Attila Marcel Page #4

He's looking better already.

Careful, you got some crab on him.

Sweetheart...

My daughter won't be long.

She can be a little antisocial at times.

Cellists...

They're lone wolves!

Would you like some vegetables?

Certainly not!

Let me explain.

Paul is obsessed with vegetables.

They're all we ever eat now.

All his money goes on them.

So, when we got your kind invitation,

we didn't think twice.

A weekend of fresh air,

far from Paris and pollution...

Far from vegetables...

We didn't know Trouville. It's...

It's...

It's full of air.

Paul is competing

for the young soloist prize again, I hear.

This year will be the last time.

33 is the age limit

for being young.

The competition is tough.

You said it.

Especially from the Chinese.

The Chinese?

He's been battling the Chinese

for 15 years.

Yes, but they are

particularly gifted people.

Strength in numbers is all it is.

It's the same thing

in our neighbourhood.

In our neighbourhood,

they're everywhere.

They're talented though.

All they can do is win.

It's mathematical.

They stifle the rest of us.

Meet my daughter, Michelle.

Michelle is a pretty name.

Ever had brandied cherries?

Paul's real problem are his fingers.

As a baby,

he had his mother's slender hands.

During adolescence...

With the hormones...

His body changed.

Everything grew.

I see...

No, you don't see.

Everything grew except his hands.

Now he has his father's chubby fingers.

We have to make do with that.

Do you know Professor Kruzinsky?

A hand surgeon?

A piano teacher.

I'll give you his number.

He's highly respected

in the piano world.

And jury chairman this year.

Really, would you do that for us?

We have to help each other.

He'd help us a lot more

if he stopped adopting Chinese babies!

A lollipop!

The sea air!

Are you still a virgin?

Me too.

It's a bummer, isn't it?

Come on, Mimi.

That's good.

Yes, that's good.

It's very good.

Very good...

The light...

The void beyond the light...

No contours...

The light swallows everything,

digests it...

You don't listen to music.

It burns into the retina of your eye.

A pianist is a pyromaniac of the soul.

He's a criminal!

And you've understood that.

You have to be a criminal

to play the piano.

You have to be a piece of sh*t!

But a shining piece of sh*t.

And you do that beautifully!

So...

what's all this business

about short, chubby fingers?

Let's get serious here!

So...

that's fairly positive?

Good.

That's reassuring.

- Who do I make the cheque out to?

- I prefer cash.

Forgive me,

but people can be dishonest.

May I?

The light...

May I sit down?

I knew I'd find you here.

That's a beautiful tree.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes