Stranger, The (2025)

[bunniefuu]

Algiers, a splendid modern city,

was a small, ancient town in 1930.

Crumbling houses, packed tight.

If Fromentin's ghost returns,

he'll find the Casbah unchanged.

A crazy blend of styles, colors,

smells and sounds.

A maze of alleys and stairways.

But Algiers is now so much more!

France has opened it up.

The new city soars to greater heights,

with wider avenues, great monuments

and buildings so tall and Parisian.

This smooth blend of Occident

and Orient

gives Algeria her charm.

And Algiers is the summon.

Algiers is a smile

beaming at tourists...

ALGERIA

LIBERATION FRONWE ARE FRENCH

VIVE LA FRANCE

He asks what you did.

I k*lled an Arab.

THE STRANGER

Hello, Mr. Meursault?

Telegram for you.

- Have a good day.

- Thanks.

Mother deceased

Burial tomorrow

Deepest sympathies

Come in.

Ah, Meursault.

Yes?

I'm sorry, it's not my fault.

How many days do you need?

Two.

How old was your mother?

Around sixty.

You may go.

Here.

We only have one mother.

Bon apptit, my friend.

Hot, isn't it?

Mr. Meursault?

Hello, sir.

The director awaits you.

Death certificate

Your mother

had 3 happy years here, right?

You were her sole support,

your revenues are modest.

You couldn't cover her needs.

Yes.

So...

The funeral is tomorrow at 11.

You can keep vigil tonight.

Your mother expressed a desire

for a religious burial and mass.

I've made the arrangements.

Thank you.

I'll just need a signature here, please.

She's in our mortuary

so as not to upset the residents.

When someone dies,

it can be difficult to care for them.

Good day.

After you.

Mr. Meursault.

I'll open the coffin for you.

You don't want to see your mother

one last time?

Why not?

There's no point.

Like some dinner?

I'm not hungry.

Coffee?

Yes, thank you.

Thanks.

Come in,

everyone.

Take a seat.

Make yourselves comfortable.

Your mother was her only friend here.

Now she has no one.

Wake up, everyone!

Go back to your rooms.

Another coffee?

Good morning, Father.

That's Mr. Perez, your mother's fianc.

Mr. Perez!

Lean on me.

Amen.

Come on!

Stinking b*stard of a dog!

Come.

Damn you!

Go on!

Move, stop staring!

Dirty animal!

Thanks.

Baths of Algiers

Hi there!

Hi, Marie.

- How are you?

- Good.

- And you?

- Good.

- Still working at...

- Yeah.

And you?

Still a typist.

Great.

It's so hot.

Shall we swim?

Ok.

Let's go.

You're in mourning?

Maman died.

I buried her yesterday.

I'm sorry.

Fancy going to the cinema?

Sure.

Why not?

Two.

No indigenes allowed

So, I'll start.

Fear:

"All condemned men...

will have their heads cut off!"

Bravo!

Pity:

"All condemned men...

"will have their heads...

cut off."

Assertive...

And pensive!

Pensive...

Comic!

Sunday lunch at my Aunt's.

See you soon, Marie

Get lost, we're closed!

Scram!

How are you?

Was it very difficult?

No.

Good.

Hello.

Here.

Dirty Arabs!

Dammit!

Hey Meursault, how's it going?

Wine and blood sausage?

Come.

A nice blood sausage for you.

That Arab we saw earlier

is Djemila's brother.

He's mad because she's my woman.

I support that b*tch,

pay for everything.

If she'd work a half-day,

that'd take the pressure off.

But she won't.

Says she just can't do it.

I give her 20 francs a day,

buy her nylons, pay her rent,

while she sips coffee

with her girlfriends.

I realized she was cheating.

So I beat her.

Obviously, she told her brother.

I gave her a piece of my mind.

All she wanted

was to have fun with her thing.

What do you make of all this?

I don't know.

Do you think she's cheating?

You never know.

Anyway, I'll write her a letter

to make her regret it.

She'll come back, I'll sleep with her,

then kick her out.

You can help me.

How so?

For the letter.

Djemila Hamdani.

You write so well.

I knew you knew life,

but I didn't know how well.

You're a true friend now!

You sure are.

Don't let yourself go, pal.

I heard about your mother.

It's sad, but bound to happen.

That's life.

We men understand each other.

Right...

What is it?

Must be Salamano, a neighbor.

He beats his dog and yells at it.

Poor creature.

Like an old couple.

I'm going for groceries.

I'll be back.

Do you love me?

That means nothing.

Yes it does!

I don't think so.

The neighbor with the dog?

No, must be Raymond.

- What is it?

- Over here.

We have to do something.

Call the police!

One is coming.

This way, Officer.

Where is it?

Police!

Open up!

Get out here, right now.

What is it?

He hit me, Officer.

Not true.

- Your name?

- Raymond Sints.

Remove that cigarette.

After I finish it.

Ah, right!

May I pick it up, Officer?

Police don't clown around, got it?

Got it, yeah.

He hit me, he's a pimp!

Isn't calling me a pimp

against the law?

Shut up.

- You'll get it, b*tch.

- Enough.

Sints, you'll be summoned.

And you, scram!

Or I'll summon you too!

Get back inside!

Everybody disperse, now!

Go on, get going!

Do you know that woman?

Is she a prost*tute?

I don't know, she's his mistress.

It didn't bother you?

What?

Him beating her?

That's their business.

I'll be going.

Am I disturbing you?

Good.

I did what I had to do,

she deserved it.

The officer doesn't matter.

I know how to handle them.

Did you expect me to hit him too?

You're so quiet.

I didn't expect anything.

I don't like officers.

No surprise there, they're trash.

C'mon, I'll buy you a drink.

Will you be my witness?

What?

Stick up for me at the police station.

What do you mean?

Just say that b*tch disrespected me.

- That's all?

- Yeah.

Ok.

We'll go to the brothel. My treat.

- Thanks, but I don't like that.

- I get it.

That little gal you see is cute.

- What's her name?

- Marie.

Pretty name.

Damn virgins!

Hey Salamano, what's up?

Rotten hound!

Where's your dog?

We were at the Parade Ground, as usual.

I was watching the escape artist.

Suddenly, he was gone!

Don't worry, he'll come back.

He needed a smaller collar.

I never expected

the b*stard to take off!

You should check the pound.

For a fee, they'll release him.

How much?

What'll it cost me?

I don't know.

Pay for that stinking pooch?

He can die first!

Ok Salamano, see you around.

They won't take him from me,

Mr. Meursault?

They'll give him back?

If not, what'll become of me?

The pound keeps dogs

for three days.

After that...

I don't know.

Goodnight, Mr. Salamano.

Hello?

Meursault, it's for you.

It's Raymond, you good?

Yeah.

Just wanted to tell you...

What?

Arabs followed me all day long.

One was Djemila's brother.

If you see him, let me know!

Ok.

You two fancy the beach on Sunday?

My buddy's got a cabin.

Sure.

I'll ask her.

Meursault?

- Come see me in my office.

- Yes, sir.

Gotta go.

Bye.

I want to open an office in Paris.

To do business

directly with the big companies.

Any interest?

You're young, you might like it.

Living in Paris,

traveling part of the year...

Yes.

I don't know.

No interest in a life change?

I don't believe

a life change is possible.

And one life is as good as another.

I don't dislike life here.

Your lack of ambition

is terrible for business.

You may go.

- He offered you a job there?

- Yeah.

I'd love to see Paris.

What's it like?

Dirty.

The walls are black.

Pigeons everywhere.

People are ghostly white.

Shall we get married?

Doesn't matter to me.

If you want.

So you love me?

As I've said, it means nothing.

Then why marry me?

Because it's of no importance.

If you want to, let's marry.

Marriage is a serious thing.

No.

I don't think so.

You'd say yes to another woman

if you cared for her?

Naturally.

Sometimes I also wonder if I love you.

You're strange, not like the others.

You say whatever you think.

Only normal.

I don't know.

It can be hurtful.

Maybe that's why I like you.

One day I may hate you

for the same reason.

But I want to marry you.

Ok.

I went to the pound.

My dog isn't there.

They told me he was probably run over.

Want to come in?

I got married late.

I was never really happy with my wife,

but I was used to her.

When she died,

I felt very lonely.

So a buddy from the factory

gave me a puppy.

I bottle-fed him at first.

Dogs don't live as long as men,

so we got old together.

He had a terrible temper.

We fought all the time.

But he was a good dog.

He was a beautiful breed.

His coat was so pretty!

You never saw him

before he got sick.

Every day, I applied his ointment.

But his real disease...

was old age.

You can't recover from that.

Your poor mother

loved my dog.

You must be so sad since she died.

I hope the dogs won't bark tonight.

I always think I hear mine.

Shall we?

Sints is coming.

We have to wait for him?

Charmed, I'm sure!

How do you do?

So Meursault, ready for a swim?

sh*t, what's he want?

- What's up?

- Nothing.

Arabs, mad at Sints.

Why?

Silly stuff.

Let's not miss the bus.

Let's go!

Masson!

Hey Raymond!

Great to see you.

This is Meursault and Marie.

Meet Masson.

She's lovely.

Real cute!

What a waste!

You haven't kissed me today!

You're all sandy.

Come rinse off!

Come on!

Cheers, Raymond!

It's nice to have you.

Bread.

Enjoy.

How's the fish?

Delicious.

I was hungry.

I like this kid!

Nice job, Lucia.

Know what time it is?

- 11:30!

- Yeah, it's early.

- We eat when we're hungry!

- True.

Right.

Lucia has a nap after lunch.

I need to move.

I'll do it, Marie.

Let's take a walk.

- C'mon!

- Ok...

Let's go.

Get up, Meursault!

- Oh sh*t.

- What?

Recognize him, Meursault?

- Who is it?

- Djemila's brother, he's after me.

If there's a fight, you take the beret.

I got the one in blue.

Another one comes, he's yours.

Let's go.

Stop following me, pretty boy.

Piece of sh*t!

I gave this dirty Arab what for!

Raymond!

sh*t!

b*stard cut me!

He f*cking cut me!

You ok?

Damn those Arabs!

- What happened?

- Nothing.

- You're bleeding!

- No.

- There's a doctor nearby.

- Let's go.

Hurry!

Who was it?

The Arabs from earlier.

They followed us?

No doubt.

- What do they want?

- I don't know.

Were you scared?

No, not really.

I want to leave.

Marie!

So?

Doc says the wound is superficial.

I'm going back.

- Where?

- For a walk.

- Stop, Raymond!

- Off my back!

We're coming!

f*ck off!

What are you doing?

- Going.

- Are you sure?

They're still here.

- Should I sh**t him?

- No.

- Why not?

- Only if he pulls his knife.

No, Raymond.

Fight man-to-man.

Give me your g*n.

- If he pulls his knife, I'll sh**t.

- Ok.

Here.

You see a g*n, you run!

Filthy dogs.

Let's go.

Raymond. You ok?

No need to panic like that.

If you imagine evil, you attract it.

I want to leave.

Something to drink?

Everything began to sway.

The sea blew a thick, blazing wind.

The sky seemed to break wide open

and hail down fire.

My whole body stiffened,

and I clenched the g*n.

The trigger released.

I felt the smooth underbelly of the butt,

and there,

in that sudden, deafening sound,

is where it all began.

I shook off the sweat and sun.

I knew I'd upset

the balance of the day,

the exceptional silence

of a beach where I'd been happy.

So I fired four more times

at an inert body,

into which the b*ll*ts disappeared.

It was like knocking four quick times

on misfortune's door.

You, come with us.

Can I have a cigarette?

Hello, I've been appointed

as your lawyer.

I know you didn't want one,

but every man has a right

to be defended and understood.

Your private life was investigated.

We know your mother died

at the rest home.

Investigators noted that

you were insensitive

at your mother's funeral.

Is that true?

Sorry to ask,

but it's very important.

The prosecution

could use it against you.

Did you feel sadness on that day?

I don't question myself much anymore.

But you loved your mother?

No doubt.

Like everyone else.

We've all wished a loved one dead.

You can't say that at the trial,

nor in front of the judge!

The day I buried Maman

I was very tired.

I was sleepy.

I wasn't fully aware

of what was going on.

But obviously I wish she hadn't died.

At the trial, could you say...

you were holding back

your natural feelings?

Your emotions?

No,

because it's not true.

Be warned: rest home employees

will serve as witnesses.

It could get nasty for you.

I don't see

what it has to do with my case.

Listen, Mr. Meursault,

you're not the first

nor the last to k*ll an Arab.

You won't be faulted for that.

Trust me,

I know the French justice system.

You got a visitor.

Here I am!

Here I am!

So?

You ok, got all you need?

Yes, everything.

Raymond and Celeste say hi.

Thanks.

I got my job back.

Jeanne refused to take him.

I said you will once you're out.

How is he?

Don't worry.

Hang on to hope!

When you get out, we'll be married.

You think?

Yes.

You'll be acquitted!

We'll swim together again.

Take care. I love you.

Anything else to say?

Time's up, everybody out!

I don't know.

Bye, Maman.

Move it!

What do you do all day?

I k*ll time.

I read an article in an old newspaper,

true-crime section.

Yeah?

About a man in Czechoslovakia, I think.

He left home to seek his fortune.

25 years later he was very rich,

with a wife and child.

So he returned to his village.

His mother ran a hotel with his sister,

and he wanted to surprise them.

But they didn't recognize him.

Playing along, he booked a room,

and showed off his money.

That night, his mother and sister

went to his room

and k*lled him with a hammer

to rob him.

They threw his body in the river.

That really happened?

Yes.

The next morning,

realizing who they had k*lled,

the mother hung herself.

The sister threw herself down a well.

That's horrible.

He kind of deserved it.

Why do you say that?

Must never play games.

Play games?

Yes.

Why lie?

Today I went back to the baths.

I swam out to the float,

laid in the sun,

closed my eyes and...

felt your head on my belly.

When I opened them, you were gone.

Why did you k*ll that man?

Why destroy our future happiness?

Hands.

COURTHOUSE

They're getting ready.

Want a cigarette?

Nervous?

No.

I'm curious,

I've never seen a trial.

You'll see.

It gets old fast.

All rise!

Court is now in session.

Before we begin,

I ask that the public remain calm.

Any disruption,

I'll evacuate the courtroom.

We'll start by questioning

Mr. Meursault.

Defendant, please rise.

You've been described as a taciturn,

withdrawn man.

What do you think?

I never have much to say,

so I keep quiet.

That's the best of reasons.

What interests us here...

is you.

Your motivations escape us.

We need your help, to understand.

First, do you regret what you did?

More than regret, I feel a certain ennui.

Silence, please!

The day of the crime

you fired your g*n 5 times in a row.

I fired once,

then 4 more times a few seconds later.

Why did you hesitate

between the first shot and the second?

And why did you sh**t at a body

on the ground?

Mr. Meursault?

Your Honor,

my client is exhausted,

and in this heat...

Fine.

Prosecutor, you have questions?

Yes, your Honor.

If I may, I'd like to ask Mr. Meursault

if he returned to the beach

near the spring

with the intention

of k*lling the victim?

No.

Then why were you armed with a g*n?

And why did you return

to that precise spot?

It was by chance.

By chance!

Did you also sh**t an indigene

by chance?

Yes.

All five times?

Yes.

Thank you, your Honor.

Quiet, please!

Did Mrs. Meursault

complain about her son?

Of course.

All the residents complain.

She was angry he put her there?

Yes.

Did you notice anything unusual

in his attitude,

the day of the burial?

He was...

very calm.

Calm?

Yes, which surprised me.

He didn't want to see her body,

he didn't cry.

He left the church

without mourning at her grave.

Mr. Meursault drank coffee with milk.

He slept, smoked...

And you smoked with him, didn't you?

Your Honor, who is the criminal here?

Is sullying prosecution witnesses

acceptable?

Answer the question.

I know I was wrong,

but I didn't dare refuse his cigarette!

Mr. Meursault, is that correct?

It's true, I gave him a cigarette.

But I gave him the coffee with milk.

The gentlemen of the jury

will appreciate that.

I mostly knew Mrs. Meursault.

I saw her son only once,

the day of the burial.

What did he do on that day?

I don't remember very well.

I was so sad, and...

then I fainted.

I didn't see much of him.

Did you see Mr. Meursault cry?

No.

Did you see him not crying?

No.

A perfect reflection of this trial.

Everything is true,

and nothing is true!

- Mr. Meursault was a customer?

- Yes.

But he was mostly a friend.

A good man.

Only spoke if he had something to say.

Did he pay his bills?

Yes, that was never a problem.

What do you think of his crime?

I see it as bad luck, your Honor.

Can you explain?

A real stroke of bad luck.

We all know how it is,

you're left defenseless...

Understood.

We're here precisely to judge

bad luck of this kind.

Thank you.

Next witness!

- You knew Mr. Meursault's mother?

- Yes.

She was my neighbor.

But...

they'd run out of conversation.

The poor old woman

had stopped talking altogether.

So he put her in the rest home.

You have to understand.

That'll be all.

I have something else to say.

Yes?

Mr. Meursault was always

very kind to my dog.

Would you say, Mr. Salamano,

that Mr. Meursault

was kinder to your dog

than to his mother?

Thank you, Mr. Salamano.

Next witness.

Miss Cardona!

Hello, miss.

Hello.

How long have you known Mr. Meursault?

We met about 3 years ago.

But we'd lost touch.

What was your relationship

to the defendant?

I'm his girlfriend.

We were going to marry.

When exactly did your affair begin?

A year ago.

Last summer.

The day after Mrs. Meursault died?

Yes, maybe.

Can you tell us about that day?

I don't remember the details.

We're interested in facts, not details.

I ran into him at the baths,

we swam together,

we went to the cinema.

Then...

Yes?

We went to his place.

His place?

Following your statement,

I checked the movie schedules.

Do you remember

what film you saw?

It was a film with Fernandel, I believe.

Gentlemen of the jury,

the day after his mother died,

this man went swimming,

began an irregular affair,

and laughed at a Fernandel comedy,

Le Schpountz!

Says it all!

That's not how it was,

it was different!

You make me say the opposite

of what I think!

Then tell us what you think,

Miss Cardona.

It was an accident.

A misunderstanding.

An accident or a misunderstanding?

You must believe him.

He didn't mean to.

He doesn't lie.

Ever.

Thank you.

- Last witness.

- Mr. Raymond Sints!

Your Honor, Meursault is innocent!

- We don't need your opinion.

- You get it anyway.

Just the facts.

What was your relationship

with the victim?

The victim hated me

because I occasionally hit his sister.

Did the victim also hate Mr. Meursault?

No, they only met at the beach,

by chance.

But Mr. Meursault wrote the letter

that set this in motion, right?

Yes, but that was by chance.

Chance, yet again!

Was it also by chance

that he stood by

as you beat your mistress?

Yes it was.

And acted as your complacent witness

at the station?

That's right.

How do you earn your living,

Mr. Sints?

I work in a warehouse.

- Is that so?

- Yes, it is.

Gentlemen of the jury,

it's a well-known fact

that Mr. Sints,

witness for the defense,

works as a pimp.

And the victim's sister

is an indigenous prost*tute

he forced to work in a brothel!

Rubbish!

And the defendant

was his accomplice

in the most heinous of crimes.

Ladies and gentlemen,

this is pure slander!

Prosecutor, please continue.

I have nothing to add, your Honor.

Hang on!

Was the defendant a friend of yours?

Yes he was,

and still is my pal.

Mr. Meursault,

would you call him your pal?

Yes.

So this man k*lled an indigene

for trivial reasons,

to help his "pal"

the day after his mother died.

Is Mr. Meursault on trial

for k*lling an Arab,

or for burying his mother?

There's a link between the two!

A profound, pathetic, essential link.

I accuse this man

of burying his mother

with the heart of a criminal.

Court is adjourned!

We'll resume tomorrow.

I'm sorry about your brother.

No one cares about my brother.

He's an Arab.

Only your Frenchman

and his mother count.

He should go back home now.

His home is here.

Come on.

Let's go, move.

Gentlemen of the jury,

I will now prove

Mr. Meursault's crime was premeditated,

in two ways:

In the clarity of the facts,

as you've seen,

and in the shadow cast

by the mind of this criminal soul.

Indeed,

this man

was fully lucid when he k*lled.

I insist on this,

for this is no ordinary m*rder,

no thoughtless act for which

we might find mitigating circumstances.

This man, gentlemen,

is intelligent.

He knows how to respond.

He knows the value of words.

No one can claim

he didn't know what he was doing.

Has he expressed any remorse?

Never, gentlemen!

Not once during these hearings

has this man

shown any emotion over his horrific act.

And yet, I tried to look into his soul.

But I found nothing.

In truth, he has no soul.

None of mankind's moral principles

are within his reach.

We have here a man

who k*lled his mother, morally,

and turned his back on society,

ignoring its essential rules

and the primary reactions

of the human heart.

My horror over his crime

nearly pales before what I feel

at his insensitivity.

Never have I felt my painful duty

made so much lighter and clearer

by the conviction

that it is a sacred imperative,

and by the horror I feel

looking at a man,

but seeing a monster.

I ask you, simply and reasonably,

for the head of this man.

Mr. Meursault.

Have you anything to add?

Your Honor,

I never intended to k*ll the Arab.

But the Arab did threaten you

with his weapon?

I don't know.

I struggle to grasp

the logic of your defense.

Before your lawyer speaks,

I'd like you to tell us

exactly what provoked your act.

It was because of the sun.

Silence, please!

The defense has the floor.

Your Honor,

gentlemen of the jury,

I have also looked into

Mr. Meursault's soul.

But unlike

the esteemed Public Prosecutor,

I found something there.

And I read it like an open book.

An honest man,

from a humble background,

a tireless worker, steadily employed,

a model son,

who supported his mother

for as long as he could,

then hoped that a rest home

would give the old woman the comfort

his modest revenue could not provide.

But!

I am surprised, gentlemen,

that so much has been made

of this rest home.

For after all,

if we needed to prove

the importance of such institutions,

all we'd need say is that

the State itself subsidizes them.

So, yes.

It is true.

I k*lled.

Yes, I k*lled an indigene,

considered by France...

Why'd he say "I"?

Lawyers often do that.

...a lowly subject.

But it was a purely reflexive act,

committed in a state of confusion,

under a sweltering sun,

on an unbearably hot day,

in reaction to the mortal threat

of an Arab brandishing a weapon.

The very knife

that had already wounded Mr. Sints,

my friend...

...he admits his guilt.

If we condemn him here

for expressing no emotion...

That's his right.

That's his freedom.

What right does society have to punish

a man

for an absence of tears?

So, everything will be fine.

You'll get off with a few years

of prison or hard labor.

Tactically, I didn't file any motions,

to appease the jury.

If need be we can appeal,

but I'm sure the verdict

will be favorable.

Bring in the defendant.

After deliberation,

the defendant is found guilty of m*rder

with premeditation.

The jury having found

no extenuating circumstances,

Mr. Meursault will have his head cut off

in the name of the French people.

Silence!

Silence, please!

Mr. Meursault,

have you anything to add?

No.

Guards, take him out.

The trial is over.

One day, in Algiers,

your father rose at dawn

to see the execution of a m*rder*r.

He was sick at the idea.

But he went.

When he came home

he vomited, all morning long.

The chaplain is here.

Want to see him?

No.

Have you missed me?

How can I know?

Now that our bodies are separated,

nothing binds us.

I came to terms with it.

I figured you were tired

of being a condemned man's girlfriend.

Or you were sick.

Or dead.

Do you get very bored?

No.

Yesterday I revisited my bedroom.

All the furniture,

in its place,

every object in there.

I try to recall the entire inventory.

It takes hours.

I believe a man

who lived but one single day

could easily spend 100 years in prison.

He'd have enough memories

to prevent boredom.

You know, Marie,

I understand if you forget me

when I'm dead.

If you love other men.

If you were dead,

I'd lose interest in you too.

It's normal.

But you won't die.

If my appeal is rejected, I will die.

And dying at 30 or at 70...

what does it matter?

Either way, other men and other women

will come and live after me,

for thousands of years.

And if you get a pardon?

Don't be afraid.

Just a friendly visit.

Any news of my appeal?

No.

I know nothing about it.

Why have you refused to see me?

I don't believe in God.

Are you sure?

It's a question of no importance.

Really?

I'm not sure what interests me,

but I'm sure what doesn't.

What you're talking about

doesn't interest me.

Your words reflect a deep despair.

I'm not in despair.

I'm just afraid, which is normal.

Then God will help you.

Every condemned man I've known

has turned to Him.

That's their choice.

I want no help.

I don't say this

because you're condemned. We all are.

That's no consolation.

Indeed.

But if you don't die today,

you will die later.

The same question will arise.

How will you face

the ordeal of your final hour?

Exactly as I'm facing it today.

Have you no hope at all?

You live with the belief

that your whole self dies,

body and soul?

Yes.

I'm sorry for you.

I'm certain your appeal will be granted.

But you carry a burden of sin

and need liberation.

The justice of men is nothing.

The justice of God is everything.

Yet the former condemned me.

Yes.

But it did not wash away your sin.

I don't know what a sin is.

They only told me I'm guilty,

so I'm paying.

Nothing more can be asked of me.

You're wrong, my son.

More can be asked of you.

- And may indeed be asked.

- What, then?

You may be asked to see.

See what?

When I look at these walls,

every one of these stones

sweating with pain...

I can't help but feel anguish.

Deep in my heart, I know

that even

the most miserable among you

have seen in their darkness

a divine face.

That is the face

I'm asking you to see.

I've stared at these walls for months.

I know them by heart.

For a long time, I sought a face.

Marie's face.

I sought it in vain.

That's over now.

Allow me to embrace you.

You've surely wished for another life.

Yes, but that no longer matters.

How do you picture that other life?

A life in which

I could remember this one.

I've had enough, go now.

I have more to say about God.

Sir, I have little time left to live.

I don't want to waste it

with your God.

Why do you call me "sir"

and not "my father"?

You're not,

you're with the others.

No my son, I'm with you.

You don't know it,

for your heart is blind.

I'll pray for you.

Stop...

Stop!

Enough with your prayers.

I don't want them.

Your certainties aren't worth

one hair on a woman's head.

You're not even alive,

you live like a dead man.

I may seem empty-handed.

But I'm sure about me,

sure about everything,

about this life, here!

And the death that awaits me.

So yes, that's all I have.

But I hold this truth

as firmly as it holds me!

I did this, I didn't do that,

I lived one way and not another...

So what?

Nothing.

Nothing matters.

And I know why.

And so do you!

You know why!

This whole life is absurd!

Why should I care

about people's deaths,

the love of a mother, your God,

the lives we choose!

So what if I k*ll

an Arab or a Frenchman,

if they execute me for not crying

at my mother's funeral?

So what if Marie

wants me to marry her, or if...

Salamano's dog is as good as his wife!

Or if that b*stard Sints

is my pal like Cleste,

a far better man!

Or if Marie gives her lips

to someone new!

Understand?

Calm down...

- Don't touch me.

- Calm down.

Answer me!

Do you understand?

Guards!

Do you understand?

We're all guilty!

And we're all condemned!

Answer me!

Let him go!

Don't hurt him!

Don't move!

Leave him.

For the first time in a long time,

I thought of Maman.

I felt I understood why,

at the end of life,

she'd taken a fianc.

Why she played at starting anew.

There,

even there,

in that rest home

where lives were waning,

evening was a melancholy respite.

So close to death,

Maman must have felt liberated

and ready to relive it all.

No one...

no one had the right to cry over her.

And I, too,

felt ready to relive it all.

As if that intense rage

had purged me of evil,

drained me of hope.

In that night full of signs and stars,

I opened myself for the first time

to the tender indifference of the world.

It felt so much like me,

so like a brother.

I felt that I'd been happy,

and was happy still.

For it all to be consummated,

to feel less alone,

I had only to wish for a big crowd

on my execution day,

and for them to greet me

with cries of hate.