All language subtitles for Menthe__Lars_von_Trier_1979_

We have bought some Broetchen
at the Bakery "Empire"

and they gave us "Eugene's cakes",
big and round

coming directly from the oven

uneatable and pasty.

Don't you remember?

I can't hear you.

Yes.

Yes I remember.

There were also some things that you
discovered on your own, it's true.

There were some things
I know nothing about.

Remember the Jew?

The gardener who would become your friend?

Remember going to the sea
and later on to the countryside?

How it was hot.

Menthe - the blessed one

You don't mind that I call you Menthe.

Still biting your fingernails, Menthe?

Don't speak.

Don't you ever wash yourself?

You look like yourself.

How is it possible to have
all these memories together?

One year.

It has been one year now.

Back then, you didn't mind being called Menthe.

I don't understand that.

It seems like you've forgotten a lot.

Your first night in Roissy,
you remember that, don't you?

Yes. I came to take you with me.

You don't want to?

I can convince you...
show you some pictures.

You'll remember then and you'll understand.

Back then, you were dreaming
of us travelling.

Together, towards the South.

Remember that?

We are in the North, place of golden thoughts
and of the great fear of death.

You're still dreaming of pomegranates
and figs.

One fine morning, you will wake up
in a foreign city.

Once you told me the color of
your room made you hungry for ice cream

with almonds and sour cream.

Your request of ice cream was satisfied.

and they said no for the coffee.

I could tell you about bathroom's tiles,

in the south.

Its coolness.

Like everywhere in the world.

Once, you got sick.

You wanted some light to see
if your shadow was still there.

Back then, you were afraid of loosing it.

Do you still have your shadow, Menthe?

But healing is easy for the traveller.

We go in Vichy for the liver,
in Mallety for the skin,

and in Aix-les-bains for the heart.

Why do we go in Roissy?

What don't you want to understand?

Did you fool another than yourself,
with your childish pride for the mark?

Why on the loins?

Because the initials had to be visible,
when one took on your only interesting entry?

They used to say "Don't forget you must
never touch yourself"

"when you're carrying your chains"
They called you "unchained".

They offered you these blessed chains
that took you away from yourself.

We asked

"Do you open yourself well for the customer

Without looking up to the face of your master?"

You have difficulty in interpreting
what one tells you.

Always.

Think of what we have lived together.

The boats...

with sails.

The straw hat that didn't fit us.

The simple basin that composed our bathroom

during our stay at the hotel.

The game of cards that
we were too tired to finish.

We all had our role to play.

You prefer leaving this place.

When I left, you gave me a little scarf.

You asked me to wear it often.

You're right.

I should have worn it today.

And I wore it.

I assure you of that.

I remember its story.

It was an inherited object,
once soaked by the blood of an execution

to bring good luck.

You remember the plane but
not the man who piloted it.

You remember the car and the driver's cap
but not the driver himself.

Your friend says,

"Take off your panties."

"Don't sit on your skirt nor on your slip."

"Put you yourself directly
onto the seat's moleskine."

And you felt it, cold and smooth

as it was sticking on your thighs.

"Menthe," he says,

"You don't need your bag any more.
We are going in Roissy."

But Menthe...

What is Roissy compared to our frienship,

to the things we have lived together,

to the trips we planned...

to the south...

across the sea.

When you were fifteen,

you wanted a necklace like
the one you saw me wearing

with the same little faces attached.

Later, when we met in Roissy,
you tought:

No one needs to teach her anything

Nor to be quiet

Nor to keep hands open on her side

Or to tip her head half back.

This autumn in Roissy.

The desire of elsewhere was boiling
in each pore of your skin.

You don't want to admit it.

I know it.

You'd say to me,

"Why letting a crowd that we hate
manage us,

If we can submit to the one we love
and respect."

Back then, I was naive.

I accepted you at face value.

But you were not being sincere, Menthe.

You knew so well how to lie.

Do you remember when you needed to break
every picture representing yourself?

Do you remember how you hurt yourself?

Your scars...

Do you still have them?

You asked that one sew you some new clothes,

So that no place on your body
would be inaccessible.

What is necessary that you go
at the corset-maker, bare breasts under the blouse or jacket?

Yes, you had to go this way
at your corset-maker.

Do you remember apples that
the storm had brought down of trees?

"Is it terrestrial food now?" did you ask.

Do you remember the narrow door?

But the narrow door, it was you.

Your opening was too narrow.

An opening that you have in common with men.

You had to wear a stick in the anus.

In shape of an erected penis,

hung to three tiny chains that
were tied to a leather-belt

which you wore around the loins.

Menthe, do you remember that?

You have to focus on what I'm telling you.

Think of me.

Oh, Menthe,

you are simply adorable.

Do not moan.

Do not beg.

Do not ask for grace or forgiveness
when they were whipping you.

And you'd scream and weep.

You'd beg for grace and forgiveness.

You'd try to kiss their hands
at the first whiplash.

They'd say to you,

"Just five minutes more."

"You have to bear five minutes, Menthe."

There were some days when you let
people depilate you,

and when you could wear your nice bolero.

There were other days when the make-up
on nipples and on the labium

couldn't be dark enough

and where the whip left you some stripes,
long and beautiful that didn't vanish easily.

Do you remember your headaches?

What you'd catch when the weather was muggy.

Try to drink a bit of this.

Here, now it doesn't hurt so bad.

In Roissy, none of your openings
belongs to you.

You are at disposal.

But did you think that the sentence

"to open up to somebody" could mean another thing?

Did you think of what it could also mean?

Feel the love.

Ah Menthe...

I know I can call you this way.

Do you remember the Englishman's
collection of dead insects?

Do you remember then, when he'd grab you
to open you up,

and you'd think you were a fish on the market.

He explained his taste for habits and rituals.

"And besides," he said to you,

"I'm fond of habits and rights."

Do you remember the hair of the girl
dead in the current?

Once, you were frightened of the big forests.

You were frightened of mountains
and of what made them threatening.

Your eyes beg me to stop sinking into memories.

All of that comes back to me now like shadows.

The Jew you called your friend
has never had and will never have a friend.

And Menthe,

did you ever doubt?

I know you doubted.

Don't you get it?
You had nobody but me.

I learned better.

We learned better.

I have something for you.

Hold on.

I am just teasing you.

I am just teasing you.

Across the sea, towards the South,
fruits are sweet.

No more cold apples from the North.

We walk together in the gardens

Bathe in the ponds, play in the fountains.

The ports we are going to visit
are full of strange people and goods.

We are going to visit some castles.
No fortress.

Eat fish and never meat.

And still more to the South

Where the ground is red, so red

and where sand is white
with disintegrated corals

and where our eyes will become brown

and in the morning when the sea

the lover withdrew

We can look into the reef, naked,
follow it during hours

the small confused fishes into puddles,
that didn't escape in time.

We find snails and shells
that we have to bury into the sand

To come dig them up later
When they became clean and shiny.

It's funny to look at the crabs,
a bit slow, vanishing into their holes.

On the streets, native people sell their goods.

They spread a large piece of
multicolored material on the ground.

And they also have some shells

Much bigger than those we could find.

At noon, it's too hot to work.

We take seats in the veranda

We are crowned with red and blue flowers
which we still don't know the names.

And around the house, we can pick limes and bananas.

We meet the peculiar people who live here.

Menthe...

Think of the blacks.

It is possible that everything
you just did made you feel good...

and I am happy about that...

but I am not Menthe...

My name is not Menthe...

and I'm not your spice.

I'm not going to talk to you about
the security which consists

in putting one's self
at the discretion of someone...

nor about the one you're waiting for
and who is already there...

already master...

then who we expect...

you know that...

that I know.

You once said to me:

"It's terrifying to fall
into the hands of a living God."

but I believe it's even worse
being rejected by that living God.

Those whom he loves and whom
he abandons in obscurity

are guilty and sinful
because they are abandonned...

may the miracle last..

may the grace never disappear...

When we die,

our soul ascend into heaven
like a great white bird.