The Thief of Paris Page #7

Synopsis: In Paris around 1900, Georges Randal is brought up by his wealthy uncle, who steals his inheritance. Georges hopes to marry his cousin Charlotte, but his uncle arranges for her to marry a rich neighbour. As an act of revenge, Georges steals the fiance's family jewels, and enjoys the experience so much that he embarks upon a life-time of burglary.
Genre: Comedy, Crime, Drama
Director(s): Louis Malle
Production: United Artists
  1 nomination.
 
IMDB:
6.9
NOT RATED
Year:
1967
120 min
55 Views


At the very moment

he's in there robbing me.

My whole body and soul

I gave to his uncle.

Now he robs me.

After having stolen me from my husband.

You mean he stole you

from Monsieur Delpich? I am astonished.

I was in Valenciennes.

As I lay in my room, he entered

through the window with a gun.

I was half nude.

He put the gun to my head, and swore

he'd shoot me if I made a sound.

I was raped.

Then he opened my drawer and took out

all the letters my mother had sent me.

It's a secret in our family,

but it's true, Father.

My mother had a lover.

Georges Randal blackmailed me

with those letters.

"Come with me, or I'll tell your father."

To save his honor, I abandoned

my husband, whom I adored.

I can't speak of the existence

I have been forced to lead since.

I am so ashamed!

The wretch! I'll have him arrested at once.

But, no, it's impossible.

Why?

Those letters, Madame.

He kept the letters.

He must have them somewhere.

If Randal is arrested,

your father will know the truth.

That's true.

What can we do?

Madame, in spite of the temptations

of the flesh,

have you retained some kind

of religious sentiment?

Oh, yes.

Bravo, its support is needed

in our existence.

Did you hear that? I have proposed

that she retires to a convent.

To a mers convent?

Very funny, Georges.

I think that the woman is hysterical,

like all the others.

She would throw herself in the fire

to save you,

and a minute later turn

and have you sent to the scaffold.

My Lord, how cold this life

does seem all of a sudden.

We're surrounded by mad women.

And men.

How weary I feel.

Why this disgust towards the others,

towards everything,

towards oneself?

Why do we have hearts?

What's the matter with you?

You won't see me at the funeral.

I'm leaving.

- Where are you going?

- To China.

Why not?

You might say I'm trying to insure

the success of my obsessions.

But I have no obsessions.

Not even a goal.

What about you?

I suppose you'll give it all up,

as Roger did?

- Would it surprise you if I did?

- No.

Thievery's no longer what it used to be.

And besides, your ambitions are fulfilled,

I suppose.

No.

No?

I've always dreamed of that

which I know to be impossible.

You too?

That day when I shall see one person,

somebody like you, for example,

but surer of his powers...

Lord, spare me the anguish of thinking.

It's too sad.

Offer me a meal

to celebrate your ineritance.

It's the respectable Austrian.

Madame Delpich won't go to the convent.

It's a pity!

In conclusion, Mademoiselle,

I'd like to say how pleased I am

that your father reverted to a more

generous attitude before his death.

I had on my desk a will

which disinerited you.

This has now been nullified by reason

of this document we've just read.

So all is well that ends well.

I have just one regret,

that is, the civil burial.

But after all,

one must respect his last wishes.

I'll show you out.

Good-bye. You've been very kind.

Thank you for coming.

Georges! You are here.

You're rich at last.

The lawyer suspects nothing.

Maitre Vivon is so nice.

He'll be going away in July.

The servants are all absent

the first eight days.

He has a double lock, he said,

but no alarm.

Let's take a long vacation.

Just like the idle rich.

The whole month of July.

And just forget Maitre Vivon

and all his safes and double locks?

Georges, it's so good not to have to worry

about you. You'll be good, won't you?

No.

Do you think I could?

I would like to.

My life will go on, Charlotte.

I won't change.

Don't expect any change at all.

But all your friends have retired.

That may be, but I never could.

Is it stronger than you?

Stronger than anything.

The first time at the Montareuils,

I didn't know.

But then, as I broke into the locked desk

and saw the jewels

gleaming in the shadow

and felt the weight of them in my hand...

I first did it to get even with your father,

for revenge.

Suddenly, I knew happiness.

I felt alive.

I was satisfied.

It was happiness.

At night, in an unknown house,

when all is quiet and I arrive,

and all those things

are there for the taking,

I feel as if I were reborn.

Then what?

Then?

I go home.

Once again, I feel won'thless,

waiting

for the next time.

I wait for the whole thing to begin again.

I need you, Charlotte.

You're the only one I can tell

that I'm lonely.

Paris.

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Jean-Claude Carrière

Jean-Claude Carrière (French: [ka.ʁjɛʁ]; born 17 September 1931) is a French novelist, screenwriter, actor, and Academy Award honoree. He was an alumnus of the École normale supérieure de Saint-Cloud and was president of La Fémis, the French state film school. Carrière was a frequent collaborator with Luis Buñuel on the screenplays of Buñuel's late French films. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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