Elliot ditched his jock reputation after high school. He happily traded his cleats and shoulder pads for college cafeteria food and seminars notes. Now, without the distraction of football, he has managed to find success at the University of Minneso...
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"The 1960's film Breathless is often referred to as the landmark of the French New Wave movement," Professor V began. "It is a phenomenal example of subjectivity. Director Jean-Luc Godard brilliantly showcases how a character can be relatable yet incredibly flawed. If we examine the closing dialogue - actually...Can someone roleplay this exchange with me?"
Hayden raised her hand.
"Thank you, Hayden. You'll be Patricia." He nodded. "Pierce will be Detective Vital."
Hayden flipped through the script until her finger reached the very end.
Pierce opened his mouth to object, but before he could speak, Professor V voiced, with perfect fluidity, "C'est vraiment dégueulasse." Did he have the whole damn script memorized? He didn't even glance at the written text. He was thoughtlessly pacing at the front of the lecture hall. Back and forth, back and forth. His tattooed knuckles were tucked into his pockets - casual.
Hayden blinked, fumbling over the words as she quickly replied, "Qu'est-ce qu'il a dit?"
Pierce squinted over his laptop to follow along with Hayden's lines. She was sitting next to him, nursing a hangover with Matcha green tea. The margins of her script were highlighted in thirteen different colors. It was like reading a rainbow.
"Overachiever," Pierce muttered. Then raised the volume of his voice to say, "Il a dit que vous êtes vraiment 'une dégueulasse.'"
Hayden cleared her throat. "Qu'est-ce que c'est 'dégueulasse?'"
"The end." Professor V held out his hands, as if offering an invisible explanation. "Voilà. Did anyone pay attention to the subtitles while watching the film earlier? What were they saying?"
"I didn't know French was a pre-req for this seminar," Pierce mumbled to Hayden.
She kicked his shin - not-so-discretely.
"Pierce," Professor V spoke. "Care to translate?"
"I don't speak French."
Professor V smiled tightly. "Neither does Patricia. At least, not very well," he explains. "That's the most genius part of this entire scene. Michel is speaking French when he suggests something is disgusting. It is unclear as to what he is labeling disgusting. Then Patricia, who speaks very little French, asks what is disgusting. This audience is unaware if she's questioning his rudeness, if she's questioning the meaning of a French word, or if she's purely unable to understand the concept of shame. Michel could be insulting Patricia or the world. The audience has to decide. The question is left unanswered because - spoiler alert - Michel dies in the end." The professor's throat visibly knotted, as if holding back some retrograde sadness. He swallowed before saying, "The dialogue is left to be interpreted."
