Amelie Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Amelie script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the Jean-Pierre Jeunet movie starring Audrey Tautou.  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Amelie. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

Swing on back to Drew's Script-O-Rama afterwards for more free movie scripts!

Amelie Script

         -On September 3, 1973  6:28 pm and 32 sec.

         a blue fly of the Calliphorides species, 

         whose wings can flutter   14670  times per minute 

         landed in Saint-Vincent Street, Montmartre.

        At the exact same second, outside a restaurant, 

         the wind was sweeping in under a tablecloth, 

         causing the glasses to dance without anybody noticing it.

        At the same time, on the fifth floor of    avenue Trudaine, 

         Eugène Koler, erased the name of his best friend, Émile Maginot, 

         in his adress-book after coming home from his funeral.

        Still at the same second, a spermatozoon 

         containing an X-chromosome and belonging to M. Raphaël Poulain 

         was reaching the ovum of Mrs Poulain, 

         born Amandine Fouet.

          months later a girl was born: 

         Amélie Poulain.

        -Amélie's father was a former army doctor, 

         and was working at the hydropathic establishment of Enghien-les-Bains.

        Raphaël Poulain doesn't like 

         peeing next to somebody else.

        He doesn't like 

         noticing people laughing at his sandals .

         .coming out of the water with his swimming suit sticking to his body

        Raphaël Poulain likes 

         to tear big pieces of wallpaper off the walls 

         to line up his shoes and polish them with great care 

         to empty his toolbox, 

         clean it thoroughly, 

         and, finally, put everything away carefully.

        Amélie's mother, Amandine Fouet, 

         was a Primary School teacher from Gueugnon, 

         she had always been unstable and nervy.

        She doesn't like to have her fingers all wrinkled by hot water.

        She doesn't like it when  somebody she doesn't like 

         touches her, 

         to have the marks of the sheets on her cheek in the morning.

        She likes the outfits of the ice-skaters on TV.

         to shine the flooring.

        to empty her handbag 

         clean it thoroughly, 

         and, finally, putting everything away carefully.

        Amélie is   years old.

        She would like her father to hold her in his arms from time to time.

        But the only contact they have is during the monthly medical check-up.

        Moved by this intimacy, the little girl 

         can't stop her heart from beating wildly.

        As a result, 

         her father believes she suffers from a heart disease.

        Because of this fictitious illness, she doesn't go to school.

        Her mother acts as her private tutor.

        -"The . chicken . often .

         hatch . in . the . convent."

        -"The chicken ."

        -Very good.

        -hatch often. -No !

        -With no contact with other children, 

         and mollycoddled by her parents, 

         Amélie's only refuge is the world she makes up.

        In that world, vinyls are made the same way as pancakes, 

         and the neighbour's wife, who has been in a coma for months, 

         just decided to do all her sleeping at once.

        -This way, I'll stay awake night and day for the rest of my life.

        -Amélie's only friend is called "the Cachalot".

        But the atmosphere at home turned it into a neurasthenic and suicidal fish.

        -Since these suicide-attempts only increased her mother's stress, 

         a decision is taken .

        -ENOUGH !!!

         -In order to comfort Amélie, 

          her mother gives her a second-hand Kodak.

         -What have you done?

         -A neighbour makes her believe that her camera causes accidents to happen.

         Since she's been taking pictures  all afternoon, 

          Amélie finds herself in deep worry in the evening.

         She collapses in front of the televison, feeling guilty  

          for a fire, 

            derailments and the crash of a Boeing    .

         Later on, Amélie realizes that the neighbour had made fun of her, 

          and decides to take her revenge.

         -But, what the .

         You be careful!

         -and then, one day,  tragedy struck her.

         Like every year, her mother had taken her to church to lit a candle 

          so that Heaven would send her a little brother.

         The divine answer came   minutes later

         Alas, it wasn't a newborn that fell out of the sky 

          but a tourist from Quebec, determined to end her life.

         Amandine Poulain, born Fouet, is killed outright.

         After her mother's death, 

          Amélie finds herself alone with her father.

         The latter withdraws into himself even more.

         He starts to build a miniature mausoleum, 

          for the ashes of his beloved wife.

         Days, months, then years go by .

         The outside world seems so dull 

          That Amélie prefers to dream her life until she's old enough to leave.

           years later, Amélie is a waitress in a bar in Montmartre, 

          "les Deux Moulins".

         Today's    August, 

          in    hours, the destiny of Amélie Poulain will take a different turn.

         but right now, she has no idea of what's going to happen.

         For her, life goes on with her collegues and the regulars.

         This is Suzanne, the landlady.

         She limps a little, but has never spilled the slightest drop.

         When she was young, she used to be a horse-dancer. She likes 

          sportsmen who cry from disappointment.

         She doesn't like it when a man is humiliated in front of his kid.

         The tobacconist is Georgette, the hypochondriac.

         When it's not a migraine, it's the sciatic nerve that's trapped.

         She doesn't like to hear 

          "le fruit de vos entrailles est béni."

         This is Gina, Amélie's colleague,  granddaughter of a healer.

         She likes to crack her fingers.

         Here you can see her bringing a Kir to Hipolito, the not-successful writer.

         What he likes is to see a bullfighter getting gored.

         This is Joseph. Gina's jealous ex-lover.

         He spies on her to see if she's replaced him.

         The only thing he likes 

          is to pop the bubbles of plastic wrappings.

         And finally, there's Philomène, the air hostess.

         Amélie looks after her cat when she's away. She likes 

          the sound of the bowl with water on the floor. As for the cat, 

          he likes to listen to children's stories.

         -No thanks, ma'am,  I never work on Sundays.

         -Amélie often goes to see her father, during the WE, by train.

         -Why don't you enjoy your retirement, and . -Do what?

         -Travel, you never left Enghien.

         -When we were young, your mother and me, 

          we'd have liked to travel, but we never could.

         Because of your heart. -Yes, I know.

         -And now, . Now .

         -Sometimes, Amélie goes to the movies.

         -I like to turn around in the dark to see the faces of the people around.

         And I also like to spot the little detail nobody will ever see.

         But I don't like it when the driver doesn't watch the road.

         -Amélie doesn't have a boyfriend.

         She tried, but it didn't live up to her expectations.

         On the other hand, she enjoys all sorts of little pleasures, 

          putting her hand in a bag of seeds, 

          piercing the crust of crème brûlée 

          with the tip of a spoon.

         And play at ducks and drakes on the Saint-Martin-canal.

         -This is the cristal-man.

         Because of an illness, his bones break like cristal.

         All his furniture is fleece-lined.

         A hand shake is enough to break his finger-bones, 

          so he never goes out.

         Time hasn't changed anything. Amélie still shelters in solitude 

          and asks herself silly questions about the world or about this town.

         For example, how many couples are having an orgasm right now?

         -Fifteen .

         -And finally, the night of    August     .

         This is what will change the life of Amélie Poulain totally.

         *-Good evening.

         The Princess of Wales, Lady Di died this afternoon in a car crash.

         She was with her friend .

         Only the first man to enter the grave of Toutankhamon 

          may understand how Amélie felt 

          when she discovered the treasure that had been hid by a little boy.

         On the   st of August,  at   in the morning 

          Amélie suddenly has a luminous idea.

         She is going to find the owner of this box 

          and return his treasure to him.

         If he's moved, that's it, she'll start to mingle with other people's lives.

         If not, well, too bad.

         -Oh, the young missie of the  th floor. We don't often see you.

         -Excuse me. Did a little boy use to live in my flat in the   ies ?

         -Come in and have a drink.

         -No, thanks. -Yes, come in. Close the door.

         Oh, kids . I've known so many!

         At first, they're cute, and then they start throwing snowballs 

         I know. -How long have you been here?

         -Since   .

         People must have told you.


         Sit down.

         My husband used to work  at Coccinelle Insurance.

         People liked to say he slept with his secretary.

         They certainly did stop at all the hotels in Batignolles .

         And not the little ones.

         'cause the bitch would certainly spread her legs, 

          but only in satin cheets!

         My husband started to steal from his firm.

         First only a little, then    million at once.

         And there they went! Flew away, both of 'em.

         Drink !

         So, on January         

          the doorbell rings. Well .

         "Ma'am, your husband died in a car crash in South America."

         My life just stopped.

         Black Lion died of sorrow.

         Poor thing!

         See how he still looks at his master 

          with love in his eyes.

         I'll read his letters to you.

         Don't move.

         You can spare me   min, can't you? There, he was in the army.

         "Mado my love ." My name is Madeleine.

         "I can't sleep. I can't eat.

         "I left my only reason to live in Paris.

         "I will see her again on friday    

         " when I'll see my beloved weasel at the station, 

         " in her blue dress with straps.

         "(the one you find too transparent.)

         "Love." There you are.

         Have you ever received letters like these?

         -No. I'm nobody's little weasel.

         -My name is Madeleine Walace.

         There's this saying: "Pleurer comme une madeleine", isn't it?

         -Yes. -And Walace .

         The Walace Fountains .

         You see, tears were my destiny!

         For that business of yours .

         Go and ask the grocer.

         Collignon has always lived in this building.

         -Ah, good morning, Amélie-mélo !

         A fig and   nuts, as usual?

         -The people who lived in my flat, in the   ies .

         Do you remember them? -Tough question!

         I was   in the   ies. Just like this moron today.

         -The moron is Lucien. He's not a genius, 

          but Amélie likes him.

         He holds the endives as if they were precious, 

          'cause he likes a job well done.

         -Come on, look at him!

         It's as if he's picking up a bird that's fallen from the nest!

         You're lucky you don't want grapes, 

          you'd have gotten it on Monday!

         Come on, move, you retard!

         The lady has other things to do!


         Go and see my mother.

         She's got a memory like an elephant.




         -Excuse me ?

         -That's the name you're looking for. But it doesn't count if I say it, 

          I am senile.

         -Don't listen to him, he's senile.

         Look at my oleanders! -Why, what?

         -Before the grocery, he used to be a ticket puncher.

         -What's wrong with that?!

         -At night, he gets up 

          and punches my oleanders!

         -I'd have preferred lilacs. But that's life!

         Everyone his way to calm down!

         -With me, it's ducks and drakes!

         - Ducks and drakes! - There you are !

         I write down everything.

         -You write down what?

         -Your son's almost   .

         And I still do his accounting!

         -When he was    you still got his toothbrush ready! That's the result!

         -So, Camus,  nd on the right .

         -No, that's not it!

         -No, staircase B, that was Brossard .

         That's it, I've got it!

         Bredoteau,  th on the right.

         They were from the Pas-de-Calais. -Bredoteau .

         That's all I have to say!

         -This young man who rummages about under the photo machine 

          is called Nino Quincampoix.

         Amélie was denied the company of other children, 

          but little Nino, would rather have done without.

         Often, at the same moment,   km away from each other, 

          one was dreaming about a sister and the other about a brother, 

          with whom they'd play all the time.

         -Hello, dad.

         Made yourself a new friend?

         -No, I've had it for ages.

         But since your mother hated it, 

          I had put it away in the shed. Let's reconcile them with each other.

         There! Not bad, eh?

         -Say, dad.

         If you found something from your childhood, a treasure for you, 

          would it make you happy, sad, nostalgic? How would you feel?

         -I didn't have the dwarf when I was a kid.

         It was a present when I retired.

         -No, the things you keep a secret as if it was of great value.

         -I should varnish it before the fall.

         -I'm gonna make tea. Do you want some?

         -Don't move.

         -You're OK? Better?

         -Hey, close the door !

         -It's not like Siberia.

         -You're not allergic to carbon monoxyde!

         I coughed so much last night that my pleural membrane almost broke!

         -Yes, of course! -What's the menu today?

         -Endive "au gratin"

         -They'll bring you to your knees.

         -So they're good? -Depends on where you fall .

         True, if it's in the toilet  -They're no good!

         -  .  am, burst of laughter reminiscent of an orgasm 

          to please the dominating male.

         -I can't take it anymore. -Yes, true.

         Why does he insists?

         There's other bars!

         -Goodbye. Mrs Suzanne !

         -Yes ?

         -Is there béchamel sauce, in your endives?

         -Of course, why?

         -Béchamel sauce doesn't agree with me.

         Just like horse-meat for you.

         -That's got nothing to do with digestion, but with memories.

         I'd rather eat human flesh.

         -Come on!

         -Mrs Suzanne ?

         Can I leave earlier today?

         -What's his name?

         -Dominique Bredoteau.

         -Hello !

         -Dominique Bredoteau ?

         -Yes .

         Can I help you? -Well . It's for the petition.

         -The petition ?

         -Yes . The pétition . for .

         For the canonization of Lady Di.

         -O, yes. Er, no, thanks!

         -Hello! *-Yes?

         Dominique Bredoteau ? It's for the census of the European Union.

         *-Come up.  rd floor.

         Hello, kitten.

         Earl Grey ? Bergamot ? Jasmine ?

         Can I offer you something to drink?

         -No. I have work to do.

         -Yes, yes! Coming!

         -Good afternoon, madam. I'm looking for Dominique Bredoteau.

         -Oh, my poor girl! You've just missed him.

         See, he's coming down.


         Not Bredoteau.

         You look like you can use some hot wine with cinnamon. Come in!

         -I've lived here for five years now, it's the  st time bump into you.

         -I never come out.

         I don't want to meet just anybody.

         And there's only rascals out there!

         But come in. There. Come in .

         You know, They call me the cristal man.

         But my name is Raymond Dufayel.

         Amélie Poulain  I'm a waitress .

         -At the "Deux Moulins", I know. And you're coming back empty-handed 

          from your hunt for Bretodeau.

         Because it's not "do", it's "to".

         Like "toto". -Thanks.

         I really like this painting.

         -It's "The rower's lunch".

         By Renoir.

         I paint one every year, for    years now.

         The hardest is the eyes.

         Sometimes, they change their moods on purpose, 

          when I'm not looking.

         -They look happy here. -They better be!

         This year, they had  hare with morel 

          and waffles with jam for the children.

         Let's see, where did I put 

          that little note?

         I see you're looking at my camera at the window.

         It's a gift from my sister-in-law.

         Oh, I just put it there, this way 

          no need to wind up my clock anymore.

         After all these years, 

          the only character I can't quite figure out, 

          is the girl with the glass of water. She's in the middle 

          and yet, outside.

         -Maybe she's just different from the others.

         -How different?

         -I don't know.

         -As a kid, maybe she didn't often play with other children.

         Maybe even never .

         Here you are.

         Dominique Bretodeau.    rue Mouffetard.

         It's for you.

         -This morning, like every Tuesday, 

          Dominique Bretodeau goes out to buy a chicken.

         Usually, he cooks it in the oven with baked potatoes.

         After cutting off the legs, the breast and the wings, 

          he'll clean up the bones with his fingers, 

          starting with the oyster.

         No, Bretodeau won't buy 

          a chicken today.

         He won't go any further 

         than that telephone booth. There .

         -In one second, Bretodeau remembers everything.

         Bahamontes' victory in the Tour de France      .

         Aunt Josette's corselets .

         And, especially, that tragic day 

          when he won all the marbles of his classmates during playtime.

         -Bretodeau !

         -Bretodeau !!

         The Claw, Bretodeau ! Does he know it, the claw?

         -One cognac, please.

         I can't believe, what just happened to me.

         It must've been my guardian angel. Can't be anything else.

         It's as if the telephone booth was calling me 

          it rang, and rang .

         -Well my, there's the microwave calling!

         -Can I have another cognac?

         It's weird, life.

         When you're a kid, time creeps slowly and then one day, 

          you're   .

         And childhood, whatever's left of it, 

          fits into a little rusty box.

         You don't have children yet, do you, 


         I have a daughter. She must be about your age.

         We haven't spoken to each  other for years now.

         I heard she has a child, a little boy.

         His name is Lucas.

         It's about time I went to pay them a visit 

          before I end up in a box myself.

         Don't you think?

         -Amélie suddenly feels in perfect harmony with herself.

         everything's perfect: the softness of the light, 

          that little scent in the air, the peaceful sounds of the city .

         Life seems so simple and cristal-clear that she's swept 

          by this desire to help the all mankind.

         -I'll help you. We go down and there we go!

         There's the widow of the drummer of the brass band.

         Hey, the horse's lost one ear!

         The husband of florist is laughing.

         There's lollipops in the shop window!

         Can you smell his scent?

         This man is offering melon to his clients to taste.

         There, they make wonderful ice-cream!

         We're passing in front of the butcher's.

         Ham on the bone costs    !

         Here we're at the cheese merchant's .

              for a Picodon d'Ardèche ! At the butcher's, 

          a baby's looking at a dog, that's looking at the chicken.

         Here you are, now we're at the metro station.

         I'll leave you here, goodbye.

         "She was never able to enter into relationships with others ."

         "As a kid, she was always on her own."

         *-On the evening of a bright day in July, 

          while holiday-makers enjoy themselves on the beach 

          in the carefreeness of the sunny days and while in Paris, 

          the strollers, overcome by the heat gaze at the trails of smoke 

          of the fireworks, 

          Amélie Poulain, also known as "the godmother of the rejected", 

          or "the madonna of the cast-offs" succumbs to exhaustion.

         In the streets of Paris, struck with grief, 

          millions of mourning anonyms gather for the funeral cortège 

          to show in silence 

          their great sorrow of being forever orphans.

         What a strange fate, that of this young woman 

          deprived of herself, 

          yet so sensitive to the charm of the little things in life.

         Like Don Quichotte, she was determined to grapple 

          the unforgiving grinder of all the human sorrows.

         An impossible fight that consumed 

          her life prematurely. At    Amélie Poulain 

          let her life deteriorate in the swirls of universal pain.

         And there she was struck by the regret of having let her father die, 

          without ever being able to give back to this suffocated man 

          the breath of air she'd been able to give 

          to so many others.

         -Hey, Mister !

         Hey, Mister !

         Sir !!



         -Pages full of failed identity photos 

          that their owners had thrown away 

          and that had been re-assembled and classified by some eccentric.

         Some family-album!

         -One Gauloises blondes.

         -There's so much smoke. Where are they?

         I can't see anything. -More to the left.

         A bit further. There you are. -There? Thanks.

         Where are my  F coins?

         Never mind.

         -Yes? -One Moresque.

         On Kir, one Moresque and two and   peppermint cordials.

         -That cooing, is it pre-nuptial or post-coital ?

         -And your bloody stupidity, is it congenital?

         -Pre-nuptial. -Don't worry.

         You'll find the right one in the end.

         They all dream about sleeping on a man's shoulder.

         -I wouldn't mind, but men snore.

         I have a sensitive ear!

         -I was operated, I got rid of it.

         -How romantic !

         -It's clear you've never known true love.

         -If I hadn't known it, they wouldn't have shortened my right leg.

         -Wasn't it a horse?

         -Yes, precisely.

         I was in love with a trapeze artist.

         I should've known, they dump you at the last moment!

         He dumped me as I was going into the circus ring.

         I was so upset, and as a result, so was the horse.

         Unfortunately, I was under it!

         Right ! The Moresque.

         -Love at first sight, it does exists.

         -I'm not sayin' it doesn't. But after    years behind the bar, 

          I can even give you the recipe!

         Take two regulars, make them believe they like each other, 

          let it simmer 

          works every time.

         -Excuse me!

         Excuse me!

         -No ! -I'll go.

         Don't you think you've done enough harm already?

         -Gina's old enough to defend herself.

         -I'm not thinking about Gina, but about Georgette.

         -Georgette ?

         -Open your eyes ! She's hoping for you 

          and you're only looking at Gina !

         Poor thing ! Look at all she's doing 

          to try and attract your attention.

         You're blind !

         -I'm off, I have a date. Bye!

         -Goodbye. -Goodbye.

         I don't know how the new one will be, 

          but'll never be worse than that freak there with his tape recorder.

         -Joseph's not really a freak.

         He's hurting, that's all.

         -It's been two months since they broke up, 

          and he still shows up every day. He likes to suffer !

         -Don't tell me you haven't noticed anything?

         -What do you mean ?

         -He always sits there? -Well, yes.

         -Sit down.

         Sit down, Georgette.

         What can you see, from here? -My shop.

         -And there's nothing missing? -Well, no.

         -Think harder.

         -Well, no. Really, I can't see!

         -I'll let you think about it. Good night.

         Good morning .

         "A Swiss octogenarian has received a letter    years later.

         "The mail was found by mountaineers on the Mont-Blanc, 

         " in a bag of the Malabar Princess, 

          a plane that crashed at the end of the   ies."

         -What a pity ! Such a young and pretty princess .

         -You mean, old and ugly, that wouldn't have been that bad?

         -Well, yes . Look at Mother Theresa.

         And him? Still after Gina ?

         -No, after somebody else.

         -Tell me, is it someone I know ?

         -Yes. It's funny, that story about the mountaineers.

         -Somebody from the Deux Moulins ? Not you!

         -No !

         -Not Mme Suzanne .

         No !

         -Yes !

         Look, he's there again. -Yes . How strange.

         -And here. -"Still him."

         Lyon Station.

         -And here, again.

         March   Austerlitz.

         -And still the same expression.

         Isn't it ? So neutral.

         -   times in total.

         I counted. It's strange, isn't it?

         Why would he go across the whole town to take photographs, 

          and then throw them away?

         -Especially since they're  in perfect condition!

         -Looks like some sort of ritual.

         -Maybe he's obsessed 

          by the fear of getting old and this is his way to relax.

         -He's dead!


         -He's afraid of being forgotten.

         He uses those machines to remind the living of his face.

         As if he were faxing his image from the hereafter.

         -A dead man who'd be afraid of being forgotten .

         Well, these ones don't have to worry about that!

         They died long time ago.

         But they'll never be forgotten.

         You know, that girl with the glass, 

          maybe she's thinking about someone.

         -Somebody on the picture?


         Rather a young man she saw some place else.

         She feels like they're the same, the two of 'em.

         -She prefers to imagine a relationship with somebody who's away, 

          than to create bonds with 

          those who are there?

         -No .

         Maybe she's doing everything she can to sort out other people's lives.

         -But her ?

         Her life, 

          who's going to take care of that?

         -In the meantime, 

          it's better to devote yourself to others than to a garden-dwarf.

         -   g of alcohol in his blood for a chauffeur!

         I'm not the only one to employ an irresponsible moron.

         -M. Collignon.

         Your keys . -Just a minute!

         No rush!

         Look at Lucien.

         At work, there's no chance he'll exceed the speed limits.  Is there?

         -You shouldn't, M. Collignon.

         It's not his fault.

         -You're right.

         It's not his fault, it's Lady Di's fault !

         Do you know what I found this morning? 

          The   Suisses catalogue open at the page with the nighties.

         He'd stuck the picture of Lady Di on the bodies of the models.

         So, this time, a bunch of asparagus, 

          or the neighbourhood records?



         -Thanks. Well, looks like those migraines are gone.

         -Yes, but I haven't slept all night because of my sciatic nerve.

         -You're looking good !

         -Really ?

         -A woman without love, it's like a flower without sun. It dies.

         -Strange weather today!

         Did I say something wrong?

         -No. Everyone gives me the weather forecast.

         -Talking about the weather to forget that time goes by.

         -No, to avoid talking nonsense.

         -You can write nonsense, but not publish it .

         -Still nothing? -  th rejection.

         -What about your cousin, the critic? -What do you think?

         They're like the cactus 

          they live to sting . -And your book ?

         Is it a love-story ?

         -No, it's about a guy who keeps a diary.

         But instead of writing it as things happen, 

          he writes the worst-case scenario beforehand.

         As a result, he's depressed, and he doesn't do anything.

         -It's the story of a guy who doesn't do anything.

         -Look, Mme Suzanne, 

          I'll sign you the manuscript.

         -Yes, and you forget about his bill.

         -I exchange his masterpieces for my "pièces-de-résistance!"

         -Here you are. -Thanks.

         -Thanks, Mme Suzanne.

         -How long did it take you?

         Have you seen the time? Jesus, this one, 

          they never got him finished!

         "Without you, my feelings of the present ."

         -"Without you, my feelings of the present .

         " would only be like the dead skin 

         " of the des feelings of the past." -Excuse me?

         -Without you, the feelings of the present would only be the dead skin 

          of the feelings of the past.

         -Ticket, please.

         -And .

         Your job then? -You already asked.

         -Yes, yes .

         You're well, right now? -Rather well.

         Something's changing.

         And I had   heart-attacks, I had to get an abortion, 

          coz I was on crack when pregnant.

         Besides that, everything's OK.

         -So much the better.

         So much the better . -Is something wrong ?

         -No, no, nothing .

         -Your garden dwarf is gone ?

         Is he back in the shed?

         -Moscow and there. Nothing.

         No explanation.

         -Maybe he wanted to travel around.

         -I don't get it.

         I don't get it.

         "LOST: North Station saddlebag containing a

         PHOTO ALBUM. Please contact me:           "

         -A normal girl would take the chance to call him right away.

         She'd meet him and would soon know whether it's worth a shot or no.

         That's called facing reality But that's precisely, 

          what Amélie doesn't want.

         -Isn't she 

          falling in love ?

         -And for you, ladies?

         -Some leek and two globe artichokes.

         -Where's your boss ?

         -Ssst !

         He's asleep in the cauliflowers.

         -What ?!?

         -He's asleep in the cauliflowers.

         -Oh, right .

         -Can I help you ?

         -One Tac-O-Tac, please.

         -Here you are.

         -It's the first time, I don't know how it works.


          we'll do one together.

         So you have to scratch there 

          from left to right.

         There. Well, nothing. You ?

         -No, nothing as well.

         No luck in games .

         -Yes ! That's what they say !

         -Ok, right ! I've got to get back.

         -Yes. Off you go .

       *-Palace Video, King of Porn.

       -Good morning, I call about the add.

       *-You're of age? -Yes.

       * You're shaved? -Excuse me ?

       *-I'm asking because hairy legs, 

        it scares off the clients.

       -How're you doing, Mrs Walace ?

        -O, when you don't expect  much from life anymore .

        -Don't say that, Life's beautiful. -Really?

        -Hello, M. Dufayel.

        -Hello, Lucien.

        -Here's what you asked for,  M. Dufayel.

        -I doubt it. I hate artichoke.

        -You shouldn't. Let me show you.

        Take it . Surprise !

        -Well, I prefer that!

        -Watch this .

        -You're a magician !

        -All on M. Collignon !

        -Who ?

        M. Collignon ? Lucien !!

        -I wasn't thinking, M. Dufayel.

        -Exercise, Lucien my boy!

        -No . -Exercise !!

        -Repeat after me. Collignon, you little rascal.

        -Collignon, you little rascal. -Yes, that's it!

        Your turn now. Collignon .

        -Collignon, shit-face. -Well, good!

        You see, when you set your mind to it. Come on, Collignon .

        -Collignon, dog-face !

        -Very good ! Collignon .

        -Collignon, shit-face ! Collignon, dog-face !

        Collignon, shit-face !! Collignon, dog-face !!

        No, no !

        -Lucien !! -Collignon eats dirt!

        Enough for today !!

        That's enough for today.

        It's very good.

        -M. Dufayel. I found this under your doormat.

        Collignon, dog-face!

        -Still nothing.

        -Still nothing here too.

        -Do you mind ?  you have something, there.

        you're beautiful, Georgette, 

         when you blush.

        You look like a wild flower.

        -It's my allergy .

        -Good morning everybody.

        Nice weather today.

        -A packet of Gitane .

        -Bravo! Well done! Look at me now!

        Straight A!! Perfect shot!

        It's Amélie who .

        -You know, when they climbed the Mont-Blanc, 

         with the cold, the silicone froze .

        -A little glass of hot wine with some ginger bread.


        -I think I was a bit rude with the girl with the glass.

        Tell me, the boy she met did she see him again?


        In fact, they're not interested in the same things.

        -You know, opportunities are like the Tour de France, 

         you wait a long time for it and it goes by quickly.

         When the right time comes, you have to jump the fence without hesitation.

         -Hi, Can I help you? -Excuse me.

         I found this on the pavement . -My god!

         Nino's gonna be so happy.

         I almost went to church to burn a candle to Saint Anthony

         -Is Nino there?

         -Never on Wednesdays. He works at the Trône Fair.

         -Oh, right. And has he been collecting these for a long time?

         -For a year now. I found him a job here.

         Before, he collected footprints.

         He used to be a nigh watchman.

         He took pictures of footprints in fresh cement.

         He's an odd sort.

         He also acted as 

          Santa Clause at the Samaritaine.

         And then, he recorded laughter when he heard funny ones.

         -It mustn't always be easy for his girlfriend.

         -They never stayed !

         Times are hard for dreamers.

         -Where are those coffees, Eva?

         -I gotta go. Thanks for the album.

         -I'll bring it to him at the Trône Fair.

         -Ok. He's at the Carpathian Dungeon, ask for Nino Quincampoix.

         -Good morning. Is Nino there ?

         -He doesn't come out till  pm.

         -Can't I see him before ? -Sure.

         It's    F.

         -Hooooooooooooo .

         Hooooooooooo .

         -I'm off. See you on Wednesday. -OK.

         "Tomorrow,   PM  Montmartre Carousel,

         next to the telephone booth

         Bring a  F coin"

         -Psst !

         You'd like to know more,  don't you?

         -Did you see her? -Of course.

         We were in her pocket !

         -close to her breast.

         -Is she pretty ?

         -Not bad. -Not bad.

         -Not bad.


         -Pretty. -No, beautiful.


         -What does she want from me? -She's broke.

         She hopes for a reward.

         -Or she collects identity photos too.

         -Yes, she wants to exchange us for a one-eyed man with glasses !

         Of course not, stupid !

         She's in love. -I don't even know her.

         -Yes you do !

         -Since when ?

         -Since forever. In your dreams!

         -Hello ? Yes. Sir!

         You, with the plastic bag, it's for you.

         -Me ? -Yes.


         Hello ?

         -Follow the blue arrows, M. Quincampoix.

         -What ?

         -When the finger points to heaven, the idiot looks at the finger.

         -Hey !!

         -Hello ?

         *-I know who the mystery man of the photo machines is, M. Quincampoix.

         He's a ghost, M. Quincampoix. Nobody can see him.

         He can only be seen on photographs.

         *When a girl has her picture taken, 

          he moans: hooooooooooo .

         While he softly caresses her neck.

         That's when he's caught by the camera, M. Quincampoix !

         -Who are you ?

         -Page   .

         "DO YOU"


         "TO MEET ME"

         -Listen to this.

         "A six year old boy left at night 

         " with his tricycle.

         "He was found on a motorway in Germany.

         He just wanted to go to where the stars are."

         -Ah, life is so beautiful,  don't you think ?

         -The love virus .  she'd never caught that one before!

         -Nobody's safe!

         -Well, I won't complain. -She's looking great.

         -How is she ? Tall, short, blonde, brown?

         -Well, let's say medium-size.

         Not a midget, nor a giraffe. Normal.

         Pretty, in her own way.

         But as for blonde or brown, I can't say !

         Hard to tell. She certainly wasn't red.

         Even though . -Forget it.

         -On the other hand, she did sort of ask whether you had a girlfriend.

         -And ?

         -I said that you were not interested. That's ok, isn't it?

         -You didn't say that, did you ? -You don't even know her !

         -Exactly, it's the mystery. -You won't find it here !

         -Some nectarines, please. -Those are much more beautiful.

         -Mister here is an aesthete !

         In the evening, he leaves with the remainders, 

          I was getting worried.

         But mister here takes drawing classes !

         During the day he sells leek, and in the evening, he draws potatoes !

         You're a real vegetable !!

         -A real good street prompter 

          ready to prompt a stinging retort, 

          That's the help shy people need.

         -You, you'll never be  a vegetable, 

          because even an artichoke  has a heart.

         -You'll never be a vegetable, because even an artichoke has a heart.

         *-Memory   .

         "Mado my dear, your absence gets more painful every day.

         I'm in exile in a grey world. I can't sleep, I can't eat."

         "I made the biggest mistake by accepting this training course 

         " that will keep me away from my wife for   weeks.

         I think of you all the time. Your Adrien."

         "I gave up the money of my last commission 

         " in order to make up for resigning so abruptly.

         "I catch myself dreaming of better days.

         "Orange days. Do you remember, Madeleine my love ?

         Your Adrien who's always loved you so much."

         "Good news. I'll soon be able to afford a car.

         "That way I'll be able to come home every day.

         "In the meantime, I hope you'll come over Friday night 

          and that we'll go out, the two of us."

         *-Psychiatric emergency services,  how can I help?

         "WHERE & WHEN?"

         -One hour later, boulevard Saint-Martin 

          Amélie steps into a jokes and costume shop.

         At the same moment, a man leaves his home at Lecourbe Street.

            min later, Amélie arrives at the photo machine at the Gare de l'Est.

         At the same second, the man in red trainers 

          parks in front of the side entrance.

         At that moment, it is exactly   .  am.

         At this exact moment in the story, 

          Amélie is the only one to know the key to the enigma 

          of the mystery-man  of the photo machines.

         -'Morning, Mrs Walace. How are you ?

         -Always better when it's not raining.

         -Here, for you. -For me ?

         "Mrs Walace.

         "After the recent discovery of a mailbag that was lost 

         " when a plane disappeared , on the   th of October     .

         "La Poste has the pleasure to deliver to you a letter 

         " that was addressed to you. Please accept 

         " all our apologies  for this unusual delay.

         Jacques Grosjean. Head of the Public Relations department."

         "Mado my love.

         "I'm in exile, I can't sleep. I think about you all the time.

         "I made the worst mistake of my life.

         "I gave up the money and that woman.

         If everything works out, I will soon buy a house."

         "I catch myself dreaming of better days 

         " that you'll forgive me and that you'll come and join me.

         Your Adrien who's always loved you so much."

         -Here, M. Dufayel, you've got mail.

         M. Dufayel, 

          you know what happened to the caretaker this morning ?

         -A letter.

         -From her husband.    years late.

         Quite a long time, isn't it, M. Dufayel ?

         That's 'cause I don't really like still lifes, M. Dufayel.

         -In the meantime, take care over your light layer.

         It's dark on light, always!

         -M. Dufayel ? -Yes!

         -The papers say that there's soon gonna be a new star.

         -You're interested in stars?

         -I saw this show at my mum's,  that's why.

         but I dunno if it's true.

         It's the les Americans .

         They're gonna take the ashes of rich dead people, 

          to put them in a satellite, and send it into space.

         And it's gonna shine forever, the satellite.

         And Lady Di ? You think they're gonna do the same for her?

         -Lady Di !!

         You're getting on my nerves !! I can't concentrate!!

         Lady Di .

         Renoir !

         -Morning, sir.

         -Cambodia .

         I don't get that.

         I don't get it!

         -That was wonderful! You couldn't have done better.

         -Did it work ? -It's running it's course.

         -Well, I'll do it again any time! The harm is done anyway .

         -Quoi ?

         -They call me Snow White, now!

         "bar 'les   ." "I am often ."

         "bar 'les   Moulins' I am often there

         after   pm"

         -Eva ? *-Yes ?

         -Could you take over at  pm please ?

         *-Oh, you're pushing it!

         -What's going on?

         Is he sulking? -He thinks I smile too much.

         -He prefers when it when you frown? -With other men, yes.

         -Nino's late. For Amélie, there's only two possible explanations

          . He didn't find the picture.

          . He didn't have time to piece it together 

          because   repeat offenders took him hostage.

         Chased by the police, 

          they managed to escape.

         But he caused an accident.

         When he recovered, he couldn't remember anything.

         A trucker gave him a ride 

          and believing that he is a fugitive, put him in a container to Istanbul.

         There, he came across Afghan adventurers, 

          who took him with them to steal soviet missiles.

         But their lorry exploded on a landmine in Tajikistan.

         The only survivor, mountaineers helped him out, 

          and he became a mujaheddin fighter.

         Thus, Amélie really doesn't see why she should worry so much 

          for a guy who'll spend the rest of his life eating bortsch, 

          with a stupid hat  on his head !

         -Hi, what can I get you? -A coffee, please.

         -One coffee!

         Here's your coffee.


         -Now, he's understood.

         He's going to put down his spoon .

         and pick up the sugar on the table with his finger.

         Then he'll turn around 

          and then, he'll talk to me.

         -Excuse me !

         Is this you ?

         Yes, that's you.

         -Let me clear the table for you.

         Another coffee?

         -No, thanks. I'm fine.

         -So that's the one, there, the guy who raises his hand?


         -Is she in love with him?


         -The time has come for her to take some real risks.

         -Well yes, she's thinking about it. She's thinking of a stratagem .

         -Yes, she likes stratagems, doesn't she !


         She's a bit of a coward.

         That's why I have trouble with her eyes.

         "Raymond Dufayel's meddling 

         " is intolerable!

         "If Amélie prefers to 

         "live in a dream-world 

         "and live her whole life as an introvert, it's her right.

         "Because .

         " making a mess of your life is an indefeasible right!"

         -What are you doing, M. Dufayel ?

         -Tell me, Lucien my boy, 

          for your deliveries, 

          do you still have the keys of the other tenants ?

         -good morning, sir. One of your machines is out of order.

         Er . No, but I think there's something stuck.

         Gare de l'Est, lounge of the Lost Steps.

         -Buy      free. -No, thanks.

         -Sam !

         Samantha !

         Samantha !

         -Can you take over from .

         "Can you ."

         "Can you take over from me this afternoon?"

         "Be at the lounge of the Lost Steps

         Gare de l'Est Tuesday  pm"

         -Just a second, I've finished.

         -The mystery man of the photo machines wasn't a ghost, 

          nor somebody obsessed by the fear of ageing, but the repairman.

         Just a technician doing his job. That's all.

         -Excuse me .

         -He's watching me like a dog. It drives me crazy.

         - .  pm, public show of feminine conspiracy.

         -Ow, you look tense, Georgette, you look tense.

         Courage, it's not easy.

         -Excuse me.

         Is this yours? -Yes, but it's not me who .

         -I know it's not you. Where can I find her ?

         -She's at her father's.

         It bothers me, I'd like to talk to you. I finish at  .

         Can  you drop by ? -Sure.

         -See you later.

         -There you are,  .  pm. The trap is set.

         -And the blond guy, with the camelhair jacket?

         He's absent-minded too ? -What do you mean ?

         -He also came back   times.

          .   pm .

         "Camelhair".  .   pm .


          .   pm . "Camelhair" . -Stop it!!!

         My red patches are appearing, again. Look!

         Mrs Suzanne, It starts again!! He's gonna drive me crazy!

         -Don't start again!

         -If she had a clear conscience she wouldn't be upset.

         -I'm going home!

         A psycho !! That's the limit!

         -Georgette !

         Are you done, suffocating them like that?

         A woman needs space to breathe.

         -Yes, and then, she goes elsewhere.

         -It can be good sometimes!

         -Oh you, the writing failure!

         -Yes . writing failure, a failure .

         I like this word: "failure".

         That's human destiny. -He's getting pedantic!

         Failure after failure, you make drafts and nothing more.

         Life's only an  endless repetition.

         -Yeah, right! He didn't even come up with that himself!

         -I do have ideas on my own, you know.

         People always steal them from me. A bit like you with women.

         -What does that mean?

         -Maybe you should resign yourself.

         -Mind your own business, you .

         -Yes, what, eh ?!? -Stop it!

         -What's going on here?

         -Georgette wanted to go for a walk and Joseph makes a fuss.

         -A walk, right!

         Yes, like Gina and the guy with the plastic bag .

         Hold on, I saw the whole process.

         First the little note in the pocket

         At  .   pm. So the guy comes back today and there you go !

         They go for a walk.

         -The problem is, you look nice to me.

         -Which means?

         -The more I like a guy, the less he's structured mentally.

         I'd like to know more. -Ask me questions.

         -What doesn't a swallow make?

         -A swallow ? A summer.

         -And clothes? -The man.

         -When the cat's away . -The mice will play.

         -Slow and steady . -Wins the race.

         -A rolling stone . -Gathers no moss.

         -He that will steal a penny . -Will steal a pound.

         -Out of sight . -Out of mind.

         -Not bad! -More ?

         -I think that those who know the proverbs can't be bad persons.

         -Oh, the pretty girl from the  th floor !

         I've got to tell you. Do you believe in miracles?

         -Not today, no.

         -You'll be surprised

         Some mountaineers 

          on the Mont-Blanc discovered .

         -Hi Lucien. Do you have yeast?

         -Is it for Miss Amélie ? -Yes.

         -She's cooking, right? Collignon, go fetch.

         -Amélie ? Amélie ?

         Amélie ?

         *-Go to the bedroom, Miss Poulain.

         All right . Amélie, my girl .

         You don't have glass bones like me, you can knock against life

         If you let this opportunity  slip away, 

          then, as time goes by .

          it's your heart that will become .

          as dry and fragile 

          as my bones

         So .

         Go for it! For Christ's sake!

         -I .

         -Hey !

         -To the International Airport

         -Today's September         it's    o'clock in the morning

         At the Trône Fair

          the marshmallow-mixing machine mixes marshmallow.

         At the same moment, at the La Villette garden Félix L'Herbier discovers .

          that the number of possible connexions in a human brain 

          is superior to the number of atomes in the universe. Meanwhile, 

          at the foot of the Sacré-Coeur, the Benedictines work on their backhand.

         The temperature is   ° C, the moisture content is   ° 

          and the atmospheric pressure     millibar.

Special help by SergeiK