All language subtitles for Antonia 安東尼婭家族.1995.eng

Even before the sun had risen,

Antonia knew that
her days were numbered.

She knew more than that,
she knew that this would be her last day.

Not that she felt unwell.

But unlike others,

Antonia knew when enough was enough.

She would call her loved ones
to her bedside,

inform them of her imminent death,

close her eyes and die.

Farmer Bas
would make her coffin himself.

Russian Olga would lay her out
with her customary discretion.

There would be nothing
to be ashamed of.

And her great-granddaughter
would not leave her deathbed,

since she wanted to know
exactly how the miracle of death

would embrace her beloved
great-grandmother.

It's time to die.

She got out of bed
to begin the last day of her life.

ANTONIA'S LINE

A film by Marleen Gorris

IS this it?

This is it.

Don't think much of it.

Nor did I when I left 2O years ago.

It hasn't changed.

This village may not be much,
but at least it's quiet.

Were you born here?

Soon after the war,
Antonia returned to bury her mother.

But she was still very much alive.

Wicked, wicked man.

Dirtbag!

Shameless thieves!

Rotten swine!

Just so as you know I know!

You think I can't see it?
You think I'm blind?

That I don't know you're taking them
in the alley behind the church?

- You godforsaken rat!
- Mad as a hatter.

But difficult. Always has been.

You sanctimonious filth!

Dirtbag!

But she's got a point.
Father was a dirty old man.

Used to feel them up round the clock.
He's been dead for 3O years.

Mother, I've come back. How about that!

I came as quick as I could.

This is my daughter, Danielle.

Out of my sight, spawn of Satan!

You two-faced, ruthless,

drunken, degenerate adulterer!

You wicked, wicked man!

Antonia?

Olga!

Antonia?

Yes, Mother?

Late as usual.

Like your father.

Amen.

Rest in peace, Mother.

Though that's extremely unlikely.

This is Chiel, the smith.
I used to go out with him.

Hey there, Chiel!

He's grown old.

That's Crooked Finger's house.

He's an old friend.

I wonder how he made it through the war.

That's Mad Madonna.

She bays at the full moon.

She drives the Protestant wild.

He'd rather be on top,
in more ways than one.

Come on.

That's Olga the Russian's café.

Her other professions:
midwife and undertaker.

That wall's the Saturday night urinal.

The stench on Sunday morning
could bend nails.

Ah, the nuns!

They haven't gone extinct yet.

It's all a load of rubbish really.
But that's the way things are here.

So, the prodigal daughter's come back.

Clever of you to notice.

Or are you not only drunk,
but blind as well?

Olga, three beers.

Still as mean and ugly as before.

But Christ,
what a well-stacked daughter you've got.

Here, my two sons.

Thoroughbred stallions both of them,
ready to be put out to stud.

Just right for this girl of yours, eh?

Olga, a gin please.

Give the lady a drink, Olga.

My daughter's up for offer too,
going for a song.

She may not be the smartest,

but she's strong as a sow in farrow.

Her trousseau's been ready for years.

Deedee, come here!

For Christ's sake, come here!
I told you to come!

Have you gone deaf as well?

Let them have a look at you.

A solid wench.
Have a look at her.

Any takers?

That's enough.

Where do you think you're going?

Drink up and shut your ugly face!

Shuffle, shuffle.

Deal, deal.

What did I get? Let's see.

And so Antonia and her daughter, Danielle,
returned to the cradle of their ancestors.

The two women
settled into the pink house

and had so little to do with the village
that the villagers eventually accepted them.

Just as they did a bad harvest,
a deformed child,

or the self evident, if unlikely,
omnipresence of God.

One man was happy with Antonia's return.

Since the war ended,
Crooked Finger refused to leave his house.

So Antonia visited him instead,
and she took Danielle with her.

Remember walking in the woods together?

Those woods hold lots of memories of us.

- How's your wife doing?
- Fine.

Fine.

Get a move on!

Come back, you ungrateful bastard!

You miserable swine! Come back!

Although the mind of Loony Lips
usually worked more slowly than most,

it did not take him long
to decide to follow Antonia.

Farmer Bas was a newcomer.

He 'd only lived
in the village for 20 years.

This complicated his dealings
with the other farmers.

But he had no trouble at all with Antonia.

Not bad for a curate!

Retarded Deedee lived with her mother,
father and two brothers on a farm.

The men's loud voices rode roughshod
over the women's silence.

Ma, where the hell are my Sunday shoes?

Have you seen my shoes?

Very generously proportioned was Cora.

Before Mass on Sunday
she got tipsy on her own bathtub gin.

Pushing her dung cart
and roaring with laughter,

she wove in and out
of the churchgoers.

Bertie's buried here.

His father was in the cloth trade.

Crooked Finger, Bertie and I
were best friends.

Bertie was in the resistance,
hid a Jewish family in the attic.

He was betrayed to the Germans
and they were all shot.

And guess who was too scared
to give him the Last Rites?

Anyone at home?

I...

I wanted to have a word.

What about?

About you and me.

About marriage.

I was thinking...

You're a widow and my wife is dead.

You are a good-looking woman...

My sons need a mother.

But I don't need your sons.

You don't?

No.

Don't you need a husband?

What for?

You can come round from time to time.

There's the odd job we can't do ourselves

and I'd be grateful if you'd lend a hand.

And what do I get in return?

A cup of coffee, fresh eggs, vegetables.

I've got all that myself.

Well...

I'll think about it.

Boys, behave yourselves!

Good?

Watch it!

Farmer Bas became a regular visitor.

Antonia gave him her affection,

but for the moment no more than that.

- I've come to get our saw.
- It's in the barn. I'll get it.

Don't bother. I'll go.

Goddamn.

Goddamn!

Hush now. Hush.

I'll bake you a lovely cake...

Hold Still!

And soon you'll have a nice bath.

Tomorrow we'll buy you new glasses.

As usual, the villagers knew everything.

Bu! they were as silent' as the grave
that' had nearly been filled.

Pitte healed from his wounds
and disappeared.

No one knew where to.

“Like seeks like,” Antonia said.

And Deedee and Loony Lips
found each other.

Has Crooked Finger seen this?

No.

He's only interested in books.

This isn't any good.

I've got such a lot to learn.

So Danielle went to learn in the big city.
And she was happy.

Days turned into weeks, then into years.

Antonia planted, Danielle painted,

the fields turned green,
then brown again.

Danielle, pull it.

I want a baby.

Whatever gave you that idea?

A baby?

How about a husband to go with it?

No, I don't think so.

Don't look for that here in the village.
It would only mean trouble.

The farmers here only breed sons,

and they can't see further
than the back end of a cow.

Take deep breaths!

Through your nose!

In a few months we'll go to the city.

And there we'll find you a father.

What's this?

Seems like a house for fallen women.

I doubt if these'll ever get up again.
Let's go!

Come in. Have a seat.

Have a seat.

Nothing beats being pregnant.

This is my second, and believe me,

it's not the copulation or the kids
that come out of it

but the carrying and giving birth
that makes it worthwhile.

It's the most beautiful thing on earth!

We urgently need the services...

- ...of a man.
- A man! Who doesn't?

Just to get me pregnant.

I don't want him into the bargain.
A child is all I want.

He doesn't have to know about it.

What the eye doesn't see,
the heart doesn't grieve about.

In that case, I'm with you.

Nice bike.

An Adonis!

What does he do for a living?

Good breeding?

He's family!

Once more.

Come on!

Did you see stars?

Did I have to?

It helps.

It's not essential.

- I'm famished!
- That's a good sign.

We're a fertile family.

Letta, it was a real pleasure.
You know where to find me if you want me.

...corruption that infects us all.

Of such, Peter, the rock upon whom
the Church is built, warns:

“Them that walk after the flesh in the lust
of uncleanness and despise government.”

The kingdom of the Jews fell through
Jezebel and her cursed daughter.

More the shame that these are women!

They should set an example

of humility and obedience,

and teach their daughters chastity.

Let them repent

lest they be cast into hellfire
at the day of judgment!

Farmer Bas came to the conclusion
that there was only one solution:

Blackmail.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph!

...and Our Lord said unto them:

“He that is without sin among you
let him first cast a stone at her.”

And just as her accusers left,
convicted by their own consciences,

so we must think of our own transgressions
before condemning others.

Let us also remember that salvation
came into the world through a woman.

And that no one
seeks her protection or help in vain.

Nor should we forget the lesson
read on the feast day of a holy woman:

“She openeth her mouth with wisdom,

in her tongue is the law of kindness.

She looketh well
to the ways of her household,

and eateth not the bread of idleness.”

Danielle gave birth to a daughter,
and called her Thérèse.

And so the years passed.

Antonia and Danielle took Thérèse
on their visits to Crooked Finger.

It seemed that Thérèse understood
Crooked Finger better than Danielle ever did.

Imagine moving to another time scale,

so that a life-span of 8O years
would be over in 29 days,

or last 80,000 years.

- Time...
- But what about time?

Did we invent time?

We made it up.

Perhaps ants live in their time...

- And crickets...
- And bees...

- And butterflies...
- And trees...

And stars...

And the moon!

Finger, you smell!

That, my dear,
is the smell of time past.

And Finger and Thérèse enfolded
each other in their hearts.

Thwarted in love by the dogmas
of their different faiths,

the Protestant remained as far from
his Madonna as the moon she howled at.

The Curate left the church because,

as he put it, he could not reconcile
his enjoyment of life

with the Church's enjoyment of death.

I'm free! I'm free!

Some years ago you asked for my hand.

You still can't have my hand.
But you can have the rest.

After all these chaste years
I've got the urge again.

Let's say once a week?

Perhaps more often.

From time to time...

should the need arise.

If the need arises, we must
give that serious consideration.

And not in my house or yours.

That's much too hectic
for people of our age.

The seasons repeated themselves.
Time gave birth again and again,

and with complete contentment
produced nothing except itself.

Letta! Pregnant again?

What number's this one?

I have nowhere else to go.

Children of the future,
remember that I did my best. Come on in.

This is Simon, my eldest.
Take off your cap!

And this is Arletta.

Is that...

That's my daughter Thérèse.

Poppet

Haven't I grown?

Spitting image of her dad!

How is my father?

Fine! He's married
to a horribly ugly girl

who's got a heart of gold,
buckets of common sense and a brewery.

He's very happy.

- Who's that?
- The Curate.

He has left the Church.

God bless you, ma'am!

I should hope so too.

The Curate lovingly
knocked her up every year,

and they lived happily ever after.

- How long have you been able to do sums?
- Since I was three.

- Who taught you?
- I taught myself.

Crooked Finger helped a bit.

How much is 147 times 48?

7056, of course.

Square root is 84.

The square is 49,787,136.

Danielle, I regret to have to tell you
your daughter isn't normal.

- I'm a child prodigy.
- I fear you are.

This is Lara Anderson,
Thérèse's teacher.

- The First Grade's teacher, I mean.
- She has 3O children, a demanding task.

Quite.

Thérèse is far in advance of the others.

It creates problems,
she needs a lot of attention.

I suggest that you and I,
and possibly others

take responsibility
and give Thérèse extra tuition

besides her normal lessons,
which I shall adapt to her needs.

What subjects are you good in?

All the colors of the spectrum.
She knows everything about painting.

She's not a bad carpenter, either.

Crooked Finger will help.
He knows more than is good for him.

Philosophy, poetry, comparative religion.

Logic. The exact sciences.

I suggest two
to three hours extra a day.

Is that suitable?

Is that suitable?

To begin with.

What time is she coming?

Didn't she say after dinner?

That's now!

Perhaps she eats late.

Perhaps she doesn't want to come.

Was it today she said she'd come?

Does she drink coffee or tea?

How should I know?
Stand still or sit down!

Hello, Thérèse.

- Hello.
- Hello.

Reverend Mother says
that God created everything.

But she won't ask herself
who created God.

The tragedy of those who believe in a God
is that their faith rules their intellect.

In my experience, religions
often cause death and destruction.

But we were discussing Plato.

Isn't it terrible that nothing exists?

That's why there's so much.

Have you ever eaten an artichoke?
Shall I tell you how?

An artichoke is thick and round
and green.

The leaves are fleshy and soft.

First, boil the artichoke in salted water.

Then, peel off the leaves, one by one,
dip them in a vinaigrette sauce,

then scrape off the tender flesh
with your teeth until you reach the heart.

The heart?

Yes, the heart.

- And what do I do with the heart?
- You savor it,

bit by bit, with your eyes closed.
It's a delicacy.

The whole thing is a delicacy.

Yes, all of it is a delicacy.

Am I going to have my lesson or not?

And then love burst out everywhere.

I can't sleep!

That year Mad Madonna died
of a broken heart.

The Protestant speedily followed her.

“Force of habit,” said the villagers.

THEY DID NOT SHARE A TABLE

THEY DID NOT SHARE A BED

NOW THEY SIMPLY SHARE A GRAVE

Farmer Dean fell from the combine harvester
and broke his neck.

After nearly 75 years
missing without a trace,

Pitte suddenly walked through the door
and claimed his share of the inheritance.

Money, money, money.

Look who's here!

Ladies...

- Who's that?
- The devil. Open the door.

Thérèse grew up with Simon,
Letta's eldest son.

He loved Thérèse,
and would continue to do so all his life.

Simon's in love!

Thérèse soon discovered that thought
needed more than just brains.

Her love of music and mathematics
provided for the needs of heart and head.

She limited herself to those subjects,
and became an authority in both.

Your essay has undeniable merits,

but it is imperative

that you realize the importance
of following the assignment.

I specifically stipulated
two pages maximum.

You wrote five. So it is insufficient.

In our discipline it is essential,
an absolute necessity...

Let me put it this way:
“Mastery reveals itself in limitation.”

Since you can't distinguish
quality from quantity,

I can only come to the conclusion
that you are incompetent.

Up with the truth!

Up with the revolution!

UP yours.

In those enlightened times
Thérèse was raped.

By Pitte.

Drinks are on me!

Beer for everyone.

You got something to celebrate?

Are you all right now?

Are you sure?

Sleep well.

He isn't here.

Stand up!

Outside. And quickly.

Stop!

- Be reasonable.
- No.

Shut your mouth.

If you move, I'll shoot.

If I had it in me to kill someone,
I would kill you.

Instead, I'll curse you.

And my curse will haunt you
to the end of your days.

Silence!

If you ever return,

my curse will savage you to death.

If you ever return,
my hate will destroy you.

Your bones will break,
your teeth will split,

your tongue will erupt with pus.

If you ever return,
the water you drink will poison you,

the food you eat will rot in your gut,

the air you breathe
will burn in your lungs.

You will beg in vain to be released
from the torment that is your punishment

for raping a child.

Help me.

Janne was now lord and master.
And he liked his new role.

The village buzzed with rumors,
but no one pointed an accusing finger.

They were glad to be rid
of the dearly departed.

They're going to perform my composition.

Are you glad?

Suppose so.

The world is a hell,

inhabited by tormented souls and demons.

Schopenhauer?

The proverb is wrong.
Time does not heal all wounds.

It merely softens the pain,
and blurs memories.

The years passed.

Thérèse reached the age of 20.

We can assume that the singular chain
complex of the empty set equals zero.

With theorem 5.8
this implies that the n-th homology group

is the same as
the n-th relative homology group,

if we take subspace as the empty set.

Now we can construct a functor from
the category... from the category of Top 2

to the category of chain complexes.

Define the functor S* as follows:

S* sends ordered X.A
to the singular chain complex

of the space X divided by
the complex of A.

She experimented with a few intellectuals,
but found them Wanting.

It's our neo-capitalistic society

that reduces the political content
of socialist alternatives

to non-material adjustments
of formal behavior.

Humanity is an intersection
of relationships,

which is the initial premise.

Relationships are disturbed,

because society itself makes
healthy relationships impossible.

In a male/female dialogue,
property becomes a basic drive

whose survival value only exists
because society guarantees it.

Their self-indulgent blather
insulted Thérèse's intelligence.

Nor was she compensated physically.

What did I do? What did I do?

And Thérèse,
who was used to the best,

refused to put up with this.

Simon, Letta's eldest son,
was not Thérèse's intellectual equal.

But their childhood friendship ripened
into love and this contented her.

Will you marry me?

I love you Simon,
but marriage would be a mistake.

I can't give you enough attention.

But we make such good love.

That's why.

I think I'm pregnant.

Pregnant?

Do you want it?

- Of course she wants it!
- Of course she doesn't.

- Sure she does.
- She doesn't.

- Of course she wants it.
- Of course she doesn't.

- She does.
- Why?

Why not?

- Of course not.
- She does!

- She doesn't!
- She does!

- No.
- Yes.

Well?

I'll have to give this serious thought.

Have you no pity for this child?

Wouldn't you rather save it
from the misery of life?

Or at least not burden yourself with
the cold-blooded crime of giving it life?

This is not time for Schopenhauer.
This is important.

I don't know how you can do it,
bring another being into this world...

this rotten world...

Thérèse and Simon had a daughter,
and called her Sarah.

What a lovely child.

And a redhead of course.
Just like her father.

His father had red hair too.
It runs in the family.

Look at her.
What a lovely child.

Can I hold her?

You look so nice.

- She looks like her father.
- No, her mother.

What a precious child.

Thérèse's reception of her baby
left a little bit to be desired.

But Simon explained why.

I regret to have to tell you, Sarah,
but your mother isn't normal.

Time flowed.

Season followed season,

caught up with
and leapt over one another,

as if wanting to bring an end to
the everlasting dance of birth and death.

Finger, this is for you.

You thought we'd forgotten, didn't you?

Now you can start on Sarah.

We can read Nietzsche together.

Finger, why do you never go out?

“The best thing of all is not to be born.

Not to be. To be nothing.”

- “The next best thing...
- Stop it, Finger!

...is to die.”

Look at me!

- Very nice, darling.
- No hands!

What happened? Did you fall?

Let me have a look.

Come inside for a bit.

There's iodine in the cabinet.

Daddy will take care of you.

Look! Read what I've written!

But Deedee isn't dead yet.

That's why. So she can read it now.

Do you want to read this?

It's for you.

“Poem for Deedee, dead and gone.
Deedee is a gray dove, old and lovely.

I'm glad she isn't dead.

Because when she dies
I know I'll miss her a lot.

Because after Great-gran,
Mom, Lara and my Gran,

Deedee is the dearest woman
in the whole village,

in the whole province,
in the whole country,

and in the whole universe.

That's what Deedee is
now she's not yet dead.”

Lovely! Lovely!

I'm going to write some more, Great-gran.

Almost as if Sarah's poem
had given Death the idea,

suddenly a lot of villagers died.

Letta had given birth to 12 children
with the greatest of ease.

The thirteenth was fatal.

Damn it! I did so want to continue.

The Curate left for the city
with his 12 disciples,

and became a social worker.

Janne received a well-aimed kick
from a much maltreated cow.

Loony Lips died in a tractor accident.

And Deedee was inconsolable.

And still the tragedies were not over.

My dearest Thérèse,

It is absurd to believe that
the constant pain afflicting us

is there purely by chance.

On the contrary.

Misery is the norm, not the exception.

Who can I blame for our existence?

Not the accident of the sun
which gives us life.

I accuse myself,

since I don’t believe in God
or a hereafter.

If I did, I could delude myself
that life promises a heavenly dessert

after an indigestible main course.

I have never been able to accept
the common misconception

that everything one day will be better.

Nothing will be better.

At best or at worst,
it will only be different.

I no longer want to think...

Above all else, no longer think...

Hush, now.

Hush.

After Crooked Finger's death,
Thérèse was more alone than ever.

And Danielle felt limitless rage
at her daughter's grief.

Where's Crooked Finger?
Where's everybody?

Crooked Finger's body is burned

and his ashes scattered on the earth.

But...

Nothing dies forever.

Something always remains.

A little something
from which new things grow.

So life begins,
without knowing where it came from

or why it exists.

But why?

Because life wants to live.

Isn't there a heaven either?

This is the only dance we dance.

Which of us is going to die first?

If all goes well and I have my way,
I'll die first.

But I'm not intending to right now.

I'll tell you when the time comes.

Don't you worry.

I've still got years left in me.

Thank goodness!

Deedee, there's nothing for it.
Life's got to be lived.

Time conquered Time.

Children were born,
not as many as in Letta's day,

but there were enough
to keep the world turning.

Sometimes Time crept slowly onwards
like an exhausted tortoise.

Sometimes it tore through life,

hungry as a vulture
in search of more and more.

Time didn't care about death or life,

decay or growth,

love, hate or jealousy.

It ignored all those things
which are so important to us

that we forget Time.

Don't you feel well?

I'm going to die.

Now?

Today.

I promised I'd tell you.

How awful!

It's not easy.

Go and fetch them, please.

I won't die before you come back.

Even before the sun had risen,
Antonia knew her days were numbered.

She knew more than that.
She knew this would be her last day.

She would call her loved ones
to her bedside,

inform them of her imminent death,
close her eyes, and die.

Farmer Bas
would make her coffin himself.

Russian Olga would lay her out
with her customary discretion.

There would be nothing
to be ashamed of.

That's Mad Madonna.

She's calling me to play outside.

Her daughter Danielle
would stifle her grief,

which would later explode on canvas.

Her granddaughter Thérèse would not
be able to prevent herself wondering

what was the exact volume
of Antonia's last breath.

And I, Sarah, her great-granddaughter,

would not leave the deathbed
of my beloved great-grandmother,

because I wanted to be with her
at the moment when the miracle of death

parted Antonia's soul
from her formidable body.

And as this long chronicle
reaches its conclusion,

nothing has come to an end.