Last Tango in Paris
written by Bernardo Bertolucci, Franco Arcalli, & Agnes Varda, also improvised by Marlon Brando
(Before the beginning of the film, Paul's wife commits suicide by slitting her wrists in a bathtub. She managed a cheap hotel in Paris (thus the "knick-knacks left behind"). They lived in the hotel together, and his wife cheated on him with another hotel resident, Marcel. In this scene, her dead body is lying in state in one of the hotel's bedrooms, surrounded by purple flowers.)
Paul: You look ridiculous in that makeup. Like a caricature of a whore. A little touch of mommy in the night. (sits in a chair next to his dead wife's body) Fake Ophelia drowned in the bathtub. (scoots closer) I wish you could see yourself. You'd really laugh. You're your mother's mastepiece. (scoots closer again) There's too many fucking flowers in this place. I can't breathe. You know, in the top of the closet, cardboard box, I found all your -- I found all your little goodies. Pens, key chains, foreign money, French ticklers, the whole shot. Even a clergymen's collar. I didn't know you collected all those little knick-knacks left behind.
Even if a husband lives ... 200 fucking years, he's never gonna be able to discover his wife's true nature. I mean, I -- I might be able to comprehend the universe ... but I'll never discover the truth about you. Never. I mean, who the hell were you?
Remember that day, the first day I was there? I knew I couldn't get into your pants unless I said, uh... What did I say? Oh, yes. Uh, "May I have my bill, please? I have to leave." Remember?
Last night, I ripped off the lights on your mother and the whole joint went bananas. All your guests, as you used to call them. Well, I guess that includes me, doesn't it? Huh? It does include me, doesn't it? For five years I was more a guest in this fucking flophouse than a husband. With privileges, of course. Then, to help me understand, you let me inherit Marcel, the husband's double whose room was the double of ours. And you know what? I didn't even have the guts to ask him, didn't even have the guts to ask him if the same numbers you and I did were the same numbers you did with him. Our marriage was nothing more than a... a foxhole for you and all it took for you to get out was a 35-cent razor and a tub full of water. You cheap, goddamn fucking, godforsaken whore, I hope you rot in hell. You're worse than the dirtiest street pig that anyone could find anywhere, and you know why? You know why? Because you lied. You lied to me and I trusted you. You lied, you knew you were lying. C'mon, tell me you didn't lie. Haven't you got anything to say about that? You can think up something, can't you? Huh? Go on, tell me something. Go on, smile, you cunt. Go on. Tell me something sweet. Smile at me and say that I just misunderstood. (starting to cry) Go on, tell me... you pig fucker. You goddamn fucking, pig-fucking liar.
(openly sobbing) Rosa, I'm sorry -- I ... I just can't-- I can't stand it... to see these goddamn things on your face. (removes her false eyelashes) You never wore makeup, all this fucking shit. I'm gonna take this off your mouth. Lipstick. (wipes off her lipstick with a flower petal) Rosa. Oh, God. I'm sorry. I, I don't know why you did it. I'd do it too, if I knew how. I just don't know-- I just have to find a way.
(He is interrupted by a prostitute and her john, downstairs, wanting to be let into the hotel.)
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