All language subtitles for Solvent.2024.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264

So lovelies, here we go.

Helmet cam on,
LIDAR autofocus works.

Sound? All good.

Okay, fun part first,
the legal statement.

It is March 8th, 2023,
7:00 a.m.

We are at 2003 Egelsau

near Stockerau, Lower Austria.

This contract
for specialized
tracking services

is entered into by
and between the client,

Dr. Krystyna Szczepanska
representing the IHUW,

Warsaw, Poland,
and the contractor,

Relocator Europe, LLC,

represented by its founder
and CEO, Gunner S. Holbrook.

And that's me...

Dr. Szczepanska, do you accept?

Yes, you are our truffle pig
of choice, Gunner.

Indeed I am.

You know
that's what they called me

in the army, Truff?

Of course I know.

You tell me every goddamn time

we work together.

Always a pleasure
doing business with you, Krys.

Absolutely.

I mean, I am getting
the friends and family discount.

These little piggies are
my assistants, Kyle Edward Boll,

and my local contact,
Richie Fischvogt.

Say cheese, Richie.

Ah, your positivity
is infectious, guys.

Anyways, here is

all our fancy gear.

Calibrated, ready to rumble.

Getting there.

According to labor laws,

we are equipped with FFP3 masks

and protective suits.

The mold situation
will most likely be a shitshow.

Hope we won't be
huffing and puffing

and blow the house in...

This is my colleague,
Magistra Cornelia Dunzinger,

University of Innsbruck.

We hired Mr. Holbrook
and his team as experts

in tracking lost, hidden,
and potentially fragile goods.

This is the farm
of Wolfgang Zinggl,

a retired farmer
who disappeared in 2014

at the age of 94.

No one knows
what happened to him.

My name is Ernst Bartholdi.

I am the grandson
of Mr. Zinggl.

I run a PR boutique in Vienna,

so I'm not here
very frequently.

The story of the building
and the story of my grandfather

is indeed strange.

He was very fit,

up until his 90s, actually.

But the last years
of his life,

he became kookier and kookier,
I would call it.

And, uh,
one day he disappeared.

So we assume
that he got lost doing a walk

in the nearby
forests or swamps,

but his body was never found.

Of course, the locals

immediately started
spreading ghost stories

or blaming the immigrants,
as always.

According to Austrian law,
he was declared dead

after five years
at the end of 2019.

The remaining family took
possession of the building,

but all was delayed

and nothing really happened

up until after
the COVID pandemic.

I spent a lot of time here
on the farm.

For example,
here in the garden:

I built tree houses
and things like that.

I really like the property.

I have the keys and, uh...

All right, masks up,
final gear check.

Let's roll.

Hmm...

Ah, it's pretty sad

seeing it in this condition.

No power?

Yep. And no water or gas.

What a godawful
shit of a fuck.

Oh, that's funny!

That's me and my mom.

Seems he was
a popular guy...

but pretty messy.

Ah, that's him and me
at my confirmation.

Yeah, as a recovering Catholic,

I can totally relate.

I got my first PC doing it.

Pretty good deal.

Did you ever talk

about politics
to your grandparents?

No, that was never
a big thing in my family.

We never had
a big discussion about it,

especially not the war.

But there were
always hints of something.

Just one example.

The first movie
I ever saw in the cinema

was E.T.
the Extra-Terrestrial.

I was seven years old
and I went

with my grandma, Gerti.

That's her.

Of course, I loved it
and she was also very impressed

and somewhat overwhelmed.

And she didn't know
how to articulate it.

So after the film ended,
she looked at me and she nodded.

"Spielberg.

"Hmm.

"Spielberg. Hmm.

A Jew. Yes."

And even as a kid,
I found that very weird.

Here is some of the stuff

that I already discovered
in the house.

Our family really wants
to know what is

behind the secrets
around my grandfather's past.

And we want to help reveal
whatever he probably hid.

That's him.

I discovered it

in one of the drawers
over there.

What we found out
is that Mr. Zinggl

was stationed at the Nazi
concentration camp,

Chelmno, German Kulmhof,
near Lodz, Poland.

Chelmno was the first
extermination camp.

It stands out
in the history of the camps

because it served
as a model.

They tested it all there.

They experimented.

For example,
the use of gas vans.

They piped exhaust fumes,
carbon monoxide,

into the enclosed vehicle
through a special tube.

This way, they could cheaply
kill 40 to 60 people at a time.

In Chelmno, they developed

the logistical framework
for Auschwitz.

And Mr. Zinggl
had a very active part in this.

That's his...

A postwar

veterans organization.

He kept it on his nightstand

until the very end.

Yeah, looks like
he was into keeping souvenirs.

That's why we are here.

As part of Mr. Zinggl's job

at the concentration camp,

he seems to have stashed away

a bunch of documents

and he hid them
in a box somewhere.

We think the box
contains diaries

with priceless
historic information.

What Zinggl
has seen, done, collected

could be really important.

For example,
there may be information

about some
yet undiscovered mass graves.

This is important,
as the Germans

forced Jewish prisoners
to exhume and cremate

any remaining corpses
from the mass graves,

effectively destroying evidence
of mass murder operations.

But on paper,
the ghosts have voices.

We are at the edge
of the Danube flood plains.

It's humid as fuck.

Wow.

Oh, I smell something

through the mask.

Jesus, what the fuck?

Yeah, at some point
in his early 90s,

he started
collecting his urine.

He bottled it
by calendar week.

Wait, that's an entire
week's worth of piss?

Don't ask me.

All right,
it's trophy trunk truffle time.

Let's turn this place
upside down.

Sing us a song...

you're the piano man.

Hey, Boll,

that's something
right up your alley.

The laxative
with the smell of ripe bananas.

Cool.

Okay, I'm gonna
check the courtyard.

Okay.

This door...

He would, uh, hang live pigs

on that door to castrate them.

Next to it, on the ground,

bunch of cats were waiting
to grab a testicle.

They loved it, really.

Yeah.

What the fuck are you doing?

Hey, Fischvogt,
if you really find that shit box

in that fucking hay,
I'll buy you a Bacardi.

Yeah, I don't know.

Hey, Kyle!

Fifteen man
on a dead man's chest.

Dead Nazi's.

Dead Nazi's...

...on a dead Nazi's chest.

Arr...

Oh, well...

Nothing important,
nothing important.

Just talking
about my relationship

to my grandfather.

And what can I say,
it wasn't bad.

I mean, he was never...
kinda like,

he didn't hit me
or anything, so you know,

he was--
he was a nice guy.

Uh, but it was always clear
whose brainchild he was.

And most of the time
he couldn't really say

what he wanted to say,
I suppose.

But every now and then
he tried.

So he would say stuff like,
"Oh, the evil zionists,"

because he knew he could
say something like that.

Or "the poor Palestinians."

And then he would mumble
in his beard,

something like, you know, like,

"Oh, if we only had
six more months,

just six more months."

Yeah. Family.

Well...

Sorry.

It's all right.

Hmm.

Why didn't he wear his dentures

for his last walk in the woods?

Ah, never
thought of that before.

That's my first artwork.

Uh...

What about the outhouse?

I can't remember a time

when we didn't have
running water

here at the farm,
but my grandpa never used

the toilet inside,

so he always went outside
to the "Plumpsklo."

So...

...also had
a fetish for latrines?

Okay.

Um, I think

this is a job for Fischvogt.

Yep.

-It's the Turd Reich.
-Oh, come on.

Look-- Look at you guys.

Anyway, not a goddamn thing
down there-- nada, zilch.

Grandpa kept it a secret,

but over the years,

he had been in contact
with ultra right people

in Sweden, South America,
the U.S., everywhere.

Unpleasant folks,
as you can imagine.

Sometimes, I'd hear him...

...on the phone,
arguing and cursing.

He believed that
many had abandoned the cause,

thinking they were
just into nostalgia

and Nazi souvenirs.

One of his favorite
sayings was...

"You can't win
a war with them."

Heh. Well...

in the end,
he was so disappointed

that he shifted
his energy to other things,

like alternative medicine
and stuff.

Ah, well, we should
also check out the basement.

Yeah, that's
not creepy at all.

Oh, wow.

Could it be?

How is that...

So that's
his other secret stash.

Fuck this.

Time for lunch.

How's life?

Well, busy.

Granada last autumn,
now here, Estonia in June.

It's crazy.

Estonia, wow.

It's all one
big Easter egg hunt, isn't it?

Yeah, you know.

Nazi boxes, Francoist gold,
French war crimes on film,

all the same, right?

Just truffles.

Thanks.

Uh-huh.

Mr. Zinggl supposedly hid

some important Nazi
documents from the war.

We are trying to find it,
help the victims.

Wolfi, yeah,

was no Nazi, yeah?

Nazi.
Him a Nazi, Nazi, Nazi.

Now wait,
maybe he can help us.

Wouldn't the universities
agree to a finder's fee?

Finder's fee? Good, good, good.

Yes, it can help, and help.

You know Columbo? You know?

I'm just
trying to enjoy my lunch.

Scroll.

Wow.

Oh, wow.

You--
You didn't know about this?

Well, I don't have
a key for that one...

Should I get the chainsaw?

Chainsaw?

Oh, that's bad! Oh, that's bad!

Oh, man.

Ah.

Krystyna, we'll
both go first and scout it out.

Rest of you, stay put.

Wow, it's pretty big.

Ah, ah, shit.

I really should get
a new flashlight.

Look at that.

Brown looks as dry
as a desert.

Is the thing really working?

Yeah, Fischvogt calibrated it.

Humidity is almost zero.

Let's check out the tunnel.

Careful, ceiling's real low.

Can you hear that?

There's a draft
coming out of the pipe.

That's unusual.

We might have found something.

It's wet.

Is that condensation?

I'm beginning
to see a pattern here.

Come on, that's u--

That's useless, come on.

All right, I'm gonna
go get some shovels.

She's digging
with her hands.

I have to get some shovels.

What did you find?

Strange pipe. Could be

a hidden room down there,
you never know.

Really?

I've seen weirder shit

in my line of work.

The fuck?

Krystyna, turn
your flashlight on,

I can't see shit.

Krystyna.

Krystyna!

Hey.

Wh-- Hey, what--

What--what's the matter?
What is it?

Come here, come over here.

Let me take a look at that.

Hey, hold on,
just calm down, Krystyna.

Krystyna, wait. Wait a sec.

Stop. Wait, calm down.

Hey. Hey.

Whoa!

Mrs. Dunzinger,
are you okay?

Fuck.
Are you fucking kidding me?

Oh, my shit.

Oh, fucking hell.

Jesus... Fucking fu...

I like this spot.

The water is calm.

Ironically, heh,
this is also the place

where they think
Zinggl disappeared.

Last night I dreamt
that he stared at me

out of the water.

...fucking wonder.

I spent all of yesterday
looking through terabytes

of footage from March.

It's all documented,
yet the more I watch it,

the more it feels
like a nightmare.

It was three months ago,
but it feels like...

I don't know,
like it never happened.

But it did.

What happened
to Krystyna is real.

What happened
to poor Dunzinger is real.

What the whole thing
did to me is real.

I started editing this video.

Please consider it
a form of associative diary,

you know, a visual way
to sort my memories.

So forgive me,
but it won't pass

the Bechdel test.

Found some interesting
music online,

and I use it
as a backdrop for my journal.

I decided
not to include footage

from the hospital,

and the first conversations

with Krystyna,

out of respect
for her and her privacy.

What a shitshow.

Nice.

Krystyna
couldn't properly speak,

had spasms,
attacked hospital personnel.

She even tried to kill herself

by bashing her head
against a mirror.

They restrained her
and pumped her full of drugs.

Eh, that helped.

Her relatives brought
her back to Poland.

We have a history.

So I visited her in Warsaw
as often as I could,

and when I couldn't,
I would call her.

Half the time,
she's a vegetable.

A furious vegetable.

The whole case
seriously affected my business.

The Estonia gig should happen
in two weeks, fingers crossed.

It still isn't clear
if they want to hire

me and my team.

Met Fischvogt in Vienna.

He's still keen on making
it happen, I understand.

Gotta pay the bills.

I borrowed Fischvogt's car.

Told him I would return it
after two days.

I use it
as my hidden base camp.

I'm just a half a mile
from Egelsau,

but nobody
will look for me here.

Look at that.

Feels like walking
into enemy territory.

Once a grunt,
always a grunt.

Dunziger's relatives
are trying to paint it all

as criminal negligence.

That fucker Bartholdi
is siding with them.

I am not interested
in going to prison

in fucking Schnitzelland.

- Gunner?
- Yeah?

-Are you there?
-Yes.

It's so dark.

I can't see you.

We're on the phone,
Krystyna, just audio.

I'm at the house
with the pipe.

Why weren't you
at the train station?

What?

We wanted to meet there.

No. You're at home in Warsaw.

I'm back at Egelsau.

Ohh, how silly of me.

That asshole Weinhappl
is outside.

He's always doing
farmer shit.

The place is
completely off limits.

Krystyna.

Yes.

I'm here now, yes.

I was scared.

I am scared, Gunner.

Can I record
this conversation?

Okay, it's okay. Really.

Now, for the sake of finding out
what happened to you,

just tell me again
what happened.

What? Why?

I just need
to make sense of it.

Let's talk about it.

You Americans

always want to talk.

I wanted to get away
from the pipe.

From what I did.

Why? What did you do?

Horrible things.

Well, wait, you mean Dunzinger?

Bodies!
Bodies everywhere.

I loved it.

It made me happy.

Wait. Yes,
you didn't like her,

but it was an accident.

Bodies!

Wait, calm down, calm down.

The police didn't find anything.

I mean, they didn't
really look, but--

A job well done.

No tattoos on the skin.

We didn't have to tattoo.

The vans
took care of things quick,

and the helpful old man
with the Jaeger pipe.

What was his name?

The way he would
hold their babies

as they exit the train cars

and then sweet-talked them
into the vans

like an old grandfather.

No need for tattoos,
just white skin.

Body's like blank paper.

Like paperwork slipped
into a file.

Oh, fuck.

I have to do
my own research.

Boll usually does this.

He's way better at it.

It's like I have
two left hands.

My motor skills are fucked.

Probably toxin.

Gas, Kuwait, Gulf War Syndrome.

It's a vertigo.
I never got treated.

Ah, shit. Walked it off.

Jesus!

Eh?

Oh, Mr. Weinhappl.

Yeah...

I am Mr. Weinhappl.

And you?

You are Gunner Holbrook, right?

I filled a lot of forms
when I was at the police

with your stupid name on it.

Yeah, yeah, sorry.

Where's Ernst?

He's not here.

He's not here? What?

He doesn't need to be here.

No, you need
to understand, seriously.

Huh?

I'll call him immediately.

No, wait a second.

Wait-- Hold on.

- Holbrook!
- Yeah.

What the hell are you doing?

I want
to continue the search.

- The fuck?
- This doesn't have

to involve you, understand?

Are you a moron?

Dunzinger died
on my property!

I was there.

It fucking
involves me, okay?

You told me to stand down,

but the mission
isn't complete.

That's all this is.

No, no, you stay

the hell away, Holbrook!

And you,
Holbrook, you leave now.

It's getting cold.

You know why? Huh?

You know them?

- Shit.
- Come on.

Go, leave.

To quote Jimmy Buffett,

"My head hurts, my feet stink,
and I don't love Jesus."

Nah.

What was Krystyna saying
about tattoos and bodies?

That was strange.

When I was 19, I enlisted

and they shipped me
to the desert,

and all my buddies
got inked.

This Marine I knew,
I can't remember his name,

from West Virginia
had a tattoo on his side,

right out where
anyone could see it,

of Elmer Fuds saying...

"Where did
that wascally wabbit go?"

Rabbit tracks leading
right to his asshole. Heh.

Stupid shit people do
to stay alive, stay sane.

We are all dogs
in God's hot car.

Fuck.

Weinhappl was
in my dream last night.

I locked him
in the back of a truck,

ran an exhaust pipe
into the box,

and drove around
till I killed him.

Fuck.

As a kid, I asked a priest

if dreams need confessing.

Now, this one
would have topped the list.

Fuck me with a shovel.

I gotta stay frosty.

I need to wait this out.

Hey, Piggly Wiggly.

Hey man, it's been too long.

How are you, where are you?

I'm good, man. You?

Heh. You sound a little weird,
you feeling okay?

Hiding in a fodder silo.

Sweet. I tried calling
a few times, where you been?

Don't get me started.

How about Krystyna?

Ah, not good.

Fischvogt and I went
to Dunzinger's funeral.

Yeah, he told me.

It was the day they moved
Krystyna back to Warsaw,

so I couldn't attend.

Wait, are you two
back together?

No, it's complicated.

You really like her,
don't you?

Yeah, you know me,
I always fall for the crazy one.

Heh, tell me about it.

Well, speaking of,

I'm actually dating
Dunzinger's cousin.

What the fuck?

I know, right?

Her name's Edith, we met

at the funeral--
listen to this--

she gave me a B.J.
at the wake,

so, uh, two ladies
went down that day.

Jesus, Boll.

Right?

We just got back
from Croatia.

Croatia?

Goddamn, the body on her.

Yeah, where are you now?

Ah, hell on earth,
Frankfurt. You?

Have you talked
to Bartholdi?

Fuck no.

Listen, would you

wanna help me finish
this Egelsau mission?

What Egelsau mission, man?
It's a bust.

You still owe me money for it.
What about Estonia?

Yeah, sure, okay. Heh.

It's just, look, we barely
even got started at Egelsau,

and it could be something major.
Just doesn't feel right.

I know, man, but come on,
the bitch died in there.

Okay, just a second. What?

- What the fuck is--
- No, no, I'm not talking

about her, it's just
an American saying, okay.

Uh, okay, hold on, hold on.

Dude, I gotta call you back
tomorrow, okay?

Um, uh, just try to get
your shit together, yeah...

make Estonia happen, okay?
Relax.

Binge Ted Lasso or someth--
I am talking!

I'll talk to you
tomorrow, okay? Bye.

Hey, what the hell, man?

I need my fucking car!
I told you, man!

I had to pay
my uncle a cab!

What a fucktard.

That's what Pops

would have said:
"What a fucktard." Heh.

When I was 13, he taught me
how to hotwire cars.

We borrowed a car
and went to Chuck E. Cheese,

best birthday ever, man.

First time I stole a car,
like as an adult,

was in Bosnia.

Smelled like
a ruptured pancreas.

The car, I mean.

And Bosnia.

You don't ask for permission
or forgiveness,

you ask for oblivion.

Headlamp on.

Oh, hey, little friend.

At least someone calls
this goddamn cellar home.

There you go, enjoy.

Okay, mousey,
let's do this.

- Hey, Krystyna.
- You're there.

Yeah, heh, you're calling me
at the right moment.

The time is 23 minutes
past midnight

on June 2nd, 2023.

I'm inserting the borescope
into the pipe.

I have Dr. Krystyna Szczepanska
with me on the phone,

to offer her expertise
on any discoveries I may make.

Okay, the borescope
is approximately

nine feet into the pipe.

This section here
appears continuous

with the metal pipe
at the access point.

Zinggl built this
all by himself.

At his age, it must have
taken months or years.

Calm down, Krystyna.

Okay, it's all good.

Holy shit!

There was a fucking eye.

He's here. It's him.

It is--
It's--it's gone.

But--but there is a hole
where the eye was.

A cavity.

- There is water in it.
- Don't touch it!

Taking a sample
of the water.

Oh, God, I'm dizzy.

Fuck.

Shit.

I'm remembering
something, Krystyna.

Strange memories.

When we came here with the team,
to this fucking place,

was that really
your first time here?

Yes. No.

Did you know about
this place, Krystyna?

I don't know.

Please, tell me.

You know something.

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't remember
being there.

And you... And you...
And...

And it all came back, and...

I'm scared!
Don't you understand?

I'm not scared.
I should be freaking out.

I mean...
Jesus, but I'm not.

You lie.

I saw you
and you are scared.

When?

When did you see me?

In the pipe.

What?

What time is it?

- What?
- What time is it?

And the date?

It's 1:10 a.m. on 6/2/23. Why?

Listen to the historian!

I was hoping
for Occam's razor.

A logical explanation like,

Weinhappl and Opa Zinggl

throwing some epic parties
in the cellar.

Complete with Nazi age play,

golden showers, bottle fisting

and sucking
a metric shit-ton of drugs

out of each other's holes.

All seeping into the ground,
affecting us.

To be certain,
I take a urine sample.

But I have it on video.

An eye is like a dam.

It's a floodgate.

If I close my eyes, I'm safe,

but I can't keep them
closed forever.

Something always seeps in,

penetrating your mind,
accumulating inside.

As a kid, when Pops

was still in his stoner days,

thanks to Vietnam,

he always said that
water knows,

that water has a memory.

What can I say?

He drowned in a jacuzzi.

I wonder
what the water knew about him

after he emptied
his bowels into it.

Holbrook family tragedies
aside,

maybe he was right after all.

All right, little Mario
going down the pipe,

all for his princess.

Oh, geez, what the hell,
that's weird.

That was
almost effortless.

Little princess
just squirted.

Uh-huh.

Is this even pure water?

Does it contain chemicals,
bacteria?

Let's see what it does
when you boil it.

If you told Wolfgang Zinggl
to stop killing Jews,

he'd think you were
the one in the wrong.

I never felt that way
about what I did

for the good old U.S. of A,
you know?

If you're a goomba,
then Mario is a mass murderer.

Freakin' Mario,
with his little side eye

as he goes down the pipe.
Shade.

Hmm, nothing, just water.

Next step, freezing it.

For lack of a better idea,
I'll do it at the supermarket.

What are you doing?

Stay away from the water,
Gunner!

Please, please
listen to me.

Don't touch it!

What do I do with you,
pipe squirt?

Do you remember
when we first met

at the job in Germany?

Of course I do.

What a lovely weekend.

Right after,
you needed to go to Florida.

You sent me a video
from the motel you stayed at.

You were totally excited

about the stupid Waffle House
slippers you got.

You thought the Waffle House
was a strip club.

That was funny.

I sent you a message
that I missed you.

You jumped on a plane
and came to me, just like that.

It was a great time.

It was...
We had the best time.

Focus on that
and come to me right now.

Stop what you are doing
in that awful cellar.

Stop now!

We can meet
at the train station.

What train station?

The train station!

Why--why--why didn't you
come to the train station?

What was that?
What are you doing?

- I have a theory.
- What theory?

Gunner, there's no theory.

Or call it a gut feeling,
that's what it is.

Either I'm right

or I'm going
out of my fucking head.

Listen to me,
the water is bad.

Gunner,
Gunner, empty it out.

Come back here.

I need
my little truffle pig.

There's things you don't
know about me, Krystyna.

If you really knew me,
you'd be scared.

I have to do this.

Please, please don't.

You have to fight it.

I'm fighting!

You can too.

This is it.

This is the truffle,
Krystyna.

I thought that
it would taste horrible,

but no, it tastes salty,
like tears.

You are so lost,
little piggy.

Constipated little piggy.

Am I right?

Idiot!

Where is my car?
Where is my car?

Where is my fucking car?

Where is my fucking...car?

In the forest, you fuckhead.

Where are my keys?

Fuck you. Fuck. Fuck.

You stole my car.

You fucked up
the Estonia job.

Look at you.

Is this Krystyna?
This poor woman?

Leave her alone.

I'm still here,
my poor little baby.

Do you know
what I don't like?

Sitting in the sun
and drinking an iced latte

with my girlfriend
and getting a phone call

that you're still trespassing
on my property!

The fuck?

I want you
out of here! You are a pest!

Hey now, calm down.

It's okay to share
your playhouse.

I understand how you feel,
but it's important

to learn how to share
and play nicely with others.

Go!

I know it is tough, but sharing

is an important part
of growing up.

Why don't we talk
to those kids, eh?

And see if you can
all have fun together.

I will call the police!

Don't you say?
What about I tell them

what happened to my...

Huh?

you found it in the piano,

where I hid it.

You sold it

to those treacherous cocksuckers

in Uruguay
for thousands of schillings,

to waste on your degenerate
excuse of a company.

Look at you and your...

Do we understand each other?

I think we do.

Why don't you let Mr. Holbrook

play in your playhouse?

He needs a place
to work and rest.

My container?

The playhouse.

-Yes?
-No.

Ernsti!

Okay. But no words
about Uruguay.

What the...? Wait. Oh, God.

Uruguay?
What about Uruguay?

Are you mocking me,
you fucker?

You can stay
in the container, yeah,

but don't touch the Lancia!

Hmph.

In case you need anything,

yeah, I have Telegram, eh.

What the hell
just happened to me?

I am dead tired.

You can rest later, soldier.

I need you
to pay me a visit.

The fuck am I doing?

Friend, hey, hello, hello.

Hey, hey,
where are your clothes, huh?

What is this?

Hey, Holbrook...

Hey, Holbrook! Holbrook!

What did you do to my car?

These are my new Adidas.

Are you diabetes, huh?

Ahh...

Wasser.

Go down. Go down. Cool down.

Cool down.
Come, go, Holbrook. Cool down.

I need to cleanse myself.

This water
doesn't cleanse.

It burns.

Ugh!

Listen, Holbrook...

And you wash
yourself, you clean yourself.

We wanted
to meet at the train station.

God then said,
"What have you done?

"Your brother's blood

"cries out to me
from the ground.

"Now you are banned

"from the ground.

"It's bad to receive

your brother's blood
from your hand."

Discovered a fresh trail
to Zinggl's farmhouse.

When I checked
the helmet footage,

I realized
it was me who did that.

In the dead of night.

It's all
a bit of a blur here

in my little house
on the prairie.

Did I really get
a booty call from the pipe?

Puke blood?

Mutilate myself?

Hell, I even got hemorrhoids.

Maybe I should not
have drunk the water.

Or maybe it is Gulf War Syndrome
biting my ass again.

And what about that stuff
I told Bartholdi?

I cannot confirm
any of the shit I babbled.

Bartholdi has a lucrative
snowflake business.

Does PR for renewable energy
and some lefty NGOs,

even spear-headed
a major campaign

for the Austrian Green Party.

But why do I know
of Nueva Alemania?

He never mentioned it.

Why do I know the names
of the guys who run it?

I need facts.

And rest.

I had a hunch.

I remembered something.

So I checked the car.

And I found this.

A hidden letter in the pipe.

"You sold it to those
treacherous cocksuckers

in Uruguay!"

Bartholdi.

That fucker.

I found proof.

But it seems
the memories dissolve.

I need to solidify them.

Don't worry.

But it is key
to move into the cellar.

Plus, it's gonna be
the bong room I never had.

Heh. You know, Pop's basement...

...minus Pops.

My entrenchment tool.

I should probably ditch it.

Military puns are the worst.

After my stint in Kuwait,

my little
strategic transfer of equipment,

I got a dishonorable discharge

and a lousy parting gift
from my buddies.

I was only 20.

The army washed
their hands of me.

I wasn't finished fighting.

So off to Bosnia I went,

where the Croatians
were hiring mercenaries.

And people hiring mercenaries

aren't the most
discerning employers.

There was this merc,

Quarnstrom,

a neo-Nazi from Norway.

He'd blast Burzum,
all day every day.

We were approaching
this house,

a peaceful farmhouse,

much like here.

It was summertime,
windows open,

no sign of conflict nearby.

Suddenly the fucker lobs
a grenade through the window.

Chaos ensues,
women screaming...

a baby crying.

He strides in,

gunfire erupts,

and that baby,

it just...popped,

turned inside out.

Moments later,

he strolls out,

unfazed,
as if nothing had occurred.

Weinhappl
is a supportive fella.

I brought you some cookies.

- Oh.
- They are from my wife.

Thank you. What do I owe you?

Owe you? You want
to insult me, or what? Huh?

You are my new neighbor.

I was a little bit worried

after your, uh, striptease

and how you behaved
in the woods,

about your blood sugar level.

Weinhappl would be amazed

how many times I fucked around

without finding
a single thing out.

Lost count of
how many people I killed.

But none were under 13.

Fucking Bosnia!

It's okay, little buddy.

We're in this together.

For the record:

I am peeing less and less,

and I haven't
taken a dump in several days.

Should get some
of Zinggl's banana pills. Heh.

I discovered a plastic bag

with Zinggl's
neatly folded clothes,

buried in the dirt.

A supermarket receipt
from the week he vanished

was in one of the pockets.

So, as I see it, in late 2014,

he left home,
without his false teeth,

arrived here, undressed,

buried his clothes
in the cellar,

and then...

The fuck?

Shit.

Oh! Shit.

Whoa! Jesus.

Hey, Holbrook...

Hmm. How are you?

Shut up and listen.

I want you
out of my cellar.

I want you
out of my business.

But first, you give me whatever
video footage you've got.

It's mine. Understand?

Afraid I can't do that.

Can't do?

I tell you
what you can't do.

Stop fucking up my life.

This whole Nazi box thing

should have been a PR stunt
for me, for my company.

Fuck. To stick it

to Magic Margarine,
my competitors.

They organized
this Anne Frank thing, yeah?

They hired
B-list celebrities

to read the book
in a podcast.

How fucking lame is that?

And they won
the CCA Golden Award for it!

The what?

The CCA Gold Award,

the Creative Club Austria
Gold Award!

I want one, too,

with something really cool,

with real historians, yeah.

With a real treasure hunt, yeah.

That's failing,

but also so tragic.

Easy, peasy, wonderful.

But it turned
into a shit fest.

That fucking bitch
that died.

That is bad storytelling.

And you found out
about Uruguay.

Hand me over the footage,

and I'll fix it in post.

Nope.

I know stuff about you.

I know--woah...

Kuwait!

Yeah? So what?

Stealing water.

That's right, my squad

was in the fucking desert.

So yeah, I stole water.

Dishonorable discharge.

And then,

Bosnia!

War crimes.

Now that's just rude.

I'll put your ass

on fucking Wikipedia,

you criminal,
with citations!

I have enough dirt on you

to convince that girlfriend

of yours, Krystyna.

- Come again?
- Warsaw is...

just a six hour drive.

Right. In your Tesla.

That's like what, 20 charges?

I will ruin you.

You will be working
at fucking Subway!

A true sandwich artist.

Look.

I think the physiognomy
of my fingers is changing.

Sometimes they're thick,
almost swollen.

Other times
they're unnaturally thin.

My skin is tight.

I also lost 30 pounds.

Maybe it's part
of the water cycle down here.

Hmm?

You are fucking crazy!

- I'm not leaving.
- Big mistake.

You know what Bartholdi?

Fuck you!

You want war crimes?

I'll show you war crimes.

Ernsti, you were always...

Little friend?

Yes, I know.

You heard what the mean man
Bartholdi said about me.

Oh, okay. Thank you.

You don't tell anyone

about my little indiscretions

and I won't tell them

about the bubonic plague.

Deal?

Deal.

♪ I spied a young cowboy

I need to map this out.

Dead end.

Oh, my back. Ugh.

Oh!

Krystyna, call me back.

I've sent you numbers
in a text.

I dreamt I tattooed them
on a kid with a rusty nail.

It cried, spat foam,
but I persisted.

Does this mean
anything to you?

Oh, God.

Need a smoke.

The Danube isn't blue.

It's shit brown.

Where are you?

I waited for you
at the train station.

Listen,
I'm getting closer.

Did you check the numbers
I texted you?

Is it true, Gunner?

Did you hurt
those people in Bosnia?

Uh, no. I...

Yes, I killed people.

They paid me,
and I killed...

Most of them were soldiers.

Most?

It's like you said:

bodies.

What are you talking about?

You have to get
out of there, now!

Gunner!

Gunner, answer me please!

Gunner.

Gunner, there's someone
at the door.

Surprise, Krystyna!

Bartholdi! You slime wanker.

My little
kid-killing war criminal.

Gunner! Gunner!

"Gunner! Gunner! Gunner!"

Gunner, you know
exactly what I want.

I want your compliance!

Never! No!

Krystyna, are you okay?

Leave the past where it is!

You really think
you can get away with this?

Threatening her like that?

Who is going
to believe you? Huh?

Look at you!

Munchkin Mangler
at Lady Mongo!

I did a poster campaign
for Amnesty International!

Eh, he's too chicken shit.

He won't harm you, Krystyna.

Don't bet on it, Krystyna!

This disrespect has to end!

Or I will make it hurt.

When I first
touched the pipe...

...it was too much!

Shut up!

And suddenly, I--

I was the one who did it!

My--my hands, my thoughts,

were his hands, his thoughts!

Shut up!

It broke me,

but--but maybe
you can handle it.

You cunt!

Ernsti!

You wouldn't have been able

to kill a single Jew!

Not even a kid!

You are not my blood!

There is no bottom.

No bottom to what people
do to one another.

We are all in deep water.

Yes?

They used human remains
as fertilizer

in the SS vegetable garden.

Nutrients and water make life.

Storm, storm, storm!

The hell?

Hey, hey, hey,
stop playing around.

I brought you some cookies.

The greatest traitor

is the Holocaust denier!

He insults the cunning
of the German people...

Eat your cookies, man. Okay?

Eat your cookies.

This URL is way too long.

Some German words are so long,

they have perspective.

Enough daydreaming...

Huh?

Bring me your pet.

I'd like to clarify
some things.

Oh, okay.

Okay, mousy.

Let's do this.

I'm impressed.

That's my boy.

What the hell!

What is it?

I am doing important
research here!

I know.

I just wanted to let you know

the number you gave me,

it's a geolocation

in the forest near Chelmno.

Yes, and that is why

you distract me...

That's where we buried

a bunch of those rats.

So, it's a mass grave?

Mass grave?
It's small. Just a few.

Not worthy
of the title "mass grave."

Oh, my God!
We never discovered it!

It will never be discovered!

Gunner, we never could
have done this without you.

How are you?

I am fine.

I can take
a punch in the face.

That asshole.

Bartholdi promised to come
back, if you don't leave.

But I'm done being afraid.

I'm only worried for you.

We meet
at the train station.

She does not understand

the magnitude of our dedication.

The aryanization,
the robbery, the forced labor,

all of that barely covered
the cost of the logistics.

The trains
that we used to transport Jews

from the farthest
corners of Europe,

could have been used
in the war effort.

We sacrificed
our tactical advantage,

favoring the Jews' eradication
over our own survival.

Before the Holocaust,
nations were thought

to prioritize
their own survival.

Auschwitz
shattered that belief.

We left an indelible mark.

A testament!

What...

What is happening to me?

Yes! Yes!

I will fucking feed you!

Cheers.

Ah, ha ha. Yeah.

Don't like
your own brand, do you?

You poured gallons
and gallons down there,

drenching this place
with your filth!

Okay. No. No gas! No. No.

Let me get something
for you, comrade.

Isn't it?

You, you waited years

for this, didn't you?

Bastard likes it.

Nya! Nya, nya, nya!

Don't give him
what he wants.

You don't understand.

That's how we control him.

Nya, nya, nya, nya!

The woods, the water.

Woods to hide in, water to wash

the scent off
so the hounds can't find us.

Krystyna!

Wash it off,

then come to the train station.

It's our only way out.

I will be able
to stay here, study him.

I will get you out.
I promise.

Ha! You promise?

You lie all the time,
damned whore.

Whore! Like my Gerti.

Couldn't wait
to fuck the tailor

while I did my holy duty,
in the East.

This is all fucked up.

I'm itching like crazy.

My legs are numb,
and I have acid reflux

like a fucking possum
died in my throat.

I'm not your butler!

Can't you see
what I'm dealing with?

Oh, you don't say.

Yeah, life is hard.

My life wasn't that easy,
Wolfgang.

After Bosnia,
I was breaking down.

Never learned
how to deal with what I saw,

and did,

just ecstasy
and Happy Hardcore.

You know, Eurodance?

I did weird jobs,
wandered around Europe,

even worked on a cruise ship
before I started my company.

And then I met...
Krystyna.

Do not call her that!

I am not debating my dating life
with a liquefied Nazi!

Stop haunting her,
or I will walk away!

Oh, yeah?
What's behind the barrel?

Shit.

One goddamn place
I didn't check.

So what?

You want to hear
how clever you are?

I don't care,
you piss-guzzler.

So you found DIY instructions
to become...this?

Living muck?

Well, hallelujah...

You made your decision.

I can't recall
ever asking for any of this.

Do you know what?
I really want to know...

How can you live with
what you did to those people?

I am eternal, American!

You think I want to do that?

Living with my shitty past
forever?

No way.

If I could press a button
and erase my past,

I would do it.

I am not you.

No! I am not you!

Put it in me...

and I will show you.

The fuck is this, Zinggl?

You are part of me now. Ha-ha.

We are part of the water.

Fuck!

That's it, Sludge.

Game over.

Fuck you!

Ah, you, fuck you!

Ha! We became one

and still you want
to destroy me?

What do you want? No! No!

This is insane!

You can't threaten me.

I am my own worst enemy.

You are the family I never had.

Water is thicker than blood.

This is your home now.

The day before
he drowned, Pops forwarded me

this inspirational quote.

I put it on his gravestone.

"All life is a rebellion
against faith."

You can throw
all the tantrums you want.

- I don't think

I'm going to make it
to the train station.

But I will
make myself useful.

I need to check some boxes.

Zinggl, whatever you did,

it doesn't mean squat.

You are forever,
but no one cares.

No one even knows.

Come on, you are proud
of what you did.

Tell me everything, Opa.

Ah, that's it.
Tell me about the camp.

Tell me what you hid.

What else? Yeah?

Yes? Come on. And?

Where? Good. Good.

Proud soldier!

Tell me
what no one but you knows.

On paper,
they have voices.

I...

I am running
out of time.

And I know you're looking
forward to it, you bastard.

Let's make this count.

Tell me about
your neo-Nazi comrades.

That ass-cancer of your grandson
told me you broke with them?

Oh, wow.

That's strong language,
even for you.

You want to teach those losers
a lesson, hmm?

I can help.

Slow down. Slow down.

I--I--I hunt and peck,
you know.

Uh-huh.

And those backstabbers
from Uruguay?

You can't win a war
with those traitors.

If there's one thing
I learned in Kuwait,

it's how to write reports
for government officials.

Not the freshest pile
of excrement,

but still enough
for a successful

German shit-porn in jail.

Who are you?

Ah, Mr. Haneke.

Heil Hitler.

Are you with Zinggl?

Thought that old fart is dead!

He remembers you well, yeah.

What is this shit you sent us?
Do you want money...

Save it for your lawyer.

Do you know who you're

fucking with, you rat?

You fucking fagboy!

You'll pay for this!
You are history!

We will liquidate you!

And last but not least:

little Ernsti.

Almost done, bastard.

Yeah, I am exhausted.

Oh, shit.

Why can't people
just send me a text?

Well, if it isn't
the highlight of my day.

Fuck you! Where is she?

She's not in her apartment!

I think she stole my Tesla!

Hey, finally some good news.

Did you know many Jews

buried photographs
of mementos in the earth,

so they might hopefully
be found after the war?

The earth will protect it,
they said.

And hopefully the water
will not get to it.

Blah, blah, blah!

Thanks to you,
I got to spend

my last moments
doing PR work.

What could be worse?
Check your email.

What? What is it?

My first press release.
Full of truffles.

Wait, wait. Wait, wait.

I... I...

I seem to have
sprung a leak.

Shit.

Tempting...

There are no such things
as curses.

Only people
and their decisions.

Gunner! Gunner!

Wait, you picked

an interesting time to drop by.

Gunner...

You look stunning...

I...on the contrary,
have a hard time

keeping it together.

We went to hell and back.

Huh?

But we were
on different trains...

Are you sure
this is the right spot?

Yeah. That's the address
from the email.

This weirdo farmer
next door confirmed it.

Told us some crazy stuff.

Gave us some cookies.

All right, then.
You go first.

Can't see shit.

What the hell
is that stench?

Oh dear, does the scent

displease you, my lady?

Search the fucking place,
you fucking fuckface!