1001 Grams (2014) (1001 gram)

- Late breakfast? - Yes.

- Late breakfast? - Yes.

I had a meeting in town.

- With your lawyer? - Yes.

He's so slow to pick up his things. Fetches a little now and then.

- Does he still have a key? - Yes.

And then all those additional fees.

There's Marie.

Coming!

I have a bag of potatoes ready for you.

Good. I thought I'd drop by this weekend.

- You have room in your car? - It isn't that small.

Fine, it isn't that small.

How is the “bouncing lottery ball” project going?

I've noticed the number 18 keeps coming up.

- So you watch the drawings? - Oh, yes.

I haven't heard of any aberration, but it isn't my project.

- I think they'll be done next month. - Good.

OK.

EMPLOYEES ONLY

Want to come to dinner tonight?

- What are you making? - Bacalao.

Sounds good. But I'm busy.

How often do you cook dinner?

Almost daily.

Pasta?

Pizza?

- Have you ever tried sushi? - No.

Never.

Dad?

Dad?

- Magnhild? - It's just me, Dad.

I dreamt

that I was asleep in the hay.

- You are in the hay. - I know.

But I dreamt it too.

In addition.

Did you know that

your mother and I often rested here?

No, I've never heard that before.

I'm thirsty.

Are you attending the kilo seminar in Paris next week?

I don't think I can get out of it.

But soon it will be your turn.

Oh?

Counting atoms instead of weighing. That's more for your generation.

Will you bring our kilo?

All the delegates are bringing their respective kilos.

And we'll find out if our kilo has gained weight.

Or if the French one has lost weight.

I wouldn't be surprised.

- Have you eaten today? - I'm working on it.

Calvados. Splendid.

You hadn't touched your food in the kitchen.

- Have you talked to Ernst today? - No.

I can't find him. He missed a meeting today.

- Did you try his home number? - Yes, and his cell.

- That's strange. - I know.

Has he started drinking again?

Not enough to affect his job.

He hasn't picked up his plane tickets, either.

Dad?

Dad? Hi.

Dad.

He had a serious heart attack.

Right.

Can I see him?

No. We're preparing him for surgery.

He's already under anesthesia.

I suggest you go home and get some rest.

You can come back tomorrow.

- Will he be OK? - It's hard to tell.

We'll do our best.

Yes.

Thank you.

- Hi. - How is he?

They don't know yet.

And how are you?

OK, I guess.

Let me know if there's anything I can do.

Thank you.

- Wenche? - Yes.

Could you drive me to the airport tomorrow?

Of course.

I'm sure Ernst will appreciate you doing this, Marie.

But don't feel obligated.

I don't. This is what I want to do.

We both want you to take over for him, when the time is right.

And regarding this kilo seminar,

it would probably have been too much for him anyway.

Ernst has a stellar career behind him.

But he is undeniably old school.

Sure, but there's a lot for me to learn too.

Yes, that's true.

You know you're bringing our kilo to Paris?

Yes. Ernst said a new calibration was scheduled.

Let's go then.

It almost feels like I'm doing something illegal, without Ernst here.

Ernst found it a little sad to think about.

That the kilo is our last physical reference object,

since the meter was retired.

As you know, there are two schools

regarding the calibration of national prototypes.

Whether they should be washed or not before they are weighed.

Ernst was opposed to washing, and we should support that stance.

Here is a dispatch note in English.

It explains what is in the capsule,

and that only a trained professional can open it.

If anything happens to our prototype,

we risk losing our membership.

Here is a carnet. A customs document.

It explains that we are not to pay duty on the kilo,

as it is the Institute's property,

and will be returned to Norway after being recalibrated at BIPM.

Wouldn't it be smarter to have the documents in French?

Could be. We'll revisit that at a later date.

But everything is explained clearly in English here.

And you speak some French, right?

A little.

I almost screwed up there.

There.

Try to enjoy yourself too. Bye!

Thank you.

Have a nice trip.

Madame, please. May I check your bag?

Prototype?

Please open it.

This is the national kilo from Norway.

- Open it, please. - No, that is not possible.

I am not authorized.

It is made of 90% platinum and 10% iridium.

It must not be touched. That could change its weight.

I also have here -

Here is the address for BIPM,

the International Bureau of Weights and Measures.

With a contact person and phone number.

One minute.

Guillaume?

Look at this. What do you think?

- Hello. - Hello.

It's fine.

- It's fine? - Yes.

It's fine.

You like it?

Yes, it's nice.

I also have an electric car.

- Are you waiting for a taxi? - Yes.

- Where are you staying? - In the Marais.

I can drive you. That's where I live.

All right. That's kind of you.

- Do you have a bag? - Yes, over there.

- My name is Pi. - Marie.

- Marie? - Yes.

- Are you Scandinavian? - Norwegian.

- Are you coming back next week? - Yes.

Do you support washing or not washing the kilo?

Not washing. You know the procedure?

Yes.

I'd love to show you the area, but I'm going to the theater.

It's OK. I'm very tired.

It's a Norwegian play, by Jon Fosse. Someone Is Going to Come.

That must be Nokon kjem til 5 komme.

- Have you seen it? - Almost. But something came up.

"Something came up.” That sounds like another play by Fosse.

- It does. - Have a nice trip home, Marie.

So many...

memories have been pouring back lately.

Magnhild.

And Gunnar.

Mostly Gunnar.

Do you feel guilty?

He was the farmer, after all.

But you had the hereditary right. It was Grandpa's wish.

- Did you have a falling out? - Not really.

But he was

terribly disappointed.

And then he just left.

Is he still in Paris?

The last time I heard from him, that's where he was.

He... worked odd jobs as a painter.

Marie?

Would you be interested in taking over the farm?

- Would you? - You've never asked me before.

True.

No, Dad.

I've never thought about that.

Why ask me now?

It's time to put my life in the balance.

That's what ultimately needs to be weighed.

It-

It would be fascinating to find out

how much you actually weighed at the end.

- At the end? - Yes.

You remember that I want to be cremated?

Yes, I've registered that.

Supposedly

our soul weighs 21 grams.

BUt!

Considering all the people I have met,

I find that highly unlikely.