The Young Girls of Rochefort (Les demoiselles de Rochefort)

THE YOUNG GIRLS OF ROCHEFORT

Screenplay, Dialogue, and Songs by JACQUES DEMY

FRIDAY MORNING

Set up here?

That’s all for today, children.

Good-bye, ma’am.

And don’t forget your costumes tomorrow.

Delphine, come look. They’re here.

They’re setting up on the square.

The girls won’t be ready. We’ll rehearse Sunday.

- No need to. - Think so?

We are a pair of twins born in the sign of Gemini

Mi fa so la mi re Re mi fa so so so re do

We’re two demoiselles who took to the boys long ago

Mi fa so la mi re Re mi fa so so so re do

Our mama brought us up on her own

Working herself all her life to the bone

To make sure our minds could expand

She’s spent all her time behind a French-fry stand

Papa was somebody that we never knew

But when we undress one thing is true

In the small of our backs, in the very same place

There’s the same beauty spot he had on his face

We are a pair of twins born in the sign of Gemini

Who love catchy tunes, silly puns, and repartee

We’re a pair of carefree young things

Waiting for the joys that love brings

- When our blood races - When our heart stops

We’re ready to shout it from the rooftops

We are delicate souls, two romantics

In love with art, music, and antics

Where’s that man? The man we long to find

Mr. Right. . . A few faults we won’t mind

We are a pair of twins born in the sign of Gemini

With our feet on the ground we have flights of fantasy

Teaching piano is making me turn pale

I’ve had it up to here with the sound of bad scales

I’m bored with these provincial ways

It’s Paris for me where art really pays

Dancing lessons are starting to get me down

My chance is in Paris too, not in this town

Why teach pliés and pirouettes all day

When I could be in the Opéra Ballet?

We are a pair of twins born in the sign of Gemini

Two hearts, four eyes ready to rhapsodize

Quarter to 12:00! I’m late.

Delphine, pick up Booboo?

- Can’t you? - I’ll go at 4:00.

I can’t wear this! Sure, I can... No, I can’t.

Guillaume will be waiting.

- What’s he want? - To see me.

Let him wait.

You coming home for lunch?

Yes, but not before 1:00.

Where’s my compact? Here it is.

We play the cello, the trumpet, and the banjo

We love catchy tunes, silly puns, and repartee

With our feet on the ground we have flights of fantasy

We are a pair of twins born in the sign of Gemini

See you later.

- Where you off to? - The café.

Wait for us.

Fries?

Two orders of fries.

- Fair time? - We just arrived.

- It’ll boost business. - No need for that.

- We’re going for a walk. - Not now!

We’re not on call.

What slackers!

- How you treat your ladies! - They aren’t our ladies... not really.

Performers?

The blond does an Indian shimmy, the redhead a Chinese shimmy.

- It’s harder. - How interesting.

He’s the boss. I’m his right-hand man, a mechanic.

- Hello, Yvonne. - Hello, Maxence.

Hello, Josette. Hello, Gramps.

- Still abstract? - More than ever.

He was born that way.

In three days I’ll be discharged.

- A Clacquesin. - We’re out.

Aren’t we? - But he can order something else.

A beer.

- So did you find her? - Not yet, but I can wait.

A beer for Maxence.

- Did he find her? - Not yet.

- What’d he lose? - His feminine ideal.

He never found her to begin with.

He painted her. He’s a painter-poet. He’s stationed here.

We all seek our feminine ideal. He’s not the only one.

Don’t be so sad, Maxence. Girls are a dime a dozen.

I’ve searched all over for her I’ve sailed the seven seas

From Venice to Java, from Manila to Angkor

There was Jeanne and Victoria, Venus and Mona Lisa

I haven’t found her yet I seek her even more

I don’t know what she’s like and yet her image is clear

I have a name for her Her voice is in my ear

I’ve sketched her silhouette, the face I’m dreaming of

The portrait that I’ve done is the very image of love

She is as gracious as only romantic girls can be

A Botticelli beauty with such eyes, such poise

In profile she’s like those virgins of mythology

Who haunt museum galleries and the dreams of teenage boys

Her stride is so much like a childhood memory

That passes before my mind’s eye lilting, dreamily

Her hair pours down her brow like torrents of pure gold

Round which wind, sea, and sun quarrel for a hold

I could tell you of her hands, of her eyes

I could go on and on until the next sunrise

She is my only love, but what good is a dream?

I’ve searched all over, but she’s nowhere to be seen

He could tell us of her hands, of her eyes

He could go on and on until the next sunrise

She is his only love, but what good is a dream?

He’s searched all over, but she’s nowhere to be seen

Can she be far? Or is she close to me?

I couldn’t say, but I know she does exist

Is she a wicked girl? Or born to royalty?

Her pedigree means nothing, because I am an artist

And love is the sole authority

N ice portrait, but no one like that here.

- No, no one. - I prefer redheads.

- Heavens! Have you seen Delphine? - No, ma’am.

I bet she forgot to pick up Booboo.

Could you go, Maxence?

I’m already late for maneuvers.

I have to set the tables.

- I’m sorry. - Never mind.

Bye, Gramps.

Could you two gentlemen go? The school’s just around the corner.

Sure, we don’t mind.

You’re sweet. Just ask for Booboo.

- Who? - Booboo. He’s my son, my youngest.

I’m afraid I can never get out.

I’m confined to this aquarium.

Me, who was meant to live in the open air on the Pacific shore...

listening to sweet music and reading poetry.

Yvonne, I’m out of glue.

Could you buy some glue on the way? Thanks.

Hi, Delphe!

You’re filthy! Look at you! And in your new pants!

- Are you Booboo? - Why do you ask?

We came to pick up Booboo.

- Says who? - The lady in the café.

- What nerve! - We’re on the up-and-up.

We came with the fair.

I bet you did.

- You’re quite pretty. - So I’ve been told.

- You’ll split your dress. - Quiet.

So do we take the kid?

- I wanna go with them. - Are you kidnappers?

- We wouldn’t say if we were. - Smart aleck!

Actually, it suits me fine, because – never mind.

Behave yourself.

Bye, pumpkin.

- Your aunt’s swell. - She’s my sister.

She’s a honey!

I want some candy.

We gonna stand here all day?

Hello, dear rose.

You’re lovely, dear soul. - By "soul" you mean my body.

You’re so right, dear heart.

If I weren’t so in love with you, I’d be jealous.

But I love you, and that fills me with pride...

and craving, since I want you.

I inspire your baser feelings.

And gluttony and lust.

And prattle. You love to hear yourself talk.

Myself and yourself. I love you.

Is that why you wanted to see me?

You don’t love me, but you’ll marry me.

I already said no, Guillaume.

- Then why do you come? - You’re so entertaining.

But if you prefer, I’ll stop coming.

Why, that’s me!

Yes, dear rose.

Since when do you pose for soldiers?

Soldiers? What’s this nonsense?

Who painted that? - I told you: a soldier.

Calls himself a painter and poet. Get the picture? Know him?

- An uncanny likeness, don’t you think? - Mere coincidence.

- But it’s me all over! - No, it’s just figurative.

You’re spiritual, dear soul.

It’s a worthless picture, pure fantasy.

He modestly calls it Feminine Ideal.

He must really love me to dream me up like this. What’s he like?

Dull, insignificant.

I want to meet him.

Sorry. He just left for Paris.

But he’s not your type at all.

You think you know me You like to talk a lot

But really you do not not not...

You don’t know how I feel If you did know, you’d reel

You’ll never know

I know how you think

You’ll never know what tickles me pink pink pink

What makes me play or why I dream night and day

I’m just a doll in your gallery

What did you ever see in me?

You find my chatter tedious and dumb

You couldn’t care less if I’m cheerful or glum