Based on the novel by Philippe Besson
Mr. Belcourt!
Gaëlle Flamant. Sorry, we came as fast as we could.
- Allow me... - No, it's fine.
Follow me.
- You had a good trip? - Yes.
Good.
It's good to meet you at last. In the flesh.
How long since your last visit?
35 years. Since I left.
Tell me if it's changed. I've always lived here.
This way.
Sorry about the car.
Ours broke down on the way out. This is all we had.
It will be fixed when we arrive, in 45 mins, give or take a tractor.
Thanks, Thierry. This is Mr. Belcourt.
- Front seat? - I prefer behind.
Really?
Fine.
I thought they'd never arrive.
Your story's superb. We were thrilled.
I have more if you want. For Paris.
I already sent some to your publisher.
Here's a memo pad so you don't get lost.
First, we have a signing at Texte Libre. The owner's a fan, you'll see.
The short story with each of your books bought.
Tomorrow, interviews. Local TV and press.
This afternoon, technical rehearsal to get to know the room for your speech.
Usually, we invite visual artists for our special blends.
For our bicentenary, though, a writer seemed just perfect.
Especially a homegrown one.
And there's a guided tour of the cellars for our US importers
if you want to join.
No, thanks. I did it 1,000 times as a kid. I'll pass.
Of course, I understand.
- Andrieu, move it! - I'm coming.
Hurry!
Come alone.
Thanks, Thierry.
Okay?
- Okay, Lucas? How's it going. - Great. Perfect.
Mr. Belcourt...
Let's slip in before the group. Follow me.
Hello, this is Mr. Stéphane Belcourt.
Hello, sir. Just fill this out...
No, it's booked under Baussony.
For the American's passports, Mr. Andrieu has them for you.
- Gaëlle, please. - Coming!
If you drop your things off,
we leave in 15 for the bookstore.
See you later.
Room 15, third floor.
Mr Belcourt, may I?
Come on, sit down.
Am I dreaming or you eye me up?
You like me, right?
Yes.
You already did it?
No.
You?
No.
Not with a guy.
You tell no one.
All right.
Come one, follow me.
Only you and me know.
See you.
- You arrived safely? - Just fine.
All going well?
Sure, even if I wonder what the hell I'm doing here.
It was your call. I didn't force you for one.
We received the short story. They did a fabulous job.
So I saw.
I sent one to Mertot. He wants to reviewer it.
No, it's a commission.
Honestly, I did landscapes. "Cognac, history of the soil."
They aren't even my real memories.
Maybe that's why it's so good.
Thanks a butch.
You could write more. You never published short stories.
The new direction you wanted.
- Still nothing from you. - What?
- The chapters you promised to send. - Actually...
- You forgot? - I trashed them.
You could've send them anyway. It's a great idea.
- You know... - I don't get you right now.
Sorry, gotta go. Can I call you later?
You're a connoisseur?
No, not particularly. An old model, isn't it?
It was my father's.
Lucas. Nice to meet you.
- Stéphane Belcourt. - Yes, I know.
- Really? - Our guest of honor.
Mr. Belcourt?
I'll park her up before I get yelled at.
I was looking all over.
May I introduce our chairman, Mr. Dejean?
Delighted to have the revered author here.
I'm delighted you invited me.
I admit I was skeptical.
Don't get me wrong, nothing against men who like men.
I was concerned about our brand image.
You know, tradition, eternal France...
I was scared you'd be too...
modern.
But I realized my wife was a big fan.
She wept over one of your books, so I though it might work.
Anyway, I'm delighted you accepted our invitation.
In any case, see you tonight.
With the Prefect!
- The Prefect? - It slipped my mind.
An informal dinner at Baussony Manor.
The Prefect's lovely. You can call me for help.
Your readers are waiting. Let's go.
I'll just get my coat.
- Be right back. - All right.
- You scared? - No.
We came as fast as we could.
This is Stéphane Belcourt.
And this is Mr. Teicher, our genial host today.
It's an honor to have you here. I've often tried to organize it.
Take a seat, everybody.
I am...
I am very happy to welcome Mr. Belcourt.
As you know he's a prolific writer, as many as two novels a year.
So prolific I struggle sometimes to keep up.
But there's been a two-year gap. An eternity!
Dear Stéphane, you are often described as the great writer of love.
True, but of the end of love.
Nobody captures romantic ruins better than you.
If I may quote you,
"When, following grace,
there is nothing but gaping holes opening up ahead."
Mr. Belcourt was due to read from his short story,
but prefers to dip into an earlier novel to celebrate his homecoming.
The Betrayal of Thomas Spencer.
Stay stop.
"In the photo, Thomas is smiling.
slightly.
Awkwardly.
I asked him to pose for the camera.
His discomfort under the lens's scrutiny is blatant.
He rejects the intrusion, the indecency.
He makes an effort for me. An effort to smile.
It's a photo from when we were young.
A moment captured.
Almost nothing.
The photo
says something about him.
His beauty, of course.
His singular virility.
As well as his shyness.
The photo also says some...
thing
about the two of us.
The urge to keep a record,
to testify that happiness existed, since it is there...
since it is there in the photo."
Sorry about those other days.
We can't risk it, you know.
You won't be disappointed.
Amber memories...
among friends.
Thank you, Alexandre.
- What's your name? - Geneviève.
- There. - Thank you. Goodbye.
Can you sign these for the Americans?
Sorry, you thought it was over.
No, no problem.
But they won't understand. It's in French.
Perhaps you could write in English. I saw you lived in San Francisco.
And other places.
I'll start with you.
Okay, with pleasure.
- You work at Baussony? - In the Los Angeles office.
The visitors ate our best distributors, so I'm looking after them.
How's it going? Not too hard?
Not at all. They're delighted to see what they talk about every day.
Make them laugh too, and you've struck gold.
I see. Bravo.
So...
Lucas, if I remember right?
And your last name?
Andrieu. Lucas Andrieu.
That's funny.
Because I knew a...
Thomas Andrieu in high school.
There weren't 150. Must be my father.
You knew him well?
More or less.
Classmates?
No, we did our senior year together.
Nuts. He could have told me he knew a celebrity.
Everything's relative.
I wasn't one back then.
He didn't make the connection.
Come on, a writer.
I'm only half-surprised. My father never said much.
You didn't stay in touch?
No.
After finals, he moved to Spain.
And I was born there.
My mother's Spanish.
All right.
When my grandparents needed help on the farm,
we came back.
I see.
Is he well?
He died last year.
Sorry to tell you like this.
No, it's just...
He was very young to go.
I was sudden.
Excuse me, the bus has arrived.
I have to go. I'm sorry.
We're doing the cellar tour. Want to come?
I don't think Mr. Belcourt is too keen.
Okay, I won't insist.
Hold on, why not? It may have changed.
As you wish. I'll send those up to your room.
All right. Thank you.
Okay, they're waiting for you.
Well, didn't you take your time?
I was about to leave.
- I could've ridden with you. - So people see us together?
It's fine here. There's no one.
You'll like this.
Come on.
Hold on.
What's up?
What?
Do that I do.
Watch out!
Sorry, my apologies.
You're bored.
I feel bad dragging you along.
No, not at all.
But nothing's changed.
Sure, that's tradition for you.
It makes a good cognac.
I don't like raking over the past.
Most likely, you feel nostalgic or disappointed.
I like nostalgia.
Really?
You're too young for it.
No, think again.
In any case, you can't escape your past, right?
Here.
Thanks, I don't drink.
You don't? You write about it really well.
Sure but...
Internet was my friend on that one.
- Be right back. - Sure.
My father mentioned you once or twice.
I think we had one of your books at home.
Really? Which one?
I don't remember.
The cover was a drawing or painting
of an American house. Red.
With wheat around it.
The Betrayal of Thomas Spencer.
Funny. I read from it earlier. You read it?
I began it but I was young and it was too psychological for me.
I'll have another go.
How do you come up with all these stories?
They just come to you like that?
The inspiration?
I always wondered how you guys do it.
You dream it up or...
or you find inspiration in reality?
Your life?
Your memories?
- My father may be? - No.
No, not at all.
Talk about me to expose my so-called traumas?
No, I like making things up.
As a kid I loved watching people and imagining their lives.
When I was just a boy.
My mother always said, "Stop with the lies."
All I did was to tell stories.
It's not lying, making up stories, right?
Unless you don't make them up.
- Sure there's no one? - My folks get home late.
It's cool. Just what you wanted.
Come on.
You listen to that?
Yes, I like his lyrics.
I prefer Téléphone. They rock.
- What's that? - Nothing.
- You wrote it? - No, please, they're terrible stories.
It's cool.
What?
How did it go?
Never gets boring, huh?
Shall we go test the mics?
I planned to write my speech.
- You haven't already? - No.
I always wait until the last minute to...
to let the present inspire me.
I hope it hits the mark.
I mean the present, not your speech.
Take your time, I'll manage with the mics.
See you later.
Come with me.
- Sorry? - I messed up with the cellar tour,
and I don't like to fall short.
Hold on, I said I was writing my speech.
Sure, but it's now or never.
They're free. I'll be busy later.
You likewise. Let's go.
- And you like the USA? - Sure, it's cool.
It was a golden opportunity to see the world,
and still be here for Grandma.
I'm all she has now.
Your mother?
No, she went home to Spain a long time ago.
She was never really happy here.
Galicia has more going for it, right?
- You have brothers and sisters? - No, I'm an only child.
Mom tried talking Dad round but it was non-negotiable.
Poor woman got the short straw.
She wanted six.
- Your father didn't want more? - He never gave in.
Maybe they had me too young.
They hardly knew each other when Mom became pregnant.
Abortion wasn't an option with super catholic grandmothers.
So, shotgun wedding and done.
Can't say I was a child of love.
Well?
We'll go down this way.
It's an old clay quarry that filled up.
The earth's too acidic for plants or fish.
That explains the color.
Dad didn't share much with me but he brought me here.
His secret hideout.
Like it?
- Okay? - Yes.
- You don't look it. - It's nothing, just...
You're so unlike him.
Yeah, I took after my mother.
Physically, personality...
It's odd, all from one parent, nothing from the other.
Tell me...
What was my father like?
Meaning?
When he was young?
It's hard to imagine your folks before you.
Before you existed.
So I was wondering.
I don't know what to say.
For example, was he a brainbox?
Or a numbskull at school?
Was he serious? A party monster?
Did he act up?
Or with you even?
- Did he get on with you? - He was solid in class.
I'm not really bothered about that.
I was thinking...
You might know stuff he never told me.
Him being my father.
He never told me anything.
Look...
He was quite reserved, true enough.
But...
Very popular.
- Really? - Sure, I mean...
With the girls, especially.
The usual. Popular with girls. Or just popular.
But he was always with his buddies.
Really?
I can't imagine him with buddies.
At the farm, it was all work and no play.
Nobody ever came by.
Yes, he really helped your grandparents.
You knew them?
No.
But he told me about the farm.
You're his first friend...
The first one I've met.
Why come here?
- You've been off school all week. - My Dad's sick.
Seriously, you're nuts.
Did I say you could come?
Life here and with you are different things.
Separate worlds.
- Can't you have friends? - Not like you. Look at you.
- What does that mean? - Nothing...
- Just... - You're ashamed?
Ashamed of me?
No.
If they see us, they'll wonder.
- You know... - Wonder what? Say it!
You started this. Why choose me? Why with me?
I'm not with you!
I told you all along.
- Only you and me know. - Yes but...
Go.
I can't start without thanking Baussony
and the elixir that made our town famous worldwide...
Cognac, a town.
Cognac, an elixir.
To Lucas Andrieu...
To the young man, I don't say,
"You wouldn't be related to...
Nor do I say,
If you had any idea how close I was to a person with the same last name...
I say, "Funny that. I was at school with a Thomas Andrieu."
He shoots back,
"He aren't 150 of them. Must be my father."
He astonished his father never told him about me.
I act indifferent, poker-faced.
"Celebrity? Everything relative. I wasn't one back then."
I was just a 17-year-old, hiding behind his glasses.
A young man madly in love with his father.
Who lived only for the moment
when he'd be with him again.
Of course, I don't tell him that.
Actually, what may I say to him?
How can I talk about him without talking about us?
My bedroom had become our kingdom.
Our nest.
Where nobody ever could reach us."
I think I love you.
What?
Ich liebe dich.
Te quiero. Je t'aime.
You don't say stuff like that.
Sure, you do.
If not, how do people know you love them?
It's something you feel.
Something you feel?
I'm feeling nothing.
Say it, just to see.
- No. - Yes!
- Say "I love you." - No way.
You unromantic old fart.
Say I love you.
No way.
Stéphane, are you home?
- Stéphane? - Yes!
I don't feel well. I asked to leave early. All good?
I'm working. Be right there.
Don't. I'm going to take a nap. See you later.
Sleep well.
What a fairy! Come on, out.
Shit! You idiot.
That hurt.
Sorry.
- You need help. - I can't get caught.
So what?
If it happens, it won't kill us.
You don' get it.
You got it easy. You're gay.
All right, because you're what?
Note the same. I can go with girls.
I "can" too, but I don't want to.
There you go.
I wanted to, and will again.
That's great.
So if you're not gay, beat it.
Beat it while my mom's asleep.
Come out. It's not a coffin.
You don't realize.
You'll take off and I'll stay behind.
No, you can leave as well.
Impossible. I'm an only son.
I work the farm or it dies.
If you go, nobody dies.
You'll be a writer.
- You'll meet anyone who's... - Stop that.
I don't know what I'll be.
But staying's a death sentence. For you, too.
We'll come up with something.
Okay?
At last!
You all know Gaëlle Flamant.
But allow me to introduce our great writer, Stéphane Belcourt.
This is Mrs. Burdo, the Prefect, and her husband.
Mr. and Mrs. Debauchies, regional director of tourism.
And now your most fervent admirer,
my wife Éléonore.
A real pleasure.
Mutual. I believe I'm here thanks to you.
Above all, thanks to your books.
That's right, our happy band of American importers.
We've organized a mixology workshop.
They're cocktail crazy there.
- Let's go in for a drink. - With pleasure.
Gaëlle, where's the bathroom?
Just on the right.
Mr. Belcourt, join us.
- May I? - They're be delighted.
What a jerk! A real jerk!
May I?
Be my guest.
I hear you're hard at work on your speech.
If you need re-reading...
No, it's fine, thanks.
I'll stick to tradition. You'll be very pleased.
Tradition must be respected to make a good cognac,
but life is a different story.
I'll let you into secret.
My daughter aimed to be a master-assembler, making fine cognac.
I stopped her. By tradition it's a man's job.
She moved to Australia after severing ties here
and she makes whiskey.
It's fair to say that tradition made me stupid.
So for your speech, feel free.
Let it out.
Actually,
make my wife cry again.
You're very good at it.
I'll try.
Young blood! You know our dear Lucas?
Yes, we met already.
His future with us is bright.
Without him, you wouldn't be here.
Really?
- It's not thanks to your wife? - She sealed the deal.
But Mr. Andrieu first proposed you as guest of honor.
He knows your work by heart.
No, it wasn't exactly like that.
Don't be so modest.
Lucas was born to work here.
His father was one of our winegrowers. His grandparents likewise.
We really are a family business.
All good with our friends?
Yes, great. Actually, I must get back to them.
Of course, I'll drop by. Let's go.
Excuse me...
- I'll be right back. - Of course.
- Care to explain? - Not here.
- Someplace else then. - I have to stay with them.
- So let's stay. - I can't talk. I'm working here.
You just have to smile. You never played that?
Talking trash about bemused foreigners with a big smile.
Smile!
That's good.
So what's the deal? What the heck?
You said you barely started one book.
That's Dejean, always exaggerating.
Really? Same goes for the invitation being your idea?
You might have said. I get a sense of...
deception or even lies. Or am I getting ideas?
Smile. They're looking.
Cat got your tongue?
Turns out, you're as stubborn as your dad.
Other surprises up your sleeve?
He is dead, at least?
What did you say?
I didn't mean it.
I'm sorry.
Sorry.
Wait!
Stop!
Stop, please!
You want to know?
I was always struck by my parents' wedding photo.
My father's expression.
Wondering what he's doing there.
He only ever brightened up when you were on TV.
He said you were a school friend. He had all your books.
You on TV, we had to shut up. It was sacred.
My mother didn't watch.
Books didn't interest her. Dad's earlier life even less.
I stayed.
Watching dad watch you with a smile.
I wondered what you meant to him.
And how come only you could make him smile.
What was he for you?
- What did he say? - Nothing!
My dad never talked but I need to understand.
Your thing ruined our lives.
He walked out on us.
What? We were 17.
I never saw him again. His walking out isn't my doing.
I'm sure he went looking for you. That's what I need to hear.
Whether it was worth it.
It's nuts. I last saw your dad 35 years ago.
You rock up, load all this onto me. Just think!
- Was it worth it? - No, it was not.
Be sure of that. It was not worth it!
Why write so much about it?
What?
In And Finally Farewell, you're writing to a man who left you.
A woman's writing! My heroine. I make things up.
- Back to the hotel? - Wait here while I...
I'll wait outside.
The Protagonist of Thomas Spencer. In His Brother, it's Thomas Andrieu!
Who are you kidding?
Why won't you talk, dammit?
You father dumped me, same as you. Not a word, no explanation.
It's the past now. I suffered enough, so leave me alone!
Mr. Belcourt, a problem?
I was a long day. I need rest for my speech.
- You can't just go. - Tell the Prefect I felt unwell.
- I'll come too. - Don't bother!
I insist.
- Lucas? - I have to email LA.
Thierry, let's go.
Mr. Dejean was worried about your speech. I said you were on it.
He mentioned it and didn't seem too worried.
All right.
- The main thing is you're happy. - I'm not.
I suffered a lot here.
A small town when you don't fit in, just think.
The short story was a miracle already, so a speech?
Why come back if you suffered so much?
As least your suffering has paid well. Others weren't so lucky.
What? What's wrong?
Mr Belcourt slings mud at our town when he should be grateful.
It's his only subject.
It's getting old. Could be time to change record.
Lucas, that's enough.
No, I listen to my readers. It's very instructive.
Mr. Andrieu knows my work by heart.
So it's repetitive, is it?
Yes, lately, you're going round in circles.
- As you know. Two years without a book. - The short story!
True. We lucked out there.
Not brooding works for you.
- Lying works for me. - So keep it up.
Stop!
I've no idea what's going on, but it's awkward, so let's calm down.
And we stay focused on tomorrow's ceremony.
I'm sorry, Mr. Belcourt, and I apologize for Lucas.
Whatever came over you, we'll discuss it later.
Silence, I said. And stop taking me for a fool.
What's going on? Tell me.
It's fine.
I'll tell you later.
Congrats.
You too.
See you tomorrow?
Can't. I'm going to Spain.
Every year, I help my uncle's family out on their farm.
How long for?
All July.
Can we call?
Not really.
Anyway, I'm in the fields.
You can't write either.
But I'll write.
When will I see you?
I get back early August.
I'm away with my parents, back the 18th.
See? You'll make me wait.
Here, look...
Let's meet on the 18th at 18:00.
Easy to remember.
At the pool like the first time.
My parents gave me a camera for my finals. Wanna try it?
Then gave you a gift before the results?
They had no doubts.
I'll get my bike and let's go.
Get some sleep. Tomorrow's your big day.
I barely ate earlier. Any idea where I can find something?
It's a small town here.
Luckily for you, I can pull strings.
And you, don't you ever sleep?
We shuttled everyone back.
I was taking five. I live around the corner.
So we have chips and raisins.
Or almonds.
A feast! Thank you.
I love it when everybody's asleep and all is calm.
Thanks, I don't drink.
- You're not fun, are you? - How come?
You're just no fun.
I can be very funny.
- Sure? - Sure!
For example, if I...
If I...
Yes, hold on...
Now, that's funny.
I wanted to apologize for earlier.
What for?
What I said about small towns was unfair.
You're right.
Life in a small town is harder when you don't fit in.
I should know.
I got out at the first chance.
And I soon came back because this is where I feel best.
But I made a promise to myself.
To live life my way and love who I wanted.
It cost me part of my family.
Some friends.
But I made others.
Staying doesn't mean caving in.
To those who stay then.
Why accept our invitation if coming back was so hard?
When I received it, it was...
a year ago?
My life was
in the dumps.
I'd just broken up yet again.
My fault as usual, apparently.
"A wonderful writer about love who's incapable of love."
My ex's last words.
My writing tanked, too.
I'd forgotten why I was a writer, if I ever knew. Anyway...
The invitation came and I thought...
May be it's time to call up some ghosts.
Then the year flew by and I arrived totally unprepared.
You already knew Lucas?
No.
I'd no idea he existed.
But...
I knew his father well.
We were 17.
He was your ghost.
He was my first love.
Did you know him?
No.
When Lucas started with us, they'd lost touch long ago.
But I went to his funeral.
- Really? - Yes. Lucas began with me.
He's kind of my protégé.
But I'd never been to such a morose funeral.
There was no one there.
No friends, no coworkers.
Just Lucas and his grandmother.
He took care of everything. Paperwork, the cemetery...
Everything.
Where's he buried?
Their village. Javrezac.
The toughest part is his father left nothing.
No letter, no explanation.
If you do that, you love a note.
You didn't know?
I'm sorry.
How did he do it?
Hanged himself at home.
Are you okay?
Stéphane?
Morning, Lucas.
Can I sit down?
Go ahead, I'm nearly done.
Gaëlle told me about your father.
She thought I knew.
Yes, she said. It's okay.
I'm sorry.
He really left zero explanation?
Is it any of your business?
You couldn't talk about him and now I have to?
Know what?
You were right.
It's the past.
Your dad was a miracle. He wasn't for me.
He was made for the girls.
In the schoolyard, he stood out.
I noticed him right away but I'd never have dared.
Then, one day...
He came over to me and...
I still can't believe it.
I could tell no one. That was the condition.
We'd go up to my bedroom.
It became our kingdom.
We talked.
We made love.
I thought it would last forever.
Then he went to Spain and never came back.
I always wondered why he chose me.
If he'd loved me.
Just a little bit even.
All he left me were questions.
But I loved your father like crazy.
Good evening,
may I speak to Thomas, please?
He's not here. Who's calling?
Vincent.
A classmate.
Yes.
When will he be back?
I don't know. He lives in Spain now.
How come?
He stayed on to work with his uncle.
Can I give him a message?
Hello?
From Stéphane to Thomas
Stéphane's not answering his phone. It's for the press interview.
- He's not in his room? - No.
Yes?
Where?
Now you tell me. I've been looking all over.
All right. Thank you.
He asked Thierry to take him to Javrezac.
There you are. We were looking all over.
- Did I miss something? - Local TV and press.
Shoot! I should get back.
Too late.
They'll be there tonight.
Great.
I never expected to see him again.
Specially here, like this.
He never let me visit.
The time I tried, I'll never forget.
I never saw his farm or his parents.
Never saw his room.
I knew nothing of his life, in fact.
Before you...
I knew nothing of his life.
Tell me what happened?
He never let me read your books.
Said they were for adults.
Sure enough, as a freshman in Bordeaux, I went into the first bookstore,
and bought all they had.
That's when I...
When his first name kept cropping up, or even his full name,
the idea took shape in my mind.
I knew you were gay.
You never hid it in interviews.
One week-end, when he was alone in his workshop...
I told him I'd read all your books
and his name kept recurring.
He just brushed it off,
kept doing what he was doing.
I asked him if he knew why.
And what you meant to him.
He looked up, and you should have seen that look.
That's when I Knew it had existed.
My father in love with a boy.
Next week-end in the kitchen, he told us he was leaving, and not to look for him.
My mother begged, my grandfather threatened,
but nothing doing. He had it all organized.
He gave up the farm, everything.
He told me I was a grown-up and didn't need him anymore.
He took a bag and his motorbike, and he left.
He didn't come looking for me.
Yes, I know that now.
Coming?
It's me, Granny.
Granny, are you home?
Hello, sweetie, how are you?
I'm good, and you?
Fine, thanks. This is a surprise.
Sure, I'm showing a friend around...
- How about that? - This is Stéphane.
- Ma'am. - Hello. Nice to meet you.
You work with Lucas?
Non, he lives in Paris.
He's here for the bicentenary.
Take a seat. Can you get you anything? A pineau?
With pleasure.
Well, in this case, I'll fetch the bottle.
- How are things in the US? - All good still.
- That's great. - I'm happy there, you know.
That's the main thing.
With my little Americans.
They're here visiting. I'm showing them around.
- Great, thanks. - I'm looking after them.
So they're depending on you.
- They're depending on me. - Good.
- You went to choir the week? - Of course.
What did you sing this Wednesday?
Le Temps des Cerises.
- Did you enjoy it? - Yes, you bet.
- You were with Bernadette and Michèle? - Sébastien played La Java Bleue.
- Yes, it's another one. - I know.
But our Michèle was sick.
She couldn't come so...
We miss her because she's our conductor.
Nothing serious?
No, exhaustion. It happens, doesn't it?
- She'll be back? - I hope so...
After he died, I cleared his house.
And found this.
I always wondered if he's received it.
We took it after our finals results.
Your father hated having his photo taken.
But for one he didn't argue.
Perhaps he knew we'd never see each other again.
I didn't know.
On his computer, I found lots of emails.
From the same man.
His lover, apparently.
In fact, my father moved to Brest.
They met there and...
had a secret relationship.
But this guy couldn't take it anymore.
He wanted to love in the open.
His last email was an ultimatum.
Three days later,
my father was found hanged in his garage.
Know what hurts the most?
Not my father loving men. Seriously...
No, it's him hiding it his whole life.
He never overcame his shame.
What hurts is...
He was a coward till the end.
This was in this study.
It was blank, so I thought it was his last wishes.
But no.
It's a letter he never sent.
Dated August '84.
I think it has your answers.
I'll be outside, ready to go.
Stéphane, Lucas, let's go.
Quick, it's started.
- You can change there. - It's fine. Give me that.
We're here to celebrate this elixir of fraternity
of conviviality
and of warmth that brings us together.
And to celebrate the excellence of the art
that constitutes this elixir.
"Time, suspend thy flight, and at auspicious hours..."
You know how it goes.
But it is with great pride that I invite to join me
the man who uniquely captured the nobility of our region,
its past and values,
Mr. Stéphane Belcourt!
Good evening.
Naturally, I cannot begin without thanking Baussony
and son elixir that made our town famous worldwide.
I say "our town" since I grew up here.
Writing this short story,
I wanted to give pride of place to certain values.
Know-how that Baussony has preserved for 200 years and...
the preservation of know-how.
For know-how is...
It's also...
Actually, I'm very happy to be back.
I often delayed it, but I don't regret it.
It was full of surprises.
Yes.
25 years writing books.
So many characters, places and scenes I've dreamed up.
As a boy, I'd watch people and invent lives for them.
It worried my mother, who'd say,
"Stop with the lies."
She meant, "Stop telling stories."
It stuck with me.
But...
Behind the lies you tell, there is always some truth.
Our own truth.
The one we keep hidden.
Personally...
I kept hidden the existence of a boy.
We met here.
We were 17.
He was the first one to look at me.
To give me self-confidence.
To know before me that I'd be a writer.
And then life separated us.
Until this week-end when I learned he ended his life
because he could not overcome his shame
about loving men.
It was son who told me.
Yes...
He had a son.
He had a "normal" life.
Or tried at least.
Like so many others.
I've known men who have hidden their whole lives
because telling their truth seemed insurmountable.
Because they were simply ashamed.
After always being told it's wrong, unnatural, deviant,
they wound up believing it.
Thomas...
His name was Thomas.
was one of those men.
Even if he spent his life lying,
I cannot help thinking it's not what he wanted in death.
It's true.
He could have erased any trace of his story, but no!
He left letters, emails, a photo.
So the finder would learn the truth. His truth.
He knew that would be his son.
Sure, he did it his way.
Like a puzzle.
But he knew his son would piece it together.
It's easy to criticize him
but he never doubted his child.
No, never.
Through his death,
he overcame his shame
and found the strength to tell his son...
"This is who I am."
Like finally being able to say,
I love you.
It's crazy
to have spent all these years inventing stories,
while denying the whole point.
You always write to someone.
You write because they're far away, because you've gone,
because you've fled, and space and time separate you.
You write to someone
to give back what they gave you.
The warmth of the day on your skin.
The thrill of having a body and feeling it vibrate.
The joy of feeling that you exist at least,
when they look at you.
You write to someone so they know.
You write to someone to make them present again.
Present for us as well as themselves.
Present for life.
Even if it doesn't always work.
But at least
you must try.
Again and again.
And again.
- Hi, Stéphane. Sleep well? - Very well.
I'll get my bag, meet you at the car.
See you there.
If ever you come to California, let me know.
With pleasure.
And if you come to Paris...
You'll write about this, won't you?
You can't help it.
Never about my life. You know that.
I have your permission?
I'm sure he'd have liked that.
Thanks.
Thank you.
- Gotta go. - Sure.
Stéphane...
I'm in Spain and I won't be back.
Not so soon, anyway.
You'll move to Bordeaux.
And I bet you won't stop there.
You know what I think.
You're made to go places.
So...
Our paths separate here.
I know you'd want it to be different.
For me to find the words to reassure you.
I couldn't.
One day, you asked me,
"Why me?"
I should've said, "Because you're different."
"You'll go away and we'll stay behind."
You'll go away.
And you'll tell all you see. You'll find the words.
Unlike me.
At the end, I tell myself, you know.
Ich liebe dich.
Te quiero.
We couldn't go on. Your life's waiting for you.
Without me.
Because I won't change.
I'm writing to tell you I was happy in these months together.
And I already know
I'll never be so happy again.