See You Up There (2017) Movie Script

For Alain de Greef
For Marcel Gotlib
Morocco, November 1920
Your name, date and place of birth.
Albert Maillard. May 16, 1872.
Rue Ordener in Paris.
- Son of? - Yvette Maillard. A linen maid.
Service record?
Called up in June '16. Reserves.
You saw action at your age?
Somme in July '16. Chemin des Dames '17...
Active duty in August '18.
Then found myself with kids at Hill 113.
Hill 113?
Our position at the armistice.
When did you meet Edouard Pricourt?
There, at Hill 113.
And that's when you first discussed...
A "partnership"?
It's a long story. It's complicated.
We have plenty of time.
Adapted from the novel by Pierre Lemaitre, Prix Goncourt 2013
It all started on November 9, 1918.
Rumors of an armistice were rife, so everybody kept quiet.
By everybody I mean the Germans too.
Nobody felt like shooting anymore.
Dying last is even dumber than dying first.
The only one not happy was our lieutenant, Pradelle.
He liked war. It was his thing.
He was scarier than the Germans.
Hostilities to cease immediately. Await further orders.
November 9, 1918
Recce patrol.
But sir...
The Germans want it to end too.
No need to worry, then.
Thrieux and Grisonnier.
Thrieux! Grisonnier!
He chose old Grisonnier
and a terrified new kid, young Thrieux.
Recce. Their front line.
You heard the lieutenant?
A daylight recce of their trenches!
The orders were absurd.
So? Orders are orders!
Dear Ccile
Grisonnier and Thrieux had been gunned down!
As if by arrangement
our 75s laid down a barrage.
The Germans replied.
Bayonets on! Gather at the ladders!
And then off we went. We were really mad...
Charge! Charge!
Don't move!
Advance! Advance, soldiers!
Into battle!
They'd been shot in the back. You see?
By Pradelle!
He killed them.
Now I'm dead!
You're dead?
A figure of speech.
I came to in a hole with a dead horse.
It saved me when I could no longer breathe.
A stretcher!
A stretcher!
Please. Please.
It's still war.
Please give him some morphine.
It would do terrible harm.
More terrible than that?
Be brave.
He suffered too.
Mr. Pricourt.
It's for you, Mr. Pricourt.
You slept like a log, mate.
That stuff really works.
Don't take this badly...
I looked at your drawings.
They're great.
Your drawings are weird, but I like them a lot.
It's weird, eh?
What do you want?
Show me.
The window?
- Your friend looks sleepy. - Not really.
Just having a little rest, that's all.
I'll be back in an hour.
As if that was good news!
I made your transfer request. You leave in the morning.
No need to worry.
Special hospital in Paris.
They fit prostheses. Apparently...
you'd never tell afterward.
You don't want a fake jaw?
You can't go home like that.
You don't want to?
What do you want?
The drawings?
I don't want to see my father
He'll still love you.
Even with that face, he'll be glad to see you.
Stop it!
That hurt.
Want me to kill you?
You survive 4 years of war and now it's over you give up?
Lots of men never went home. Presumed dead.
But they'd just scrubbed their own files.
Edouard wanted me to kill his file.
On the list for November '18
I was sure to find men whose families
didn't know yet. Recent dead. Fresh dead.
I needed a man nobody would ask after.
And I found one.
He'd grown up in care. Eugne Larivire. Bingo.
Nobody cares when they're alive,
let alone dead.
Edouard Pricourt died at Hill 113 on Nov. 9, '18.
And Eugne Larivire?
Well, he got better.
Larivire. Got it? Eugne Larivire!
Take it easy with Eugne, lads.
This guy's got his transfer permit.
Get lost. You don't have a permit.
Here's his service book. Larivire.
6 vials of morphine. And they better be there on arrival!
Imagine it's on the cheek...
We're off, mate.
Yeah, alright.
Bye, Eugne! See you!
Then I wrote a letter to his family.
I didn't want them to find out from the army.
Army letters are never good news.
So I wrote them a letter.
A pretty good one too.
Dear Sir/Madam, I am Albert Maillard.
I'm a friend of Edouard's.
It's my sad duty to inform you of his death on Nov. 9, '18.
The army will have written to you
but I can tell you he died a hero while charging the enemy.
He was a wonderful chap.
Edouard left me his sketchbook
for you, if something happened.
And as something did happen to him, here it is.
Edouard rests in a quiet, pretty cemetery.
He's very comfortable.
My respects, Albert Maillard.
This is a gift from the state.
It's soft and light.
With a mustache. If you choose it...
Admire the elegance.
This one is an old mask...
It looks spectacular.
The operations will be severe
but the results are excellent.
This to this, in one year.
Then to this
in two years.
This surgery is magnificent!
My job is to mend you.
I also wrote to my fiance Ccile
to tell her I'd been demobbed and would be back soon.
None too soon.
It had taken from November to March.
What's wrong? Some problem?
Hey, you!
My photo not right?
Doesn't look like you.
- It was before. - Before what?
Before the war!
- Did you go? - I wouldn't be here otherwise!
Free-riders everywhere...
Free-riders to war?
For everything.
At ease!
Wait a minute.
He isn't leaving yet.
Come with me.
This lady's interested in your fallen comrade.
I'm Madeleine Pricourt.
I'm Edouard's sister.
She wishes to pray by his grave but doesn't know where it is.
Is it far away?
Is it far, Maillard?
It'll be too dark to pray when we get there.
The lady may pray when she likes, don't you agree?
- Of course. - Good.
Lead the way and we'll follow.
I'll escort you, miss.
Don't move, Maillard.
They wanted to fetch the body. But that was forbidden.
Bodies couldn't be moved. Not that Pradelle cared!
What's this I hear?
Your mate Pricourt's dead?
The last I saw he was fine apart from a dental problem.
He saw you at Hill 113.
If anything happens to me, he talks.
Despite being dead?
It's 20 miles to Pierreval cemetery.
The biggest. There's an amazing choice.
Find me a corpse and we're quits.
Let's get going, Private.
Yes, sir.
Here it is!
Here it is!
Excuse me...
I'd like to see him.
Leave it to me.
What does he look like?
A Senegalese infantryman!
Off to the Pricourt vault, Snow White!
Pradelle persuaded her not to look.
And then?
They loaded up the corpse.
He must be in the Pricourt vault by now.
Paris, November 1919
I found a flat in Paris.
The bank wouldn't have me back, so I got what I could.
It was no big deal.
I wasn't picky after 2 years in trenches.
Then I fetched Edouard.
Being dead, he couldn't go home.
My big problem was morphine.
With all the war wounded, it was everywhere, but not free.
So what did you do?
All war had taught me was to fight innocent men.
So I did that to get morphine.
I'm ashamed.
- Why? - They were veterans.
Veterans like me, but disabled.
They got some morphine
but they sold it rather than starve. I picked on them.
Don't feel like drawing again?
I got you paper and an easel
and set up your gear.
Dampierre Military Cemetery A place of rest and dignity
Do you mind, sir!
The mud here reminds me of the trenches.
You wouldn't know.
But he would.
So who is he, exactly?
Ernest Blachet.
Corporal, 133rd Rgt. Died for France.
September 4, 1917.
E-13. Lce Cpl Simon Perlatte.
6th Army. Died for France, June 16, '17.
What do you mean "so"?
Your crews put the coffins in the wrong places.
Why did my Chinese do that?
Because they can't read!
For this job
you've employed men who can't read!
Can't you read?
These morons can't read!
But what does it matter, eh?
When parents visit
they're not going to dig to check the body.
Hold on! Gentlemen,
we owe the dead our respect.
Then why, for 2 months, in your own cemetery,
have you let illiterates bury them?
It was your workers who messed up the burials!
But you do have military authority to oversee the burials?
- An official comes twice a day. - There's no military oversight?
As good as. He's a council official.
As good as, sir.
Not really, no.
Oh no, it's not the same.
Here's what I suggest.
In respectful remembrance of the dead,
I suggest we keep... this whole thing to ourselves.
Good day, sirs.
I got a job at Le Bon March. As an elevator operator.
First floor.
There I ran into Ccile, my fiance.
I realized why she didn't write back.
Her beau had bought her gifts. She kissed him.
When she saw the clown operating the elevator was me,
she must've thought herself lucky.
Second floor.
Second floor.
Thank you.
Go away.
Go away!
Thank you.
Mr. Pricourt.
I want to see Mr. d'Aulnay-Pradelle. Alone.
Yes, sir.
Chairman, what brings you here?
Excessive growth.
How can growth be excessive?
If it's illegal.
A year's activity and 1 million in clean profit.
That million's not very clean.
This is business, not ethics.
Don't let your schemes stain me, Henri.
Whatever do you mean?
Mr. Chairman?
Come on, old boy.
One last push.
A doctor. Fetch a doctor! Quick!
Call a doctor!
It's Chairman Pricourt.
What's wrong?
We were chatting and he just collapsed.
I think it might be too late.
Dr. Bernard?
What's up, old boy?
18,000 coffins. 5,000 for Laon. 6,100 for Colmar
and 33,000 for Verdun.
What a marvelous day!
What do you think?
You're pretty.
You're pretty!
Come on.
- Can I touch it? - It's for you.
To think I'll never know its name...
You started again?
Can I have a look?
Ah it's... It's...
What is it?
It's not your style. What is this?
"Here, as everywhere,
"in cities and villages,
"schools and even stations,
"everyone wants a war memorial."
He says, "It's for us!"
Sell memorials to the dead?
He says, "No, to the living."
That's all well and good.
I like it, but... it's tough.
You can't just draw them.
Once sold, you have to make and deliver them.
It'll take lots of money.
"We don't make them, we sell them!"
We have to make them too.
He says, "We just sell them."
He's laughing.
Yeah, I can tell.
Then what?
"We take the money and run!"
You're totally nuts!
"Ordinary + ugly + expensive = success!"
Maybe, but I don't fancy jail.
He says, "This is jail."
But... but it's wrong.
Robbing the state. It's sacrilege!
"That's the whole idea!"
They'll deport or guillotine us!
Unlike you, I'm attached to my head.
- He'll help you. - Help me?
Help me? When did you ever help me?
Don't give me that look!
I was just fine in my hole!
I was resting there!
Who's been taking care of you, eh?
Kept you warm, housed, fed?
Who fights the dealers?
Who saved you from Pradelle? Killed your file?
I've been chained to you for six months!
You're worse than the war! Get that?
Stop it!
Dr. Blanche says you're fine.
You know why I fainted?
Today is November 9.
The anniversary of his death.
I'd forgotten.
His name isn't on the vault.
He isn't supposed to be there...
There's no trace of him.
Yes, there is.
I'm sorry.
It's a good likeness.
His signature.
A self-portrait.
A comrade-in-arms sent them to me.
Albert Maillard.
Maybe we could...
Invite him?
That's a good idea.
And he left.
No idea where he went.
How would he cope without morphine?
I didn't really know him.
I didn't get his stupid war memorial scam.
He couldn't tell dreams from reality.
Then I got an even stupider job.
Wonder what time it is? I check my watch...
and see Lip Lip Hurray. The victory watch!
Ladies, Raviba tights.
Strong, long and very silky.
Tell me more about your memorial plan.
How would it work?
"First, publicity."
"Publicity for death."
"Then we make catalogues, send them out...
"and wait!"
And what do I do?
He says, "You find the cash
"to make the catalogues."
Cash for the catalogues?
"It's not a lot."
"Get going or you'll be late!"
Late for what?
- Ready? - Yes!
Is it the moon?
Oh, two people!
It's "The Kiss".
- What is it? - A droplet.
It's a rainy drop.
A windmill.
- What makes it turn? - The wind?
Right. The wind.
It's for peeing!
It's a person!
A person?
He pushes carts. He carries signs like this.
"It isn't fair.
"Why do I have to look for cash?"
You got it! It's Albert!
Mr. Maillard?
Do you recognize me?
Madeleine Pricourt. At the station.
Your address was on the envelope.
Your old landlady told me where to find you.
My father wants to meet you.
Why me?
You were with my brother when he died.
Would you consider it?
Dinner tomorrow at 7?
No. 28, Champs Elyses. Opposite the metro.
Father knows nothing. You see?
- Thank you. - Yes.
The mayor of the 8th district.
Thank you, Pauline.
Dear friend...
To what do I owe?
What do you want? Tell me.
Any progress with your memorial plans?
Oh, is that why?
- To be honest... - Yes, be honest.
We've got nowhere.
Pardon my French, but it's damn costly.
And there's no money.
We're relying on subscriptions.
We're not going to put up some Brancusi or Zadkine thing
because that would go down terribly with voters.
But why do you ask, Mr. Chairman?
I want to make a gesture. I'll fund it all.
But Mr. Chairman...
Find a nice spot. Demolish if need be.
Assemble a jury and arrange a competition.
But I choose.
For the inauguration I want engraved on it the name
of every local man who died. Got that?
Every one!
Mr. Chairman...
Every one!
He says...
He says...
He says, "Going to see Ccile?"
He says, "I hope she's short-sighted."
Oh, good evening.
I'm expected for dinner.
For dinner?
Yes. This is the Pricourts'?
I'm here for dinner. Albert Maillard.
- Oh, I'm so sorry. - No harm done.
May I take your coat?
I don't have one.
I apologize.
No harm done.
My hat, if you like.
Follow me.
- Please take a seat. - Thank you.
Madam will be down soon.
I'll be back late, darling.
That's right. A meeting.
Hello there!
Alright, I'm coming.
Ah! Pauline said you'd arrived.
My father's keen to meet you.
Actually, I'm not feeling so well...
Do take a seat.
So you knew him well?
I knew him very well.
We fought together. That creates a bond.
Tell me a bit about him.
About who?
Of course.
He was...
He was very brave. Very brave.
On the battlefield.
He was always the one who led the charge.
He was a real lion in battle.
The Germans were scared. He was so brave.
Once, he dug up a dead man. He recovered.
Do you know if he...
Did he do any other drawings?
He doesn't any more. Didn't, I mean.
Wherever he is, I'm sure he's drawing.
Making the good Lord happy.
It didn't stop him fighting.
I wasn't there, but apparently he painted during one charge.
We were on top, but still...
Your Edouard and his easel.
Bombs raining down.
And he was painting. Painting!
Did he talk about his family?
All the time.
It's simple. Coming in, I felt I knew this house already.
The front: very pretty.
The staircase: very pretty too.
And he warned me, but in here...
Very pretty.
Very sweet and kind, he said.
And you...
Very pretty?
A bit stern, but fair.
How did he die?
Shot, sir. In the attack on Hill 113.
As I said, he was very brave, so...
It isn't true.
It isn't true.
Come on, my boy. Dinner will buck you up.
Which branch are you in?
Low-hanging branches.
No, your profession?
I'm in advertising.
I'm a bookkeeper, in fact, but I lost my job after the war.
So now I'm in advertising.
As a sector,
it's very interesting.
Thank you.
Tastes good.
The maid will show you out.
Look here, Mr. Maillard...
You're a bookkeeper?
We happen to need bookkeepers.
There are opportunities for investment.
Come to work for us. On very generous terms.
I... I don't know...
Think it over.
It's no problem. Good night.
Thank you.
Academy of Art
Any news from your family?
"Families seldom contact their dead."
No. That's not what I meant...
Maybe they're sad you're dead.
Maybe even your father's sad you're dead.
Okay, calm down.
"Just get the cash."
You told me they're very rich. Maybe we could rob them?
For the catalogues.
We send Louise to your presumably beautiful home.
She nabs some silver or a painting.
We cash it in for the catalogues.
He says no.
"His father's the family thief."
If you say so.
I'll look for money, then.
"That's right."
I accepted Pricourt's job offer.
I started stealing from him.
On a case-by-case basis.
War profiteers
were special. My favorites.
I chose a classic con. The Bridge of Sighs.
The client gives 60,000.
You deposit 40,000 and keep 20,000.
Sign here.
Same with all the others.
I had the cash for 3 days.
Why 3 days?
The advantage of a big bank is nobody notices until reconciliation.
With all the shares, payments, mortgages and loans,
that leaves 3 days until deposits
are compared with receipts.
I'd move money from a verified account into one I'd stolen from.
But it's really cat and mouse!
It's exhausting, hence "Bridge of Sighs".
Alright, note down "embezzlement".
No, what I meant is
it was for the catalogues.
I told Edouard I had a job. He didn't ask where.
Rich people think others ought to work.
- That's you! - Yes!
Who's Jules d'Epremont?
- "Nobody." - Nobody?
"A bogus member of the Institute. Nobody'll check."
I'd like to say the same.
Here you go!
Clause 4.
The chosen artist must have been French
for 3 generations
or be a war veteran.
If a Senegalese or an Asian wins
I think we should accept.
We'll just pay him less.
Clause 5.
If the artist bears physical scars
of the war,
he may be afforded help. Even if he's blind.
I'm not sure, but we look very inclusive.
A blind man's chances are...
Carry on, carry on.
Clause 6. The memorial will be built in Paris
and also by a French company.
I can add "Priority to the Pricourt company."
No point. I'm paying for it anyway.
Of course. Am I stupid?
Clause 7.
The monument's dimensions must be in harmony with the site.
Should we demolish an orphanage or a garage?
The garage, Labourdin.
The garage? I bow to your wish.
Clause 8. The artist must leave enough space on his work
for there to be engraved,
clearly and legibly, the names of...
every victim born in the 8th district.
Lastly, clause 9.
The sum awarded for designing and building the memorial is...
This is your part, Chairman.
Put 150,000 francs.
150,000 francs?
I put 150,000 francs?
Very well.
I'll send these off.
I'll check the mail on the way back.
I hope you're wrong.
For months there was no response.
Then, shortly before Bastille Day,
there was a patriotic frenzy.
The orders came pouring in.
It was amazing!
I guessed people were stupid. But that stupid?
I opened a Patriotism & Remembrance account.
I signed Jules d'Epremont.
Then I fetched the money. A large sum.
There's this...
And this...
After the dealers, I got a gun.
But not to protect my own cash.
Our company's doing well.
What do we do? Design and build memorials.
A macabre business?
The artist and I went to war.
These memorials are a way to say goodbye to our comrades.
I said we'd scarper on Bastille Day
while everyone was celebrating.
He seemed to agree.
We grab the cash and run.
I said Africa was the best bet.
He seemed to agree.
He wanted to take Louise.
Mrs. Belmont fostered her as a war orphan.
It paid, so she didn't like our plan.
So I bought Louise.
Money was no object.
Can he take some?
It's your money, Edouard.
Fill it up.
Fill it more!
Till it overflows!
Dammit, Edouard! All those bills.
- "What's this perfume?" - Perfume?
"On your jacket."
Perfume on my jacket?
There isn't.
There is.
His sister's perfume.
My jacket, my perfume.
A little feminine, I admit.
But it's my perfume.
"That perfume was made exclusively for her."
She must've lost the exclusivity.
Don't look at me like that.
I come back smelling of perfume, so I saw your sister?
Easy on the jacket! It's valuable.
Is that Pradelle?
Told you he was a bastard.
I was so scared, I went to tell Madeleine the truth.
I was even more scared at the house.
What about Edouard?
You know abstract art?
Edouard told me about it.
A Russian painter got home one night.
He saw a fine picture.
Then he realized it was his own.
He was looking at it side on.
He saw that reality didn't matter. Only emotions.
Well, I think Edouard
went in for abstract art. Do you see?
It's pretty abstract to me, anyway.
What I mean is...
He was feeling better.
What's that outfit?
Where's Edouard?
Over there.
"Want to accompany me?"
Want to go out?
He dealt with Pradelle in his own way.
A very twisted way.
On the Ministry of Pensions' roll of honor
he identified an official
who'd never been promoted or rewarded in 30 years.
He was either useless or a pain in the ass.
Joseph Merlin Ministerial Inspectorate
What is it?
What is it?
A mistake.
Then 1. apologize, 2. shut the door,
3. don't do it again!
Firms were allegedly tampering
with corpses to increase profits.
Merlin got a letter accusing Pradelle.
It had to be true.
Chazires-Malmont Military Cemetery
Excuse me, sir.
No entry to the cemetery.
It belongs to the government.
That's me.
I am the government. Joseph Merlin. Inspection.
Nobody informed us.
It wouldn't be an inspection if they had.
Holy smoke...
lots of men really did die.
Merlin. Like the magician.
I'm the owner. How can I help you?
Some arithmetic.
A size 12 is 12 inches long.
Multiply 12 by 5 and you get...
You get?
5 feet.
Can you explain why your coffin
is only 5 feet long?
We have to dig everyone up.
We might come across small men. Jockeys or dwarves.
We save the state money, too.
How kind! I'll put it in my report.
They'll be very touched.
You found all these dwarves?
Those bastards!
Sending all those dwarves to war!
Mind you, dwarves were fine in the trenches.
The Germans couldn't see them.
But hand-to-hand fighting...
Oh dear.
One little kick...
and the dwarves were out cold!
Are the legs usually on the chest, and the head on top of the torso?
The battles were fierce.
I was there. Unlike you.
German technology...
Quite something, eh?
Don't move.
What's this?
It's the least the authorities owe you.
As a token of my esteem
and gratitude for your assessment of my firm,
ten more makes a hundred!
A hundred...
100,000 francs?
Flush the report away!
Do you hear me?
Tell your bosses a story, then forget it.
Here's a first selection of five paintings.
It is only a first selec...
That one is wonderful.
It conveys such emotion.
What do we care if we die, for our nation is saved.
Shut it, Labourdin.
That's odd...
Is it a fake?
I said shut it, Labourdin.
That one.
Reserve the design
and start the work.
Check the artist's credentials and...
I would like to meet him.
He'll be delighted. Imagine...
A meeting with the chairman!
Clear off, Labourdin.
Oh hello, Pauline!
I was just passing.
Albert Maillard.
Is that a new suit?
What do you think?
Can I be honest?
Of course.
All you need is a perch.
You look like a fat canary.
Two years in uniform ruins your dress sense.
Could you help me choose a new suit?
You will?
After work?
Or in two hours?
- No, tomorrow. - Tomorrow.
You know Le Bon March?
I don't like it very much.
It's not very expensive.
Price is no object.
See you tomorrow.
No, this way.
See you tomorrow.
It's late. You scared me stiff.
He handed it in.
Who? What?
Merlin handed in the cash.
He submitted his report
and 100,000 francs as proof of bribery.
Three inches thick!
A list of numbers too.
It can't be true!
It is.
Sir? I have to go, Captain.
No way. I'm going to need you.
Could you give this to that woman?
I had no idea, Dupr!
How could I guess? I'd no idea, old boy.
What do you say to this?
We're at the Luttia
He moved to the Luttia.
He partied away with every dandy in Paris.
For starting the war...
For not stopping it...
For enjoying it...
For profiteering...
You are all sentenced to death.
The coup de grce!
But it's Marshal Foch...
An asshole like the others.
Thanks for cleaning up
Have a nice day
Sorry, sir. We need to move the sofa.
You were asleep?
Know what day it is?
July 11. We leave in 3 days, Private.
While you party,
Albert's out shopping.
Off to the colonies!
My patio isn't very clean!
Oh, get a servant to fix it.
Doesn't that sound good?
He says, "Sounds good."
Orange juice, milk or tea?
Two rums and coconut milk for the girl.
He doesn't exist!
D'Epremont doesn't exist!
I'm sorry?
Jules d'Epremont doesn't exist.
Tell me more.
You wanted to meet him, so I went to 52 rue Du Louvre.
That doesn't exist either. It's a post office box.
Nobody's heard of Jules d'Epremont.
Jules d'Epremont. Of the Institute.
He cannot not exist!
This contains industrial designs?
And we ordered a personal work?
Correct! Mr. d'Epremont, member of the Institute,
creates both industrial models
and works that are...
like what people want them to be like...
Exactly! Original.
Have you paid?
Oh yes! Their rules said no orders without advance payment.
Oh, I see what you mean.
Was it better not to?
Get out of my sight.
He doesn't exist...
Not disturbing you?
What's up, darling?
I want you, that's all.
I'm sorry.
I've never seen you with such breasts.
What is it, Henri?
I must see your father.
It must be serious.
Impossible, my love.
He hates me, but a word from you...
I need five minutes.
I won't get involved. I don't want to.
You don't have to care about my business.
It's not your business I don't care about...
It's you.
I don't get it.
It's not what you do...
It's who you are.
I married you because I needed you.
I needed a name.
I was getting old.
I was proud to show you to my friends...
Until you slept with them.
How did you describe me to them?
"Ugly face but a pretty dowry."
Who told you such nonsense?
It's your typical repartee.
No, it isn't.
I'll miss your handsome face.
And the rest...
But you've done your job.
My job?
It's sure to be a lovely baby.
It's all I ever expected of you.
Life's going to be tough for you, darling.
It's too late for me to help you.
I must care for the baby now.
Mr. Pricourt asks to see you.
It seems urgent.
The minister called. You're in serious trouble.
Your cemetery scam... Bribing officials...
Serious charges.
You're dead.
Do you hear me?
It's near midnight, so you must need me.
I don't yet know why,
but my conditions are the same.
You control the minister.
Tell him to throw out all the charges against me.
I want to hear no more of it.
Is that clear?
Just tell me who you want killed.
One or two crooks selling memorials they'll never build.
I'm one of their victims.
If they're arrested before they escape,
everyone'll weigh in. The law...
veterans, the government, the papers.
And I don't want the publicity.
So find him. Or them.
Why me?
Because it takes a shit to catch one.
"Illuminations and bunting on Paris's main monuments."
Oh, it'll be beautiful!
"Belleville and Mnilmontant.
"A cavalry parade
"at the racecourse."
Bastille Day's going to be special!
I order you to marry me. To the town hall! Left, right...
Then a long trip to Africa.
Please marry me. Oh go on!
Will you marry me?
That's naughty!
People selling fake war memorials.
Non-existent memorials.
FAKE WAR MEMORIALS The next national scandal?
I understand.
All your mates who died fighting.
Such a nasty thing to do.
But they'll catch them
and punish those crooks.
It'll be terrible for them.
It's me.
What do you mean?
The war memorials in the paper. It's me.
Won't you marry me?
Nobody, Chairman. Nobody at all.
Nobody knows!
I told nobody!
Well, actually...
"Actually" what?
A lady friend who swore she wouldn't repeat it.
What does this lady friend do?
Good grief!
"Good grief" what?
She was taking notes while we...
She's a journalist.
I can't do much. He went too far. Too many people know.
You didn't get where you are on your own.
Nobody's as vulnerable as a minister.
I know how much I owe you, but...
I mean the future, not the past.
I'll see what I can do.
Forget "can do". What you will do.
Very well.
I can reassure our young friend?
He's your friend?
But not another squeak from him!
- See you soon. - Indeed.
He's at the Luttia.
Under the name of Eugne Larivire or Jules d'Epremont.
A nutter in a mask who draws all day long.
He's leaving within 24 hours.
You need to be quick.
Put a foot wrong and I'll crush you.
My, my, Pauline...
This isn't the service entrance.
Broken heart?
I'll always be here to console you.
Still to the Luttia?
Follow that car, please.
What are you doing here?
I asked why you're here.
This is a building site.
Private Maillard.
Put it down, Maillard.
Put it down now.
The war's over.
I don't know.
I don't know anymore.
Put it down. That's an order!
Help me out!
Private Maillard!
It was an accident.
I couldn't have killed him.
He didn't fall in by himself.
That's true.
Then what?
I hid in a room near the Gare de Lyon.
Waiting for Edouard.
Mr. Larivire or Jules d'Epremont?
I'm one of your victims.
But in fact I don't give a damn.
There's something in your drawings
that reminds me of the work of somebody I knew.
I thought you might have known him...
I'd have liked to tell him...
He was right to want to be who he was.
That there was genius to his art.
That you had to be an idiot not to see it.
Above all, I wanted to tell him
that he was my son
and I was proud of him.
Thank you.
That's it.
See you up there.
I'll take over.
Go home, you two.
I said I'll take over.
I'm going out for 10 minutes.
I stupidly left the handcuff keys behind.
Unfortunately, the phone doesn't work,
So I can't report you until tomorrow.
Pity the border's only a few hours away on foot
or, with money, an hour by taxi.
Why do all this?
Who was the young soldier shot by Pradelle?
Young Thrieux.
My kid.
Safe journey, Private Maillard.