Poison (La Poison) (La poison)

POISON

It was an honor that you asked me for this assignment, here it is.

Michel Simon, this film that I am going to make.

For me it was one of the greatest joys in theater,

because this was theater.

I never saw you as a performer.

Well, You are exceptional.

Or rather, unique.

Between the moment you stop being yourself

and the moment you play your role,

the transition is imperceptible.

Even when you stop acting, you become yourself again...

So there's no reason to interrupt me.

I rank you among the greatest.

Frédérick Lemaître, Sarah Bernhardt, my father.

Zacconi, Chaliapine.

Like them, you are unique, deliberately independent.

Like them, you possess this exceptional gift

that cannot be learned and does not fade:

the sense of theater.

The ability to share with others

feelings you don't feel yourself.

You don't need to gather troops around you.

No. No, and you give no lessons.

What you have is admirable in itself,

it cannot be learned.

And you cannot pass it on to others.

And life is a celebration.

You too, Louiguy, have a miraculous gift.

Your compositions enter the ear, but stay there.

The joy is intense, Lucienne Delyle,

to have you as a performer.

Thank you. Oh yes. Thank you.

Look, these are the roses that are budding...

and their beauty will unfold.

Jean Debucourt and Jacques Varennes...

You play so well, Jacques Varennes,

that one would think you were at the Comédie Française.

And you, Debucourt, one would think you aren't there.

Jeanne Fusier-Gir… - Sacha?

Despite my effort I cannot imagine a film

that I wrote and where you do not act.

That's how it is.

I introduce your son, François Gir, my assistant.

Pleased to meet you, sir. - Ad vitam aeternam.

As for you, Mrs. Reuver,

you created Crainquebille with my father.

Yes, master. - That's why I also gave you

the leading female role.

And you played it excellently.

Here's my Pauline, in prison.

Pauline Carton.

We've known each other for 20 years, and I still wonder

what I admire most: your talent or your intelligence.

The set was done according to my directions,

and it is perfect.

Goodbye. - Goodbye, sir.

Duvaleix…

Henri Laverne, Bever, Jacques de Féraudy, Léon Walther.

Let me honestly confess, if you had less talent,

I would still be your friend.

Jacques Derives, Max-Harry, Louis de Funès.

A hundred times bravo.

A hundred times thanks.

Luce Fabiole,

Yvonne Hébert, Miss Ardant, Miss Quentin,

Poirier, Mercier, Dalibert, Dejean,

Nastorg, Amato, Eymond and Belly,

will you join my next film?

Yes.

Mrs. Maria Fromet,

alert and present and performing so well, thanks.

Hello? Suzanne Dantès, Jacques Morel and you, Mr. Toscane,

since we only hear you in the film,

we won't see you in the end credits.

But you will get your rightful place.

Thank you.

A production designer, like you, Robert Dumesnil,

deserves recognition.

Editing a film is delicate work.

Raymond Lamy, you are a genius at it.

You, Jean Bachelet, my first operator,

you will be recognized later for inventing relief photography.

Mrs. Odette Lemarchand, I call you the script lady.

Fernand Janisse, first sound engineer,

you record everything, also record my thanks.

Irène Leriche, general director.

Robert Christidès, editor.

René Ribaud, Gustave Raulet, cameramen.

And finally, Robert Sussfeld, production director.

I thank you wholeheartedly.

Without all of you, I could achieve nothing,

anonymous participants, always cheerful and helpful,

let us drink together to all who are dear to you.

Mrs. Michaud, you are the only one I allow to look at my recipe book.

It harms no one, and I am interested.

Well, I understand that. And I wonder why.

It's an idea that came to me.

I know my fellow citizens well,

and I have an opinion about it.

To have proof of what I thought.

And do you have that proof?

Absolutely!

One must consider the rumors and stories that come

and go. - We agree on that.

Even if it is the sincere, undeniable truth.

With medicine, you look for the ailment.

It says a lot, words are remedies.

Take, for example, Mrs. Clément, from Saint-Jacques Square,

aspirin... aspirin... aspirin... aspirin.

Migraine leader!

Her furrowed brow already gives it away.

The postman, huh?

Open wound. Next, you'll be surprised

that the morning mail arrives in the evening.

I say nothing wrong about anthropometry,

but that's something else, instructive and convincing

like a prominent chin or a receding forehead.

Mercury-cyanide... Everything is said.

It's not his fault.

No, but father of four children, that is his fault.

Paul Braconnier: phenobarbital...

He no longer sleeps.

Not surprising with a woman like he has.

Boldo herbal tea for Father Méthivier.

He has a liver ailment.

A priest's liver ailment, that doesn't look good.

Calomel... Calomel... Calomel. - He needs it.

Give me your pencil, I need to calculate.

Good day, Father.

Look!

Good day, my dear friend. How are you?

Not so well.

I can't stand my wife anymore.

Ah... Do you blame her?

For living there. - You shouldn't dwell on it.

Poor answer, Father.

Do you remember the day we got married?

Don't tell me it's the same.

She's thirty years older now. - It's not about age.

One can be 52 without looking like a barrel.

Haven't you changed? Be honest.

I'm thirty years older too, indeed.

But I don't drink three liters of wine a day,

I don't yell, I don't break dishes.

And to tell the truth,

even at 53 I wash my feet.

What do you mean?

I put them in water and soap them.

Ah! So it's not the conversation?

No.

She doesn't wash them as often?

Yes. Every two months.

She sees me wash them every week, like everyone.

Isn't that the case there?

Look at her, a real fat bitch.

Does she ever confess? - No, never.

That's a shame. You could tell her in a few words.

A priest doesn't advise his flock to wash their feet.

Yes... You could make her understand...

What?

Oh, you're right.

Making a woman like her understand is too much...

Do you have imagination? - Maybe a little.

Listen, you're in bed, and then she steps into your bed...

Excuse me, I have less imagination than you think.

Of course, but in the end... Men among men, you understand.

Yes... I understand you.

I hope you don't talk about her like that to everyone.

I'm careful! There's already enough gossip.

If something happens to her?

I'll be accused, rest assured, I will take action.

Then I'll come to you, because you are not just anyone.

Sometimes, one needs to say certain things.

When we speak about ourselves, we go too far.

It's dangerous, because mean things, we want to do...

well, they seem to be done without effort.

I don't know what you mean, but you seem to be going too far in speech.

Good day, Mrs. Michaud...

Good day, Mr. Chevillard. - How are you?

Very well, and you?

Too much?

Allow me... - No!

It's ready. A pain-relieving drink.

Yes, but how is it? - Fine, let's see.

By the way, I wanted to create an account and I did.

In a village like this, I find 30% with...

and 70% of people constipated.

That explains everything. - Everything? What then?

The province...

There she is again! Madame is doing her shopping.

She's going to the pharmacy.

Is she sick? - She's not in danger!

Well, well...

Look, I come to you, Mrs. Michaud. I would like some tarlatan.

I don't have it at the moment, Mrs. Braconnier.

Your daughter already told me.

Calomel. - Worm medicine.

Bitter root.

How can I help you? - I would like some rat poison.