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Chocolat is a 2000 film based on the novel Chocolat by Joanne Harris. Adapted by screenwriter Robert Nelson Jacobs, Chocolat tells the story of a young mother, played by Juliette Binoche, who arrives at the fictional, repressed French village of Lansquenet-sous-Tannes with her six-year-old daughter and opens La Chocolaterie Maya, a small chocolaterie. Her chocolate quickly begins to change the lives of the townspeople.

Pere Henri[edit]

  • Satan wears many guises. At times, he is the singer of a lurid song you hear on the radio. At times, the author of a salacious novel. The quiet man in the schoolyard, asking your children if he might join their game..."

[Zooms in on Reynaud, who is mouthing the speech]

...and at times, the maker of sweet things, mere trifles, for what could seem more harmless, more innocent, than chocolate?

Comte de Reynaud[edit]

  • Let me put this in perspective for you. The first Comte de Reynaud expelled all the radical Huguenots in this village. You and your truffles present a far lesser challenge.


Serge: We are still married, in the eyes of God.
Josephine: Then He must be blind.

Vianne: What do you see in it?

Woman: Sorry?

Vianne: What does it look like to you? Just say the first thing that comes into your mind.

Woman: Ah--a woman riding a white horse?

(Vianne laughs)

Woman: Oh, silly answer.

Vianne: Oh, no, there are no silly answers. The pepper triangle, that's for you. A tiny hint of chili pepper to play against the sweetness. Tangy, adventurous.

Anouk: (to Luc) What do you see?

Luc: I see teeth, I see blood, and a skull.

Vianne: Very dark, bitter chocolate. That's your favorite.

Vianne: (to pepper triangle customer) And these are for your husband. Unrefined cocoa nibs from Guatamalea. To awaken the passions.

Woman: You've obviously never met my husband.

Vianne: Ah, you've obviously never tried these.

Vianne Rocher: What do you see?
Armande Voizin: Not a damned thing.
Vianne Rocher: Come on, it's a game. What do you see?
Armande Voizin: I see a cranky old woman too tired to play games.
Vianne Rocher: Oh. I've got just the thing for you.

Père Henri: [hearing confession] What else?
Guillaume Blerot: Impure thoughts. The woman who runs the chocolaterie...
Père Henri: Vianne Rocher?
Guillaume Blerot: She suggested I buy chocolate sea shells for the widow Audel. And, well... I guess that got me to thinking, about the widow Audel.
Père Henri: At her age? At your age?
Guillaume Blerot: Yes, and yes.

Luc Clairmont: [at confession] Each time I tell myself it's the last time, but then I get a whiff of her hot chocolate, or...
Madame Audel: ...Seashells. Chocolate seashells, so small, so plain, so *innocent*. I thought, oh, just one little taste, it can't do any harm. But it turned out they were filled with rich, sinful...
Yvette Marceau: ...And it *melts*, God forgive me, it melts ever so slowly on your tongue, and tortures you with pleasure.

Luc Clairmont: Grandmère, bonjour.
Armande Voizin: I, um... would you like a cup of, uh...
Luc Clairmont: No, no thank you. I'm just here to, uh... do a portrait.
Armande Voizin: Whose?
Vianne Rocher: Yours, actually. Is the light OK where she's sitting?

Comte: Rumor has it that you are harboring Madame Muscat.

Vianne: You make her sound like a fugitive.

Comte: She is a fugitive, from her marriage vows, which have been sanctified by God.

Vianne: Josephine, come out here a minute! Let his radiance have a look at you. (holds up Josephine's hair, exposing a nasty bruise). Is that sanctified enough for you? It's not the first time.

Roux: Are you the Catholic Aid Society? French Family League? Communist Workers? Which idea you selling?

Anouk: Chocolate.

Roux: Listen, I should probably warn you, you make friends with us, you make enemies of others.

Vianne: Is that a promise?

Roux: It's a guarantee!

Luc Clairmont: Happy birthday, Grandmère.
Armande Voizin: The invitation said five o'clock.
Luc Clairmont: I should have read it more closely.
Armande Voizin: If you had you would know there were supposed to be no gifts.
Luc Clairmont: Don't worry so much about supposed to.

Storyteller: It spoke of towns yet to be visited. Friends in need. Battles yet to be fought. By someone else, next time. And so it was that the North Wind grew weary, and went on its way.

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