us.


It will float, won't it?

They'll walk quickly. The fabric will flutter.

Is my mother here?

Your mother? Yes, in the front row of course.

Betty!

Everyone's waiting. It's a huge crowd.

Where will you be?

In the front row, on the left.

I'd like to be there to see them come out.

One by one. It must be beautiful.

Champagne! Let's begin.

Just imagine! 3.6 billion, Yves!

By selling to Sanofi, we get 350 million each.

Along with the praise for selling to a French group.

That's wonderful.

That way, I can finally buy a Rothko.

You must make a statement.

Here's the speech I've prepared for you.

"Over the years, in particular the last few years, I've wondered how my house and name would live on.

Today, I'm happy that Yves Saint Laurent is becoming part of Elf Sanofi..."

You're boring me.

It's important, Yves.

You know, I saw de Bascher again yesterday evening.

It was a beautiful evening.

No, Yves, not this time. Jacques is dead.

He died of AIDS.

Very few people attended his funeral.

He asked to be buried with his teddy bear.

I love you, Yves.

I love you too.

Good night.

Do you think that I gave Betty and Loulou as much as they gave me?

You understand?

I think you have nothing to fear, sir.

Thank you, Adil.

Sometimes, I don't know anymore.

Yes, sometimes I don't know anymore.

I just don't know. Odd, isn't it?

I just don't know!

Do you still need me, sir?

I'd like to listen to Maria Callas.

Very good, sir.

Thank you very much.

Good night.


Champagne! Let's begin.

Number 1, Anna...

Number 2, Vi... Mounia.

Bake, number 3.

Get in line.

Ready...


I had a dream last night.

Mademoiselle Chanel and I went to have dinner at the Ritz.

As we passed the window display on Rue Cambon,

we started to cry.


What do we do?

My obit's nearly ready.

But is he dead or not?

We need to be sure.

We have to break the news here at Liberation.

What headline?

"Farewell, Mr. Saint Laurent"?

We need something with more imagery.

"The man who loved women"?

The film just came out. That's awkward.

"Smoking, No Smoking"?

"Saint Laurent slips away"?

I like that.

How does your obit begin?

"His sole regret: not inventing jeans.

Otherwise, the late couturier transformed women's outlines..."

And women too.

"And women too."

Highlight his obsession with the inner nature of the modern woman more than fashion, resulting in the radical change.

Try to use the word "visionary."

I had something on the period...

"He helped to transform his times as a maker of joy, a craftsman working as an artist."

What did he die of?

No idea. Call the American Hospital.

How much on his private life?

What do we say about the drinking and drugs?

About his fragility, say?

"Saint Laurent slips away" is approved. After that...

We need to know if he's dead.

Who told you he was dead?

Three people. Two.

Why's Berge so quiet?

For money reasons, of course, but...

He's dead. Pacadis told me.

It's sad. I liked Saint Laurent.

Me too.

Not a red jersey. Bring me a black jersey.

A beautiful black, okay. I'm counting on you.

And hurry, please.

Call it the "Chinese and Opium" collection.

Yves, move your arm, please, to show you're alive.

Come in.

You see?