Yves Saint Laurent Page #2

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Join us.

Pretty countryside,

excellent cook, crickets.

And you, too, I imagine.

No, thank you. I don't drink.

I've finished your portrait, Yves.

Thank you.

How many for dinner tonight?

Eight.

Cancel.

I thought I belonged to

the cult of fidelity,

but with you...

Remember?

It all happened so fast.

It's gorgeous.

We had the living room redone.

- Hello, Zizi.

- Hello, Victoire.

- Are you well?

- Excellent, thanks.

- My husband, Roger.

- A great admirer.

Come see the study.

- Nice?

- Very.

Pierre's is over there.

And the bedrooms?

There's only one.

So you really do live together?

Why didn't you tell me?

You're married to Paris Match, aren't you?

Come. I'll show you the terrace.

Pierre, Pierre.

You know my friend, Victoire?

Your face from the magazines.

The woman I wanted to marry.

Enough with that.

I prefer to see Karl.

She's jealous?

And it amuses you.

You know, I'm not that nice.

But maybe you should leave, Mother.

And go where?

It's our home. It's our country.

What does Dad say?

What's there to say? He agrees with me.

I can't imagine...

What's wrong, honey?

I'm not sure I'll be deferred.

If I get draughted, I can't go.

I just can't.

No one expects you to hold a gun.

I'm sorry.

Lift your arm delicately, like this.

How does it feel?

- It's tight in back.

- In that case...

Karl is now artistic director of Patou.

Give him a kiss for me.

Let's go dancing. He misses you.

And Roger is busy.

Yves must finish London.

- The press office needs to see you.

- What for?

An appointment.

Why did you tell them I was in?

You can see them, Mr Saint Laurent.

Stop harassing me! I have to work!

Leave me alone.

This dress is no good.

Can you leave us alone?

Leave us alone.

You, too, Yvonne.

I need the Grey shantung. I have to finish.

What's going on?

Yves?

I'm sketching.

I'm sketching so I don't hear.

To stay strong.

Hear what?

The shouts. The silence. Same thing.

It's always been the same.

- Always the same.

- Calm down.

- I'm here.

- I have to stay strong.

You have the talent.

I'll see to the rest.

I'll always be here for you.

Really?

I received my enlistment papers.

You've been asked to serve.

What about your new collection?

Are you still fashion's little prince?

Save the questions for later.

- Who are you?

- Pierre Berg.

Mr Saint Laurent is busy. Enough.

As for the events in Algeria,

any comments?

My only combat is to dress women.

A combat? As you pose for pictures?

My son died in Algiers.

He was your age!

How shameful. Shame on you!

"Yves Saint Laurent

hesitates to take up arms.

"Political choice or opportunism?"

Clearly, they don't understand you.

Mr Boussac, give me time.

I don't have any time.

The press will destroy us

if we don't respond quickly.

Perhaps you're too young

to resist attacks of the sort.

I feel perfectly fine as artistic director

of the House of Dior in Paris.

I'm not the type to flee criticism.

Fleeing your civic duty doesn't bother you?

- You already got me a deferment.

- It's not so simple.

A few days later,

you responded to your enlistment orders.

But the army wasn't your thing...

Empty your pockets.

You never made it further

than military hospital.

This isn't a prison.

Dr Steinler, head of psychiatry.

I called you.

It's no mere anxiety attack.

Mr Mathieu-Saint-Laurent

is manic-depressive.

Who exactly are you to him?

His friend.

His companion.

Will you be able to stand this?

Hello, Pierre.

Don't stay long.

I feel like sleeping.

They did a good job on you.

Your mother is nearby

at the Hotel Frontenac.

Why won't you see her?

I'm tired now.

I just want to be left alone.

I'm tired.

Are you okay?

Want to drink something?

I'm fine.

I won't offer you anything to eat.

The food here...

A real ordeal.

You wouldn't like it at all.

You know, in Oran,

being a f*ggot was like being a criminal.

At Saint Louis...

At Saint Louis, they...

They beat me up.

Locked me in the bathroom. "Fairy!"

I heard them shout "fairy".

I went home bruised all over and...

She didn't protect me.

She didn't protect me.

- Look at me.

- Go away.

I need peace and quiet.

Go now, please.

Go.

Please look at me.

Do you want to live or die?

Because if you want to die,

there's nothing I can do.

Boussac took advantage of your breakdown

to suspend your contract

and have you replaced.

They can't just fire you.

- We'll fight!

- Pierre...

I want to draw, to create in total freedom.

Understand?

With my dresses, with my sketches,

I try to express myself,

but stopping me will kill me.

I'll die of boredom.

You need to rest.

- You're still frail.

- But not you.

You're strong.

We have to open our own fashion house.

I want to live.

But I want to live with you.

Counsellor...

Mr Berg.

You're late.

It's complicated at the moment.

- A drink?

- No, thank you. I'm due in court.

What's this about?

I want to sue Dior for breach of contract.

Boussac behaved miserably.

I want him to pay.

What are you thinking?

700,000 francs in damages.

You realise he's the richest man in France?

Exactly.

Boussac is persuaded we wouldn't dare.

He suspects nothing. It's his weakness.

It wasn't easy.

The Baron is a friend of Roger's.

So listen to them.

Don't get all high and mighty.

Counsellor...

Gentlemen...

Good to see you.

I was just telling the Baron

how much I admire you.

You're very kind.

You don't know fashion.

And haute couture entails huge investments.

Business requires taking risks.

Business isn't Russian roulette.

Indeed.

Gentlemen, our capital here

is Yves Saint Laurent.

His talent.

A psychiatric hospital

is not a great guarantee.

Pardon me?

Today, Mr Berg,

your project seems to me

simply risky.

I hope you don't take it badly.

But one day we may solicit you.

If you say so.

This will never work. There's no leeway.

And it's the least expensive.

I don't know what to do.

Look at this. They said it would stop.

It's the side-effects of the treatment.

That's utter nonsense! Look, clumps!

I'm losing clumps of hair!

What a temper!

No one will invest in you,

but spare me your hair sh*t!

The problem is

you haven't found one red cent!

Two Hamburg whores.

Karl, it's tough enough as it is.

- Sorry, Roger.

- Come to New York.

And do what? Make underwear?

Why not? At the point I'm at...

What is this? It's funny.

Very funny. It's for Zizi Jeanmaire's show.

A man's sweater and black stockings.

Amazing.

- I'm the last to know?

- No one interests you.

Because I work.

You're lucky.

You're brilliant.

What is it?

We won. That's the good news.

And the bad?

We didn't get 700,000.

Only 680,000.

No problem.

I'll deduct it from your fee.

Just kidding.

How much do we need now?

- Twice the amount.

- Is that all?

Money is nothing.

As long as we have it.

Paris Match, please.

We needed investors at any price.

Victoire helped. Paris Match proclaimed,

"Yves Saint Laurent opens house."

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