Last Tango in Paris Page #2

with a grunt or a groan for a name.

You want to hear my name?

So masculine.

Listen to mine.

I didnt get the last name.

You shouldnt have

done that to me.

But its not a wig.

It`ss mine.

Im not beautiful?

Tell me you dont

like the way I look.

But I do

like the way you look.

Listen.

You seem changed,

but youre the same.

I can already see a shot.

The camera is high.

It slowly descends

toward you.

And as you advance,

it moves in on you.

Theres music too.

It gets closer

and closer to you.

Im in a hurry.

Let`ss begin.

But first well

talk about it a little.

Tonight we improvise.

Follow me.

He was my childhood friend.

He would watch me for hours.

Maybe he understood me.

Dogs are better than people.

May I present Olympia,

my nurse.

Mustapha knew how to tell

the poor from the rich.

If someone well-dressed

came in, he didnt growl.

But if it was a beggar,

you should have seen him.

The colonel had him recognize Arabs

by their odor.

- Olympia, open the door.

- First, give me a kiss.

Go and open it.

Olympia is the personification

of domestic virtue.

Faithful, economic and racist.

At Papas death, we moved

to the old country house.

My childhood was

made up of smells.

The mold on the walls,

the closed rooms.

Many children came to play.

We ran from morning to night.

Growing old is a crime.

Thats me.

And thats Mademoiselle Sauvage,

the teacher.

Severe and religious.

She was too good

and spoiled you.

This is Christine.

The best friend.

Shes married

and has two children.

Its like a village here.

Everyone knows everyone.

I couldnt live in Paris.

Its more humane here.

Its melancholy

remembering the past.

Why melancholy?

Its marvelous.

Its your childhood.

It`ss everything I want.

And what are you doing there?

Who are all these zombies

around us?

The door!

Im opening the door.

Im opening the doors!

- What are you doing?

- Setting up the shot.

There. I found it.

Reverse gear.

And what are you doing here?

Beat it! Scram!

Yes. Reverse gear!

Understand? Like a car.

Put it in reverse.

Close your eyes.

Back up. Close your eyes.

Come forward, backing up.

Keep going

and find your childhood again.

Its Papa.

There. You take off

and find your childhood again.

In full dress uniform.

Dont be afraid.

Overcome the obstacles.

Papa in Algiers.

You are fifteen. Fourteen.

Thirteen. Twelve.

Eleven. Ten. Nine.

My favorite street

at eight years old.

My notebook.

My French homework.

Theme:
"The Countryside. "

Exposition:
"The country

is the home of the cows.

The cow is

all dressed in leather.

The cow has four sides:

front, back...

top and bottom. `

- Isnt that good?

- Really charming.

Source of my culture

was Larousse and I copied it.

"Menstruation. Feminine noun.

Physiological function

consisting in flow.

Penis. Masculine noun.

Organ of copulation, measuring

between five and 40 centimeters. `

This is a little Robert!

Look.

- Who is it?

- My first love.

- Who?

- Its my cousin Paul. The first love.

- But his eyes are closed.

- What?

His eyes are closed!

He played piano very well.

Thats how I remember him-

sitting at the piano.

His fingers flew over the keys.

He practiced hour after hour.

At the bottom of the garden

there were two trees.

A plantain and a chestnut.

Sunday after mass...

everyone sat under his own tree.

It was marvelous.

We looked into each others eyes.

And for me these trees

were the jungle.

- What are you doing?

- Were shitting.

Why? Cant you see?

- In my jungle?

- Lets run!

Shoot! Shoot!

Did you get everything?

- Did you get it?

- Everything.

Olympia was sublime. She gave

a precise idea of her racism.

This really is a jungle.

Tell me about your father.

- Arent we finished?

- Five minutes.

But Im in a hurry

for work.

But the colonel?

The colonel had green eyes

and shiny boots.

I loved him like a god.

He was so handsome

in his uniform.

What a steaming pile

of horseshit.

What are you saying?

I forbid you.

All uniforms are bullshit.

Everything outside this place

is bullshit.

Besides that, I dont want to hear

about your stories about your past.

He died in 58 in Algeria.

Or 68 or `228 or `998.

In 58,

and I forbid you to joke.

Why dont you stop talking about things

that don`tt matter here?

What the hells the difference?

So what do I have to say

and what do I have to do?

Come on the good ship lollipop.

Why dont you go back to America?

I dont know.

Bad memories, I guess.

Of what?

My father was a drunk.

Tough, whore-f***er,

bar fighter...

super masculine...

and he was tough.

My mother was very-

very poetic.

And also a drunk.

All my memories

when I was a kid...

was of her being arrested nude.

We lived in this small town.

Farming community.

We lived on a farm.

And Id come home after school...

and shed be gone...

or in jail or something.

And then-

I used to have to milk a cow.

Every morning and every night.

I liked that.

But I remember...

one time I was all dressed up...

to go out and take this girl

to a basketball game.

I started to go and my father said,

"You have to milk the cow. "

I asked him,

"Would you please milk it for me?"

He said, "No,

get your ass out there. "

So I went out

and I was in a hurry.

Didnt have time

to change my shoes, and I had...

cow sh*t all over my shoes.

On the way to the basketball game,

it smelled in the car.

And...

I dont know, I just-

I cant remember

very many good things.

Not one?

Yeah. Some.

There was a farmer.

Very nice guy.

Old guy, very poor

and worked real hard.

I used to...

work in a ditch

draining land for farming.

And he wore overalls

and he smoked a clay pipe.

Half the time he wouldnt

put tobacco in it.

And I hated the work.

It was hot and dirty and...

broke my back.

All day long Id watch his spit...

which would run down the pipe stem

and hang on the bowl of the pipe.

I used to make bets with myself

on when it was gonna fall off.

And I always lost.

I never saw it fall off.

Id just look around and it`dd be gone

and a new one would be there.

Then we had a beautiful-

Well, my mother

taught me to love nature.

And...

I guess that was

the most she could do.

And in front of our house...

we had this big field, meadow.

It was a mustard field

in the summer.

We had a big,

black dog named Dutchy.

She used to hunt for rabbits

in that field.

But she couldnt see them.

So shed have to leap up

in this mustard field...

look around very quickly

to see where the rabbits were.

And it was...

very beautiful.

She never caught the rabbits.

You have been had.

Oh, really?

I dont wanna know anything

about your past, baby.

Think I was

telling you the truth?

Maybe.

Im Red Riding Hood

and you`rre the wolf.

Oh, what strong arms you have.

The better to squeeze

a fart out of you.

What long nails you have.

The better to scratch your ass with.

What a lot of fur you have.

The better

to let your crabs hide in.

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