Archipelago (2021) Movie Script
1
(deep breaths)
-(a woman): Its Sunday. The weather is clear
and I wait.
I like to think that if nothing happens...
I could have a peaceful day.
Silent.
(deep breath) (seagull songs)
-(a man whispering): You don't exist.
You don't exist. -It's wrong.
-I am looking at you. I smell your scent.
Your clean skin, your full hair.
the heat that softens the muscles in your neck.
I know where you are. We guess
the outline of your face, the mark of your knee,
with your hand. I look at you, attentively.
The landscape passes through you.
I can see a river, its islands.
But... nothing from you. (whispering): You don't exist.
-It's wrong. If I seem little in general,
in details. a question
You know me little and therefore underestimate me.
As for the river and its islands.
You see, we find a thousand islands
along my river. Thousand.
Real islands, surrounded or imaginary islets
which are told from dry land.
They only exist because they are told
and for those who listen. -Thousand ?
-Thousand. -Only a few.
Half beautiful, half sea.
-A thousand, I tell you.
(stridulations) Follow me, I see.
-We will not see any lagoons or turquoise bays.
-No soft beach where we would be free
just to bathe...
But whatever, let's see. -Even if the river
on water -Even if it is earthy
and minty. A whole world brine
in verdigris. A whole America,
of a few words. Follow me.
Let's go see the scattered islands, the places called,
the real mountains and the false pretenses.
Let's go and tell what can
Let's go ! And maybe we can,
as our voices name and embrace
what surrounds us, perhaps we can,
in our way, hope.
-Where do we start?
(soft electronic music)
Along the river, bell towers
crisscross the territory. In another era,
they established the perimeter, redistributing on dry land
a bit of the diagram of the celestial constellations.
(bell rings)
(church bell)
(soaring music)
First of all, let's focus on the immediate banks.
-Saint Helena Island? -Longueuil.
At what was Ville-Jacques-Cartier.
-It's not an island. -For us, it will be.
-Tell me.
-What I know, what this muddy land
owes to the revolts that arose there.
I tell two, which are crossed.
The first was the doctor,
who cared for humble bodies and wrote ambitious words.
(storm roar)
(neigh)
(muted screams)
The second of these revolts was harsher.
She will have taken aim, wanting by threat
hasten its course... (mermaid)
But nothing was rushed.
(storm roar)
(clink)
Doctor Ferron is dead, Vallires too,
both from the heart, almost at the same age.
Their revolts are parallel, complementary:
more tender, bitter,
both buttressed against reality.
The choice of weapons distinguished them,
silence perhaps reconciles them.
Like a dream (clicking)
(gunshot)
(train bell in the distance) You see, like their revolts,
their concerns intersected.
Maybe in this woods. Maybe even at the foot
of this tree, just before
does not bear fruit.
(deep breathing)
Monday 15. I am a capricious guide.
to tell everything from memory.
If I consult a map, I don't
respect its limits.
more to the words distances.
(a few steps) I cause accidents,
omissions. I
the path is sometimes so beautiful.
-(narration): The ships glide on a majestic
Saint-Laurent, in the very heart of the country of Quebec,
alongside enchanting islands that tell the story
of the French Canadian people. To New France,
the waters of Lake Saint-Louis bathe Perrot,
all steeped in memories of the past.
(bells ringing) -Ships are sliding
on a majestic Saint-Laurent, in the very heart
from the country of Quebec. (bell ringing)
(bird songs)
To what was a desire of France
in America, the waters of Lake Saint-Louis
Perrot is still bathing, completely turned
towards the river. -(narration): The quiet life
de Perrot contrasts strangely with that
of Montreal, located at the foot of Mount Royal.
Commerce flourishes in the metropolis
of Canada, nicknamed the Paris of the New World.
Montreal is also well spoken about
is the second French-speaking city in
-The universe... (soaring music)
-(narration): The view from McGill
transports us to old England. But the character
French of the city is symbolized by the Castle
of Ramsay, the governors
of New France. Benjamin Franklin
published a newspaper there.
still comes to sell its products on the market
from the city. (hubbub)
In the midst of feverish stands
this relic of the pioneers
and wars against savages.
(excerpt from Message Sticks, Tshissinuatshitakana,
Josephine Bacon)
(word in Innu)
(word in Innu)
(word in Innu)
-(narration): at Notre-Dame du Bonsecours, near
of the largest inland harbor in the world, that sailors
come to give thanks for their happy journeys
on all the seas of the globe. Montreal is the city
churches. Faith remains alive and well
and spiritual life retains all its importance.
Ancient civilization has been preserved there
and French traditions, all in good
to the joy of modern life.
(honks)
-Is Montreal still the second largest language city?
French from We kept what we could.
Gayness and modern life stand as an uncertain haven,
interior to all the seas of the globe.
(passing train)
Look at.
Sainte-Rose was a land
It is now a suburb. Sainte-Dorothe, Saint-Lambert,
Saint-Bruno, Saint-Eustache: all suburbs.
Look at. -I see.
Her reign certainly But she will tremble.
Tremble, suburbs. Trembles. -She doesn't tremble.
-She will tremble. (echo from the pool)
-She doesn't tremble.
-She will tremble. Because a few words
sweep it away. Some words
and free places, lives.
Ours this time, ours forever
because they were named by us.
(water rustling)
-Sainte-Dorothe, Saint-Bruno, Sainte-Julie...
The whole world more
vast suburb. (splash)
-But no one would have the idea of being satisfied with that.
Let's take a short break. Try a little
this impossible province, its difficult melody.
(sizzling)
(boat siren) -(narration): Let's continue
our trip. The ship coasts
islands, different
Such near Quebec, lovely
and picturesque, and where rural life is
From the central hillside, the land descends gently
towards the river, in narrow strips
and green. The good people of
have preserved their customs, the customs of their ancestors
Normans and their peaceful existence,
entirely devoted to the seasonal labors of peasant work.
(period music)
islands, different
(bird songs) Lovely islands
and picturesque, forgotten islands.
Along the coast, the hours
(moo) (bird songs)
Tuesday 27. I sleep little
since we left.
Just a few hours after sunset.
And already, images wake me up,
(children's voices) scrolling and incomplete.
(laughter and discussions) They nevertheless seem to me
essential, like clues of something to come.
Or like the travel terminals.
Come near me. You see, over there,
man who sings, as if out of breath,
from the first verse? (breathing)
(humming) (cheering)
It seems like he knows, he has to give it,
his breath. hold nothing back.
Deliver everything in a crazy round, for the last note,
be certain that your breath is shared, received.
And will not be forgotten. (screams and applause)
What is he saying? So who is he singing about?
(screams and whistles)
(People chant.)
(wind blows)
(wave movement)
Let's continue our journey.
-It will be dark. -In
we will fabricate evidence and forge some
incomplete truths. (chirping)
This what
The city of
I believe. Why ?
(chirping)
(storm roar)
(stridulations) (thunderclap)
(sound distortion) why?
-An assumption, trying to suspend oneself
a time. dream without gravity, in
embrace, surpass everything, believe everything. And in a thrill
to get lost...
(a few notes) An assumption,
to breathe more and kiss more.
See higher than the suburban sky
does not allow it
To finally with the deepest faith,
in the milky and diffuse aspect of this sky.
(door opening) -This way.
(barking and talking)
(camera mechanism)
-Between Petite-Valle, Petite-Rivire-Saint-Franois
and Petit-Saguenay, a man and a woman
dug a tunnel.
They made a museum of little things,
destinies, of all that is short,
modest or unfinished. They wanted to align
all the images that have house
in their heads. All that patiently,
in an uncertain accumulation, deploys a territory
and stakes out (shattering of glass)
and the time. This gallery, narrow,
runs for miles and miles.
At every step a fragile icon is revealed
or a tiny symbol, precious despite
its reduced size. When finished, it could be
the longest tunnel in the world. Who knows ?
-And if it gets bigger, the wider one?
-And filled with water, the most tumultuous?
-And collapsing, most quickly forgotten.
Let's take a brief detour, through the modest village
from We will stay
only time to see nothing. To hear nothing.
accordion
Hear nothing, see nothing. To rest as to rest,
under imperceptible monuments,
the countless anonymous people who make forests,
habitable land. Then, habitable lands,
countries. And turmoil, again,
countries, fragile peace at home.
(soaring music)
Wednesday 3. I no longer travel,
I'm hanging around.
rather haphazard, a little fragmentary.
Without beginning or end.
If a destination, would it become
a trip, suddenly?
(a few steps) A precise objective
would it make our walk something more serious?
(no more than one person) (boat siren)
More true?
(metro voice): Next station: Sauv.
(bird calls) (footsteps on the ground)
(train bell) (bird calls)
(chirping)
(discussions in the distance)
(bell ringing)
(cackles)
(runoff) (seagull cries)
(boat siren)
La Malbaie. -This will be our next stop.
-And it is well chosen. La Malbaie summarizes the province:
of the first peoples who fish from all eternity,
French people who shed stones and ruminate,
(runoff) of the English who seize,
trade and rename. (brass music)
(vibration)
(rumble)
(music intensifying) (gong)
The old wharf has been demolished. The Innu are becoming rare...
(gunshots) and a highway is concreted
of the most beautiful foreheads
of this sea which (several shots)
(weight of bodies on the ground)
(musical distortion)
-What are we looking to see? -The speed map
and desires.
The mass that produces and extinguishes them.
Before us, an entire territory.
A home of secret passions
and He has nothing to regret.
Even if time is running out. Nothing to regret.
-You don't exist. -It's wrong !
-That remains to be proven. -What are you looking for ?
-A little peace, perhaps. - Calm break.
Anger, rather. -Nothing worth it.
Nothing. -All my pain, on the contrary.
All ! (future music)
(sound intensity)
(marine deafening) To the islands of my river,
I don't want forgetting or sadness.
No nostalgia. I want duration, difficult,
the rare gentleness, some loyalty.
(sound burst)
Neither sadness nor nostalgia for the humble islands
that I want mine.
(speed of sound imprints)
(mixture of screams, trains, planes, crashes)
-You don't exist... -What are you looking for?
(crackling)
-Where are we ? -At the mine bases,
to the angry strains, in a coal-burning night.
(rumble)
(soaring music)
dream. During the music,
dreamed of a crowd. There were poor people.
Some rich people too. Pale, triumphant men.
Tired and distracted women.
-Where it was ? -Near here.
-It was when ? -Straddling two eras.
(several steps and discussions)
There was a woman... standing,
screaming a long hesitation at the margins of
(muted words) -Continue.
-I'll tell you how I saw it.
(screech) (helicopter whir)
This crowd, despite its shame, moves forward.
She moves forward and remakes heaven and earth.
Pave streets, build bridges, dig graves.
(screams and percussion) Everything is possible.
Everything is immediate. (screams)
The woman is still screaming. "Forward! Forward!"
(crowd shouts) Forward!
-And after ? -Nothing...
(voices moving away) ...if not the music.
(people chanting in the distance)
(people singing together)
(song continues)
-(narration): On all the islands washed by the waters
of the great river, of Montreal golf Saint-Laurent,
the practice of peasant arts preserved.
Nimble fingers make catalogs and rugs.
For centuries, mothers have passed on to their daughters
his skill and experience. Our domestic art
is a local art, the true expression
of our people.
(happy music)
-And now, follow me. (sizzling)
Towards Saint-Joachim on the edge of
Towards my grandmother, born down the coast,
and at the same time this tender and blue look like the capes
of the road, blue and steep gaze which chants to the river
its promises, its torments. And some regrets,
suffocated.
(claps) (bird calls)
-(narration): Carried away
in its course towards distance, the ship runs along
the marvelous coast of Gaspsie,
passes the famous Perc Rock and sets sail
to all ports of
Let's end our trip with a stopover
in Bonaventure. a famous sanctuary
sea, where thousands of gannets nest,
margots, seagulls and the rest.
fills with their shrill cries and their games
make the traveler.
(bird calls)
We have traveled a thousand miles on the St. Lawrence
and reverses the journey of the first explorers.
We admired many islands as we passed.
where the old customs
and the domestic arts contrast their typical attractions
modern industries again.
We leave them. (fireworks)
And as the earth disappears from our eyes and our ship
sail towards another continent, the birds of Bonaventure
shout to us: have a good trip! (musical epilogue)
-THANKS. I'm still happy
to just move around,
to renew my gaze over time
things that pass.
This simple pleasure time,
he will give in to demands.
But there, enjoy without restraint.
(crunches)
(wave runoff)
Listen ! -What ?
-Around you. Listen. You get agitated, but don't listen.
Listen. (honks)
(bell in the distance)
(children's voices)
Listen ! (ball on the ground)
(fireworks) -You don't exist.
-It's wrong. -Then prove it!
-All right. I take a breath and prove it to you,
at full speed.
They say the sea because the river is wide
because we know that any sea
only for the one who names it. It has been said of our forests
were vast but we know everything
they are free, painful, inhabited.
This step which makes us
but our often disappointed hope which makes
Like the cold not the cold but good
warmth is always happy
Know that the things of which I own the words
are mine even if distant, even if absent,
even if hidden. Also, above all,
it doesn't matter if the blood is light or dark,
it doesn't matter if its value in days or seasons,
without regard to the strength of the pulse that carries it,
a common destiny which always binds us.
(deep breathing)
(woman's breath)
-Or so ?
-Here we are.
-In fatigue.
(ominous music) (musical distortion)
-What is she saying ?
Fatigue, what does she say? -I do not hear anything.
-She tells us that she is watching for us,
touches us, grabs us.
(ominous music)
She tells us: you had better give in to me, today.
-Let's obey. -So, I answer him:
devour us. (groan)
I answer him :
shapes our daily tragedies with appetite,
their irreparable banality. (distorted music)
(bark)
(groans)
I answer him: make us normal
failing that free, satisfied
if not proud. Finally completes our humble
defeated and restore us, through your care,
the most insignificant of happy people.
(scratching)
(object falling to the ground)
Thursday 18.
I woke up early, after a bad night.
I must be harboring something, a cold or a seasonal virus.
A little tired, I find myself regretting
I would take a peaceful, silent day.
(pages turned)
Friday 24. Nothing to note.
No terrible constraints.
All abundant, and I do not postpone.
(breathing) -Are you disappearing?
-A little. Not quite. -(whispering): You disappear...
-Not completely. Again
a remainder of breath and... asking for people
a new part.
Close your eyes. Shut up.
And imagine. A river first,
like a sea.
(rolling waves) For you, it all begins.
Everything lives.
A river like a sea.
(offshore wind)
If you shut up and listen, for once,
if you shut up and look, what could you see?
What would you see? Conceived.
Head-to-tail villages, an overturned plain,
garden cities and habitable fields.
(musical intensity)
But still ? Imagine grabbing
through the jaw. And, kiss,
seal its end. fuck alone,
hug, end it and then dive in.
Swim an existence, a peace. Spread it, as we extinguish
his breath in bubbles to spread there in apnea
a little of yourself and then float, head held high,
in a gray-blue river, lungs hungry
and eyes open.
Saturday 1st. A thousand islands mark my river,
now reversed. Thousand.
And archipelago, tomorrow,
yet to make a continent.
(deep breathing)
(deep breaths)
-(a woman): Its Sunday. The weather is clear
and I wait.
I like to think that if nothing happens...
I could have a peaceful day.
Silent.
(deep breath) (seagull songs)
-(a man whispering): You don't exist.
You don't exist. -It's wrong.
-I am looking at you. I smell your scent.
Your clean skin, your full hair.
the heat that softens the muscles in your neck.
I know where you are. We guess
the outline of your face, the mark of your knee,
with your hand. I look at you, attentively.
The landscape passes through you.
I can see a river, its islands.
But... nothing from you. (whispering): You don't exist.
-It's wrong. If I seem little in general,
in details. a question
You know me little and therefore underestimate me.
As for the river and its islands.
You see, we find a thousand islands
along my river. Thousand.
Real islands, surrounded or imaginary islets
which are told from dry land.
They only exist because they are told
and for those who listen. -Thousand ?
-Thousand. -Only a few.
Half beautiful, half sea.
-A thousand, I tell you.
(stridulations) Follow me, I see.
-We will not see any lagoons or turquoise bays.
-No soft beach where we would be free
just to bathe...
But whatever, let's see. -Even if the river
on water -Even if it is earthy
and minty. A whole world brine
in verdigris. A whole America,
of a few words. Follow me.
Let's go see the scattered islands, the places called,
the real mountains and the false pretenses.
Let's go and tell what can
Let's go ! And maybe we can,
as our voices name and embrace
what surrounds us, perhaps we can,
in our way, hope.
-Where do we start?
(soft electronic music)
Along the river, bell towers
crisscross the territory. In another era,
they established the perimeter, redistributing on dry land
a bit of the diagram of the celestial constellations.
(bell rings)
(church bell)
(soaring music)
First of all, let's focus on the immediate banks.
-Saint Helena Island? -Longueuil.
At what was Ville-Jacques-Cartier.
-It's not an island. -For us, it will be.
-Tell me.
-What I know, what this muddy land
owes to the revolts that arose there.
I tell two, which are crossed.
The first was the doctor,
who cared for humble bodies and wrote ambitious words.
(storm roar)
(neigh)
(muted screams)
The second of these revolts was harsher.
She will have taken aim, wanting by threat
hasten its course... (mermaid)
But nothing was rushed.
(storm roar)
(clink)
Doctor Ferron is dead, Vallires too,
both from the heart, almost at the same age.
Their revolts are parallel, complementary:
more tender, bitter,
both buttressed against reality.
The choice of weapons distinguished them,
silence perhaps reconciles them.
Like a dream (clicking)
(gunshot)
(train bell in the distance) You see, like their revolts,
their concerns intersected.
Maybe in this woods. Maybe even at the foot
of this tree, just before
does not bear fruit.
(deep breathing)
Monday 15. I am a capricious guide.
to tell everything from memory.
If I consult a map, I don't
respect its limits.
more to the words distances.
(a few steps) I cause accidents,
omissions. I
the path is sometimes so beautiful.
-(narration): The ships glide on a majestic
Saint-Laurent, in the very heart of the country of Quebec,
alongside enchanting islands that tell the story
of the French Canadian people. To New France,
the waters of Lake Saint-Louis bathe Perrot,
all steeped in memories of the past.
(bells ringing) -Ships are sliding
on a majestic Saint-Laurent, in the very heart
from the country of Quebec. (bell ringing)
(bird songs)
To what was a desire of France
in America, the waters of Lake Saint-Louis
Perrot is still bathing, completely turned
towards the river. -(narration): The quiet life
de Perrot contrasts strangely with that
of Montreal, located at the foot of Mount Royal.
Commerce flourishes in the metropolis
of Canada, nicknamed the Paris of the New World.
Montreal is also well spoken about
is the second French-speaking city in
-The universe... (soaring music)
-(narration): The view from McGill
transports us to old England. But the character
French of the city is symbolized by the Castle
of Ramsay, the governors
of New France. Benjamin Franklin
published a newspaper there.
still comes to sell its products on the market
from the city. (hubbub)
In the midst of feverish stands
this relic of the pioneers
and wars against savages.
(excerpt from Message Sticks, Tshissinuatshitakana,
Josephine Bacon)
(word in Innu)
(word in Innu)
(word in Innu)
-(narration): at Notre-Dame du Bonsecours, near
of the largest inland harbor in the world, that sailors
come to give thanks for their happy journeys
on all the seas of the globe. Montreal is the city
churches. Faith remains alive and well
and spiritual life retains all its importance.
Ancient civilization has been preserved there
and French traditions, all in good
to the joy of modern life.
(honks)
-Is Montreal still the second largest language city?
French from We kept what we could.
Gayness and modern life stand as an uncertain haven,
interior to all the seas of the globe.
(passing train)
Look at.
Sainte-Rose was a land
It is now a suburb. Sainte-Dorothe, Saint-Lambert,
Saint-Bruno, Saint-Eustache: all suburbs.
Look at. -I see.
Her reign certainly But she will tremble.
Tremble, suburbs. Trembles. -She doesn't tremble.
-She will tremble. (echo from the pool)
-She doesn't tremble.
-She will tremble. Because a few words
sweep it away. Some words
and free places, lives.
Ours this time, ours forever
because they were named by us.
(water rustling)
-Sainte-Dorothe, Saint-Bruno, Sainte-Julie...
The whole world more
vast suburb. (splash)
-But no one would have the idea of being satisfied with that.
Let's take a short break. Try a little
this impossible province, its difficult melody.
(sizzling)
(boat siren) -(narration): Let's continue
our trip. The ship coasts
islands, different
Such near Quebec, lovely
and picturesque, and where rural life is
From the central hillside, the land descends gently
towards the river, in narrow strips
and green. The good people of
have preserved their customs, the customs of their ancestors
Normans and their peaceful existence,
entirely devoted to the seasonal labors of peasant work.
(period music)
islands, different
(bird songs) Lovely islands
and picturesque, forgotten islands.
Along the coast, the hours
(moo) (bird songs)
Tuesday 27. I sleep little
since we left.
Just a few hours after sunset.
And already, images wake me up,
(children's voices) scrolling and incomplete.
(laughter and discussions) They nevertheless seem to me
essential, like clues of something to come.
Or like the travel terminals.
Come near me. You see, over there,
man who sings, as if out of breath,
from the first verse? (breathing)
(humming) (cheering)
It seems like he knows, he has to give it,
his breath. hold nothing back.
Deliver everything in a crazy round, for the last note,
be certain that your breath is shared, received.
And will not be forgotten. (screams and applause)
What is he saying? So who is he singing about?
(screams and whistles)
(People chant.)
(wind blows)
(wave movement)
Let's continue our journey.
-It will be dark. -In
we will fabricate evidence and forge some
incomplete truths. (chirping)
This what
The city of
I believe. Why ?
(chirping)
(storm roar)
(stridulations) (thunderclap)
(sound distortion) why?
-An assumption, trying to suspend oneself
a time. dream without gravity, in
embrace, surpass everything, believe everything. And in a thrill
to get lost...
(a few notes) An assumption,
to breathe more and kiss more.
See higher than the suburban sky
does not allow it
To finally with the deepest faith,
in the milky and diffuse aspect of this sky.
(door opening) -This way.
(barking and talking)
(camera mechanism)
-Between Petite-Valle, Petite-Rivire-Saint-Franois
and Petit-Saguenay, a man and a woman
dug a tunnel.
They made a museum of little things,
destinies, of all that is short,
modest or unfinished. They wanted to align
all the images that have house
in their heads. All that patiently,
in an uncertain accumulation, deploys a territory
and stakes out (shattering of glass)
and the time. This gallery, narrow,
runs for miles and miles.
At every step a fragile icon is revealed
or a tiny symbol, precious despite
its reduced size. When finished, it could be
the longest tunnel in the world. Who knows ?
-And if it gets bigger, the wider one?
-And filled with water, the most tumultuous?
-And collapsing, most quickly forgotten.
Let's take a brief detour, through the modest village
from We will stay
only time to see nothing. To hear nothing.
accordion
Hear nothing, see nothing. To rest as to rest,
under imperceptible monuments,
the countless anonymous people who make forests,
habitable land. Then, habitable lands,
countries. And turmoil, again,
countries, fragile peace at home.
(soaring music)
Wednesday 3. I no longer travel,
I'm hanging around.
rather haphazard, a little fragmentary.
Without beginning or end.
If a destination, would it become
a trip, suddenly?
(a few steps) A precise objective
would it make our walk something more serious?
(no more than one person) (boat siren)
More true?
(metro voice): Next station: Sauv.
(bird calls) (footsteps on the ground)
(train bell) (bird calls)
(chirping)
(discussions in the distance)
(bell ringing)
(cackles)
(runoff) (seagull cries)
(boat siren)
La Malbaie. -This will be our next stop.
-And it is well chosen. La Malbaie summarizes the province:
of the first peoples who fish from all eternity,
French people who shed stones and ruminate,
(runoff) of the English who seize,
trade and rename. (brass music)
(vibration)
(rumble)
(music intensifying) (gong)
The old wharf has been demolished. The Innu are becoming rare...
(gunshots) and a highway is concreted
of the most beautiful foreheads
of this sea which (several shots)
(weight of bodies on the ground)
(musical distortion)
-What are we looking to see? -The speed map
and desires.
The mass that produces and extinguishes them.
Before us, an entire territory.
A home of secret passions
and He has nothing to regret.
Even if time is running out. Nothing to regret.
-You don't exist. -It's wrong !
-That remains to be proven. -What are you looking for ?
-A little peace, perhaps. - Calm break.
Anger, rather. -Nothing worth it.
Nothing. -All my pain, on the contrary.
All ! (future music)
(sound intensity)
(marine deafening) To the islands of my river,
I don't want forgetting or sadness.
No nostalgia. I want duration, difficult,
the rare gentleness, some loyalty.
(sound burst)
Neither sadness nor nostalgia for the humble islands
that I want mine.
(speed of sound imprints)
(mixture of screams, trains, planes, crashes)
-You don't exist... -What are you looking for?
(crackling)
-Where are we ? -At the mine bases,
to the angry strains, in a coal-burning night.
(rumble)
(soaring music)
dream. During the music,
dreamed of a crowd. There were poor people.
Some rich people too. Pale, triumphant men.
Tired and distracted women.
-Where it was ? -Near here.
-It was when ? -Straddling two eras.
(several steps and discussions)
There was a woman... standing,
screaming a long hesitation at the margins of
(muted words) -Continue.
-I'll tell you how I saw it.
(screech) (helicopter whir)
This crowd, despite its shame, moves forward.
She moves forward and remakes heaven and earth.
Pave streets, build bridges, dig graves.
(screams and percussion) Everything is possible.
Everything is immediate. (screams)
The woman is still screaming. "Forward! Forward!"
(crowd shouts) Forward!
-And after ? -Nothing...
(voices moving away) ...if not the music.
(people chanting in the distance)
(people singing together)
(song continues)
-(narration): On all the islands washed by the waters
of the great river, of Montreal golf Saint-Laurent,
the practice of peasant arts preserved.
Nimble fingers make catalogs and rugs.
For centuries, mothers have passed on to their daughters
his skill and experience. Our domestic art
is a local art, the true expression
of our people.
(happy music)
-And now, follow me. (sizzling)
Towards Saint-Joachim on the edge of
Towards my grandmother, born down the coast,
and at the same time this tender and blue look like the capes
of the road, blue and steep gaze which chants to the river
its promises, its torments. And some regrets,
suffocated.
(claps) (bird calls)
-(narration): Carried away
in its course towards distance, the ship runs along
the marvelous coast of Gaspsie,
passes the famous Perc Rock and sets sail
to all ports of
Let's end our trip with a stopover
in Bonaventure. a famous sanctuary
sea, where thousands of gannets nest,
margots, seagulls and the rest.
fills with their shrill cries and their games
make the traveler.
(bird calls)
We have traveled a thousand miles on the St. Lawrence
and reverses the journey of the first explorers.
We admired many islands as we passed.
where the old customs
and the domestic arts contrast their typical attractions
modern industries again.
We leave them. (fireworks)
And as the earth disappears from our eyes and our ship
sail towards another continent, the birds of Bonaventure
shout to us: have a good trip! (musical epilogue)
-THANKS. I'm still happy
to just move around,
to renew my gaze over time
things that pass.
This simple pleasure time,
he will give in to demands.
But there, enjoy without restraint.
(crunches)
(wave runoff)
Listen ! -What ?
-Around you. Listen. You get agitated, but don't listen.
Listen. (honks)
(bell in the distance)
(children's voices)
Listen ! (ball on the ground)
(fireworks) -You don't exist.
-It's wrong. -Then prove it!
-All right. I take a breath and prove it to you,
at full speed.
They say the sea because the river is wide
because we know that any sea
only for the one who names it. It has been said of our forests
were vast but we know everything
they are free, painful, inhabited.
This step which makes us
but our often disappointed hope which makes
Like the cold not the cold but good
warmth is always happy
Know that the things of which I own the words
are mine even if distant, even if absent,
even if hidden. Also, above all,
it doesn't matter if the blood is light or dark,
it doesn't matter if its value in days or seasons,
without regard to the strength of the pulse that carries it,
a common destiny which always binds us.
(deep breathing)
(woman's breath)
-Or so ?
-Here we are.
-In fatigue.
(ominous music) (musical distortion)
-What is she saying ?
Fatigue, what does she say? -I do not hear anything.
-She tells us that she is watching for us,
touches us, grabs us.
(ominous music)
She tells us: you had better give in to me, today.
-Let's obey. -So, I answer him:
devour us. (groan)
I answer him :
shapes our daily tragedies with appetite,
their irreparable banality. (distorted music)
(bark)
(groans)
I answer him: make us normal
failing that free, satisfied
if not proud. Finally completes our humble
defeated and restore us, through your care,
the most insignificant of happy people.
(scratching)
(object falling to the ground)
Thursday 18.
I woke up early, after a bad night.
I must be harboring something, a cold or a seasonal virus.
A little tired, I find myself regretting
I would take a peaceful, silent day.
(pages turned)
Friday 24. Nothing to note.
No terrible constraints.
All abundant, and I do not postpone.
(breathing) -Are you disappearing?
-A little. Not quite. -(whispering): You disappear...
-Not completely. Again
a remainder of breath and... asking for people
a new part.
Close your eyes. Shut up.
And imagine. A river first,
like a sea.
(rolling waves) For you, it all begins.
Everything lives.
A river like a sea.
(offshore wind)
If you shut up and listen, for once,
if you shut up and look, what could you see?
What would you see? Conceived.
Head-to-tail villages, an overturned plain,
garden cities and habitable fields.
(musical intensity)
But still ? Imagine grabbing
through the jaw. And, kiss,
seal its end. fuck alone,
hug, end it and then dive in.
Swim an existence, a peace. Spread it, as we extinguish
his breath in bubbles to spread there in apnea
a little of yourself and then float, head held high,
in a gray-blue river, lungs hungry
and eyes open.
Saturday 1st. A thousand islands mark my river,
now reversed. Thousand.
And archipelago, tomorrow,
yet to make a continent.
(deep breathing)