Bitter Moon

---

Man:

I still can't believe

we're really on our way.

Nor can I.

It's so fantastic.

Thank you, darling.

Mwah!

Oh, don't run away.

I won't be a sec.

( steam whistle blowing )

( blowing continues )

Uh, Fiona?

Fiona?

- Stay here.

- Oh, blimey.

What's the matter?

- Help me clean her up.

- Yeah.

- There.

- Gently. There we are.

Up-- there we are.

That's better.

I'm going to clean you up.

Let's get...

wipe those tears, eh?

( water running )

( vomiting )

Oh, God.

Just try to take a deep breath.

Now take a deep breath.

You'll feel better.

A deep breath

and fresh air,

that's what you need.

Here.

You're very pretty.

Oh.

There we are.

Are you going to Istanbul?

Yes, then we're flying

on to Bombay.

How far are you going?

Oh, farther.

Much farther.

But why on earth

go to India?

I think-- think we need--

felt we needed a break

from the rat race, really.

And, you know,

India's got so much

to teach the West, doesn't it?

Really?

What, for example?

Well, um,

you know, inner serenity,

that kind of stuff.

Ah!

The Karma-Nirvana Syndrome?

Lots of poppycock,

I'm afraid.

No, India's all flies,

smells and beggars.

And as for serenity,

it's the noisiest place

on earth.

( laughs )

Well, if you say so,

I'm sure.

Now I'm sure Mr. Singh

is just being modest

about his own part

of the world.

Anyway, I can't wait

to get there, darling.

See,

it's my anniversary treat.

We've been married

for seven years.

Ah, so it's a form

of marital therapy.

Quite unnecessary, dear lady.

With a wife

as beautiful as yourself,

any man would be proof

against the seven-year itch.

What?

( laughs )

( yawns )

You tired, sweetheart?

Absolutely whacked.

Must be all this sea air.

Yeah.

How about a nightcap?

Mmm, how about bed?

Oh, come on, darling,

just one.

No, honestly not.

You go.

Just take me

to my cabin.

I'm out on my feet.

- Are you quite sure?

- Certain.

Anyway, it's bad

for an old married couple

to be glued together

all the time.

( chuckles )

♪ Treat him right

♪ Now you've listened

to my story ♪

♪ Here's the point

that I have made ♪

♪ Chicks were born

to give you fever ♪

♪ Be it Fahrenheit

or centigrade ♪

♪ They give you fever

♪ When you kiss them

♪ Fever if you live

and learn ♪

♪ Fever

♪ Till you sizzle

♪ Oh, what a lovely way

to burn ♪

♪ What a lovely way

to burn... ♪

What'll it be, sir?

Whiskey and soda, please.

You feeling better?

Better than what?

You remember, the--

this afternoon

in the-- in the loo.

The loo?

Is it your usual

pickup routine?

( slurping )

Of course I remember.

I have a perfect memory

when I feel like it.

Right.

( laughs )

What is this,

some kind of game?

Yeah.

Want to dance?

Uh, well,

I'm not much of a dancer.

That figures.

( slurping )

What's your name?

Nigel Dobson.

Hi.

Okay, Nigel, amuse me.

Say something funny.

Um, blimey.

Uh, well, you're French,

aren't you?

I can tell

from your accent.

I mean, your English

is very, very good,

but for some reason,

I can always tell a Frog.

Sorry.

Stupid thing to say.

Just slipped out.

Schoolboy expression.

Comes from working in the city.

I'm a Eurobond dealer

and we're always

calling people Frogs.

( snoring )

You're right, boring.

Um, but anyway, you call us--

you call us Roast Beef,

don't you?

Rosbif! I think that's

how you pronounce it, isn't it?

You're too funny for me,

Nigel.

I'm choking with laughter.

So long.

I leave you to your magnetic,

irresistible personality.

Man:

Romantic, isn't it?

Yeah, it is,

splendid.

You're Nigel, aren't you?

Yeah.

Sorry, do I know you?

Beware of her.

Right.

She's a walking mantrap.

Sorry, I don't know

what you're talking about.

Sure, you do.

I'm her husband.

Look what she did to me.

I'm sorry.

Let me ask you something,

Nigel.

You don't mind

if I call you Nigel, do you?

What do you think of her?

Well, if you mean

what I think you mean,

- she's very good-looking.

- Good-looking?

Yeah, sure,

all of that and more.

She gives you a hard-on,

doesn't she?

I beg your pardon?

Come on, Nigel,

don't be so British.

You'd like to *** her.

Admit it,

it's no crime.

I've no idea

what you're driving at.

Cut the crap.

You're itching to know

some more about her, aren't you?

Well, aren't you?

Here.

Do me a favor,

would you, Nigel?

Help me over

the *** step here,

would you?

They don't design these boats

for my kind.

Yeah, sure.

Get inside there.

Grab the wheels--

the wheels.

Up!

( grunting )

( sighs )

Ah, I hate

these *** boats.

It's good of you to take pity

on an obnoxious cripple.

I don't know you at all,

Nigel,

but somehow I have the feeling

that you're exactly the listener

that I've been looking for.

I hope you'll find

my story interesting.

I realize it's hard

to relate to something

that doesn't concern you.

But maybe it already does.

We have the place

to ourselves.

Mimi has her own cabin.

Yeah.

Eternity for me began

one fall day in Paris

aboard the 96 bus,

which shuttles

between Montparnasse

and Porte des Lilas.

( speaking French )

Mademoiselle?

Madame?

Merci.

Merci.

Monsieur?

Votre billet,

s'il vous plait.

Je ne l'ai pas.

I'd been granted

a glimpse of heaven,

then dumped on the sidewalk

at rue d'Assas.

Oh, I still have no idea

why you're telling me all this.

I'd always wanted

to be a writer, Nigel.

( pouring )

My grandfather

made a fortune

in the surgical

appliance business,

set up a trust fund for me.

On his death,

I found myself in receipt

of sufficient allowance

to enable me to move to Paris.

Paris-- my dream city.

Hemingway, Miller,

Scott Fitzgerald--

I was determined

to follow in their footsteps,

maybe too determined

for my own good.

Maybe that's what killed

any originality

I ever possessed.

After eight years,

all I had to show

for my literary exertions

were three unpublished novels

and a stack of reject slips

this high.

But who cared?

Sidewalk cafes,

fluttering skirts,

fleeting affairs.

Paris was heaven

until that day on the bus.

( speaking French )

( sighs )

Oscar:

It was no good.

I couldn't write,

couldn't sleep,

couldn't get her

out of my mind.

She was somewhere out there,

my sorceress

in white sneakers.

But where?

I haunted that 96 bus route.

It became an obsession.

Even the driver

began to recognize me.

Ca va?

( speaking French )

( both speaking French )

( woman speaking French )

( speaking French )

Martini. Double.

Et vous?

Un Kir Royale,

s'il vous plait.

Excusez-moi.

( speaking French )

( speaking French )

- You're American?

- You remember me?

Of course I remember.

You were very kind.

Now it's your turn

to do something nice for me.

Have dinner with me sometime--

sometime soon, like tomorrow.

- You ever get a night off?

- Yes.

- When?

- Tomorrow.

Mimi.

( speaking French )

Mimi.

( piano playing )

Oscar:

She told me to meet her

at the Centre du Marais

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