And the Party Goes On (Et la fête continue!)

Suddenly, a huge crash.

It was 9:09 a.m.

Panic-stricken passers-by called for help.

It was like an earthquake in the middle of Marseille.

Two five-story buildings

reduced to rubble in seconds.

For five days,

Marseille was gripped by the grim death toll.

Eight bodies were finally recovered.

Eight tenants dead, buried under their building.

Marseilles crumbled under the weight of its residents' outrage.

Shame.

Anger.

Rage.

Strong words directed at City Hall and property owners.

They all condemned the squalor in which Simona,

Marie-Emmanuelle, Ouloume, Chérif, Fabien,

Julien, Pape and Taher were living.

AND THE PARTY GOES ON!

CHURCH OCCUPIED

That's good.

- Is it working? - Yeah.

On the floor, of course.

Shall we give it a try?

Sustain with the diaphragm.

Your voice must fill the whole room, otherwise we can't hear.

You must sustain it.

When out of breath, let go.

So the note doesn't fade away.

From the top?

You're hiding behind the guitar.

Can we hear him?

Just two seconds. Alone. Go ahead.

Hang on.

You're shy. You were a lot less...

You were a lot less shy before.

- It's in G-sharp minor. - You're hiding behind it.

Why did you put G-sharp minor?

OK. Back to the chorus.

You have to open your eyes wide,

the light's in your eyes.

I have to see it in your eyes. OK?

Everything OK?

Yeah?

I'd like to work on the last verse, it was...

a bit rough last time.

"One fine day, on a creaky raft." Those are the words.

Alright?

I'll be here for another hour.

Go take a walk.

I can wait.

No, they don't like that.

They don't like that.

I'll catch up with you.

Go on...

Alright. Please, come this way.

Let's try it all together.

Dear Homer, it's time to attack.

This is impossible.

Yes, Sarkis?

Mommy dearest?

What? Is that all?

Walnut and anchovy pasta,

I'd have to go to Pincou-les-oies

to get your anchovies!

Yes, OK, love you.

They're going to kill me.

They're going to kill me.

MARSEILLE ADMINISTRATIVE DETENTION CENTER

Yes, Sarkis?

You're coming on Sunday!

Wait, is she at least Armenian?

She's not Armenian, but she's pretty.

You won't believe how pretty.

Cancel it.

Take them to the circus some other day.

I swear, she'll be the mother of my kids.

For sure.

Two minutes!

Marie, do you have my anchovies?

Yes, I put them aside for you.

Do you think we'll win the election this time?

That's up to you, ma'am. I'll let you answer that.

Here you go, honey!

You can pay next time.

- Go on, you're holding up traffic. - Thanks.

Two minutes!

Mom?

Mom? Did you get them?

They're right next to me, Sarkis!

Your anchovies are looking at me.

You're awesome.

Except you didn't ask if I was free.

I'm tired of you thinking I'm at your beck and call.

I have a life too!

But Mommy dearest, I want to surprise her.

I know you'll always be free for me.

Isn't that so?

My name is Rosa.

My father chose my name.

He was a big fan of Rosa Luxemburg, who loved chickadees.

I love them too,

for their beauty and gentleness.

I've spent my life wanting our world to be like theirs.

I spent all my time racing against the clock,

filling my life to the brim.

Minas,

my dear nieces, my beloved mother,

I'd like you to meet Alice.

My Alice...

whom I love.

Stop.

Well, let's get straight to it,

we'll get married, it's all planned out.

We'll have nine kids.

- That's why... - Sarkis...

That's why I asked for our signature dish.

Sarkis, please.

After sharing our classic family meal,

she won't be able to turn me down!

Stop!

Four or five...

Enough for a small orchestra.

Very moving.

Welcome to our home, Alice,

and pass me your plate. Pasta doesn't wait.

One day, I'll tell you the story of this pasta.

Wait. Look, this is going to be fun.

What are you doing?

It's a new app.

You take a photo and it gives you the name of the dish.

Then you get the recipe?

I doubt it,

my mother was the only one who made this in Marseille.

Linguine alla puttanesca.

"Alla puttanesca"... Nonsense!

Is something wrong, Alice?

Are there anchovies in this?

Yes. With salt, walnuts, garlic...

Sorry, I'm allergic to anchovies.

What?

I can't believe this...

Get out right now, you'll never marry my brother.

I forbid it.

Do you hear me? I forbid it!

No, I'm joking!

I'll make you

the best butter pasta you've ever had.

- Hi! - Hi!

- Hi. - You could've waited for us.

Hello.

Welcome.

Hi, kids!

You know I'd cross the entire Caucasus

for my little sister Rosa's

walnut and anchovy linguine.

Pass me your plate!

Yeah, here, serve me some.

- Hello. - Hello.

Are you OK, dear?

I just got off.

Since 10 p.m. last night, can you imagine?

Can you believe it?

So, are you two together?

No.

Because I know my uncle.

We're genuine housemates,

declared to the landlady.

Everything's in order. OK?

That's great.

Yeah.

That way, it's...

So, you're the lucky one?

So it seems.

Congratulations.

All the best.

Alice, my uncle, Antonio.

Like Gramsci, the founder of the Italian Communist Party.

My brother. Cab driver,

communist, and perpetual lover!

Permanent, not perpetual.

As they say, party permanent.

I'm a permanent lover.

There we go!

They took off like a flock of sparrows.

I swear, Laetitia, sometimes I can't stand them.

I should've been meaner to them.

You think meaner people are happier?

- Absolutely! - I don't think so.

I'd love for you to be elected.

Just once. I wish you were elected just once.

And then I could pour out my love to the people.

Wouldn't that be beautiful? A dream come true!

Just imagine, if everyone was like you,

there'd definitely be less abstention.

We're not quite there yet.

We're not.

- How's cohabitation going? - Well.

He's nice, he brings me coffee in the morning,

and even croissants.