Don't Change Hands (Change pas de main)

Digitized and restored by Éclair Group and L.E. Diapason for Shellac Sud with support of the Centre National du Cinéma

Don't change hands.

What's his name?

Alain. He's my son.

How old is he?

28 april 1930. Alger. Happy childhood.

Brilliant studies.

This little movie is somewhat harmless.

I don't know what they want from me.

Alain is not in peril. From time to time he runs away from home.

And then he comes back to his crib.

-2000 francs a day plus expenses. -Do you want an advance?

No. I'm trusting you.

-I know you're solvent. -What do you know about me?

What everybody knows. Your newspaper is a big seller. You've started a

successful political career.

A ministry soon?

Tomorrow precisely. But enough with that. It's getting late.

I need more time to check files.

It's no use. I'm the heiress of a wealthy flemish dynasty.

I'm born in North Africa at my uncle's house.

I lived there until

I married Commanding Officer Bourgeois in 1950.

I left him in 1960.

During the OAS rebellion in Algeria. I didn't agree with their ideals.

I escaped with Alain.

Look at this room. I've put it up for him but he's never here.

My husband, Michel, was killed in a military attack.

Don't you take notes?

Anyway, enough with me. There's nothing else to add.

I don't care about the person who sent me this filthy movie.

I'm OK to pay but I want all the material.

Negatives, originals, pictures if there's any.

Do you have an idea?

Of course. They want me to get in touch at the Shangai Lily's at 11 PM.

It's a club, of a certain kind,

living on drugs or prostitution. It's not very clear.

I have nothing to do in such a sordid place.

You will substitute for me.

And hear about this...

A black rose will be on your table.

It's the recognition signal.

Photo souvenir?

Can I?

You shouldn't take so much risks.

You know it's my passion.

Tightrope walker?

What do I serve?

Vladimir.

Roses are fragile.

Especially black ones.

Beauty is always fragile.

Do you like flowers?

Don't say no. You smiled. I like this place.

There are always flowers on the table.

It's like a recognition signal.

You catch me?

No? Yes?

My favorites are cyclamenes.

If it was only me I would still wear a buttonhole.

But with a carnation, not a cyclamen.

I would be too visible.

I have so much trouble already passing unnoticed.

My mother always said : "Victor you speak too much. It will be the lost of you"

It's a nice thing, motherly love.

It compels you to make sacrifices.

Do you love your mother?

Don't say no or it will make you cry.

Stop your claptrap, old man.

I'm not the "mother".

Who are you, then?

Her sister or something like that.

What exactly do you want from the "mother"?

I'm not allowed to say that.

I'm only the go-between. A little like you.

I don't know nothing.

Not much, in fact.

I'm an anomaly in this business. I wanted to be a mime.

I was too heavy.

I was criticized for my lack of poetry.

It hurts to hear that when you're sensitive.

Yet, at primary school, at the end of the year party,

I once played a Pierrot.

There was a waltz. Everybody was laughing.

I'm attracting attention again. It's my big problem.

I'm not transparent.

I'm not living in a fool's paradise, you know.

Go-betweens can easily be replaced...

Anyway.

You will tell to the lady that it's too late.

She was wrong not coming in by herself.

Please? A smile?

Sit down, Natacha.

-You're foreign? -Not at all.

I don't know what a guy like you is doing in such a sordid place.

-Why does she say that? -Because you're much more worthy.

We could have an arrangement if you really want to leave this place.

I'd like that, to make a nice trip...

I've always dreamt about travelling to Venezuela.

Not for the sun or the oil but for the exotic change.

-For that you'll have to talk. -I'm OK to talk.

I like to talk.

-Only to trustworthy people. -Don't you feel at ease with us?

If I tell you all I know, rest assured, my trip will be earned.

Immediate reservation. One way ticket to Caracas.

"For passengers on flight

255 toward Caracas...

-...Embarcation immediate. -Door 13. Relax and let us make your trip enjoyable."

I can never say no. It's unbelievable. People always have their way with me.

You want my opinion? He's just the man for us. -The two of you?

-We're like twins. -But what about the money?

-Our business together? The "mum"? -Business like that is made in private.

-Why? -Because you're such a nice man.

Is that so?

Pascal, Pascal, quick!

-What does it mean? -It means I'm the one giving orders.

Melinda, Private Detective. And then?

Then nobody would benefit from a police visit. Is that clear?

Clear enough. How much do you want?

Come on, my lovely, line up with the others.

Can I leave please? I came here haphazardly with my daughter.

-Show me what you're hiding? -No.

-San Francisco, Copenhague... -Give them back, I'm Catherine Després.

If I don't give them back?

No more license?

Come visit me. I will pay your fee.

-It's unbelievable the doe I could make in one night!

-Really, Mrs, do we look like murderers to you?

I think it's in your interest to let us out of your business here.

I give you back the magazines.

-I keep the pictures for my private collection.

-Are you mad? You have no right to do this!

Ferdinand, you're out of your role!

-Forget what he said. He's only my husband. -Stop! Stop everything! I'm the guilty one!

-Milk gets spilled, it's me! Someone gets raped, it's me!

Someone gets killed, it's me! Shoot at me!

-Who's the wacky? -A wacky. Domino. My sister in law.

-Mrs Mado, she knows everything... -Mrs Mado, she knows everything...

She's crazy. You heard them.

Get up.

You. Help me.

Now you can call the police if you want or if you can.

You hurt?

Yes. Of course.

His real name was not Victor.

But Marcel.

Everybody had his way with him.

He liked women too much for his own good.

I always told him...

"You can't be on both sides."

He couldn't help seducing people.

-They promised they wouldn't hurt him. -Who "they"?

-Why did they shoot him? -Who?

Forget about it. We both know I'm going to croak.

I can't tell you. I don't know much anyway.

Victor, I mean, Marcel,

had seen something very important at the Shangai Lily's.

Then he started to deal with the opposite side.

He didn't tell me what he saw.

Despite being such a blabbermouth.

-We wanted to take their money and leave. -To Caracas?

Caracas...He told you that?

He really talked too much.

Do you know him?

He's the devil.

Just tell me where I can find him?

Shangai Lily's.

Is he dead?

Yes.

There was some quarrel at the club. I will explain later.

What do you mean by quarrel?

It might change some of your plans.

-We had an issue with Victor and... -Not on the telephone. You are incompetent!

Good-bye girls.

I'm tired and we made a mess with the Tango.

Good-bye.

Look at my face!

And mine.

I'm so tired.

And we still have a night session.

Shit.

Says the one asking an advance!

You will do the job you were paid for.

And this one, still on the floor. I asked you to tidy up.

We first buried François.

And now we're really dead tired!

Mrs, I don't want to stay anymore.

I was OK to dance and sing but all these corpses bug me.

Scram then! And hasten up, you two!

Mado is completely megalo...

What?

Megalomaniac.

-Is that so? -Back to work.

Andrew, there's something for you in the car.

Another one, so soon?

-What about those files? -Not very interesting.

I've got a sheet on Catherine Després.

One of the biggest french fortune.

Only one vice, porno.

Not a dyke.