Original subtitles

THIS WORLD CAN'T TEAR ME DOWN

YOU STILL HAVE TIME TO STOP EVERYTHING!

SPY-DERMAN

COMIC BOOK STORE

ARCADE

Rebibbia!

Stay calm.

You've got this.

Block. You're the master of this match. Here, have a grape.

Loosen up your muscles. Relax.

Had some water?

Are you hydrated? You had your supplements?

High punch, low punch. Done.

He's yours. You don't even break a sweat.

Turn forward and punch. Turn forward and punch, come on.

Behind... In fro... Kick! Behind!

Forward, kick! Come on! Splatter him!

Splatter him! Yes!

If you win this, you're facing the final boss.

Concentrate. Break his face. You've been waiting 15 years for this.

Splatter him! Spl... Splatter him...

Turn forward and punch!

Get up! Get up, you bastard! Block!

Low kick! Oriuke!

Yes!

You've been preparing for this moment your whole life. Spread your wings.

Do it for granny.

Do this for her. You sold her dentures to get here.

Let's make sense of this pain.

You're in the God's Twilight.

Mind if I join?

My precious!

I'm right in the God's Twilight...

Thanks.

Can you give me space? It's the final boss.

You know how if you wait on the riverbank, you'll eventually see

an air mattress going by with your enemy's body on it?

This is what it refers to.

With a big bully who'd kick your ass if you said anything,

it's best just to sit on the riverbank and wait.

It can take some time.

Maybe in 60 years, he's gotten old, broken his femur,

you see him and you scream,

"You piece of shit, I was in the God's Twilight!"

Why would I say something? Isn't he dead?

That's why you say it, because he's dead.

My riverbank, however, was always the arcade.

I didn't go too far.

I kept throwing money at it all afternoon.

I kept losing and was feeling frustrated.

I didn't even have a token to finish that level.

But then, something strange happened.

Of all the mythological beasts in the arcade,

I don't know why, but he chose me.

What did you say about the God's Twilight?

Look, I was never picked by anyone to be in their team.

I was always left on my own

next to the dog with no hind legs

dragging itself along on wheels.

We'll take the dog!

If you leave us with that loser,

you owe us at least a three-goal head start.

Okay, maybe there weren't many people there at that time.

Apart from me, there was just Emilio the maniac,

Osso the junkie,

and the Filipino guy always on the slots

with all his facial tics.

But he had chosen me.

He gave me the token I needed.

We finished the game together.

We were more than blood brothers.

It might have been the first time in my life that I felt privileged.

Yes, you could argue that I didn't really understand

how privilege worked.

But at 14, if you're not Angela Davis, what the fuck do you know?

ARCADE

The next day, everything was normal.

I went out thinking, "This is gonna be quick and easy."

I'd run out of yogurt, that's all I needed.

I left my car in a specific spot

called "parking like a prick,"

because I thought, "I'll be in and out. The supermarket ninja."

"I'll go in,

get the yogurt,

pay."

"You won't even see me. A puff of wind."

Then I don't know what happened,

but at some point, I must admit, I let myself go.

Anyway, at some point, a lady said to me...

The carts are behind the counter.

She actually might have said...

You're going bald, you fucker.

Her gestures and non-verbal communication

could have been interpreted both ways.

But I think it was the carts because that's where they were.

I'll admit, I thought about it.

I did get more things than...

You're getting a cart because the old lady told you?

Can't you see they do it on purpose to wear you down?

It's like the serpent and the apple.

Mind your own fucking business!

That was a bit excessive.

Listen, carts are for old people.

It's like carrying a sign that says,

"I'm an old invalid who can't carry a couple of jars."

It's like a carry-on.

When you swap a backpack for a carry-on,

you're the old lady from Downton Abbey.

Old, haughty, seems nice on TV,

but in real life, you'd push her down the stairs.

I agree, but I've given myself 45 hernias with my backpack.

Hernias are a concept that only exist

because Big Pharma invested in the carry-on sector.

Before, if you had backache

you took two opium pellets, fuck it.

I can't. I've got this straight-edge thing going on.

But look around you.

Can't you see that a shopping cart is a symbol for parenting?

A puppet show of people

who go around with a stroller, taking their goods for a walk.

How pitiful!

You're still young.

You're 39.

That's not for you. Don't get ahead of yourself, come on!

So, the fact that people were looking at me

didn't seem all that strange.

I thought, "They probably envy the fact that I'm a Jenga champion

and I've built an obelisk of yogurt, sausages, and pasta."

But instead...

Zero, it's me, Maddalena!

Fucking hell, she could've said so right away!

It was Maddalena, Cesare's mom.

I hadn't seen her for ages, but she does live here.

She's been in Rome for 60 years,

but she still has this strong Sardinian accent.

Probably genetic.

Impossible to change.

Maybe with surgery.

Anyway, respect. Sardinia is a great nation. Revolution!

But I can't do the Sardinian accent. I end up sounding like Yoda,

so don't be offended.

HONEY

Anyway, syntax aside, he's a great Jedi knight.

Yesterday you saw each other, told me he did. All happy he was.

I don't know what she said,

because 15 yards from me, a little boy sneezed

which moved the air in such a way

that compromised the stability of my installation.

SODA

I got scared. There's this clerk with a weasel face who hates me

because every time I stupidly don't get a cart,

I drop everything.

Two months ago, I spilled 70 liters of peach yogurt on the floor

and he cleaned it up without saying shit.

- I bet his boss said to him... - Sit tight.

The law of discount stores says

that we can't say shit the first two times,

but on the third, you can gut him with a fish knife.

This may be the third time.

I can see him waiting

and caressing something in his pocket.

Give him a hand, you can maybe?

With work, you mean? How can I help him?

I draw comics, I work at home on my own.

Maybe you think I'm an ass,

but I do have a sociopathic job with no contact.

No! Just help him feel more at home.

Get him out and doing things.

Because he's a bit lost.

A lot of years gone by, they have.

Maybe when you go out, you can call him.

That's worse than work! What am I going to do with him?

I'm not being mean, but I really don't know how to look after people.

Every time someone says to me...

I'm coming to Rome. Where are we going?

I get anxious. I'd rather shoot myself in the knee.

Who am I? A Club Med rep?

Should I dress as a centurion

and show you the Colosseum with a ball on my nose?

I'm boring, I don't drink, I don't do coke,

I always suggest the cinema because you don't have to talk.

Fine, this evening come to dinner, you can.

Look, I've got everything to make Sardinian seadas.

Of course. I can come and eat. It's the only thing I can do.

Thank you. Very happy, Cesare will be.

I'm sure that good to him, it will do.

No, really, I'm glad too.

Guys, I'm begging you. Don't let me go on my own.

We haven't spoken for 20 years. I don't know what to say to him.

Please, come!

I have loads of work shit to do, sorry.

I have a meeting tonight that I really can't miss.

That sucks! For the school thing?

Look, I love you, but I told you one thing

and 12 hours later, problems start.

I'm not superstitious,

but you're a bloody sniper! One shot, one kill.

THE SNIPER

Let me scratch for luck.

Stop it, we're not in the bloody Middle Ages!

Jokes aside, I don't believe in these things, you know that.

But it costs nothing to wait until it's all sorted.

I talked to my grandma this morning,

she loves all those old wives' tales...

You talked about it with that jinx who writes comics?

That one's worse than Fukushima, I'm telling you!

If you want this job,

first you need to rub two ounces of garlic on his face

and then shove a wooden stake through his heart.

I guess your grandma never liked me.

Yes. She thinks you and Secco are bad influences.

Sweetheart!

They made you sick with your sexual tendencies!

Why do you still hang out with them?

Do you know where they went next?

No, I don't know, but I left.

I had stuff to do. It wasn't an excuse.

And you didn't hear them talk about their plans?

What am I? Their carer? They're grown men.

But I'm a woman, so I must take care of them?

Is that really the culture in law enforcement?

Good job!

Anyway, no, I had shit to do. That doesn't seem so far-fetched, does it?

Fine. Secco, can you come tonight?

No, I can't stand Cesare.

What do you mean? You haven't talked to him for 20 years!

When I can't stand someone, I can't stand them for 200 years.

It's another 180 years.

It's true. In general, Secco's feelings have very long expiry dates

based on the life expectancy of whales in Greenland.

This makes him very loyal, but also very resentful.

I actually think there was a bit of that jealousy

you get in friendship dynamics when there's a new element,

and you can feel a bit left out.

Those teenage bittersweet moments that have something tender about them,

but no one wants to admit it.

Like the boy in Stranger Things with the bowl cut

who cries because his friend fucks Eleven.

Are you jealous? Are you scared that he's going to be my new best friend?

That we'll leave poor little you all alone?

- Come, don't be a pain. - I don't give a shit.

I don't believe you. You. Are. Jealous!

Don't. Give. A. Shit.

Whatever. But come with me to tear down those shitty posters.

They put them back up last night, outside the subway.

They were different. Look, I took photos.

Inside me is a crazy archivist ghost wanting to come out. Here.

These said that, along with the Nazis, there would be residents too.

And the parents' committee.

It looked like real people.

It drove me crazy.

I'll go mad if I can't find out who the fuck is supporting this.

We'll need to ask that person.

That person!

I don't know how it works elsewhere,

but here in Rome,

when you see outraged citizens

turning on foreigners and degradation,

they are often people involved in some shady business and they're pissed off

because someone from another country has intruded into their territory.

They single out people randomly,

and innocent people get caught in the crossfire

just because their skin is the wrong color.

But the war between Italian and foreign dealers

doesn't win elections, so they sell it to you as...

The exasperated Italian who can't take anymore...

...a symbol of that small old world...

...in which nobody locked their doors...

Who's angry with all the foreigners

who have invaded us and are preventing our children

from eating pork at school.

These 30 poor souls who just arrived have nothing to do with this.

They're being used as a pretext.

But what the fuck do I know?

In truth, the only way to find out more was to ask "that person,"

by going down into the depths of society,

into that molten darkness abandoned by the state

where the only law is survival...

The restaurant world.

Guys, be quick. I clock back in in ten minutes.

Today the kitchen is on fire. There are two of us and 70 bookings.

They're as hungry as the devil's locusts.

Lemur friend, one quick thing.

What do you know about this committee against the migrant shelter?

Your people?

No, I read that too, but I don't know. I don't talk to those people.

But us casual workers in this business, subject to prohibition,

we have a group chat where everyone is coming together.

I don't think anyone posted about it.

And I don't think there's any conflict of interest

on that patch either.

My lemur friend is great. I know you're the police,

and we can't have these chats.

But once, I met an important government officer,

whom I'll represent here as a white swan

for the purity of his words.

The swan told me...

Oh, Zerocalcare,

we would like to use your characters in an institutional campaign

against horrible things and mean people.

Because I believe they are positive examples

for our children,

in this corrupt world where everyone talks about drugs and tripping.

I swear, I'm no liar. He really asked me that.

I realized that, to him, human beings under 40

fell into two categories.

On the one side, heinous drug traffickers

who shoot grannies and throw puppies off bypasses.

On the other side, angelic boy scouts

who work all day,

and help toads cross the road when they clock out.

I said to him...

Look, sir, the real world is a bit more complicated.

True, there are monsters.

But for example, I have a friend who works her ass off at the local shop,

but she deals hash because she can't afford the rent.

It's not all black and white.

So, my son is right that when you say "ice cream,"

it's code for "ketamine"?

Sorry, a big table just arrived. A whole gym.

I need to go.

It's like a war here. They're like ISIS,

but with Anna Tatangelo instead of the Qur'an. Bye.

Bye!

We've learned nothing. I have to go to Cesare's.

- Sure you're not coming? - Yeah.

In 180 years' time. I'll put a note on my phone.

It was the cartoon producer, so I had to answer.

Hello?

Zero!

How are you?

When will you send us something?

Hi. Well, look...

I've done the preliminary sketches that I told you about.

I thought I'd already sent them. They're basically done.

Not true! I haven't done shit. I was as fake as a counterfeit coin.

In three days, I'll send them an empty email and say,

"Didn't you get it? Maybe because of the attachment."

That way, I get an extra week. It's a balancing act

between psychological wear and tear and breaking point.

Please...

My Italian literature teacher

is still waiting for my essay.

Check. He said it might have gone to spam.

Oh, send them. Everyone's excited!

There's a lot of enthusiasm, a lot of electricity!

I've never seen the team like this.

Apart from maybe when we made that amazing documentary

about Koalas' retractable penises, which we later took to Venice.

Look, I want to send them by the weekend

so we can start discussing, if that's okay with you.

Mauro Crocodile is interviewing me on Wednesday.

Of course!

We're sending you there to push the project!

We'll create the hype! The hashtag is ready!

#HESEEMEDDUMB #HEISDUMB

Actually, I have a bit of an issue with that show.

I wanted to talk to you about it,

since we have this open dialogue...

Of course! We have to talk about everything.

We're friends building a dream.

Brothers of destiny, not showbiz bureaucrats!

Well, I wanted to talk about the movie, obviously.

But yesterday,

they did a whole segment on Dicksville that was really brutal.

They were calling for my friends to go to jail.

I want to defend...

No need to add anything.

I get you, it's great.

We like you exactly because you're like that.

Never change.

So I should make the point...

No, you need to stay quiet!

But it's so great

that you're focusing on what the right thing to do is.

As long as you don't do it.

Then what's the point?

Look, I'll tell you how it is.

Your friends are pissing everyone off.

People hate them more than the income revenue authority.

They made this huge mess. They threw things at each other.

We can't be associated with that.

But I don't want to get you involved.

We're producing the film because of how you are.

You have these lofty ideals, the T-shirt with a skull,

these rebellious things.

Yet my brother-in-law likes you.

He's the type who watches Celebrity Big Brother

because they voted some baboon off,

and he insults them because he thinks Big Brother is someone's brother.

But he likes what you do. You get it, Zero?

You bring people together. Focus on that. Unite, not divide.

So, you think it would create problems for the movie?

No, it would kill the movie.

If you defend those people,

it's like defending killing cats on the web.

No more cartoon. We'd do a documentary

on the crazy guy who defended the Düsseldorf murderer.

Listen to me, you gotta live with these injustices,

feel the fire burning inside you.

And when you're about to burst,

mind your own business.

What do you mean?

Jerk off, go to the gym. Let off some steam.

This is the market.

They reward you when you have something big to say,

but you don't say it. Get it?

A big thing, but not saying it.

Let's rock and roll, Zero! Let's rock and roll!

Let's do this cartoon!

Fag.

Great decor, great Sardinian food, great everything!

But a terrible dinner.

Maddalena kept bringing out more food,

and I felt under pressure,

like my organs were being squashed.

There's a legend that says that in Tibet there's a monastery

where Buddhist monks are always singing.

It's not a song, it's like a litany, like... "Om."

The monks take turns because if someone stops,

even if it's just for a second,

without that note...

the world ends.

That singing keeps the whole planet alive.

I felt the same, only without the other monks to help me.

I'd been entrusted with this task

of filling the silence by talking non-stop.

- Like... - Nice pancake. What did you make it with?

Who cut your hair like that? Mirketto?

You know there's a toad that changes sex so it can hump itself?

Lots of things I didn't give a shit about,

but I thought that if I kept quiet, the Stargate of cosmic embarrassment

would have sucked us into the sidereal void

for people who have run out of things to say to each other.

Every now and again, Cesare tried to ask me a question.

But every time I answered,

it felt like I was breaking his heart, even though I didn't want to.

You think Sergione will take me on setting up stages again?

No, he's in Cuba. He fled after getting into Bitcoin debt.

He sold the Saint John Paul II statue in Termini station to a group of Russians.

Now he's a shareholder in a Caucasian narco-state.

Do you still go to the arcade?

It closed down. It's an antiques shop now.

I know, an arcade turning into an antiques shop

is like gentrification backwards.

An infestation of old people taking up the places

where we'd go to have fun.

That's how it went.

Didn't you tell Sarah to come?

I'd rather see her than you. No offense.

No, she was super busy with work. But she's with a girl now.

She must finish at some point.

I've been waiting 20 years to score with that one.

I don't think you can. She's with a girl.

Fine, she's with a girl today, but not every day.

She's a lesbian! She likes pussy! How else can I put it?

What do you mean? We have unfinished business.

Twenty years have passed. She changed her mind.

The toad changes sex 40 times in 20 years.

She decided she doesn't like cock.

Fine, tell me about you. Mom said you made it big with comics.

I don't know shit. I haven't read them. Are they about your life?

What the fuck do they care? You're not Spider-Man!

This is a country in disarray. I'm a symptom, not a cause, I swear.

The decline had begun when I arrived.

Where I was, no one knew you.

If you want to escape, you can always go to rehab.

He said the word, not me.

I didn't want to say it.

Perhaps because that way we could keep pretending

that for the past 20 years, he'd been somewhere exotic, mysterious.

It's like Schrödinger's cat.

Until you open the box, it could be anything.

Hey, man! I was in Tibet for 12 years

studying a type of fox

that farts with its armpits to court females.

Anyway, everything good here?

When you say that word, it's like all the other doors close.

And only one remains open.

Rehab.

Period.

I don't want to make it uncomfortable,

so I try basic questions that don't require details.

Are you out for good? Do you have to go back? Or is it over?

You think I was there for 20 years tied to the bed

and foaming at the mouth?

I haven't touched that stuff for 15 years.

I stayed there to help the others.

You make a fool of yourself because you don't know shit.

Better to stay quiet, no?

You're like King Charles,

who pretends to know what goes on in the Welsh mines to look cool.

Did you know that King Charles doesn't eat lunch?

Tight-ass.

No, well, of course, but... that's what I meant.

I told everyone I stayed because, in the end,

only people who have gone through it can understand how to deal with an addict.

But honestly, I needed some structure in my life.

Timetables, rules, things to do, everything.

I need discipline, bro, or I'd mess everything up.

That makes sense.

I left in October because I was sick of it.

I tried to join the Army, but they didn't want me.

I tried everything not to come back here.

Because this place scared the shit out of me.

I don't ask about your time there. I'm not sure you want to talk about it.

The other day, I had this thought of Orpheus

asking Eurydice loads of questions about her experience.

I thought that maybe it was inappropriate to ask.

I thought he just wanted to bang her.

Do you have something to tell me?

Cesare, please!

No, it's okay. I messed up.

"Code of Male Prohibitions. Article 12, literary metaphors."

"Article 21, display of tact and fragility."

Unacceptable for a male from the suburbs. Unacceptable!

- I know. My mistake. - You're worrying me, let me tell you.

You're like that chatty bookworm with the red hair.

Amber, Anna... What the fuck is her name?

It came out wrong, what can I say?

Fine. What are you doing these days? Where are you taking me?

Where am I taking you? I need to deliver 21 pages by Sunday.

Then I have to start writing a cartoon that's a big pain in the ass.

Yeah, I get that. But other than work, what do you do?

I have to go talk with the Kurds for a book that'll come out in April...

Okay, but when you're not working? Who do you go out with? What do you do?

What do you do with your life other than work?

On the outside, I look unperturbed.

It's a normal question. "What do you like doing?" It's legit.

Inside, however, I feel like the monkey in 2001: A Space Odyssey

is hitting me in the face with a mammoth's femur.

What the fuck do I do in life?

Why force me to think about it?

The truth is that I'm like a beached whale.

I was born that way.

Only as a kid,

I had people around me prodding me, saying,

"Come on, let's go see that show! Let's go to the seaside!"

As if they were giving me a shock to move me.

But then people get older.

Some have kids, some have work,

some move to the outskirts as it's cheaper and it's easy to get into town.

It's normal. The world doesn't stay the same forever.

So, in the end, I'm still that beached whale.

But with no one to prod me, all I can do is work.

And when you don't work, you slowly decompose on the beach

which isn't even a beach anymore,

but a desert

with nothing there,

not even reassuring brutalist buildings from the '80s.

On this optimistic note, let me ask you,

am I the right person to take you to live la vida loca?

Come on! At most, I can spit out

a bit of half-chewed plankton for a snack.

He didn't say anything. I don't know if he pitied me,

or if he thought that I was bullshitting

because I didn't want to take him anywhere.

Overall, the evening didn't go that well.

I left his house feeling down and with a series of promises like...

"Let's meet up next week. We'll have dinner with the others."

Those empty promises

that you make to imply a near future

because if you think that there might not be a future,

you get anxious.

And then, I know I'm obsessed, but on my way home,

I thought how much those posters were pissing me off.

Let's see who gives up first, me ripping them down, or them putting them back up.

I was ripping them down with such eagerness

that I hadn't noticed the glue was fresh

and there was a car parked behind me.

What the fuck are you doing, you piece of shit?

Honestly, let me tell you, I was quite scared.

My brain quickly analyzed all the options

and then printed a report with the various scenarios.

So, I'll read.

"Option A. Run. Get out of there."

But at least one of them runs faster than you.

Plus, it's truly an undignified show.

You're a clumsy runner, like Pingu.

Even in tragedy, you should have some composure.

"Option B. Scream. Ask for help."

And lose all dignity. I'm telling you, if you start screaming,

I'm resigning as your conscience. I've seen you cry at Grey's Anatomy.

I'm not going through that pain again, please.

"Option C. Get beaten up."

Since in options A and B you also get beaten up,

option C is different only in that

you don't do anything to embarrass yourself.

Basically, you take it and stay quiet. Okay?

Sober, clean, no frills.

I vote for option C.

See you when you wake up in the hospital and tell me which one you chose.

See you.

I don't know how much time passed, but not much,

as I still hadn't decided

and they still hadn't finished crossing the street when I heard...

Oh! I know him! He's my friend!

Oh my God! My savior! Cesare!

Guardian angel and avenger in a tracksuit,

saving me in my moment of need!

That piece of shit is ripping down the posters!

Whatever. I was with my big friend. I felt confident.

Even as a kid, Cesare was a threshing machine.

You asshole, you've been putting up posters in our neighborhood!

Who the fuck do you think you are?

Hey, keep quiet.

I was puzzled for a second.

"Is Cesare scared?"

I thought. "He'd have annihilated them 15 years ago."

But it was them who...

Zero, I don't know if you've been tearing our posters down,

but I can only save you once.

You'd better get the fuck out of here.

Wait, I don't understand...

He's an asshole, guys.

He's not worth it. Let's get the fuck out of here.

- I'll talk to him. - Who do you hang out with?

A friend of yours?

- Say thank you! - Let's go!

There's no Orpheus in this story.

There's just Eurydice going into hell with no one to find her.

After 20 years, she manages to get home. No one remembers her anymore.

And you're surprised she's not the same person.

OOPSIES

Subtitle translation by: Luisa Zamboni