Les Invisibles (2012)

[bunniefuu]

Gotta be careful...

He's in a tricky position.

Careful.

Maybe this way...

We met in a rearview mirror.

I was going to the cleaners.

I was living down south.

A truck passed me in the street.

In the rearview mirror,

I saw these eyes.

When I got to the cleaners,

there he was again.

He came up to me and said,

"What's your sign?"

I said, "Cancer."

He said, "You have to find love."

And I said, "I think I just did."

THE INVISIBLES

It was really a coincidence.

The first date was actually...

kind of "yuck"!

Really?

Pierre showed up late,

he'd been drinking.

Back then I never drank,

and that bothered me.

So our first date was kind of...

A disaster!

Yeah.

But it's better now?

It's true that back then,

I was in an emotional desert,

I had to drink a lot.

I was dry!

I had a pretty serious
drinking problem.

All is well.

I come from a devout Catholic family.

I was even a choirboy

when I was young.

I served mass nearly every morning.

Summer and winter.

The fact I was more attracted
to boys than girls,

with my upbringing,

disturbed me, made me feel guilty,

uncomfortable.

It was a sin, you know.

I didn't really have any boyfriends
or anything

until I was much older.

I hid it from my parents.

They never really knew.

I didn't tell them about it
until I met Yann.

Maya!

My family was working-class.
Dad was a communist.

My mother had six children.

She wanted to abort me.

Back then ab*rtion was ill*gal.
She tried but it didn't work.

She didn't want me.

When I was little...

She didn't feed me so I wouldn't grow.

Social Services intervened.

I was placed in the care of my uncle.

I was placed in different families.

She rejected me completely.

She didn't want me,
she told me before she died.

She tried everything to get rid of me.

Unfortunately I was born.

I only weighed 1.1 kilograms.

Back then they put you in a box
with some cotton.

I was really meant to live.

Come on, let's go.

Easy...

Easy...

I'm quicker than you.

I'm waiting for him to ask for it.

What's he weigh?

He was 34 grams this morning.

He's at 32.52 now.

Bedtime.

What?

- Which cup do you want?
- I'll see, Bernard.

These are too big, these are too small.

Take a medium one.

- This'll do.
- Good choice.

Same as me.

Right.

It mustn't boil.

Honestly!

The British never boil water for tea.

It should just come to a simmer.

Same for coffee.

Your garbage works. Not mine.

It's hot enough now.

It leaks, you have to push it.

Push it to the side and it stops.

I don't know why. Yet another glitch.

- Right.
- Go ahead.

So much love, to console the boys...

We'd taken out ads.

Both of us, separately.

No, my godson Lionel did mine for me.

My boyfriend had died a year earlier.

I was so depressed, I hate solitude.

My godson Lionel, from Lyon,

who's on our team, said,

"You can't stay alone like this.

It's simple, take out an ad."

"An ad? Are you joking?
I'd never do that!"

I'll get out of your hair.

Shortly afterwards I received a letter.

I opened it.

"Dear friend,

Your ad interests me.
I'll come to Marseille."

- The neighbors are back.
- The what?

- The neighbors.
- Really?

The Gabians, across the way.

Right, right.

I go to the train station
and hide behind a pillar.

Based on his description...

He'd sent me an ID photo,
so small you couldn't make it out.

I see him and think,
"Oh no, this guy? I'm leaving!"

But he'd come to Marseille,
I couldn't do that!

I go over and he says,
"I didn't know you had a cap."

His first romantic words!

- Am I right?
- Can't remember.

Obviously!

There's a dove on the ledge.

A dove on the windowsill.

I can't turn around.

You know I've got my pains.

I'm talking to her, she likes it.

Hope she doesn't lay an egg.

Look, she's interested.

If you turn quick she'll leave.

I can't help how I turn.

- Either I look or I don't.
- Do it, make her happy.

- See her?
- Ah yes, indeed.

So I do.

And off she goes.

But I saw her.

- Lucky for her.
- That's right.

In the ad he said, "I'm 70."

Untrue. He was 71 and a half.

First lie.

Second lie: "I'm totally available.
In the past..."

I didn't want to know about his past.

Anyway, he said, "I want to settle down.

But I should tell you

I have a wife and 5 children."

Oh my God!

"My wife and I are separated,

but we still get along."

I didn't take him very seriously.

Now I get along with his missus, 5 kids,
sons-in law, grandkids...

There you go.

Works for me.

This one's good.

Is it enough?

Let's get another one.

This one's good too.

- Swiss cheese.
- It's grated.

No it's not!

It's got big holes.
Shall I get some others?

Get two.

Organic camembert?

Yes, organic camembert!

My goodness!

He'll yell at me. They're not ripe.

I don't know exactly how I became

h*m* again.

The whole time I lived with my wife,

I never felt...

tempted.

Not that I recall.

Or it was so fleeting, so minor,

that I can't remember.

There you go.

Then suddenly it came back.

So I brought it up to my wife.

By that point, hang on...

There was nothing physical
between my wife and me anymore.

There hadn't been for a while.

Right.

My wife wasn't too upset.

She was good-natured.

Finally I told her,
"Know why nothing's happening?

Because I'm h*m*."

I must say,

it didn't really...

bother her much.

Get along!

Those b*tches!

Here they come.

Easy!

It wasn't talked about, and still isn't.

h*m* have always
been pushed to one side,

or bisexuals if you like,

because I was both.

No big thing is made of it,

but it isn't discussed.

Except for gossip.

Don't forget,
today we may laugh about it,

but back then we cried.

There was this woman.

I would have married her.

She had, she was...

She was a secretary, 18 years old.

She wore pants and smoked.

An only child.

We buried her last month.

She was 82.

She never married either.

Imagine, wearing pants and smoking

put her right out of the game
in the countryside.

Even us boys.
When I was six I had a hat,

short sleeves and trousers.

It was hot, so I said to Grandma,

"I want you to cut me off some pants.
I want shorts."

I don't know
if we called them shorts then.

You know, breeches.

She said, "Never!"

I said, "If you don't, I will!"

Let me tell you...

It took nerve
to stand up to your grandma

or your mom.

"I will!"

"You will not!"

Know what I did?

That night, I took some scissors
and cut off my pants.

And I climbed up the haystack
in shorts.

I always saw bulls mounting cows,

billy goats mounting nannies...

I always knew we had it for a reason.

Do you know billy goats
masturbate like we do?

They suck themselves like we do.

It's bizarre.

You should come during mating season.

If a billy has no nanny,

he turns and sucks it out.

Whether you have two legs or four,

mother nature decides.

When we were twelve

me and the other shepherd boys
would experiment.

We'd masturbate, check each other out.

See who had the biggest one.

Later, when I was fourteen,

this man was working for us.

He was sixty at the time.

Wait, is that right?

Yes, he was sixty.

His son was my dad's age.

So I was twelve,

the son was forty,

the father was sixty.

His son was an only child.
Like my father was.

This man used to hide behind the hedges.

I'll show you the place later.

Sometimes he'd masturbate.

One day he was masturbating.
I was alone.

Not in front of me but nearby.

He asked me
if I wanted him to touch me.

I said yes.

I wanted him to.

That's it.

That's how it started.

I wouldn't call it ecstasy,

but it was nice.

I was ready to do it again.

I think it's inborn.
You like it or you don't.

It's a need you have.

That was fourteen.
At sixteen I slept with a girl.

I tried to find her picture.

I have it somewhere.

Her name was Aline.
I have a good memory.

She was a young woman...

who worked as a domestic.

Housecleaning, you know.

She was beautiful.

A brunette.

So my first time was with this woman.

She was more experienced.

I was sixteen, I was pretty green.

She f*ndled me.

I got hard, naturally,
and we made love.

The right way, this time!

I was born in 1927.

The horrors of World w*r I
were still in people's minds.

My mother always said,
"I was lucky to meet your father."

Two million young men died.

No more husbands, no more fiancés,
no more men.

They were dead.

I remember

a very late anniversary,

maybe their 65th or 66th
wedding anniversary.

I'd made them a nice dinner,
which we'd shared.

I cleared the table, made coffee.

When I came back they were kissing.

I said,

"It's beautiful to see you old
and still in love."

My father said,

"For as long as I could make love,

I made love to your mother every day."

My mother, who was a bit of a prude,
was embarrassed.

But I think deep down she was happy

to have been honored every day.

She said to him, "Oh René!"

That was a moment
of pure love in my family.

An emotional moment.

It still gets to me.

It's rare. I told them,

"You've given me a wonderful gift,

telling me you loved each other daily."

Despite the w*r, my childhood

was a happy time. I was spoiled,

got plenty of love and cuddles.

Of course I grew up.

I became a teenager.

I got my first period at school.

I remember panicking
when I saw all the blood!

Luckily I had more experienced friends
who said,

"Don't worry.
It's your period, you'll see."

I went home

and I saw my mother...

was a bit troubled.

I felt guilty already
about sex and sexuality.

Guilty because I could see
my mother was worried.

It was a real hassle back then.

There were no tampons yet.

We had rubber belts, sanitary towels,
safety pins...

It was a solemn affair.

A whole ritual.

My mother said, "My little girl,

you're stuck with this
every month until you're 50."

She could've said,
"This is a big moment

in the life of a woman."

That's what I told my daughters.

My mother seemed truly upset.

I realize back then
there was no contraception

and mothers were worried.

But she never warned me
of the dangers.

She never told me
what could happen with boys.

In my mother's mind
sex didn't exist.

My mother succeeded in turning me into

a good little girl
who did as she was told,

who wasn't boy-crazy.
We were all good girls then.

People say we were naive,
and we were.

I was a virgin bride.

I got the speech

mothers gave their daughters
about the hazards of marriage.

"You'll see.

You have to love your husband,
respond to his demands."

The whole thing was...

beautifully packaged.

We married in all innocence,
in all ignorance.

We had no idea what marriage was.

Marriage was a party, a white dress,

making the families happy,
having children...

We were raised to have children.

I remember I got married in July.

A month later
my mother and mother-in-law,

without consulting each other,
both asked me,

"Did you get your period?"

I did, so I immediately
felt like a bad woman.

When we were children in this house,

it was quite amazing.

Summer was a wonderful time.

I was always running by the water,

chasing grasshoppers

or listening to cicadas.

I had many siblings.

We had a lot of fun together.

Years and years went by

as though life were problem-free.

And yet,

it was a very stifling upbringing.

The residence was its own little world.

My father had difficulty listening,

communicating.

He didn't mind discussions
as long as he won.

He had to dictate
what you think and say.

My mother quickly realized

he had the authority
and would impose it,

so she was often passive.

Very often.

During this time
we were not given the tools

to navigate ordinary life.

We knew nothing of how others lived.

We were brought up to be naive.

Meaning I would always be behind.

I would grow up slower than most.

I'd have to shift into high gear,
and it wasn't always easy.

As a child, at Catholic school,

I experienced real pleasure,

great pleasure,

which still affects me,

when I touched

an older boy's p*nis.

It was so silky,
so nice to the touch.

There was an innocence about it.

I didn't realize

my desires were different
from those of others.

So when the priest

spoke to me of purity,

I didn't know what it meant.

What is pure, what is impure?

Sometimes he was more precise.

He might evoke masturbation,

but one didn't talk about that.

It was never direct.

"Have you ever wanted to do
certain things?"

And there, I fell into a trap.

I was perfectly frank.

I told him.

"I've felt certain temptations..."

Then there was another incident.

I was caught in a hellish spiral.

It was a vicious circle.

Very vicious.

I thought,
"Maybe if I become even more Christian,

a good Christian, a good Catholic...

If I pray more,

go to mass,

I can control this."

In my late teens
people had started telling me

what I was experiencing
was teenage stuff

and I'd have to grow up.

So I built a barrier

around my own life,

my own desires,

to try to become the adult
I was supposed to be.

In 1975-76,

our employer tried to get rid of us
because we were h*m*.

We threatened them.

I threatened to take it to the union.

I threatened them, I fought.

Really.

It was horrible,

because they said to me,

"Elisabeth, we need you,
you're wonderful."

They praised me.

"But you have to fire Catherine.
Get rid of her."

Can you imagine?

I don't know if she knows.

That was their condition.

It's shocking.

Shocking.

The union called management out on it.

It was a textbook case.

We were leaving
because we were h*m*.

That was the only reason.

With all the usual repression

having nothing to do with h*m*.

We were shunted aside, etcetera.

Our briefcases were searched.

We experienced those things.

We were hiring.

She came along one day.

She had an important job
with a travel company.

She traveled the world,

promoting hotels, etcetera.

She had her little briefcase,
she was cute.

In it was a magazine called "Goats".

She always had that magazine "Goats".

I think it was love at first sight
for both of us.

I met Babette

at the second place I worked.

She was very funny.

I was attracted to her.

During a business trip

we gave in to temptation.

I was living with Christine.
She had a girlfriend too.

After a while,

we left them to live together.

After a year and a half,

my boss, if you will,

could no longer tolerate
our relationship.

So we were asked to leave.

I was outraged, of course. Outraged.

It was totally unjust.

But when I'm faced with injustice,

I try to fight a little, but then I...

Maybe Babette told you this too.

I withdraw.

Like an animal.

When I'm not wanted.

I'd been thinking of buying a farm.

I said, "You don't want us, fine.

But you'll have to sweeten the pot
to make us leave."

I laid down conditions,
which were accepted.

We took a trip around the world
for several months,

then bought our first farm
in the Southwest.

And got started with the goats,

35 years ago now.

She'd always wanted a farm.

That was her dream.

I followed her.
I saw it as an adventure.

And we were marginal,

which meant...

Marginality made us free.

The less said, the better.

People would wonder who,

around them, might be h*m*.

It wasn't in the open.

What was scandalous back then

was to proudly proclaim it.

That was scandalous.

You could be h*m*.

People knew h*m* existed.

The scandal was to say you were.

That was unthinkable.

Very repressed.

Sometimes I'd go for a drink
with a coworker.

She'd talk about her hetero life,
her children...

I'd think, "I won't keep silent.

I have a life.

It's suspicious not to talk about it."

I remember thinking,

"How do I do this?"

It wasn't easy.

I mustered my courage and said,

"My life is different.

I live with a woman"
or "I have a girlfriend."

It was... how can I put this?

People were thunderstruck.
They had no idea.

It wasn't particularly obvious.

I astounded a lot of people.

"Oh really?"

I enjoyed that.

I'd say,
"Yep! You see?

We're the same.
Except I'm with a girl."

As far back as I can remember,

when I was 5, 10, 15, 20, 30,

and now much later,

I've been a girl who loves girls.

I've always identified myself that way.

It's my identity.
I have no problem there.

My big question is,

"How can a little girl
love a little boy?"

For me it's very...

It doesn't make sense to me.

How can a girl love a boy?

I like boys very much.

I regret not knowing them intimately.

But I would've wanted to do that
as a boy, not a girl.

I can't be with a boy, I'm a girl!

I got it all backwards,
what can I say?

Where did this desire come from?

No one told me about it.

I never learned women
could make love with women.

And yet that's what I wanted to do.
As far back as I can remember.

Ten, twelve, thirteen...

I was shy with women.
I'm not a shy person.

But with women I admired
I was shy.

In my mind, I knew what I wanted to do.

I wanted to sleep with them.

At least take them in my arms,
but even make love!

I already pictured it in my mind,

though I'd never read about it in books,

no one had ever told me about it.

I didn't know,
except down in my guts,

that you could make love like that.

It's engraved in my DNA.

It's not a choice.

But I'm happy with my orientation.
I liked it.

I had my first girlfriend
when I was 17.

But by 14 I knew what I wanted.
And went after it.

That wasn't done.
I had to seek opportunities.

They weren't h*m*,
they were teachers, or...

They were always either outraged
or intrigued.

Then my crush would fade.

When I was 17 the crush didn't fade
and I took the plunge.

It was how I'd always imagined it.

Pure bliss,
discovering your lover's body...

It was always a great pleasure.

I've had a very positive love life.
Very positive.

I've loved many women.
I slept only with those I loved.

I wasn't a womanizer,
just out for conquests.

But I was a seducer, for sure.

I loved to seduce.
I loved when they fell for me.

But nothing ever happened
unless I was in love.

How I loved being in love!

During a brief period,
I wore neckties.

In those pictures I look quite boyish.

I was very young then, just 20.

If we look like boys
it's not because we're tomboys.

It's to attract girls.
Girls usually like boys.

They'll get away from us.

We have to look a bit like the boys
to seduce them.

Then I didn't need to!

When I realized that, I quit.

I have no memory of my sexuality
as a young woman.

There must have been some passion,

nights that were better than others,
kinky locations,

guilt...

that was repressed...

I don't remember any of it.

It's highly probable
we never truly let ourselves go.

Fellatio, for example,

was always a bit hellish.

You weren't supposed

to behave like a prost*tute.

Men associated blow jobs
with prostit*tes.

And we were afraid
of getting pregnant again.

I only had 4 children, no ab*rtion.

Many of my friends had 7 or 8 kids.

One friend, who's dead now,

had 15 ab*rtion.

It was so terrible.

I'm sure I expected a lot from marriage.

Very quickly, maybe 2 months in,

I realized it was an utterly bleak
daily humdrum.

My husband worked like mad.

I was alone with my 4 kids.
I had 1 every 3 years.

I quickly realized I was going to be

shut in for years.

It was a dull ache.
I never gave it a name.

I was never able to put it into words.

Part of my desire
must have been eradicated.

It was dead. It had been k*lled.

From the polymorphous sexuality
so dear to Freud,

our parents shape us into

perfect little conformists

who know how to suppress our desires.

It took me years to realize all that.

I remember that first winter
how I cried.

I felt so alone,

so impossibly unhappy.

My problem

was unsolvable.

My unspoken sexuality, at a time

when h*m* was not discussed,

absolutely not discussed.

Something else also preoccupied me.

Something I really struggled with.

I was a university student.

We had an hour or two

of physical education per week.

It was a source of dread for me.

Down in the basement of the school

were the locker rooms.

I would find myself...

obliged to undress and shower

with a whole series of boys.

My classmates.

The situation

was extremely difficult for me.

I knew I couldn't be naked
and not get hard.

Especially if...

I mean, alone I was ok.

But not with those boys around!

I couldn't do it.
It was impossible back then.

So there I was naked, in the shower,

constantly hard.

I was...

so embarrassed.

I could barely look at them.

I was always trying to hide it
but I couldn't.

We didn't take our towels
into the shower.

I could tell certain boys were

put off by it.

But I couldn't look at anyone.

I didn't dare, I was red with shame.

I'd hurry back to get dressed,
trying to act casual.

For years afterward I was like that.

I was incapable of intimacy with anyone.

Intimacy made me uncomfortable.

All those barriers were in my head.

It was impossible.

I got a strong desire

to go to Africa as an aid worker.

I became convinced
that's what was lacking.

I needed to change countries,
go elsewhere.

Maybe I'd get my taste for life back.

My taste for life
was really waning then.

There were temptations.

The beauty of the men's bodies

as they bathed in the river
at day's end...

taking off their clothes...

I'd watch from my aid worker's room,

completely uptight.

I was passionate about photography.

I traveled constantly.

However,

when I found myself back home
in Marseille with my solitude

and realized all my trips were a mirage

I had gradually created

to forget myself...

I entered an extremely difficult phase.

I felt I was aging prematurely.

I'd lost my desire to live.

I wasn't enjoying life.

Between 1974,

when I came back from Africa,

and 1978-79,

I started to fall apart.

I sensed I was different

when I was about 6 or 7.

And actually,

at school,

in everyday life,

people made me feel different.

They let me know
I was different from them.

I felt that from a very young age.

Then I reached adolescence,

when you start trying
to figure yourself out.

Do you want to be with men or women?

I went through a period of doubt.

Mostly because of
my working-class environment,

where you were supposed to be normal.

You had to...

It wasn't commonplace at the time.

The only known h*m* around
was the local antiques dealer.

There were very few.

In the working class,

it was looked down upon.

In fact, a bit later,

when I was 14 or 15,

I joined the Young Communists.

I sold their paper,
I was active in the Party.

One day they called me in.

The guy said,
"You're productive, committed,

but there's something different
about you that the Party can't accept.

You must relinquish
your membership."

I took it very badly.

It was really unbelievable.

Up until 1981 it was considered
a psychiatric disorder.

It was considered an illness.

So in a sense you were sick.

I can remember

going to my doctor.

He knew I was h*m*.

He went on and on
about psychiatric issues.

Fortunately that has changed.

It made you wonder.
You were classified as mentally ill!

There you were, trying to figure out
why you were h*m*.

It really made you wonder.

It's ready.

While I was at school in Paris,

I hid my tendencies more than usual.

In my day,

you met guys in urinals, public parks.

It was hidden from view. Shameful.

Sordid.

So I led a very solitary life,
away from others.

I gave up all hope

of a love life or sex life back then.

When I finished my studies,

they were recruiting people
to go to Adelie Land

for a year,

to replace your military service.

Obviously I immediately applied.

Off I went to the South Pole,

to spend a year there.

Of course the nights are long
when you're completely isolated

in a masculine environment

cut off from the world,
with just a couple dozen men.

Obviously I was even more secretive

about my tendencies, my feelings.

It was out of the question for us
to have relations with each other.

It was a form of escape,

putting on hold, for a year,

who I was, what I felt.

I was in a big desert again.

A big white one.

I lost a lot of time.
Pretty much my entire youth.

I was 28 or 29.
Babette was 10 years older.

If you don't pursue
your crazy dream at that age...

We left Paris on July 14th
and arrived on the 15th.

Back then there was no freeway.

The movers had collected our things

from our Paris apartment
in Saint-Germain,

a pretty nice neighborhood.

When they were unloading
at the new place

they were terrified for us.

The place hadn't been lived in
for a long time.

There was grass growing on the inside.

I remember the movers saying,

"At least take
some big boxes for furniture."

They really felt so sorry for us.

I remember sleeping on the floor
the first night.

With candles.

We did everything ourselves.

We started from nothing.

We had some books.

If it hadn't been for Catherine...

Catherine was such a genius.

I've always really admired her.

We had 50 acres,
which she cultivated on tractors,

on inclines, all that.

She was great.

I love doing things myself.

I drew up blueprints, did everything

with Babette's help.

Once the goat barn was built
we got our first herd.

We also had some neighbors
who helped a lot.

They were absolutely adorable.

They were farmers.

Very traditional.

They thought,
"Why do those two women live together?

They must've had their hearts broken."

They imagined things. It was so funny.

They watched us.

They thought we'd be gone
within a few months or a year.

There were a lot of women in the region

with farms.

We helped each other, shared tools,

tractors,

rotary cultivators.

Evenings, we'd get together for dinner.
It was very joyful.

Lighthearted.

And easy, in fact.

Because we were surrounded by old...
I mean, traditional farmers.

We never had any problems.
Never.

If I had it to do over, I would.

I've learned so much.

I've seen so many beautiful things.

I've experienced difficult things,
beautiful things, sweet things.

Nature, to me... nature...

I think I was really made for it.

And love followed.

In the countryside
there aren't many h*m*.

At least not who say they are.

They are perhaps,
but they stay in the shadows.

I never considered...

this love life of mine
to be an underground thing.

It was just my personal thing.

I'd often ride my bike
down to the river.

It was a well-known pick-up spot.

For men and women.
I had a lot of men and women,

a lot of love down by the river.

The river was like vacation.

Physical and mental relaxation.

I usually met someone.

I knew many men,

fellows who wanted to spend
an hour or two at the river.

But I was never faithful.
That was clear as a bell.

And yet, when I make love,
I belong entirely to the person.

I think that's why I never got attached.

I don't suffer for it.

I don't.

One night in Vienna

Come what may

On the banks
Of the beautiful Blue Danube

By a tender waltz surprised

We confessed you and I

Under the reign of a mad desire

Our hearts opened to love

Beautiful night in Vienna

Come what may

I shall never forget you

I can't come out.

Good Lord, it's freezing!

You should lower these,
below your spare tires.

You've got enough already.

Turn a little.

Come on, clip both.

I know what I'm doing,
but these are different.

Wait, what's going on here?

- Tell me when you're done.
- I got it.

- They're not quite equidistant.
- Doesn't matter.

Doesn't matter!

The horse goes on the side.

I got it.

No, there's one on each side!

That's it.

Go on.

- It's not easy.
- You got it.

Look at these feet.
The feet of a Greek god.

I'm Cinderella,
putting on Prince Charming's slipper.

Right.

Except it's the opposite.

Prince Charming
puts on Cinderella's slipper!

- Where is it?
- My heel's always in the same spot.

- There.
- That's it!

We're done.

Cinderella is shod.

Hey...

What?

The sound of your silence disturbs me.

What?

The sound of your silence disturbs me.

What do you want me to say?

- Need any advice or anything?
- Advice? No.

Anything but that.

For the tomato salad I'll be alright.

That remains to be seen.

Bernard is the first man
I've been in love with.

I sensed it was a stable situation,
and would remain stable.

I think that's what I liked
about Bernard.

And physically, well, I must say...

it wasn't bad either.

Freddy was my first boyfriend.

I met him when I was in Alsace.
He was Swiss.

We got along very well.

We had an extraordinary time.

Unfortunately he was ill

and died after about twelve years.

Next came Charles,

a friend of Freddy's,
also 10 years older.

He lived in England.

That's Charles.

Then came Jacques.

Charles died in 1999.

I was alone.
I can't stand being alone.

So I met Jacques,

and now we're having
a wonderful relationship too.

Maybe not the same as 40 years ago,
but we get along well.

I never cared for young men.

I just wasn't attracted to them.

However, men who were older than me,

with white hair, gray hair...

the distinguished type,

the mature type...

That I liked!

I've always liked the same type of man.
Even now.

I meet other men I appreciate,

but what attracts me first

is the hair.

It has to be gray or white.

Men with gray or white hair

rock my world, as the kids say.

I got a marriage proposal.

From who?

My, my!
Who is this young man?

Jean-René, he's been after me for ages.

He lives next door.

Have you met his parents?

Your two brothers and their wives
make four...

You and I make six.

The silverware... is over here.

I'll use the good silverware.

Nothing but the best.

You'll be a pin-up after this.

With my marriage proposal and all.

I'd like to meet this young man.

When he takes me out to dinner,

by the time we get to the cheese
I'm bored.

Then forget it.

I already have.

There's a little old lady after me too.

Ah, now I get it!

You were beating around the bush.

- Done.
- Thanks, honey.

- Nice!
- Beautiful.

I didn't even slop over.

Here she is.

To spy on us.

Trip the old lady!

You brats!

To think I nursed you at my breast!

- Not me.
- True.

You missed out!

That's why you're so skinny!

After everything I did for you,
you assholes!

I remember life changing overnight.

It was 1968, the late 60s, early 70s...

People would come here,
and to the old place.

Volunteer workers, political activists,

academics.

They wanted to change the world.

They talked sexuality, politics,

how sex was political.

They were against bourgeois love.

I don't remember you ever declaring
you were l*sbian.

I remember a number of folks
passing through,

who were here at night
and still here at breakfast.

Refugees, priests who'd left the fold...

l*sbian priests!

And a whole slew of gals
who were pretty zany but very nice.

I really feel
I saw you being born at 40.

That's really how it feels to me.

I've been to analysis,
I've talked to my shrink about it.

I saw it with my own eyes.

You didn't exactly come out.

Your coming out was so obvious

because you were having a great time.

I was 42 years old.
My real life began at 42.

In 1973 or 1974.

We experienced our adolescence
together, in the open.

We shared our stories.

With no judgment or hierarchy.

With each other's interests at heart.

We don't judge, it's a family rule.

We don't judge each other,
anything goes.

We respect each other's freedom.

When our parents divorced,

people said,
"Poor kids, your parents divorced."

It was hard enough,
and people made it worse.

Then they said Mom was depraved.

Seriously.
Society was really regressive.

Today I think we've moved beyond that.

You can live your life now.

Things are possible.
Thanks to that fight.

I remember the ab*rtion movement
in particular.

Clandestine ab*rtion
were carried out here.

Dozens and dozens of women
came here

to get ab*rtion.

You have to remember
what this country was like then.

They came whispering,
"I want an ab*rtion."

I said, "Shout it! Demand your rights."

ab*rtion! Contraception! Live your life!

On this table,

the movement for ab*rtion
and contraceptive rights began.

It was an amazing, extraordinary time.

I had two young men,
two lovely neighbors,

who bought me a vacuum cleaner

for 85 old francs, quite cheap.

They reconfigured it,
switched it around somehow.

They even hooked up a manometer

so I could perform ab*rtion
in state-of-the-art conditions.

How do you feel about ab*rtion?

I think it's good.

- ab*rtion should be allowed?
- Yes.

Downstairs there was a nice lady
of about 50.

She was always crying over her divorce.

Being divorced was so horrible.

One day she said,
"So many people come to see you."

She was a nice lady.

I said,
"Listen, Louisette, here's the deal.

There are women who want ab*rtion.

We've created
a clandestine clinic for them."

She said, "Oh, that's wonderful.
I had two ab*rtion.

I'll bake cakes for you."

We'll have the children we want to have!

It was moving. We were all worked up.

We wanted the law to pass.

Older women, who must be dead now,
were saying,

"Go, girls! I aborted 5 times!"

They were shouting from the sidelines.

There was a real meeting of the minds.

An amazing sisterly love,

because the scandal had been going on
for generations.

What do you think, Madam?

- What do you think?
- I think they're right.

- They're right?
- Yes.

Now we can pursue
our own form of pleasure.

I'm not sure.

Here's yours!

Honestly, I'm not so sure.

Today, the less we know
about individuals

and their sexuality, the better.

People are hiding it more.
We're closing up again.

- Must we shout it from the rooftops?
- Absolutely not.

But there was a time in History

when speaking out collectively
was crucial.

I was on the front lines

and I can tell you
we really shook things up.

Nobody was g*y.
"My son, g*y? Not on your life!"

One fine day,
it emerged that the son was g*y.

And in my children's case,

it was their mother who fell into it.

Dipped her finger into the pie.

Oh no, Thérèse!

A little wine to shut you up!

I was perfect for 20 years.
I felt that was enough.

At the age of 42 I began,

at the end of the 60s,
to flap my little wings.

And my little wings became gigantic!

Rise up, sl*ve women!

Let's break our chains!

Rise up, rise up!

Rise up, sl*ve women!

Let's break our chains!

Rise up, rise up!

The beginning of the movement was,
for women,

like floodgates opening.

Words flowed like rivers.

You could feel the millenniums
of inhibition, imprisonment,

punishment, everything that made women
sl*ves to the opposite sex.

We simply want the guys to understand
this is not their place.

In these early days in the fight
for women's liberation,

men's place is minding the children
or outside.

I made so many friends, sisters,

comrades in arms,

in militancy, resistance, subversion...

They introduced me to my body.

It was very political for us.
We said, "If we f*ck each other,

the men can hang it up."

Together we were a happy team.

I remember Saturday
and Sunday mornings,

I worked as a saleswoman
at an interior design store in Paris.

The woman I worked for,
who had hired me,

was a friend from school.

We'd been in school together
when I was 15 or 16.

Back then she'd sneak out
to sleep with her boyfriend.

We girls couldn't believe
she dared to do that!

So I ran into Françoise again,
30 years later,

25 years later.

She was a very sexual person,

she's the one who introduced me
to h*m*.

She was funny, whimsical, delightful.
I liked her a lot.

We would close the store

at noon on Sundays,
then race to the car

and drive out to the suburbs
where she had a little house.

It was so beautiful out.

The sun was so warm,
and we were so naked!

Ultimately, love took over.

When I felt her hand on me...

my world turned upside-down.

How radically a life can change
with the touch of a hand!

So I learned pleasure through women.

It was so incredible.

I had a new outlook, a new mindset,
a new body,

new desires...

I became a real woman.

In 1977, I met a tall German woman.

She taught me
to take life less seriously.

Gudrun was dazzling.

Full of references and knowledge.

Always funny, full of irony.

We laughed all the time.

My years with her were amazing.

Exhausting too, I must admit.

We're born capable of all types
of sexual practices and pleasure,

but clearly everything leads us
to heterosexuality.

h*m* is forbidden, taboo,
at least in my day it was.

Now it's talked about,
but you still get:

"He's a f*g" or
"She's a dirty l*sbian"...

It typically starts with "dirty f*g"...
always dirty.

No.

Some g*y friends say,

"We were born with unusual desires."

I say, "You were born
with unusual strength to fight,

come hell or high water,
for practices society doesn't accept.

Or barely accepts."

We do not reproduce.

Thus we do not perpetuate
the bourgeoisie.

With us, legacy is screwed.
It's over.

What really angers the hetero-pigs,

is that they made us.

And they keep on making us.
Making children.

We reject this value system.

We reject the family
as the foundation of society.

Thus, we reject society.

Consequently,
the only possible political position

is one of revolution.

Down with patriarchy!

Down with heterosexual rule
and the f*cked-up family!

Down with patriarchy!

Down with heterosexual rule
and the f*cked-up family!

When I was an activist, at 30,

we did all we could for exposure.

Here we are! We're the Red d*kes!

Daddy, Mommy,
your daughter is a f*g!

Daddy, Mommy,
your daughter is a f*g!

Daddy, Mommy,
your daughter is a l*sbian!

It's against nature.
I'm totally against it.

I find it disgusting.

"Hey, you need to get laid!"
That's exactly the point!

You figured it out!

We had a crazy sense of humor.
We were having a ball!

I love the girls...

I love the girls...

At that point I started thinking
everyone was h*m*.

Women would come to our meetings,

listen attentively,

then timidly say, "I'm not h*m*."

And I'd say, "Are you sure?

Know where you are?

If you're sure you're not h*m*,

then why are you here?"

I remember everyone laughing.

I was very radical at the time,
very radical.

I used to hang around
with this colleague who said,

"I'm done with you. The way you talk,
I'm the one who's abnormal."

I remember that made me laugh.

She didn't go g*y,

but she was starting to wonder
what was normal.

That's what I wanted.

To say everything's normal,
or nothing is.

That was always my idea.

That's what my activism was based on.

I lived freely.

Some understood, others didn't.

I chose a lot of people
who did understand.

In my family too. Except my mother.

Except my mother.
That was a big problem.

My mother had no tools to understand.

Maybe the neighbor.
But not her own child.

My mother was so important to me.

It was awful to know
I was causing her pain.

The truth is I spent my life
trying to seduce my mother.

Showing her what a nice life I had.

She couldn't understand
a woman with no children, no husband...

That was no life for a woman.
Even if she had a career.

It was so...

Part of it was provocation, no doubt.

Maybe deep down...
She was very intelligent.

She just didn't have all the tools.

She didn't have all the tools.

My father supported me.
I have letters.

"Don't let passion
interfere with your career."

"Passion" without being specific.
I appreciated that.

I felt my father understood me.

There's another thing
I'd like to tell you about.

I must've been about 30.

I had a lover I'd met recently.

We were together a while.

She said,
"My mother has invited us for dinner."

I said, "Me too?"
She said, "Yes, she knows, it's fine.

I've brought girls home before.
Mom's fine with it.

You're more than welcome."

I didn't want a mother like that.

I didn't want that mother.

I never went.

I never went
to the home of that family

who was capable of understanding me.

Why? I don't know.
Because I wasn't so lucky?

Or because I loved my mother
as she was.

She kept one of my feet
in heterosexuality.

She prevented me
from getting too crazy.

At the time,
who knew how things might go?

Her refusal to understand
prevented me

from getting too crazy
in a closed-off world.

It created a boundary.
She'd never let me bring a woman home.

She'd never admit I was h*m*.
One day I'd stop.

That mother who said, "Sure, why not?"
I didn't want her!

Can you imagine such a paradox?

In 1976

I was at the end of my rope.

And by chance, in a certain sense,

you noticed me, you saw me,
you'd heard about me,

and you suggested we talk.

That was kind of a life raft for me.

Even if it was difficult,

because I wasn't very open to...

your ideas.

You believed in working in groups.

I was so wrapped up
in my personal drama.

I did have experience
working in groups,

but I was still reticent.

And somehow...

you knew how to reach me.

You said, "There are things we can do.
There's a group."

It's better to give money to g*y Lib
than to a disco.

It's cheaper,
plus it's so fun!

g*y Lib meetings are more than
a great place to hook up.

They're a way to get h*m*
out of the ghetto.

If we don't get together and organize,
speak out

and make demands,
nothing will change.

I told my parents
I was going to be on TV.

And they could watch it.

My mom said, "If you go on TV,

I'll take my car
and drive into the lake."

They lived in Provence.

There was a lake.

I said, "Mom, if that's how you feel,
go drive into the lake."

- Your mother!
- My mother.

After that TV show aired,

I knew I'd have to go to the office

and see my colleagues' faces.

Guess who I ran into in the elevator
that morning?

The boss, no less!

In his uptight voice he said,

"Mr. Fortin, you were very good
on television."

If we hide, we sink.
They pinpoint us anyway.

They track us down and never miss.

When we start saying it, living openly,

people tend to shun us.

But once it gets better
we connect positively.

Instead of a wall of silence
and secrecy,

we connect.
But another thing happens too.

We become, permanently,
the h*m*.

I remember an incident at work.

People would often talk behind my back.
I could feel it.

I walked through the workspace
to the door.

As I was opening it
I heard someone say,

"Think he gives it or gets it?"

Followed by laughter.

I thought to myself,
as many of us surely did back then,

"What do I do?

I can't just let this go."

I went back and said,
"If you have questions, ask me.

You know me. Come talk to me."

Then I locked myself in the restroom
and cried like a baby, shaking.

That was the atmosphere back then.
We were afraid.

I was afraid of the boss,
afraid of what he'd say.

But at the same time...

When I see pictures now
I fall over laughing!

I had a period where I dressed
like a flaming fairy.

I'd go to work in platform heels
stacked this high.

Dressed in white, ball-hugging pants...

little pink scarf...

I was a crazy fairy
for three or four years.

And I remember
it doing me a world of good.

It was one of the things
that liberated me.

But it was terrifying
here in Marseille.

When you're dressed like a fairy,
crocheting,

you think, "This can't end well."

At the same time you think,
"I have to do this."

Daily life was hard for me too.

I spent all my time
keeping up appearances.

I was still keeping up appearances.

You know what your turning point was?

What?

When "Paris Match" put you...

When "Paris Match" published
that center-spread photo of me...

Dancing with that guy in leather...

covered in chains.

At the first
Summer h*m* Uni Party, 1979.

That was rough, but good for you.

They threw the closet door
wide open on me.

It was awful for me.

The h*m* Phenomenon

The Scourge Hits France

Night and day,
they're no longer hiding

Nobody said anything about it.

It took me a while to realize
my parents had seen it.

My mother was an avid reader
of "Paris Match",

so of course she saw it.

My brother-in-law
really raked me over the coals.

He started talking about me

to everyone, notably my parents.

That was despicable.
He really stirred up trouble.

He used "Paris Match"
to out me to quite a few people.

He damaged my reputation
in the eyes of my sister, etcetera.

It was a good way to bring me down.

BUTTFUCKERS TIGHTEN YOUR A-HOLES

Of all people,
Christian became the poster boy

for the rising tide of h*m*.
Poor thing!

- He didn't deserve that.
- It was tough.

But at the end of the day,

you're right, it probably helped me.

We here at Marseille g*y Lib are known

for actively defending h*m*

and progressively organizing
the community.

We've shown what we can do.

h*m* Front
For Revolutionary Action

Death Penalty For f*ggots!

I've been mayor for about 10 years.

I've fought for a number of causes.

One in particular,

concerning the Albion Plateau.

It's symbolic. France's nuclear forces
were based there.

When the army left,
I realized if we wanted

to develop the area
for the good of the inhabitants,

we'd need power.

In France,
mayors have quite a bit of power.

"Gentlemen..."

There are no women senators, naturally.

"Gentlemen, Senators..."

I like this rural life.

People can be quite severe

and morally conservative,

but respect is very important.

People have always defended me.
Even my h*m*.

Because I was slandered
for being h*m*.

I don't know if Catherine
told you that story.

They tried to intimidate me.

The constabulary came, very courteous.

They snooped all around,

checking the barn to see if there was...

who knows what!

The g*y Pride Parade!
I'm only half-joking.

It was said.
"g*y Pride's coming to Albion Plateau."

People said that.

I always came up against that.

However, the group of people around me,

or me among them, to be more modest,

those I worked with,

always knew I had a lot of integrity

and respected me.

They even went the extra mile.

The town council held a deliberation

in support of its h*m* mayor,

saying the harassment had to stop.

I received threats sometimes.
They'd ring at night.

When I was up against
the military-industrial forces.

But we won.

We won.

Go get 'em!

Go on!

My love life was pretty topsy-turvy.

Men on one side,
women on the other.

I liked women,
but I never would have been with one

to really live together...

in a house.

I was with a woman for 8 years.
Unfortunately she died in a car crash.

But I would never have married her.

She knew about me.

So my love life

went back and forth
between men and women,

but I was perfectly happy.
I always adapted

to whatever situation.

I mean...

if I wanted a woman,
I could have a woman.

If I wanted a man,
I could go find a man.

Men have sensitive spots.
Women too, but it's different.

Completely different.

With men it's in front,
behind, anywhere.

I could be woman or man.

I've never had any problem with that.

When it comes to pleasure,

if you prefer one thing, fine with me.

If I prefer the other thing, so be it.

That's what love is.
It's doing it...

Where'd they go?

It's doing it,
and the pleasure that goes with it.

I once knew a man who was 80.

He would travel 50 kilometers
to sleep with one of his mistresses.

That's happiness.

That's how you stay young
mentally and physically.

If people don't want to believe it
I can prove it to them.

That's the key.

If you stop making love, man or woman,

you can't start up again.

Often at 50, women stop wanting it.

Leaving men in the lurch.

You have one of two choices.

Madam Thumb
and her four daughters, or...

That's it.

Know what I mean? No choice.

And if you stop, you can't start again.

Everyone I know who's stopped,
that was it.

The body lets itself go.

Like when you retire.
If you sit in a chair and watch TV,

by 70 you're six feet under.

I must've made love 10,000 times.
I had 4 children.

So most of it wasn't for children.

It was for pleasure.

Pleasure balances you,
sharpens your intelligence.

It helps you love your partner,

love others too.

Pleasure opens you up
in the most extraordinary way.

I had passion with Gudrun.

A few other girlfriends...
Then when I was 77,

I fell passionately in love
with Emmanuelle.

Talk about passion!
I'd wait all afternoon by the phone.

I was with her when she turned 50.

I was 27 years older.

I used to rant at old fogies

for running after nubile young babes.

I was doing the same,
but it felt completely normal.

I was in love, it was passion.

And passion...

Passion, as we know, is over the top.

You have no choice
but to come crashing down.

With Emmanuelle, it was passion.

Suddenly everything seemed possible.

When it ended,
I went through a rough patch.

Alone again...

Maybe that's why I put love behind me.

But not too far behind.

I may still be apt.

Sometimes I wonder if I am.

I only love the wild ones.

And they're hard to live with.

You think,
"What will this insanity do to me?"

Thanks but no thanks!

In the subway I see old men or women
who appeal to me.

Then I think,
"But how far will it go?

For how long? Why?"

We went in over there.

The voyagers entered here
and we went in there.

Up the stairs.

Over there was an old car junkyard.

Lots of old cars.
We used to play in them.

Old car shells. Now it's a parking lot.

We played on these same railings.
We had fun with them.

We'd climb up, spin around.
They're still here.

They close like this.

We were told not to
but we did anyway.

I especially remember this entrance.

Our apartment was here.
That part up there.

Over there were the voyagers.

Strange how little has changed.
I recognize it well.

As though it wasn't... so long ago.

As though it wasn't so long ago.

There are still, there must be...

shadows that remain.

There must be.

Walls are always full of memories.
They are!

Walls absorb things.

That's why it's so moving.

The walls heard us, they saw us.

They remember.

They're bound to remember.

That's what creates the communication.

Otherwise we'd feel nothing.

We feel something
because the walls are speaking to us.

And we're speaking back to them.
There is communication.

"Inanimate objects, have you a soul?

That can unite with our soul,
and force it to love?"

That's beautiful.
That's exactly what we can say.

"Inanimate objects..."

How do we know?

We can talk to a train station.

It hears us!
The train station hears us.

The train station sees my father.

The train station still sees my father.

Of course it does.

Fifty was a very hard age for me.

When I realized I could no longer
attract another woman

with my body.

It made me very sad.

I stopped trying to attract women.

I gave up. I had no more lovers.

Just a few quick affairs
that didn't satisfy me.

Because I was no longer the sensuous,

shameless girl I'd been.

It was over for me.

I can't ignore what I experienced then.

It was a moment of sadness

and loss.

Growing old, by definition,
means giving up

what we were.

But we move on to something else.

The transition is not easy.

Oh yes... there's another thing.

When I was 50
I didn't know what was coming next.

That's what caused the anxiety.

I knew what I was giving up.

But I didn't know,

and the anxiety lasted a while,

what was coming next.

And now I know.

As soon as I knew,

I felt better.

And I still do.

This would be a nice place
to get married.

Yes.

- We'll come here.
- Good idea.

Sold!

I never asked myself
whether I was h*m*.

Am I like everyone else?
Sure I am!

I'm a man.

I'm attracted to men or women,

but I have a preference. That's all.

I never wondered why.

I was born this way, I suppose.

I've always known women.

But I've always slept with men.

It's bizarre!

Why? I have no idea.

I'm 83 and I still have no idea.

I don't worry about it, I'm happy.

Why should we worry about...

whether we're unhappy or happy
with a man or a woman?

It comes from inside. You know?

It's like,
"Why do you like to drink wine?"

Why ask someone that question?

"I like to drink."

"But why do you like to drink?"

"Because I like wine."

"Why do you sleep with men?"

"Because I prefer men."

It's about love.

But love isn't what you think.

Love is something else.

The love of God means loving God,

but God is nothing!

It's your neighbor...

You have to love your neighbor.

Do you understand what I mean?

That's Saint Laurent.

With a crane.

What's that fort called?

Fort Saint-Jean.

- And that one?
- Saint-Nicolas.

I'd been wondering.

Saint-Jean and Saint-Nicolas, ok.

They've had those names
since the 17th century.

I'm not questioning it.

Not the recent Nicolas,
this was a different one.

From ages ago.

It's getting chilly.

Vauban built these forts.

Not to protect the old harbor!

To fight the townsfolk
who were always revolting.

Look at the...

Bernard! I need my jacket.

What did I tell you?

Hold this a sec.

Shame, the tower's nice
when it's not in disguise.

They're repairing it, Bernard.

Restoring, not repairing.

Look, it's beautiful.

There. Thank you.

On the open sea
I will love you

On my white boat
We will sail away

We will navigate...

Look!

Without a crew

On my white boat
We will sail away

On the open sea
I will love you