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GOLDEN YEARS
OUR STORY IS SET IN A TOP PARISIAN HIGH SCHOOL
AMONG STUDENTS SPECIALIZING IN LITERATURE
AND BEING COACHED
FOR THE ÉCOLE NORMALE SUPÉRIEURE ON THE RUE D'ULM.
OTHER CHARACTERS ARE PREPARING FOR THE ÉCOLE MILITAIRE DE SAINT-CYR.
BOARDERS OR DAY STUDENTS,
THEY ADHERE TO TRADITIONS THAT ARE AT TIMES ANTAGONISTIC,
CULMINATING IN HAZINGS
THAT ARE RARELY REPORTED OUTSIDE THE MUFFLED DORMITORY WALLS.
Yesterday evening,
the East German government
took the decision to open all borders immediately,
including in Berlin.
East Germans simultaneously heard and read
the official declaration, as follows...
Mom, it's time.
Permission to travel unofficially to foreign countries
may be requested, with no prerequisite conditions...
Come on, it's time to wake up. Don't go back to sleep.
...in West Berlin.
Dozens of police officers, amid the crowd...
Are you done?
...a Berlin checkpoint, by the wall...
Wipe your mouth.
Mom, do have some money for Moro?
Come on.
Come on now, let's go.
Mom, can I have some money, to pay Moro?
Groups of friends and family rushed through,
carrying babies on their shoulders.
Some were laughing or crying,
while others were popping open bottles of champagne,
to celebrate the event, to celebrate reunification.
Do you have some lunch money?
Yes.
OK, wait there nicely.
Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on them.
"At war. In crisis.
"Full of vigor, mercurial, lively, ardent, joyful.
"Suffix: il or el. Unmodified.
"Suffix: ol or ul. Inflected.
Three hundred thousand people demonstrated peacefully in Leipzig,
in an impressive display of discipline and determination,
according to Michel...
As night fell on Leipzig,
the demonstrators took control of a floodlit Karl-Marx-Platz.
Tens of thousands of people massed behind banners,
proclaiming the freedom to travel and freedom of speech.
November 9, 1989. Resistance Video.
Who cleans for the cleaning lady?
A third of her life writing assignments,
another spent earning a living,
and the last giving money to travel agencies.
And yet we're constantly reminded that the first third is the best:
youth.
There are 29 of you, clinging to a cliff.
As I tread on your hands,
if you let go one, you'll let go the other.
In the second semester, there'll only be 22 of you.
Some of you will have chosen to drop out.
Only 18 of you will move up to the next year.
It's only 15 months until the entrance exam
for the Ecole Normale Supérieure, on Rue d'Ulm.
You are not the potential victims
of underhand workings in the entrance procedures,
which I have sometimes heard described
as being that we keep the best
and discard the others - or they discard themselves.
That would be too easy.
You are responsible for your own outcome.
You will each be called to answer St. Augustine's question:
what did you make of your talent?
Claude, I love you.
I love you.
Do I have a nickname too, in the dormitory?
Of course, like everyone else.
What is it?
Every guy you dance with gets stiff.
You have to stay with them, to merge with their body movements.
I even do it for clumsy guys sometimes.
They're not all handsome.
You're too old to play a doll, so you're playing a kindly whore.
Your brother.
-I'll leave you with the check. -What about your independence?
It'll cost you.
Guys only lust after women that they have to pay for.
"At a turn in the path, a foul carcass,
"On a gravel strewn bed.
"And yet you will be like this corruption,
"Like this horrible infection,
"Star of my eyes, sunlight of my being,
"You, my angel and my passion!"
Thank you.
Your initial submissions tell me everything about you.
Not the personal details.
I'm talking about temperament.
I'm talking about your character, as readers of La Bruyère will know.
I'm talking about what you've done - about your temperament.
That's to say not much, in general.
You give one-word answers -
no subject, no verb, no complement.
There are spelling mistakes everywhere.
Your vocabulary is poorer
than what one would expect of a farm laborer.
It's shocking to realize that you don't know how to write.
Parrots! You just copy the pages out!
You're supposed to be the elite!
Aren't you eating?
No, dammit! I have an exam to prepare for!
I want to pass it. I have to work!
Shit!
You didn't shut your eyes?
I can't always shut my eyes.
I'd like a man that can.
It means that you're letting go, that you trust each other.
You're stingy.
Men are stingy.
You ask for too much.
I'm not bored with you,
but such blatant sentimentality is in poor taste.
Sorry to be a swine, but I told you, I'm allergic to love letters.
I don't like being strong-armed.
Fascist!
You bastard.
I don't care whether you read the letters.
You don't even deserve them.
Axel, you poor provincial dandy.
If no woman ever dared to tell you the truth to your face,
I'll be back to tell you.
The scene with the poor man is good, isn't it?
I...
Act 3, scene 2.
Don Juan meets a hermit, who asks for alms, in the woods.
He flourishes a coin in front of his eyes.
He says he'll give it to him, if the man will blaspheme.
"You have to blaspheme. Go on - blaspheme!"
Blaspheme.
And?
Read it. And soon.
When I was in 8th grade,
I thought Racine was medieval, because he wrote about love.
Molière was late 1800s, because he wrote about money.
Only Corneille was 17th century.
Around here, ignorance is like suicide.
You need to know before you learn.
That's impossible.
You should start to network. Use your old teachers.
What's your name?
Delphine Le Guévec.
Delphine.
Delphine, delfinos, dolfin.
No, wait, it'd be more like...
Delphinè, Delphinès,
dragon guardian of the oracle of Delphi.
You'll get there.
-"Were you born in this village? -Yes, sir.
-"And do you live here? -Yes, sir.
"What is your name?
"Charlotte, at your service.
"Ah, what a beauty.
"Sir, you're making me feel embarrassed.
"I assume, then, that you live very comfortably."
"Unfortunately, sir...
"I live in the greatest privation."
Claude!
I can't take you anymore!
You can do what you like, but you'll hear from me!
VERTIGO
Delphine Le Guévec, HK2.
Hello.
Miss Le Guévec,
Messrs. Larziz and Lagarde,
see me at the end of class.
Comparison should prevail here, but never its bastardized avatar.
Save your sense of competition
for your rivals at Louis-le-Grand.
FIRST YEAR DORMITORY
Give me ten more.
But commit to it this time.
Straight flush, boys.
What are you doing there?
Girls aren't allowed in here.
I was looking for someone. A guy.
-He might board here. -That's a likely story.
He might be staying here.
First year? Second year?
Saint-Cyr? Chartes? ENS?
I know his name.
What is it?
Axel.
We have no one of that name.
Why are you looking for him?
-Are you in love? -No.
-Are you at Henri IV? -Yes.
What class?
HK2.
There are other dormitories.
I can find out.
No, it's OK, thanks.
West Germany is welcoming them with open arms,
but you wait until they all start coming.
The poor guys were claustrophobic.
Imagine getting out of that gloominess.
Grasp the glass.
Raise the cup.
Any news about last week's suicide?
Drink.
-Was there a suicide? At school? -Yes.
Yes, a girl, preparing for the exam.
-How horrible. -For real?
-Did you know? -No.
How did it happen?
I heard it was last Monday.
It was late afternoon, at the library.
She jumped down the stairwell, at one of the dormitories.
She was pulped when she hit the ground.
Ten minutes later, she was gone.
You don't broadcast news like that. They hushed it up.
I heard that in Japan, there are 25,000 suicides a year,
especially the old and young.
Those Saint-Cyr guys are idiots. That's classic hazing.
If a guy from Saint-Cyr goes like this at you,
it's a sign of total contempt.
They usually do it to new boys or to civvies.
Civvies?
Yes, that's what they call us.
But hissing is a sign of admiration.
That's for Napoleon, their patron saint.
Or for girls.
Before I give you your Latin translations -
yes, you'll have to wait, young Fontanil -
I wanted to update you about a tragic event
that occurred at Henri IV about ten days ago.
I'm not the type of person to bury my head in the sand.
And I'm not the type that doesn't care.
I'm referring to the suicide of Claude Alençon -
or, rather, Claudine d'Alençon -
as, whether she likes it or not now,
she had a nice, feminine first name
and the surname of a great French family.
Claudine was a student of mine three years ago.
We often had tempestuous disagreements,
which I realize, with hindsight,
were produced
solely by her essential lack of discipline
and my desire to bring her to heel.
Claude went through times of frenetic energy,
which she paid for with periods of black depression.
Her two successive failures to get into the Rue d'Ulm
certainly didn't help.
But she willed her second failure,
deliberately provoking her examiners
by smearing Balzac as an anti-Semite.
The sin of pride.
We fall victims only to ourselves.
Remember that those that shine today
may not be those that are happy tomorrow.
But whatever the case,
you'll all see one another again, later.
Delphine, delfinos, dolphin, Delphinè, Delphinès,
dragon guardian of the oracle of Delphi.
You will succeed.
THOSE IN ON THE PLOT
You're letting yourself go.
It's been over two weeks now.
You have to forget.
I won't cover your absences anymore.
You'll get back in line or you'll be out.
Do you hear?
Go to class today.
Go to class today, you Alençon new boy.
I'll help you.
Pierre.
With respect,
I'll go this afternoon, as you requested,
to get the dead girl's letters
and the other writings the civvy requested.
-And her diary? -She didn't have a diary.
Did you look in the bookcase, behind the philosophy books?
I looked everywhere.
Claude's things were untouched.
Did you read them? Did you read your sister's letters?
No.
Aren't your curious?
No hate?
Show a bit of energy!
What's down here?
Do you want revenge?
At the back of your throat?
You'll cough it up.
You must be in pain.
Get out of here.
Kneel, recruits.
184th, the evening of December 2.
Today,
glory is present in its tenderest manifestation
and in the wintry night,
its little hat will be haloed by a thousand flames.
New recruits, your initiation is now at an end.
Those little boys, those recruits,
those children
will now appear as veterans, thanks to the blackened cork.
Attention!
There it is.
In the night,
in terrible succession to the silence,
a vast clamor arises.
Long live the emperor.
Silence returns, as it passes.
Attention.
Noble epaulette, may your name...
Three...
Four.
Noble epaulette, may your name
Stand undying in our history,
May it be ennobled by the glory
Of a brave cohort.
I used Plato, Kant and Hegel and I get four!
It must have been your formulation.
It was the same yesterday at lunch. I told Blandine.
It's never the same face in the mirror.
I look weird.
You should have paid attention to Stern's last class.
If you're deaf in one eye and have tomatoes in your ears...
He thinks it'll be Baudelaire.
Stern parodied "Meditation."
He told André,
"You call for hope, But you will have oblivion,
"The reward of foolishness, Untroubled rest."
But it's not going to be Baudelaire.
What do you think it'll be?
I don't think, I know.
You can't just drink in Stern's prose.
You need a private database.
It's a shame.
I'd have rather it was Baudelaire.
So, it won't be Baudelaire.
Come on kids!
It's mine! Give it back!
Can I play with you?
Go, Delphine!
He's going down.
We're the best!
My name is... Axel.
-Telephone. -Who is it?
Yes?
Oh.
Yes.
No, no.
I'll see you at the tobacconist. In ten minutes?
All good?
What's your family like?
They're from the east, near Senan.
My father worked in a textile factory.
He married the boss's daughter.
He did?
My studies are crippling them.
I made it on my own, even more than you did.
Do you have a political point of view?
Mom and I went to see the mayor, to try to get a bigger apartment.
We were on the wait list for three years.
He said he'd put us ahead of the neighbors.
Delphine.
What? That's what politics is about.
It goes left to right, one clique to another.
No, that's the absence of politics. I mean real, revolutionary politics.
Society's for interchangeable people, like you,
stuffed with the same products and images.
You're unimaginative.
The shame of it is there's history behind you.
And it'll come back to bite you.
Don't talk down to me.
You could kill your guy with that.
Just wait till he's asleep.
Are you scared?
It doesn't hurt.
That doesn't impress me.
You're not so romantic, Delphine.
You're playing the mom to avoid being a woman.
What scares you about men? Is it the sex?
Keep this up and you'll never know anything.
I'll take it.
It's nice.
Especially the bee.
I AM A COWARD
The first time I saw you,
I couldn't work out whether you were pretty.
whether you were a good student or an original thinker,
whether you were exceptional or insignificant.
And?
We have time to be mean to each other.
You're new. I feel lost in your world.
Though I like that you have a country.
You've created something solid.
Compared to you, I feel like a well-worn path,
beaten by the headwinds.
I'm what Barrès called unrooted.
Bardèche and Brassilach sung De Santis' praises,
in the history of cinema.
Brasillach was a fascist, wasn't he?
He was shot in 1945. He really loved cinema.
And are you a fascist?
Yes, I think so. I've become one.
I've always felt anti-communist.
You've always felt anti-communist? You've become a fascist?
Right - Drieu La Rochelle, Brasillach.
I've always had a soft spot for guys like that.
They saw fascism as the true communism.
Drieu said you have to get your hands dirty at least once,
to suffer the misfortune of killing.
Have you ever killed someone?
No, I haven't.
But I've gotten dirty, just like everyone else.
I'm everything that I hate most in this world.
What?
A coward. I'm a coward.
"And weeping seraphim,
"Musing among the vaporous flowers aswim,
"With slow bows from the sobbing viols drew
"White tears that sank in their coronals blue.
"It was the blessed day of your first kiss.
"My reverie..."
It's mid-March and the class hasn't taken off.
Smile, smile Lagarde!
A class needs to take,
like mayonnaise.
Poor Stern. He gets crazier by the day.
He should have been a priest, with his mania for plumbing souls.
But he doesn't even see us.
It's like he's looking through a grill,
exactly like he's in a confessional.
Don't look at that. You'll ruin the other one.
You'll ruin your other eye.
Why did you come looking for me?
You were looking for me.
I'm OK.
Pierre saw you, at the first-year dormitory.
You said my name.
I saw her go over the railing. I was there.
-I saw her jump. -I know.
I saw that you saw.
But that doesn't entitle you.
What entitles you to mess up my life?
It was fun, watching to see who'd find out first.
And I was alone and I wanted to seduce you.
So you could dump me?
Don't be unfair.
Why did Claude kill herself?
You see? You want something.
But you don't know if it's her story or me.
What did you do to her?
Stop. You won't let it go.
If you want to take her place, you're not up to it.
You're not even like her.
Wait, Delphine, that wasn't true.
It wasn't true.
You are like her.
All women are alike.
Fate sings the song over,
as tragedy, then as comedy.
I'm hopeless in the latter and I've played the former.
What did you do to her?
-Let's be friends. -You know we can't do that.
I love you.
I'm attracted to you.
THE PACT
Have you ever slept with a girl?
Will you dance?
Do you want a drink?
It's a shame you don't want to dance.
Do you see that guy?
The guy on his own, with blond hair?
He's handsome.
He looks romantic.
He looks unhappy.
It suits him.
Especially his eyes. They look like butterfly wings.
He must be shortsighted.
Could you seduce him?
Are you that into him?
If you go to bed with him, I'll go to bed with you.
Are you crazy?
Shall we get a drink?
Yes, if you like.
-Thanks. -Thanks.
You don't talk much.
You're not that chatty either.
Everyone's so formal here. It's not like that at Marx Dormoy.
We can slip it down a notch.
Do you want to dance?
Can you dance to rock?
What are you doing?
Do you want my cherry?
Carry on like that and I'll have yours.
We can sleep at my place. It's not far from here.
It's OK, you can sleep in my sister's room.
She's away at the moment.
What's up? Don't you feel well?
CLAUDE'S STORY
Everything's OK. You're here.
Bertrand had to leave very early this morning.
He had class at eight o'clock and he didn't want to wake you.
Did I throw up?
No, you spent most of the night under the shower.
I'm naked.
Yes, I took your clothes to wash.
I look after the house. My name is Bégonia.
Yes.
-It's Bégonia. Can I come in? -Yes.
-Thanks. -You're welcome.
November 5, 1989. Resistance Video.
Who cleans for the cleaning lady?
Yesterday's class exam asked us, "Does history have a meaning?"
I bluffed, rather than taking a risk.
I should've said that history
moves from abstract concrete to concrete abstract.
Precapitalist, feudal societies had no freedom.
But communist societies...
Damn.
I don't care if you read the letters.
You don't deserve them.
Axel, you poor provincial dandy.
If you don't like women, go get yourself screwed by Pierre.
You get along so well with him, right?
Then go ahead. Do it. Accept it.
If no woman dared to tell the truth to your face...
Excuse me.
Can I take your tray?
You didn't eat a thing.
You smell of wine.
No kidding.
A kid, making his first movie, isn't going to...
Practicing a freely chosen, non-alienating activity,
the free activity of associated producers.
He spoke to me for the first time.
It was at the canteen. He asked me who...
Yes?
It's Bertrand.
Yes?
Are you feeling better now?
Yes, I'm feeling better.
I slept in the armchair, alongside you.
I don't have class until three o'clock.
I can pick up my things and come over to see you, OK?
Delphine?
Who is that lovely bar of chocolate for,
on that crisp...
-I was just finishing... -It's OK.
Thank you, ma'am.
Not ma'am, Bégonia.
Miss?
Your skirt.
Dormitory 111, please.
Hold the line.
I wanted to speak to Axel Dosnon, please.
Axel Dosnon.
Delphine Le Guévec.
Patrice, Raphaël, go to bed, now!
This is Pierre speaking.
Yes, I wanted to speak to Axel.
He's gone to his parents', to work. The exam is coming up soon.
When will he be back?
In about ten days.
He didn't leave me anything?
He did. A note.
I'm afraid that I misplaced it.
But I read it before I lost it.
It was in prose.
What did it say?
Promises are made to be kept.
Something promised, something owed.
Don't forget anything. Signed, Maxime.
Thanks.
You limp dick.
Fuck your mother!
Did you tell Mom that you're going?
You can let her know.
Where are you going?
I'm leaving the abstract concrete and going to the concrete abstract.
Where's that?
The abstract concrete
is the free activity of associated producers.
The concrete abstract is you two.
And Mom too.
In the first semester, you loved me, even though you hated me.
In the second term, you hated me, even though you loved me.
And in the third semester, you'll have to kill me.
Killing someone involves listening to him,
so that you can take his place.
So I'm going to listen to what you've prepared.
I'm all ears.
"What will they have retained or our hearts' complicity,
"these crumbling walls that saw us meet,
"the staircases that you introduced me to,
"the walkway where I waited?
"Could they not have retained a trace of our affection?
"The breath of our kisses returns its youth to the school."
Noble epaulette, may your name
Stand undying in our history.
May it be ennobled by the glory
Of a brave cohort.
If, in the future, your name appears,
Maybe we shall join it...
Miss Le Guévec.
Were you dreaming?
And my drink?
I'm sorry about yesterday.
It doesn't matter.
Are you feeling better?
Do you feel better?
I have to tell you,
I said that my sister wasn't there,
but that wasn't true.
She's dead.
She killed herself.
-You look similar. -To who?
Your sister.
Claude?
-Did you know her? -No.
We met once. Two hours before her suicide.
That's not true. I'm not like her.
She was always seductive.
I'm pitiful.
Monday, January 3, 1988.
He spoke to me for the first time.
It was at the canteen. He asked me who I was.
So I looked deep into his eyes.
I immediately sensed he was a right-winger.
My answer came out of my mouth as loud as his question.
"I'm Jewish, feminist and communist."
Everyone heard.
That made him smile.
We wanted and hated each other in equal measure at first.
May 8, 1988.
We screw and we argue.
We go to the hotel to screw and we argue in the café.
The hotel. The café. Screwing. Arguing.
Which one fuels the other?
How long will it last?
Was she better than me?
Claude.
Was she better than me?
You've made peace with her ghost.
Don't people kill themselves out of unhappiness?
She wasn't unhappy. On the contrary. We all loved her.
She was the one that caused us pain.
But it was out of despair.
Claude... was a great person.
But she didn't get along with her father.
She didn't want to be a diplomat.
You don't think she was just unhappy in love?
She never had a serious relationship. Never.
Axel?
We don't speak of the dead. We miss them.
We keep our lips shut.
We pray without moving our hands.
We carry flowers.
We keep their graves clean.
Why do you think your sister killed herself?
Can't we talk about something else?
Do you know her boyfriend? He's studying for the ENS.
He's weird. He's a boarder.
You must know him, Axel Dosnon.
I know him by sight.
You don't know your own sister's boyfriend?
They were in the same class.
Axel and Claude.
We were never joined at the hip.
When she jumped...
-Jumped? -Yes, jumped.
I hadn't been in Paris two months
and we hadn't seen each other in three years.
So you didn't know Axel.
Where were you when Claude killed herself?
I saw her coming out of your dormitory.
You should've been a cop.
You don't remember?
Pierre was drilling us, in the school courtyard.
And didn't you ask what had happened?
Nothing happened. Claude was crazy - end of.
I don't think so.
You're getting annoying, Delphine. You don't know.
-What are you doing? -I'm going.
No, wait, I'm sorry.
Stay.
I need you.
I love you.
The denouement of Genet's play is a striking example.
Recall that Claire, the heroine,
kills herself on stage,
drinking the tea
that she had prepared to poison her mistress.
In The Maids,
Jean Genet presents Claire's death not as suicide but as murder.
Claire doesn't die in her poor reality, as a skivvy,
but as her mistress, in all her finery.
I revered my literature teacher,
but one day that admiration collapsed.
One Sunday, in Rouen, I summoned the courage.
I went to his house.
He lived in a working class neighborhood,
in an unassuming brick house.
There he was, bent over his lettuces, in braces.
He saw me and straightened up.
He wasn't that young anymore.
He gestured to me, kindly.
And I saw
that he was absolutely ordinary.
I was your age.
That's to say that you should hide yourselves.
When distance is abolished...
there is no mystery.
Your life is your secret.
Don't let anyone see you in broad daylight.
Even in love.
Did you see my philosophy assignment?
Anuma Bagula, blah blah.
Give me my assignment.
Little soul, like a trembling wave.
Bertrand.
Do you have paper and pencils?
I don't have time to go to the dormitory.
-That's beautiful. -Give that to me.
Was it a gift?
-Do you like it? -Yes.
Then take it. I never use it.
Bertrand...
What?
Do you love me?
What's up?
It's hard, being here with you.
What if I didn't love you?
I know what we'll do. We'll get a change of scenery.
We'll go to the sea.
Charles' wedding is next week, at a lovely spot in Brittany.
No, I need to work.
The exam is coming up and I want to pass it.
You will, if you love me.
When summer returns,
the school will breathe in light, through all its pores.
A gentle breeze will set us aquiver in the corridors.
Axel, I want that breeze to revive our love.
Love, later.
November 1989.
The Berlin Wall is going to come down.
Everything's motivated by making money.
The East is mired in crisis.
They all want to come to Paris,
to eat, laugh and consume.
And then they'll be trapped, like rats.
She is such a drag!
I don't care about your life!
You're so boring!
What's up?
I know what's up.
You don't love me.
Tomorrow is Sunday.
The class is having lunch at Saint-Sulpice.
It'll go on all afternoon.
I won't be able to stay with you.
You'll be alone.
And you'll leave me.
A PROMISE MADE, A PROMISE KEPT
Hello?
It's me, Axel.
Delphine?
Yes.
Do you remember the pact we made?
I'm ready.
I came back.
The dormitory is empty.
Solemnly,
yes, almost solemnly, my cock is hard for you.
I'm waiting for you.
You're going to come.
Come.
Wait.
I know.
I'll tell you.
I'll give it to you.
I know what you want.
One day, it's Bertrand's turn to make a start.
He enters the hallowed portals of Henri IV.
But he's not preparing for the ENS, like us.
He's preparing to go to Saint-Cyr.
He's placed in the first-year dormitory,
on the rotunda's second floor.
He's nothing there.
He's not his mom and dad's son.
He's not Claude's little brother.
And he's not the usual brilliant student.
Bertrand d'Alençon is a new boy
and new boys are, by definition,
despicable, filthy, slimy and noxious.
They need discipline.
They need to be de-civilized.
And de-individualized.
They show up all fresh and perky.
Tradition takes care of it.
The old tragicomic tradition,
by which until December 2, when the class assembles
to celebrate the emperor's victory at Austerlitz,
new boys can be taxed and set to work without restraint.
They can be shouted at, bullied, mocked and punished.
They're spoken to icily,
all to rid them of their little personalities,
their precious self-containment,
to discover the epic spirit of serving a country,
their country,
France.
Bertrand repeatedly breaks down in tears.
Or he doesn't even react.
He's motionless and limp. People don't like it.
The Council of Elders discusses him
and decides to set him a special task.
Pierre asks me to attend the hearing that's planned for the afternoon.
So?
Jump!
We don't have all day.
Jump.
Coward.
Weakling.
So you're scared.
You're scared to die.
He's going to be a soldier and win glory.
He's going to defend the French colors.
-France. -France.
He's going to command men.
Cad.
You don't belong in the army.
-You belong in a whorehouse! -Rent boy!
Chicken.
Girl.
You look female.
Female.
Do you hear me, pussy?
Jump or we'll push you.
You're an invert. A nancy boy. We'll appoint you.
We'll do a nice job.
We'll bust your ass open.
There'll be plenty of takers.
Queer.
Are you going to jump?
You coward.
You're a coward.
Gentlemen.
Lady boy! Poof!
Poof! Girl!
Do you need a girl, to console you?
Girl! Girl!
Girl!
Gentlemen!
Are you here for your brother?
Shut up for the school year
In a filthy mess.
Three, four!
Claude!
A YEAR LATER
"FROM THE ABSTRACT CONCRETE TO THE CONCRETE ABSTRACT..."
Nice job.
Are you happy?
Hi, how are you?
Great.
THE CHARACTERS AND SITUATIONS IN THIS FILM ARE FICTIONAL.
ANY SIMILARITIES TO REAL PEOPLE, EITHER DEAD OR ALIVE,
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
Subtitling: TransPerfect Media