Mr. Klein Page #3

Synopsis: Paris, 1942. Robert Klein cannot find any fault with the state of affairs in German-occupied France. He has a well-furnished flat, a mistress, and business is booming. Jews facing discrimination because of laws edicted by the French government are desperate to sell valuable works of art - and it is easy for him to get them at bargain prices. His cosy life is disrupted when he realizes that there is another Robert Klein in Paris - a Jew with a rather mysterious behaviour. Very soon, this homonymy attracts the close - and menacing - attention of the police on the established art trader.
Genre: Crime, Drama, Mystery
Director(s): Joseph Losey
  3 wins & 5 nominations.
 
IMDB:
7.7
Year:
1976
123 min
397 Views


- Therefore -

- I get the point.

The eyes are important,

the mouth,

the curve of the lips.

A feeling of being superior to others,

a love of freedom,

egoism.

A bird.

Of prey.

A falcon.

- A vulture.

- Why?

Do I eat corpses?

You don't return letters.

How about your friend?

What animal

did he choose for himself?

The eagle? The lion?

The snake.

A hibernating snake,

waiting for a better season.

I can't understand

why he got you into this mess.

So he could hide, I think.

To disappear behind another man.

Me.

No, he's no coward.

He wouldn't harm anyone.

Except himself, perhaps.

Or else for revenge.

Yes, then he might.

But revenge for what?

I don't even know him.

You know what I thought

when I saw you come in?

That Robert himself had sent you.

Why?

To explain to me

why he hadn't come,

to see how I'd react,

to provoke me,

to humiliate me.

I don't understand.

Yes, as if to tell me,

"I'm sending another man in my place,

but it will be all the same to you. "

Yes, he's capable of that.

That seems a little excessive,

don't you think?

He's quite capable of that.

What if it were true?

Suppose that's why I came.

He loves that sort of situation.

So do I.

What about you?

Even if it's really untrue?

Especially.

Or let's suppose -

It's very late. I must go.

My husband must be looking for me.

We forgot to say good night.

I can't sleep when that happens.

I see you have the same problem.

Do you realize

I could go to the police?

Then you must talk.

Where is he?

I swear I don't know.

Let's start at the beginning.

Where did he live before Pigalle?

In a hotel on the Rue de I'Universit.

When did you learn about Pigalle?

Two months ago.

Through a messenger boy

who brought me

his flute and a note.

What did the note say?

Nothing.

Jokes, as usual.

He said he was going

into hibernation,

and I was to keep his flute

until a better season.

Where did he go into hibernation?

I don't know.

He didn't say.

Very well.

The police will find out.

And you, your husband

and every member of your musical zoo

will be called in for questioning.

Please don't do that.

I'm sorry, Florence.

But one way or another,

I must find out

what this man wants from me.

Good-bye.

It's a shame about last night.

Just a moment.

All right.

But first, you must swear

you won't go to the police.

I swear.

136 Rue du Bac.

You have the present?

I didn't sleep all night.

Neither did I.

Have you got it?

You could have told me.

Some people came looking for you.

What did they want?

I don't know.

Pierre.

Is it serious?

Tell me, are the Kleins

full-blooded French,

or are there Jews in your family?

Indifference

is like a still, flat sea

surrounding a drowning man.

It's like a flock of sheep

grazing in the ruins of a village.

Or like a worm

crawling over a putrid wound.

A man can be stingy, selfish,

hypocritical, anything -

as long as he's aware.

The result is the same.

No, not exactly.

- Have you ever heard of remorse?

- Yes.

It's like a vulture

pierced by an arrow,

yet it continues to fly.

Oh, it's you!

What's the matter?

- Why have you come?

- To see you.

Yes, of course.

But what else?

Nostalgia...

for my roots.

I want the birth certificates

of my grandparents

on both sides.

And mine too, naturally.

Why?

I told you.

Nostalgia, curiosity.

Don't be an idiot, Robert.

Tell me why.

It's nothing.

A formality, a routine check.

These days, the Paris police

want to prove they exist.

So a slight misunderstanding

must be cleared up.

What kind of misunderstanding?

About my identity.

What's that got to do

with your grandparents?

Your own certificate

should be enough,

or mine and your mother's

at the very most.

They want my grandparents' too

to be sure.

Sure of what?

My origins.

Well, yes.

I must prove I'm not a certain man

the police are looking for.

How long have they given you?

Two weeks.

That's quite enough.

It all sounds very strange.

Are you sure there isn't

something more behind it?

It's just a formality.

There's no real doubt.

So why do they want the certificates?

Because it's the law.

And also...

because there's another Robert Klein.

And apparently he's a Jew.

A Jew?

Impossible!

Or it could be the Dutch branch.

Are there Kleins in Holland?

Quite a different breed.

- But we're related.

- I tell you,

we've been French and Catholic

since Louis XIV!

Yes, miss.

Hello. Yes.

What?

No, I'm all right.

Three of the certificates

are here in Strasbourg.

But as for my maternal grandparents,

one of them was born in Marseilles.

Jules Marcel Bleard.

Yes, B-L-F-A-R-D. You got it?

And my grandmother in Algiers.

Yeah, Algeria.

- No, she wasn't an Arab.

- Imbecile!

Her father was a Communard

who was deported to Algeria.

Okay. Send someone to Algiers

and Marseilles right away.

Okay.

See you tomorrow.

That was my lawyer.

So do you know

any of those Kleins from Holland?

I've heard about them.

And this other Robert Klein?

Never.

Thank you.

And now Im going to do

what they ought to do!

I will leave...

before you throw me out...

with a kick in the ass!

Please, let's go.

Mr. Klein!

Maybe it's not for me.

He could be hiding in the crowd.

You think Im crazy?

What were you saying?

I sent my assistant to Ivry.

The house is closed.

The owners left for Mexico.

Are they Jews as well?

Probably.

Look, you can play at being

a detective, chasing ghosts,

but at least do what I say.

We can't go on waiting like fools

for papers that may never come.

Let's try to get a -

I told you. Im not a horse.

I won't have my nose or ears

or anything else measured.

I detest veterinarians.

Ill wait for the papers from Algiers.

How can a man as distrustful as you

suddenly show such boundless

confidence in the post office,

the railways, the bureaucracy,

and even the police!

Because Im a good Frenchman.

I believe in our institutions,

including the phone system.

Was there a call for me?

No, no one called.

Im Mr. Klein.

There's someone

asking for you on the phone -

I mean, at the bar.

Well, he was here.

He must have left.

That's strange.

What did he look like?

Tall with dark hair.

Pretty much like you.

Do you really think this man -

You can't!

The curfew's in 30 minutes.

- Then Ill spend the night.

- Where?

Ill rent the place.

- Why not?

- Well, first I have to see

the administrator.

Ill see him tomorrow.

Here's the deposit.

No, Im not allowed to -

- Even if it's for you?

- For me?

- For your trouble.

- I don't want it.

You don't really mean

to sleep here, do you?

Why not?

The police told me

not to let anyone in.

And if they check-

I just want to have a look.

But you've already seen it.

I must see it again to decide.

Did you hear

from that man Klein?

What about the girl?

What's her name again?

Isabelle.

Isabelle. And her last name?

I never knew it.

Is that you, Robert?

I'm across the street.

I saw you at the window.

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Franco Solinas

Franco Solinas (19 January 1927 - 14 September 1982) was an Italian writer and screenwriter. He is best known for the screenplay of The Battle of Algiers, which was nominated for three Academy Awards. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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