NO BREAD DIET
It was in May 1982.
Yes I know, that's the future.
But I like to think I am in the future.
And truly, I live in the future.
I still remember
that distant spring in 1982
and these amazing flying bicycles,
only relics of the war.
That day I left my office
at the cultural centre of Grenoble.
Grenoble was then the capital.
What an era!
Our rock principality,
was named "Sodome and Gomore"
of social democracy,
and was the only EU country
to impose a Catholic-Laic coexistence,
and allow tobacco consumption.
We were free and happy.
And proud of our prince Jason III,
the most popular and democratic being.
That's why I was in a hurry.
It was a Thursday.
And Jason as usual
was going to host the late TV show.
I knew I wouldn't make it home.
Grenoble was infamous for its traffic.
Fairy tales only appeal to astronauts.
How to ignore them
when they erupt frantically
into your life?
Here he was! Jason!
Walking in the rain.
He looked sad and lost.
But what on earth was he doing?
Escorted by that bunch of thugs?
I was probably wrong.
It couldn't be him.
For years, alliances were unpopular
in our country.
The Prince would talk only on TV.
Yet I was convinced this young dropout
was indeed our ruler,
the same who would address us
on TV tonight.
Yes.
I am the one who reads your letters.
And who anwers them personally.
Don't laugh, it's not always funny.
Actually,
it's a big job.
But it's also enjoyable.
It relieves us.
We feel better.
Our mind wanders,
and we want to... you know what.
Minus 10%? Why?
Did I say something offensive?
That's my voice.
It's my voice, isn't it?
In fact, my old songs repulse you.
They turn you off.
You don't understand English.
It reminds you the Hundred Years War.
In fact that war wasn't really ours.
20% for that?
Let's talk hygiene.
80% against it.
What about sport?
No success.
Sex?
OK! Sex.
Well, you may know it,
I like to undress in front of you all.
Only 43% for it?
I wasn't expecting that.
And I should get cross.
But you are the masters,
and I am only your Prince.
So let's talk about...
... about dead people?
97% for it.
I'll have to show you these pictures,
quite unbearable,
of children diced up
by car accidents.
99%.
Well.
I'm going to accept.
But on one condition.
You're going away this weekend,
aren't you?
All of you.
And you're going to rush!
Well, let's close our eyes together.
Why not now?
I am going to count,
and we'll close our eyes.
100% for it. Yes.
It's marvelous.
I think I'm going to cry.
I'm counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
I can feel
collisions vibrating
faraway.
Yes.
Vibrations of faraway car crashes.
I feel them.
Vibrations of faraway car crashes.
I feel them, yes.
Yes.
Vibrations of distant car crashes.
Yeah.
Yeees.
That night one counted 100 car crashes.
It went beyond all expectations.
The next day the Prince attended
a Te Deum in Notre Dame de la Salette.
It was grand.
The choir of the road's orphans
sang a few rock motets
composed by the Prince himself.
... Pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
Hail Mary full of Grace,
The Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.
Holy Mary Mother of God,
Pray for us sinners,
Now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
Like most girls from Vercors,
I was in love with Jason III.
Like all the girls my age,
I was waiting restlessly
for the fated death of Jason III
in a few weeks.
So I'd fall in love with Jason IV.
When I exited the cathedral,
I decided to follow him.
I thought he'd be different.
He's like everyone.
Not true.
Or he wouldn't have made it.
No point going through
all this trouble for nothing.
It's stunning!
For me this is total bullshit.
It can happen to anyone.
Precisely.
He's not allowed to be like everyone.
Too unfair!
It's his fault. Let him die.
You're hard with people.
Maybe mademoiselle.
Yet I'm harder with myself.
A few hours later, everyone knew it.
Jason III had given up.
The imminence of his death
in a ritual car crash
had led him to quit power.
A first time in our country.
The beginning of the end.
One said he was fleeing
in the Catholic Migrants zone.
I went to meet him.
I couldn't help it.
I had to do it.
The Catholic suburb
was outside the city's glass wall.
Hence uninhabitable.
Anti-radioactive smoke
allowed its inhabitants to survive
for decades with a throat cancer.
I found him easily.
I wasn't the only one looking for him.
Jason!
Shut up!
Remember!
Shut up!
What a mess!
What does he want?
Do you know them?
No.
Shut up!
Remember!
Fuck your mom!
Shut up! Fuck your mom!
Remember!
Shut up!
I had no idea I was witnessing
Jason III's clinical death.
I still believed in his recovery.
In his return to the throne.
In his imminent transfiguration
through the most glorious, injust,
and cruel road accidents.
How naive was I!
With his portable hypnoscope,
Professor Pi was erasing
Jason III's deep-rooted identity.
His motto and his secret code.
And all his credit cards
recorded inside his teeth.
The next day I found in my office
a message from the Professor
wanting to meet me urgently.
What was left of Jason
was at his place.
Professor...
I like... I don't like.
Still nothing?
I've finished my study.
On a strictly scientific level,
nothing is left of Jason III.
He's now like anyone else,
like you and me.
Are you sure?
Doubt is part of science mademoiselle.
But...
But?
I should have found traces
of himself in his dreams.
Nothing is more secret than a dream.
And then?
Nothing.
His dreams are awfully mundane.
I can't believe that.
Something uniquely 'Jasonian'
should still subsist in his brain.
I can feel it.
Even now.
Professor, I beg you.
Make sure he becomes
our Master again.
It's too late for that.
We've already issued a contest notice.
How do you know that?
We had a census last night.
What was the percentage?
97.34% for it.
What ungratfulness!
I can't blame them, I understand them.
I'm an orphan without him.
In 7 days, you'll have a new leader.
That'll take forever!
That'll take time.
Even for me.
I love walking so much.
You'll get many requests.
No. This is over. I've had it.
But you are the greatest.
You've been coaching all the Princes.
All of them.
But one.
No big deal. It was a woman.
I love women, mademoiselle.
For this position, that'd be grotesque!
Our Prince shoud be neither man
nor woman.
He must be...
Say it.
An angel.
Believe me, that's not the case.
He's got personality.
The devil himself was an angel.
Do something!
No. It's over.
No one will boast of becoming a Prince
through me.
I'm sure you'll do it.
He will fail anyway.
I already told you.
I erased his motto.
Without it, he's no longer himself.
Can he apply for the contest?
He could become Jason IV.
Yes.
The one looking the most like Jason III.
He's Jason III.
Half the job's done.
Nothing is less certain.
Things have changed here.
What counts is not a physical likeness.
The country is full of clones of Jason
that resemble him more than himself.
They have no inner light.
The light has gone out.
I've cut the power off.
I'll never believe this.
I must see it with my own eyes.
As you wish.
I'm warning you.
It's not a pretty sight.
And not an horrible one either.
It's dull, fuzzy,
and stupid.
Show me.
I could see displayed in front of me
the real face of Jason III.
His spirituality,
his intelligence, his nastiness
had vanished behind this sickening mask.
His eyes expressed
the endless desert of human idiocy.
His orphan smile exhibited
the immutable white of his teeth,
cleared of all documents
essential for survival.
His grimaces mimicked the victim praying
when thrown to the mercy
of giant ants in the toxic suburbs.
Jason III was dead.
Worse than dead.
The Professor had not wasted his time,
having made the death mask
that will add to the other masks
in the atrium of our rock Pantheon.
That's what is left of his prior life.
We could try the mimic test.
What's that?
We burn a few spots in the hypothalamus.
He may mime his dreams.
It is a bit risky.
Do it.
I thought you loved him.
I love Jason III and my country.
I love rock.
Not this liveless meat!
You're tough.
It's my way to reach total bliss.
The Professor set himself at work,
trying everything.
Toxic shock.
Tobacco therapy.
Anti-rock tunes.
Radioactive insulin.
Semantic therapy.
Something's happening to him.
He is shedding his skin.
Again?
How old is he?
More than 20 years old. It's surprising.
He'll always remain a child.
He's Jason III for sure.
Make a better Jason IV out of him!
I'll answer you tomorrow.
Thanks Professor. You're a good patriot.
Yes. But I hate rock.
I only like Italian songs.
After a few weeks,
Jason was almost a normal being.
He was like a northern immigrant
in search of a residence card.
He was spending his time watching TV
and biting his nails avidly.
What's this bullshit?
He's a Prince.
Prince of what?
A Prince or a worker?
I can't remember.
He's a blue-collar Prince.
Or a car maker.
Well. Ready?
Wait. He's going to kill himself.
Yes?
He doesn't look like it.
Although in Germany...
I love German TV.
It's so much more visceral.
Yeah?
What is that idiot telling us?
I have no idea.
But I love the sound of German.
Do you want to eat something?
OK.
A quarter of a half of a whole slice.
Thank you.
Well I'm fucking hungry.
I'm not hungry.
One Kraut less!
Let's celebrate it!
I'm no longer hungry or thirsty.
I'm not surprised.
Given that crap you're watching on TV.
Yuck!
That's disgusting!
Yes. It's a bit slow.
But still very powerful.
I hate these time-outs.
The Professor applied
for the competition.
A few days later,
we saw a new Jason on TV.
A week after his first reappearance,
Jason was among the 1200 candidates
voted in by the 10 000 electors.
That's when he decided to run away.
Hey Ja-Ja.
Who calls me like that?
You don't know me but I do know you.
I'm one of the 10 000.
Ah!
I'm one of the 10 000.
I 'm watching you and following you.
When I saw you passing by my place,
I also saw a chance to meet you.
You see?
After all,
I have control over your destiny.
I had to make a delivery anyway.
What delivery?
Not much today.
Have a look.
You're doing child trafficking.
Well, some people like them.
That's how people are.
They don't make children, they buy them.
Don't tell me you like that.
You'd lose points.
They look happy.
It's dismal to be happy these days.
May I tell you something Ja-Ja?
You're too sentimental.
You need a woman.
Not to marry.
I'm against it.
Neither to live with.
But..
For a one-night stand?
Just one.
Maybe not even a night.
Some time.
Some lovely time.
You may be right.
Of course I am.
Why not the tall one?
She is near us and loves you.
Come.
Good night.
Is that all you can say?
What do you want me to say?
For example, could you say
'Good night darling'.
In the old days, I could.
Right now...
I'm only the reflection of who I was.
Let's go.
Wait a little bit.
She's still here.
Is it her?
Yes.
My husband made that.
With what?
With crosswords.
That's the old method.
Still working, you know.
You'll see.
Shall we go?
Nice place.
It's not my place.
It's my workshop.
It's a place to work.
Do you like to work?
Don't be wrong about me.
I'm a literary person.
It's quite obvious.
You're fast.
No. That's not me.
That's my husband.
It's horrible.
I quite prefer dolls.
Your old clients, do they like it?
Sometimes.
When they are literary ones.
I'm turned on.
Me too, I'm on fire.
In what way?
You're too fast.
I'm a mover.
Me too.
Do you want me to turn around?
Which direction?
Do you have a preference?
I like everything.
OK.
Sit down.
Do you want to see?
Show me.
I love pretenses.
You mean double talk?
You know,
they're able to turn.
Not like you.
My husband set them up.
Hello darlings.
Good night.
Do you want a striptease?
Striptease?
That must be a lot of work.
My husband is a handyman.
My name's Lola.
My name's Lily.
My name's Laini.
My name's Lyla.
My name's Lavo.
You should have picked names...
more literary.
Yes.
As you wish darling.
Have a try.
Who's named "Madame Bovary"?
That's me!
Do you still want another mean thing?
Why still?
Because I'm a very literary one.
I'm not following you here.
When it comes, I bite.
I feel like I have fallen into a trap.
Adorable.
A trap...
...is always...
...adorable.
My name's Lola.
My name's Lily.
My name's Lali.
My name's Lina.
Who's named "Madame Bovary"?
That's me.
Again!
Back to work!
I'm sick of following you around.
You're at your lowest on TV.
Where is that girl now?
She was only a reflection.
I understand.
She couldn't rotate like earth then.
Come on.
Where am I?
Somewhere.
Here.
What's happening here?
There? It is only a reflection.
I see.
That's why I'm unable to get tired.
That's normal.
You have no gravity.
Shit! Where am I?
Somewhere.
Mostly?
Well, you're there.
Hit by all these girls.
Farewell to you,
reflection!
You won't believe me.
This fugue had a positive effect
on the 10 000 electors.
They loved it.
He joined the list of favorites.
He was among the first 500 candidates.
I naively thought
nothing would stop his rise to power.
But a cruel deception awaited me.
One weekend, the Professor called me.
It's a failure.
And I'm delighted.
Is there nothing left to do?
No, as far as I'm concerned.
He refuses to become Jason IV.
You won't dump him just like that?
He gave up.
So we should use other means.
What do you mean?
Unscientific methods.
Are you religious?
Yes, but I'm not a Catholic.
Jason is religious too.
I saw him at the church yesterday.
I know, I was there too.
It shows he has a spiritual life.
He could still become an angel.
I know a way.
Really?
Yes, Professor. I do.
Me, a bare librarian!
May we know by which mean?
You must know it.
This method is illegal.
A method neither Catholic nor Laic?
Neither Capilalist nor Marxist.
It is a method that doesn't exist then.
Or out of the world.
Yes, in a way.
I found it in a half-burned book.
An esoteric book.
I thought you were Laic.
I am a non-smoker Laic.
To a certain extent.
What is that book?
An Eastern esoteric book.
The title is "Building a Character".
From a certain Stanislavski.
Here it is.
I found out later that the Professor
had spent sleepless nights trying
to decipher the enigmatic verses
of the Eastern text.
He gave up the book and reopened it
a thousand times.
A week after, he was the only man
to have captured the very meaning
of Stanislavski's thoughts.
He understood
that this book was the only one
to help Jason's mutation.
It was possible to restore the soul
of the late Jason III.
It had to be done in phases.
Firstly,
he needed a Prince's costume.
They spent a week in the wardrobe
of the American hospital.
How did those people die?
Mostly of flu or cancer.
No leprosy?
In your dreams! None of that here.
This place sucks.
Come here. There's a mirror.
Madrid is a city
which is delightful.
Seville
is a city
which is delightful.
New York is a city,
its shape is delightful.
If we live
in Paris,
its flavour is very subtle.
There's nothing but junk here.
Nothing here.
This fucking country is falling apart.
You're right.
Whose fault is it?
Have a guess.
We can't go on like this.
Nothing left to wear.
More people have to die.
It smells like rotting flesh.
It's all in your head.
Don't you smell anything?
Yes. Curry maybe.
My arse!
Shit!
Not that word, it's bad luck!
That's this detergent!
I got an idea. Let's go to the morgue.
Will it make a difference?
Costumes on corpses
will inspire us.
It may be more lively!
More powerful!
You got a chance to become Jason IV.
What?
The real Jason IV.
The one looking the most like Jason III.
I know this one. He's an idiot.
With a tie that makes you dream.
Watch your words.
Could Jason have said that?
He just did.
Don't use paradox.
I never do.
As you say.
You've lost me.
It's not about following me.
But following yourself. Shit!
Don't say "shit".
I didn't say "shit".
Hit!
Shit!
Pay for that!
I'll deduct it from my expenses.
Have you chosen?
Not yet.
Should I choose for you?
No, thank you.
I have something to show you.
We've seen everything.
We may have seen it all,
but this thing is outstanding.
Look!
I know.
It's a pair of trousers.
More than that, sir.
I challenge you to find
such a maceration of spots
where the gooey doesn't prevail
over stacked bones.
Where else could we find
a trouser's fabric suggesting so well
the total crushing of its legs?
Take a look.
And please, yell!
Not sure where
the trousers start and the legs end.
Take a look.
Look! I beg you.
His pair of protective glasses
are wrapped in a tissue
filled with endless snots
and loaded with magma.
This massive sputum
is still bubbling with scum.
Look at these pleats!
You like the full-lenght type.
I have a feel for cadaver.
But you suck at costumes.
Sir.
Since I was in diapers
I've had a keen sense of
the cutting technique.
Provided it is a fleshy one.
Do you know that your pedantry
is as flat as a pancake?
Choose your weapon.
Your citizens are idiots.
As if we could choose our weapon.
Choose you weapon, I said.
Let's joust.
Bravo.
Almost.
Don't worry, you'll get him.
You're saying this to cheer me up.
It's more exciting
than two turtles colliding.
Really?
And what else?
More exciting
than frogmen dancing.
That's not funny.
Less funny than cows galloping
while having a crap.
That's heavy.
Heavy like a lentil sorbet?
That's nauseating.
Yuckier than a decapitated fly.
You're a weirdo.
A weirdo good at fencing.
Hit!
I've been wounded
as high as my forehead.
Blood is running,
excluding a new confrontation.
Pay!
Can I make you a cheque?
We do not accept cheques.
I mortgaged my car
to pay for my dentist fees.
Look.
I had an incisor removed.
Who cares. Pay!
Can I pay you another way?
If you like fine cuisine,
I have a unique collection of pasta,
some from a newborn baby.
I can also touch you if you like it.
That's all?
I could also expose myself,
in front of you.
That's mad. He doesn't want to pay.
When you lose, you pay.
I'm sorry, that's all I have.
I know a few who'd have enjoyed
my generosity.
Pay now or I'll smash your face.
That is not an option.
You always hit the cheekbone.
Can't you hit elsewhere?
My honour is at stake,
I must hit the left cheekbone,
and nowhere else.
Wherever you want.
Whenever you want.
That feels nice to go for a walk,
just as before.
Don't worry, it's allright.
You should practice boxing a bit more.
Look. An accident.
Here it is.
It's done.
The costume.
You really like it?
I find it ridiculous.
The costume.
Now we'd have to reinvent
a Jasonian way of talking and singing.
It's amazing.
It makes me want to smoke again.
The Professor remembered
a childhood friend.
An astronaut.
He became a monk after watching
Virgin Mary orbiting.
I'm looking for actors.
I mean human beings.
They're no more part of our school.
We also have expelled
most of the animals.
That's better.
We understand each other Father.
The purpose for our visit is special.
You're coming for elocution lessons.
No.
We'd like to see you operating.
You're the only ones to use the method.
Who told you that?
Truth will always out, Father.
Well, that's false.
Since a few years
we've stopped practising the method.
I'd add that
one must deny the method
to find the true path.
We only believe in automatic methods.
Yes I know.
The Gildas Methods.
I see you are aware of everything.
Science and Religion
have many things in common, Father.
Now,
what led you to visit us
may be more than a scientific interest?
I must confess we are looking for
a method to be successful.
One must be loved
to become a Prince.
For that a Prince needs two things.
A heart-warming motto
and a talent to sing.
But he has already been a Prince.
Yes.
But he has lost his motto and his voice.
So he can no longer sing?
Don't you have a Method
to teach singing?
Yes. The Dog and the Parrot.
You have the power to give a musical ear
to all human beings.
I fear our Father Superior won't accept
a student of the human race.
Father, my disciple is not just anyone.
Keep in mind you're in the Laic zone
and still have problems
with the Authorities.
Is this a threat?
Just an observation.
Please wait.
These priests may be stupid.
But they are the last ones
to concentrate on rhythm.
They are performing Swing.
Here's Father Superior.
My son.
Come here.
Don't move.
Yes.
There is still music here.
Let's make a chain.
The bedroom and the bed...
Tuesday is my day...
She's the most sensible whore...
The rhythm is good,
but is separated from the body.
It is here...
....and it is not here.
It hasn't got a tongue.
But it does exist!
What are they saying?
It looks like a motto.
The fire will protect me.
It makes no sense.
I found this costume in the fire.
It will protect me.
You're going too fast.
I have to.
It's for my own...
...pleasure.
That's good.
It's for my own
pleasure.
Yes.
It's for my own pleasure.
That's right.
It's for my own
PLEA-.
-SURE.
Good evening.
Are you sure you know what you want?
I'm sorry.
I didn't expect you to look like this.
Really?
Are you sure
we haven't seen each other before?
You seem familiar.
You're French, aren't you?
Not at all.
Uh, that could be a problem.
We only serve French customers.
Are you sure you want this table
and not another one?
Why another one?
Because there is a young Italian girl
at the next table
who can say cuore...
beautifully.
Listen.
I chose this table,
I sat down,
and I'm staying here.
Well, that's annoying.
You see, here we are carrying out...
research.
Why not?
After all, I'm not in any rush.
But I'm telling you.
Once it starts, it won't stop.
Let's start.
Listen, that's annoying.
You're certain you're not French?
I'm sure I'm not.
You're not English either?
I hate them.
No, I'm from Vercors.
So you're French.
No.
Well.
Let's go then.
We are in 1882.
Paris.
During the post Napoleon III era.
Let's follow our friend Charles.
Charles is meeting
a marvellous woman
named Odette de Crecy
whom he meets
in Madame and Monsieur Verdurin's salon.
Both brilliant representatives
of a France having fun,
getting entertained and pondering,
while a crowd is revolving around her.
A crowd of artists.
Painters.
Musicians.
Like this famous musician
who is a real master
when it comes to interpreting
Vinteuil sonata.
Charles Swann
is first of all seduced
by Odette de Crecy
whom he meets unexpectedly
at Mr and Mrs Verturin,
while listening to this music.
At first there is no evidence that
both of these individuals would meet.
Then crazy weeks of intense love
will take hold of Charles Swann
and also Odette.
Yet as every flower ceases one day
to release its perfumes,
this love will darken suddenly.
Weeks are going by.
Nonetheless, their relation continued.
But Charles becomes distant
and unable to live fully
his emotional relationship with Odette.
Then he gradually returnes
to his aristocratic life.
By meeting with the Princesse Mathilde,
with the Princesse des Laumes,
with Mme de Saint-Euverte,
Charles Swann progressively
re-emerges in the previous life
he had cut himself from.
Little by little he learns
how to move away from Odette.
Unfortunately one more suspicion
arouses Charles's jealousy
who one day receives a letter,
an anonymous letter,
a blackmail note,
disclosing the wicked life
of Odette.
A life of scandals and intrigues,
of lechery and sex.
The most despicable suspicions
start growing inside him
regarding his mistress's
sexual behavior.
Come.
Why did you do that?
Because.
Come.
But I love In Search of Lost Time
People hates it.
You'll lose points.
No one knows I'm here.
You're live on all channels tonight.
Is that so?
It's over for me then.
How do you know?
Come and stop arguing.
It's too bad.
He was about to finish.
How does it end?
I'm not into that crap.
Come on.
Let's work on your character.
This one is long gone.
That's normal.
He feels you've left him out.
What a drag!
It's late.
Like a thousand hours.
In the dark.
Is this your quack-quack?
Or is it the tic-tac of the tale?
In this jungle,
who really knows
who among us monkeys
will speak the best?
It's getting late.
It's 1:00 am.
Still plenty of time
for making a trophy.
At night,
people have been dying.
Unless it's the illusion of the tale.
In this jungle...
We've been looking for you!
You got me.
What're you doing here?
I like to know what's coming.
My destiny.
My future.
It's not that bad.
Actually Jason,
looking for your future
in the lungs of a leper,
it's not very scientific.
Well, I find that beautiful.
I'm getting caught by the shapes.
I like that.
That's not a very good omen.
What's that?
If I were you I'd be careful.
Looks Hebrew to me.
Or Greek.
It's Hebrew, I think.
What's that?
Yes, that's odd.
It's coming back.
Viscous formation on the right.
That's really strange.
What does that mean?
On the left, it seems that
an odd cloud is forming.
It's coming back again.
It's starting from the centre
and takes off like a star.
Well.
I never expected it'd turn out this way.
Nothing we can do.
It's getting late.
Like a thousand hours.
In the dark.
Is this your quack-quack?
Or is it the tic-tac of the tale?
In this jungle,
who really knows
who among us monkeys
will speak the best?
It's getting late.
It's 1:00 am.
There's still time
for making a trophy.
At night,
people have been dying,
unless it's the illusion of the tale.
In this jungle,
who really knows
who among us monkeys
will speak the best?
Let's stop the killing.
I know the story quite well.
Hunting unicorns
always goes wrong.
He will never make it.
Weeks passed.
Too quickly, too slowly.
Jason was among the last ten candidates.
For sure, he'd win.
We got used to his runaways.
He got chosen because of them.
His non-accountability became famous.
The whole city was talking about him.
Then he commited the fatal act.
You're charming, Sir.
It was nice of you
to walk me here.
Times are getting tough.
I used to have a charming
and powerful smile.
Thanks to my family's wealth,
I got my credit cards transplants,
a double citizenship,
a world pass,
an illimited show pass.
And I fell in love
with a so called deaf-mute
who in reality,
was able to express himself
quite well,
even with style.
Is this your husband?
Why?
Is he here?
You see, he never says hello.
He's lying, I suppose?
No.
At the least, is he looking at us?
No.
Not even.
That's what I was telling you.
Please seat down.
Do you want a drink?
No, thanks.
Are you still here?
Yes.
What are you doing?
I'm looking at your husband.
He looks sad.
He's a bit arrogant but I love him.
He never goes out.
He says that...
...he has nothing to wear.
He looks like me.
Do you think so?
You're nicer.
That's true, I'm very nice.
What's happening?
He wants to come closer.
He wants to look at my costume.
He seems to like it.
I doubt it.
He refuses to wear whatever I buy him.
He seems to really like it.
That's a miracle. How much does it cost?
It's not mine.
I took it off a dead body.
A dead body?
In a road accident.
That explains everything.
Everything?
Let me touch it.
It's the same costume.
His twin brother died tragically.
He had a great taste to dress up.
What a coincidence!
Please Sir!
How much do you want for this costume?
Since it's yours, I'm giving it back.
Tomorrow I'm elected Prince
and I'll make an exact copy of it.
But it won't have belonged
to a dead man.
That's true.
I no more believe
in the erotic virtue
of ill-timed carrion.
I wish I'd known you before I married.
You are my type.
Charity is not always popular.
Giving away your costume
is a nice gesture
when coming from you or me.
Coming from him, it was not acceptable.
How could we trust him?
How to accept
being ruled by a dull Prince
free of malice and partiality?
It was denying the foundations
of any rock-society.
It was Jason's downfall.
Whoa!...
The contest's result complied
with our rock-society.
The winner was the one
who could wear the Prince's suit
with enough class and nonchalance.
I told you.
He's weak.
He's a coward.
We were flabbergasted.
It wasn't Stanislavski
who got Jason elected,
but a costume
found by chance
in a car on fire.
There were no rules
for becoming a Prince.
No knowledge was necessary.
The next day, Professor Pi retired.
He's very kind and loves children.
I am proud of him,
as he wasn't like that before.
Do you know him?
Yes!
For long?
For ever.
I see, you're my rival.
Not really.
You may hate me.
I hate and love no one.
For a long time
I've been feeling tired and sick.
Poor thing, let me guess.
Your credit cards have been cancelled.
My smile still opens all the doors.
That's why he didn't marry you!
He's disinterested.
The day after my husband's crowning
he decided to marry me.
He loves penniless women.
He should be thrilled by now.
Why?
It's today.
Today is the big day.
That's right.
He doesn't remember.
He's no more interested in that.
He's beyond all ambition.
Do inject him the taste of grandeur.
Women must explain to men of genius
what is their destiny.
Listen Madame.
Today your ex-husband will die
in a ritual car accident.
Tomorrow, we'll call candidates
for a Prince's position.
Do you believe what you're saying?
The car will crash in a few minutes.
Pity we don't have TV.
Jason must be a Prince again
and become Jason V.
Here it is.
5 pm.
Jason IV just died in a car crash.
Here comes Jason V.
My God!
What's happening?
He just killed himself.
I hope not with the children!
Alas yes!
Alas.
It's only after Jason's suicide
that I understood it all.
He wasn't afraid of death.
By killing himself in tribute
to the Prince dead in the car crash,
Jason was showing
how high he rated the role of a Prince.
What a counterexample to vanity!