Renoir

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Is the Renoir house around here?

- What do you want?

- There's a job for me.

With a painter.

- Who told you that?

- Mr. Renoir's wife.

Right. We were expecting you.

- Who are you?

- Nobody.

Somebody without a family.

You lie. Mrs. Renoir is dead. Dead!

Yes?

Is he telling the truth?

That the lady has died?

You can go in, the boss is waiting.

Do I scare you, dear?

No... no.

Show me your hands.

- What's your name?

- Andre.

Andre Heuschling.

And you state...

that it was my poor wife who sent you?

She told me that I could pose for you.

The girl from nowhere...

sent by a dead woman.

I think we'll work together.

- Vermilion.

- Vermilion, of course.

- Got it.

- Sienna.

I'll add it.

Little by little, baker.

Just a little turd.

- What should I do?

- Huh?

Whatever you want.

If you pose for me...

you have to be available all day.

I'll manage.

Do you work somewhere?

Here and there.

I am an artist.

Artist?

I'll be...

What kind of artist?

All kinds.

Actress.

Dancer, singer.

Where am I?

You didn't even paint me.

What did I pose for?

Tomorrow, dear.

I can't promise anything,

I have things to do.

Come earlier.

To make the most of the good light.

Give her five francs for her trouble.

Can you give her five francs?

All right?

I charge 10 francs.

Boss? Do you mind if I move?

If I did mind, I'd paint apples.

I had a friend who was a painter,

he lived not far from here, in Aix.

He used to hide

to get away from the models...

who prowled around his studio.

What did he paint?

Apples... fittingly.

And wooden mannequins.

I could never do that.

I need life.

I love the skin.

The velvety skin of a young girl.

Don't be shy!

What are you doing?

- I'm catching animals.

- Why aren't you in school?

My father says nothing is learned there.

I thought you didn't have a family.

My brothers are fighting in the war,

my mother died and my father's idle.

- Who's your father?

- The old man.

What's your name?

Claude. They call me Coco.

I'm Andre. They call me Dde.

Are you ready?

Yes, boss, I'm coming!

Are you happy with your new model?

Her skin doesn't repel the light,

you did well to send her to me.

I told myself she was a little Renoir.

Oh... Little Renoirs.

You gave me three.

With this damn war, I'm missing two.

Jean...

My Jeannot.

What have they done to him?

Don't worry. He's okay.

Will they send him back alive?

Whole?

Come quickly, it's the boss!

Sh*t... sh*t!

Sh*t... sh*t!

Not so fast!

If you want to help me, work properly.

Show me your brush.

It's not the good one.

I told you to grab the flat brush.

Do you listen to me or don't you care?

Did you read

the book of fables I gave you?

I haven't had the time.

I've excused you

from going to school, but...

certainly not from studying.

Do you understand?

Will he stay there?

Coco, leave us. Go read your fables.

- What about the paintings?

- Well... later.

You are very modest for an actress.

Actress doesn't mean whore.

Sit down.

I have a son who's an actor.

- Pierre.

- Really?

Aeneas.

In film?

Thank God not!

The theater!

It's not much better.

- Why do you say that?

- It's not a real job.

A job where you use your hands...

to make something...

that lasts.

It lasts in people's heads.

Just wind.

Compared...

to a chair...

a house...

a pair of shoes.

A plate.

Are you always like this?

How?

Grumpy.

Never while I work.

What about the third son?

Jean?

- What does he do?

- Everything and nothing.

He'll wind up in the cavalry.

On the eve of the war...

Misfortune...

he was wounded.

Gangrene, too.

It should be us...

the old, the sick...

who should be sent there.

To the mud and the trenches.

Get up. Walk a little.

They're my father's gloves.

He can't put them on.

- Who's this baby?

- My brother Jean.

- He's handsome.

- In truth, not so much.

- And this is you?

- No, it's my elder brother Pierre.

Is he the actor?

- That's you!

- No, it's not me!

Are you sure?

I said it wasn't me.

Your mother was beautiful.

I don't know.

I knew her when she was old and fat.

Show me your tits.

- What's with you?

- Show them.

Why?

- You show them to the master.

- It's not the same.

- It's art.

- Yeah, sure.

You'll do it too.

You'll end up in the old man's bed.

Like my mother, like all the others.

Jean!

Come over everyone! Jean has arrived!

My Jeannot!

My God, so skinny!

Didn't they feed you?

They fed me in the army,

but not at the hospital.

We'll fatten you!

Come and see your father.

Are you all right? Do you need any help?

Boss! He's here!

- Second lieutenant?

- Yes.

You owe me respect, rookie.

So you're healed?

If I were healed, I'd be in combat.

If you were healed, you'd be dead.

Coco! Please!

Jean!

Jean!

Is your wound serious?

It'll get better.

I'll limp for a while.

I'll have that officer charm!

I saw Pierre in Paris.

He was demobilized.

He still needs an operation.

- Again?

- Because of his arm.

He with one arm, you lame.

Me, on a wheelchair.

With a pillow under my ass...

We'll do fine.

They'll demobilize you too.

For the moment, I'm recovering.

Time to heal the wound.

You're not planning

on going back to the front?

If the doctors say

that I can go, I'll go.

Jean...

Don't force destiny.

We must let go in life.

Like a cork in a stream.

I know your cork theory.

It's not a theory, it's reality.

Consider when I was a porcelain painter,

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