Victor Young Perez

Pull tighter.

I got little hands.

Don't worry.

I'll win, I'm smarter.

Take a dive fast, Victor.

Gotta lose fast.

They want to show us

they're superior.

If you don't hit the mat fast,

you're dead.

And me, too.

The miracle is to live.

A minute, an hour.

Death is everywhere in this camp.

It's already inside us.

Get up, follow me!

Are you OK?

My legs.

They're heavy.

Ladies and gentlemen,

to my right,

the Jewish flyweight world champion,

still with a few kilos

and not long for this world.

To my left, Sergeant Kurtz,

a fine boxer

and worthy representative

of our pure race.

In this fight, the rules of the noble art

will be respected.

I'll make sure of that,

despite any crafty Jewish ruses.

Gentlemen,

touch gloves.

This should be amusing.

Aldo, we can't do it.

We gotta cancel.

Kid Perez hurt his hand

in the championship. He can't box.

- We're not cancelling.

- What?

Choose another guy.

- They're not boxers.

- You don't get it!

Look at them.

We'll get lynched otherwise.

Try his brother, I'm sure he's good.

- What about the little guy?

- Me?

I saw his punches. He can box!

Aldo, cut the crap.

He isn't ready.

He hasn't fought once!

Mokhtar's fought dozens of times!

He'll slaughter him!

Too bad for your gamblers.

Let's go.

Wait Mr. Barans.

,

Why not?

Benjamin, have you gone mad?

Victor wants to be a boxer.

Let him see what he's worth.

To see if he's got the punch.

Well said, Kid.

You know it, Mr. Pullicino.

Joe...

Let him grab his chance.

You are always talking

about mektoub.

Maybe it's the kid's mektoub.

Who knows?

Victor...

What do you say?

Mr. Bellires

is a big manager in Paris.

He is scouting for boxers.

Listen to me.

Mr. Bellires came to see me.

But destiny decided differently.

What's important is that a Perez

takes the trip. Don't you think?

See this match...

maybe it's a bit risky.

Only you can know.

I'm sure you can do it.

You decide.

But I warn you, if you don't,

I'll massacre you.

Go on, you're the best.

Kid, give me a name. Fast.

- Victor.

- Victor what?

Victor Young Perez.

We have a last minute change.

The new hope...

Pull tighter.

I've got little hands.

Don't worry.

Young Perez faces battling Mokhtar!

Wait!

Show some respect for our flag.

You're French now? Not Maltese?

Not yet, but it won't be long.

Victor...

I was looking for you everywhere.

You brought me

a helluva lot of luck today.

I'm the only one

who kept my bets on you.

Here, a present.

Thanks Mr. Bellires.

,

You're the best, kid.

Don't let anyone tell you different.

Not even me.

Go on, enjoy!

Thanks.

I won, Mom.

I know, my son.

Mamma always knows everything.

Promise me something.

Never let your face get hit.

Never.

I swear, Mom.

I love you so much.

Me too, my son.

Go back to sleep. I'm going out.

I love you.

Me too.

May God protect you.

What are we doing now?

A present for you, brother.

Trust me.

Take big Vera.

Come on Maxo,

like you know her, big talker.

Welcome.

Hey, kid... How are you?

Come here.

What you did the other day

was sheer beauty.

Not too orthodox,

but I like it.

You know,

I manage boxers in France.

I'd like to take you with me.

I'll pay for your trip,

accommodation.

You give me 20% of your earnings.

What do you say?

And Benjamin?

Benjamin, Benjamin...

He'll come too.

He'll be your coach,

and personal trainer.

He'll keep an eye on you

so you don't do anything stupid,

because in Paris, there's plenty

of opportunities for that,

for a rascal like you.

Paris.

Listen, Victor...

You got dynamite in your fists,

and ballet in your legs.

And you got character.

Maybe a bit too much.

But in Paris,

you gotta be up to the task.

They may dress like princes,

but they're savages.

You got what it takes to be great.

Are you listening?

You haven't won yet.

You gotta do the work.

It starts now.

Yes Mr. Bellires.

,

Young man,

this is an elegant establishment.

Keep your head low,

serve the clients and remain cool.

Go on. It'll be OK, kid.

Finally... I was so thirsty.

Think I'm beautiful?

Yes... No.

I mean...

Don't worry.

I won't say anything.

- My name's Mireille.

- Victor.

Sorry, ma'am.

Excuse me.

Thanks.

Have a glass.

No, I can't.

Yes, you can. Go on.

Don't mind me.

- Are we ever gonna box?

- Cool it, you're not in Tunis.

Mr. Bellires

,

what did you think of Marcel last night?

- He boxed well.

- I'm still not convinced.

I need more time.

I'll see him box

in the next suburban match.

I'll tell you then.

What about my Tunisian...

have you tested him?

I was going to, Lon.

Then, do it.

So you're Young Perez?

Get up.

Are you a flyweight?

Come on up

and get a gander of Montmartre,

and show me your stuff.

And I won't tell you twice.

You've got a fight coming up.

Show me what you got.

That's some boxing Mr. Bellires.

,

No, Victor!

Stop!

You'll kill him!

He's sick!

You're sick!

We've got principles here

in France!

Get out!

Come back when you've cooled it!

He started it.

You Ay-rabs are all the same.

Always complaining

and looking for excuses.

Forget it, Ben.

He's right. It's my fault.

And just so you know,

I'm not just an Ay-rab, I'm a Yid.

My place isn't here.

Get lost.

He starts last

and puts all his energy into it.

He's a tough little Arab.

He's Jewish.

Jewish, Arab same thing.

He's hard as nails.

And clever.

Hope so.

That makes the difference.

Rest a bit.

You got a match tomorrow.

- I'll stop when I'm dead.

- Tomorrow, you could be!

All the more reason!

At the Paris sports palace,

a festive ambiance reigned,

during the European championship.

For the European match,

Nicolas Le Belga, title holder...

faces his challenger, the young

Tunisian boxer Victor Young Perez.

All of Paris

rushed to see the event.

Young Perez won the European title

against Nicolas Le Belga.

A beautiful victory.

Nothing can stop the rise

of the young boxer.

The International Federation

refuses the title to Victor Young.

Perez isn't French, but Tunisian,

and Tunisia isn't part of Europe.

Even the newspaper says

I'm French.

Even the fascists.

Go figure!

For the European championship,

I'm not French anymore,

I'm African.

I beat the European champion,

and they don't give me the title!

Because I'm African!

If need be,

I could die fighting for France.

Stop torturing yourself

with all that.

It's been 2 weeks already.

French or African,

what the hell do you care?

They could call you Chinese,

and so what.

In 2 months, it's the championship.

The world championship.

And then, they can't refuse you.

Yeah, if I win.

If you win?

I can't believe

Bellires lent you his car.

See, nothing's impossible.

The proof.

The winner is Young Perez!

Hi there.

Did you do that favor I asked?

- Of course, Mr. Perez.

- Thanks.

This is it, Victor.

We've arrived.

Well?

Afraid of the beating I'll give you?

Let's see that.

I won't hurt you too bad.

Show me what you got.

Let's go.

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