The Sun Also Rises

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One generation passes away...

and another generation comes...

but the Earth abides forever.

The sun also rises...

and the sun goes down...

and hastens to the place

where he arose.

This is Paris of today.

Our story deals with another Paris-

the Paris of 1922...

shortly after what used to

be called "the great war:"

We were part of that spectacular

lost generation of young people...

who continued to live

as though they were about to die.

Number 49 A venue de I'Opra

was the center of our working world...

but we lived across the river

on the Left Bank...

in a bohemian world of poets,

painters and writers.

Merci.

Jake. Jake Barnes!

Hello, Jake. Good to see you!

How are you?

- Fine. Fine, thanks.

- You look fine.

You don't remember me, do you?

Harris, from the Ospedale Maggiore

in Milano.

Of course. I'm sorry.

You were with a bombardment squadron.

That's it. Had 10 operations,

and I still can't bend my knee.

- You about through now?

- Yeah, a couple of months more and then home.

They're never gonna see my face

this side of the water again.

- Hey, what are you still doing over here?

- Oh, I'm working.

Oh, that's right. I remember.

You were a newspaperman before the war.

So you decided to stay here, huh?

Well, that's not the way I'd play it.

I'm going home

even if it is too late to be a hero.

- Well, uh, good luck to you, Harris.

- Yeah, you too.

Uh, Barnes.

You're all right, arent you?

Yeah. Sure.

Uh, give me a call if youre

gonna be in town for a while.

- We'll have a drink, huh?

- I'll do that.

- So long.

- So long, Jake.

- Good morning, Jake.

- Good morning, Ralph.

- Good morning, Mr. Barnes.

- Good morning, Mrs. Lloyd.

- Here are the cables.

- Thank you.

Mr. Jackson is anxious to know how youre

coming along on the League of Nations piece.

Tell him I'll have it for him Sunday, and the

Woodrow Wilson piece some time next week.

Yes, sir.

You have a visitor. Mr. Cohn.

He insisted on waiting.

No, I can't do it.

I can't, Frances. I can't.

The book.

How do you expect me to write

when you keep after me this way?

- Cant you understand, Frances?

Huh? Oh! Hi, Jake.

- Hello, Robert.

- Whoo! Must have fallen asleep. Sorry.

- Yes?

It's all right.

- Was I talking in my sleep?

- Uh-huh.

- Sorry. I must have been having a bad dream.

- Oh, Robert?

- No, thanks.

I wanted to talk to you.

I didn't get any sleep at all last night.

- What's the matter?

- I don't know.

I haven't slept for weeks.

- Maybe you oughta see a doctor.

- I don't need a doctor.

I need to get away.

Everything's been going wrong, Jake-

Frances, the book.

- I cant seem to do anything right.

- That happens to everybody.

I know. That's why

I want to get away for a while.

How would you like to go

to South America with me, Jake?

- Not much.

- Why not?

I don't know. It's expensive.

You see all the South Americans

in Paris anyway.

- Why dont you take Frances?

- Ohh.

She wouldn't like it.

Look, if I handled both our expenses,

would you go?

No. I like Paris.

- Anyway, I always go to Spain in July.

- You can do that next year.

Why dont you think about it, Jake?

All right, Robert. I'll think about it.

In the meantime,

I've gotta get out some cables.

Okay. I'll go.

How 'bout dinner tonight?

I'm sorry. I- I have a date.

Why don't we meet after dinner?

We're all going to that balmusette

on the Rue Sainte Genevive.

- There's a dancing tonight.

- I'll see if I can make it.

Oh, I'm sorry

about falling asleep, Jake.

Don't give it a thought, Robert.

I'll see ya.

Asseyez-vous.

Merci. Vous tes trs gentil.

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