Original subtitles

DIGITALLY RESTORED IN 2017

The scene is Berlin,

the evening of Saturday, November 3, 1923.

A pack of cigarettes costs four billion marks,

and most everyone has lost faith in both the future and the present.

Mr. Abel?

Your brother is already at home.

This is for both of you.

- Thank you, Frau Hemse. - Gute Nacht, Herr Rosenberg.

Thank you.

- You can sit down. - Yes.

So, you don't speak German at all?

Damned nuisance. Scheiß.

Fräulein Dorst has her Sunday ruined.

- What's your name? - Uh, Abel Rosenberg.

I'm 35. I was born in Philadelphia.

My folk come from Riga in Latvia.

Uh, my brother Max and his wife Manuela,

the three of us came to Berlin a month ago.

Uh, no, at the end of September.

Max hurt his wrist, so we couldn't perform anymore.

We were circus artists. We had a trapeze act.

The reason of your brother's suicide?

Depression? Unhappy love affair?

Alcoholism? Drugs?

Nervous breakdown?

- Fed up with life generally, huh? - I don't know.

An unexplainable impulse. Was that it?

Well, it happens.

- Did you get in touch with his wife? - No.

I tried to last night and this morning, but I can't find her.

- You didn't live together, all of you? - No.

Max and Manuela got divorced two years ago.

After the circus let us go, Manuela went to work in a cabaret.

I will go see her there this afternoon. They open at 3:00 on Sundays.

May I see your papers, please?

Ah. Yes.

You're Jewish?

- Why? - Nothing.

I was just curious.

You may now go. Thank you.

What are your plans?

Uh...

How long will you stay in Berlin?

As you know, there is great unemployment.

We are not going to take care of you when your money runs out.

Yes, I know.

Good-bye, Mr. Rosenberg.

Good-bye, Inspector.

Good-bye, Fräulein Dorst.

Abel! Abel!

Are you gonna have lunch? So am I. It's on me. Come. Come. Come.

How are things, my dear Abel?

And how are Max and Manuela? Do you think his wrist will be better soon?

We all miss you, you know.

The circus needs you.

I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here in Berlin when the circus is in Amsterdam.

I'm looking for new acts, my boy. Come in, come in.

Nowadays I could get any damned star I want.

They all know I pay in dollars.

We're playing to full houses all the time.

I could have twice as big a tent, and it would still be full.

Look what I read in the paper this morning. I'll try to translate it.

Listen to this.

"Terrible times are at hand

when circumcised anti-Christian Asiatics on all sides

are lifting their gory hands to strangle us.

The massacre of Christians by the Jew Issachar Zederblum,

alias Mr. Lenin,

was enough to make a Genghis Khan blush.

A Jewish terrorist pack,

trained to murder and assault,

is prowling through the country,

butchering honest citizens and farmers on portable gallows.

Will you wait until you see thousands of people

hanging from lampposts in your town?

Do you want to wait until a Bolshevik commission

starts its murderous work in your town, just as in Russia?

Do you want to stumble over the bodies of your women and children?"

Existence today is nothing but dread.

Do you need money?

I can lend you some.

Look.

Here are some billions.

Take them. I don't need them.

Why don't you say something, Abel?

I don't believe in all this political crap.

The Jews are as stupid as everybody.

If a Jew gets into trouble, it's his own fault.

He gets into trouble because he acts stupid.

I'm not gonna act stupid, so I'm not gonna get into trouble.

Now you know, Papa Hollinger.

Thanks for the soup.

And the money.

I have to meet Manuela at 4:00.

Take care.

Guten Tag.

- Hello, Abel. - Ah.

Thank you.

Abel!

Abel.

What's wrong?

When I got home last night, Max had blown his brains out.

I knew he'd do that.

I... tried to keep an eye on him...

but I didn't really think he would.

He had a sort of job these last few weeks.

- Do you know what that was? - No.

I would ask him sometimes.

He just said the money was good

and, uh, told me to mind my own business.

There was a letter for you.

His handwriting is impossible to read.

- I can't. Can you? - Uh...

No.

Can't make out...

Wait.

Something, uh...

"There's... poisoning going on."

"There's poisoning going on"?

I didn't... see much of him these weeks.

You lived in the same room.

Uh... we had a fight.

A fistfight.

Over a whore.

I didn't hit him hard.

I... was worried...

about his bad wrist.

Christ.

Finale! I'm not ready. Please help me.

I didn't know you performed.

Neither did I, but one of the girls got influenza

and I said, "Why can't I take her number?"

Oh. Take care of Max's money.

There's nowhere to... to hide it here.

It's funny seeing everything from the side like this.

I seem to recognize you.

Did we smoke our first cigarette together?

No?

But if I say Amalfi, a summer day 26 years ago...

Our parents had cottages next door to each other.

You had an elder sister called...

Let me see.

Rebecca. Right?

Do you mind letting me by? I'm in a hurry.

Why, of course... Abel Rosenberg.

Aah!

Get off the chair and get your wet jacket off.

And I'll make you some real tea... nice and hot.

That'll do you good.

It's only the man that changes the toilet cans.

He comes every Monday morning around 4:00.

Oh, God.

We used to spend the summers at Amalfi.

And Mama had trouble with her lungs.

Max and I used to play with a boy named Hans Vergerus.

His folks came from Düsseldorf.

The father was some kind of big shot,

a supreme court justice or something.

Mama didn't like Hans.

I guess no one did.

But everyone thought he was some kind of genius.

Once... we caught a cat

and tied it down.

Hans cut it open.

It was still alive.

He let me see how its heart beat.

Fast, fast.

I ran across him again ten years ago in Heidelberg...

when we were there with the circus.

Yes, I remember that.

I saw him again today.

- Hans? - Didn't you see him?

He was at the cabaret.

No.

Manuela.

Manuela?

Oh.

It's morning.

The advantage of knowing influential people

is that you can have real coffee for breakfast.

The fire is going nicely, but it will take a while before it gets really hot.

Do you get firewood the same way?

I do know a wood keeper, as a matter of fact.

But I don't know anyone who can get me butter,

so you'll have to eat marmalade.

It's made of chemicals, the label says.

Oh. I owe you a dollar.

- I have to keep track. - Never mind.

Well, you...

You should keep this money before I spend it all on booze.

- Do you drink so much? - Whenever I have the money.

You're not going back to the circus?

What good is it without Max?

Well, we'll get a new partner, of course.

You know as well as I do that's impossible.

I know nothing of the kind.

Well, then we'll make a new number together, just you and I.

Abel, we could make a magical act.

I know a marvelous magician.

Markus, you know. He's just retired.

We could take over his show.

I don't know.

Since this...

business with Max,

I'm just...

Abel.

Ever since I met Max,

you've been my big brother.

We're going to stick together now.

I wake up from a nightmare

and find that real life

is worse than the dream.

Abel, everything is all right.

We have everything we need.

Just can't figure it out.

Last night they were beating a man, and the police just turned their backs.

Abel, listen to me now. You're awfully tired.

You've been drinking much too much lately.

I'm going to look after you now.

In a few days everything will be much better.

You'll see. We'll talk things over.

But now I must hurry. I have to go to work.

Work?

Ja. I have two jobs.

- This time of the morning? - Yeah, this time of the morning.

- I can't be late. - What sort of job?

Well, I don't know, exactly. It's secret anyway.

Secret?

No, I was joking.

It's an office, you know. I stick stamps and run...

What kind of office?

It's import... import and export. I'm not really sure.

What's the name of the company?

What the hell is the name of the company? Um...

Ah! Ferkel. Ferkel und Sohn.

Where is this office?

In Bayerstraße.

Stop nagging me. You sound like a jealous husband.

I'll be home around 2:00 and we'll have dinner together.

Try and get hold of some meat while we still have the money.

- Twenty-two bucks. - We're rich.

- Herr Rosenberg? - Yes?

Would you mind coming in here for a moment?

My name is Frau Holle. I am Manuela's landlady.

Manuela just had time to tell me about you on her way out.

You are welcome to stay here with me for a short time.

Tell you, these...

These sudden changes in weather

make my back ache,

so I must stay in bed all the day.

Still, it's nice with a peep of sun in November.

Isn't it, Herr Rosenberg?

Would you care for a glass of sherry?

I am very attached to Manuela.

If you forgive my saying so,

I am as fond of her as if she were my own daughter.

Prosit, Herr Rosenberg.

She is so kind and naive.

It's as if all the terrible things going on around us didn't concern her.

I think your sister-in-law is heading for trouble, Herr Rosenberg.

The odd thing about Manuela is that she doesn't defend herself.

Nothing must happen to her.

Take this new job now. There's something odd about it.

The Society for Church Democracy.

What is that, Herr Rosenberg?

It isn't even in the phone book.

Uh, I must go now, Frau Holle.

How much is the rent? Should I pay in advance?

It doesn't matter. But if you have money, I don't mind.

You have dollars, haven't you?

Shall we say three dollars a month? Or is that too much?

No, of course not.

Have you been crying?

No. Why?

It just seemed so.

Forgive me, Herr Rosenberg.

Good-bye, Frau Holle.

Good-bye, Herr Rosenberg.

We have been waiting for you.

May I ask you where you've been all night?

Well, I couldn't very well sleep in that room.

- Where have you been? - With my sister-in-law.

She lives at 35 Bergmannstraße, doesn't she?

Yes, I think so.

"Think"?

I-I think it's number 35.

Well, now you know.

- May I pack some things? - Not yet, Rosenberg.

I must ask you to come with us to the morgue

to identify someone.

- I have to? - I'm afraid I must insist.

Well, then, we'd better get going.

I'd advise you to smoke down there. It helps.

Do you recognize that girl?

- Yes. - Who is she?

Greta Hofer.

How do you happen to know her?

She was engaged to my brother.

- When did you see her last? - A week ago.

- Was your brother on good terms with... - Yes. I think so.

Fraulein Hofer's been assaulted.

Cause of death... drowning.

Do you recognize this man?

No.

Are you quite sure?

No.

Think hard, Rosenberg. It's important.

He's like someone.

Who?

He's like my father.

You can do better than that.

That's all. He's like my father.

My father died five years ago.

Someone stuck a very thin hypodermic needle into this man's heart.

A liquid of some sort was injected into the left ventricle,

a poison that must have caused him hideous pain before he died,

which probably took several hours.

So you haven't seen this man before?

Have you seen this woman before?

Yes.

Who is she?

I don't know.

- But I've seen her. - Where?

I think she delivered papers.

I used to meet her at Frau Hemse's boardinghouse.

Once, she helped me up the stairs when I was too drunk to make it on my own.

Her name is Maria Stern.

I didn't know her name.

She hanged herself in the basement room

where she lived with her husband and two children.

But she left a very strange letter.

Totally muddled.

She said she had been frightened to death

and that the pain was unbearable.

I... I don't think I can take this.

Over here. Come along.

Come on!

Have you ever seen this boy?

No.

He worked at the cabaret.

You never saw him there?

No.

He used to stand near the entrance working the spotlight.

You must have seen him.

Yes, it's possible.

We are not certain how he was killed.

He seems to have been run over by a truck, but...

something tells us he'd been assaulted or tortured first.

Why do you want me to see all this?

During the last month, seven mysterious deaths have occurred

in your vicinity, Herr Rosenberg.

You don't suspect me?

I think we need a cup of coffee.

This can't be called coffee, but it's something.

Not very chatty, are you, Rosenberg?

Can you account for the movements

on the evening of Sunday, October 28?

- You can't? - I was drunk.

Ask me about October 19. I was drunk then too.

I've been drunk every night since I left the circus.

Something doesn't add up.

No?

If you were so well known... good income, good reputation...

why did you start drinking?

I'm an alcoholic.

Famous trapeze artist, alcoholic?

Maybe I didn't feel welcome in your beautiful city.

Hmph!

Scheiß.

Why do I have to stay here?

You may be able to help me with seven unsolved deaths.

Tomorrow everything's gonna disappear.

Why bother with a few murders?

I'll tell you, Rosenberg.

I bother for my own sake.

I know the catastrophe could be here in a few hours.

They say the rate of exchange for the dollar is five billion marks.

The French have occupied the Ruhr.

We have just paid a billion in gold to the British.

On every damned job there are Bolshevik agitators.

In Munich, a Herr Hitler is preparing a putsch

with thousands of starving soldiers and madmen in uniform.

We have a government that doesn't know which way to turn.

Everyone's afraid. So am I.

I can't sleep for fear.

Nothing works properly except fear.

On Friday I wanted to go to Stettin to see my old mother. She'll be 80.

But there was no timetable anymore.

There was a train that might go, but no timetable, Rosenberg.

Imagine. A Germany without timetables.

Huh?

So what does Inspector Bauer do?

Inspector Bauer does his job.

He tries to create a little patch of order and reason

in the midst of chaos.

And he's not alone, Rosenberg.

All over Germany, millions and millions of petty officials, just as terrified,

are doing exactly the same.

You get drunk every day, huh?

Hmph.

That's almost respectable, Rosenberg.

But I'd be happier if you swung about on your trapeze with your pals.

That way you'd fight your fear more effectively.

So now you know why I sit here...

investigating something I think is extremely odd,

not to say horrible.

And now I must ask you to keep quiet for a few minutes

while I write a few lines to Inspector Lohmann...

who is working on another case that also seems insane.

Sit down, Herr Rosenberg.

What do you suspect me of?

Aren't I entitled to a lawyer?

This is a chat, not interrogation.

You're taking it out on me.

I need a cigarette.

I know why you're doing this.

It's because I'm a Jew.

Huh?

Come.

I am here because I speak English.

You are allowed to smoke.

You have ten minutes.

I spoke with Inspector Bauer.

He was very kind and understanding.

He wants to help you.

He said you went crazy.

What's wrong, Manuela?

I'm just worried.

My savings are stolen.

I suppose you don't know where they've gone.

I didn't know you had any savings.

They've gone anyway.

Luckily I'm in charge of Max's money.

That's just it.

Inspector Bauer told me they found Max's money on you when they searched you.

He asked me if I knew where Max had gotten hold of this money.

I said it was our savings,

that we were in Switzerland with the circus

and that several of the artists changed their money into dollars

before they went on tour to Germany.

Who do you think stole your money?

Manuela?

What'd you say?

Manuela.

Yes?

You're not listening.

- You're sick. - What's wrong?

- She's sick. - I'm all right.

I haven't eaten today.

I'd like to point out that you have only a few minutes left.

Manuela.

Yes, Herr Rosenberg?

I am going to let you go, Herr Rosenberg...

in spite of the way you attacked me and my colleagues.

My God, the way you swung at us.

But then...

you are a circus artist, huh?

What are you looking at?

I'm not looking, I'm wondering.

I'm wondering whether I ought to tell you what I am wondering about.

But I think not.

Fräulein Dorst will show you where you can collect your belongings.

We'll keep your brother's dollar bills for the time being.

We'll give you a receipt, of course.

Auf Wiedersehen, huh?

Here.

- What are you doing here? - I dropped in to see Manuela.

I just heard about your brother's death.

You can go to hell.

You got any cigarettes?

There are some cigarettes on the shelf.

Who is it?

Manuela.

Come in a moment, Manuela.

I'm awfully tired.

Could we talk tomorrow when I come home for dinner?

I wish to speak to you now.

I can't sleep because of the pain.

Besides, I am worried.

Has it something to do with me?

You wouldn't have asked that before, Manuela.

I'm dead tired.

I think I have a cold. I want to go to bed.

It's about Herr Rosenberg.

I won't have him staying here in my house.

- But why? - He seems unreliable and arrogant.

Besides, the authorities don't approve

of my letting unmarried couples share a room.

I have changed my mind!

Herr Rosenberg must move tomorrow!

But he's paid his rent.

There's the money.

I have changed it into marks.

It's illegal to have dollars. You ought to know that, Manuela.

If Herr Rosenberg is leaving, I'm leaving as well.

You must do as you like.

I think you're rotten!

I think you are a witch!

Manuela!

Manuela!

We'll get by. You'll see.

As long as we stick together.

Have you slept with Hans Vergerus?

Yes, I have.

- Often? - Oh, don't be silly, Abel.

I want to know.

Three times, maybe four. I don't know.

- Does he pay you? - No.

Yes.

Once.

- Why did he pay you only once? - Well, I don't know.

Why don't you know?

I felt sorry for him.

Are you in love with him?

I don't know.

You don't know?

I feel sorry for him. I... Maybe me.

Maybe he needs some kindness.

Where did you go today?

I went to the office.

Then I came home to have dinner with you.

Is it import and export, or something to do with the church, or neither?

What?

I work at a whorehouse in the morning.

It's not forbidden, as far as I know.

It's a very respectable whorehouse.

Only for diplomats and managing editors and famous actors.

Oh, it's so classy.

It's...

Be nice to me, Abel.

Please be nice to me, Abel.

Please be nice to me.

Tuesday, November 6.

The newspapers are black with fear, threats, and rumors.

The government seems powerless.

A bloody confrontation between the extremist parties appears unavoidable.

Despite all this, people go to work.

The rain never stops,

and fear rises like vapor from the cobblestones.

It can be sensed like a pungent smell.

Everyone bears it like a nerve poison.

A slowly working poison,

felt only as a quicker or slower pulse

or as a spasm ofnausea.

Abel. I'm too late. I overslept.

I'll be home at 2:00 for dinner.

I don't know why I'm bothering you. Uh...

My name is Manuela. My father was a magician.

My mother was a circus rider.

I've been living in circuses all my life.

My-My husband was a circus artist as well.

Maybe it's wrong of me to trouble you,

but I need to talk to somebody who understands.

This last week, I've been going to morning masses.

I'm confused.

And then someone told me that you were an American.

It's very comforting. My German isn't very good.

My dear woman, would you come to the point?

- I have to get to another service. - I see.

Well, maybe you'll come again.

All this guilt is too much for me!

I feel it's my fault that Max committed suicide.

You're responsible for someone, and then you fail your duties,

and you stand there empty-handed and ashamed,

wondering what you could have been doing.

Now I feel I have to take care of Max's brother Abel as well,

and that's even worse.

Worse?

Well, he's just like Max. He... He never says what he's thinking.

He... He just charges ahead with all his feeling and he looks so frightened.

And I... And I try to tell him that we'll help each other,

but that's only words for him.

And everything I say is useless.

The only real thing is fear.

And I'm sick.

I don't know what's wrong.

Is there any forgiveness?

Would you like me to pray for you?

- Do you think that would help? - I don't know.

- Now? - Yes, now.

- Is it a special prayer? - Yes, yes. Let me think.

We... We live so far away from God...

so far away that he probably doesn't hear us when we pray for help.

So... we must help each other,

give each other the forgiveness that a remote God denies us.

I... say to you...

that you are forgiven for your husband's death.

You're no longer to blame.

I beg your forgiveness...

for my apathy and my indifference.

Do you forgive me?

Yes, I forgive you.

That's all we can do.

I must hurry.

The parish priest becomes annoyed if I'm late.

Oh.

Young woman, I have to close up, please.

What the hell does this mean?

It's a place where we're going to live, you and I.

It's nice, isn't it?

Yesterday when you came to the cabaret,

I'd just been telling Hans Vergerus about all our trouble.

He suggested at once that we could move into this flat that he...

or rather, St. Anna's Clinic has the use of.

It just became vacant.

Please say it's nice.

We don't have to pay any rent for the time being.

He also said that you could work in the clinic's archives.

We could stay here and decide what we wanted to do.

I'll be damned if I'll live here

or accept charity from that goddamned Hans Vergerus.

Maybe it's better if we work things out alone.

I probably won't see you for a while.

It's best not to mix things up.

There is no point in continuing here in Berlin.

Look around you, Mr. Rosenberg.

Sixteen people, and what a program.

May I offer you anything to drink? A cognac?

A cognac for Mr. Rosenberg.

What do you think, Mr. Rosenberg?

A cabaret and a brothel, in Beirut, for example.

A totally different climate.

A totally different ambience.

We'll close earlier tonight and shorten the program.

It's useless staying open.

I've never seen anything like this rain.

Maybe it's the flood.

Cheers, Mr. Rosenberg.

How do you like my English accent?

Marvelous.

I lived for some years with a woman fakir from New Jersey.

She taught me all the English I know.

I've been expecting this.

Can't you sleep?

I have to be drunk to go to sleep.

I have half a bottle of gin in the small suitcase out in the kitchen.

You know, actually it's quite nice to have a fever.

You can daydream.

You fall asleep, and then you wake up.

Everything's mixed up.

Suddenly you're six years old.

And then I'm 15.

- It's all so clear. - That damn engine.

- It's started up again. - What engine?

Don't you hear it?

I can hear something rumbling.

Yes. It's an engine.

Hmm.

That bathrobe you're wearing belonged to Papa.

It's quite touching.

I can remember sitting in the sunshine watching poor Papa practicing a new number.

It didn't work very good.

Mama came out of the wagon and said, "You're not doing it right."

Then she showed him how to do it.

He just stood and looked embarrassed with a sheepish smile on his face.

Know what's the worst thing?

People have no future.

People have lost the future.

I'm getting drunk... finally.

Mmm.

May I introduce myself? I am Dr. Soltermann.

And this is my colleague Dr. Silbermann.

We are, uh, as you might have guessed, in charge of St. Anna Clinic's archives,

the largest hospital archives in Europe and one of the largest in the world.

We have floor space of several thousand square meters, Herr Rosenberg,

and our card index includes over 100,000 entries.

But then, the St. Anna Clinic has been in existence for 357 years,

in various guises, of course.

May I show you to your place, Herr Rosenberg?

Yes, thank you.

Dr. Silbermann and I are very grateful to have an assistant at last.

We have been complaining to our chief, Professor Vergerus, for years, to no avail.

So you must know you are very welcome, Herr Rosenberg.

You are very welcome, Herr Rosenberg.

Don't you think Dr. Soltermann speaks very good English?

- Very good. - Dr. Silbermann is far too kind.

I spent seven years in England before the war.

My doctor's thesis dealt with erotic perversions in the writings of Ben Johnson,

an interesting but limited subject.

We go here, please.

May I ask, Herr Rosenberg, if you have had any previous experience in archive work?

No. Unfortunately, I've...

I was afraid so, but never mind.

Today I can give you a responsible task that calls for very little archive experience.

I'm very grateful.

How do I find my way out?

At dinnertime, either Dr. Silbermann or I will come for you.

You can rely on us. We won't forget you.

Uh, by the way, one thing I almost forgot... all our material is strictly confidential.

It mustn't be taken out of here,

and you mustn't read or try to decipher the documents that pass through your hands.

All the files are full of reports of inconceivable human suffering,

of the battles of science, its victories and defeats.

This will be your place, Herr Rosenberg.

We begin work each morning at eight o'clock and finish at 6:00.

We have dinner at 1:30.

We take turns to fetch it from the kitchen of the clinic.

We are also entitled to take home our supper in a special container.

These days that's a priceless emolument.

- Good morning, Herr Rosenberg. - Excuse me for asking.

What am I supposed to do?

You see these gray files here?

There are yellow files of a cheaper kind.

Your first task will be to remove the contents of the gray files.

And, uh, transfer them to the yellow files.

After which you will number and letter them in the same way as the gray ones.

- Good luck, Herr Rosenberg. - Thank you.

How's it going?

It's hard work.

- You're not well. - No.

Did you have something to eat today?

We have dinner in the hospital staff dining room.

When do you knock off?

I think I get away at 7:00.

I can take supper from the kitchen. It's part of the salary.

Oh.

How are you getting on in the archives?

Fine.

I don't think I ought to stand here any longer. They're terribly strict.

- Manuela. - Yeah?

You suddenly look so thin and pale.

I'm all right, Abel.

It could have been worse.

I must hurry.

- Couldn't you just say you're sick? - I don't dare.

You were nearly run over.

Thanks.

- How do you like it here with us? - I've only just started.

And Manuela?

Ask her yourself.

Let's meet one evening, the three of us, hmm?

I'm in a hurry.

Dr. Soltermann went home after dinner.

He's in poor health.

I'm usually alone here in the archives nowadays.

With Dr. Soltermann away, I can say it.

Something terrible is going on.

- What? - Here, at the clinic.

Do you know what these are, Herr Rosenberg?

I don't understand German.

They are reports, detailed reports, marked "secret."

So?

Reports concerning certain experiments undertaken at the clinic

under the supervision of Professor Vergerus.

I don't get it.

Can you guess what kind of experiments, Herr Rosenberg?

How could I?

Very strange experiments.

Strange?

Experiments with human beings, Herr Rosenberg.

The engine is driving me wild.

I didn't notice it.

- But you do hear it, don't you? - Yes, when you mention it.

- It's a trap. - What is?

Don't be an idiot. We're locked in.

Don't get hysterical, Abel.

My head is splitting!

- You sure this gas isn't leaking? - It isn't.

- How can you be sure? - Because I've tried it.

Then you did think it was leaking, didn't you?

Stop raving at me like a lunatic.

If you want to leave, go!

So you want me to get out?

I just say if you want to leave, you can go.

I've done everything I can to keep us together.

I just can't go on anymore.

Do you hear what I'm saying? I can't go on anymore!

I don't give a damn about your fear!

I don't give a damn about you!

Then you want me to leave.

No.

I give up. I give up.

No.

No.

No.

No.

I can't.

Just stay close.

No, I can't.

Shh. Lie still.

I can't stay like this.

A little while, Abel?

Go away.

Come home with me.

It's warm.

You can have it any way you want.

You have dollars, don't you?

Go to hell.

Where do you think we are?

Come on. Come on.

You're sucking me! You're trying to kill me!

You're trying to drain me! You're trying to... You're trying to suck me!

Suck... Stella says I can't fuck!

That filthy bitch is jiving the whole goddamn world!

She's got fangs in her cunt, man. Fangs!

In her cunt! I saw them! I did!

I saw them! Mike. Mike.

Tell her that you and I have screwed seven times in at least seven different ways.

Mikaela, you know Monroe,

and you know damned well he can only fuck faggots.

And if you say he even half screwed you, you're lying.

You remember that time? Do you remember that time, Stella?

Do you remember that time you had to go to the hospital because you thought you had syphilis?

- I didn't have syphilis. - But you thought you did.

Who was that sweet man who laid up next to you every night, huh?

Stroking you, stroking you, making you feel fine, huh?

- At the risk of catching it, huh? - I didn't have syphilis.

But you thought you had syphilis!

You looked lousy!

You are lousy. You used to be so beautiful. You know?

She used to be so beautiful,

but now you are the worst... the worst bitch on the whole of Steinstraße,

and everybody says so.

You... You I could screw anytime. Anytime.

It's just that... that...

that big-mouthed bitch, that makes me nervous!

I could screw you...

I could screw you any amount of times. You see, I'm not a queer!

It's just a goddamn lie Stella goes around telling everybody

because I won't get in between her legs!

A man could die in there!

You I could screw anytime!

- Here? - What? What do you mean, here?

You say you could screw her anytime.

- Could you do it now? - Oh, you're like that!

Sure! Sure, I could! Sure!

If you think you're gonna watch for nothing, then you're crazy.

Come on, Monroe, let's show him what you're made of.

- I'm going to bet on this. - How 'bout it?

You could be a rich man, Monroe.

Let's go, Monroe, before I'm down.

You can have all the money from that guy who won't tell us his name.

Wait, wait, wait. Wait, wait.

Quiet now. No fair laughing.

I'll help him.

He has to do it himself.

All right.

Say it, say it.

- Say it, say it, say it. - It doesn't work.

Say it. Say it.

Say... Say, "Do it..." Say, "Do it, Daddy."

Say... Say...

Say... Say, "Do it, Daddy!"

Say it.

Monroe, don't cry.

Don't cry, Monroe. Don't cry.

We won! We won!

Stop laughing. Stop laughing!

On the morning of Wednesday, November 7,

there is no milk to be had in Berlin.

Many food shops remain closed.

They have nothing to sell.

The reichsmark has practically ceased to exist.

The wads of bills are now counted by weight,

and no more notice is taken of the printed value.

Manuela?

Manuela.

Manuela!

Manuela!

Manuela!

When you began your employment,

I pointed out that working hours are from 8:00 to 6:00.

Could you be so kind as to show me to my workplace?

I can't find my way.

Of course.

Are there other people here in the archives?

Of course. Every day we are visited by scientists from other institutions.

Give me the keys.

Give me the keys.

You behave most improperly to an old man.

It's all so absurd and humiliating.

Surely you realize I won't tell you anything, no matter how rough you are.

Unlike you, I have conviction.

Something unheard of is happening down there in Munich.

A savior is born.

The delivery is taking place in pain and blood.

A terrible time is at hand.

But what are 30 or 40 years of suffering and death?

What do you or I matter? What do even millions of lives matter?

There are plenty of human beings, Herr Rosenberg.

Kill me, Herr Rosenberg. I won't resist.

My body is weak, but my soul is strong and calm.

I think it's better I lock the door so that no one will disturb us.

Dr. Soltermann warned me against you, but I didn't believe him.

You say nothing.

Look at the screen, and you'll see some interesting pictures.

They were taken during our experiments here at the St. Anna Clinic.

This is a resistance experiment.

This woman, 30 years old,

volunteered to look after a four-month-old baby with brain injury who screams day and night.

We wanted to see what would happen to this completely normal, fairly intelligent woman

if we shut her in with a child that never stopped screaming.

As you see, after 12 hours, she is still quite self-possessed.

Now, however, 24 hours have passed.

We can see now that she is affected.

Her sympathy for the sick child has been wiped out,

her feelings replaced by a deep depression, which in its turn paralyzes every initiative.

She has left the child to its fate.

Here we can see quite clearly that the thought of ridding herself of the child has developed.

But it took another six hours before she carried out her intention,

a remarkable resistance.

Unfortunately, our camera didn't manage to document the actual deed.

Our technique has not been quite perfected.

You would like to see more, wouldn't you?

For seven days, this man was shut up in a cell so constructed

that he could not move his arms, legs, or head.

In addition, he was deprived of all sound and was in total darkness.

I know what you are going to say, Abel.

You are wondering how we could get anyone to agree to such an experiment voluntarily.

No trouble, I assure you.

People will do anything for a little money and a square meal.

These pictures are not particularly instructive, but may be of physiognomic interest.

The subject was given an injection of Thanatoxin,

a drug that produces violent anguish.

What you will see is someone subjected to unbearable agony.

Here you see him just as he's given the injection.

You notice that he is quite balanced and is laughing and joking.

An unusually nice boy, incidentally.

He was a student of political science at the university.

We are now at the condition of dread...

which is getting worse and worse.

In a few moments, he'll commit suicide.

Watch carefully. It happens without any warning.

He picks up the revolver. You can't see it properly.

Now you can see it.

Then he puts it in his mouth.

The gun is not loaded, of course.

That student really did shoot himself a few days later...

although the effects of the Thanatoxin had completely worn off.

Your brother Max...

met with the same misfortune.

By the way, he was one of our best assistants.

He was really interested in our experiments.

He wanted to try out the Thanatoxin.

I advised him not to, but he insisted.

His, uh, fiancée also helped us quite a bit.

They were very attached to each other and lived for a time in one of the apartments

that you, yourself...

This is one of our most recent and interesting experiments.

The subjects are administered carefully controlled doses of Kapta Blue,

a virtually odorless gas.

Initially, the gas plays tricks with the behavioral centers,

throwing the entire emotional balance out of kilter.

The subjects are stripped of their social defenses,

lose their inhibitions,

teeter madly between quickly changing moods,

which possess them.

Their reactions are so farcical, at times one can hardly keep from laughing.

Of course, repeated exposure to Kapta Blue

can cause some permanent damage.

Perhaps you are wondering what my intentions were with you and Manuela,

placing you in one of our experiment rooms.

Will you believe me if I tell you I had no intentions at all

except to help you?

As you saw, the building behind your rooms had been vacated.

Some time ago, we were forced to transfer our activities to a more out-of-the-way place.

We must take great care.

Besides, our economic resources are limited.

We are financed entirely by private means.

I'm not a monster, Abel.

What you have seen are the first faltering steps

of a necessary and logical development.

I know you have told Inspector Bauer of your experiences.

I also know that justice, represented by the plodding inspector,

has begun to move,

slow and creaking.

He'll be here soon with his police and his rusty guns.

But in a few moments, I'll bite on this cyanide capsule.

I did consider burning the archives and destroying the results of our work,

but it seemed too melodramatic.

The law will confiscate our results and then file them.

In a few years, science will ask for the documents

and will continue our experiments on a gigantic scale.

We are ahead of our time, Abel.

We are to be sacrificed.

It's only logical.

In a day or two, maybe even tomorrow,

the national units in South Germany will attempt a revolt

led by an incredible scatterbrain called Adolf Hitler.

It will be a colossal fiasco.

Herr Hitler lacks intellectual capacity and method.

He doesn't realize what tremendous forces he is about to conjure up.

He will be swept away like a withered leaf the day the storm breaks.

Abel.

Look at that picture.

Look at all those people.

They are incapable of a revolution.

They are far too humiliated, too afraid, too downtrodden.

But in ten years...

By then,

the ten-year-olds will be 20, the 15-year-olds will be 25.

To the hatred inherited from their parents,

they will add their own idealism and impatience.

Someone will step forward and put their unspoken feelings into words.

Someone will promise a future.

Someone will make demands.

Someone will talk of greatness and sacrifice.

The young and inexperienced will give their courage and their faith

to the tired and the uncertain.

And then there will be a revolution...

and our world will go down in blood and fire.

In ten years, no more...

those people will create a new society

unequaled in world history.

The old society, Abel, was based

on extremely romantic ideas of man's goodness.

It was all very complicated since the ideas didn't match the reality.

The new society will be based on a realistic assessment

of man's potentials and limitations.

Man is a malformation, a perversity of nature.

That is where our experiments come in.

We deal with the basic construction and reshape it.

We set the productive forces free and control the destructive ones.

We exterminate what is inferior and increase what is useful.

I always liked you and Manuela.

She showed an affection for me which I hope was sincerely meant.

Against my better judgment, I tried to help you.

Comic, isn't it, Abel?

One day you can tell all this to anyone who is willing to listen.

No one will believe you

despite the fact that anyone who makes the slightest effort

can see what is waiting in the future.

It's like a serpent's egg.

Through the thin membranes,

you can clearly discern the already perfect reptile.

You were given Veronal.

You've slept for two days.

What day is it?

It's the morning of November 11.

- Can I have some water? - Ja.

I've been in touch with Hollinger.

He thinks he can use you in his circus.

The German state will pay for a train ticket to Basel.

That's where the circus will be for the next two weeks.

I take it for granted that you will accept his kind offer, huh?

I think so.

No.

It would be the simplest way, Herr Rosenberg.

A constable will go to the station with you.

The night train is supposed to leave at 11:20.

Thank you.

Good-bye, Herr Rosenberg.

By the way,

Herr Hitler failed with his Munich putsch.

The whole thing was a colossal fiasco.

Herr Hitler and his gang underrated the strength of the German democracy.

Good-bye, Herr Rosenberg.

On the evening of Sunday, November 11,

Abel Rosenberg escaped the police escort which was taking him to the railroad station.

He was never seen again.