Head Against the Wall (La tête contre les murs)

You nearly ran him over.

A practice run?

And you, a practice interview?

You wouldn't be an interesting item.

Because I'm a cross-country runner?

Because you are François Gérane.

You want an autograph?

How much do you charge?

Where do you come from? I've never seen you.

I've often seen you. In photos.

Age 25, son of the famous lawyer, lone wolf, deep in trouble.

Mr. Maurice is never apt to forget a £200 gambling debt. Your affair...

with his wife makes it still worse.

It's Gilbert who sent you?

He'll find no money for you.

I know who you are, now:

Stephanie, Gilbert's sister; Stephanie-the-Bore.

You had to get into this...

I've waited too long.

He'd have a position...

He'd have a wife... maybe even children...

Please stop seeing him.

I'll think it over. For the time being I'm thinking only of money.

Going back to Paris?

Hold tight!

"The Swallow"

A queer bird.

I've tried to call you three times this week.

My line is cut off.

Shall I introduce you?

I'd rather wait here.

How's the racing?

£200 are missing me off my feet. It's urgent. Can you spare it?

Could you, Mother?

You're botching my grammophone!

One hundred! I'll return it!

You're alone in life?

I'm forgetting my father...

I haven't found anyone.

I'm a poor girl, you know...

I've brought Simone.

I found only £20.

Your sister is here.

Gilbert has frightened me. Will you never stop looking for money?

My husband has grown suspicious; I can't help you any longer.

Your new girl-friends should be able to do something about it...

You'll manage somehow. I adore you!

In my own home! My whole life long...

The brief of a case... Boutoir versus Bergeroux...

Official documents I had no right to bring home... You knew it!

Why did you do it?

You don't know yourself!

I long hoped you'd take after me.

But you are the very image of your mother: violent, cruel... insane!

I've also pinched money; but that needs no explaining.

Don't move!

You wouldn't kill your own son; you'd be heading for trouble.

A thief, an incendiary is not my son.

The police?

You can't sue your own son.

You're a lawyer, you know it.

Every community has a way of dealing with beasts.

Am I in a hospital?

Yes, my boy.

What hospital?

Come back to bed.

I am not in prison?

Why should you be?

Mr. Gérane, I believe...

I was expecting you. The head doctor...

told me about you. Count de Chambrelle, the writer.

However unsuitable these premises may be, I am happy...

to meet here at long last, a man of rank and quality.

Adrian! We have an extra guest.

Let me tell you about our friends.

Let me begin from the left. Don't stare, of course...

First, Colonel Donnadieu.

Shell-shocked in 1918. First relapse in 1930. Second relapse in 1945.

1930?

In Morocco.

Next to him, a sham blind man; a rare specimen

"Blind" only to see better

The sad one, with the bundle, Hurtevent.

Wanted to be a sailor, but he was withdrawn from service.

He never got over it.

Have some jam. As the Colonel says, you live your death once only.

Shut up, Count! Death...

belongs to everybody!

And we won the war!

We, First Cavalry of the Foreign Legion!

We have to eat without the usual knives.

I don't have to learn Spanish!

I don't have to!

They are harmless, most of them.

That'll be all, old chap! There we are...

Good day, my dear Doctor.

Colonel Donnadieu! First Cavalry of the Foreign Legion!

Many newcomers?

The light lorry...

Where did you bed them?

In the attic.

Gérane... the boy who loves to burn things...

How is he behaving?

He had a restless night. He thinks he's in jail. Somewhat confused.

Bring him in.

He must have fought desperately.

He arrived under sedation; today he's calmed down.

Doesn't look mad to me...

I don't want to hear that word!

"Mad" is derogatory and means nothing.

A psychiatrist knows only of sick men.

All sorts of sick men.

Probationers like you turn out as high society psychiatrists.

An asylum has two jobs to perform: cure the mentally ill...

and protect the community.

Protection comes first, that's everybody's major concern.

And it's easy to manage: you lock them in.

That's what I've learned from 30 years of psychiatric practice.

Who signed the confinement papers?

Dr. Carré... the family doctor...

Well, this way everything is in order.

You are Mr. Gérane...

How old are you?

I am 25.

What infantile diseases?

Measels?

Scarlet fever, mumps?

And since?

Any venereal diseases?

Your profession?

No profession at 25...

What do you do in life?

I was looking for a job.

What kind of job?

Some of my friends...

What friends? Do you meet them often?

They are my age. We meet quite often.

Surprise-parties...

Surboums, as we call them...

Why are your hands shaking?

Heavy drinker, probably.

You didn't tell me what job you'd like.

What schooling have you had?

Secondary. Uncompleted.

Why?

I wanted to be a painter. I went to the Ecole des Beaux Arts.

You graduated?

I left. I wasn't interested in outmoded methods

I see. Instability.

What did you do next?

I left home. I wanted to manage on my own.

Fugue-prone...

How did you manage?

I didn't.

As for women... A fiancee? No?

Any affairs?

No complaints coming; there are plenty of girls.

But none of them stayed with you.

Didn't any of them suit you?

What do you know about it? What are you driving at?

My father had me confined because he hates me.

You didn't mention your mother...

She is dead.

Drowned.

Oh... accidental death...

I don't belong here, in a madhouse!

A psychiatric hospital.

Character and behaviour troubles.

My dear boy, you need rest and quiet.

You've led a hectic life.

One is young... so very young...

It's a happy life here. We're in the country, lots of air...

Paris and everything are so far away...

Stop this! It's an order!

Where did he get that saw?

He stole it from the farm.

Hello, newcomer.

You, you're a faker.

You needed shelter.

It's staying here, or...

Is it the countryside out there?

See for yourself.

The walls are still there?

An asylum in open country...

Death in the midst of life.

You sound as if one never got out.

You do get out... then you come back.

You've been here long?

Four years.

How about breaking loose?

My only dream.

I'll break loose!

To begin with, don't say it.

All these poor people, stricken in their love...

And you, Doctor, how do you bear all this misery?

Just as you, Father, when you tackle souls deep in mortal sin.

But your hell comes afterwards.

Mr. Gérane?

He's inside.

Who told you?