Yves Saint Laurent Page #3

---

What's wrong, honey?

I'm not sure I'll be deferred.

If I get draughted, I can't go.

I just can't.

No one expects you to hold a gun.

I'm sorry.

Lift your arm delicately, like this.

How does it feel?

- It's tight in back.

- In that case...

Karl is now artistic director of Patou.

Give him a kiss for me.

Let's go dancing. He misses you.

And Roger is busy.

Yves must finish London.

- The press office needs to see you.

- What for?

An appointment.

Why did you tell them I was in?

You can see them, Mr Saint Laurent.

Stop harassing me! I have to work!

Leave me alone.

This dress is no good.

Can you leave us alone?

Leave us alone.

You, too, Yvonne.

I need the Grey shantung. I have to finish.

What's going on?

Yves?

I'm sketching.

I'm sketching so I don't hear.

To stay strong.

Hear what?

The shouts. The silence. Same thing.

It's always been the same.

- Always the same.

- Calm down.

- I'm here.

- I have to stay strong.

You have the talent.

I'll see to the rest.

I'll always be here for you.

Really?

I received my enlistment papers.

You've been asked to serve.

What about your new collection?

Are you still fashion's little prince?

Save the questions for later.

- Who are you?

- Pierre Berg.

Mr Saint Laurent is busy. Enough.

As for the events in Algeria,

any comments?

My only combat is to dress women.

A combat? As you pose for pictures?

My son died in Algiers.

He was your age!

How shameful. Shame on you!

"Yves Saint Laurent

hesitates to take up arms.

"Political choice or opportunism?"

Clearly, they don't understand you.

Mr Boussac, give me time.

I don't have any time.

The press will destroy us

if we don't respond quickly.

Perhaps you're too young

to resist attacks of the sort.

I feel perfectly fine as artistic director

of the House of Dior in Paris.

I'm not the type to flee criticism.

Fleeing your civic duty doesn't bother you?

- You already got me a deferment.

- It's not so simple.

A few days later,

you responded to your enlistment orders.

But the army wasn't your thing...

Empty your pockets.

You never made it further

than military hospital.

This isn't a prison.

Dr Steinler, head of psychiatry.

I called you.

It's no mere anxiety attack.

Mr Mathieu-Saint-Laurent

is manic-depressive.

Who exactly are you to him?

His friend.

His companion.

Will you be able to stand this?

Hello, Pierre.

Don't stay long.

I feel like sleeping.

They did a good job on you.

Your mother is nearby

at the Hotel Frontenac.

Why won't you see her?

I'm tired now.

I just want to be left alone.

I'm tired.

Are you okay?

Want to drink something?

I'm fine.

I won't offer you anything to eat.

The food here...

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes