Darling.
Rama.
You were calling for your mother.
What?
You were saying, "Mom, Mom."
Don't be ridiculous.
Wait, please.
They are young.
They are heroes with no imagination.
They shave my head carefully till they're done.
They believe it's their duty to shave the women's heads well.
Are you ashamed for them, my love?
No.
You are dead.
I'm far too busy suffering.
Night falls.
All I hear is the sound of scissors cutting my hair.
It slightly eases the pain of your death.
Oh the pain!
The pain in my heart... it's unbelievable.
All around, they're singing the Marseillaise.
My father's drug store is closed because of the disgrace.
I am alone.
Some of them laugh.
At night, I return home.
This week's class will focus on the work of Marguerite Duras.
More precisely,
how the author uses the power of her narrative
to sublimate reality.
The images you have just seen...
I chose to link their direct violence
and full on historic significance, to the shaved-headed woman that Duras
creates in Hiroshima, my love,
to demonstrate how the author managed to transform the shock
and feeling of revolt in the face of these acts,
which were commonplace at the end of the war,
into an almost lyrical song.
Listening to the text,
the author's intention is crystal clear.
This woman is humiliated,
distraught,
branded like a prisoner,
all be it temporarily as hair does grow back,
but branded forever on her memory
and that of those around her.
This woman, an object of shame,
becomes, thanks to the author's words,
not only a heroine
but a human being in a state of grace.
Hello.
- Hello, Mrs. Fall. - Hello, Adrien.
- How are you? - I'm OK.
Hi.
Hi, Tenning.
You OK?
I'd better check on the food.
I'll come with you.
Here's your medication, Mom.
Don't worry, Mom, it's nothing.
I'm really enjoying this.
- So I see. - Bravo.
- It's delicious. - Thank you.
Adrien, tell me about your work.
It's going really well.
It was our bass player's birthday at the last concert.
The audience sang Happy Birthday to him.
He was thrilled.
We're doing alright.
We have work.
Touch wood.
How about you, Rama, is the new book coming on well?
- And you? - I'm OK.
A bit tired from work, but I'm OK.
It doesn't show, you look well.
- Good. - Those earrings really suit you.
- That's true. - Thank you.
You don't often wear earrings, they suit you.
Where are you going on holiday this year?
I don't think we'll go away this year.
We have some major work to do on the house.
What kind of work?
Nothing very important.
Nothing very important, yeah.
Right.
By the way,
can you take Mom to physio on Monday? I finish too late.
I can't on Monday. I'm in meetings all day.
How about you, Rama,
- can you take her? - No, I can't.
You could make an effort.
But I can't. I won't be here.
There's Dad.
Do you remember that cousin? We never see him.
- I think that's Uncle Bamba. - I don't know.
Yeah, I think it's him.
There were so many of us!
Those were happy times.
You can't tell Dad was sick at the time.
It didn't show.
There's Mom. What memories.
Incredible.
Look at her!
Incredible.
There's Rama.
- Always calm. - She was shy.
Incredible.
She was already a wild little thing.
Mom?
Will you be OK?
Yes.
- Call me when you arrive. - OK.
Ciao.
All rise.
Please be seated.
Ask the journalists to leave.
Would all journalists please leave.
Bailiff, bring in the defendant.
Gentlemen, please remove the handcuffs.
Please state your full name,
date and place of birth and your parents' full names.
My name is Laurence Coly.
I was born March 15, 1980, in Dakar, Senegal.
My father's name is Robert Coly,
my mother's name, Odile Diatta.
What is your profession?
I'm a student.
At the time of your arrest, you were living with Mr. Luc Dumontet,
at 29, Avenue du Général De Gaulle, in Saint-Mandé.
- Is that correct, Ms. Coly? - Yes.
You may be seated.
The court will now proceed with jury selection.
If any of you, ladies and gentlemen,
are related to the defendant or her family,
to any of the attorneys
or judges, you must say so now.
Juror number fifteen.
Mrs. Evelyne Pringent.
Born February 28, 1958, in Lille.
Lives in Saint-Omer.
Profession: Chartered accountant.
Dismissed.
Juror number seventeen.
Mrs. Yasmina Belhadj.
Born June 22, 1990, in Paris.
Lives in Clairmarais.
Profession: Project manager.
Dismissed.
Juror number eighteen.
Mrs. Sandrine Deportaire.
Born February 19, 1986, in Lille.
Lives in Armentières.
Profession: Nurse.
Please be seated.
Juror number twenty-one.
Mr. Julien Titrain.
Born August 9, 1986, in Calais...
Ms. Coly, please stand up.
Ms. Coly,
you are accused of the murder of your 15-month-old daughter, Elise.
The indictment we will now read, details the facts
that led to your arrest.
On November 11, 2015,
a man went into a police station in Berck-sur-Mer.
He reported finding the body of a child on the beach that morning.
He told the police officers that while he was shore fishing,
he noticed a shape washed up on the sand.
At first, he thought it was a seal.
He went over to it and discovered the corpse of a child.
A medical examiner inspected the body
and confirmed that the corpse was that of a little girl,
the cause of death: drowning, suffocated by saltwater.
There were no toxic substances
or signs of abuse on the child's body.
The investigators first thought the child was a migrant drowned in a shipwreck.
That same evening,
the manager of Les Embruns hotel went to the police station.
He remembered a female guest and a child who had spent a night at the hotel.
The name given by the guest enabled the officers to search
the national immigration database.
The name was Ms. Laurence Coly,
living with Mr. Luc Dumontet,
at 29, Avenue du Général De Gaulle, in Saint-Mandé,
in the Paris metropolitan area.
The officers went to your place of residence
on November 20, 2015,
nine days after the corpse was found.
At first, you told them you'd sent your daughter to your mother in Dakar
to give yourself time to write your thesis.
You were informed that you were seen with the child at the Gare du Nord,
on the beach and at the hotel in Berck-sur-Mer.
Images from the CCTV cameras show
that you returned to Paris alone,
without the child.
This was when you confessed.
You told the detectives that you killed your daughter because,
I quote, "It would make life easier."
You claimed to have committed the crime after a violent clash with Mr. Dumontet.
You claimed to have left your daughter on the beach
believing that the sea would carry away her body.
You claimed to have been, I quote,
"Drawn into a tragic and vile venture."
And although you claim to have Western values,
you describe "hallucinatory" phenomena
of which you claim to be the victim.
You talk of an "evil-eye,"
you say you were cursed by your family in Senegal
and by Mr. Dumontet's family.
Ms. Coly,
do you know why you killed your daughter?
I don't know.
I hope this trial will give me the answer.
- Do you accept the alleged facts? - Yes, I do.
How do you plead?
I plead not guilty, Your Honor.
I don't think I'm the responsible party in this case.
What do you mean by, "I don't think I'm the responsible party?"
The two years before my daughter's death were the worst of my life.
Ms. Coly,
we are here to try to understand, you must explain.
Mrs. Coly, we will now talk about you and your life.
You were born in Dakar.
Your mother, Odile Diatta, is unemployed and your father,
Robert Coly, a United Nations translator.
They were in a relationship for seven years.
Could you tell us about your childhood?
Shortly after I was born, my father left my mother for another woman.
I grew up with my mother and my maternal grandmother.
I was very close to my grandmother, she took care of me.
She was very affectionate with me.
I was devastated by her death.
She was called Elise,
like my daughter.
What were you like as a child?
Materially, I lacked for nothing.
We lived with others in a large house.
We were comfortable.
I think my childhood was quite ordinary.
Cousins, birthday parties, baptisms, Christmases...
I was brought up as an only child.
They say I was chatty, jolly...
yet I remember sometimes, I distanced myself from the others.
It worried my grandmother, but I needed time alone.
I read a lot too.
I was mad about literature.
- Did you have friends? - Not really.
Why do you think that was?
I don't know.
Perhaps because my parent's situation was rather unusual.
Or because my mother forbade me to speak Wolof.
It distanced me from the others.
Why were you forbidden to speak Wolof?
She wanted me to speak perfect French and only French.
She wanted me to succeed in life.
She was obsessed by my education.
What about your father?
- Did you see him regularly? - Yes, I did.
I went to his house one Sunday per month.
My father is a calm person.
He can be severe, but...
he is sensitive and very cultured.
We share a taste for the arts.
With my mother, on the other hand,
you could say it's more charged.
- She is more hotheaded. - Meaning?
How would you describe your relationship with your mother?
When I was young, my mother was often absent.
She worked hard, she was always tired.
Even if she had high expectations of me,
- there was always a distance between us. - Meaning?
What do you mean by "distance"?
I don't know.
We don't have much in common.
We're not interested in the same things.
We are very different.
Your mother has lived in Italy for several years.
She told the detectives
that you called each other regularly, at least once a week.
This statement suggests
that you were close, Ms. Coly, not distant.
I don't know.
We called each other because...
one has to call one's mother, that's how it is.
Would you say you were a wanted child?
I don't know.
You should ask them, it didn't feel that way.
What was your education like?
My education was classic, literary.
I attended the same Catholic school all the way through.
I was a good student.
I knew what I wanted to study.
My father supported me.
I wanted to study law.
Why did you decide to come to France?
To get away from my parents.
You just described a happy childhood,
yet you wanted to get away from your parents.
That's contradictory.
On the outside, everything was fine, but it was oppressive.
My father
put a lot of pressure on me.
I am his only biological child.
I carried a lot of weight on my shoulders.
As for my mother, like I said,
it was more or less the same thing.
Sometimes,
I felt she was projecting her own desires onto me.
Their obsession with my success tormented me.
You came to France in 1998.
You lived with one of your maternal aunts
in the 5th arrondissement, in Paris.
How were your first years in Paris?
I stayed with my aunt for two years.
After that, I shared an apartment with a cousin, Marthe.
My father paid the rent,
I attended university.
It should have gone well, but...
there were problems with Marthe.
She caused trouble, she was jealous of me.
The year I spent with her was horrible.
At that time, something inside me snapped.
After that...
I went back to Dakar for a while for my grandmother's funeral.
There,
everyone was weird around me.
They called me an Oreo
because I acted like a white Parisian woman.
It was a very difficult trip.
I argued a lot with my mother.
She also said I had changed.
My only desire was to return to France,
but I didn't want to live with my cousin again.
I went back to my aunt's place,
but I only stayed for three months.
I found a room in exchange for child minding.
Yes, the mother of those children, Mrs. Vincent,
said you were very affectionate with them.
She said you were, "Kind, intelligent,"
it seems she really liked you.
I got on well with the children.
I looked after them for a few years, then I stopped.
My father stopped sending me money.
He was disappointed that I decided to do philosophy and not law.
He refused to support me.
He...
When he found out...
Your father wasn't able to attend your trial,
he claimed he had an urgent job in Cameroun.
I will read an extract from his statement.
"Laurence was an obedient, intelligent and gifted child.
"Our relationship became complicated when she went to France."
Your father mentions an argument you had in 2002,
after which, you cut ties.
What was the argument about?
It was at Christmas, over the phone.
He'd found out that I'd stopped attending university.
He was very cross.
I told him
I wanted to swap law for philosophy, but he was against it.
He said he'd stop supporting me if I didn't change my mind.
So that was when all ties were cut?
Yes.
When your father stopped supporting you,
was that when things started to go badly with Mrs. Vincent?
Yes, it was then.
I had no income.
I couldn't pay the rent and my mother couldn't help me.
When Mrs. Vincent asked you to move out,
she says you emotionally blackmailed her.
That's not true. I just asked her for some time.
I had to find a solution.
I didn't want to go back to my aunt's.
Was it at that time
that you moved in with Mr. Dumontet?
Yes.
How did you meet him?
At a dinner at my aunt's place.
He knew her from Senegal.
I think my aunt had her eye on him.
What made you think that?
I don't know.
She seemed flattered that he came to see her.
I always suspected it.
She flirted with him.
Luc always denied it when I asked him.
I think she invited me to impress him.
Having a well-educated niece made her look good.
We spoke a lot that night.
Luc knew Senegal well, he'd spent some time there.
He invited me to an exhibition the next day.
We started to spend time together.
We got on well despite our age difference.
He was 57,
I was 24.
Did you have any romantic relationships before Mr. Dumontet?
The only relationship I've ever had was with Mr. Dumontet.
Did you have sexual relations with anyone other than Mr. Dumontet?
No.
Did you both agree that you'd live together?
I think Luc was reluctant.
But for me, living with him made sense,
I couldn't continue living with Mrs. Vincent.
And
I spent all my time with him.
What did you know about Luc Dumontet when you met him?
I knew he had spent time in Africa.
I knew he worked for a major transport company,
that he'd left his job to follow his passion, sculpture.
Shortly after we met,
he moved into an artist's studio in St. Mandé.
Were you in love when you decided to move in with him?
Yes.
Was it at this time that you went back to university?
Luc encouraged me to study again.
He offered to pay for my studies so I could be independent later on.
When you moved in with Luc Dumontet,
did you know he had a daughter?
That he was still married?
Even if he wasn't living with them.
Yes.
I knew from the start.
I saw his daughter once or twice in St. Mandé.
I saw his wife once.
Any questions?
Counselor Vaudenay.
How was your relationship with Mr. Dumontet's family
when you moved in with him?
He didn't introduce me to any of them.
Luc lunched with his wife once a week, I had no say in it.
I don't know what he told her about me, he wouldn't say.
I didn't exist when she was around.
He said they were just friends but I didn't know if it was true.
I wasn't invited to his daughter's wedding,
but he did ask me to cook the meal.
When the reception began at the studio, Luc booked me into a hotel.
He slipped me out through the back door.
No further questions, Your Honor.
Ms. Coly, at what point
did your relationship with Mr. Dumontet start to deteriorate?
Certain facts distanced me from him.
What do you mean?
I had visions.
A flash.
About a secret of his.
A secret he keeps to himself.
You didn't mention that during the investigation.
You described recurrent harassment,
disdain, indifference, lack of interest.
Those were your grievances.
In addition, you resented him for visiting his brother in Auvergne.
No.
I meant it was Luc's attitude and behavior that puzzled me.
Parties or birthdays spent with the wife he had supposedly left, not with me.
It was as if...
someone or something wanted to distance him from me.
Did you want a child?
No.
- Did you use contraception? - No, we had sex sporadically.
When Luc Dumontet noticed the pregnancy, you told him you wouldn't terminate it.
Why?
When Luc found out, it was too late for an abortion.
I didn't get pregnant on purpose as he told the investigator.
Throughout my entire pregnancy,
he kept looking at me, saying
"What will you do?", never "What will we do?"
I said to him,
"Don't worry,
"you'll still have your life,
"you'll still deny my existence and that of the child,"
he always found a way to do that.
You may sit down.
Mr. Dumontet, come forward please.
The court will hear you.
Mr. Dumontet, with hindsight,
how do you explain what Ms. Coly did?
It's incomprehensible, Your Honor.
What Laurence did is incomprehensible.
She was a wonderful mother, the way she took care of Lili...
She massaged her every day.
Lili was loved by both of us.
Laurence Coly said earlier
that you were reluctant for her to move in with you.
Do you agree with that?
No.
I was somewhat surprised about the way it happened
but I welcomed her gladly.
We agreed on a three-year period,
so that she could finish her studies and find work as a university lecturer.
That was our agreement.
For the most part, I believe we got on well.
I would go as far as to say that we were happy.
At least in the beginning.
We went out a lot.
I was proud to have a woman like her by my side.
Sometimes, when she spoke
about her struggles with the thesis,
I admit, I didn't understand anything,
I couldn't help her, but...
I was very impressed by
how knowledgeable she was.
But...
I should add that
Laurence is a very difficult person.
She is extremely jealous of everyone.
Whenever a woman spoke to me,
she became paranoid, crazy.
She could stay angry for days
and give me the silent treatment.
Her silence was very aggressive.
She often told me that if she felt I'd become too old and helpless,
she would leave me.
I took it for granted that she'd leave me one day.
Would you say you had a romantic relationship
with Ms. Coly?
Yes.
Yes, I think it was a love affair
that went wrong and I don't know why.
But it was a love affair.
We conceived a child whom we both adored.
And despite Laurence's temper,
when the three of us lay in bed,
I felt like the happiest man alive.
Yet you never introduced Ms. Coly to your friends or family.
You told nobody about Elise's birth.
How do you explain that?
I thought Laurence was embarrassed about us,
she kept saying I was too old, I didn't want to push her.
And her jealousy...
I was always afraid she'd take things the wrong way,
so I avoided certain subjects.
And it was better for Elise, too.
It was simpler for everyone.
You said your relationship deteriorated
before the child's birth.
Didn't you think about contraception?
No.
Laurence told me that due to an illness she didn't need it.
Didn't you notice her pregnancy?
When did you realize she was pregnant?
Of course I had my suspicions.
But when I asked her, she systematically denied it.
When she did tell me, it was too late.
I was away a lot.
I went to Clermont often to visit my brother
who was dying.
Strangely, we were getting on better at that time.
Laurence seemed calmer.
Then in August, after one of those visits,
when I returned, Lili was there.
How did you feel when you arrived home and saw the child?
I was shocked.
I was shocked to find Laurence in bed with a baby,
I was shocked she hadn't called me.
Yet, I had returned
two days before the delivery date she had given me.
Soon afterwards, Laurence told me Lili had to go to Senegal
while she finished her studies and found a job.
She said I was too old to look after a baby properly,
that her mother was in Dakar and would look after Lili.
Your Honor, if I may,
I'd like to talk about Lili. Nobody has mentioned her.
I'd like to talk about her, I took care of her.
Each morning, weather permitting, I took her to the Bois de Vincennes.
The nannies would see me,
occasionally, one of them would peek into the stroller
and tell me how cute she was.
One day, I...
I was heavy handed with Lili, it was nothing,
Laurence was furious, she accused me of not loving her.
I said I'd get a divorce, marry her, that I'd do anything for her and Lili.
But during her pregnancy,
did you look after Ms. Coly?
Did you go with her to the scans or doctor's appointments?
No, I didn't know how to, we didn't do that.
When I had my daughter, men didn't do those things.
Nor did you acknowledge paternity.
What's more, the first time the detectives called you,
you answered the phone and you told them,
"Yes, a child lives here, but I'm not the father."
You told them it was your girlfriend's daughter.
How do you explain that, Mr. Dumontet?
Laurence always said to me, "She's mine, she's mine."
When I asked her if she'd registered the child,
she said she had, but in her name.
I thought perhaps it was for the better,
that it would be complicated for Lili
to bear the name Dumontet, in Senegal.
You never mentioned Lili to your eldest daughter, Adeline?
I thought it was too complicated to explain,
she'd just given birth herself...
When Ms. Coly returned without Lili, you had packed up her baby clothes
to donate them to charity.
You didn't tell a soul about her birth.
You never questioned her mother's decision to send the child to Senegal.
Ms. Coly claims you didn't care about Lili and her.
Neither did you attend the child's funeral.
How should we interpret all that, Mr. Dumontet?
I don't know.
The funeral was too far away,
I couldn't go there.
The idea of Lili's death was rather abstract for me.
It's hard to grasp.
I don't know, I don't know!
Does the Prosecuting Attorney have any questions?
Mr. Dumontet, I do not doubt
your good intentions towards Ms. Coly.
When she moved in with you, her situation was critical.
She was jobless, homeless,
she wasn't even studying. You took her in.
You found her a job, enabled her to go back to her studies,
you even funded her studies.
What didn't you do for this woman?
And she...
in return,
I would love to know what Ms. Coly gave you.
While I don't doubt your love for this woman,
did she not move in with you purely out of self-interest?
No, I don't think so.
I believe we were genuinely in love.
Counselor.
Mr. Dumontet, do you believe you have moral responsibility in this case?
Yes.
I am responsible for everything.
I blame myself for everything, I didn't protect Lili.
I am paying for that. I can never make amends.
I've lost everything. My life is worthless.
My gown is black, Mr. Dumontet, not red.
My role is not to judge you.
But I will talk of your cowardice,
your lack of involvement in your daughter's birth.
You didn't want the pregnancy.
You didn't want the child.
You had no intention of changing your life in any way.
You claim to speak of Lili, but you speak only of yourself.
Laurence Coly's distress was staring you in the face,
but you chose to turn a blind eye,
because you didn't want to see it.
Because you didn't care.
Thank you, Mr. Dumontet.
Stand up, Ms. Coly.
Ms. Coly,
how are your prison conditions?
It's calm.
For the first three months,
I didn't leave my cell.
I was afraid to go out alone.
Then...
it was only after two or three months,
that I began to have contact with others.
The report from Sequedin prison describes you as calm,
smiling, undemanding and very respectful.
Yes.
Generally speaking, my imprisonment is very dignified.
A few months after your arrival,
you mentioned some bullying.
A woman who has killed her baby
can't really expect any sympathy.
I shared their horror.
The hearing is adjourned.
- Excuse me, I don't know your name. - Rama.
Pleased to meet you.
This is my hotel.
Mine is a bit further on.
- See you tomorrow. - Yes.
I would have liked us to eat together tonight,
but it's a little late and I need to sleep.
Of course.
We could have lunch tomorrow if you want.
OK. With pleasure.
See you tomorrow.
Good evening.
- Hello, Jean-Claude. - Hi, Rama.
Sorry, I didn't have time to call you back earlier.
Don't worry, it's OK.
How is the trial? What is she like?
She sounds fascinating.
The press says she talks in a very sophisticated French.
She talks like an educated woman, that's all.
That's true, you're right.
So, it went really well this morning.
Everyone is raving about your project.
They're just not sure about the title.
They think "Medea Castaway" isn't very evocative.
Not everyone knows the story of Medea.
They think it should refer to the trial.
I told them it was a working title.
But doesn't everyone know the story of Medea?
Well, OK.
I'm not at all worried, you go for it.
I'll read it when you're ready. I just wanted to give you the news
and to tell you we're thrilled with the sales of your last book.
We received the figures, it's very impressive.
We were well received by the press.
That's great. Wonderful.
Come see me when you get back.
We'll have lunch.
With pleasure. Thank you for the update.
Well, see you soon.
- See you soon. - Goodbye.
He didn't introduce me to anyone.
Luc lunched with his wife once a week, I had no say in it.
I don't know what he told her about me, he wouldn't say.
I didn't exist when she was around.
He said they were just friends but I didn't know if it was true.
I wasn't invited to his daughter's wedding,
but he did ask me to cook the meal.
When the party began at the studio, Luc booked me into a hotel.
He slipped me out through the back door.
She was a wonderful mother,
the way she took care of Lili...
She massaged her every day.
Lili was loved by both of us.
Laurence said earlier, that you were reluctant for her to move in with you.
Do you agree?
How would you describe your relationship with your mother?
When I was young, my mother was often absent.
She worked hard, she was always tired.
Even if she had high expectations of me,
- there was always a distance between us. - Meaning?
What do you mean by "distance"?
I don't know.
We don't have much in common.
We're not interested in the same things.
We are very different.
Stand up, Ms. Coly.
Ms. Coly,
you often refer to the extreme loneliness
of your situation before Elise's birth.
How did you spend your days?
You no longer went to classes, what did you do?
I had never felt so low as the year before Lili's birth.
I was becoming very depressed.
I spent hours walking in the woods.
I liked walking in the woods, nobody bothered me there.
In the studio, the silence was different.
I was afraid to be alone there.
What were you afraid of?
The atmosphere was becoming hostile.
For months, I couldn't get out of bed in the morning.
I couldn't lift my head up, I suffered from headaches.
And from blurred vision.
I heard strange noises like echoes in the walls.
My feet were throbbing, I couldn't walk.
When I talked to Luc about it, he didn't want to know,
he didn't listen to me.
He was obsessed with his sick brother, he ignored me.
Did you consult a doctor?
I saw a physiotherapist and an osteopath, but that didn't help.
Sorcery was the only logical conclusion.
I consulted various
clairvoyants by telephone, everything they said made sense.
So I trusted them.
Yet the investigation found
that none of the clairvoyants you supposedly consulted remembers you.
The officers found no trace
of any financial transactions.
Neither do your telephone records show any trace of the calls.
But I did call them.
I'm surprised they don't remember me.
I called one every day at 7 a.m. Her name is Patricia.
Patricia Antonia testified.
She doesn't remember you.
I don't know why she says that.
I told her everything.
I felt she understood me.
When I told her about my dream
in which giant butterflies invaded the studio, she got it.
She said people wanted to hurt me.
How is there no proof?
Not a single telephone record.
I don't know.
You say your problems began one year before Elise was born.
Roughly the time Elise was conceived, is that correct?
Yes, perhaps. That might be so.
I don't remember the dates.
Did you deliberately conceal your pregnancy?
I acted as if I wasn't pregnant, I didn't try to conceal it.
When you fell pregnant, did you consult a doctor?
I didn't see a doctor, I didn't tell anyone.
Tell us about the birth.
Lili was born at the studio, I was alone.
Why didn't you go to hospital?
I don't know, I was in a black hole.
I didn't go out.
I didn't see anyone.
I was afraid, I wanted to protect Lili.
Protect her from what?
From malicious intent.
What was your frame of mind just before the birth?
I was worried.
I was scared of not succeeding.
Had you prepared for the birth?
Yes.
I think I prepared for it at some point.
I researched how to do it.
I asked my mom, without telling her why, how to care for a newborn.
Lili was born during the night.
On August 9, 2014, at 4:44 a.m.
Did you feel alone?
When I had the first contractions,
I could feel she was coming.
I was agitated but...
it was a special moment for me.
When she was born, I was in awe.
I was entranced by that tiny creature.
Didn't you worry that this secret birth might go wrong?
Lili didn't seem to be in trouble.
She barely cried.
There was this incredible serenity about her.
When you felt the first contractions,
why didn't you inform Luc Dumontet?
Luc was in Auvergne.
Yet he'd promised to be with me.
- Did you tell him the date? - Yes.
Yet in your statement
you said you weren't sure of the date of conception.
I knew when my daughter was conceived.
Luc promised he'd be back in time for the birth.
When Lili was born,
you didn't call Mr. Dumontet to tell him to come.
I didn't think it was necessary.
I wanted that moment for myself.
What did you tell him when he came back and saw you with Lili?
Luc arrived,
he saw me holding a baby.
He came over and looked at the child.
He seemed
appalled,
speechless.
When he finally spoke, he said,
"Are you sure she's mine?"
I said to him, "Don't worry,
"she's mine."
I was upset he questioned his paternity so I said she was mine.
I was in a state of beatitude and his words were so vulgar,
I found it deeply insulting.
What did you tell him about the birth?
That I'd given birth at Les Bluets clinic.
You told him
that you had registered Lili's birth.
Why didn't you do so?
I didn't register her
because I gave birth at home,
because I never left the studio,
and because it didn't even occur to me.
Luc asked me if I'd registered her, I don't know why I lied.
What was your life with Elise like?
At first, I didn't take her out.
My days were structured around her.
She was calm, she barely cried.
My routine was shaped by Lili's needs.
- Did you breastfeed her? - Yes.
When did you take her out of the studio?
I didn't take her out for at least six months.
Luc was a bit more present at that time,
as soon as Lili could hold her head up,
he began to take her out.
But you, nobody ever saw you with the baby.
Nobody saw me pregnant or with the baby.
I barely left the studio.
Did you buy any baby equipment?
Not much.
A few child care items,
a bouncy chair, baby clothes.
Keeping her birth a secret,
was that a decision you took with Luc Dumontet?
I don't remember it that way.
- Why didn't he tell anyone? - I don't know.
Early on, you told him that your mother would take Lili to Senegal.
I said it as he was worried.
You told him, "She's mine."
Did you decide Lili's future all alone?
The plan to send her to Senegal?
I said that because Luc didn't want a child at the studio.
- Was Lili ever sick? - No.
Yes, she was.
She had chicken pox.
Did you take her to the doctor?
No.
Does the Prosecuting Attorney have any questions?
Ms. Coly, you have strung us along from the start.
You distance yourself from the questions asked.
You avoid the awkward questions and you lie to us.
Do you take us for fools?
You didn't love Luc Dumontet.
You didn't want a child with him, you didn't want the pregnancy.
You deliberately concealed the child's existence.
You told nobody about her, not even your mother.
The truth...
is that you killed the child because she got in your way.
That's nonsense. Can you read my mind or my heart?
You think as I might get a life sentence I'm going to lie?
What have I got to lose?
Please, ma'am, sorcery?
You are lying to yourself.
Yes, I speak of sorcery.
Why would I torment myself like that?
Killing my daughter
ruined my life.
Am I merely being dishonest?
When I speak of sorcery, I'm not lying.
Not even a dead-drunk idiot would have done what I did.
And they say I'm intelligent.
So why did I do it?
Hello?
Hello, this is reception. A lady is asking for you.
Hello.
Hello, are you ready to order?
Hello, I'll have the carpaccio.
- And you? - Steak and fries.
OK.
That's a lot.
Why don't you have the fish?
And half a pint, please.
- I'll be right back. - Thank you.
This must be hard for you.
Well, I trust in God.
Have you seen all the press coverage?
It's incredible.
Laurence should be careful.
She was rude this morning.
I don't understand why her attorney didn't advise her.
It makes a bad impression.
Education and politesse are the two most important things.
That's how I raised Laurence.
And it always helped her.
People talk about her appearance and the way she talks.
That means she was well brought up.
- Here you are. - Thank you.
- Were you born here? - Yes.
Are your parents here too?
My father's dead but my mother is here.
- Any brothers or sisters? - I have two sisters.
How many months pregnant are you?
Four months.
I guessed as soon as I saw you.
I'm very good at that.
Here you are.
Enjoy your meal.
No, I said I was planning to do a thesis.
I never said I was a PhD student.
That's not entirely true, Ms. Coly.
From the start, you claimed to be a PhD student.
That's what you told everyone, the police,
Luc Dumontet, your family.
I attended the classes, for me, it was the same thing.
Mrs. Jobard,
you stated that Ms. Coly, didn't complete her degree.
That's right. She didn't complete the year
because she didn't hand in her work.
She sent me an email saying that she couldn't do it
as she was in hospital in Senegal, but I didn't believe that.
Ms. Coly?
I don't remember saying that.
What was Ms. Coly like as a student?
What struck me was the ease and eloquence of her speech
compared to her written work.
She spoke with ease, but on the page, she wasn't convincing,
as if her thoughts weren't clear.
Ms. Coly,
you claimed to be writing a thesis on Wittgenstein, the philosopher.
Why Wittgenstein?
I don't know.
Mrs. Jobard, what do you make of this choice?
She is making it up.
What is curious is that Wittgenstein's is a philosophy of language,
but I think she is hiding behind a philosophy that is not about her.
What do you mean by, "A philosophy that is not about her?"
Isn't it rather odd, an African woman interested in an Austrian philosopher
from the early 20th century, why not choose someone closer to her own culture?
Thank you, Mrs. Jobard.
You must remain standing during the proceedings, ma'am.
The university told the investigators
you obtained a general studies diploma after two years.
After that, you enrolled for a bachelor's degree,
but you didn't complete it. So you only have the general diploma.
If you say so.
I told you I attended the classes.
I thought I had a bachelor's degree.
Surely you knew you didn't have a bachelor's degree.
You didn't turn up for any of the exams.
I was caught in a web of lies at that time.
Later on, it collapsed.
Any questions?
Ms. Coly, are you talented?
I don't know.
- As a child, were you a good student? - Yes.
Were you a perfect little girl, overidealized in your parents' eyes?
I don't know, you should ask them.
What were your secret ambitions when you came to France?
I wanted to leave my mark.
I've always been impressed by the great thinkers
who shed light on the world through their thoughts.
I dreamed of becoming a great philosopher.
My ambition was cut short.
Certain things
made me stray from my path.
No further questions.
Counselor Darcourt, we are listening.
Ms. Coly,
you mentioned a web of lies.
Have you escaped from it now?
Isn't the death of my daughter enough?
I consider your reply intolerable, it is not worthy.
And it is unacceptable in a courthouse!
- Sir, I am being frank. - It is hard to understand you.
Your persistent ambiguity...
I'm not being ambiguous. Some things, we can't be clear about.
And...
If I'm lying, I can't know why.
Mrs. Diatta, I'd like to ask you a few questions.
Mrs. Diatta.
When Laurence was pregnant, you spoke twice a week, yet she didn't tell you.
How do you explain that?
Mrs. Diatta?
Why do you think she didn't tell you?
Both during the pregnancy and after the child was born,
you never heard any crying or babbling?
No.
She didn't tell me.
I don't understand.
That void, the void inside her,
it was made deliberately.
Before you Westerners,
I can't explain it.
Explain what, Mrs. Diatta?
I came to wonder, who they wanted to hurt in this case,
Laurence,
her father, or me?
It was all orchestrated.
I can hear you smiling.
But it doesn't make me laugh.
Sorcery was involved, I promise you.
A curse even.
Since my daughter left Senegal, nothing went well for her.
In my opinion, nothing else can explain her failure.
I even have proof of mystical blockages.
It was no accident that I couldn't see my daughter for two years.
How about that?
How do you explain that?
Would the bailiff bring in the investigating judge,
Mr. Simon Jonquet.
Sir, you were assigned to investigate Mrs. Coly's case
when the Public Prosecutor brought her before the court.
You interviewed her on November 20, 2015.
How did the issue of sorcery come up during the interview?
Before me is a woman who killed her baby in circumstances that are shocking
by our standards.
I tried to ascertain whether the cultural aspect played a part.
I wondered if there was something she couldn't say
and asked her to draw on her culture to try to explain.
Sir, do you not think that you opened the door to sorcery
and that Ms. Coly dived in?
Before me stood a woman of African origin.
I tried to understand her with the available elements.
As with Female Genital Mutilation,
we cannot judge without taking the ethnological aspect into account.
Sir, the example of FGM has true cultural value,
killing one's child has none.
I will be frank, sir,
I have here, the interview transcripts.
P32, file reference 421. It is 3:52 p.m.
You ask her a question, I quote,
"Ms. Coly, do not be ashamed of your culture,
"if it might help us to understand your actions."
She replies, "I am a Cartesian thinker, I don't believe in all that."
Ms. Coly begins to evoke hallucinatory phenomena
and says she believes her aunts may have put a curse on her.
Do you not think you handed her an easy defense strategy?
And possibly even worse,
that you let her become stuck with the idea of sorcery?
I strongly oppose that idea.
I stuck scrupulously to the rules of criminal procedure.
I'd like to read you a few extracts from a conversation recorded
at Sequedin prison, between Ms. Coly and her mother, Mrs. Diatta.
Ms. Coly says,
"The investigating judge is buying into it."
Mrs. Diatta replies, "What do you mean?"
Laurence Coly replies,
"The investigating judge believes it was sorcery.
"I'm not your run of the mill infanticide mother,
"that bothers them.
"What's funny is that I killed my child,
"but not in the way people usually do.
"Before I get a 30-year sentence,
"they must know who really killed her."
Fuck!
Hello, this is Adrien's phone...
It's me...
Ms. Coly,
stand up.
Ms. Coly,
what was your state of mind on that day?
Why did you decide to take the train
to travel to Berck-sur-Mer at that precise moment?
Why did I take the train then?
One might be tempted to say, "She's growing up,
"it's getting complicated," but that's not a reason.
Why Berck?
Why the sea?
Because the tide was high enough at that time of year.
The tide was very high that day.
I had decided to go to Berck the previous evening.
I took a train there.
I boarded a bus.
I asked a charming lady which hotel was closest to the sea.
She told me.
She was a tourist guide.
I arrived at the hotel.
I dropped my things off.
I think I played with Lili for a while.
I fed her.
At around 9 p.m., it was dark enough.
It was high tide.
The moon rose before me,
lighting the path like a spotlight.
I knew the path from the hotel led to the beach, so I took it.
It was pitch black when I got to the beach.
I rocked her.
I breastfed her.
Lili was content.
She fell asleep in my arms.
So I laid her on the beach.
And...
as she didn't react or make a noise,
I left.
I imagined the sea would carry her body away.
I went back to the hotel.
That night, I slept like a log.
I barely dreamt.
Ms. Coly,
when you went down to the beach that night,
were you absolutely sure that the tide was rising?
Yes.
I saw the sea coming.
When you were first questioned by the police, you said
that you entered the water, that the water came up to your knees.
Later on,
you said you couldn't remember going into the water.
That's true.
I don't remember.
Prosecuting Attorney.
Ma'am,
your amnesia is very convenient.
The water up to your knees, that you say you forgot,
sheds a much harsher light on the story you have just told.
Ms. Coly, you are not on the stage of some theatre,
you are in a court of law.
The moon that lights your path like a spotlight,
the sea that will carry away her body...
The truth is
if the sea had carried away her body,
nobody would have known
that a little girl, called Elise, had disappeared,
because nobody knew that Elise existed.
Everything had been set up so nobody would know she had died.
You condemned her to anonymity from the moment she was born.
Nobody saw you pregnant.
You never took her out.
Lili's existence was a total secret from beginning to end.
You have one new message, received today at 1:19 p.m.
I didn't see the child.
What child?
The child, Lili...
I didn't see her.
I didn't even think about her.
I was obsessed with her, with Laurence.
You can't stay here.
Rama, listen...
this case has nothing to do with you,
or with us.
I'm scared I'll be like her.
Like who?
Like my mother.
Your mother is a broken woman.
She is scarred by her own life.
That's not you.
That's not your life.
Members of the jury, this is the story
of a phantom woman.
A woman whom nobody sees.
Whom nobody knows.
It's the story of a slow disappearance.
A tragic descent into hell, into which a mother led her child.
This woman committed the worst crime.
Infanticide.
She killed her daughter and she admits it.
It is unbearable for us, beyond comprehension.
A mother who allows herself to kill the child she's cherished for 15 months.
It is easier to see her as a monster.
A monster must be overcome.
So you open the volumes of Penal Law and you find her guilty.
But if you do that, members of the jury,
you will have handed down a judgement,
but you won't have delivered justice.
You will have answered only the easiest question.
Not the one that, as jury members, you should be asking yourselves.
If you can't ask yourself this question,
you will stay on the beach,
staggered by the horror of the crime.
Why?
What made Laurence Coly kill her daughter
whom she had loved and taken care of so well?
Why didn't she kill her at birth?
Why did Elise die?
Elise died
because her mother is mad.
And in her madness, she believed she was protecting her.
Consider the two extremes of her journey, if you may.
Consider this young lady,
full of ambitions and desires, arriving in Paris,
and ask yourself this question,
how did she become that isolated,
invisible woman, hiding in her partner's studio?
When she moved in with Luc Dumontet,
Laurence Coly had no financial resources,
she no longer had a bank account nor social security cover.
She wasn't enrolled at the university.
She started to hear voices.
She experienced hallucinations, terrifying dreams,
strange signs that she struggled to decipher.
Other than a few phone calls with her mother,
she had no more contact with the outside world.
Her loneliness was so palpable
that she could almost touch it.
That was when she found out that she was pregnant
and would give birth to her daughter.
In actual fact, Laurence Coly didn't hide her pregnancy or the birth,
she hid herself.
She couldn't allow herself to be seen,
she was too afraid.
So, sorcery...
Sorcery... a young attorney, even a rookie,
would destroy a defense strategy based on sorcery.
If I mention it now, it is only to remind you
of the conclusions of the psychiatric evaluation.
Sorcery is just the manifestation of Laurence Coly's hallucinations.
This woman needs medical care
and in prison, she won't receive it.
Condemning her to a lengthy sentence
is, strictly speaking, condemning her to madness.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I will conclude by mentioning something
that I found deeply touching.
Laurence Coly learned how to be a mother on the internet.
She tried to do the right thing,
she tried to fight,
to keep going,
but she lost.
There was nobody to help her.
Nobody could understand.
And we still don't understand Laurence Coly.
Some would have you believe she's a liar, arrogant,
a manipulator, in short, a monster.
But this very morning,
Laurence told me about a dream,
in which Elise was with her in prison.
When I opened the door of her cell,
Elise ran to hide under my attorney's gown.
Laurence knows that her daughter will always be with her,
she is inside her.
What I'm telling you is not poetry,
it is science.
We know that during pregnancy,
the mother's cells and DNA migrate to the fetus.
It is less known that the exchange works both ways.
The child's cells also migrate towards the mother's organs.
They lodge themselves in her body,
from her brain to her toes.
Even after birth,
even if the pregnancy is not carried to term,
those cells live on,
sometimes throughout a woman's life.
A mother and her child are thus intertwined
with one another, in an inextricable manner.
It's inevitable, it's biology.
Do you know what scientists call these cells?
Chimeric cells.
Like the Chimera, the mythical monster.
A hybrid creature composed of different animal parts.
A lion's head, a goat's body,
a snake's tail.
So,
members of the jury, I have come to believe that
we women,
we are all chimeras.
We carry within us, the traces of our mothers
and of our daughters,
who in turn, will carry ours.
It is a never-ending chain.
In a way, us women, we are all monsters.
But we are terribly human monsters.
Thank you.
Sorry.
So tired.
Subtitles: Katie Henfrey
Subtitling TITRAFILM