Au grand balcon (1949)

The older Classic's that just won't die. Everything from before 1960's.

Moderator: Maskath3

Watch on Amazon   Merchandise   Collectables

The older Classic's that just won't die. Everything from before 1960's.
Post Reply

Au grand balcon (1949)

Post by bunniefuu »

This film was restored by PATHÉ in 2017

Every hour, almost every minute,
day and night,

under sun and stars,
through rain and snow,

and storms,

from the equator to the polar circles,
giant planes

land and take off.

Night and day,
there's never a moment

across the heavens
without the roar of engines,

and the flight of men.

The airlines weave
their infinite shuttling

around the globe.

Of all these airlines,
France possesses the finest.

In age, commitment,
legend and scope.

Air France links the six continents.

Its network covers 125,000 miles.
Last year

600,000 passengers,
tons of freight,

and billions of letters were carried.

Billions of miles were covered.

That represents 300 flights a day.

Sum total: regularity, security,

enjoyment,

it all defies the imagination.

Yet barely 30 years ago,
nothing existed.

Barely 30 years ago,
step by step,

flight after flight,
death after death,

commercial aviation was born.

The first major line
of this heroic era,

the first to link two continents,
was a French airline...

The film you are about to see
aims to portray

this fabulous genesis.

But it's not a documentary
or a chronicle.

It doesn't try to tell
the history of the airline

or revive
with identical substitutes,

the men who created it.

Its one ambition is to bring to life
and convey the approach,

the atmosphere,

and the spirit
of an immense undertaking.

This is its one truth.

THE GRAND BALCONY

As for me, Mr. Garandoux,
next Sunday,

I'm not missing the inauguration
of the w*r monument.

I want to see
Mr. Paul Deschanel in person.

Our smart new president.

Mr. Armezac,
I'll regret to my dying day

that Clémenceau wasn't elected.
It's outrageous.

Carpentier is European champ!

He KO'd the Brit in Round 1!

He's France's leading citizen.

Not Carpentier, Clémenceau.

Indeed!

I say Carpentier is the winner.

I don't care.
You're late, hurry up.

May I remind you,
for history's sake:

your Clémenceau was a Communard.

So?
My father was too.

He was a decent man like him.

Your Clémenceau has no religion.
He'll have a civil funeral.

I wonder,
for a French President,

what an insurance policy would cost.

Macherel, my friend,

premiums run in your veins.

In his blood and his marrow.

Go ahead, laugh.

Insurance is the future.

It's civilization.

Not around here obviously...

Civil servants waiting to retire.

Or modest private incomes.

Will you tell them now?

Heavens, I wish it was over.

I'll be in my kitchen.

I'm sorry to interrupt you all,

but I want to tell
everyone together.

What I have to say upsets me.

Here goes...
As of next month,

from the first,

my sister Adeline and I
are obliged

to raise the rates...

by 75 centimes a day.

It's a hard blow.

75 centimes? Do you realize?

Hypocrisy. She says 75 cents
so it's less than a franc.

It adds up to 7 francs 25 a day.

Exactly.

But you'll find nothing decent
for under 9 francs,

service included.

There's no tipping here,
as you know.

I should hope not.
They do it all themselves.

I agree, but it's clean.

The cleanliness of old maids.

It should be clean at that price.
Let's not exaggerate.

- The old goats.
- Be tactful, Mrs. Viard.

Tactful?
When they're ruining us?

Well, Miss Francoise?

It's awful, Mr. Vuillemin,
I'm still trembling.

They mustn't think we're crooks.

What an idea, Miss Francoise.

You and your sister, dishonest?

You understand me, I know.

I'm glad you're here.

It was magnificent, Aunt Adeline!

Francoise spoke?
What did she say?

She was magnificent, I tell you.

How did the lodgers take it?

Some well, others less so.

The wealthiest are the meanest.

They mustn't think we're thieves.

Thieves? You're crazy, Aunt.

With coffee like this?

- May I have my coffee here?
- Of course.

I know Mrs. Viard isn't a nice neighbor.

That's not why.

Having your coffee here?

Thanks.

It's nice and hot.

It's excellent.

Adeline makes very good coffee.

You enjoy good coffee too?

Very much. Unfortunately
it stops me sleeping.

Me too. But...

I like that.

One starts thinking.

That's true.

- One starts thinking.
- Doesn't one?

Isn't that so?

At last, Mr. Fabien!

I've been expecting you.

I'm so glad to see you.

- Same here, old man.
- All fine?

Yes. Well, better now.

It hasn't been easy
since I became a civvy.

But I've found work.

And in aviation.

I'm gonna fly, old man.

I'm gonna fly again, and soon.

We'll talk about it later.

Right now, you have to move in.

Mamzelles,

may I introduce Sergeant Fabien.

Two men at arms!

- Hello, ladies.
- Hello, sir.

The finest pilot in my squadron.

I was proud to be his engineer.

He's come to work on the Line.

As I said, I'd be delighted

if he could board here.
- Absolutely.

The thing is...
we have no vacancies.

No vacancies at all.

For the moment,
maybe he could share my room?

My luggage won't take up much space.

In that case, we could.

Indeed we could.

Thank you, ladies.

Mamzelles.

Mamzelles.

Frankly,

if it wasn't for you,
I'd be in a fix.

I've struck lucky.

Your good old mascot!

How terrific to see it again.

Triolet, your best squadron buddy.

Vuillemin, my best friend.

A new man for the Line?

May I welcome you, young man.

Thank you, Mister...

Garandoux.

So I see one at last!

One of those new postmen.

Mr. Garandoux is a postmaster.

He's in the trade.

Yes, of course.

So do you really believe

your little planes
will replace postal trains?

With aviation,
everything is possible.

Mr. Fabien,
I'll show you your room.

Let's go.

- Excuse me, Mister...
- Garandoux.

Garandoux, excuse me.

He's a good fellow.

A fine postman's face.

- A good read, Miss Maryse?
- No, it's rather sad.

She's Maryse,
Mr. Carbot's secretary.

Miss Maryse,
a new man for the Line.

- My friend Fabien.
- Ma'am.

Hello, sir.

Not very upbeat.

She's very nice.

She's been that way
since her fiancé d*ed in the w*r,

in Mr. Carbot's squadron.

- What was his name?
- Chauvin.

Not exactly glamorous.

The sky is all I need.

I forgot my cigarettes.

I'll get them.

I've brought a new pilot,
Mr. Carbot.

It's not your concern.

Go to the office.
There's a pile of papers.

Carbot seems a nice guy.

- The director will see you shortly.
- Thank you.

Well, old man, I'm going to fly!
I'd lost hope.

Alicante.

Barcelona.

- What's he giving him?
- The mail.

What are you waiting for, Goupil?

Ready, Mr. Carbot.

Vuillemin!

Let me, old man.

I haven't touched a plane for ages,
even like this.

Off!

Fuel!

Here.

Thanks.

Contact!

Contact!

How's it going?

Hunky-dory.

Not too heavy?

In the Pyrenees, the pressure is strong.
What's above and below counts.

Sir, I'm...

I'm Jean Fabien, the new pilot,
called in for tests.

Introductions in the office.
Not here.

Don't worry, Mr. Fabien.

It will be fine.

He's a brute or I annoy him.

You just have to get to know him.

The mail from Barcelona.

Right on time.

Old Darbouin is always punctual.

Overshot, dammit.
Overshot!

Pull her up!

Pull her up!

That guy's a beginner!

Well, Darbouin?

I thought I was done for.
The weather's hellish over there.

Only 5 minutes late,
pretty good.

I did what I could.

Have a cigarette in the office.

I don't disagree,
but it doesn't change the problem.

It's exhaustion
after the storm in the Pyrenees.

No storms last week,
but you still overshot the landing.

So there's no hope for me?

Not here.

Other places want young men.

Yep.

It's the job.

But the crates, Gilbert,
the roar of the engines, the buddies...

I served three years in the squadron.

I'm the one who started the Line here.

No one can take that away from you.

Alright...

Think it over?

You're hard, Mr. Carbot.

Very hard.

Hard on who?

On him or on myself?

Send in the new man.

Come in.

Here's my notification, sir.

My certificate...

My logbook...

600 hours.

Fine. Leave it
with the young lady.

So you give landing lessons?

The thing is...

-I can't help it, when I see...
- Alright.

Now we'll see you in action.

Let's go.

What are you waiting for?

- Wow!
- He's no chicken!

A daredevil!

- Where's the director?
- In his office.

You can pack your bags.

Put the plane away.

Yes.

It's not normal.

Think so?

Alright.

- Pleased with yourself?
- I think so.

- You think so?
- Certainly, sir.

I'm not!
Acrobats belong in circuses.

Leaving?

- Yes.
- I see.

Undisciplined.

Pretentious.

I flew well, I know.

Grandstanding.
Not our style here.

Too bad.

And a lousy temper!

We'll break you in.

How can you, if you throw me out?

I never said that.

Report to chief engineer Vuillemin.

They need a laborer in the shop.

But I'm a pilot!

Everyone here is a worker.

And all workers are equal.

Is he only good to clean engines,
Mr. Carbot?

Fabien?

He's head and shoulders above them.

So why put him in the shop?

Because he shows off when he flies!

It contributes nothing to the Line.

Nothing at all!

The Line isn't a springboard.

It's a sum total.

And I do the tallying.

Do you understand?

Only me.

Looking for someone?

For you, but keep working.

If Gilbert,
I mean Carbot,

should walk by...
you never know with him,

he doesn't like layabouts.

I came to say don't lose heart.

You're an ace.

And Carbot saw that. So relax.

You'll go far, believe me.

I know what I'm talking about,

even if I don't know how to land.

You're the one who...

Yes, son, that was me.

Until now, I touched down
as well as the next man.

But lately, when I fly over
those damn mountains,

I get fog in my eyes

and my reflexes are sh*t.

The altitude, the tension,
the wind, the fatigue...

I lose it.

Happens to us all...

No, you needn't bother.
I know what I'm saying.

- And Carbot is right.
- Why? Has he...

Yep.

I wore myself out
getting the Line going.

It was tough?

It was terrific.

Just us two, Gilbert and me.

I was his deputy commander.
We came here together.

Two planes, two pilots,
him and me.

We landed, trusting in chance,

confidence and adventure.

At first, we took up
carrier pigeons.

No kidding.

Yes, we'd land in Murcia,
in Valencia.

People called us madmen.

Now we do Alicante regularly.

The Breguet 14 planes are coming.
The Line will reach Morocco.

I planned to hang on and make
the first flight to Casablanca.

Ah well...

I'm boring you.

No, on the contrary.

The Line will go far, son.

What Gilbert Carbot wants
he gets.

We talked about it so much.

First, Morocco,

then Dakar, over the desert.

The stopovers are already plotted.

Agadir, Cape Juby,
Villa Cisneros, Port Etienne.

Then over the Atlantic.
That's for sure.

We'll link France
to Rio de Janeiro by air,

then to Buenos Aires,
Santiago de Chile,

hopping over the Andes...

Rio, Santiago...

the Andes...

A bad move, Mr. Macherel.

A very bad move.

And I'll make the most of it.

What's on your mind tonight?

Your beard, Mr. Armezac.

My beard?

You really must have it insured.

Think about it.

It takes years to grow
such a magnificent beard.

Accidents can happen.

Don't talk nonsense, play.

A fire can singe it,

a clumsy barber can wreck it.

It could get trapped in a beard...

I mean, in a door.

Then there's hair loss.

Hair loss...

Whereas with a small policy,

you can rest easy.

Sleep in the beard of Morpheus...

I mean the arms of Morpheus.

You'll see,

he'll end up insuring his beard.

That's why I shaved mine off.

You're young.
You still believe in miracles...

Not so loud!
You'll wake Mrs. Viard.

She's a very light sleeper.

Good point, better be careful.

Regularity, young man,
and security,

and the bad season.

You don't know the local climate.

Wait for the fall.
You'll see if your line works then.

It will work just as well.

- It's up to the pilot.
- Easy to say.

You think I'm bragging

as I'm in the shop
and haven't flown yet?

Not at all, son.
What an idea!

But you can't convince me
that your little machines

made of wood and canvas

are stronger than mountains,
storms and fog.

That's the beauty of it,
they get through.

Everywhere, always.

They push through!

You'd make a hell of a postman!

Mr. Garandoux,

come now, remember Mrs. Viard.

Yes, hush...

Is this the Grand Balcony?

Where's Fabien?

- Jean Fabien!
- Calling Fabien!

Fabien! There he is!

- Where's the grub?
- Where's the booze?

- We're starving!
- We're dying of thirst!

We're on our knees!

- Vuillemin!
- Our Vuillemin!

- Good old chap!
- Let's have a hug!

Do your planes work?

Gentlemen, please!

"When the pelican,
Weary after its long flight,

"Returns in the evening mist..."

He's a lunatic!

Excuse me, Miss, not a lunatic,

a poet.

I'm the only French aviation pilot
to have a literary engineer.

Bravo!

Go away.

Mr. Fabien, can you explain?

It's like this, Miss Francoise.

We're expecting
a dozen Breguet 14 planes.

These planes should give
the Line a boost.

I don't understand.

I told some comrades
from my squadron

about jobs going for pilots.

I never thought
they'd show up so late tonight.

- Traitor!
- False witness!

- Disowning us!
- Ashamed of us!

We'll have our revenge!

Let's hear the Sioux Squadron song.

We're scamps of the skies!

- Right, over there.
- Ready, boys.

One, two, three!

We're scamps of the skies

We spin, swirl and rise

Gunpowder smells hot

Girls' thighs feel soft

Loop the loop in a dive

With the girls we're alive

We fought and we flew
We're the Sioux

Sunday or weekday
It's pay and play

Weekdays or Sundays
On target for fun days

Sun, sleet and rain

We fly just the same

It's our w*r dance yahoo

The dance of the Sioux

We're scamps of the skies

We spin, swirl and rise

Gunpowder smells hot

Girls' thighs feel soft

Loop the loop in a dive

With the girls we're alive

We fought and we flew
We're the Sioux

You're up in the ring

Our old engines sing

Search the whole world round

There's no finer sound

And the engines mutter

The machine g*ns stutter

C'mon you bums you!

C'mon you bums you!

Hear the w*r cry of the Sioux

Mr. Vuillemin, come now...

Now for the scalp dance!

Didier!

Savages! Anarchists!

Didier!

I forbid you!

Join in, Vuillemin!

Get out!

Get out, now!

That's enough.

Get out of here.

I'm leaving with you.

You know, Miss Francoise,

you have to be fair,
that song and dance

was performed whenever
our squadron sh*t down a plane.

Mr. Armezac,
Mr. Baron and Mr. Cazenave

weren't even aware
there was a w*r on.

Whereas the men in the squadron...

Listen to this:

Brigadier Belfort,
his plane riddled with b*ll*ts,

blew up an enemy balloon.

3rd victory.

Cadet Guérin

against huge odds,
downed 2 Fokkers.

Awarded the Legion of Honor
for acts of w*r.

3 citations.

Sergeant Triolet,
pilot with audacity

and devilish nerve,

wounded in aerial combat.

Saved his co-pilot Charlier,

returned to base
despite grave pain and blood loss.

Refused to be evacuated.

Barely convalescent,
resumed his missions.

8 victories, a medal,
9 citations.

Wow!
He knows 'em all

better than we do.

It figures, I didn't
wear myself out winning them.

I have to tell you,
Miss Francoise,

if they leave,
I must go too...

Enough of this!

Would you sacrifice
our peace of mind

to the ravings of a mechanic?

Who's this bearded villain?

A bailiff's clerk.

I'll be damned!

What a nerve!

I knew it couldn't last.

- We're waiting.
- It's outrageous.

Maniacs.

Are we in a boarding house

or a circus?

Exactly.

Are we in a boarding house
or a circus?

What do you say, ladies?

Shut your beard!

Your trap!

Hoodlums!

Hotheads!

Swindlers!

Lunatics!

Aviators...

Precisely. They're aviators.

Look at Mr. Armezac!

He's not the same man!

His beard is what made him!

You were right,
he should have insured it.

See, Mr. Armezac?
You should have insured it.

- Damnation!
- What?

As for you two,
I'll press charges.

In any case, I'm not staying here
a minute longer.

- Me neither.
- Nor me.

We'll have room
for these gentlemen.

For the landladies!

The Sioux squadron signature tune!

One, two, three!

One, two, three, four, five, Sioux!

Let's get the grub organized!

My kitchen...

Open it up,
they're our lodgers now.

It's starting to look like a spread.

Seeing them make me feel
30 years younger.

Shall we set the table?

Combat positions... Belfort!

Those Breguet 14s will never arrive.

Dammit.

"Sire, the future belongs to no one."

I'll strangle you!

Why bring them here by road?

An air convoy would give us
the chance to fly.

The engines need a complete overhaul.

The army sold us them.

That'll teach you rookies!

Two weeks and still no crates.

- "When the pelican..."
- Belt up!

At this rate, I'll ask Carbot
leave to get me a manicure.

Hey, guys!
The Breguets are here!

They look damn swell!

Look!

Those rookies aren't bad.

I think they'll do a good job.

What are you doing here, Morel?

I banned you from the airfield.

You can't do that, Mr. Carbot.

I'm doing my job here.

I found work with a transport firm

handling field services.

So from time to time, sir,

I get to see the crates
and hear the engines.

You can't stop my boss
letting me come here?

In a few months, I may be able
to take you back.

Flight engineer?

Yes, but out in the sticks,
no bistros there.

At your orders, sir.

At your orders.

Here you are, Miss Maryse.

I put everything in,
the whole truth.

Born 1892, French nationality,

father unknown, etc.

Here we go!

The first Breguet 14,
overhauled and reassembled,

ready to leave for Spain.

Bring on the castanets! ” Ole,
olée!

Mercier is piloting,
a vet.

It's normal that a veteran
takes out the first one.

Fair enough.
In a week it will be me.

The mail bags have put on weight.
Terrific!

Hey, Mercier!

Commercial speed,
commercial journey.

Is that understood, Mercier?

The plane is new
but the aim is the same.

Transport the mail.

Commercial journey, commercial style,
period.

He's losing speed!

- What's up with him?
- Losing speed.

But...

His face is knocked up.

Mercier, can you hear me?

- Yeah, I'm OK.
- Go easy with his legs.

- This way...
- Stretcher.

Vuillemin.

Bring out another plane.

Well, Mercier?

I'm sorry, Mr. Carbot.

- It wasn't a piloting error.
- I saw that.

Get well quick. We need you.

C'mon, boys.

The mail!
Forgotten about the mail?

Take the bags out
and get the extinguishers.

- Fabien!
- Carbot!

Your flying kit.

You do the first delivery
in the Breguet.

And the first run to Casablanca.

-Casa...?
- Hurry up.

And Casa.

Casa...

I'll recap.

Toulouse,

the Pyrenees,

the coast,

Barcelona, Alicante,

Málaga, skip Gibraltar,

the sea,
and we land in Tangiers.

In Tangiers, we unload the mail.

A new load,
we refuel and leave.

A race against the clock.

Building confidence in the Line.

The sky, the sea, none of that exists
without the Line.

The new towns are part of the Line,
you see?

Storms, dangers
and possible accidents too.

It all becomes clear and simple.

Goodnight, darling.

Sleep well, Didier.

"Work done on the Line
during the last quarter,

"after the regular daily service began

"between Toulouse and Casablanca.

"Three new aircraft start
on the Alicante-Casablanca run.

"Two new shops set up
at the Alicante relay post.

"Two hangers
and an additional shop built

"on the Casablanca airfield.

"A quartermaster's store for the pilots,

"a canteen for the engineers,

"central heating installed
in the Montaudran offices."”

Is that it?

Yes, sir, that's it.

Couldn't you add a decent office
for yourself, Mr. Carbot?

I'm best off here.

This is where it all began.

Hello, yes?

Mr. Carbot, it's the police.

Repeat the call, word for word.

"One of your planes.

"Extremely serious accident.

"We heard the engine cut out."

What?

"Due to poor visibility,
the pilot

"glided blind.

"Crashed into the hillside.

"Aircraft destroyed.

"Pilot k*lled."

It was Goupil.

The mail?

What about the mail?

Yes, the mailbags.

Intact.

Hello?
Operations director speaking.

Forward the mailbags
to the Perpignan emergency airfield.

A plane will be there in 30 minutes.

Thank you.

Is Charlier on the next run?

- Yes, sir.
- Get him over right away.

I'll bring out a plane.

Get me 645.

Mr. Charlier?

Yes, right away.

Mr. Charlier?

You're needed on the emergency field.
Mr. Carbot's orders.

I'm breathless.

The service car is picking you up.

But no one can fly
in weather like this!

It will clear up.
And Charlier?

- On his way.
- Good.

Draw up the accident report.

Can't we wait for it
to let up a bit?

The life of a sweet young boy
for a few letters...

That's just why we can't wait.
A few letters.

In w*r, we know we don't spare blood.
It's clear.

But for us,
the contents of our mission,

these sordid, silly
or sentimental letters

must vanish from our minds.

Only the mission must remain.

Our vital priority.

Why, Mr. Carbot?

The mail isn't about letters.

The mail represents French aviation,
drive and vitality.

So long as men die for the mail,
their comrades won't question

the utility of this mail.

My problem,

my one and only problem,

is how to make a god of this mail

for my men.

As it is only for God

that men will give their lives joyfully.

Here I am, Mr. Carbot.
I came as fast as I could.

Hello, Montaudran?

The Montaudran aerodrome?

Yes.

What?

It's over for Charlier.

- What do you mean?
- He got k*lled.

Heard about Charlier?

Tournevoix just told me:
Charlier is dead.

Charlier was k*lled too.

Two deaths in one day.

Triolet will make it.

- He's not back yet.
- Don't say that.

I'm telling you in your own interest.
And for your next of kin...

Shut up, Macherel.

You talk like an undertaker.

- Don't listen to him.
- Don't worry about me.

I'm thinking of my mom.
What would happen to her?

I'll be honest with you.

For the insurance
to pay her immediately,

your body must be found,
or else...

Everyone has a ticket?

Tickets, please.

The Tramontane's been blowing
non-stop for 3 weeks.

- It's unheard of.
- Never before.

Yet the mail still gets through.

Yes, but we can't talk to them anymore.

Even about insurance.

But with this weather...

Didier, a double brandy, fast.

They scare me.

We did one mail run a week.
Now it's one a day.

Even if we fly through lead.

We still get through.

Miraculously.

Carbot is abnormally stubborn.

Yes, with other people's skins.

You shouldn't say that,
you're new.

When your body is covered with snow,
do they find it when the snow melts?

It's for my insurance,
you're from the mountains.

It depends where you fall.

Some snow never melts.

Thinking of the Alicante-Casa
team disgusts me.

They always have sun.

Whereas for us...

They save the toughest
for the roughest.

It's normal.

I'm fed up of being the toughest.

To end up the toughest stiff?

You vets bellyache,
but you always go for it.

We'll see.

If Merlin isn't back...

I'll call the airfield.

Carbot doesn't like that.

It's dead.

The line's down.

The storm cut the lines.

Good thing the weekly mail
goes daily in mid-winter.

It's good training for the pilots.

And it impresses the public,
it boosts the Line.

Sometimes less is more.

- The men have limits.
- No.

May God hear you.

What's going on at the Grand Balcony?

You go there every night?

Don't be discreet, tell us.

Won't you come too, Mr. Carbot?
I'm afraid.

I needn't give my orders myself.
Too simple.

- Well?
- Any news?

I get it.

Merlin is presumed
lost in the mountains.

Lost?

- The phone lines are down.
- We know.

Mr. Carbot sent me
with tomorrow's orders.

Two planes leave, not one.

Each takes half the mail.

To split the risk.

Triolet, it's us two?

No.

Mr. Carbot wants
this first two-plane run

done by a veteran
and the youngest pilot.

Belfort.

And Faivret.

Report to the airfield now.

I'll wait to hear
some news of Merlin.

I won't fly in weather
like a tomb.

And it isn't their turn, dammit.
It's Fabien and me.

Fabien or you, it's the same.

- We don't buy it.
- Are you guys with us?

If it amuses your boss,
he can go himself.

- And good riddance!
- It's a mutiny!

- You have nothing to fear.
- But it concerns us...

Please, boys, think it over.

- We're not boys.
- We've thought it over.

Alright?

- Carbot wants us dead on his line.
- We're fed up.

There are other airlines.

And bosses who care about pilots.

You hear, Miss Maryse?
We agree.

- We all agree!
- Just a minute, guys.

We're free to do as we like.

I'm going to the airfield.

I can't let him go by himself.

I can't do that.

You're not the ones who were picked.

It was Faivret and me.

Let's go.

Come on.

I have a coat in the car.

- Bravo.
- Francoise and I were afraid.

No need to be.

Our bark is worse than our bite.

Bravo, postman.

But...

Didier?

Yes, where's Didier?

Where's Didier?

Mr. Carbot says no one
on the airfield

before noon tomorrow.
- But I have orders.

Counter order.

All missions postponed until his return.

Return from where?

Alicante.
He's carrying the mail.

No, Mr. Vuillemin, no!

You should have held our nephew back.

What could I have done,
Miss Francçoise?

Mr. Carbot ordered it
and took him along.

Mr. Carbot isn't God.

Does he know us?

- Does he?
- Yes, does he?

- It was your duty to prevent it.
- Exactly.

That boy, that child...

Don't moan, Adeline!

Please, my nerves are already sh*t.

The poor child.

But he's not a child,
that's clear.

Let him come back,
then he'll see.

We're waiting for them.

They won't be long.

As soon as he's back
I'll lock him up.

Yes, until he's of age.

Did he leave you
a message for us?

I didn't really understand.

I couldn't swear to I,
but he said...

Tell us!

That you encouraged him.

- How?
- By putting the Line above all else.

It was you who started it.

Maybe I forced you
to pin up the tablecloth!

Just say it, Adeline!

Here they come!

In weather like this!

With this wind...

It's marvelous.

My little Didier!

Your aunts are waiting for you.

- Are they angry?
- Very.

I don't care, I flew.

I saw the Pyrenees. Swell!

Get along with you.

Take the plane in.

There he is!

Didier, darling!

Are you crazy?

Didier, my child.

You gave us such a fright.

Miss Francoise, I can explain.

Go ahead.

Mr. Carbot, I must speak to you.

- On what grounds?
- Man to man.

Come in.

That run you did was an insult!

- To whom?
- To the pilots.

Not an insult, a lesson.
Don't they deserve it?

Then you knew?

I know all I should know.

Then you know I don't need lessons!

- You, most of all.
- Why?

You weren't picked to fly,
s0 just keep quiet.

The mutiny concerned me alone.

Yes, only me.

It wasn't up to you
to replace me in my position.

Sure.

You'd rather break them
and crush them.

I deprived you of that pleasure.

Get one thing into your head.

In work, I ignore pleasure...

and pain.

I want to know how malleable
the human dough I knead is.

What are you complaining about?

You saw how much they love you
at the Grand Balcony?

And you need to be loved.

I'll dictate my report.

Mail Barcelona, Toulouse...

- You know what, Mr. Vuillemin?
- What?

Once you've flown,
you only want to start again.

Well, you'll start again soon.

It must be Guérin,
he went out alone.

- Barely an hour ago.
- Then he was forced back.

Not due to engine trouble, for sure.

What will Mr. Carbot say?

Guérin's back!

There must be something wrong.

What happened to you?

Nothing, I couldn't get through,
that's all.

Mountains and sky are the same.

A solid wall without a gap.
Identical.

No need to write a book about it.

Refuel and send for Fabien.

To my office. In flying gear.

Right, Mr. Carbot.

Refuel, you lot.

I didn't send for you
to tell me Guérin's worth,

but to replace him.

If Guérin turned back,
it's impossible to get through.

He was the boldest in our squadron.

This is about you, not Guérin.

It's not an order.

I need a volunteer.

No one can demand
a man's hide like you do.

And then what?

I must know!

Can we get through or not?

We need an infallible
sounding device.

Of all the men,
Fabien comes closest to that.

If Fabien gets through,
I'll fire Guérin!

If Fabien has to turn back,

and my decision
will be based on him alone,

we stop flying in weather like this.

And if he's k*lled?

It would be a greater loss
for me than for you.

You can be sure of it.

Take off your shoes.

What pretty legs.

Come on.

The stairs are tricky.

I'll take you out the back way
in the morning.

A small door is open in the daytime.

Feeling peckish?

This way to the kitchen.

What do we do?

What can we do?
Our retreat is cut off.

Dammit! Put your shoes on.

Speech! Speech!

- Bravo, junior!
- Shut up! Let him speak.

Come on, Didier!

A good sonnet is better
than a long speech.

My buddies...

My good buddies.

I must tell you that tonight...

Didier!

Get down, you wretch!

My God!
The state they've put him in!

Aunt Francoise, Aunt Adeline!

I'm being honored tonight...

I've got my certificate,
I must make a speech.

Yes, a speech!

- My dear buddies, dear ladies...
- Didier!

- You're going to fall!
- Auntie!

You stink of wine.

My kitchen!

What's going on?

My kitchen! Not even my sister
ever comes in here.

These wretches!

Debauchery!
Francoise! Help me!

Mr. Triolet, you've gone too far.

- Oh my!
- I say!

- Kiss Didier, it's his show.
- Not that wretch!

Never insult a fallen woman.
Right, pet?

That's enough!

Mr. Triolet, send these women back
where you found them.

This isn't a cloister.

Good evening.

I was walking by and I saw the light.

What is it?

Fabien?

Lost in the Pyrenees.

Come...

I'm starting to think
they have every right.

- Is someone dead?
- I don't know.

Come on, girls, it's over.

You can go now.

- And Carbot?
- The same as ever.

Please give him this.
My resignation from the Line.

You can't.
Mr. Carbot makes all the decisions.

Even if he wanted to keep me,
I'd have to leave.

Fabien d*ed because of me.

But he couldn't get through!

It was my turn.
It was my mail run.

I shouldn't have let anyone do it.

- Especially not Fabien...
- Not Fabien...

You see, you'll never forgive me.

Nor will they.

They loved Fabien too much.

I can't fly any more.

I'll find another line of work.

Yes, Didier here.

Mr. Carbot wants to talk to Guérin.

Yes, Mr. Carbot.

Of course.

I understand, Mr. Carbot.

Thank you, Mr. Carbot.

He ordered me to find Fabien.

My letter.

My letter!

Is that clear?

You flew over the same places.

You have the best chance
of finding him.

Right, Mr. Carbot.

You must find him!

Get going.

I'll be honest with you.

For the insurance to pay her immediately

your body must be found.

You're too low down here.

It will snow again
and you'll be buried.

You have to climb higher...

Up there...

Up there...

You'll be fine.

Higher.

Still higher.

Climb...

Climb...

And he climbed so he wouldn't
be covered by snow.

But when he reached the rock
where he'd decided to die,

the mechanism kicked in again.

Yes, he kept going.

He went on and on.

As far as the woodcutter's cabin.

That woodcutter's cabin.

Congratulations, Mr. Fabien.

Congratulations on your heroism.

Abroad, Francoise!

They'll be reading this abroad!

If anyone had said we'd see
journalists at the Grand Balcony...

And never forget,
gentlemen of the press,

one vital fact.

Fabien was saved
by his insurance policy.

And even more amazing,
he dragged a mailbag with him.

Let's take this photo.

Ready!

I need to speak to Fabien alone.

As pleased with yourself as ever?

No one gives me orders in my room,
and throws my friends out!

A fine talker, what's more.

In the service I accept everything,

but I warn you,
in my private life...

Yes, your private life...

Is this your private life?

A life of a matinee idol
and starlets?

I didn't call the press,
they came.

Like flies to honey.

Good publicity for the Line.

No accident is good publicity,
it only serves the survivor.

You're angry with me.

Angry I came back
after you sent me out to die.

You went of your own accord.

Don't deny the one positive element
in your story.

As for the rest,

your return wasn't for the job
or the Line.

Yet it's what gave rise
to all that hype.

You think you're worth more
than Goupil?

Charlier? Merlin?

They d*ed without making
the front page.

What do you think of me?

What's going on, Mr. Vuillemin?

Aren't you late?

No.

I think there's news for us!

Mr. Carbot called us in.

You're leaving?

I think so.

I don't know.

But...

For a long time?

With Carbot, you never know.

It's your choice.

What's the matter,
Miss Francçoise?

Nothing, Mr. Vuillemin.

I just feel you're glad to leave.

Yes... I mean, yes and no.

Yes, because the Line
is developing and...

No, because I'll be leaving...

The Grand Balcony.

Mr. Vuillemin,

one has to know what one wants.

If I asked you to join me,
would you leave everything?

And if I asked you to stay,

would you leave the Line?

Impossible.

Impossible.

Next month, we're opening

the Casablanca-Dakar line.

Flying conditions
are highly dangerous.

The stopovers, landing fields
are all in order.

But the Breguet 14 isn't
the right plane for heat and desert.

You know that a new model,

better adapted to this navigation,

should be delivered
before the opening date.

I've heard it's not coming.

We can't wait. We must work fast.
For the Line's future.

We must extend this Line
to Chile one day.

So we have to confront
the desert with the Breguet,

despite sand storms
and Moorish rebels.

We'll make it.

I'll give the working crews
special instructions.

The crews will be...

Triolet, Contact. Over here.

Belfort, Tournoi.

Faivret, Marchaud.

- And Fabien, Didier.
- Bravo.

Guérin,

in my absence,
take command of the pilots.

I need a veteran
to train the beginners.

The pivotal point
of the new Line is here,

at Cape Juby.

You're looking good today, Morel.

We do our best, boss.
It's a great day!

I'm sick of drinking alone.

Drinks on me!

Drinks for who?

You, the others, everyone.
Round 'em up!

What's he saying?

In their two years here,

they never saw anyone as generous

as you.
- That's not it.

It's because the Line planes
are arriving today.

Tell them.

No point. They don't care.

They're only interested
in going home to Spain.

Damn, you can't talk
with those guys.

Welcome to our boys!
To the Line!

- Hello, Abdallah.
- Hello, Mr. Morel.

I was expecting you.

It's gonna be hot today.

Need any money?

A small advance from my pay.

It's your salary, not your pay.

You're not a soldier,
you're my interpreter.

You want money to buy hash?

Allah is great.
He gives to each his paradise.

Say that in your language.

You earned your advance!
Come and see this.

The table is set for five.

Five instead of one.

Always one.

I can't believe it.

Have a drink with me.

No, sir, I can't.
Muhammed forbids it.

But today is no ordinary day.

For the Line!

No, sir, it's impossible,
Muhammed forbids it.

Muhammed...

The Koran...

The Koran...

I'm gonna have a drink.

To the Line!

Mr. Morel!

Mr. Morel, they're coming!

The burial will be
in an hour or two.

I saw the fort commander.

He's sending men to dig deep,
because of the jackals.

The Spanish chaplain will say a mass.

Morel might have been religious.

I'll see Carbot for the orders.

Mr. Carbot, do we push on
to Dakar early tomorrow?

I go, you stay.

Why? For a test flight? A recce?

No flying.
You stay as stopover chief.

- Me, stopover chief?
- Yes, you.

But you said Vuillemin...

I changed my mind
on examining the situation.

For how long?

As long as I judge necessary.

You'll have Didier for the engines
and Vuillemin for the transmitter.

Let go the lamp.

So that's my job?

I have nothing better to do
than watch others fly?

The famous Casa-Dakar line!

You talked about it enough.

Casa-Dakar.

I dreamed about it enough.

And flying the first mail
to Dakar tomorrow,

who'll do it now?

You, I suppose?

There's no one else.

That's a breach of trust.

A dirty trick!

I have more flying hours than anyone.

You demand more from me
than the others!

And you thr*aten to bury me
in this penal colony?

I don't thr*aten, I order.

Are you through bullshitting me?

The heat is affecting you.

Never get het up in this climate.

Get used to it gradually.

Listen here, Mr. Carbot.

I kept quiet
because I trusted you.

But as things stand,

there are the other lines too.

Paris-London, Paris-Berlin,
Paris-Bucharest!

And they've all made me offers.

I can even join Nogués
on his mission in the Far East.

Fine.

If you accept one of those offers

I'll take you to Dakar
tomorrow for the boat.

Think it over, you're free.

I love this Line
more than I hate you, Carbot.

Mr. Carbot.

Mr. Carbot.

A message from Agadir!

"First Casa-Dakar mail.

"Took off for Juby.

"Pilot: Triolet.
Engineer: Contact.

"Picking up the interpreter
Abdallah in Juby."

The first mail!
The first buddies to pass here!

No risk, we know all
the instructions by heart.

That's true.

It's not a signature,
it's a whiplash!

Still mad at him for grounding you,

and stopping you flying.

Don't be, he has his reasons.
He's a great chief.

We're here to run the stopover.
No sentimentality.

I know that.

- Sorry, chum.
- Don't mention it.

But it struck me.

You spoke like him.

Like who?

Mr. Fabien?

Hello, captain.

Have a drink with us?

With pleasure.

I hope your plane hasn't left Agadir.

It's on the way, as scheduled.

Hello, Mr. Fabien.

I think in an hour or two,

we'll have a sandstorm.

The air is congested,
I know the area.

Your plane must have turned back.

No way.

You don't know my friend Triolet.

- But no one can fly in a sandstorm.
- Triolet can.

What did he say?

He said airmail in this region

is a fantasy.

For my own mail,

I'll keep using the boat.

It takes a week, not a day.

Yes, but it arrives!

I say Triolet will get through!

On the Line, we do or die!

And there'll be mail every week!

You're a bunch of fools
and cowards!

Break it up!

Stop, Carbot's orders!

No fighting the Spaniards.

That's enough!

Listen...

Triolet!

Triolet.

"When the pelican,
Weary after a long flight..."

How's tricks?

Hunky-dory.

Vuillemin, how are you?

My favorite choir boy!

- Eating sand?
- Up to here.

Look at that mug!

See that face!

What a kisser...

The pot calling the kettle black!

I'll be damned!

We'll show 'em
the dance of the Sioux.

Cape Juby.

For Dakar, by relay plane.

In good nick?

Perfect, overhauled
and tested by me.

Good.
Where's your interpreter?

I'll get him over.
Didier, fetch Abdallah.

Right!

Tell him to hurry!

- It's agreed you stop at Cisneros?
- Cisneros, Port Etienne and Dakar.

- Okay, let's get going.
- Contact, Contact!

Damn! I'm losing time.

- Here I am!
- Where's the interpreter?

- We couldn't find him.
- What's he up to?

I'll take him tomorrow,
after Dakar. Mail first.

Mail first.

Watch the oil pressure
in the desert heat.

Thanks. So long, guys.

We'll have time to talk
tomorrow night.

- So long, Vuillemin.
- So long, kiddo.

- Bye now!
- Off.

- Off!
- Off!

Contact!

Contact!

Here's proof that my buddy Triolet
whipped your sandstorm.

Your mail!

Captain Almeyda.

Boss.

Rodriguez.

Zapata.

Lopez.

Senor Fabien, does your mail
work both ways?

Absolutely.

All letters submitted
by tomorrow p.m.

will reach Spain in 24 hours.

There you are.
Where were you?

-I was...
- Tell me where you were!

The plane left without you.
You know that?

I didn't know the plane arrived.

You heard it. You were stoned
and you still are!

I don't answer little boys.

Didier!

Get out of here!

Are you crazy?

You know it's forbidden.

"With interpreters,

"except in cases of self-defense,

"do not resort to force
under any circumstances.”

Do you understand?

If I report this,
and I should,

Carbot will pull you out of here.

I give you my word of honor.

A man's word of honor.

I won't get carried away again.

Listen, Didier,
I want you to think it over.

You'd escape this climate,
this solitude that you can't stand.

You'd fly.

I want to stay with you.

I'll stick it all out,
you'll see.

It's settled then.

Abdallah went AWOL.

Get the hell out!

Pilot Triolet and engineer missing

Prisoners of the Moors.

That's tough.

Poor guys...

So the desert, the sea, the fog,

the wind and sand isn't enough?

We must have savages too.

And Didier is out there...

Radio message from Cape Juby,
number 321.

"Triolet mailbags recovered

"and conveyed to destination
by Fabien.

"Moorish tribe holding
Contact and Triolet prisoners

"located by Fabien. Stop.

"Ransom proposal settled
by emissary. Stop.

"Fabien left to take

"Camel Corps Lieutenant Vanier
to negotiate with tribe."

OK.

- Is there an answer?
- No.

Fabien did everything
he should have.

It's late.
You should turn in.

Good night, Mr. Carbot.

Yes, Vanier is a great guy.

He's an expert on the country
and the locals.

He asked for 3 days
to negotiate with the tribe

for Contact and Triolet's release.

He'll have a deal
when I pick him up.

If you'd seen that landing
between two dunes,

only Fabien could have pulled it off.

Save the gushing for later.

Say, old man,

about Belfort,

did he leave Cisneros as planned?

Yep.

His landing all set?

As usual.

I'm going to bed.

I haven't slept since this kicked in.

The comings and goings,
the sand, the crazy landings.

I'm dead b*at.

What's the time?

- Has Belfort arrived?
- Not yet.

- But I thought...
- What is it?

Have a look.

- It blew up suddenly?
- Pretty well.

That you, Didier?

Yes, it's me.

I got lost 3 times
leaving the strip.

- The fires?
- All lit.

But we can't see them from here.

So Belfort must fly low
to see them.

Here he comes!

He's in a side wind.
To the airfield!

Too late.

He was right on track.

Flying low but he didn't see us.

Out to sea...

At night!

Yes, and probably running out of gas.

It's over.

The great Belfort...

Didier, keep the fires going.

We'll send a message to Toulouse.

It was my fault, I know,

with Abdallah, but...

Is it such a serious fault?

No, believe me.

Don't tell Mr. Carbot.

He'll never know.

And we'll fly together again?

Always together.

Always.

I don't want you to get
another flight engineer.

You'll wait for me?

For as long as it takes.

To the Sahara

We'll go to the Sahara

Tra la la...

To the Sahara we'll go...

You're not leaving me?

Without you here, I'm scared.

With you, nothing can happen.

You won't leave me here?

No, kid.
No, old man.

I swear it.

If he wakes before I'm back,
tell him I stepped out for a minute.

A service issue.

I'll be right back. OK?

Maybe the doc here
doesn't know much?

We don't need a specialist
to see how he is.

A question of days or hours,
and he can't be moved.

The poor kid will have to die here.

He wouldn't leave me.

Could anyone have seen it coming?

Carbot could!

Carbot's always right.

What's the matter?

- Talking of Carbot...
- Carbot?

He wants you in Toulouse, urgent.

Toulouse?

"Don't wait for the mail.
Return in your own plane."

He doesn't know!

Informed him. He does.

We'll wire him,
maybe he'll understand.

But it's not possible!

He hasn't understood about Didier!

"Transmit...

"praise...

"and warmest regards...

"flight engineer...

"Didier. Stop.

"Will arrange...

"a medal...

"for him. Stop.

"Bury...

"Didier...

"beside Morel.

"With all honors...

"possible.

"Gilbert Carbot."

The brute...

The bastard!

No, he isn't.

You know it,
everyone on the Line knows.

If he tells you to go, you go.

And the worst is, I'll obey.

You mustn't see Didier again.

Of course not.

How is he?

Worse. He's asking for you,

all the time.

Goodbye, old man.

I forgot my cigarette case,
send for it.

But you're already running late.

You're right.

And now...

Get going.

Mr. Fabien's gone away?

No, he hasn't.

Here's proof.

He left this for you.

If he left this for me,

he can't have gone far.

I don't know if you agree with me,

but I don't like them.

They're very nice.

They're with the Line too.

Of course they don't measure up
to the vets.

Most of the vets are dead men.

Mr. Charlier,

Mr. Goupil,

Mr. Merlin, Mr. Faivret,

Mr. Belfort...

Seems there's a terrific
Yoshiwara in Casa!

And at Villa Cisneros,
they raise antelopes.

Wrong, Mr. Meunier.

In Casablanca, the quarter
isn't called Yoshiwara,

it's Bousbir.

And they don't raise antelopes
in Villa Cisneros,

but gazelles.

Say, aren't the landladies
a bit nutty?

You're the nutcase.
They're experts on stopovers,

temperatures, the engineers' names,
and the vegetation.

No kidding! Based on that map?

When that map was drawn up,

none of you were with the Line.

Fabien drew it up,

after flying the first
Toulouse-Casablanca journey.

A direct, round trip.

Fabien.

That ring a bell?

Fabien, the great Fabien.

My friend, Fabien.

The guy from the Pyrenees accident.

Who rescued...

- Triolet?
- Triolet and Contact from the Moors.

With flight engineer Didier Fusain.

Our nephew.

Here comes Maryse.

So we're leaving for the Sahara?

Mamzelles,
Mr. Carbot wants to speak to you.

On your own.

Iheard the news when I landed.

I left Didier there,
but I couldn't help it.

I swear I did my best

to stay with him.

He was magnificent.

And he lived the best days
of his life there.

I'm not saying this to comfort you,
you can be proud of the boy.

That's all.

I also want to say I'm very sad.

I'll be back.

Yes?

One moment, sir.

It's the engineer of the new plane.

Yes, it's arrived.

I haven't seen it yet.

First flight tomorrow, 7 a.m.

Call the Grand Balcony,
tell Fabien I'm waiting for him.

You actually brought me back
to test a new plane?

And for that job,
you made me let Didier die without me?

First flight, first thing tomorrow.

There's no more first thing,
or first flight.

We have nothing more in common.

Nothing!

I know who you are now.

A man who's drunk on power.

A sadist, a maniac!

You sicken me.

Like a vile disease.

- Indeed?
- Yes.

I scrubbed engines,

I confronted the Pyrenees head on,

I let myself be buried
in Juby without knowing why.

But after Didier, no.

I can see clearly now.

And I'm leaving.

Don't think I'll stay here
for the Line.

You managed to make me hate it.

The only desertion,

the only betrayal
I ever committed in my life,

was on your Line,
because of you!

Casa-Dakar! Casa-Dakar!

I'd burn my pilot certificate
to forget that.

Let's talk seriously.

This isn't about Casa-Dakar.

You'll be crossing the Atlantic.

From here to here.

- By plane?
- Hardly on foot.

You'll test the plane tomorrow.

If you fly over,
and you will,

you'll stay in South America,

recce the stopovers, all we need
for our new line there.

From Natal to Buenos Aires.

Later on, you'll go to the Pacific.

Santiago de Chile?

The Andes...

You'll be the first.

It's tough.

But for backup you can have anyone
you like from the Line.

Guérin! Triolet! Vuillemin!

Whoever you like.
You'll need the best.

And you can share out
kingdoms among them.

- Kingdoms?
- Get some rest.

Not at the Grand Balcony.
At the Métropole,

where Mouline is staying,

the engineer of the new plane.

Yeah?

Mouline?

Pick up some sleeping pills
at a pharmacy,

you're still beaded up.

Thank you, Mr. Carbot.

For what?

I've done nothing for you.

And remember,
if Didier d*ed as he did,

it's because you didn't file
the report.

So you'll hate him to the bitter end.

If I loved him, do you think
I'd treat him differently?

He'd be the last to know.
Or I couldn't be his chief any more.

I couldn't.

Not without putting an ocean
between us both.

Well, Vuillemin, old man!

So we're off?

- Nervous, Mr. Fabien?
- I don't know anymore.

Old habits die hard.

You took down the last words exactly?

Yes, Mr. Carbot.

Gilbert,
I just had the weather forecast.

It couldn't be better.

Good. You leave in a few minutes.

Thanks.

So Mr. Postman! Happy?

Mr. Garandoux!

Leaving without us around?

You came all this way?

And how.
The mail always interests me.

Remember the beginning?

- Those little bags?
- Do I remember!

There aren't many vets like us
left from the Line.

And them too.

- Hello, Miss Adeline.
- Hello, Mr. Fabien.

- Mr. Fabien.
- Miss Francoise.

We came because we feel very proud.

Yes, very proud.

Thank you, Mamzelles.

Thank you.

I'll never forget
what you did for me.

A hopeless case.

We lived through the w*r together
and the birth of the Line.

You still think
I hire you to please you?

C'mon, Gilbert...

When you couldn't serve
the Line as a pilot,

I threw you out.

If I picked you to train
as navigator for the crossing,

it's because I consider you
the most highly qualified.

Maryse!

Slightly to the left.

- A bit higher.
- Like this?

That's fine.

What a chore!

Like that. Fine.

Miss Maryse wants to speak to you.

- New orders, Miss Maryse?
- No, it's not for the service.

We found it
amongst Didier's things from Juby.

Until now,
Mr. Carbot hadn't thought...

My cigarette case.

Miss Maryse says
it was with Didier's things.

How come?

I don't know.

My lucky mascot.

I don't believe in it.

Mr. Fabien, it's almost time.
I'll say goodbye.

I have typing to do.

I wish I could stay for takeoff,
but you know Mr. Carbot...

Sure, Maryse, my dear.
See you soon.

Goodbye.

Say,

Fabien never noticed
the girl's mad about him?

No, absolutely not.

He's too young.

Mr. Darbouin,
you're an educated man,

do you believe
that at a certain age,

folk in love have the right
to act rashly?

Why do you ask me?

- Just asking.
- Well...

It depends on people's characters.

Us two, for instance,
we're acting rashly!

I get it!

Positions!

Fabien!
Vuillemin?

We'll get through, we charge.

Storms, fog, clouds,

they don't exist.

The mail must arrive.

It must arrive, understand?

Mr. Vuillemin's coming to speak to us.

Vuillemin!

They're calling you!

- You'll miss the takeoff.
- Hurry, Vuillemin!

- Sorry.
- Vuillemin!

Recap instructions:
It's not a race.

We've done that, broken records.
Not interested.

Easy on the plane,
easy on yourselves.

Commercial journey, commercial speed.
That's all.

Commercial.

Don't be daunted.
It means great things.

This isn't a one-off.

We must pass every week,
like a shipping line.

The Line.

And at that price,
Brazil is up for grabs, Argentina,

Chile,
from here to the Pacific.

Not for mail, that's secondary.

I don't care about letters,
nor do you.

But the Line means
the country expanding

over deserts, oceans,
jungles, mountains.

Wherever the Line passes,

over a douar, a nomad camp,
an Andean village,

wherever they hear our engines,

the Moroccan, the Moor,
the adventurer,

the Indian in the Andes

will hear our country pass!

Commercial speed, commercial journey,
understood?

And this time,

publicity is useful, it's vital.

Act like stars, that's an order.
On the other side of the Atlantic too.

Front page headlines,
movie houses, postcards.

You're not handsome for nothing.

Get going.
Post Reply