A Girl Cut in Two (La Fille coupée en deux)

THE GIRL CUT IN TWO

Hi, gorgeous. It's great to see you.

- Have a good trip? - Perfect.

I stopped off for lunch at Georges Blanc's.

- You always have good ideas. - It was on an impulse.

It was divine. I thought of you.

The bastard hasn't lost it.

- You seem in fine form. - I am.

You'd better be, seeing what's coming.

A heavy schedule again? Capucine, don't push your luck.

- That's it, complain. - Allow me. What's in there, a wild boar?

Cut the modesty act. It's your tome.

Giraudet's on my back for you to do a book signing at his bookstore Monday.

He's afraid he'll run out, so I'm playing delivery girl.

Relax. I'll take them down tomorrow.

We'll print 200,000 to 300,000 copies. You have no reason to complain.

- I won't. - I'll take that.

- Still have your little place in town? - Still.

Quite the local lord, aren't you?

- The Marquis de Carabas. - Marquis de Sade, rather.

- Want a drink? - No, thanks.

Well, I do.

I never understood how you could work in this mess.

I can't work anywhere else than in this mess.

- Still write in longhand? - Still.

Where's Dona?

Upstairs, in her lair. She's working like mad.

- Still love her? - More than that, my dear.

She's a saint.

Not just that, but she's a saint.

But not just.

Capucine.

Capucine, what a pleasure to see you.

Let me look at you. Younger than ever.

Not too much, I hope. I mustn't look ridiculous.

Old age is when you start saying, "I've never felt so young."

Give us a break with your quotations.

That's Jules Renard, smarty-pants.

You know so much.

- Not your tongue! - You didn't used to say that.

Stop it, you two. You're getting me hot.

How can you make him work Sunday?

Yes, how? And for a cable channel, to boot.

That's it.

Henri says local cable channels are where it's at, in terms of image.

In terms of image. Listen to yourself talk.

- And in terms of nuisance? - Don't throw a fit.

You've known Bernard since school, and young Volte, the interviewer, is good.

- Ever watch him? - Never. I'm unforgivable.

You know he hates TV.

You avoid the Paris media circus, as you call it.

You hole up in the country but want your books to sell.

So cooperate a little.

Nice and easy.

I'm thirsty.

...and the good news is, these temperatures will last all week.

It's our own Indian summer. See you tomorrow.

Thank you, Gabrielle. You're the sunshine of this station.

Don't forget tonight, after the news with Benoit Charpentier,

Antoine Volte will interview, live, writer Charles Saint-Denis,

who will honor us with a presentation of his new book.

So, Miss Gabrielle, don't we listen to our cell?

- Sure. Four times a day, at mealtimes. - Four?

There's my four o'clock snack.

- They're waiting. - Coming.

Saved by the bell.

- Tomorrow at one. Café de l'Horloge. - I'll call you in the morning.

- You tease. - You father of three.

What magical hands, child.

- What's your name? - Sandrine.

Sandrine.

Shit. Excuse me. I thought no one was here.

No, please. Do come in.

Sit down. I'm almost done.

No, I won't disturb you. I can take off my makeup later.

No, please, stay. You're not disturbing me.

So, how's it going, old man?

This fairy treats me like a king.

Keep it up, child.

We've known each other since school. Remember Father Goriot?

No, Gregoriot.

Remember? Do I ever. He made sure I'd never forget him.

Always a hand down my pants. It didn't cause an uproar then.

How old were you?

Primary school... 22, 23.

We were little darlings.

It's disgusting.

I spoke to Antoine. He loves your book.

Good. How about you?

We can discuss it later.

He hasn't read it.

Enough about the book. Let's talk about you.

Do you enjoy that?

What?

Being talked about?

Just a little. Not too much.

You really don't miss the lights of Paris?

Lyon isn't exactly dark.

Do you still write for the "Nouvel Observateur"?

They're kind enough to ask for my opinion on selected topics.

I suppose you don't do it for the money. Charles Saint-Denis, what motivates you?

The contact with reality.

It's a real problem for writers. I lead a nun-like existence.

What topics interest you at the moment?

I wonder if French society isn't drifting toward Puritanism or decadence.

- Quite a subject. - Especially for a nun.

One last thing, if I may...

And the Goncourt Prize?

He already won it.

That's right, you already won it. Congratulations.

What year was that?

In '69. A magical year.

If there ever was one.

And the French Academy - are you tempted?

As you know, I love quotes, so here's one.

You know Piron, the 18th-century playwright who wrote "La Métromanie"?

Of course... Piron.

Well, this fine Piron wrote his own epitaph.

"Here lies Piron, who never made it, not even to the Academy."

Thank you.

I'm delighted to see you again.

Mr. Mayor, how are you?

- Not afraid of compromising yourself? - Why?

That moron Fontaine claims Jacques really slipped up.

Oh, shit. What are you going to do?

As usual, busy him with something else. Don't you worry.

Lydia. What's she doing here?

She and Bonnerbier hit it off.

It goes to show...

It's not that I'm bored, but I have to run.

Goodbye.

- Excuse me, Sir... - Oh, that's right.

Fun's over, kids. I'm due at the veterans' banquet.

No joking matter.

- Sir, I wanted to... - Excuse me. Charles...

Could you talk to Galland? He'll do a fine piece on your book.

- That kid's divine. - Who is?

The girl you were staring at.

Hold this for me. It's hot.

Who is she?

Gabrielle Snow. A predestined name. She's our weather girl.

But I'll bet she's on her way up.

- Having a good time? - How about you?

Capucine and I had a good laugh. But I have to go. My train's at 9am.

Leaving me again?

All the better to come back to you.

- One more round. - I can go home on my own.

- No, wait for me. - At the cloakroom.

- The verdict's unanimous, my dear. - For or against me?

Dummy.

Where's Dona?

Waiting at the door. Coming home with us?

Bernard wants to have dinner. He'll take me home.

Insatiable.

- I'm free, that's all. - Is it all?

See you tomorrow, then.

- Don't pull a face. - You promised never to do it again.

You know I can't keep a promise. Ask my dear mother.

One day, your dear mother will fire me.

Then I'll sneak you in again through the back door. They asleep?

Josephine's gone up, but Eleonore's with your mother.

Oh, Lord.

Paul, where have you been?

Do you really care, Mother?

- I was so worried. - I went by the stables.

- At this time of night? - Yes, this time of night.

- Pour me a Scotch? - Mother...

Not him again.

- Play with us? - Lay off me. Thank you.

"Charles Saint-Denis, our local claim to fame, will sign his new book..."

Fuck the claim to fame.

What?

What do you see in that bastard?

Don't start that again.

I hate him. I hate the guy.

It's me.

- Home already? - Yes.

It was a bore. I'm exhausted.

- Hungry? - I had a bite at the bash.

Let's hear it. What's Saint-Denis like?

Not bad for his age.

Hey, you.

Just kidding, Mom.

He's a good writer with a real narrative sense.

Okay, his style's a bit conventional, but he's definitely talented.

Good reader's report.

I know a thing or two. He's a high liver...

Meaning he loves women?

He loves his wife. One of his best books is dedicated to her.

- Why are we talking about him? - I saw the show. Volte's so stupid.

Don't be an old fuddy-duddy. I'm going to bed.

- Coming tomorrow? - What time did you say?

He's expected at four. Come a bit earlier.

Okay. Good night, Mom.

He'll be here any minute.

- He's always on time. - As a rule.

- Speak of the devil. - How are you?

Just fine. You, too, from what I see.

I was just thanking Capucine. I know you dislike such rituals.

I have to come out my hole sometimes. Or I'd never leave Mont Valin.