Those Who Make Revolution Halfway Only Dig Their Own Graves (2016) Movie Script
THOSE WHO MAKE REVOLUTION HALFWAY
ONLY DIG THEIR OWN GRAVES
Were you afraid this was
the end of democracy?
At first, we thought it was.
But it would only be fleeting.
Because people were not
going to sit still.
It had happened before
in our history.
The feeling we had reached
a point of no return.
Ok, go.
Go!
We did it!
PEOPLE DO NOT YET SEE
THEY ARE MISERABLE.
WE WILL SHOW THEM!
I SEARCHED FOR A REASON
TO LIVE IN THE ABSTRACT,
WHEN IT HAD TO BE FOUND
IN LIFE. IN ACTION.
We said we wouldn't do this again.
We're at war.
We can't let these things
happen anymore.
I know.
CHAREST: RESIGN
SICK OF NEOLIBERAL IDEAS
I've long been wandering
and I came back to the deserted
horror of your wounds.
Embrace me fearlessly.
For if I know only to speak,
I shall speak for you.
My mouth shall be the mouth
of mouthless calamities.
My voice the freedom of those
that fade in the jails of despair.
And may my body and soul
keep from standing still
as would a mere onlooker
for life is not a spectacle.
Because a sea of suffering
is not a stage.
Because a screaming man
is not a prancing bear.
After twelve weeks of striking.
Assemblies. Solidarity.
Arrests. Protests.
What do we get?
Nothing!
The tuition hike is
pushed back six months
while a biased committee
writes a report to screw us over?
Is this what we want?
No!
Sorry, but no!
The student union is trying
to lure us back into school
so we'll lose all our leverage.
Three months out
in the streets for this?
No!
People are sick of
the student conflict
because each side is letting
the situation worsen.
We're sticking to
partisan positions
and will not negotiate.
It can't go on like that.
I'm not here to say
the government's right.
I fucking hope not!
I'm not here to say
the government's right.
But it's not by antagonising people
that we'll get them
to support our cause.
It's just a start!
The man on the street
won't support us...
Fuck the man on the street!
If we're blocking
Champlain Bridge at rush hour.
Who cares?
We shoot ourselves in the foot
when we do things like that.
No!
The government's strategy is
crystal clear.
They won't budge because
they want the next election
to be a referendum on
tuition increase.
With this in mind,
what are our options?
There's only one possible reaction.
We end the strike
and wait out the election.
Because this strike penalizes
students first!
Please.
Seriously, think about it.
Who are the real losers?
Us, of course!
We risk losing...
Hey pussy boy! Your semester's
already gone! Move on!
By enduring violence
and by refusing to respond,
we break a cycle
that leads only to more violence.
Exposing the scandal of oppression
and injustice, we open eyes.
We awaken the adversary's moral
sense as well as public opinion,
which exerts pressure on it.
Get on with it!
What a waste of time!
The adversary can't persist
in a path of violence.
He sees he's wrong...
in a conversion to peace,
- Speed it up!
But not in a spirit
of defeat and vengeance.
Move on!
Non-violence is not inertia.
It's not resignation,
much less cowardice.
Non- violence, as Gandhi said...
Gandhi? Gandhi!
...is not shying away from a fight
when faced with hostility.
On the contrary,
it's an even more energetic,
more authentic form of battle...
Give back that mic! Now!
Enough of this bullshit!
This is no time
for passive resistance!
The state is decapitating us!
The only thing the government
understands is terror!
This strike can't just be
an excuse to skip class.
Think bigger!
Open your eyes,
for fuck's sake!
We're a laughing stock.
We have no power
in a capitalist society.
None!
Your pan-banging protests,
do you think they impress
our leaders?
No way! They're about
to open a pots and pans factory
to milk more money out of you!
No matter what we do,
if we don't hit their ability
to exploit and profit,
it's completely useless.
I demand the dissolution
of this student assembly!
I formally demand the dissolution
of this student assembly!
My name: Offended.
My first name: Humiliated.
My state: Revolted.
My age: The Stone Age.
My race? My religion?
My race: The fallen one.
My religion?
Your meekness will not
lay the grounds for it.
I will.
With my revolt and my pathetic fists
and my unkempt head.
Alas, you will die.
Killed.
I killed him with my own hands.
Yes. Of a fruitful
and lusty death.
Night had fallen.
We crawled amongst
the sugarcanes.
The knives glinted gleefully
under the stars,
but we had no care for stars.
The sugarcanes lacerated our faces
with a tide of green blades.
I had dreamt of a son who would
close his dead mother's eyes.
I chose to open my son's eyes
under another sun.
On a November night,
a clamour suddenly
lit up the silence.
We the slaves had sprung.
We the manure. We the beasts
with the hoofs of patience.
We ran like madmen,
as gunshots rang out.
We struck.
Refreshed with sweat and blood.
We struck amidst the cries
and the cries grew shrill and
a great clamour rose to the east.
Our own were burning and the flames
caressed our cheeks.
Then came the assault
on our master's house.
They shot at us from the windows.
We broke in.
And the master's bedroom was there.
Wide open.
Brilliantly lit.
And the master sat there.
So calm.
We stopped.
Here was the master.
I entered.
It's you, said he, calmly.
It was me. Indeed it was.
The good slave, the obedient slave,
the slavish slave.
And suddenly his eyes were two
fearful cockroaches in the rain.
I struck!
Blood spurted.
The sole baptism I remember still.
We sweated buckets, right Gilles?
We worked till we were sore.
No pain no gain!
But we were too nice afterwards.
We raised a generation
of spoiled brats and crybabies.
After me. The flood!
We hadn't heard that one in a while.
A bunch of lazy bums who want it all
but won't work for it.
We're not all like that, dad!
Like all small nations,
our only hope is education.
That should be our priority.
Not raising old people's
life expectancy
by pouring half our GDP
in hospitals!
Education is all we have.
To preserve our culture
and knowledge,
we must pass them on!
There goes the separatists'
broken record!
Don't be a laughingstock!
If they ruin my semester,
I lose a year's income!
I'll sue them if that happens!
- My income,
my semester, my job, me, me, me!
Pull your head out
of your ass for a change!
Roxanne!
We said no fighting today.
Sure! Who likes fights in Qubec?
Who likes loudmouths?
Let's not talk about dropouts.
Or tuition hikes. Or climate change.
Independence?
Let's not talk about that either!
Who has time for that?
We're so busy paying mortgages
on our upstart mansions
and checking gas prices
for our SUVs because
we're too fat to walk now!
Right pops?
I can't believe my ears, Roxanne!
You've been around the world
with your backpack...
We're citizens of the world, now!
Citizens of the world?
Give me a break!
Are the Finns closed-minded
because they're Finnish?
Would they be more open-minded
if they let Russia annex them?
No! Why is it different for us?
She's a true separatist!
Like you back then!
- That was in another life!
I was young and ignorant.
To quote Franois Legault,
"I've come a long way"!
You've "come a long way"?
What does that mean?
You disavowed everything
you once believed in?
Betraying youthful ideals
isn't enough?
You also have to make enough dough
to be able to roll in it like a pig
with your upstart friends!
Enough bullshit!
Your ass is lined with gold!
You study the "fine arts",
you mould toilet bowls
and take pictures of dead cats!
Always free of charge
because daddy has money!
And you dare shit
on my head?
Christ!
You don't want to study,
you don't want to work...
What do you want exactly?
Tell me! I'm listening!
That's what I thought!
You don't even know!
I'll tell you what you want,
you and your friends.
The only thing you want
is other people's money!
Whether it's your parents'
or the government's,
it's the same damn thing!
But working for money?
Getting up in the morning
from time to time? Making an effort?
No, fuck no! You're above that!
At some point, you'll have
to start living in the real world.
Money doesn't grow on trees!
Your iPhone and your MacBook
and your iPad and your camera
and your goddamn misunderstood
artist's toys,
who paid for all that?
Funny. I didn't hear you
mention ideals
and grand principles
and independence
when I pulled out my credit card
to buy all that!
Still, let's blame the baby boomers!
Nothing's our fault!
FOR OVER A CENTURY WE HAVE BEEN
SAVING THE SPOILS OF OUR FAILURES.
FEROCIOUSLY. AND IF
EVERY QUARTER CENTURY
WE SUMMON A VAIN IMPULSE
TO QUESTION THE SYSTEM,
WE ARE QUICK TO GO BACK
TO OUR FAULTS,
THE SYSTEM APPEARING
LESS SUSPECT THAN OURSELVES.
SUCH IS THE CRUEL MOTION
OF A HISTORY THAT TIRELESSLY
THROWS US TO THE GROUND.
Enough is enough! In our time
we marched, we campaigned, we...
We were overwhelmed
by an immense sadness.
Because another democratic
experiment in this country
was ending in a show of arms.
The attempts of a people
to find a means of coexistence
once again clashed with rigidity
and authoritarianism.
This sadness won over
our rage and our shame
and triggered a sepulchral silence
during the first minutes.
Out of the way, bitch!
REVOLUTIONS BEGIN WHEN DESTINY
AVENGES ILLUSTRIOUS INDIGENTS
The earth might well
stop turning when we're gone.
Meanwhile we only care
about our own comfort.
The heated seats in our Mercedes.
The caviar canaps
and the Prada bags
bouncing off our fat asses.
You, youthful old man.
Yeah, I'm talking to you!
Your only ambition
is to take the place
of the silver heads
without changing anything.
Fucking traitor.
Fucking collaborator!
You won't take your money
to your grave!
How's your plonk?
Go on, drink. For this is our blood,
the blood of the poor,
the filthy, the disreputable.
Our blood, poured for you,
only for you,
until we die like stray dogs
left to rot in the streets.
What's wrong?
You mind seeing us here?
We're ruining your appetite?
It feels good to flash
your big cars and your jewels
in poor, gentrifying
neighbourhoods?
As long as the rabble
doesn't spoil the view, right?
You fucking people.
Just give me one shot.
Go away!
Shithead.
These fucking thieves
can kiss my ass.
How much for a bowl of greens?
It doesn't make any sense.
Really. It's grand theft.
Ready?
- Yep.
Great!
A chicken!
It's a fucking invasion.
We will not settle
for the middle ground.
We are gut-wrenchers.
We will accept nothing short
of grandeur.
Until we are torn apart,
destroyed, exploded.
We will never die.
Our thirst grows.
We're ravenous consumers
in this immense marketing
from which nothing escapes.
In a continent-century where the law
of the jungle rules ferociously,
winter's wounded will be merciless.
The prettiest pygmy sticks
her thick short tongue
in reasonable tourists'
big white ears.
You get used to being emptied.
They're women of negation, losers,
lumberjack-ladies
disconnected from reality.
Their absence serves
the saddest cause.
But we...
We are desire.
Old ladies defy their veins'
rheostats, give hard-ons to scars
and converse at the orifice
of bodies.
Our madness doesn't neutralize
the scandal's efficiency.
Drinkers, scab
at the frontier of bones,
piss off the dancer
trapped in the circle of lies.
We must learn to leave
every day.
Dangerous little girls with hard-ons
spread death along the highway.
DON'T LAUGH AT THE YOUNG GENERATION.
YOU'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND THA IT IS POSSIBLE TO LIVE
ONLY WITH THE DESIRE
FOR FREEDOM AND GOOD.
YOU WON'T UNDERSTAND
THE BELLIGERENT ARDOUR
ENFLAMING THE HEART OF THE WARRIOR.
AND THAT AN ADOLESCENT CAN DIE,
LOYAL TO THE END TO HIS PRINCIPLES.
Before them,
men died in the name
of what they knew,
or what they thought they knew.
From them onwards,
we took the more difficult habit
of self-sacrificing for something
of which we knew nothing,
except that one had
to die for it to exist.
Until then, those who had to die
appealed to God
against Man's justice.
But now, one is struck by the fact
that all, without exception,
turn from their judges
to seek the justice of other men,
still to come.
These men of the future,
in the absence of supreme values,
were their last resort.
The future is
the only transcendence
that godless men
can aspire to.
VAUDREUIL IN HOMAGE
TO CANON LIONEL GROULX
Attention.
Due to an unexpected incident,
service is temporarily suspended
on the green line between Atwater
and Honor-Beaugrand stations.
Updates will follow.
Your Honour,
the mother of the accused
wishes to address the court
before you reach a decision.
The court is listening.
Your Honour.
With help from
my family and friends,
I raised $15,000
which may serve as bail,
should you decide to free Karine
while she awaits her trial.
Karine could stay with me.
I would keep an eye on her
and on those she meets up with.
I want to stress that my
daughter is a good person.
She's been a bit lost
recently,
but that's because
of a lack of direction.
Her father was never present.
He was never there for her.
It affected her more than I...
What does my father
have to do with anything?
Nothing! Can't you understand that?
Miss Dumas!
Only speak when you're asked to!
And by the way,
you're in no position
to school your mother!
Please go on, madam.
Please rise and keep silent.
Miss, may I ask you
to please rise.
Give yourself a chance.
I won't tell you again.
Karine!
Please.
Please sit.
The court has decided
to release Karine Dumas
on bail until her trial.
The conditions of her
release are as follows.
Karine Dumas shall move in
with her mother.
She shall not go near
any metro station, train station
or airport.
She shall submit to a curfew.
To be detailed later.
She shall not take part
in public demonstrations
and shall. Of course.
Avoid any trouble with the law.
She shall also report to
the police station
regularly.
I think you're underestimating
the situation's seriousness.
Let me be clear.
Should you fail to submit to
even one of these conditions,
an arrest warrant
will be issued
and you will find
yourself in jail.
Is that something
you can understand?
I'll be frank with you.
Without your mother's
moving testimony...
That brave and dignified woman...
You would be on your way
to a correctional facility.
You could at least thank her!
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you!
Thank you!
Thank you!
The hearing is adjourned!
Get her out of here
before I change my mind!
A candidate for the Liberal Party of Canada.
Especially not partisan politics.
Maybe this lacks realism,
because I believe
that people are tired
of seeing their cynicism
towards politicians
confirmed by politicians.
Now more than ever,
Canadians are feeling the urge
to take responsible actions.
Bold steps at home
and throughout the world
to counter the destruction
of the environment,
to reduce the gap
between rich and poor
and to address the rise
of intolerance between nations.
And because of that,
we are becoming aware
that each of us
potentially plays a role.
A girl. She's alone.
What does she want
at this hour?
Relax. She must be
selling something.
I'll go.
Hello... Sir? Madam?
I hope I'm not waking you up?
Kind of, yes.
We're going door to door
this morning
to raise awareness about
a very important project.
I won't take much of
your precious time,
but if you could sign this petition
asking the district to grant
the status of "Green Alley"
to the magnificent alleyway
behind your home.
Not the best moment for that.
Do you know Mr. Larrive?
Your neighbour two houses down.
Nope.
It doesn't matter.
He's the one who coined the name!
"The Shining Alley
of the Sweet Incline."
What?
"The Shining Alley
of the Sweet Incline."
Sorry, but this really
isn't the right place to...
A quick signature?
It'll take three seconds.
Not a lot to change the world!
Change the world?
Of course.
The green alley concept is at the
heart of the new local social fabric.
And it helps counter
urban heat islands!
That's how you change the world?
Certainly sir!
Every gesture counts.
Your signature to change the world?
Somebody's waiting inside,
I'll have to go.
Thank you for listening!
You'll see. Once we all unite,
we'll get our green alley!
Sure you didn't want to sign?
We'll show you how
to change the world.
One heat island at a time!
In the following minutes,
You will feel the effects
of a fever, nausea,
back pains and fatigue.
You're the victim
of a nascent conscience.
But don't be mistaken.
These are also the symptoms
resulting from the inhalation
of the anthrax bacillus.
Don't wait for respiratory arrest
to seek help.
We're proclaiming these times
to be those of red blood!
Tomorrow we'll be free!
In the following minutes,
you will start to feel
the effects of a nascent conscience.
A spectre is haunting the West.
The spectre of its youth.
The powers that be have united
in a hallowed pack to hunt it down.
On the front line:
Reactionary police forces.
The power of youth has been
acknowledged by the powers that be.
But youth itself doesn't recognize
its revolutionary calling.
This vocation and this duty
are transhistorical.
It's incumbent upon us
to dethrone our fathers.
The time is ripe for youth
to show the world their will,
their ideas, their goals,
their tendencies.
The legends of the spectre of youth
must be opposed
by a concerted action,
more terrifying still.
I'm calling upon you, newly awakened
freedom fighters,
to form commandos,
cells and antennas.
Seek inspiration in guerrilla
and revolutionary terrorism.
Attack when they pull back
and disappear when they regroup.
We will fight like Cerberus,
each of us one of his raging heads.
Each of us a breach in
this evil empire.
Each of us an arrogant challenge
to this retrograde world order.
Any victory over this order
and its lackeys
will be a victory for freedom.
EVERYWHERE TOGETHER,
NAKED BUT SECRET.
UNITED WITH OUR BROTHERS BY
THE BONDS OF REVOLUTION AND SILENCE,
WE LEARNED IN THE SMELL OF GUNPOWDER
THE EXALTED GESTURES
OF BLISS AND HOW TO SCREAM.
Youth will not appreciate
its life without giving it meaning,
it will not kneel and hide
its opinions and projects.
It proclaims that its goals
can only be achieved
through the violent reversal
of the social order of the past.
May the ruling classes
tremble at this very idea!
Comrades, get ready for war.
Don't relegate your indignation
to some spectator of despair.
Shed a tear. Scream out loud.
Take to the streets
to defend your own.
Criminal. He who submits
to pacifist forces,
he who revels in servitude,
he who tolerates the intolerable.
He who bends down without
having dealt a single blow.
We have nothing to lose.
Only our chains.
And a world to win.
A number of suspicious packages
discovered in various locations.
That's right,
and more are turning up.
You can see the firemen
and the paramedics here,
because five buildings in Montral
have received envelopes which,
according to the police,
contain an unidentified substance.
Possibly a powder,
according to our sources.
A small group identified as the
Revolutionary Armed Forces of Qubec
sent fourteen envelopes
containing a mysterious powder.
Two envelopes were sent
to the prime minister's office.
I think this is a clear attempt
at intimidation
and of course the government
will not let itself be intimidated.
Maxime, we're seeing this live,
a huge deployment of police forces
triggered by this wave
of suspicious parcels.
Yes. Here. A minister's office has
been targeted.
You can see they set up
a security perimeter
to isolate the people who have been
in contact with the substance.
You can see them.
With the red blankets.
The group claiming responsibility
for these parcels,
the Revolutionary Armed
Forces of Qubec,
undoubtedly inspired by the FLQ,
a late sixties radical group.
We have it from reliable sources
that they're known to the police
and that a vast investigation
is currently underway
to cast light upon these
curious missives.
IN THIS SILENT LAND, MOTIONLESS
AS A GREAT BLOODLESS BODY,
THE LIVING WERE SUDDENLY
WONDERING ABOUT THEMSELVES
AS IF THEY FACED DEATH.
THEY WERE NOT WRONG.
Everyone's talking about it!
Here too.
Even there, on the homepage.
ANTHRAX ALERT: A HOAX?
They had to figure it out
at some point.
Isn't it weird that they
finally got it?
Look here.
They still think it's true!
What the hell?
You have no fucking right!
We look like a bunch
of fucking idiots!
You're proud of
your amateur dramatics?
They had to figure it out
at some point...
Flour-filled envelopes!
Did you think they'd die
of hypochondria?
You should've said so last week
if you disagreed!
Stop freaking out and
pull yourself together!
Smells good.
Smells good.
Thank you.
I left it on the table for you.
ALL REVOLUTIONARIES ARE NAIVE:
THEY TRUST IN MANKIND! WHAT A FLAW!
Karine Dumas?
First time out on bail?
Excuse me, but this is
an official appointment.
Can you answer
the questions clearly?
Ask the questions
if you want me to answer them.
Ok. We'd better start again.
Can I call you by your first name?
- No.
How's bail, Karine? Being back
at your mom's place and all?
How's bail, Karine? Being back
at your mom's place and all?
Is that any of your business?
Have you reflected on what happened,
and the reasons behind your actions?
I thought you wanted to make sure
I wasn't running away,
but really I'm here for
lessons in morality?
Is it going well in Longueuil
with your mom?
Yes.
Do you have a summer job?
No.
I hope you're not
giving me bad grades.
You're keeping clear
of unsavoury acquaintances?
Yes. Colonel!
Lieutenant, I mean.
What was that?
Nothing.
Listen here, princess.
Thirty years I've been on this job.
I've seen a shitload of stuff.
Stop your little act
and pull yourself together.
I love rough talk.
I don't think the message
is getting through.
You're in a police station.
You're on bail. I'm a policeman.
You're in a police station.
You're on bail. I'm a policeman.
Not some teacher you fool
around with at university.
You're not banging on pots
in a trendy neighbourhood!
Authority figures turn me on.
What the fuck was that?
You little fuck! Stop smirking
before I make you stop.
Are you threatening me, lieutenant?
Are you going to hit me?
It won't go down well
on your TV show.
Where's your cell phone?
I don't have one.
- Bullshit.
You guys record everything.
Of course people do that.
You're filming too.
But sometimes it seems like
your cameras malfunction.
Bits go missing!
Funny, isn't it?
You've no right. Give that back!
You've no right. Give that back!
You need a warrant!
I didn't get the memo!
I know my rights! Let go!
Give me that!
It's mine, give it back!
You little bitch!
Let me go fucker!
What if I don't?
What happens if I don't let go?
What's wrong Karine?
Not in the mood anymore?
He's really good, isn't he?
Good night.
Good night darling. Sleep well.
I BURN WITH IMPATIENCE
AT THE THOUGHT OF MULTIPLE
TERROR ATTACKS,
A PURE AND SHATTERING GESTURE
THAT WILL BRING BACK
MY URGE TO LIVE
AND CONSECRATE ME AS A TERRORIST,
IN THE STRICTEST INTIMACY.
Tumulto!
Giutizia!
Ordine Nuovo!
Klas Batalo!
Yesterday doesn't exist.
Tomorrow is a distant dream.
Today, we are born!
INTERLUDE
TOMORROW THE REVOLUTION
WILL RISE UP AGAIN,
CLASHING ITS WEAPONS.
AND TO YOUR TERROR
IT WILL PROCLAIM
WITH TRUMPETS BLAZING:
I WAS, I AM, I SHALL BE!
June. The villagers beseech heaven
to bless their crops.
June. The villagers beseech heaven
to bless their crops.
He has renewed His miracle
on the shores of the St. Lawrence.
He has lifted His hand
over the furrows
and blessed the fields of Charlevoix
and the neighbouring mountains.
Let me go!
You're crushing my face!
What are you doing?
Nothing.
I'm reading notes. I'll rewrite
the manifesto this week.
Let me go!
You'll have to explain this.
I'm accusing myself today,
before you,
of being guilty
of the crime of nostalgia.
I'm guilty of having
let myself be lulled
by the comforting and numbing
sweetness of my past,
while I swore before you
to live only in the moment.
In the present.
Looking back is to feel gratified
by something gone.
To feel gratified
by your own death.
Your own insignificance.
The only way to stop dying,
is to refuse all forms
of gratification
that do not come from concrete.
Tangible, present action.
By miring myself in nostalgia
like a pig rolling in its own shit,
I betrayed a fundamental principle
of our brotherhood.
I can promise you now...
That I will not slip again
into this deathly nostalgia.
But I understand.
I understand my word now lacks
any value in your eyes.
I can see that my weakness...
my cowardice and my egotism
weaken our group.
I know that I have not
risen up to your dedication,
your lucidity, and your courage.
I no longer deserve your friendship,
much less your welcome.
I'll do anything you ask of me
to stay here, with you.
But I understand.
I understand that exile
and ostracism
are probably the only punishment
I deserve for my stupidity.
Show us that you want to stay.
Show us!
That's enough!
Stop! We've had enough!
Tell him to stop!
No!
Show us how far
you're willing to go!
Stop!
Leave him!
Harder!
Harder!
What is it going to take next time?
You're not fighting
our fight anymore.
It's your own battle.
You against yourself.
I don't know you anymore.
HEAD BURROWED UNDER MANURE
MORIBUND SOCIETIES MOAN OU THEIR SWANSONG.
WHAT WERE YOU HOPING FOR,
WHEN YOU REMOVED THE GAG
THAT KEPT THEIR MOUTHS SHUT?
THAT THEY WOULD SING YOUR PRAISE?
OUR FATHERS' HEADS HAD BEEN
FORCIBLY BENT DOWN TO THE GROUND.
DID YOU THINK,
WHEN THEY WERE RAISED AGAIN.
THAT YOU WOULD READ
ADORATION IN THEIR EYES?
You're going back home, dear.
WHERE SHALL I FIND
THE STRENGTH TO LOVE?
I HAVE AT LEAS THE FORCE TO HATE.
IT IS BETTER THAN
FEELING NOTHING.
Thanks.
My pleasure.
You're reading this?
No. It's been lying there
for a while.
My god,
Rosa Luxemburg...
I read that,
when I was young.
Maybe it doesn't show
but I was something of
a revolutionary in my time.
The long hair, the beard...
And this!
Rosa, Trotsky, Marx,
Fanon... Che Guevara...
I read it all.
One must work and do all one can,
but take all the rest
with lightness and good humour.
Pent-up bitterness surely
doesn't make life any easier.
You understood that
some time ago, right?
Young people get that.
I have another client coming.
Maybe we misjudged things,
back then...
Stay human.
Joyously throw your life
on the scales of destiny,
but also rejoice from each
sunny day, each beautiful cloud.
Throw your life
on the scales of destiny...
Funny reading that today.
It had never hit me. Back then.
That a revolutionary could
be happy once in a while.
We only ever saw
the serious side.
Anyone who had fun was suspect.
Maybe that was the problem.
We took it way too seriously.
Can you get dressed?
I have to clear the room.
No problem.
You must not care to
hear me talk like this.
Don't forget. Even if you're busy
or hastily crossing the yard,
absorbed by urgent tasks,
don't forget to look up for a moment
and to gaze at the silvery clouds
and the peaceful blue ocean
in which they swim.
This day will never come back.
Shut up, you fucking pig!
I tried, you know?
But at some point you get old.
You get scared.
You have to work, earn some money.
And in order to do that.
You must leave aside
your delusions of grandeur.
One morning you wake up
and look in the mirror...
And you see my face.
The face of a guy
who's no better than others,
but no worse either.
It's quite fun
your little solo project.
Oh, that's what's
bothering you?
No. It's a question of principle.
We developed principles,
we should respect them.
You're so puerile.
Puerile?
We've always said
that we'd do nothing
without everyone's agreement.
Quite simple, isn't it?
We've been talking about this
for three months.
Exactly! It's been three months
since we started planning it.
But we never decided
that it was the moment to do it.
You could've told us...
How many times have we
discussed this? We all agreed!
We agreed that the timing
was not right. Let's stay coherent!
Easy to invoke coherence
when you sit still and do fuck all!
You call this nothing?
And you? Did you...
What? Go ahead!
Did you ask us before
stealing these guns?
Ask for what? They're from
my parents' place!
And what will your parents deduct,
when they see that
their guns are gone?
Nothing!
- Really?
They don't know where I am!
You OK?
I'm done
with the massage parlour.
LET US REMEMBER THAT SADNESS
IS FECUND IN GREAT THINGS,
AND THAT THE ONLY WAY TO HELP
OUR POOR COUNTRY STAND UP
IS TO SHOW IT THE ABYSS
INTO WHICH IT HAS SUNK.
When revolutionary circumstances
develop in a country
where the spirit of revolt
has not yet awakened the masses,
a spirit which triggers protests,
riots and uprisings,
only through action can minorities
rouse the feeling of independence
and the bold spirit without which
no revolution can be accomplished.
The masses may initially
be indifferent,
while admiring the courage
of the instigators.
They may initially prefer
to follow the wise, the prudent,
those who are quick to categorize
this act as "madness",
those who'll say that the hooligans
will only do harm.
End of the world,
you are not far.
Deep down we thought
we were on an endless voyage.
But discovered the earth is flat.
The earth our image.
And now the end of the world.
We must stop, we are here.
We can't just sit on our asses.
We must do something.
We must move, go further.
What does "going further"
mean to you?
Stealing more stuff
from your parents' place?
Fuck off.
What's it going to change?
Do you think the people
will suddenly open their eyes?
We now have to set out
on a pilgrimage
and trace back to where we came from.
Rancour at the heels of our sorrow.
We swim against the tide
of our mirage,
without turning our backs
to the new voices of our riches.
We have been standing still,
alone, for too long.
We have already lost heart
by stopping.
Remember that graffiti the hooligans
scrawled over the bridge?
The people do not yet see
they're miserable.
We will show them!
Idiot!
We gather around the space
of what we don't have
the definitive reality
of what we could have.
Colonies and possessions
and a whole archipelago
made both in the image of
and lured towards that point,
at the very centre
of what we don't have -
which is desire.
You went to French school?
- Yes I did.
I didn't speak English
until I was six.
Not until you were six?
Yes.
No English was spoken
in your family?
We spoke French at home.
The whole neighbourhood was French!
Beaulieu St. And...
Boisvert St. And...
And the club... French old timers
playing cards and pool.
They baked meat pies
for Christmas and New Year's
and raised a ruckus.
And once a year, French Canadians
from Qubec
came down in dog sleighs,
in the snow. To celebrate.
In Lowell. Massachusetts!
CRIMINAL ARSON: FOUR DEAD
FAMILY LIVED ABOVE THE RESTAURAN You ok?
I'm ok.
IN ANY NOTABLE HISTORICAL PERIOD,
GENERATIONS ARISE WITH THE FEELING
THAT THEY ARE LIVING
ON THE THRESHOLD OF A NEW ERA.
FOR THEM, EVERY NIGHT THE STARS
RISE UP FROM THE OCEAN
AS THEY DID OVER THE CARAVELS
THEY FIND THEMSELVES DESIRING
THESE NEW LANDS AND TIMES,
LOVING THEM PASSIONATELY AS IF
THEY WERE THEIR OWN, THEIR RIGHT.
IN THE SOUL OF THE YOUNG PEOPLE
OF MY TIME.
THERE WAS SOME OF THIS FEVERISH
AND JOYOUS EXPECTATION.
You don't look well.
No, I'm ok.
And you? How are you?
I'm working too much.
I should take it easy but...
What else am I going to do?
You're not in school?
Do you have a job?
No.
How do you make ends meet?
I get by.
Where do you live now?
Same place.
Where's that?
Never mind.
Eat.
You should call your mom.
Difficult. We don't have a phone.
How can you live without a phone?
There are other ways to live, dad.
And no, we don't have a TV.
Your brother was asking about you.
His girlfriend had a baby.
A girl! You should see
how pretty she is.
Just like her mom!
You're an uncle now!
What's her name?
They called her Emy.
Are you free now? We could go
see them before rush hour.
They're right by the bridge.
It's not...
- He'd be so happy!
Not great timing for me.
Listen. Dad...
I have to go.
I'm out of time.
Finish your plate...
I can't.
Listen...
I wanted to tell you.
I know we're different you and me.
But I'm worried about you.
Bye Dad.
You have to eat something.
There's nothing left. Zero.
It all went bad.
How long since we paid the bills?
Three months? Six months?
Come on. We'll take care of it.
I'm coming!
Let me go!
Let go, crazy bitch!
Karine?
Fuck!
Help me Karine! They'll kill me!
Get a fucking grip!
I have the cash!
Let's go!
I accuse myself
of having put the group's
security at risk.
And I am guilty.
I am guilty of having been
a coward and a weakling.
I am guilty of lacking courage,
the main value needed
for the defence of our ideals.
And I am guilty.
I accuse myself of the direst crime
one can commit:
Doubting the legitimacy
of our struggle,
and the moral righteousness
of our actions.
I accuse myself of being too weak
to rise up to your struggle.
And I am guilty.
I accuse myself of selfishly wishing
to renounce one of our actions.
Knowing that the group
had decided it had to be done
when I should have thanked
my lucky star to find myself
at the frontline of the revolution.
And I am guilty.
I know that my place is
no longer here with you.
The only thing
I can ask of you now,
is for your disdain
to equal my mediocrity.
No one here wants you to go.
Stop it!
Stop!
I'm uncertain too.
We're all uncertain.
CONCLUSIONS FALL UPON US
LIKE RIPE FRUIT.
WE HAVE ONLY ONE OPTION...
TO NOT BE FREE.
FOR US...
A NATION HAS A HARD TIME
LEARNING HOW TO RID ITSELF
OF SUCH LONG DISENCHANTMEN WE ARE THE STRONGES MY FRIENDS,
BUT WE DO NOT KNOW I BECAUSE WE ARE STILL
DOMINATED BY FEAR
FOR WE WHO DO NOT BELIEVE IN GOD.
IT IS EITHER JUSTICE FOR ALL
OR UTTER DESPAIR
WE SUFFER FROM THE DIFFUSE
AND CREEPING SORROW
THE VANQUISHED AND THE FORECLOSED
OF THE WORLD SUFFER FROM:
A SORROW THAT DOES NOT YE KNOW ITSELF AS SUCH. WE DO NOT KNOW,
BECAUSE WE ARE SAID TO BE HAPPY.
THAT FROM AN INVISIBLE WOUND
FLOWS OUR VERY LIFE.
WE ARE A WORN OUT PEOPLE
THAT DEATH LONG AGO
BEGUN TO PETRIFY.
Karine isn't here?
- No, why?
She's not in the apartment,
so I was just wondering.
ONLY DIG THEIR OWN GRAVES
Were you afraid this was
the end of democracy?
At first, we thought it was.
But it would only be fleeting.
Because people were not
going to sit still.
It had happened before
in our history.
The feeling we had reached
a point of no return.
Ok, go.
Go!
We did it!
PEOPLE DO NOT YET SEE
THEY ARE MISERABLE.
WE WILL SHOW THEM!
I SEARCHED FOR A REASON
TO LIVE IN THE ABSTRACT,
WHEN IT HAD TO BE FOUND
IN LIFE. IN ACTION.
We said we wouldn't do this again.
We're at war.
We can't let these things
happen anymore.
I know.
CHAREST: RESIGN
SICK OF NEOLIBERAL IDEAS
I've long been wandering
and I came back to the deserted
horror of your wounds.
Embrace me fearlessly.
For if I know only to speak,
I shall speak for you.
My mouth shall be the mouth
of mouthless calamities.
My voice the freedom of those
that fade in the jails of despair.
And may my body and soul
keep from standing still
as would a mere onlooker
for life is not a spectacle.
Because a sea of suffering
is not a stage.
Because a screaming man
is not a prancing bear.
After twelve weeks of striking.
Assemblies. Solidarity.
Arrests. Protests.
What do we get?
Nothing!
The tuition hike is
pushed back six months
while a biased committee
writes a report to screw us over?
Is this what we want?
No!
Sorry, but no!
The student union is trying
to lure us back into school
so we'll lose all our leverage.
Three months out
in the streets for this?
No!
People are sick of
the student conflict
because each side is letting
the situation worsen.
We're sticking to
partisan positions
and will not negotiate.
It can't go on like that.
I'm not here to say
the government's right.
I fucking hope not!
I'm not here to say
the government's right.
But it's not by antagonising people
that we'll get them
to support our cause.
It's just a start!
The man on the street
won't support us...
Fuck the man on the street!
If we're blocking
Champlain Bridge at rush hour.
Who cares?
We shoot ourselves in the foot
when we do things like that.
No!
The government's strategy is
crystal clear.
They won't budge because
they want the next election
to be a referendum on
tuition increase.
With this in mind,
what are our options?
There's only one possible reaction.
We end the strike
and wait out the election.
Because this strike penalizes
students first!
Please.
Seriously, think about it.
Who are the real losers?
Us, of course!
We risk losing...
Hey pussy boy! Your semester's
already gone! Move on!
By enduring violence
and by refusing to respond,
we break a cycle
that leads only to more violence.
Exposing the scandal of oppression
and injustice, we open eyes.
We awaken the adversary's moral
sense as well as public opinion,
which exerts pressure on it.
Get on with it!
What a waste of time!
The adversary can't persist
in a path of violence.
He sees he's wrong...
in a conversion to peace,
- Speed it up!
But not in a spirit
of defeat and vengeance.
Move on!
Non-violence is not inertia.
It's not resignation,
much less cowardice.
Non- violence, as Gandhi said...
Gandhi? Gandhi!
...is not shying away from a fight
when faced with hostility.
On the contrary,
it's an even more energetic,
more authentic form of battle...
Give back that mic! Now!
Enough of this bullshit!
This is no time
for passive resistance!
The state is decapitating us!
The only thing the government
understands is terror!
This strike can't just be
an excuse to skip class.
Think bigger!
Open your eyes,
for fuck's sake!
We're a laughing stock.
We have no power
in a capitalist society.
None!
Your pan-banging protests,
do you think they impress
our leaders?
No way! They're about
to open a pots and pans factory
to milk more money out of you!
No matter what we do,
if we don't hit their ability
to exploit and profit,
it's completely useless.
I demand the dissolution
of this student assembly!
I formally demand the dissolution
of this student assembly!
My name: Offended.
My first name: Humiliated.
My state: Revolted.
My age: The Stone Age.
My race? My religion?
My race: The fallen one.
My religion?
Your meekness will not
lay the grounds for it.
I will.
With my revolt and my pathetic fists
and my unkempt head.
Alas, you will die.
Killed.
I killed him with my own hands.
Yes. Of a fruitful
and lusty death.
Night had fallen.
We crawled amongst
the sugarcanes.
The knives glinted gleefully
under the stars,
but we had no care for stars.
The sugarcanes lacerated our faces
with a tide of green blades.
I had dreamt of a son who would
close his dead mother's eyes.
I chose to open my son's eyes
under another sun.
On a November night,
a clamour suddenly
lit up the silence.
We the slaves had sprung.
We the manure. We the beasts
with the hoofs of patience.
We ran like madmen,
as gunshots rang out.
We struck.
Refreshed with sweat and blood.
We struck amidst the cries
and the cries grew shrill and
a great clamour rose to the east.
Our own were burning and the flames
caressed our cheeks.
Then came the assault
on our master's house.
They shot at us from the windows.
We broke in.
And the master's bedroom was there.
Wide open.
Brilliantly lit.
And the master sat there.
So calm.
We stopped.
Here was the master.
I entered.
It's you, said he, calmly.
It was me. Indeed it was.
The good slave, the obedient slave,
the slavish slave.
And suddenly his eyes were two
fearful cockroaches in the rain.
I struck!
Blood spurted.
The sole baptism I remember still.
We sweated buckets, right Gilles?
We worked till we were sore.
No pain no gain!
But we were too nice afterwards.
We raised a generation
of spoiled brats and crybabies.
After me. The flood!
We hadn't heard that one in a while.
A bunch of lazy bums who want it all
but won't work for it.
We're not all like that, dad!
Like all small nations,
our only hope is education.
That should be our priority.
Not raising old people's
life expectancy
by pouring half our GDP
in hospitals!
Education is all we have.
To preserve our culture
and knowledge,
we must pass them on!
There goes the separatists'
broken record!
Don't be a laughingstock!
If they ruin my semester,
I lose a year's income!
I'll sue them if that happens!
- My income,
my semester, my job, me, me, me!
Pull your head out
of your ass for a change!
Roxanne!
We said no fighting today.
Sure! Who likes fights in Qubec?
Who likes loudmouths?
Let's not talk about dropouts.
Or tuition hikes. Or climate change.
Independence?
Let's not talk about that either!
Who has time for that?
We're so busy paying mortgages
on our upstart mansions
and checking gas prices
for our SUVs because
we're too fat to walk now!
Right pops?
I can't believe my ears, Roxanne!
You've been around the world
with your backpack...
We're citizens of the world, now!
Citizens of the world?
Give me a break!
Are the Finns closed-minded
because they're Finnish?
Would they be more open-minded
if they let Russia annex them?
No! Why is it different for us?
She's a true separatist!
Like you back then!
- That was in another life!
I was young and ignorant.
To quote Franois Legault,
"I've come a long way"!
You've "come a long way"?
What does that mean?
You disavowed everything
you once believed in?
Betraying youthful ideals
isn't enough?
You also have to make enough dough
to be able to roll in it like a pig
with your upstart friends!
Enough bullshit!
Your ass is lined with gold!
You study the "fine arts",
you mould toilet bowls
and take pictures of dead cats!
Always free of charge
because daddy has money!
And you dare shit
on my head?
Christ!
You don't want to study,
you don't want to work...
What do you want exactly?
Tell me! I'm listening!
That's what I thought!
You don't even know!
I'll tell you what you want,
you and your friends.
The only thing you want
is other people's money!
Whether it's your parents'
or the government's,
it's the same damn thing!
But working for money?
Getting up in the morning
from time to time? Making an effort?
No, fuck no! You're above that!
At some point, you'll have
to start living in the real world.
Money doesn't grow on trees!
Your iPhone and your MacBook
and your iPad and your camera
and your goddamn misunderstood
artist's toys,
who paid for all that?
Funny. I didn't hear you
mention ideals
and grand principles
and independence
when I pulled out my credit card
to buy all that!
Still, let's blame the baby boomers!
Nothing's our fault!
FOR OVER A CENTURY WE HAVE BEEN
SAVING THE SPOILS OF OUR FAILURES.
FEROCIOUSLY. AND IF
EVERY QUARTER CENTURY
WE SUMMON A VAIN IMPULSE
TO QUESTION THE SYSTEM,
WE ARE QUICK TO GO BACK
TO OUR FAULTS,
THE SYSTEM APPEARING
LESS SUSPECT THAN OURSELVES.
SUCH IS THE CRUEL MOTION
OF A HISTORY THAT TIRELESSLY
THROWS US TO THE GROUND.
Enough is enough! In our time
we marched, we campaigned, we...
We were overwhelmed
by an immense sadness.
Because another democratic
experiment in this country
was ending in a show of arms.
The attempts of a people
to find a means of coexistence
once again clashed with rigidity
and authoritarianism.
This sadness won over
our rage and our shame
and triggered a sepulchral silence
during the first minutes.
Out of the way, bitch!
REVOLUTIONS BEGIN WHEN DESTINY
AVENGES ILLUSTRIOUS INDIGENTS
The earth might well
stop turning when we're gone.
Meanwhile we only care
about our own comfort.
The heated seats in our Mercedes.
The caviar canaps
and the Prada bags
bouncing off our fat asses.
You, youthful old man.
Yeah, I'm talking to you!
Your only ambition
is to take the place
of the silver heads
without changing anything.
Fucking traitor.
Fucking collaborator!
You won't take your money
to your grave!
How's your plonk?
Go on, drink. For this is our blood,
the blood of the poor,
the filthy, the disreputable.
Our blood, poured for you,
only for you,
until we die like stray dogs
left to rot in the streets.
What's wrong?
You mind seeing us here?
We're ruining your appetite?
It feels good to flash
your big cars and your jewels
in poor, gentrifying
neighbourhoods?
As long as the rabble
doesn't spoil the view, right?
You fucking people.
Just give me one shot.
Go away!
Shithead.
These fucking thieves
can kiss my ass.
How much for a bowl of greens?
It doesn't make any sense.
Really. It's grand theft.
Ready?
- Yep.
Great!
A chicken!
It's a fucking invasion.
We will not settle
for the middle ground.
We are gut-wrenchers.
We will accept nothing short
of grandeur.
Until we are torn apart,
destroyed, exploded.
We will never die.
Our thirst grows.
We're ravenous consumers
in this immense marketing
from which nothing escapes.
In a continent-century where the law
of the jungle rules ferociously,
winter's wounded will be merciless.
The prettiest pygmy sticks
her thick short tongue
in reasonable tourists'
big white ears.
You get used to being emptied.
They're women of negation, losers,
lumberjack-ladies
disconnected from reality.
Their absence serves
the saddest cause.
But we...
We are desire.
Old ladies defy their veins'
rheostats, give hard-ons to scars
and converse at the orifice
of bodies.
Our madness doesn't neutralize
the scandal's efficiency.
Drinkers, scab
at the frontier of bones,
piss off the dancer
trapped in the circle of lies.
We must learn to leave
every day.
Dangerous little girls with hard-ons
spread death along the highway.
DON'T LAUGH AT THE YOUNG GENERATION.
YOU'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND THA IT IS POSSIBLE TO LIVE
ONLY WITH THE DESIRE
FOR FREEDOM AND GOOD.
YOU WON'T UNDERSTAND
THE BELLIGERENT ARDOUR
ENFLAMING THE HEART OF THE WARRIOR.
AND THAT AN ADOLESCENT CAN DIE,
LOYAL TO THE END TO HIS PRINCIPLES.
Before them,
men died in the name
of what they knew,
or what they thought they knew.
From them onwards,
we took the more difficult habit
of self-sacrificing for something
of which we knew nothing,
except that one had
to die for it to exist.
Until then, those who had to die
appealed to God
against Man's justice.
But now, one is struck by the fact
that all, without exception,
turn from their judges
to seek the justice of other men,
still to come.
These men of the future,
in the absence of supreme values,
were their last resort.
The future is
the only transcendence
that godless men
can aspire to.
VAUDREUIL IN HOMAGE
TO CANON LIONEL GROULX
Attention.
Due to an unexpected incident,
service is temporarily suspended
on the green line between Atwater
and Honor-Beaugrand stations.
Updates will follow.
Your Honour,
the mother of the accused
wishes to address the court
before you reach a decision.
The court is listening.
Your Honour.
With help from
my family and friends,
I raised $15,000
which may serve as bail,
should you decide to free Karine
while she awaits her trial.
Karine could stay with me.
I would keep an eye on her
and on those she meets up with.
I want to stress that my
daughter is a good person.
She's been a bit lost
recently,
but that's because
of a lack of direction.
Her father was never present.
He was never there for her.
It affected her more than I...
What does my father
have to do with anything?
Nothing! Can't you understand that?
Miss Dumas!
Only speak when you're asked to!
And by the way,
you're in no position
to school your mother!
Please go on, madam.
Please rise and keep silent.
Miss, may I ask you
to please rise.
Give yourself a chance.
I won't tell you again.
Karine!
Please.
Please sit.
The court has decided
to release Karine Dumas
on bail until her trial.
The conditions of her
release are as follows.
Karine Dumas shall move in
with her mother.
She shall not go near
any metro station, train station
or airport.
She shall submit to a curfew.
To be detailed later.
She shall not take part
in public demonstrations
and shall. Of course.
Avoid any trouble with the law.
She shall also report to
the police station
regularly.
I think you're underestimating
the situation's seriousness.
Let me be clear.
Should you fail to submit to
even one of these conditions,
an arrest warrant
will be issued
and you will find
yourself in jail.
Is that something
you can understand?
I'll be frank with you.
Without your mother's
moving testimony...
That brave and dignified woman...
You would be on your way
to a correctional facility.
You could at least thank her!
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you!
Thank you!
Thank you!
The hearing is adjourned!
Get her out of here
before I change my mind!
A candidate for the Liberal Party of Canada.
Especially not partisan politics.
Maybe this lacks realism,
because I believe
that people are tired
of seeing their cynicism
towards politicians
confirmed by politicians.
Now more than ever,
Canadians are feeling the urge
to take responsible actions.
Bold steps at home
and throughout the world
to counter the destruction
of the environment,
to reduce the gap
between rich and poor
and to address the rise
of intolerance between nations.
And because of that,
we are becoming aware
that each of us
potentially plays a role.
A girl. She's alone.
What does she want
at this hour?
Relax. She must be
selling something.
I'll go.
Hello... Sir? Madam?
I hope I'm not waking you up?
Kind of, yes.
We're going door to door
this morning
to raise awareness about
a very important project.
I won't take much of
your precious time,
but if you could sign this petition
asking the district to grant
the status of "Green Alley"
to the magnificent alleyway
behind your home.
Not the best moment for that.
Do you know Mr. Larrive?
Your neighbour two houses down.
Nope.
It doesn't matter.
He's the one who coined the name!
"The Shining Alley
of the Sweet Incline."
What?
"The Shining Alley
of the Sweet Incline."
Sorry, but this really
isn't the right place to...
A quick signature?
It'll take three seconds.
Not a lot to change the world!
Change the world?
Of course.
The green alley concept is at the
heart of the new local social fabric.
And it helps counter
urban heat islands!
That's how you change the world?
Certainly sir!
Every gesture counts.
Your signature to change the world?
Somebody's waiting inside,
I'll have to go.
Thank you for listening!
You'll see. Once we all unite,
we'll get our green alley!
Sure you didn't want to sign?
We'll show you how
to change the world.
One heat island at a time!
In the following minutes,
You will feel the effects
of a fever, nausea,
back pains and fatigue.
You're the victim
of a nascent conscience.
But don't be mistaken.
These are also the symptoms
resulting from the inhalation
of the anthrax bacillus.
Don't wait for respiratory arrest
to seek help.
We're proclaiming these times
to be those of red blood!
Tomorrow we'll be free!
In the following minutes,
you will start to feel
the effects of a nascent conscience.
A spectre is haunting the West.
The spectre of its youth.
The powers that be have united
in a hallowed pack to hunt it down.
On the front line:
Reactionary police forces.
The power of youth has been
acknowledged by the powers that be.
But youth itself doesn't recognize
its revolutionary calling.
This vocation and this duty
are transhistorical.
It's incumbent upon us
to dethrone our fathers.
The time is ripe for youth
to show the world their will,
their ideas, their goals,
their tendencies.
The legends of the spectre of youth
must be opposed
by a concerted action,
more terrifying still.
I'm calling upon you, newly awakened
freedom fighters,
to form commandos,
cells and antennas.
Seek inspiration in guerrilla
and revolutionary terrorism.
Attack when they pull back
and disappear when they regroup.
We will fight like Cerberus,
each of us one of his raging heads.
Each of us a breach in
this evil empire.
Each of us an arrogant challenge
to this retrograde world order.
Any victory over this order
and its lackeys
will be a victory for freedom.
EVERYWHERE TOGETHER,
NAKED BUT SECRET.
UNITED WITH OUR BROTHERS BY
THE BONDS OF REVOLUTION AND SILENCE,
WE LEARNED IN THE SMELL OF GUNPOWDER
THE EXALTED GESTURES
OF BLISS AND HOW TO SCREAM.
Youth will not appreciate
its life without giving it meaning,
it will not kneel and hide
its opinions and projects.
It proclaims that its goals
can only be achieved
through the violent reversal
of the social order of the past.
May the ruling classes
tremble at this very idea!
Comrades, get ready for war.
Don't relegate your indignation
to some spectator of despair.
Shed a tear. Scream out loud.
Take to the streets
to defend your own.
Criminal. He who submits
to pacifist forces,
he who revels in servitude,
he who tolerates the intolerable.
He who bends down without
having dealt a single blow.
We have nothing to lose.
Only our chains.
And a world to win.
A number of suspicious packages
discovered in various locations.
That's right,
and more are turning up.
You can see the firemen
and the paramedics here,
because five buildings in Montral
have received envelopes which,
according to the police,
contain an unidentified substance.
Possibly a powder,
according to our sources.
A small group identified as the
Revolutionary Armed Forces of Qubec
sent fourteen envelopes
containing a mysterious powder.
Two envelopes were sent
to the prime minister's office.
I think this is a clear attempt
at intimidation
and of course the government
will not let itself be intimidated.
Maxime, we're seeing this live,
a huge deployment of police forces
triggered by this wave
of suspicious parcels.
Yes. Here. A minister's office has
been targeted.
You can see they set up
a security perimeter
to isolate the people who have been
in contact with the substance.
You can see them.
With the red blankets.
The group claiming responsibility
for these parcels,
the Revolutionary Armed
Forces of Qubec,
undoubtedly inspired by the FLQ,
a late sixties radical group.
We have it from reliable sources
that they're known to the police
and that a vast investigation
is currently underway
to cast light upon these
curious missives.
IN THIS SILENT LAND, MOTIONLESS
AS A GREAT BLOODLESS BODY,
THE LIVING WERE SUDDENLY
WONDERING ABOUT THEMSELVES
AS IF THEY FACED DEATH.
THEY WERE NOT WRONG.
Everyone's talking about it!
Here too.
Even there, on the homepage.
ANTHRAX ALERT: A HOAX?
They had to figure it out
at some point.
Isn't it weird that they
finally got it?
Look here.
They still think it's true!
What the hell?
You have no fucking right!
We look like a bunch
of fucking idiots!
You're proud of
your amateur dramatics?
They had to figure it out
at some point...
Flour-filled envelopes!
Did you think they'd die
of hypochondria?
You should've said so last week
if you disagreed!
Stop freaking out and
pull yourself together!
Smells good.
Smells good.
Thank you.
I left it on the table for you.
ALL REVOLUTIONARIES ARE NAIVE:
THEY TRUST IN MANKIND! WHAT A FLAW!
Karine Dumas?
First time out on bail?
Excuse me, but this is
an official appointment.
Can you answer
the questions clearly?
Ask the questions
if you want me to answer them.
Ok. We'd better start again.
Can I call you by your first name?
- No.
How's bail, Karine? Being back
at your mom's place and all?
How's bail, Karine? Being back
at your mom's place and all?
Is that any of your business?
Have you reflected on what happened,
and the reasons behind your actions?
I thought you wanted to make sure
I wasn't running away,
but really I'm here for
lessons in morality?
Is it going well in Longueuil
with your mom?
Yes.
Do you have a summer job?
No.
I hope you're not
giving me bad grades.
You're keeping clear
of unsavoury acquaintances?
Yes. Colonel!
Lieutenant, I mean.
What was that?
Nothing.
Listen here, princess.
Thirty years I've been on this job.
I've seen a shitload of stuff.
Stop your little act
and pull yourself together.
I love rough talk.
I don't think the message
is getting through.
You're in a police station.
You're on bail. I'm a policeman.
You're in a police station.
You're on bail. I'm a policeman.
Not some teacher you fool
around with at university.
You're not banging on pots
in a trendy neighbourhood!
Authority figures turn me on.
What the fuck was that?
You little fuck! Stop smirking
before I make you stop.
Are you threatening me, lieutenant?
Are you going to hit me?
It won't go down well
on your TV show.
Where's your cell phone?
I don't have one.
- Bullshit.
You guys record everything.
Of course people do that.
You're filming too.
But sometimes it seems like
your cameras malfunction.
Bits go missing!
Funny, isn't it?
You've no right. Give that back!
You've no right. Give that back!
You need a warrant!
I didn't get the memo!
I know my rights! Let go!
Give me that!
It's mine, give it back!
You little bitch!
Let me go fucker!
What if I don't?
What happens if I don't let go?
What's wrong Karine?
Not in the mood anymore?
He's really good, isn't he?
Good night.
Good night darling. Sleep well.
I BURN WITH IMPATIENCE
AT THE THOUGHT OF MULTIPLE
TERROR ATTACKS,
A PURE AND SHATTERING GESTURE
THAT WILL BRING BACK
MY URGE TO LIVE
AND CONSECRATE ME AS A TERRORIST,
IN THE STRICTEST INTIMACY.
Tumulto!
Giutizia!
Ordine Nuovo!
Klas Batalo!
Yesterday doesn't exist.
Tomorrow is a distant dream.
Today, we are born!
INTERLUDE
TOMORROW THE REVOLUTION
WILL RISE UP AGAIN,
CLASHING ITS WEAPONS.
AND TO YOUR TERROR
IT WILL PROCLAIM
WITH TRUMPETS BLAZING:
I WAS, I AM, I SHALL BE!
June. The villagers beseech heaven
to bless their crops.
June. The villagers beseech heaven
to bless their crops.
He has renewed His miracle
on the shores of the St. Lawrence.
He has lifted His hand
over the furrows
and blessed the fields of Charlevoix
and the neighbouring mountains.
Let me go!
You're crushing my face!
What are you doing?
Nothing.
I'm reading notes. I'll rewrite
the manifesto this week.
Let me go!
You'll have to explain this.
I'm accusing myself today,
before you,
of being guilty
of the crime of nostalgia.
I'm guilty of having
let myself be lulled
by the comforting and numbing
sweetness of my past,
while I swore before you
to live only in the moment.
In the present.
Looking back is to feel gratified
by something gone.
To feel gratified
by your own death.
Your own insignificance.
The only way to stop dying,
is to refuse all forms
of gratification
that do not come from concrete.
Tangible, present action.
By miring myself in nostalgia
like a pig rolling in its own shit,
I betrayed a fundamental principle
of our brotherhood.
I can promise you now...
That I will not slip again
into this deathly nostalgia.
But I understand.
I understand my word now lacks
any value in your eyes.
I can see that my weakness...
my cowardice and my egotism
weaken our group.
I know that I have not
risen up to your dedication,
your lucidity, and your courage.
I no longer deserve your friendship,
much less your welcome.
I'll do anything you ask of me
to stay here, with you.
But I understand.
I understand that exile
and ostracism
are probably the only punishment
I deserve for my stupidity.
Show us that you want to stay.
Show us!
That's enough!
Stop! We've had enough!
Tell him to stop!
No!
Show us how far
you're willing to go!
Stop!
Leave him!
Harder!
Harder!
What is it going to take next time?
You're not fighting
our fight anymore.
It's your own battle.
You against yourself.
I don't know you anymore.
HEAD BURROWED UNDER MANURE
MORIBUND SOCIETIES MOAN OU THEIR SWANSONG.
WHAT WERE YOU HOPING FOR,
WHEN YOU REMOVED THE GAG
THAT KEPT THEIR MOUTHS SHUT?
THAT THEY WOULD SING YOUR PRAISE?
OUR FATHERS' HEADS HAD BEEN
FORCIBLY BENT DOWN TO THE GROUND.
DID YOU THINK,
WHEN THEY WERE RAISED AGAIN.
THAT YOU WOULD READ
ADORATION IN THEIR EYES?
You're going back home, dear.
WHERE SHALL I FIND
THE STRENGTH TO LOVE?
I HAVE AT LEAS THE FORCE TO HATE.
IT IS BETTER THAN
FEELING NOTHING.
Thanks.
My pleasure.
You're reading this?
No. It's been lying there
for a while.
My god,
Rosa Luxemburg...
I read that,
when I was young.
Maybe it doesn't show
but I was something of
a revolutionary in my time.
The long hair, the beard...
And this!
Rosa, Trotsky, Marx,
Fanon... Che Guevara...
I read it all.
One must work and do all one can,
but take all the rest
with lightness and good humour.
Pent-up bitterness surely
doesn't make life any easier.
You understood that
some time ago, right?
Young people get that.
I have another client coming.
Maybe we misjudged things,
back then...
Stay human.
Joyously throw your life
on the scales of destiny,
but also rejoice from each
sunny day, each beautiful cloud.
Throw your life
on the scales of destiny...
Funny reading that today.
It had never hit me. Back then.
That a revolutionary could
be happy once in a while.
We only ever saw
the serious side.
Anyone who had fun was suspect.
Maybe that was the problem.
We took it way too seriously.
Can you get dressed?
I have to clear the room.
No problem.
You must not care to
hear me talk like this.
Don't forget. Even if you're busy
or hastily crossing the yard,
absorbed by urgent tasks,
don't forget to look up for a moment
and to gaze at the silvery clouds
and the peaceful blue ocean
in which they swim.
This day will never come back.
Shut up, you fucking pig!
I tried, you know?
But at some point you get old.
You get scared.
You have to work, earn some money.
And in order to do that.
You must leave aside
your delusions of grandeur.
One morning you wake up
and look in the mirror...
And you see my face.
The face of a guy
who's no better than others,
but no worse either.
It's quite fun
your little solo project.
Oh, that's what's
bothering you?
No. It's a question of principle.
We developed principles,
we should respect them.
You're so puerile.
Puerile?
We've always said
that we'd do nothing
without everyone's agreement.
Quite simple, isn't it?
We've been talking about this
for three months.
Exactly! It's been three months
since we started planning it.
But we never decided
that it was the moment to do it.
You could've told us...
How many times have we
discussed this? We all agreed!
We agreed that the timing
was not right. Let's stay coherent!
Easy to invoke coherence
when you sit still and do fuck all!
You call this nothing?
And you? Did you...
What? Go ahead!
Did you ask us before
stealing these guns?
Ask for what? They're from
my parents' place!
And what will your parents deduct,
when they see that
their guns are gone?
Nothing!
- Really?
They don't know where I am!
You OK?
I'm done
with the massage parlour.
LET US REMEMBER THAT SADNESS
IS FECUND IN GREAT THINGS,
AND THAT THE ONLY WAY TO HELP
OUR POOR COUNTRY STAND UP
IS TO SHOW IT THE ABYSS
INTO WHICH IT HAS SUNK.
When revolutionary circumstances
develop in a country
where the spirit of revolt
has not yet awakened the masses,
a spirit which triggers protests,
riots and uprisings,
only through action can minorities
rouse the feeling of independence
and the bold spirit without which
no revolution can be accomplished.
The masses may initially
be indifferent,
while admiring the courage
of the instigators.
They may initially prefer
to follow the wise, the prudent,
those who are quick to categorize
this act as "madness",
those who'll say that the hooligans
will only do harm.
End of the world,
you are not far.
Deep down we thought
we were on an endless voyage.
But discovered the earth is flat.
The earth our image.
And now the end of the world.
We must stop, we are here.
We can't just sit on our asses.
We must do something.
We must move, go further.
What does "going further"
mean to you?
Stealing more stuff
from your parents' place?
Fuck off.
What's it going to change?
Do you think the people
will suddenly open their eyes?
We now have to set out
on a pilgrimage
and trace back to where we came from.
Rancour at the heels of our sorrow.
We swim against the tide
of our mirage,
without turning our backs
to the new voices of our riches.
We have been standing still,
alone, for too long.
We have already lost heart
by stopping.
Remember that graffiti the hooligans
scrawled over the bridge?
The people do not yet see
they're miserable.
We will show them!
Idiot!
We gather around the space
of what we don't have
the definitive reality
of what we could have.
Colonies and possessions
and a whole archipelago
made both in the image of
and lured towards that point,
at the very centre
of what we don't have -
which is desire.
You went to French school?
- Yes I did.
I didn't speak English
until I was six.
Not until you were six?
Yes.
No English was spoken
in your family?
We spoke French at home.
The whole neighbourhood was French!
Beaulieu St. And...
Boisvert St. And...
And the club... French old timers
playing cards and pool.
They baked meat pies
for Christmas and New Year's
and raised a ruckus.
And once a year, French Canadians
from Qubec
came down in dog sleighs,
in the snow. To celebrate.
In Lowell. Massachusetts!
CRIMINAL ARSON: FOUR DEAD
FAMILY LIVED ABOVE THE RESTAURAN You ok?
I'm ok.
IN ANY NOTABLE HISTORICAL PERIOD,
GENERATIONS ARISE WITH THE FEELING
THAT THEY ARE LIVING
ON THE THRESHOLD OF A NEW ERA.
FOR THEM, EVERY NIGHT THE STARS
RISE UP FROM THE OCEAN
AS THEY DID OVER THE CARAVELS
THEY FIND THEMSELVES DESIRING
THESE NEW LANDS AND TIMES,
LOVING THEM PASSIONATELY AS IF
THEY WERE THEIR OWN, THEIR RIGHT.
IN THE SOUL OF THE YOUNG PEOPLE
OF MY TIME.
THERE WAS SOME OF THIS FEVERISH
AND JOYOUS EXPECTATION.
You don't look well.
No, I'm ok.
And you? How are you?
I'm working too much.
I should take it easy but...
What else am I going to do?
You're not in school?
Do you have a job?
No.
How do you make ends meet?
I get by.
Where do you live now?
Same place.
Where's that?
Never mind.
Eat.
You should call your mom.
Difficult. We don't have a phone.
How can you live without a phone?
There are other ways to live, dad.
And no, we don't have a TV.
Your brother was asking about you.
His girlfriend had a baby.
A girl! You should see
how pretty she is.
Just like her mom!
You're an uncle now!
What's her name?
They called her Emy.
Are you free now? We could go
see them before rush hour.
They're right by the bridge.
It's not...
- He'd be so happy!
Not great timing for me.
Listen. Dad...
I have to go.
I'm out of time.
Finish your plate...
I can't.
Listen...
I wanted to tell you.
I know we're different you and me.
But I'm worried about you.
Bye Dad.
You have to eat something.
There's nothing left. Zero.
It all went bad.
How long since we paid the bills?
Three months? Six months?
Come on. We'll take care of it.
I'm coming!
Let me go!
Let go, crazy bitch!
Karine?
Fuck!
Help me Karine! They'll kill me!
Get a fucking grip!
I have the cash!
Let's go!
I accuse myself
of having put the group's
security at risk.
And I am guilty.
I am guilty of having been
a coward and a weakling.
I am guilty of lacking courage,
the main value needed
for the defence of our ideals.
And I am guilty.
I accuse myself of the direst crime
one can commit:
Doubting the legitimacy
of our struggle,
and the moral righteousness
of our actions.
I accuse myself of being too weak
to rise up to your struggle.
And I am guilty.
I accuse myself of selfishly wishing
to renounce one of our actions.
Knowing that the group
had decided it had to be done
when I should have thanked
my lucky star to find myself
at the frontline of the revolution.
And I am guilty.
I know that my place is
no longer here with you.
The only thing
I can ask of you now,
is for your disdain
to equal my mediocrity.
No one here wants you to go.
Stop it!
Stop!
I'm uncertain too.
We're all uncertain.
CONCLUSIONS FALL UPON US
LIKE RIPE FRUIT.
WE HAVE ONLY ONE OPTION...
TO NOT BE FREE.
FOR US...
A NATION HAS A HARD TIME
LEARNING HOW TO RID ITSELF
OF SUCH LONG DISENCHANTMEN WE ARE THE STRONGES MY FRIENDS,
BUT WE DO NOT KNOW I BECAUSE WE ARE STILL
DOMINATED BY FEAR
FOR WE WHO DO NOT BELIEVE IN GOD.
IT IS EITHER JUSTICE FOR ALL
OR UTTER DESPAIR
WE SUFFER FROM THE DIFFUSE
AND CREEPING SORROW
THE VANQUISHED AND THE FORECLOSED
OF THE WORLD SUFFER FROM:
A SORROW THAT DOES NOT YE KNOW ITSELF AS SUCH. WE DO NOT KNOW,
BECAUSE WE ARE SAID TO BE HAPPY.
THAT FROM AN INVISIBLE WOUND
FLOWS OUR VERY LIFE.
WE ARE A WORN OUT PEOPLE
THAT DEATH LONG AGO
BEGUN TO PETRIFY.
Karine isn't here?
- No, why?
She's not in the apartment,
so I was just wondering.