Walking a Tightrope (Les équilibristes)

Paris in the early sixties. The Algerian War...

During the first half, you have enjoyed...

WALKING A TIGHTROPE

the exceptional juggler Rastello.

The Crooks of the Desert, presented by El Madji.

Fantastic acrobats, the Zorecs.

Grenetti's Carnival of the Animals.

The extraordinary trapezist, Daniel Gepellec.

The wonderful Indian elephants

brilliantly trained by Anton Pakar.

That's him.

He's handsome.

Children of all ages,

ladies and gentlemen, a 15-minute intermission.

Ladies and gentlemen, a 15-minute intermission.

During the intermission, be sure to visit the circus menagerie,

and see a fabulous collection of animals

from all four corners of the world.

I'll be right back.

Isn't that Marcel Spadice

in that box?

That's him. He's with some slut.

- She must be bait. - A cock-catcher.

It's Hélène Lagache. Divorcee.

Sister of Éliane Perron, banker Émile Perron's wife.

She's an ex-ballerina.

She fell while dancing the master's ballet.

I think he's this century's finest poet.

He no longer writes after Cisaire tore him apart in his book.

Park there.

So that he sees you first when he comes out.

There he is. Pull forward.

Good night.

Stop.

What shall we do?

Go to the Gare de I'Est. Soldiers are coming back on leave.

Drive on.

I recognize one of the girls. She's an usherette.

He's taking them to the bistro.

One day you'll be attacked by someone

who'll feel insulted being approached by a pederast.

Not a bit. I know how to go about it.

It's sad, at my age.

Running these risks

is the price of my failings.

You'd be surprised how few men

refuse to sleep with a queer. - There are places for that.

I don't like queens.

They make me sick. And I don't like

prostitutes either,

whether virile or effeminate.

You won't need me at the Gare de I'Est.

You're right.

It's a spot for a quick fling.

If it doesn't work tonight, it'll work another time.

I'm boring you with this circus boy.

You're not boring me.

I see why you're keen

Should we go back tomorrow?

I'll call you.

I forgot my Nembutal.

I've none left. I sleep badly.

Ask your pharmacist.

- Goodbye. - Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Do you have a light?

- Were you on the Mulhouse train? - Yes.

Why?

I took you for a friend of mine. You look like him.

Oh?

Not as good looking as you, but almost.

Silly. I had some money for him.

- Waiting for someone? - My cousin.

Doesn't look like he's coming.

Are you in a hurry?

If not we could go for a drink.

Come on. Leave this in left luggage.

Morning. Are you Franz-Ali's mother?

I am Mrs Christa Paeffgen Aoussine.

You're his mother?

He's our son. So I'm his mother.

I hurried over here.

I work with him at the Imira Circus.

He was picked up

in a round-up last night.

A round-up?

Yes. He asked me to tell you.

- What is this? - The police.

They took him because he looks Algerian.

They'll let him go.

Where is he now?

At the police station. I wrote all the details here.

I have to go.

You were hard to find. Goodbye.

Goodbye. Thank you.

The police will no doubt call on you

to check on what your son told them.

It's best that you know.

Thank you, miss.

Franz-Ali Aoussine. Hurry along.

Move it.

So your name's Franz-Ali Aoussine?

Yes, sir.

What resources do you have?

Money. Do you work?

Not now.

I'm a war widow.

Before, I wrestled.

- What? - A wrestler.

Wrestler.

Answer when I speak to you, goat-fucker.

My father was in the French army, a prisoner in Germany.

Look, sir.

Abdallah Aoussine is dead.

I saw a bombing.

American bombing.

My husband...

He died.

Now I can't bear to hear planes.

I don't like it.

Who were you meeting at the bistro?

Nobody.

What were you doing, far from home at 1am?

I went for a drink after work.

I work at the circus next door.

As what? A clown?

I pick up droppings after the performing animals number.

Well, you smell of shit anyway

like all Arabs. - Yes, sir.

Franz-Ali is training on the high wire.

He wants to become a great artiste.

Sir,

I am a very nice woman.

Very alone.

You are a nice man.

Stop! That's enough!

Written on here

are all the details for your spotty A-rab.

I don't like the Jerries. They wiped out the Jews.

But I can't stand their Gretschens

who marry Arabs and sully their race.

You can't insult me twice, Mr Policeman.

Because I'm racist and I killed Jews

or because I'm not racist

and I married a dirty Arab!

Can you call Mrs Lagache for me? This is the number...

During the first half, you enjoyed...

He's not here tonight.

Riding master Werner Schumann.

- I'll see what's happened. - Go on.

Magician Karim Khan.

5 francs.

Thank you.

Excuse me, you're friends with the ring boy.

Which one?

You were with him last night.

Oh yes. What do you want with him?

It's rather tricky.

I'm with a very well-known man.

He wants to speak to him.

Which man?

He writes plays and films. He loves the circus.

What's his name?

Keep it to yourself. His name's Marcel Spadice.

Marcel Spadice?

Yes, he often comes here.

He was here last night. I saw him tonight.

We came together.

Franz-Ali was caught in a round-up

in the local bar.

Do you know where he is?

He's in the 18th precinct police cells.

He looks Algerian.

Say his name again.

Franz-Ali Aoussine.

Strange name.

He's half-German.

Thank you very much.

He was picked up in a round-up.

They raided the local bar.

They could keep him for ages.

Don't worry, I'll see to it.

Tomorrow morning, or even tonight.

Your husband's a friend of the prefect

so I thought you could fix it for him.

Did you tell him you were coming to me?

Of course, Éliane.

Yes?

I did it, Marcel. They'll release him tomorrow at noon.

Terrific.

They didn't want to let him go.

There was a bad report on his mother.

She burdened her son.

I'll go to the circus,

and ask his friend to wait for him at the station

and bring him to the nearest bistro.

- Goodbye, Marcel. - Goodbye, Hélène.

And thank you.

You're welcome.

I'm glad they released you.