Daaaaaali! (2023) Movie Script
1
Okay, so I'll introduce myself.
I'm Judith, 33 years old.
Single.
I live alone.
I'm 5 foot 4, brown hair...
Nothing thrilling in that department.
As you see, I'm fairly...
normal, in fact... a little...
boring, you could say.
I hear that often, actually.
I was a pharmacist
for about four years.
In the Paris suburbs.
It was my first job.
I didn't like it.
I found it... draining.
Very draining.
So, one day I quit.
I decided to become a journalist.
Like that, on a whim.
Without thinking, I took the plunge.
I obviously had a few tough years.
It wasn't easy.
Gradually
the profession opened up for me.
Writing here and there,
making contacts.
Today I...
Yes?
I just spoke to his driver.
30 minutes.
They're on the way.
Great. Thanks.
Can I order you lunch?
Thanks but no thanks.
Stay ready.
Will do.
See you right away.
Fault!
0 - 30.
He's in the elevator. It's time.
You're on!
He's on his way. Come!
Wait for him here, like this.
Why?
To greet him.
Can you smile? You're tense.
Not at all, I'm fine.
You're tense. Breathe...
I'm excited, not tense.
It's hard to tell the difference.
Smile.
A little better.
Is that him?
Did they put water in the minibar?
Who?
He drinks lots of water.
They didn't come?
I don't think so.
Here I am.
Here I am, here I am.
- And we're off.
- It's us!
I'll check. Stay put.
I've never seen in all my life
such a poorly conceived hotel
architecturally.
It's too big, I agree.
I bet most of the rooms
are totally vacant, absolutely empty.
What idiot would want to stay
in such a dismal place?
I don't know.
No one. No one at all.
It's under control.
Water on the table.
Thanks.
I'm literally dying of thirst.
I hope you have sparkling water,
and lots of it,
because I'm jaded by flat water,
so common and devoid of bubbles.
- Shit!
- What?
I think we have everything.
The more I walk, the thirstier I get.
I understand.
Nice and cold, please.
As soon as possible.
Thanks!
Thanks a lot.
There you go.
What a humiliation. It's sublime.
Sublime!
They're sending up Perrier.
Great, thanks.
I need to pee. I can't hold it in.
You didn't do it before?
Go ahead...
Do you have an approximate idea
of the length of our interview?
15 minutes.
That's perfect.
I have a train
and I abhor being in a rush.
- No problem.
- I need 3 pages!
Let him talk. You'll have 3 pages.
What's the problem?
Philippe said one hour!
One hour? For his shitty magazine?
He's dreaming!
He's lucky to get 15 minutes.
You can't imagine.
Here you go!
Great. This is perfect.
Here.
I'm not paying. My boss is.
Do I still sign?
Right here, ma'am.
Have a nice day.
We're all set.
I haven't a minute to spare.
I'm totally ready.
Roll camera!
I'll go now. It'll be fine.
Do you mind if I sit here?
Why are you looking at me
with that startled gaze?
Like a little animal caught
in the headlights of a car.
Do you suffer from constipation?
No.
Very good, excellent.
I've looked forward to this moment.
I'm a great admirer of yours,
I take this seriously.
So let's go.
This is an honor for me.
Fine. You're all alone?
Yes, I am.
There's no cinematographic equipment?
How can you interview Dal
without a camera?
No, I work for a magazine.
This is my equipment.
Notebook and pen.
In that case,
I'm not interested in the slightest!
Have a nice day.
All modern painters are
fully engulfed by the grand decadence
that defines our era.
It may seem paradoxical
when I say
that I am the greatest genius
and simultaneously,
I consider my painting very bad.
You often say that you are yourself
your masterpiece.
What do you think?
Yes, it's true that I believe that...
what towers
above all of Dal's achievements
is Dal's personality.
Dal Personage
is far superior to Dal Philosopher,
Dal Metaphysician, Dal Painter.
It's fair to say that.
Precisely!
How do we discern
between "Dal Personage"
- who is an eccentric -
and the real Dal
behind the personage.
I think it's more accurate to say
that I am extremely eccentric
and simultaneously concentric.
That's why I'm both anarchist
and monarchist.
All right.
Now can you tell us about the painting
behind you?
I think you just finished it.
Tell us about it.
So...
the painting depicts...
an infinitesimally small part
of Dal's personality.
Among many other things,
I consider my paintings
mediocre, like I said,
but they allow me
to express a tiny shard
of Dal.
Can we take a break?
Forget it.
Sir!
Sorry, but it's a real pain
keeping this thing in my mouth.
I'm getting tired.
I want a break.
Put the rag back...
into your mouth!
Phone call, Salvador.
I'm sorry, sir,
the cord wasn't long enough
to bring it to you plugged in.
Come with me
to the jack in the house
so I can plug it in.
Break!
For everyone!
What a nightmare.
Have you lost your head?
Stop bothering him!
Know who he is?
Thanks for the support!
Nice show of solidarity.
I'll remember.
And I know who he is, thanks.
Lay off.
This bullshit never ends!
Hello, yes.
Hello, Salvador.
This is Judith Rochant.
Jeddite?
What's a Jeddite?
No, Judith.
My first name.
The journalist from the hotel
last month.
Oh, yes.
The room in that ignominious hotel,
I remember it well.
Why on earth are you calling?
You got a minute,
I'm not bothering you?
You know,
artists of my stature
are always absolutely bothered
by normal people.
But go on, speak.
Okay, I'll make it quick.
I'm calling with very good news
that concerns you.
I found a production company.
Very serious,
very reputable here in France.
They love your work too.
They agreed to finance my portrait.
Your portrait?
Your portrait, sorry.
The one I want to make about you.
But it's your portrait, not mine!
So my portrait.
Exactly. A filmed portrait.
Of me, Dal.
Exactly.
So the amazing news is that...
they want more than a typical interview.
Actually, now...
if I understand the producer,
we're talking about making
a real movie, feature-length,
maybe even for theatrical release.
- I think.
- Yeah, yeah.
The producer confirmed it.
What do you say?
Sweet Jesus!
Hold on.
Just one moment.
Hold on.
Is that old man me?
- Excuse me?
- There!
It's me, but older.
How old am I?
I don't know, Salvador.
You don't know.
No.
All right.
Pardon me.
I just had a divinely mystical absence.
Very unsettling!
But I'm back now.
You mentioned making a film
about Dal, go on.
That's all.
I'm officially asking
for a second chance.
I'd like to do this portrait of you.
With a crew and a camera.
Better conditions.
For a longer format.
Are you talking about
an ordinary video camera,
perfectly basic and boring,
or rather,
a gigantic, very cumbersome camera
used by the great professionals of film?
Tell me.
Film, of course.
Yes, a movie camera.
All right.
Enormous...
or gigantic,
the camera?
Big, the biggest.
Very big.
The biggest one on the market, Mr. Dal.
The biggest camera in the world.
I like it.
I like it, I like it...
In that case, I accept.
Just give me the dates. See you soon.
Wow!
There we go!
Georges?
Hello, Salvador.
Have you seen an old Dal
in a wheelchair
anywhere on the grounds?
An old you?
Very old, very ugly, in a wheelchair!
No...
Are you sure?
I saw no one.
All right.
A hallucination, most likely.
See you later.
By the way, you haven't forgotten
our dinner in 16 days?
Of course I forgot.
So let me remind you.
In 16 days, my place, at 8: 30.
Remind me later,
I'm already forgetting it!
Count on me!
Your turn.
You don't know how to play.
Trying to destabilize me?
No, I can tell.
I know how.
Break's over. Get into position!
Salvador!
Mr. Salvador?
It's time.
I'm ready, as you can see.
I was waiting, idiot!
Bring the ladder!
Goodbye, Galuchka.
This car is not made for sand.
Don't talk nonsense.
John Lennon has the same one.
It's perfect.
Drive!
We're spinning. It's too heavy.
You can't drive.
Forget it. Get out!
Hello.
The Frenchwoman! Your timing is perfect.
You can make yourself very useful
by pushing the car with that loser.
From behind, of course.
We're set up by the water.
Leave the car here.
No, Dal has decided
to ride all the way in the sand
in this aristocratic automobile.
Now push.
Push!
Push some more!
There!
You see, it works! Idiot!
Stop!
Very often in the street,
children ask me for autographs.
Maybe they think
I'm a singer or an actor.
Children,
especially when they're little,
are something I truly detest.
The only thing I detest
more than children,
is children's drawings. Unbearable!
I loathe children
and their damned drawings.
What are you doing with that pen?
Excuse me?
You were supposed to do my portrait
with a cinematographically
colossal camera,
and you're writing on a tiny pad.
Because...
No, the guys are fixing the camera
you accidentally broke.
But it's not much of a problem.
My notes will help with the film.
They serve a purpose.
I quit.
I won't go on if I'm not filmed.
- What?
- This is unacceptable!
You've wasted my time twice now!
What a pity!
And it's your fault!
Pablo!
Here!
Let's go!
Coming!
This is all?
I had 10 minutes.
It's not that bad.
There's interesting stuff in there.
It's frustrating.
For sure, without images,
it's not a film yet.
It was day one, relax.
Don't worry about the camera,
accidents happen.
The insurance will cover it.
It's not a problem.
There you go.
He left furious.
I've been thinking about that.
I think you need a larger crew.
To manage dumb mishaps like this.
And to show that guy
that it's a solid project.
He mustn't think we're losers.
Who else would there be?
Well, a makeup artist.
To tend to him.
Make him feel pampered.
It's very important.
Stars love having their asses wiped.
It's a fact.
Okay, sure.
I know a great makeup artist.
She's available. This is nothing.
Now we'll use two cameras.
That will impress him.
That way, if he breaks one,
you can keep shooting.
It's all thought out.
And you'll need assistants
running about,
doing whatever, like on big films.
Even if they do nothing,
it looks professional.
We won't go over budget?
That's under control.
Let me take care of that.
Easy money in the biz.
- I don't realize.
- I do, so don't worry.
And one last important point.
You.
Me?
Yeah, I don't want
to hurt your feelings,
but in my opinion,
don't take it badly,
but in my opinion,
if you make
a tiny effort,
it would make him
respect you more.
Take you more seriously.
An effort?
You're so cute.
It's a shame, it's like...
you try hard to not look your best.
I should dress differently?
Yes, but not just that.
You need a makeover.
To become attractive.
It's dumb, but if he likes you,
he'll open up to the camera.
Communicating vessels.
Really?
Become a turn-on.
It matters in the biz!
Look: even me, tonight,
if you were sexier,
maybe I'd want to invest more.
Get it?
I don't know if I can.
If you don't have nice clothes,
we can buy stuff
and write it all off.
It's nothing. Common practice.
Same for hair.
I need to do my hair?
Don't be upset.
No, but the truth is...
I don't look in the mirror.
Me neither. Trust me: common ground.
I want to puke when I see my reflection.
Go on, eat.
Of course.
But of course!
Of course.
But of course!
Serve me, child.
Please.
Ma'am?
What is this?
A random mix of ingredients.
Magnificent.
You could hire me
to work at your place, Mr. Dal.
I'm mistreated and underpaid here.
- Leave us alone, Anita.
- Sorry, boss.
We're thrilled to have you.
Thanks for coming.
The pleasure is mine, Georges.
I love free food, but can we begin?
Not yet.
I'd like Father Jacques
to tell us a dream.
An odd dream, you'll love it.
It may even inspire a masterpiece.
Or maybe not.
Or maybe.
Or maybe not.
Or maybe.
Or maybe not.
Do you really think that Dal
needs people other than himself
to imagine in his stead?
You won't be disappointed.
Speak, Father.
I don't get the impression
that my dream interests Mr. Dal.
It does. Go on.
Speak, but hurry, I'm starving.
I'll make it quick.
This dream is very unusual, you'll see.
Otherwise I wouldn't burden you with it.
Very unusual.
And fascinating! Go on.
So it starts in Hell.
In Hell?
Exactly. In Hell.
I was biking home
with groceries from the market,
as I do every Tuesday.
And, without realizing it,
I got lost and soon found myself
in Hell.
Smack amid the flames.
And then suddenly, I don't know why,
I found myself
on the back of a donkey, in the desert.
So, I was upset
because I lost
my crate of vegetables,
but very relieved
to no longer be in Hell.
It was mild out. I felt good.
That moment was
very pleasant.
Then, my donkey stopped
to slake its thirst.
And a lurking cowboy
used his vantage point
to shoot me... in cold blood.
Then, I don't know how,
I managed not to die.
I fled on a small motorboat.
Then, as if by magic,
I saw my vegetable crate
floating on the water.
I leaned over and I grabbed it.
Then I found myself
at the wheel of a luxury car.
On a road that I did not know.
That's it.
It's over. That's when I woke up.
Hearing it twice is even better!
It's incredible, isn't it?
I had to tell you, Salvador.
Isn't it excellent?
Yes!
Yes, it was sumptuous, delicious!
My warmest congratulations
to your cook from me.
It was a feast.
Now...
excuse me, but I must be going.
See you soon!
Salvador Dal is going to die!
Please!
Mr. Dal! Give me a third chance!
I'll make up for the others!
I adore your work.
I dream of making this film!
I believe in you.
I'm not like the others.
Trust me, I beg of you!
The producer's still on board.
We'll have a bigger crew
and two cameras!
Two huge cameras!
Please!
Faster.
Mr. Dal!
That's it.
That's when I woke up,
a little rattled
by the violence of the accident.
I had to tell you, Salvador.
Incredible, right?
That Frenchwoman is really something.
She manages to piss me off
via someone else's dream.
Absolutely incredible.
If I may, Salvador...
No.
Personally,
the beginning with the cowboy
struck me most.
What a strong, powerful image.
When Father Jacques told it to me,
I knew you could paint it sublimely.
Do you really think so?
You should do it.
There you go.
When it's done,
you can give it to Father Jacques.
Ah yes.
Indirectly its creator.
If I paint it, I'm the creator.
Indeed.
I find Georges' idea interesting.
We can even organize an auction
to sell the painting,
and give the proceeds to the church.
That would be wonderful for all.
What do you think, Salvador?
Perhaps we are still
in your dream, Father?
No, I don't think so.
Well, I do.
I think you're totally delirious.
Thank you again, Georges.
It was a delightful evening.
What a trap!
To squeeze a painting out of me!
Absurd idea
to go dine with a gardener!
What's more,
I've never eaten so badly in my life.
I'll have to shit for days on end
to free my body of that repulsive stew!
Shit, shit and shit again!
I think
you should do it.
And why should I?
It would be good for your image.
Do it!
My image is exceptional!
People love Dal!
Do it, so people love you even more.
People can love me more?
Yes.
Then I must do it!
Very good, you're right.
Let's do it.
It's a good idea, I find.
Pablo!
Call the French girl.
Tell her I'll do her film.
I'll give her another chance.
She picks the dates.
It's 2 in the morning, Mr. Dal.
I truly couldn't care less! Call.
Fine.
I meant Father Jacques' painting.
But I meant the French girl.
Tell me, may I take advantage
of this endless waste of time
by manipulating the generous bosom
intentionally jiggling
before my eyes?
Not intentional, they're just there.
Nothing I can do.
May I?
I don't care, go ahead!
They're exceptionally dense.
Glad you enjoy.
Don't let him do that!
No big deal, he's an artist.
Wonderful news!
If you put those breasts up for sale,
you'll be rich.
They were manipulated by the master.
No, I'll keep them for myself, thanks.
Selling breasts!
Hear that? Selling breasts!
Sublime idea!
Anyone take note?
Here...
I found it.
So this is for me?
That gift I mentioned.
You're particularly stunning today.
Trying to soften me up?
Not at all. It's to thank you,
that's all.
Open it.
My God.
It reminded me of you.
I saw it at a flea market and bought it.
Like it?
It lacks a tiny detail.
Can someone find me an indelible marker?
Hold on, I have one.
I want that back.
Uncap it.
You take this.
Now it's sublime.
This is Dal.
1,500,000... 1,500,000.
We're off!
1,800,000.
1,800,000, nice start. Higher?
2 million.
2 million, ladies and gentlemen,
for this Salvador Dal, 2 million!
3 million five.
3.5 million in the first row.
4.1 million!
4.1 in the back. Good.
10 million.
10 million, ladies and gentlemen,
nice sum.
Let's continue.
Ready? 10 million...
10 million once...
10 million twice...
Thrice! Sold to Mrs. Abravanel,
this magnificent work
by Salvador Dal.
Incredible!
Thank you, thank you!
That's it.
That's when I woke up, startled.
Relieved not to be dead.
I had to tell it to you, Salvador.
Incredible.
It's over now, isn't it?
Yes, that's all.
I'm very curious to know what you think.
To be perfectly...
honest and precise with you,
I...
Dal...
appreciated your story.
Wonderful, thank you.
I'm very flattered to have captured
the attention
of a brilliant artist like you.
I knew you'd like it.
It's why I invited you.
I liked it a lot.
But there's one detail that I'd like...
to elucidate with you.
Tell me.
Was Dal able to do his interview
or not?
Excuse me, Salvador?
The Frenchwoman.
Was she able to do her portrait of Dal
with her huge camera
or not?
Your story skipped over that part.
I'd like to know.
The Frenchwoman?
Yes.
What Frenchwoman?
At that precise moment,
seeing their empty eyes,
stuffed animals staring
straight at me...
I realized...
Dal realized
that those imbeciles had absolutely
not the slightest idea...
who the Frenchwoman
I was talking about was.
Amusing, right?
Yeah, sure.
Who do you mean?
You weren't listening?
Half-listening, sorry.
You have the gall to half-listen
when Dal in person tells you
a personal story?
I was concentrating on the makeup.
- I didn't think it mattered.
- Enough!
Enough with the powder.
Dal no longer wishes to make the film.
Period.
New paragraph.
Wait!
You can't leave!
It's a shame, it's going well.
I even have a gift.
You've already given me
that vile little painting.
You can keep it
and hang it in your toilet.
Goodbye.
That was when I fell to pieces.
Too ashamed to tell the crew
shooting was again interrupted,
I slipped out the stage door
to meet with Jrme,
my producer,
to tell him I couldn't go on.
Are you crazy? We must go on!
All right.
He wouldn't listen.
So, Judith...
are you aware
of the intolerable banality
of what you're telling me?
It's a key moment in my life.
No.
It's not banal.
Yes, it's absolutely...
abysmally boring.
It's horrible.
I'm literally falling asleep.
It's unbearable.
So, second question.
What was your utterly boring next move?
Next, I gathered my courage
and decided to regain Dal's trust.
Your trust, Salvador.
Interesting.
What exactly did you do
to regain the trust
of a man so particularly
out of the ordinary?
I behaved as if it were
the end of a love story.
I called ever day
until he agreed to see me.
Salvador, this is Judith Rochant.
Judith, listen, it's too late.
I will not go back
on my decisive decision.
We will not work together. It's over.
Forget about me!
Say it.
Mohamed Ali.
Again.
Again.
You don't hear? Say it again.
Mohamed Ali.
Again!
Mohame-DAL.
Dal!
My name is in his!
Oh, okay. Mohame-DAL.
Funny, yeah.
That American must change his name.
I was stage center first!
It's identity theft!
I doubt...
Mr. Salvador, a call for you.
- What is it?
- Hello, Salvador!
Shit!
I'm not feeling this.
This painting.
Yes?
It's anachronistic
that you're painting it now.
It's from 1972.
Hello, Salvador.
Judith Rochant here.
You again. No!
Impossible!
Cowboy kills priest during auction
- Yes?
- Hello, Salvador.
I can't hear you.
It's currently raining dead dogs.
A diabolical din
on my rooftop.
Call back later.
Thank you, good day.
Hello, Salvador, it's Judith Rochant.
No, enough! Leave me alone.
Yes, Judith?
Hello, Salvador.
Now, listen to me well.
I'll be as crystal clear
as water in a stream.
You cannot make me change my mind.
Unfortunately
you absolutely do not have that power.
Dal will change his mind
only when he desires to,
and only once he has
the intimate and deep conviction
that he must change his mind.
That is, exactly tomorrow, Sunday
around 4: 15 pm on the dot.
Goodbye.
So I called him the next day at 4: 15.
He gave me another chance,
like by magic.
I mean, you gave me another chance.
I wonder why, though.
Why the change of mind?
Focus. I ask the questions.
So, try to repeat what you just said,
but with panache, understand?
Or the spectator's boredom
will approach...
infinity.
Come on, let's go.
Panache!
I'm not an actor.
No one is.
It's a nonexistent profession.
"Actor" is a total invention.
One more time!
Rolling, we're still rolling...
On with the panache!
Okay.
I called the next day at 4: 15.
He gave me another chance.
I called the next day,
4: 15 on the dot.
He gave me another chance.
That's better.
Still very boring, but better.
All right.
I called the next day, 4: 15 on the dot,
and-he gave me another chance.
Are you happy with that?
It's a little forced, right?
Sorry.
Can you stop it? Enough.
Goddamn...
I threw my money into that?
You're a total idiot.
Unbelievable!
Why didn't I realize earlier?
I'm out of my mind.
You don't get
how interviews work?
Answer me.
Do you know how interviews work?
Yes, I know.
No, you don't.
You have no idea, poor thing.
Let me explain. It's the guest you film.
Not your barista face.
Did I pay to see it on a screen?
Think your story interests anyone?
Pharmacist, not barista.
Who cares? Same thing.
No one wants your face on screen.
Especially in those cheap clothes.
What a dumb broad.
Does Raymond Depardon show his face?
Never heard of him.
"Never heard of him." Obviously!
What do you know? Jack shit!
Stupid me, I trusted you.
Any idea of the cost
of the equipment plus the crew?
Want to see invoices?
I'm sorry.
If we heard his voice,
we could try something funny,
but we hear jack shit!
Do you know how awful your thing is?
A disaster!
He wanted to direct
the sequence himself.
It was like a game.
He loves movies.
He's an artist.
I figured he'd be more talented than me.
How can we get the sound of his voice?
Is there a technical maneuver?
Something must exist!
No, it's too weak.
Louder, I can't hear a thing!
There's nothing to do.
He wasn't miked.
The mic was on her, didn't you notice?
Dummy did it all wrong!
Unbelievable!
Know what? Forget about it!
I'm fed up. I'm pulling the plug.
It's over.
Go back to your cappuccinos.
You lost your chance. Game over!
You're over.
Bye.
Why a barista?
Why does he say you're a barista?
I don't know.
We can start now.
Ready.
Again!
Again!
Mr. Dal!
I'm sorry for the intrusion,
but it's an emergency.
A friend of mine,
an art expert and a collector,
says this is a fake.
Show me.
Ma'am, your friend is right.
It's a fake.
- A fake?
- Yes!
I never painted that monstrosity.
You can see it's a piece of shit.
There!
You distracted me.
I'm truly sorry, Mr. Dal.
Understand my dismay.
I thought 10 million was a bargain.
So what?
Give me 10 million
and I'll make you a real one.
That's it.
That's when I woke up,
a bit shaken.
A bit confused.
I had to tell it to you, Salvador.
Absolutely unbelievable.
God Almighty.
I thought it would never end.
That's the longest dream
in the history of the world.
And it's not over!
I have a little surprise.
Just think: the next morning,
I had a vision so vivid,
so precise, of that little painting,
that I painted it by memory!
Look.
So obviously,
I share neither your talent
nor your technique.
But you must admit how humorous it is.
Thank you again, Georges.
A delightful evening!
I was thrilled to have you.
Thanks for listening to Father Jacques.
- You made him happy.
- Thank you!
What's happening to me?
Why am I suddenly so old?
Excuse me?
Look at me! I'm senile!
It's the fault
of your interminable story!
How long were we having dinner?
- I don't know.
- 3 hours?
More or less.
Three hours? You mean three centuries!
Look at the state I'm in.
You got me ready for the cemetery!
It's late. He needs to get some rest.
We're leaving.
Sweet Jesus!
Hold on for a moment, hold on.
Is that old man me?
Excuse me?
It's me, but older!
How old am I?
I don't know, Salvador.
You don't know...
All right.
I just had a divinely mystical absence,
very unsettling.
But I'm back now.
You mentioned a film about Dal. Go on.
I'm officially asking
for a second chance.
Well, I'm not interested
in the slightest.
There are already enough
cinematographic documents
that spotlight
my exceptional talent.
It's perfectly useless
to make one more.
I decline your offer.
Goodbye.
- Darn.
- Okay...
Sorry.
I had my doubts.
I didn't want to dash your enthusiasm,
but seriously,
a barista making a doc
about a painter...
I don't know.
Georges!
Hello, Salvador!
Have you seen an old Dal
in a wheelchair
anywhere on the grounds?
An old you?
Yes, very old, very ugly.
In a wheelchair!
No...
Are you sure?
I saw no one.
A hallucination,
most likely.
See you later.
How old am I?
How old am I?
How old am I, for God's sake?
Am I an infant or an old man?
Or a mix of both?
I no longer know.
Perhaps if they sawed me in two,
they'd determine my age,
like they do with trees.
It must be possible.
No...
I know. I remember now.
I'm old.
I even have old hands.
I'm sure of it.
I'm old.
Imbecile!
Imbecile.
What got into me to make a film?
How could I have thought it possible?
I can't even use a camera.
I never filmed anything.
It's not my thing.
I suck.
I really suck.
You suck.
You suck, you're a pharmacist.
I suck.
You'll never manage.
You're not a journalist.
You suck.
I suck. I really suck.
How could I think I could do it?
Salvador!
Salvador!
You're a total idiot!
It's unbelievable!
Nonsense.
Is the mustache for Dal?
Barista lets off steam on Paris bus
Sorry, I'm tired.
I'm confusing things.
I feel like I'm talking nonsense.
It's becoming confusing.
It doesn't matter.
Let's change subjects.
Let's go back a bit,
if you don't mind, Judith.
Tell me about your short career
as a journalist.
I'm very interested in that.
Go on.
What do you want to know?
I don't know. You can tell me
how it began, for example.
I don't remember.
Ages ago, I forget.
No big deal, invent it.
Yes, let's play this like a game.
Go on, I'm listening.
Invent the start of your career,
just to see.
I don't know, one day...
Yes?
One day...
Yes?
Your appointment is here.
Hello.
Hello.
60 minutes, okay?
Great, thanks.
Do you remember me?
No.
You know,
this is about the 150,000th interview
I've given.
It is absolutely impossible for me
to memorize
the face of every journalist.
150,000 interviews is a lot
for one man.
It must bore you now.
Let's begin...
So, I have lots to ask.
Where is the camera?
Where should I look?
There is no camera.
This is for a magazine.
There is no camera.
This is for a magazine.
Perfect. I love it.
You can look at me.
I prefer not to think about
my physical appearance.
That takes a great deal of effort.
This is fine.
I hate being filmed, you know.
Let's start. I'm ready.
Great.
My first question, Salvador,
is very simple.
I imagine no one asks you this,
but it interests me.
Are you okay?
As is my wont
since my earliest childhood,
I never answer the questions I'm asked.
However, I'd like to take advantage
of this intimacy,
our sublime intimacy...
to say how much I adore
a cinematographic film.
It's absolutely magisterial
and delightful.
And it's about Dal.
It is for me
an absolutely essential documentary
insofar...
as it unveils a Dal never before seen
by the public until now.
And it proves,
if proof is necessary,
even though it seems to me
perfectly useless
that Dal is probably...
that I probably am,
and I say it in all sincerity,
in all humility,
the only artist still living
on this miserable,
little planet.
THE END
She did it!
Speech!
Come on, goddammit!
I won't make a speech. I suck at that.
If I had to say one thing tonight,
just one thing,
it would just be: "Vive Dal!"
Excellent!
THE END
So what do you think, Salvador?
Well, no.
I find it...
abnormal
that a film about Dal
ends on the image of a woman
who is not Dal.
I don't like it.
A film about Dal
must end with an image...
of Dal, I think.
Yes, maybe.
I think it's better.
THE END
So?
It's better, better, much better.
I like it.
But it seems to me
that I don't at all like
the shirt Dal is wearing in the image.
I don't like it.
Dal must wear a shirt
that is totally different
for the film to end well.
Okay.
I think it's better.
THE END
Now?
Very good. Very, very good.
I definitely prefer this shirt.
But nevertheless,
it seems to me
that for the film about Dal
to end well.
Tell me.
It would be wiser...
if Dal were alone in the shot.
Alone?
No one else.
Okay.
I think it's better.
THE END
This is better. This is perfect!
This...
is Dal.
This is even more Dal!
THE END
Okay, so I'll introduce myself.
I'm Judith, 33 years old.
Single.
I live alone.
I'm 5 foot 4, brown hair...
Nothing thrilling in that department.
As you see, I'm fairly...
normal, in fact... a little...
boring, you could say.
I hear that often, actually.
I was a pharmacist
for about four years.
In the Paris suburbs.
It was my first job.
I didn't like it.
I found it... draining.
Very draining.
So, one day I quit.
I decided to become a journalist.
Like that, on a whim.
Without thinking, I took the plunge.
I obviously had a few tough years.
It wasn't easy.
Gradually
the profession opened up for me.
Writing here and there,
making contacts.
Today I...
Yes?
I just spoke to his driver.
30 minutes.
They're on the way.
Great. Thanks.
Can I order you lunch?
Thanks but no thanks.
Stay ready.
Will do.
See you right away.
Fault!
0 - 30.
He's in the elevator. It's time.
You're on!
He's on his way. Come!
Wait for him here, like this.
Why?
To greet him.
Can you smile? You're tense.
Not at all, I'm fine.
You're tense. Breathe...
I'm excited, not tense.
It's hard to tell the difference.
Smile.
A little better.
Is that him?
Did they put water in the minibar?
Who?
He drinks lots of water.
They didn't come?
I don't think so.
Here I am.
Here I am, here I am.
- And we're off.
- It's us!
I'll check. Stay put.
I've never seen in all my life
such a poorly conceived hotel
architecturally.
It's too big, I agree.
I bet most of the rooms
are totally vacant, absolutely empty.
What idiot would want to stay
in such a dismal place?
I don't know.
No one. No one at all.
It's under control.
Water on the table.
Thanks.
I'm literally dying of thirst.
I hope you have sparkling water,
and lots of it,
because I'm jaded by flat water,
so common and devoid of bubbles.
- Shit!
- What?
I think we have everything.
The more I walk, the thirstier I get.
I understand.
Nice and cold, please.
As soon as possible.
Thanks!
Thanks a lot.
There you go.
What a humiliation. It's sublime.
Sublime!
They're sending up Perrier.
Great, thanks.
I need to pee. I can't hold it in.
You didn't do it before?
Go ahead...
Do you have an approximate idea
of the length of our interview?
15 minutes.
That's perfect.
I have a train
and I abhor being in a rush.
- No problem.
- I need 3 pages!
Let him talk. You'll have 3 pages.
What's the problem?
Philippe said one hour!
One hour? For his shitty magazine?
He's dreaming!
He's lucky to get 15 minutes.
You can't imagine.
Here you go!
Great. This is perfect.
Here.
I'm not paying. My boss is.
Do I still sign?
Right here, ma'am.
Have a nice day.
We're all set.
I haven't a minute to spare.
I'm totally ready.
Roll camera!
I'll go now. It'll be fine.
Do you mind if I sit here?
Why are you looking at me
with that startled gaze?
Like a little animal caught
in the headlights of a car.
Do you suffer from constipation?
No.
Very good, excellent.
I've looked forward to this moment.
I'm a great admirer of yours,
I take this seriously.
So let's go.
This is an honor for me.
Fine. You're all alone?
Yes, I am.
There's no cinematographic equipment?
How can you interview Dal
without a camera?
No, I work for a magazine.
This is my equipment.
Notebook and pen.
In that case,
I'm not interested in the slightest!
Have a nice day.
All modern painters are
fully engulfed by the grand decadence
that defines our era.
It may seem paradoxical
when I say
that I am the greatest genius
and simultaneously,
I consider my painting very bad.
You often say that you are yourself
your masterpiece.
What do you think?
Yes, it's true that I believe that...
what towers
above all of Dal's achievements
is Dal's personality.
Dal Personage
is far superior to Dal Philosopher,
Dal Metaphysician, Dal Painter.
It's fair to say that.
Precisely!
How do we discern
between "Dal Personage"
- who is an eccentric -
and the real Dal
behind the personage.
I think it's more accurate to say
that I am extremely eccentric
and simultaneously concentric.
That's why I'm both anarchist
and monarchist.
All right.
Now can you tell us about the painting
behind you?
I think you just finished it.
Tell us about it.
So...
the painting depicts...
an infinitesimally small part
of Dal's personality.
Among many other things,
I consider my paintings
mediocre, like I said,
but they allow me
to express a tiny shard
of Dal.
Can we take a break?
Forget it.
Sir!
Sorry, but it's a real pain
keeping this thing in my mouth.
I'm getting tired.
I want a break.
Put the rag back...
into your mouth!
Phone call, Salvador.
I'm sorry, sir,
the cord wasn't long enough
to bring it to you plugged in.
Come with me
to the jack in the house
so I can plug it in.
Break!
For everyone!
What a nightmare.
Have you lost your head?
Stop bothering him!
Know who he is?
Thanks for the support!
Nice show of solidarity.
I'll remember.
And I know who he is, thanks.
Lay off.
This bullshit never ends!
Hello, yes.
Hello, Salvador.
This is Judith Rochant.
Jeddite?
What's a Jeddite?
No, Judith.
My first name.
The journalist from the hotel
last month.
Oh, yes.
The room in that ignominious hotel,
I remember it well.
Why on earth are you calling?
You got a minute,
I'm not bothering you?
You know,
artists of my stature
are always absolutely bothered
by normal people.
But go on, speak.
Okay, I'll make it quick.
I'm calling with very good news
that concerns you.
I found a production company.
Very serious,
very reputable here in France.
They love your work too.
They agreed to finance my portrait.
Your portrait?
Your portrait, sorry.
The one I want to make about you.
But it's your portrait, not mine!
So my portrait.
Exactly. A filmed portrait.
Of me, Dal.
Exactly.
So the amazing news is that...
they want more than a typical interview.
Actually, now...
if I understand the producer,
we're talking about making
a real movie, feature-length,
maybe even for theatrical release.
- I think.
- Yeah, yeah.
The producer confirmed it.
What do you say?
Sweet Jesus!
Hold on.
Just one moment.
Hold on.
Is that old man me?
- Excuse me?
- There!
It's me, but older.
How old am I?
I don't know, Salvador.
You don't know.
No.
All right.
Pardon me.
I just had a divinely mystical absence.
Very unsettling!
But I'm back now.
You mentioned making a film
about Dal, go on.
That's all.
I'm officially asking
for a second chance.
I'd like to do this portrait of you.
With a crew and a camera.
Better conditions.
For a longer format.
Are you talking about
an ordinary video camera,
perfectly basic and boring,
or rather,
a gigantic, very cumbersome camera
used by the great professionals of film?
Tell me.
Film, of course.
Yes, a movie camera.
All right.
Enormous...
or gigantic,
the camera?
Big, the biggest.
Very big.
The biggest one on the market, Mr. Dal.
The biggest camera in the world.
I like it.
I like it, I like it...
In that case, I accept.
Just give me the dates. See you soon.
Wow!
There we go!
Georges?
Hello, Salvador.
Have you seen an old Dal
in a wheelchair
anywhere on the grounds?
An old you?
Very old, very ugly, in a wheelchair!
No...
Are you sure?
I saw no one.
All right.
A hallucination, most likely.
See you later.
By the way, you haven't forgotten
our dinner in 16 days?
Of course I forgot.
So let me remind you.
In 16 days, my place, at 8: 30.
Remind me later,
I'm already forgetting it!
Count on me!
Your turn.
You don't know how to play.
Trying to destabilize me?
No, I can tell.
I know how.
Break's over. Get into position!
Salvador!
Mr. Salvador?
It's time.
I'm ready, as you can see.
I was waiting, idiot!
Bring the ladder!
Goodbye, Galuchka.
This car is not made for sand.
Don't talk nonsense.
John Lennon has the same one.
It's perfect.
Drive!
We're spinning. It's too heavy.
You can't drive.
Forget it. Get out!
Hello.
The Frenchwoman! Your timing is perfect.
You can make yourself very useful
by pushing the car with that loser.
From behind, of course.
We're set up by the water.
Leave the car here.
No, Dal has decided
to ride all the way in the sand
in this aristocratic automobile.
Now push.
Push!
Push some more!
There!
You see, it works! Idiot!
Stop!
Very often in the street,
children ask me for autographs.
Maybe they think
I'm a singer or an actor.
Children,
especially when they're little,
are something I truly detest.
The only thing I detest
more than children,
is children's drawings. Unbearable!
I loathe children
and their damned drawings.
What are you doing with that pen?
Excuse me?
You were supposed to do my portrait
with a cinematographically
colossal camera,
and you're writing on a tiny pad.
Because...
No, the guys are fixing the camera
you accidentally broke.
But it's not much of a problem.
My notes will help with the film.
They serve a purpose.
I quit.
I won't go on if I'm not filmed.
- What?
- This is unacceptable!
You've wasted my time twice now!
What a pity!
And it's your fault!
Pablo!
Here!
Let's go!
Coming!
This is all?
I had 10 minutes.
It's not that bad.
There's interesting stuff in there.
It's frustrating.
For sure, without images,
it's not a film yet.
It was day one, relax.
Don't worry about the camera,
accidents happen.
The insurance will cover it.
It's not a problem.
There you go.
He left furious.
I've been thinking about that.
I think you need a larger crew.
To manage dumb mishaps like this.
And to show that guy
that it's a solid project.
He mustn't think we're losers.
Who else would there be?
Well, a makeup artist.
To tend to him.
Make him feel pampered.
It's very important.
Stars love having their asses wiped.
It's a fact.
Okay, sure.
I know a great makeup artist.
She's available. This is nothing.
Now we'll use two cameras.
That will impress him.
That way, if he breaks one,
you can keep shooting.
It's all thought out.
And you'll need assistants
running about,
doing whatever, like on big films.
Even if they do nothing,
it looks professional.
We won't go over budget?
That's under control.
Let me take care of that.
Easy money in the biz.
- I don't realize.
- I do, so don't worry.
And one last important point.
You.
Me?
Yeah, I don't want
to hurt your feelings,
but in my opinion,
don't take it badly,
but in my opinion,
if you make
a tiny effort,
it would make him
respect you more.
Take you more seriously.
An effort?
You're so cute.
It's a shame, it's like...
you try hard to not look your best.
I should dress differently?
Yes, but not just that.
You need a makeover.
To become attractive.
It's dumb, but if he likes you,
he'll open up to the camera.
Communicating vessels.
Really?
Become a turn-on.
It matters in the biz!
Look: even me, tonight,
if you were sexier,
maybe I'd want to invest more.
Get it?
I don't know if I can.
If you don't have nice clothes,
we can buy stuff
and write it all off.
It's nothing. Common practice.
Same for hair.
I need to do my hair?
Don't be upset.
No, but the truth is...
I don't look in the mirror.
Me neither. Trust me: common ground.
I want to puke when I see my reflection.
Go on, eat.
Of course.
But of course!
Of course.
But of course!
Serve me, child.
Please.
Ma'am?
What is this?
A random mix of ingredients.
Magnificent.
You could hire me
to work at your place, Mr. Dal.
I'm mistreated and underpaid here.
- Leave us alone, Anita.
- Sorry, boss.
We're thrilled to have you.
Thanks for coming.
The pleasure is mine, Georges.
I love free food, but can we begin?
Not yet.
I'd like Father Jacques
to tell us a dream.
An odd dream, you'll love it.
It may even inspire a masterpiece.
Or maybe not.
Or maybe.
Or maybe not.
Or maybe.
Or maybe not.
Do you really think that Dal
needs people other than himself
to imagine in his stead?
You won't be disappointed.
Speak, Father.
I don't get the impression
that my dream interests Mr. Dal.
It does. Go on.
Speak, but hurry, I'm starving.
I'll make it quick.
This dream is very unusual, you'll see.
Otherwise I wouldn't burden you with it.
Very unusual.
And fascinating! Go on.
So it starts in Hell.
In Hell?
Exactly. In Hell.
I was biking home
with groceries from the market,
as I do every Tuesday.
And, without realizing it,
I got lost and soon found myself
in Hell.
Smack amid the flames.
And then suddenly, I don't know why,
I found myself
on the back of a donkey, in the desert.
So, I was upset
because I lost
my crate of vegetables,
but very relieved
to no longer be in Hell.
It was mild out. I felt good.
That moment was
very pleasant.
Then, my donkey stopped
to slake its thirst.
And a lurking cowboy
used his vantage point
to shoot me... in cold blood.
Then, I don't know how,
I managed not to die.
I fled on a small motorboat.
Then, as if by magic,
I saw my vegetable crate
floating on the water.
I leaned over and I grabbed it.
Then I found myself
at the wheel of a luxury car.
On a road that I did not know.
That's it.
It's over. That's when I woke up.
Hearing it twice is even better!
It's incredible, isn't it?
I had to tell you, Salvador.
Isn't it excellent?
Yes!
Yes, it was sumptuous, delicious!
My warmest congratulations
to your cook from me.
It was a feast.
Now...
excuse me, but I must be going.
See you soon!
Salvador Dal is going to die!
Please!
Mr. Dal! Give me a third chance!
I'll make up for the others!
I adore your work.
I dream of making this film!
I believe in you.
I'm not like the others.
Trust me, I beg of you!
The producer's still on board.
We'll have a bigger crew
and two cameras!
Two huge cameras!
Please!
Faster.
Mr. Dal!
That's it.
That's when I woke up,
a little rattled
by the violence of the accident.
I had to tell you, Salvador.
Incredible, right?
That Frenchwoman is really something.
She manages to piss me off
via someone else's dream.
Absolutely incredible.
If I may, Salvador...
No.
Personally,
the beginning with the cowboy
struck me most.
What a strong, powerful image.
When Father Jacques told it to me,
I knew you could paint it sublimely.
Do you really think so?
You should do it.
There you go.
When it's done,
you can give it to Father Jacques.
Ah yes.
Indirectly its creator.
If I paint it, I'm the creator.
Indeed.
I find Georges' idea interesting.
We can even organize an auction
to sell the painting,
and give the proceeds to the church.
That would be wonderful for all.
What do you think, Salvador?
Perhaps we are still
in your dream, Father?
No, I don't think so.
Well, I do.
I think you're totally delirious.
Thank you again, Georges.
It was a delightful evening.
What a trap!
To squeeze a painting out of me!
Absurd idea
to go dine with a gardener!
What's more,
I've never eaten so badly in my life.
I'll have to shit for days on end
to free my body of that repulsive stew!
Shit, shit and shit again!
I think
you should do it.
And why should I?
It would be good for your image.
Do it!
My image is exceptional!
People love Dal!
Do it, so people love you even more.
People can love me more?
Yes.
Then I must do it!
Very good, you're right.
Let's do it.
It's a good idea, I find.
Pablo!
Call the French girl.
Tell her I'll do her film.
I'll give her another chance.
She picks the dates.
It's 2 in the morning, Mr. Dal.
I truly couldn't care less! Call.
Fine.
I meant Father Jacques' painting.
But I meant the French girl.
Tell me, may I take advantage
of this endless waste of time
by manipulating the generous bosom
intentionally jiggling
before my eyes?
Not intentional, they're just there.
Nothing I can do.
May I?
I don't care, go ahead!
They're exceptionally dense.
Glad you enjoy.
Don't let him do that!
No big deal, he's an artist.
Wonderful news!
If you put those breasts up for sale,
you'll be rich.
They were manipulated by the master.
No, I'll keep them for myself, thanks.
Selling breasts!
Hear that? Selling breasts!
Sublime idea!
Anyone take note?
Here...
I found it.
So this is for me?
That gift I mentioned.
You're particularly stunning today.
Trying to soften me up?
Not at all. It's to thank you,
that's all.
Open it.
My God.
It reminded me of you.
I saw it at a flea market and bought it.
Like it?
It lacks a tiny detail.
Can someone find me an indelible marker?
Hold on, I have one.
I want that back.
Uncap it.
You take this.
Now it's sublime.
This is Dal.
1,500,000... 1,500,000.
We're off!
1,800,000.
1,800,000, nice start. Higher?
2 million.
2 million, ladies and gentlemen,
for this Salvador Dal, 2 million!
3 million five.
3.5 million in the first row.
4.1 million!
4.1 in the back. Good.
10 million.
10 million, ladies and gentlemen,
nice sum.
Let's continue.
Ready? 10 million...
10 million once...
10 million twice...
Thrice! Sold to Mrs. Abravanel,
this magnificent work
by Salvador Dal.
Incredible!
Thank you, thank you!
That's it.
That's when I woke up, startled.
Relieved not to be dead.
I had to tell it to you, Salvador.
Incredible.
It's over now, isn't it?
Yes, that's all.
I'm very curious to know what you think.
To be perfectly...
honest and precise with you,
I...
Dal...
appreciated your story.
Wonderful, thank you.
I'm very flattered to have captured
the attention
of a brilliant artist like you.
I knew you'd like it.
It's why I invited you.
I liked it a lot.
But there's one detail that I'd like...
to elucidate with you.
Tell me.
Was Dal able to do his interview
or not?
Excuse me, Salvador?
The Frenchwoman.
Was she able to do her portrait of Dal
with her huge camera
or not?
Your story skipped over that part.
I'd like to know.
The Frenchwoman?
Yes.
What Frenchwoman?
At that precise moment,
seeing their empty eyes,
stuffed animals staring
straight at me...
I realized...
Dal realized
that those imbeciles had absolutely
not the slightest idea...
who the Frenchwoman
I was talking about was.
Amusing, right?
Yeah, sure.
Who do you mean?
You weren't listening?
Half-listening, sorry.
You have the gall to half-listen
when Dal in person tells you
a personal story?
I was concentrating on the makeup.
- I didn't think it mattered.
- Enough!
Enough with the powder.
Dal no longer wishes to make the film.
Period.
New paragraph.
Wait!
You can't leave!
It's a shame, it's going well.
I even have a gift.
You've already given me
that vile little painting.
You can keep it
and hang it in your toilet.
Goodbye.
That was when I fell to pieces.
Too ashamed to tell the crew
shooting was again interrupted,
I slipped out the stage door
to meet with Jrme,
my producer,
to tell him I couldn't go on.
Are you crazy? We must go on!
All right.
He wouldn't listen.
So, Judith...
are you aware
of the intolerable banality
of what you're telling me?
It's a key moment in my life.
No.
It's not banal.
Yes, it's absolutely...
abysmally boring.
It's horrible.
I'm literally falling asleep.
It's unbearable.
So, second question.
What was your utterly boring next move?
Next, I gathered my courage
and decided to regain Dal's trust.
Your trust, Salvador.
Interesting.
What exactly did you do
to regain the trust
of a man so particularly
out of the ordinary?
I behaved as if it were
the end of a love story.
I called ever day
until he agreed to see me.
Salvador, this is Judith Rochant.
Judith, listen, it's too late.
I will not go back
on my decisive decision.
We will not work together. It's over.
Forget about me!
Say it.
Mohamed Ali.
Again.
Again.
You don't hear? Say it again.
Mohamed Ali.
Again!
Mohame-DAL.
Dal!
My name is in his!
Oh, okay. Mohame-DAL.
Funny, yeah.
That American must change his name.
I was stage center first!
It's identity theft!
I doubt...
Mr. Salvador, a call for you.
- What is it?
- Hello, Salvador!
Shit!
I'm not feeling this.
This painting.
Yes?
It's anachronistic
that you're painting it now.
It's from 1972.
Hello, Salvador.
Judith Rochant here.
You again. No!
Impossible!
Cowboy kills priest during auction
- Yes?
- Hello, Salvador.
I can't hear you.
It's currently raining dead dogs.
A diabolical din
on my rooftop.
Call back later.
Thank you, good day.
Hello, Salvador, it's Judith Rochant.
No, enough! Leave me alone.
Yes, Judith?
Hello, Salvador.
Now, listen to me well.
I'll be as crystal clear
as water in a stream.
You cannot make me change my mind.
Unfortunately
you absolutely do not have that power.
Dal will change his mind
only when he desires to,
and only once he has
the intimate and deep conviction
that he must change his mind.
That is, exactly tomorrow, Sunday
around 4: 15 pm on the dot.
Goodbye.
So I called him the next day at 4: 15.
He gave me another chance,
like by magic.
I mean, you gave me another chance.
I wonder why, though.
Why the change of mind?
Focus. I ask the questions.
So, try to repeat what you just said,
but with panache, understand?
Or the spectator's boredom
will approach...
infinity.
Come on, let's go.
Panache!
I'm not an actor.
No one is.
It's a nonexistent profession.
"Actor" is a total invention.
One more time!
Rolling, we're still rolling...
On with the panache!
Okay.
I called the next day at 4: 15.
He gave me another chance.
I called the next day,
4: 15 on the dot.
He gave me another chance.
That's better.
Still very boring, but better.
All right.
I called the next day, 4: 15 on the dot,
and-he gave me another chance.
Are you happy with that?
It's a little forced, right?
Sorry.
Can you stop it? Enough.
Goddamn...
I threw my money into that?
You're a total idiot.
Unbelievable!
Why didn't I realize earlier?
I'm out of my mind.
You don't get
how interviews work?
Answer me.
Do you know how interviews work?
Yes, I know.
No, you don't.
You have no idea, poor thing.
Let me explain. It's the guest you film.
Not your barista face.
Did I pay to see it on a screen?
Think your story interests anyone?
Pharmacist, not barista.
Who cares? Same thing.
No one wants your face on screen.
Especially in those cheap clothes.
What a dumb broad.
Does Raymond Depardon show his face?
Never heard of him.
"Never heard of him." Obviously!
What do you know? Jack shit!
Stupid me, I trusted you.
Any idea of the cost
of the equipment plus the crew?
Want to see invoices?
I'm sorry.
If we heard his voice,
we could try something funny,
but we hear jack shit!
Do you know how awful your thing is?
A disaster!
He wanted to direct
the sequence himself.
It was like a game.
He loves movies.
He's an artist.
I figured he'd be more talented than me.
How can we get the sound of his voice?
Is there a technical maneuver?
Something must exist!
No, it's too weak.
Louder, I can't hear a thing!
There's nothing to do.
He wasn't miked.
The mic was on her, didn't you notice?
Dummy did it all wrong!
Unbelievable!
Know what? Forget about it!
I'm fed up. I'm pulling the plug.
It's over.
Go back to your cappuccinos.
You lost your chance. Game over!
You're over.
Bye.
Why a barista?
Why does he say you're a barista?
I don't know.
We can start now.
Ready.
Again!
Again!
Mr. Dal!
I'm sorry for the intrusion,
but it's an emergency.
A friend of mine,
an art expert and a collector,
says this is a fake.
Show me.
Ma'am, your friend is right.
It's a fake.
- A fake?
- Yes!
I never painted that monstrosity.
You can see it's a piece of shit.
There!
You distracted me.
I'm truly sorry, Mr. Dal.
Understand my dismay.
I thought 10 million was a bargain.
So what?
Give me 10 million
and I'll make you a real one.
That's it.
That's when I woke up,
a bit shaken.
A bit confused.
I had to tell it to you, Salvador.
Absolutely unbelievable.
God Almighty.
I thought it would never end.
That's the longest dream
in the history of the world.
And it's not over!
I have a little surprise.
Just think: the next morning,
I had a vision so vivid,
so precise, of that little painting,
that I painted it by memory!
Look.
So obviously,
I share neither your talent
nor your technique.
But you must admit how humorous it is.
Thank you again, Georges.
A delightful evening!
I was thrilled to have you.
Thanks for listening to Father Jacques.
- You made him happy.
- Thank you!
What's happening to me?
Why am I suddenly so old?
Excuse me?
Look at me! I'm senile!
It's the fault
of your interminable story!
How long were we having dinner?
- I don't know.
- 3 hours?
More or less.
Three hours? You mean three centuries!
Look at the state I'm in.
You got me ready for the cemetery!
It's late. He needs to get some rest.
We're leaving.
Sweet Jesus!
Hold on for a moment, hold on.
Is that old man me?
Excuse me?
It's me, but older!
How old am I?
I don't know, Salvador.
You don't know...
All right.
I just had a divinely mystical absence,
very unsettling.
But I'm back now.
You mentioned a film about Dal. Go on.
I'm officially asking
for a second chance.
Well, I'm not interested
in the slightest.
There are already enough
cinematographic documents
that spotlight
my exceptional talent.
It's perfectly useless
to make one more.
I decline your offer.
Goodbye.
- Darn.
- Okay...
Sorry.
I had my doubts.
I didn't want to dash your enthusiasm,
but seriously,
a barista making a doc
about a painter...
I don't know.
Georges!
Hello, Salvador!
Have you seen an old Dal
in a wheelchair
anywhere on the grounds?
An old you?
Yes, very old, very ugly.
In a wheelchair!
No...
Are you sure?
I saw no one.
A hallucination,
most likely.
See you later.
How old am I?
How old am I?
How old am I, for God's sake?
Am I an infant or an old man?
Or a mix of both?
I no longer know.
Perhaps if they sawed me in two,
they'd determine my age,
like they do with trees.
It must be possible.
No...
I know. I remember now.
I'm old.
I even have old hands.
I'm sure of it.
I'm old.
Imbecile!
Imbecile.
What got into me to make a film?
How could I have thought it possible?
I can't even use a camera.
I never filmed anything.
It's not my thing.
I suck.
I really suck.
You suck.
You suck, you're a pharmacist.
I suck.
You'll never manage.
You're not a journalist.
You suck.
I suck. I really suck.
How could I think I could do it?
Salvador!
Salvador!
You're a total idiot!
It's unbelievable!
Nonsense.
Is the mustache for Dal?
Barista lets off steam on Paris bus
Sorry, I'm tired.
I'm confusing things.
I feel like I'm talking nonsense.
It's becoming confusing.
It doesn't matter.
Let's change subjects.
Let's go back a bit,
if you don't mind, Judith.
Tell me about your short career
as a journalist.
I'm very interested in that.
Go on.
What do you want to know?
I don't know. You can tell me
how it began, for example.
I don't remember.
Ages ago, I forget.
No big deal, invent it.
Yes, let's play this like a game.
Go on, I'm listening.
Invent the start of your career,
just to see.
I don't know, one day...
Yes?
One day...
Yes?
Your appointment is here.
Hello.
Hello.
60 minutes, okay?
Great, thanks.
Do you remember me?
No.
You know,
this is about the 150,000th interview
I've given.
It is absolutely impossible for me
to memorize
the face of every journalist.
150,000 interviews is a lot
for one man.
It must bore you now.
Let's begin...
So, I have lots to ask.
Where is the camera?
Where should I look?
There is no camera.
This is for a magazine.
There is no camera.
This is for a magazine.
Perfect. I love it.
You can look at me.
I prefer not to think about
my physical appearance.
That takes a great deal of effort.
This is fine.
I hate being filmed, you know.
Let's start. I'm ready.
Great.
My first question, Salvador,
is very simple.
I imagine no one asks you this,
but it interests me.
Are you okay?
As is my wont
since my earliest childhood,
I never answer the questions I'm asked.
However, I'd like to take advantage
of this intimacy,
our sublime intimacy...
to say how much I adore
a cinematographic film.
It's absolutely magisterial
and delightful.
And it's about Dal.
It is for me
an absolutely essential documentary
insofar...
as it unveils a Dal never before seen
by the public until now.
And it proves,
if proof is necessary,
even though it seems to me
perfectly useless
that Dal is probably...
that I probably am,
and I say it in all sincerity,
in all humility,
the only artist still living
on this miserable,
little planet.
THE END
She did it!
Speech!
Come on, goddammit!
I won't make a speech. I suck at that.
If I had to say one thing tonight,
just one thing,
it would just be: "Vive Dal!"
Excellent!
THE END
So what do you think, Salvador?
Well, no.
I find it...
abnormal
that a film about Dal
ends on the image of a woman
who is not Dal.
I don't like it.
A film about Dal
must end with an image...
of Dal, I think.
Yes, maybe.
I think it's better.
THE END
So?
It's better, better, much better.
I like it.
But it seems to me
that I don't at all like
the shirt Dal is wearing in the image.
I don't like it.
Dal must wear a shirt
that is totally different
for the film to end well.
Okay.
I think it's better.
THE END
Now?
Very good. Very, very good.
I definitely prefer this shirt.
But nevertheless,
it seems to me
that for the film about Dal
to end well.
Tell me.
It would be wiser...
if Dal were alone in the shot.
Alone?
No one else.
Okay.
I think it's better.
THE END
This is better. This is perfect!
This...
is Dal.
This is even more Dal!
THE END