I'm floating.
I'm in my mother's belly.
How do you feel?
I feel alone.
I want you to go back even further in time.
What do you see?
Light...
Welcome to Mouthe Candice Lecoeur's Hometown
"I bequeath all my property and belongings,
"including my 8 hectares of vineyards,
"my wine-making business and my home,
"which are estimated today at 650,000 Euro...
"to the town of Mouthe,
"which will be in charge of finding a winemaker
"to perpetuate my work."
I didn't drive 400 miles...
"To my sole nephew, David Rousseau,
"I bequeath Toby,
"for I know he loved him dearly."
Toby?
Isn't he dead?
Dear Diary,
I started writing to you on June 1, 1990,
the day I turned 13.
24 diaries filled with my poor existence,
told without the flair of a great writer.
For I have no style,
or only one you could call zilch.
I'd caress your blank pages,
hoping to soon tell you I'd met someone who really loved me,
who understood me.
A new diary, a new beginning.
The beginning of my new life...
That's what I wanted to write on your first page.
But it's been three days since I've written...
I've been dead.
It's surely for the best...
"Snowflake Hotel".
Last week it was -36ºC.
This is...
The coldest town in France. "Little Siberia".
You know the place?
I came here as a kid.
Luckily, my dad called my uncle an ass and we never came back.
It smells like glue. I love it!
They just wallpapered. Ghastly, isn't it?
Uh, yes. It's unusual.
You look a little... unusual yourself.
I bet you're an artist or something.
No. I'm a door-to-door kitchen salesman.
I put you in No. 5. The best room.
It's cold, huh?
The boiler broke down.
But there are blankets.
And there's rum in the mini-bar.
If you're really cold, dial 9,
I'll make a hot-water bottle.
No further than last time you called.
Glad you think it's funny.
Only a little...
Don't forget, if you want to come out before the literary season...
The book will come out when it comes out.
Forget about writing
a James Ellroy masterpiece.
You've received advances. We have a contract...
Then we'll break it.
You can't fit writing into little time slots.
Very well.
Take your time.
But with another publisher. I've reached my limits.
Today's news is marked by a tragic death.
The entire region is in mourning.'
Candice Lecoeur represented "The Belle of Jura" cheese
before becoming weather lady...
It's noon?
The native of Mouthe visibly decided to end her life.
Her body was found in the woods next to the border.
Here's our correspondent...
Shit.
Candice Lecoeur's many fans
are in mourning.
Born Martine Langevin, she was the icon
for "The Belle of Jura" cheese
before becoming weather lady at Franche-Comté TV.
It is here at the morgue of the brand new Mouthe hospital,
that Candice's body will rest before the funeral.
She was found with a bottle of sleeping pills
in her hand, in the middle of a "no man's land".
Captain Colbert, could you explain?
It's an area outside legal jurisdiction
on the Franco-Swiss border.
- So no investigation? - Correct.
The case is closed.
Thus her mysterious death will remain... a myst...
Always happens. It's the snow on the lines.
I won't ask if you slept well.
- Forget something? - I started.
I have an idea. A title in any case.
That's a start. What is it?
"No Man's Land".
Not very catchy, is it?
What's it about?
A town called Mouthe,
where a local starlet is found dead.
A blond who did cheese commercials.
A cheese star... In a no man's land... In Mouthe...
I need to dig deeper. This might be something.
I've been thinking...
I'd like to write under another name. How about "Magnus Hørn"?
With a slashed "o".
Start writing, we'll discuss that later.
Have fun in your "no man's land". And don't get lost.
Looking for something?
Inspiration.
Look elsewhere. This area's off limits.
I'm investigating for my next detective novel.
Please leave...
I have hyper-acute hearing.
My parents always wondered why I jumped for nothing.
One day I fainted when my mother was beating eggs.
But it doesn't only have bad sides.
Listen.
My footsteps in the snow...
I pick up every single detail,
like an oenologist tasting wine.
Listen.
The air is amazing here.
I saw you the other day, when they took the body away.
You must be mistaken.
It is quite odd committing suicide in the middle of nowhere,
where there'll be no investigation.
No?
Muckraking isn't my thing.
I saw episode 5.
The psychic said to the writer: "You're the man with a hood.
"Your linked is the '5'."
This elevator is for staff only.
I'm her grandson. They said I could come.
Always happens. It's the snow on the lines.
Shut the locker.
At first I thought he was just another crackpot,
like those two male nurses who pawed my breasts.
But I'm not mad at them.
Even cold, I'm still the hottest gal in all Franche-Comté.
But this one took my hand,
he wasn't like the others.
I mean, he didn't want to feel up my ass.
If we'd met before,
maybe I wouldn't be lying on this stainless-steel table.
It's the story of my life...
I had to wait until I was dead
to meet a nice guy.
What are you doing here?
It's not what you think.
So you're Gilbert Rousseau's nephew,
and you investigate like James Ellroy?
Yes.
May I ask who gave you permission?
No one.
There's a needle mark on her arm.
Are you 100% certain... that she committed suicide?
One: The needle mark is from a blood test the day before.
Two: She really did commit suicide.
And three: The case is closed.
But the Stylnax is a glaring error!
One of my fans pointed out my mistake in "Fiscal Paradise, My Love".
You can't swallow a tube without water.
And four:
This isn't America. This is Mouthe.
So I suggest you find another story.
And stay out of morgues.
Next time, I might be less sympathetic.
Thank you.
Do you know where Candice Lecoeur lived?
In the old cookie factory.
Rue de la Source. It used to be a factory.
It's that way.
Thursday 1.'00 pm Jiminy Cricket
Thursday, June 1, 1990
I'm 13 years old.
It's the day of my revenge.
Our first day at the pool.
As usual, the two little sluts made fun of me
because of my Wal-Mart sweatsuit.
Look at her clothes, they're from the Salvation Army.
From a trash bin, I'd say.
But underneath I wore my too-small bathing suit.
I'm disgusted!
When I came out of the showers,
I walked real slow, like Madonna in Vogue.
The boys ogled that suit as if it were a gold mine.
Boys!
I had this funny impression,
as if I were Martine Langevin, the nobody,
and another girl too.
One I didn't know yet.
A Peugeot convertible with Paris plates stands out.
I told you, Colbert told you: Drop it.
You know her secretary was broken into?
There's every diary until November 2009,
then the last one's missing! Isn't that odd?
I don't have all day.
What do her parents say?
She had no father and her mom's dead.
Yes, Captain.
Yes...
I'm stuck on the road.
They didn't clear the snow, as usual.
Of course, Captain.
I'm sure you have doubts too.
Information, hello.
Hello, could you tell me
if there's a Mr. Jiminy Cricket in Mouthe?
Cricket like the game?
Like the animal.
No, but I have a Juliette Geminy in Mouthe. I'll put you through...
Yes.
She was my patient. I was her psychiatrist.
I told you on the phone, I can't help you.
Listen, suppose that... maybe...
Candice didn't commit suicide.
That would be perfect for your book,
but who'd have killed her? Everyone adored her.
She didn't say anything...
Please, don't insist.
It's funny, but the more I look at you,
the more I'm sure you're hiding something.
I have absolutely no right to let you hear this.
I'm floating...
I'm in my mother's belly.
How do you feel?
I feel alone.
I want you to go back even further in time.
What do you see?
Light...
It's pulling me up...
I'm walking rapidly down a corridor...
No. In a basement...
My heart is pounding.
I'm scared, I'm doing something forbidden.
I'm walking behind a man in a suit.
He pulls me by the hand.
He's so strong.
His perfume is divine.
He brings me to a room.
There's lush carpeting.
It's fabulous, it's a suite in a hotel.
I laugh.
I know this man.
It's President Kennedy.
And...
I'm Marilyn.
And you believe it?
They were both born on June 1st.
She'd read many books about Marilyn.
For Candice, she was the ideal "ego".
Saying "I'm Marilyn" was a way of screaming for help, of saying:
"Save me, or I'll end up like her."
Yeah, yeah! Barking dogs never bite!
What nightclubs do you go to?
There's "The Barracuda" but it's kind of tacky.
I prefer "The King", it's got style. And great DJs,
like DJ Furax, DJ Sam and the Oklahoma Bitches.
I'm off on Thursday nights...
Sorry, but I hate discotheques.
Tuesday, November 20, 1999
I put five pounds back on
so I started my grapefruit, egg & mayo diet again.
That really depressed me.
But then a fabulous gift
fell from the heavens...
In a red jeep.
- Hi. - Fill her up?
Yeah.
I'm out here taking pictures of locals.
Swell.
For the regional council calendar.
Would you pose for me?
I'd have to fix myself up.
Don't touch a thing.
Don't move.
You're perfect.
Why are you here? You belong on magazine covers.
You're a natural.
My 5' 5 would never make it.
What about the movies?
"Martine Langevin" is no star's name.
You can change your name.
You remind me of a candy cane.
Candice!
What's your grandma's name?
Lecoeur.
"Candice Lecoeur"...
Now that's a star's name!
You think so?
He was right...
My only chance of becoming someone
was becoming someone else.
April 1, 2000
It must be spring everywhere in the world...
except my hometown.
I was prepared for another crappy day.
But thanks to the calendar,
I was contacted for an audition.
I love the word alone.
"The fox seized it and said:
"A flatterer lives at the expense of others,
"this lesson is worth a cheese no doubt."
I was chosen...
But they wanted my hair dyed blond...
Blond is crass, I won't recognize myself.
Blond wouldn't be me.
So smooth...
firm...
exquisite...
and generous...
so delicious...
and delicately scented...
that here in Franche-Comté,
we don't call it cheese...
we call it "The Belle of Jura".
"The Belle of Jura",
the cheese that will satisfy your every desire.
Cut! That was perfect.
I'm happier than I've ever been...
Martine was not really me.
The real me, is perhaps her, Candice.
The blond.
Don't worry, you don't have to get dressed up.
Catherine's coming, she's mad about you.
Every time she comes you cancel.
- When are you back? - I don't know.
I'll let you know, Fred.
I have to go. We'll talk later.
I read "The Andalusian Murder". I liked it.
But your Inspector Voltaire isn't very realistic.
Read this, it'll make your investigations more credible.
I guess I should say thank you.
No...
It's just to show you.
You want to join the FBI?
No, the Canadian Police.
But the exams are tough.
To cast molds in snow, they use sulfur and boiling water.
The mixture creates a thermal shock.
And?
And...
This is Candice's impression in no man's land.
It's much too deep.
As if someone had carried her.
The medical examiner said
her bruise was due to a blow.
Why are you telling me?
They're sticking to the suicide story.
Colbert has no choice.
But I want to know the truth.
And you want me to help?
Good. You follow me.
The letter "M" was stamped on her hand.
That I know.
But if you fill in the "M"...
You have a crown...
The logo of "The King".
Maybe Candice went there?
I have to go.
The Blanchard kid is acting up again.
But be discreet.
I want a woman! A woman!
Come on, get down.
Is the writer still at the hotel?
Yeah.
But he's changed his storyline:
A Mother Superior is found strangled in a church with her rosary.
It's called: "The Mouthe Mystery".
OK, go get him. He'll freeze.
I wanna eat pussy!
Puuuuuuussy!
Friday, 3:00 pm.
You saw her the day before she died.
Yes, for her color.
She'd only let me do it.
With peroxide, like Marilyn.
That day, she made me promise to do her hair if she died.
Isn't that weird?
I said yes, but I...
- Was she upset? - She was in terrific form.
She was going to be in a movie in the region.
What film?
Even I didn't know. She was very superstitious.
I'm coming, Mrs. Humbert!
They say someone on the regional council pulled strings.
Will I be in your book?
Possibly.
How's everything? You like it?
It doesn't look like this.
True.
But that's a photo with lighting.
It makes me look younger, no?
You might see me in a novel.
I'll be the muse.
Oh, my!
Put some hair color gloss on Mrs. Humbert for extra shine.
She was all happy
until she received a phone call.
It lasted 20 minutes.
She was completely different after.
All depressed.
I think it must've been a love affair.
Gus wanted to see her again, he never forgot her.
Who's Gus?
Her ex-husband, Gustave Materazzi.
The Nordic skiing champion.
The race with a rifle.
Maybe Babeth, Gus's new wife, discovered something.
She's jealous as a bull in a china shop.
It's normal for a girl to be jealous.
To the extent of killing your rival?
Cathy, can you come here?
Thursday, October 13, 2001
A horrible day.
Gus lost it again.
And all because of a good deed.'
A fundraising calendar for the Mouthe Chapel.
That's good. Boys look at her.
Candice, look at the camera. Right at the lens, please.
That's good. Smile, give me a smile. That's perfect.
Boys, look at the camera! Come on, firefighter friends, smile!
Candice, give me a haughty smile.
Don't move, that's fantastic.
You can put her down now. Gently, she's delicate.
Join the brigade, we need women!
- We have Judith. - What did I say?
How about a drink at the "Ermitage"?
No, I have to go home.
I told Gus I was at the pool.
Maybe next time.
Once a fireman...
Always a fireman!
An autograph, please!
- Who's it for? - Marie.
Teddy Cannelle for L'Est Républicain...
How does it feel to be the new regional star?
I'm no star,
or anyone can shine.
What's your name?
Julien Charlemagne.
What a funny name.
- Can I have a picture with you? - Of course.
Lucky!
I never get tired of fans.
They remind you
that you're loved, and that you're lucky.
Thank you!
I'm wiped out.
I swam 40 laps.
How are you?
This is Jean-Claude,
I'm confirming the shoot this afternoon with the firemen.
See you later.
Did you show off your ass? Did you like it?
It was for a good cause.
That's for a good cause too!
He'll change one day.
I'll help him.
It's not me he's hitting, it's Candice,
because she belongs to the public.
But only he loves Martine.
- Your name? - Rousseau.
- You're not on the list. - I know, it's because...
- You the cousin from Bordeaux? - Yes.
David Rousseau from Bordeaux.
A 12-hour drive. At night. So many trucks.
But hey, she was my cousin.
We knew each other as kids but we lost touch and...
Follow me, please.
Thank you.
- Go on. - Thanks.
Get lost, Mr. Intellectual!
- Gus, not today. - She was happy with me.
You ruined her life!
Happy! Who are you kidding?
Don't break my balls.
She died because of your pills.
Gus, calm down or I'll make you.
It's OK, Mr. Materazzi never hits women in public.
You weren't so tough in school without a uniform.
- Come on, go inside. - You should be ashamed!
All of you!
"It's your fault!" "No, it's not." "Yes, it is!"
Like bees round a honeypot over her dead body.
You all killed her!
Yes!
Playing hero?
We're like that in Bordeaux.
Candice was ever avid for life.
She never liked goodbyes, I will say au revoir.
For the country to which she has gone,
we must all some day visit...
Well...
I'm afraid of discovering what hell is really like.
Even if I already know.
It must be like Mouthe.
Excuse me, are you David Rousseau?
The detective novel
about a striptease dancer and a drag queen cop?
Transsexual.
In France, we're lacking writers...
who are as implausible as you.
- Is that a compliment? - No.
Simon Denner.
Book reviewer for "Mouthopolis".
The show Candice did the weather for.
You always attend your fans' funerals?
No.
- Candice read my books? - Yeah.
She even wanted to write you.
We argued quite a bit about you.
"Who killed Roselyn?"
Roselyn savored the incredible anonymity.
It wasn't a question of makeup.
In fact, people only saw her when she decided to appear.
Alizarine Publishing House.
Calling Alizarine Publishing House.
Alizarine Publishing House.
Hello, Moneypenny, how are you?
What can I do for you 007?
Could you look through my fan mail
and see if a certain Candice Lecoeur wrote me?
Or a Martine Langevin.
Should I send an autographed photo with your number?
It's important.
OK, I'll look for it. But what do I get in return?
A wheel of 18-month-old Comté cheese.
You know how to make a girl melt, 007.
I know.
OK, listen here:
I used bicycle training wheels until I was 11.
Monday, June 29, 2005
Today I met Simon...
I'm not late on purpose.
They think I'm a diva...
but it takes hours to transform the pumpkin into a doll.
Excuse me. I'm sorry.
No, I'm sorry.
- Are you the new guy? - Yes.
I think they're getting impatient.
- Sorry... - It's OK.
Everyone in place for a rehearsal.
Whenever you're ready, Candice.
Today the sun rises at 6:06 am with the...
Shit. What was it? The Paris what?
Paris-Geneva.
Candice, you're a pain in the ass. Five lines!
Fuck! A 5- year-old could learn them!
Shit!
Fuck you!
You're just tired. You need a break.
We're on the air. You'll have to do the weather live.
With this face?
Sandrine can replace you.
No.
The public wants Candice.
Dimitri & Jeremy from La Chapelle des Bois.' "It's Snowing on LA".
Get the rest.
Now the weather with Candice Lecoeur.
Hello!
Today the sun rises at 6:06 am with the Paris-Geneva train.
You can graze peacefully for the skies will be overcast
from Rochejean to La Chapelle des Bois,
and from Rousses to Pontarlier via Malbuisson.
After the 2:13 pm Chambéry-Mulhouse,
showers will appear between Mouthe and Morteau.
We're going to smell like wet dogs...
Or rather wet bitches...
Temperatures of 20ºC in the north and 22ºC in the southernmost fields.
You might die of heat,
unless you take my advice and shed your winter coats.
And don't forget Pablo, the neighbor's bull.
It's his name day and he has a real treat in store.
Mirror, mirror...
You never tire of yourself?
It's not me I'm looking at.
It's her.
You look like Ann Baxter.
- I don't know her. - A beautiful actress.
She played in "All About Eve"
and "The Ten Commandments" by Cecil B. DeMille.
I don't know her either.
He's a man.
I think I could teach you a lot.
I didn't grow up with books.
I was so hungry to learn, to catch up...
"Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.
"I will kiss thy lips;
"Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,
"To make die with a restorative...
"Yea, noise?
"O happy dagger! This is thy sheath..."
O charlatan apothecary!
Thy drugs are not as deadly as you said!
More!
My tomb shall wait!
We all dream of meeting our Romeo.
We want to believe someone's waiting for us,
without whom something will always be missing.
Even if we know love ends badly...
I was so scared, it took me three months to ask her out!
She took it as a sign of respect.
Our story was founded on a mix-up,
it couldn't last.
You sound like you never loved her.
Candice was no piece of cake.
She was egocentric, narcissistic, unsatisfied...
The saddest girl I've ever met.
It wasn't her first suicide attempt.
I'm not even capable of having a child.
Good evening.
The mechanic called to say your car was fixed.
But he insisted it was a near miracle.
What about the boiler?
Still broken, but someone came to drain the radiators.
How about that hot toddy?
I'll bring it up to you?
Thanks.
What's your name?
Betty.
Thank you, Betty.
"Groom service!"
Don't move. I'll call an ambulance.
Last time, Candice Lecoeur didn't commit suicide
and now someone's trying to kill you?
How did bare electric wires come in contact with my water pipes?
It's an old hotel. Safety standards are so-so.
Or rodents. The baker's wife died like that.
A mouse ate her toaster wires.
Must be that.
I understand it's a shock, but you have too much imagination.
By the way, how's the book?
I hear you found a new story?
Uh, yes...
A nun strangled with her rosary.
- And the culprit is? - The gardener.
He's Spanish. Javier.
In fact, he's her son.
She slept with the carpenter who repaired the roof
after the fire in the distillery.
- And the title is... - "The Mouthe Mystery".
It's a work in progress.
Nothing's definite.
Now what about my assault?
You think we investigate
every time someone slips on ice?
No.
We save that for strangled nuns.
I didn't know it was nudist on Thursdays.
I'm not sure trunks would've been better.
You always make dates...
In places we won't be seen together.
I checked. Your wires were stripped with pliers.
It wasn't an accident.
Shit.
I told you, you've got to be discreet.
Who have you talked to?
Simon, her shrink and her hairdresser.
Cathy?
Then the whole world knows.
You know something?
Candice writes better than me.
It's her diary we should publish.
When I saw her at the morgue...
I had this strange feeling.
Maybe if I'd met her before, she wouldn't be dead.
I'll show you something.
These are from the CCTV at "The King".
You see, 11:05 pm.
Candice arrived. And she left
at 1:15 am. There.
Followed by two men...
I scanned, zoomed and improved the contrast.
Your FBI book is cool.
Then by a curious coincidence, the camera died, due to the frost.
The image came back one hour later.
Six cars are missing.
I'll check the plates.
Why would anyone kill her?
We need to find the motive.
We need an investigation first.
So what?
With all the proof in the world, the case is nonexistent.
We could get a listing of her calls. Her phone disappeared!
If we have enough evidence...
OK.
I'll handle it.
I could punish you for indiscipline.
Thank you, Captain.
It's their 50th anniversary. Which one?
One of each.
That's a wise choice!
They'll be collectors' items.
Especially now with the poor girl dead.
Look who's come to pay us a visit!
Mr. President, pleased to meet you.
Likewise.
Who's that?
Our president.
The American!
Isn't he handsome?
His dad had him with the au pair girl.
The president?
Jean-François Burdeau, Regional President.
His mother raised him in America,
but he came back at 18 and never left.
That'll be 12.40 euros.
Thank you.
JFK told Marilyn he was in love with her.
What's so important?
Do you believe in reincarnation?
You were Agent Mulder in a past life?
Candice believed in it.
She was born on a June 1st.
She was blond and she died of a probable suicide. Like Marilyn!
- Is this why... - Wait!
Marilyn married Joe DiMaggio, the ex baseball champ.
Candice married Gustave Materazzi,
the ex Nordic skiing champ.
Marilyn had an affair with Arthur Miller, the writer.
Candice dated the book reviewer, Simon Denner...
This is nonsense, it's not getting us anywhere.
No, it's not nonsense.
"JFK"...
"JFB"...
That can't be a coincidence.
Candice got the lead role in a film thanks to him.
- Ask why he helped her? - Why?
Because she was his mistress.
He dumped her.
She menaced to tell all. So he shut her up.
I have the printout of her calls.
Sorry to disappoint you, no calls to the regional president.
Can I see that?
- It's a fake. - Yeah, right.
Candice received a call
on Friday at her hairdressers. It's not here.
- Who gave you this? - Colbert. I told him.
The President is pressuring him.
Colbert falsified them.
And on 9I11 there were no planes.
On second thought, let's not go bowling tonight.
Bowling?
At the Métabief Star Bowl?
Candice loved going there to relax.
If I win, you ask the phone company for a new listing.
102 to 97.
Better find a new theory!
- Game's not over yet. - Yeah, make a strike.
Bravo! Great roll!
You're hot, I'll go get that listing.
I have another shot.
I came here countless times.
It was this or the skating rink.
I was like that big black ball.
I always prayed for a perfect roll...
but each time it was the same.
Even when I hit the pins, one was left standing.
The ball was on the same tracks.
Whatever I did, I wound up in the same place...
OK. Only to prove that you're wrong.
Here it is. What did I say?
That we saw...
That we saw too...
Last month...
Candice called Jean-François Burdeau twice a day.
And the call at the hairdressers?
Bernard-Olivier Burdeau.
- The president's brother? - He's the prefect.
Bobby!
Here's another call that was deleted.
Candice's last call at 1:15 am.
To the president?
To Juliette Geminy.
Candice called everyone at all hours.
Her hairdresser, her makeup girl. Or me.
I was asleep. I saw it the next day.
What did she say?
You want the proof that I killed her?
I'll give it to you.
Juliette?
Please come over.
I might do something stupid.
Don't leave me alone.
You're all I have left...
You didn't call her back?
She often left me this kind of message.
I didn't want to get sucked into her game anymore.
Can I listen again?
When you said shooting range I thought...
You'd see me with a Beretta?
You can choose your sport for the Canadian Police exams.
Well?
I heard something in the message.
There's another engine in the background. A big one.
The fan belt sounds like it's ready to snap.
A black BMW was missing off the parking lot.
I'll call the garages.
You should join the police yourself.
Canadian?
Here.
Your wrist goes here.
And three fingers here.
Place your feet parallel, your shoulders too.
There's an arrow too.
Always position the feather facing outwards.
- You got it? - No. OK, that's good.
One finger above, two below.
The string has to touch your nose.
You're allowed to breathe.
To shoot, you relax your flexors.
The archer doesn't release the string,
the string departs on its own.
Canada will have to wait a while.
Sorry. Here.
Why did you join the police?
The majorettes didn't have my skirt size.
How did you become a writer?
Let me guess...
Dad's a teacher and Mom's a librarian.
Nope. They bred dogs.
I spent my time in exhibition halls
with smelly dogs in cages.
Not very literary, you see.
It was school that saved me.
- What's wrong? - The brakes are gone.
- Put it in second. - I am in second.
- Then put it in first. - I can't.
It's stuck.
Slam on the clutch!
There is no more clutch!
OK, don't panic.
Up ahead, there's a turn.
Drive into the embankment.
- The snow will stop us. - We're too fast!
- Here it is. - I know.
It's coming up.
- Straight into the embankment. - Shut up!
- We're sliding. - Shit!
Watch out for the kids!
You think they're dead?
I won't ask how you're feeling.
The nurses said your X-rays are encouraging.
In two months you'll be running like a hare.
Next to my bed at home,
there's a box with the photos and casts.
Get them and return to Paris.
Saturday, December 6, 2009
After the gym inauguration,
I went with the journalists to the "Snowflake Saloon".
May I get you a drink?
A White Angel.
Like you, a white angel.
Depends for whom...
Jean-François Burdeau.
Mr. President? I didn't know.
Sorry.
I'm clueless about politics.
A White Angel for the lady.
Vodka and gin with a splash of champagne.
That night,
the president discovered he preferred blonds.
Maybe I shouldn't have done it.
But sex leads to love,
or at least you think it does.
The Burgundy Franche-Comté Trophy
for the 2009 Potato Competition,
is awarded to...
Pierre Cottereau!
From Malbuisson!
Bravo Pierre! A picture for the photographers.
Congratulations.
Like I said earlier, thank you all for joining us here
for this award ceremony.
The trophy shouldn't be long...
A little word for us, Pierre.
I'm so moved.
I'm so embarrassed.
The lovely Candice Lecoeur!
Candice has surprised us by dropping in on surprise.
Good evening.
I have a surprise for you tonight.
It's the birthday of Jean-François.
Mr. Prez...
Where is he?
He told me to tell you it's over.
He could tell me himself.
He's not coming.
You're not the first one.
He had fun with you, like the others.
I'm not like the others.
I'm not a piece of meat.
I understand, but it's over nonetheless.
Don't try to contact him.
You're right. It's over!
I won't make the same mistake!
I'll make you and your brother pay for this!
The real remedy would be to die.
But I'm going to rewrite the end.
I'm getting out of this place now.
I'm not the kind of girl
they find dead with a bottle of pills in her hand.
It's all in here: JFB, BOB.
They were afraid she'd snitch.
Sorry, I called the garages. The BMW isn't theirs.
A 20-year-old kid brought it in: Julien Charlemagne.
Charlemagne... he's one of her fans.
Hello.
I'd like to talk about Candice.
Why did you follow Candice?
It wasn't me. It was Ritchie.
Who's Ritchie?
The pharmacist's son.
That's how we got the stuff.
What stuff?
The GHB.
He heard it helped score chicks. It's like an aphrodisiac.
It's not to score, it's to rape. You know what rape means?
Girls in slinky dresses alone in discos are looking for it.
In the beginning, they want your photo.
Then that's no longer enough.
They want your tits and ass.
There's not much difference...
It's all part of the dream.
The people who love you without knowing you,
will later hate you without knowing you...
Hi! Meet your greatest fan.
Julien.
The drink's on him.
Thank you.
Good night.
Check out that ass.
Juliette?
What are you doing here?
Get out!
Give us the diary and we'll leave.
Get out, I said. Get out of here.
Tell us where you hid it!
There is no diary. I gave it...
to my journalist friends.
Your game's over, bastard!
Get out of here, now!
Bastard!
Leave me alone, bastard!
This'll calm you down.
You thought of everything.
That's why you called me.
What's going on?
She was hysterical, we brought her home.
It's me, Juliette. Do you hear me?
I'll take care of her.
I'm so cold...
Wake up!
Please, Candice!
I killed her...
It's my fault.
I killed her.
We'll take care of everything.
That's it.
The story was over,
and I felt sad.
I don't like it when books and films end,
even less when they end badly.
I like happy endings.
But in real life, it's rarely the case.
BOB is still the prefect.
JFB was reelected regional president.
Fortunately, he was killed two months later. Playing golf.
Hit in the head by a golf ball.
It's like the scene in your book,
when Roselyn looks at Voltaire... She knows he's a good man.
But he can't see it,
he doesn't dare kiss her.
"Rewind the tape.
"Start the whole story over.
"It's always by the end that stories begin."
I forgot, this came this morning.
Thank you.
Bye.
It never would've worked between us!
"Dear David,
"I'm writing you to thank you.
"I love your books.
"And your characters. I have a crush on Voltaire,
"like all your readers, surely.
"Every girl dreams of meeting someone like him one day.
"And I adore Roselyn too,
"we have lots in common.
"I'd love to meet you one day for a coffee,
"I'm sure we'd have lots of things to share.
"Maybe you'd even tell me about your next novel.
"And one last thing,
"I adore you too.
"Or rather,
"I love you."