The End of the Day (La Fin du jour)

This film was restored by PATHÉ in 2015

THE END OF THE DAY

- Don't forget my hoofbeats. - Yes, sweetheart.

Récamier, my costume!

The train leaves in 18 minutes.

Seen the circus lines?

Full house. They must make 4000 in box office.

Antony plays to an empty house. So much for art.

They'll hear the circus music in the theater.

It'll cheer things up. Just between us,

Antony is a pill.

- It's Alexander Dumas. - It's still a pill.

Mme Marceau, give me your lace stole.

You know the box office?

433 francs. We didn't break even again.

- Not surprising. - Why not?

Antony is a pill.

I told the boss to change the dates to avoid clashing with the circus.

No point playing to empty seats.

Saint-Clair insisted. "I'm paid so I play."

He'll make us miss our train. He'll stab her all night.

The movie theater opposite took 1,200 francs.

So much for art.

Drop the curtain. I'll take this.

Hurry, the bus is outside. Let's go, kids.

- I'm done in. - Sleep on the train.

My daughter!

She's a child. She'll laugh about all this.

It's Armand, my husband!

Oh, my God! Have pity on me!

Come now, it's over.

He's coming up. He's ringing. It's him.

Flee!

I shan't flee.

Listen, Adèle,

you said you don't fear death.

No, kill me, for pity's sake.

Death will save your reputation.

I beg you on my knees.

Open up!

You won't hate your murderer?

I'll bless him, but hurry.

Fear not. Death will be here before him.

Think it over. Death...

I want it, I desire it, I reach for it.

Move your butt. Train in 14 minutes.

Well then...

Die.

Wretch!

What do I see? Adèle!

Dead!

She resisted, I struck her down.

Curtain!

Hurry, 11 minutes to go.

Curtain call.

Now? The train is in 11 minutes.

They're calling for me.

Let's have your wig.

Sorry, M. Saint-Clair.

The bus is waiting. Hurry.

Some nights we kill better. Tonight was perfect.

A blonde in the front row had her eye on me.

She couldn't care less about M. Dumas.

She was all eyes, no ears.

All eyes for Saint-Clair.

"See you at midnight."

What?

Just learning my lines for tomorrow.

Tomorrow you'll play without me. Saint-Clair quits.

He's through playing to housemaids.

"I'll be there. With the child."

Life is Paris. And women.

"Tircis, we must celebrate."

I'll retire to my estate.

Sure you have an estate?

Fishing, shooting, dinner parties. That's my program.

Remember me for the garden parties!

Don't overdo it. Get your pants on.

I'll take the bags. Our train leaves in 8 minutes.

We're all yours!

Bring your hand luggage.

I'll get the tickets.

Only to Tarascon for me.

Are you abandoning us?

I'm stopping at Villy. Visiting friends there.

I'll forward my address.

I know his address. Saint Jean la Rivière Abbey.

Actors' Retirement Home.

An old age home.

I just saw the admission letter. He arranges it in his own way.

I don't pity him. He had it all. Money, fame, women.

But there's no good martingale system.

Get the bags together.

It's like a manor house with lawns.

Flowers and lawns. Gardens and ponds. I love it.

Can I visit you?

We'll be among socialites. You'll feel out of place.

In company, maybe, but in privacy I'm worth anybody else.

I can guarantee that but my tastes change.

Bridge and hunting.

Why does he lie like that?

He's always lived in a dream.

I once wanted to enter a retirement home, too. I can't decide.

You think like that when you sleep 3 nights on a train.

Your tickets.

True actors never leave the boards.

Help me rehearse my lines? When I reach the villa.

Actors in a refuge? How idiotic. A peaceful old age, a joke.

The countryside is not for us.

We only like trees painted on a backdrop.

Where are we?

Get a move on!

Stragglers will be left behind!

Saint Jean la Rivière Abbey Actors' Retirement Home

Saint Jean la Rivière Abbey Actors' Retirement Home

I'm going to the station for the new one.

His name is Saint-Clair.

No need for names. Gisèle knows a ham at 100 yards.

Isn't that so, Gisèle?

What are you grimacing about?

A bad morning? The hams aren't behaving?

Worse than children. But I have to make an example.

And a certain Cabrissade will feel it.

0 sun, 0 torch of immortal light!

Hello, M. Lucien. Hello, sunshine.

- Any mail for me? - No.

I was expecting a letter.

It was you who cut the border flowers.

The innocent Cabrissade never left his room.

Well, it will end. I've reported you.

He who laughs last...

I'm in no laughing mood and I loathe sneaks.

I was told to tell you the administrator is waiting.

It will be a pleasure to see him. He's a fine conversationalist.

Sleep well, Mme Chabert?

Not very.

We're breaking rules. We're cutting the border flowers.

For Saint-Clair. He arrives today.

And when you land here the first day,

it's tough.

Matinee idols are all the same. Flirts and games.

An old story, Saint-Clair?

30 years ago.

- The heart is ageless. - I'm going.

By the way...

Have you seen Marny?

Not yet, but with the layout of this chateau,

a catastrophe is imminent.

Know his plans?

- About what? - Not afraid of a scandal?

Why? Because Saint-Clair stole his wife 10 years before the war?

Some things you never forget.

Good things, maybe, but bad ones...

25 years is long enough to get over being two-timed.

You know he and Saint-Clair haven't met since.

You know how it is... on tour...

One in Paris, the other elsewhere, the years pass...

I didn't mean to make your Grey hair blush.

If I had to kill my rival every time I was two-timed,

France would be a graveyard.

Don't worry about the flowers, I'll say I cut them.

The man who can scare me hasn't been hatched yet.

You're sweet. Thank you, M. Cabrissade.

Excuse me, Mme Marcelin.

You too?

You thought of him?

You knew him well?

Long ago. On a lovely tour.

For me it was Venice. A marvelous season.

He was so handsome.

But he was attractive.

He would say to me: "You're my first love."

To me too.

Who was he lying to?

Both of us probably.

Yes, but so sweetly.

How will we manage with only one vase?

My child, at our age...

He'll think it was you.

Men have no memory.

They're lucky.

The tragedy is having a memory.

Time can heal a wound.

But it can open again.

I know, my dear Marny, but what can I do?

Don't force me to live alongside Saint-Clair.

I have a right to rest.

I failed at everything.

Everything.

Both private and professional.

I did.

No illusions. No footlights here. I know my worth.

I had talent but no success. Many have success but no talent.

My private life...

A flop!

Come now, Marny, passions at your age...

Be generous.

- Your wife died long ago. - Long ago?

It seems like yesterday.

Remember the circumstances?