All language subtitles for Maledetti vi amero 1980

Where are you coming from?
- Venezuela.

Why are you without a passport?

I've lost it.

Like hell, you lost it!

You always say that, you dodgers.
You've sold it, far from lost!

Here. Take this out to the Commissioner,
third door on the far right.

Please, you say something to him.

Come on in, boy.

What do you do, you don't enter?

Here.

Sign there.

There's no need to read.
It's just pretense.

If one wants to trick you,
he'll trick you anyway.

It's a statement of arrival and
the commitment to repay the Ministry

for what it spent to bring you back home.

And how much did it spend?

No, because I've sold everything,
even the watch.

And even the passport.

If you don't have it, ask for an extension.
And then, isn't there mommy?

Actually, I'm an orphan.

And Garavini Carla, in Pedrutti,
Milan, Via Santini 2,

separated, housewife, pensioner?

Who's she?

Well, then I'm very famous
in these parts, huh?

Of course you're famous, mommy's darling!

Then, we've already met!

But yes, yes! We met many times,
at the time of the revolution. - Oh, yes!

Yes, yes, I seem to remember.

Oh yes, now I know who you are.

And I think I also know why you're gone.

Well, I was risking a complaint for a
brawl with certain fascists, and so...

Instead absolutely no
judicial notice did ever come.

But perhaps,

there were some other reasons, huh?

Well, there were many reasons.

In short, I had broken my balls
about Milan, Pirelli, Alfa...

about the State University...

And even for the "Great and Just Union."
- Oh!

The union of the Italian Communists,
Marxist-Leninist.

It no longer exists, you know?

Look, I don't give a damn.

So then?

How is it, this South America?

To Love the Damned

Class?

Class?

Class!

Class!

Claaass!

Claaaa - ss!

But you know that everything changed here?

That no longer holds even one, I say one,

of your fucking opinions?

You know what happened
in this fucking country?

You know or don't you know?

You know what they wrote,
your little comrades?

Look. Look!

Look here what they wrote, even them!

"Infamous assassination of Aldo Moro"

And this:

"No one can erase the infamy"

And this one:

"Moro killed in solitude"

They dissociate, the comrades!

They differ, they distinguish!

I feel sorry, I know nothing about...
I wasn't there.

And who gives a fuck, of your sorrow!

They're always others to die, anyway.

I wonder what would say Pasolini.

Pasolini is dead.

Murdered.
"Story of fags."

In the coming hours we can't but repeat
what we said in the communiqu� No. 8.

So we only ask that
it be possible an action,

immediate and clarifying in this regard.

Since a death sentence is not something
that we can take so lightly, even...

Who are they? -... on our part
we're willing to put up... - They're...

It's them, yes.

If anyone recognizes them,
he should call a certain number.

And... they who?

The Red Brigades!

The ones who killed Moro.

Imagine if someone recognizes them!

I know him.

Yes.

I know this voice.

I know.

I feel them. I...

I feel it if any of them...

Or if someone has to do with any of them.

You can tell from the eyes.

Those eyes...

Or,..

Or from the way they walk.

What do I know?

A scarf.

Or, the bags.

Yes, all those bags...

Sometimes, in the bus,..

I'm almost certain that someone nearby...

knows something.

So then I stare at him
in those pitiless eyes!

Look, why don't we meet tonight? Huh?

What?

And what's the name
of this your boyfriend?

Okay, okay, I get it.

Okay, okay! Yes, yes...

No. I just didn't think
it was a crime to fuck, that's it.

Okay, okay!

Who cares!

Okay!

Never mind them!

Bituazzo!

Here we are!

In a week it'll be your home.

Cool!
Compliments to the chef.

You come, get settled in, bring a
sleeping bag, a cot, and you're done!

This is all my personal history.

There's a bit of everything.

See? She is Paola.

And that one instead is Clara.

From China with love.

Exaggerated!

Clear!

Perhaps, the fact of going...

to England,
certainly won't change my life.

But it's a physical need, shit! I mean,..

I wanna see what goes on!

I don't want to stay here and see...
And see what?

To see everything decomposing.

All the time.

Or not?

It's amazing, you know Franco?
I've met a commissioner

who says the same things that you say.

A commissioner?
- Yes.

Possible?

Strange, isn't it?

Look, but you, rather?

What have you done all this fucking time?

Five years is a lot.

Who's that?

But how, who?
Louise Brooks!

The utmost female presence
in the history of cinema.

This, too,

you put it on in winter,

I mean, put it well, it has earmuffs, you
put them on the ears and you're hot. No?

Then, for example, in the summer,

well, consider those summer evenings,
very humid, so when you go out,

you take your hat, you put it on,
that is, you pull up

the earmuffs and, I mean,
you feel great under the fleece hat.

So, for me, it's an item that...

That is, I don't say...

the industry, because, in short,
this would be a bit, well,..

exaggerating, and even thinking...

But I am convinced that...

in a year or two, let's say,

of this trade that I intend to do,
okay, now in retail, but,..

let's say, really organized,
I mean, true,

that is, going all out, I...

Well, I mean, I talk with them
that is, I telegraph...

What can I say?

Now, I won't say a shipload, because...

I mean, it would be a bit exaggerated,
but look,

I mean, if this garment works, that is,
if one is engaged in the case, right?

I am sure that within
three or four years,

well, you make it really
big with fleece in Italy.

That is, I'm quite sure.

Yes. Yes, also because...

If the fleece does not work, really,
I swear, I do not know which way to turn.

No, but, it must work, the fleece.
I put my best effort in it.

And...

I thought of you too.

Yes.

I brought you this small garment.
What do you think?

Take it.

It's not bad, no?

You see? If you too like it, I mean,
it is a generational fact, right?

Actually, no, I mean...
I mean, it suits all generations.

"That's how they killed him"

"Massacre of a poet"

You say?

I would have also... some... hats,

fleece hats, okay, with earmuffs.

Alright.

Thanks anyway, huh?

Bye.

# I would like to buy
the bazaars of Zanzibar, #

# to go very slowly
strolling through Milan. #

# To dance with Mariannina,
feeling the polka deep in my heart. #

# Bum-bum, she is.
Bum-bum, she is. #

Hey! Look who's here!
- Hello! - How are you?

Well, I'm fine. And you? Are you okay?

But what's this thing on your head?

These are the fleece hats
I told you. I mean..

I find that this is an item that, for me,
here in Milan, I mean, it can catch on.

Just cute! - Is that these here
are small garments that...

That is, I brought them down... - We'll
talk about. Tell me what you've done.

Well, nothing in particular.
I've been out, in Latin America,

I have dealt a bit
with different things...

For six years.

Actually, five.
- Five, oh well. However, five are many.

Or not?

The little girl, who is?

She's my daughter.

That is, in the sense that you're married?

No, I'm not married.

Think that I don't even know
with whom I made her.

Got it.

Come on, show me the stuff.
- Yes..

I mean, in my opinion, all this stuff...
There, for example, this is a...

Okay, leave it alone now.
- ... poncho type, no?

Riccardo!

Svitol! Hello!

Hello! The old Pastrengo Umberto,
also called Umberto P.

You look good, rejuvenated, I'd say.

Y'know, they say that homosexuality
is good for the physique. - Got it.

That is, in the sense that here in Milan
you have all become fags.

Oh, dear! Many things happened, y'know?

All fags, queers, lesbians, and feminists.

But they pretend not to be, huh?

Look, Svit, let's be clear.

These things don't go anymore.
Nobody buys them anymore.

If you want, I can keep them here.

Then, if I sell them,
I give you the money.

But if I were you I wouldn't
count on too much.

But I wanted to propose something else.

What?

Are you good at negotiating?

In what sense?

In the sense that...

He says fifty, you tell him twenty,

he says fourty, you say thirty,
you take it away at half price.

Well,.. I don't know,
I mean, we can try...

Tomorrow morning, come here at ten,
I give you the address,

and you go around for me to buy things.
I really don't have time. Alright?

Anyway, I wanted to say that...

that I am no longer the one who,

so, came in here fooling, that's all.

I mean, in the sense that

these years abroad

have enough...

I don't say changed me,
but taught me some things.

That is, I think...

I figured some things.

Even important.

Oh well...

Bye.
- Bye. - Bye, see you tomorrow.

Bye.

One hundred! - Again! But I told you,
it's one hundred and forty.

If it's fine you take it, otherwise
don't break my balls, come on!

Why do they call you Saetta?
- What a nice find!

It's my nom de guerre as a partisan.
Now I'll show you.

There you go!

Can you read?

"In recognition of his contribution to
the national struggle for liberation

against that shit of the fascism."
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

You saw? - I'm a comrade too, y'know?
- Oh, come on, comrade!

It's a real sweat being a comrade, today!

Even the Christian Democrats are comrades!

Scram, come on!

And this, what is it?
- Hey, again!

It's the toolbox of Bisi, the painter.

Can I look?
- Sure, look.

And who is that guy?

Oh, you don't know him, comrade?

That's a comrade!
It's Di Vittorio, you see?

That was a comrade!

You sell it?

Again? You don't get it, then!

Okay, then give it away. - But Di Vittorio
can't be given away nor sold, comrade!

Come on, you give it to me?
- Again!

Because, what counts are the definitions.

Di Vittorio is leftist.

So, there's no doubt about this.

Lama, instead,

is rightist.

With that pipe!

Enrico with the signs of war,
is like Karl Marx who reads H�lderlin.

Pecchioli is rightist.

Trombadori...

Well, Trombadori,
we'd better not talk about him.

Terracini instead is leftist.

Like tea, brown rice,
and macrobiotic cooking.

Coffee instead, is rightist.

Also bathing in the tub is rightist.

The shower, instead, is leftist.

Portugal is leftist, together with the
Greek Islands, Morocco, and Afghanistan.

Vienna, Venice, Prague,
instead, are rightist.

Visconti was leftist.

And Pasolini, instead, before his death,

to what I'm told,

was an irrational right-wing populist.

Then, after his death,

he became a first-rate comrade, huh?

Eroticism is leftist.

Pornography is rightist.

Also the penetration is rightist.

Whereas foreplay, instead, is leftist.

Except for the blowjob,
which instead is rightist.

The norm is rightist.

Madness is leftist.

Heterosexuality is rightist.

Homosexuality instead
'has a deep transgressive value'.

Thus it's leftist.

Moroccan, Afghan, grass and
various mushroom stuff, are leftist.

Whereas amphetamines, heroin, and coke,

well, they're fascist stuff, huh!

As for Nietzsche, he was re-evaluated.

That is, now he's leftist.

Marx is rightist.

Bloody hell, comrades!
Let's not make a mess, huh?

Bisaglia is rightist.

Basaglia is leftist.

The power of a vowel!

Cowards!

What happened, can I help?
- No, leave me, it's nothing, leave me.

Holy Christ, but...

You're Gigi!
- Who are you? What the fuck do you want?

I'm Riccardo!

Svitol.
Don't you recognize me?

Eh! I've been out, I just came back.

But why were they beating you?
- Nothing. Bullshit!

Who were they?

You're still fair, you? Or are you...
prey you too, like the assholes?

What the fuck do you mean? - They loathe you?
They loathe you too, the vandals?

Because the comrades buy as well, y'know?
Fuck, if they buy!

They were comrades those who beat you?
- Those who beat me were nurses!

That's how they treat the herocomics.
Shit!

Herocomics? - But you understand,
or don't understand a shit?

And you know why? You know why they
thrash me? Because I, to make me a hole..

I push drugs!

You see? My palace! And this is the
electric light. Light the other one, go!

Damn the devil, the dark here!

Hey, candle, light up!

I don't get it...

Where the fuck...
I can't see a shit here!

In that drawer there are some syringes.

Please, unwrap it yourself.

And watch how it's done.

This is good heroine, see?
Not what the others sell.

And this is my world!

And very slowly, it enters into my veins.

You ever made yourself a hole, or not?

Tell me the truth.
Tell the truth, if you ever made a hole.

I keep my own hole,
because I was always taught as a child:

"Don't do this, because it's evil."

"The dark, you see? Don't go in there,
there's the bogeyman!", they said.

And then, slowly, while I grew ever more,
they said:

"The drug is something deadlin...
deadin... midi... homicidal!"

At one point I thought: "But I gotta
see what it means, this hole!"

Because, as a child, I always imagined:
"But each one must have his hole, or not?"

Of course he must have his own hole!
And I thought:

"I gotta see this hole! It's like
a dimension, but of all, right?"

At one point, I decided, and I did it.

Uh, I said, how nice! How nice it is!

But at least, I said,
I wanna keep this hole!

But not like the comrades who said:
"That's the ideal!"

"You must do this, or else it's wrong!
Do this, it's right, that is wrong..."

At some point I realized that
time had passed. I've remained so.

So I realize that I want to keep my hole,
and not the hole of the others.

But what's your hole?
Can you tell me or not?

Tell me what's your hole.
At least I know that I keep mine,

and I know what is my end.

It's like a thorn!
A thorn that I've inside my heart.

That the more time passes, the more
it expands, the more I feel pain.

But at least, I feel it.
But your pain, where is it?

Where is it?

You want me to sing you a song?
You enjoy if I sing you a song, or not?

Please me this once, come on!
It may be that we'll never meet again.

Right? At least you'll remember
this song. It's too beautiful.

It's called
"The thorn entered into my heart."

Wanna see?

A thorn has entered into my heart.

When it entered
it didn't come out anymore.

My thorn is you, give me relief!

And it came the time of the cherries,

and the cherries are no longer there.

My cherry is you, give me relief.

However, I can stop, you know?

I can stop whenever I want.

Eh, yes, he's dead.

He was drafted at Pordenone.
They said he was taking tobacco

to make go up the fever,
and died of pneumonia.

And Feded�?

Feded�, at least, with this story of
the violin, has concluded something.

I know that he graduated very
well from the conservatory,

and now works on the staff of
La Scala. Professor Feded�.

Well, then not everything is going bad.

Noo!

Then there are those who succeeded.
Who have... you know, forgotten.

Oh, and you? What do you do?

Me?
- Yeah.

Well...

You... you're familiar with
stock market transactions?

No, huh?

Well, nothing special.

My father had sold 30% of another company.

I bought it out.

I got busy...

Now I'm the manager.

In two years I doubled the turnover.

Very well indeed!

Eh, yes!

And you know what was the big shot?

A contract for $ 6 million with.. China!

Good! I'm glad.

"Quelle d�cadence!"

As would say our Andro, huh?

Good old Andro.

What's he doing, what did he do?
- Andro is a phenomenon.

In three years he burned
the family fortune.

Now, imagine, he's forced to sell
the Berattine estate, you remember?

Yeah, too bad!
- To appease the butcher, the tailor...

Moreover, this weekend he wants
to throw a party, just at Berattine.

To celebrate the tenth
anniversary of '68 and its...

proletarianization.

Are you coming?

Who else is there?

But who else do you think, Svi?
There will be

the whole Veteran Fighters
Association, in full.

Well, maybe... - Come on, it's agreed.
Come to my house, Saturday.

Alright!

I'll come.

But, sorry, but...

I mean, for instance..

You, right..?

As to quality of life..

I mean, since here we keep talking only
about men, right?, for what concerns

women, what's your position?

Women.
And who knows them?

Look:
The position is ridiculous.

The toil is gruelling,
the pleasure is very brief,..

But let them keep it,
their horrid fissure! Right?

Right. I had never thought of that.

Think about.

When mutual mistrust
prevails in public life,

following the influence
wielded by the ignoble,

any fruitful work becomes impossible,

because the foundation is wrong.

Therefore the noble knows what
to do in such circumstances.

He hides his virtues
and withdraws into secrecy.

What happened?
- Frisk him! Quickly!

Inside!

Get in the car!

Hurry up!

What did he do?

We got him near the Christian Democrats'
seat, the one that's blown, commissioner.

I'll take care of him. Come with me.

Commissioner, we gotta do the report.
- I'll do it myself. - But,..

No more foreigners.
Political Bureau, now. - Uh, uh.

And that, what is it?

Group photo?

This is an old archive photo.
The arrest of the poachers.

A fucking luck. The photographer was just
there while you were making the arrest.

You...

you didn't understand
what I told you last time.

You didn't believe me, did you?

You're loafing, fiddling,
without a job yet.

No, no, look I've got a job. I work
by a girlfriend of mine, we deal...

with... garments.
- Bullshit! Gimmicks.

You don't have a job.
You don't study...

You're found near the
Christian Democrats' offices...

I wanted to join!

Anyway, jokes aside, Commissioner,..

I didn't even know that
there was a seat of the D.C. there.

In fact, I no longer know
if it really exists, a D.C. Party.

The trouble is that you too are
a prisoner of your clich�s.

I know you got nothing to do with it.

But you must understand that
the guys are... nervous.

These are hard times, for them.

They risk their skin,

and defend interests of which
they don't give a fuck about.

Yes, but, you too, sorry, if

you don't believe in what
you do, why you do it?

Why, is there someone who
believes in what he does?

I, on the other hand,
how can I believe in it now?

After what has happened
in Italy for ten years now?

Piazza Fontana, Pinelli,
Valpreda, Calabresi...

Coco, Scaglione, Alessandrini,
Occorsio, Moro!

The Red Brigades, the Black Brigades,
the green ones, the yellow ones!

The Red Brigades...

Uncatchable!

And how do you catch them?

You know how to catch them?

And then, is it useful catching them?

Or is it better to leave them around?

Then, perhaps,..

we must not catch the real culprits,

but only give meaning to
newscasts, to the press.

Now you may go.

Look, Commissioner.

Sure, it was much better when
you could recognize them, the enemies.

Some very strange things are happening.

Go on, come in!

I apologize. I was looking for home Dal
Corso Carlino. - No, you're not wrong.

It's this one.

Excuse me for a second.

This is the house of Carlino Dal Corso.

I get it. I had an appointment, right?
So, well, I showed up, and...

Here I am!

Okay, but... you do the primitive dance?

The primitive dance?

No, exactly primitive dance,
I must say...

no, not really.
However,.. I mean...

Look, I'm Letizia, the wife of Carlino.

Oh, I didn't know he was married.

But, even I sometimes don't know.
You want a drink?

Uh, no, no, thanks.
That is, you have a Cuba libre?

Not the Cuba libre, what a bore!
Make one yourself if you want.

Or else, drink something else.
- That's okay, thank you.

Guya told me you've been
five years in South America.

Yes, er...

Why, you know Guya?

Yes.

She's my husband's fianc�e.

What were you doing in South America?

Oh, I dealt with the most diverse things.
That is... - Like what?

This is... this is a cute little item.
I mean... - You like it?

Is it fleece? - It's fleece.
- These from Peru, in my opinion,

in Italy, will do fine, I mean, they sell.
- Oh yeah?

But these are Swedish.

Hey there!

Oh, I see that we've already
made friends, fine.

Hi! I arrived some minutes earlier,
so I have, well, lingered.

I've also learned that she is...
- My wife. The old Svi.

This is Red.

Hey, hello!

Letizia, you're still like that?

It's 2:45, we'll never get there.
Come on, go get changed.

Yes.
I'm going, I'm going.

Boring!

Oh! Listen.

There is also your fianc�e?

Don't be a moron!

Come on, sorry.
It's only for a matter of clothes.

Dagi-gadi-gada, what's my relation?
Dagi-gadi-gada, what's my relation?

Dagi-gadi-gada, what's my relation?
Dagi-gadi-gada, what's my relation?

Very open couple!

Giuliano is a psychoanalyst who did
his studies in Vienna and Berlin.

Noting some attention...

All childhood friends.
- Hey, we're really all here, huh?

...in that situation
his true essence, his being male.

He wouldn't listen to reason, was beside
himself. He slashed him with a bottle!

A spontaneous gesture, sincere,
yet there was some violence in it.

It was thus a good opportunity
to do a test of self-awareness!

We made group love.

They made it, indeed,
'cause Nino pointed out to me

that I was creating tensions.
So they put me on the sidelines to watch.

They went on for hours. I, who was
to one side, was serving to drink.

And they, content and happy, to bathe
in a whirlpool of mad pleasure!

For me it was a rich experience,
made me think and really understand,

how nice is to have friends, if
with friends you have a sincere rapport!

I fled with the train at dawn, in a
brief moment of sleep of the others.

I laughed, sang, whistled,
I looked at things parading at my sides.

And now I'm here pondering and
enjoying the peace of an old convent.

I chat with wolves and birds,
I distill liquor, I smile in the wind!

Dagi-gadi-gada, what's my relation?
Dagi-gadi-gada, what's my relation?

Dagi-gadi-gada, what's my relation?
Dagi-gadi-gada, what's my relation?

Oh, yeah!

20th anniversary of the Nouvelle Vague.
Hommage to God-Art.

Now, a slow pan to the left.

To describe enormous details.
As in the films of Ryosuke and Goshu.

Lower!
- Lower down?

No. That one was Hiroshi Teshigahara.

Very slow tracking shot,
in an inexorable approach.

Hommage to Jean-Marie Straub.

But it's said Straub or Strob?

Bah! Que la f�te commence!
Or better: Quelle d�cadence!

Guya and the child: "Nobody's Children".
Hommage to Raffaello Matarazzo..

Now, come forward, dear.
Gently, but with two cameras.

Hommage to Billy Wilder.
Correct pronunciation: Vilder.

Irredeemable!

Careful Gianni, huh? Too many
homages end up doing plagiarism.

Stop!

Rather,..

"Cut", as would have said the old Dreyer.

Say, but you, what do you do with super 8?
You want to make a film?

Yes, see, I've written a thing.

That is, one who returns
from Latin America...

At one point he comes here and...
he no longer understands how things are.

Already seen.

Already seen?
- Already seen, already seen, already..!

D�j� vu. - Hi Carlino. - Hey!
- Hi. - Good morning.

Oh! What is the best debauchery:
alcohol, hashish, or...

Sex.

Sex!
Plucking a chick!

Sex... Sex, sex.
Sex!

Listen... Why don't we...

Attention, attention, attention.
Brothers, comrades, friends!

A small gift for the community.

Come, come on! The Ashes of Gramsci!

Come on, at the table!

But, it's delicious!
- Enough.

It's too cut, huh, Carlino! Too cut.
- No, you're cut yourself.

Oh, no, dear!

Everybody freeze there, huh?
Police!

Police, hold it there, folks!
What's going on here?

What's this stuff?

Flour, huh? - Yeah, flour! - Flour!
- I don't take it!

Because I find it politically unseemly,
and culturally retro.

Be damned!

No, I can't agree more. Indeed, look,
this here is the misery of the world.

Get it out. - Stay where you are cause
with that big nose you'll snort it all.

Get out of here and back to the sanatorium.
- Bye, bye! - Bye, bye!

Politically, I haven't decided yet,
but I would take a snort. I don't have...

Here, this.

What is it, a ten? - Yeah!
- You guessed it! - Hurry up, come on!

Come on, hurry up!
- I'll keep the ten.

Come on, bitches!
Come and buy from your Enea!

Abandon your pains!

Leave behind your husbands!
And lovers!

How much?
- Four thousand.

I work for a girlfriend.

I mean... these are worth a lot?

I don't know, it depends if your friend
has a bathroom or not.

No, but,.. I mean,
we have a small shop where...

we need all a series of small items...

Oh, you mean, to resell?
- Yes. I mean, do they sell?

I don't know. Maybe yes, maybe not.
You must find the customer.

But you, how much would you want?
- Twenty thousand.

It seems a bit exaggerated.
If I were to take... what can I say?

3 or 4 thousand, how much?
- I do the same price.

No, come on, do me a favor.
- I don't know, because...

If you settle for, what can I say, five
thousand each, I'll take ten thousand.

Never mind. Five thousand apiece.. Thief!

Will you let me see who it is?
- Collodi.

How much do you want?
- Well, this is not on sale.

I'll give you... 10,000 lire. - No, no.
Nothing to do. - 20,000 lire.

Not even for thirty!

You sure?
- This is personal stuff.

Just a pinch like this...

in the callus, with the bandaid...

in the morning you find that the callus...

is white. Soft, like ricotta.

Today, to remove a callus,
they want thirty thousand lire.

No, no, let's say eight thousand.

Are you satisfied?
- Er... six.

Hey! Don't you swipe, there!
Hands off the stuff! - Six.

No, wait a minute, they're stealing.
- No, I gotta go. - How many do you want?

I would take 3 or 4 thousand.
- No. All of ten. 8,000 lire each.

No, no, five thousand, five.
- Eight.. seven thousand.

Come on, I'm not able to do...
- Well, look,

the latest price: five thousand.
- No, I've already said.

Come on, let me insist, let me insist!
- No. I said no!

Hey, hello!

Listen, but... why are you so interested
in this chamberpot?

Ah, no, that is...
Why, I'll explain. Now I have all a...

Leave me!

Conformists!

Shitty conformists!

What're you doing?
Are you afraid of thieves?

For safety... It's not my home, then...

That's the beautiful Zaira.

Who always looks elsewhere.

Come. I also wanted to show you
another little thing, cute, that...

I mean, this is...

that... "From China with Love",
right? Here...

actually, there had to be a chime.

And... and who's this?

How, who's that?

That one is... Comrade Di Vittorio.

The utmost presence in the history of
the union movement in this country.

You make me a gift?

What, give you Di Vittorio?
- Why not?

No, come on! You don't give Di Vittorio.
At most, you lend it, Di Vittorio.

What are these? Did you make them?

That one is.. the wall of ghosts.

The ghosts?
Whose ghosts?

The ghosts of all the people

murdered.

Dead killed, yes.

I opened some newspapers, and I found...

some photographs.
And below,

under the photograph, there is

a caption, and...

by which we understand the identity.

A name...

If they are...

fascists or if they are comrades.
And so...

I've drawn them.

And when I drew them,
suddenly they've become all the same.

Pasolini's corpse was the same as
that of a fascist, he too dead killed.

That is, there was no difference.

So then,

I was wondering whether
I should feel piety, or... or not.

But feel pity for both of them.

But,..

it's still one thing I don't have...
very clear.

But,..

can we meet again?

Yes. We can meet again.

Then, I'd call you tomorrow.

Not tomorrow. I'm going skiing.

I see.

With Carlino?
- With Carlino.

Oh well...

Be careful with Carlino.
He's got the moccasin.

No, tomorrow he has no mocassin.

He has the boot.

How good is Carlino!

Because, never trust those with moccasin.

Come on, stay some more,
I'll make you a "king".

It is true that you slept with mom?
- It's true.

Before leaving I slept with your mother.

Maybe I could be your father.

No matter.

I'm sorry.

Never fear.

It's a dream.

...from the waist to the legs,

the skull open.

Of course, we removed it from him at once.
What d'you think?

But, for someone it did
not even go so well, y'know?

Did one, while we were taking it out.

There was a nobleman with us up in the
mountains, I recall, Golfiero Maineri.

Good person.
Although he was a master, of course!

But he came from an anti-fascist family.

He came up in the mountains with us,
and I brought him along.

It was his first action.

While he sees this scene,

he turns to throw up,

then says softly: "Nothing but botch

and viscera."
What is it?, I ask him.

"Shakespeare!", says he.

Nothing but blood and crap.

Blood and crap. "And smell of ass!",
I add.

That's what it was!

Far from monuments,

flags, kids, and exalted chicks!

Blood and crap.

Golfiero then learned it so well that,
just imagine,

one day, April 24, I remember!,

he made execute a column of the Muti
Legion. They were all kids, recruits.

Imagine, many were not
even twenty year old.

That's how it was!

This, it was.

What, you're leaving?
You don't wanna hear?

What do you want, the monument?

And exhalted chicks?

Idiot!
Idiots all of you!

A pit in the mud.

A flash.

A roar, a blast, a handful of heroes!

Fucking hell!

It was carnage.

A carnage!

Throw him on the cart.

Dead.

Murdered. Death and blood.

Ass, shit.
Resistance, freedom!

Freedom...

Have you read?

What do you think, huh?

It doesn't suit you, no, baby? Huh?

Well, fascist?

True that you're a shitty fascist?
- Fuck off!

Who's to fuck off, fascist?
- Come, leave him alone, he's a poor fool.

Fuck off.
- Come on, go. Go

Anyway...

I too am a Comrade.

Only, I'm an idiot Comrade.

Yes!

Well, what do you do to idiot Comrades?

You thrash them!

Conformists!

Shitty conformists!

You know that ancient Jewish fable?

The hero...

loved the princess,

but she was...

beautiful, sure, but very cruel.

And to marry her, he...

had to bring her the heart of his mother.

And so he

comes home at night,

and kills his mother.

And tears away her heart.

He goes into the forest
and stumbles, and falls.

So, the mother's heart asks...

"Are you hurt?"

So, do we meet?

No, not tonight.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow afternoon.

Well, I don't know...

To watch "Lulu".

With Louise Brooks!

The utmost female presence
in the history of cinema.

Who's that? The husband?

Yes, it's her husband.

Just that...

she loves his son,
so he wants to kill her.

You're married, commissioner?
- No.

What is it, don't you like women?

The women that I like
do not marry commissioners.

Listen, commissioner...

If you knew...

that is, if you came to know that...

there's a terrorist, OK?

A terrorist who's preparing an attack,..

that is,..

he wants to kill...

Berlinguer.

Or Lama, don't know...

However...

he's not a fascist.

No, he's a comrade.

A true comrade.

What would you do?

I would arrest him.

A fuck-up.

Huge fuck-up!

And just why?

Watch.

You're unable to arrest these RB activists,
right? - Yes! I've already said.

Well, what do you care?

What's important is not to arrest them,
but.. to show that you arrest one, right?

What are you getting at?

So it takes...

that truth is not discovered.

That the photograph is...

absolutely indisputable.

Like the one of the poachers.

So then?

I propose you

an exchange.

A culprit.

And your little comrades, what will
they think? - Who gives a fuck of them?

They won't think anything.

They won't have the time.

And then, perhaps,

they have no more memory.

Who is this terrorist?

I can't tell you now.

Anyway, the assassination

will be made in Rome.

There, I'll give you an appointment.

We'll go together.

I'll take you myself to him.

When?

I can't tell you.

But there will not be long to wait.

You'll have to come...

alone.

And if somebody tells on us?
And if it's a trap?

Have no fear.

It's not a trap.

And then, you're armed, right?

Don't you have your gun here?

And then, sure,..

there are also comrades who resist.

Indeed,

they're the majority.

There are those who continue to struggle,..

who have patience,..

who know the extent of the wait,

and of sacrifice.

I know well that my story doesn't count,

that others have nothing to do,
that it concerns me alone.

So what?

Svit�l!

Come here, damn you!

Pass, pass!

By the main entrance.

There you go!

Come.

This is a comrade Guatemalan,
Panamanian, Nicaraguan,

just come from the Caribbean.
- Ol�!

Come into the office.

Come, Svit�l.

This is my wonderful office.

Le Corbusier architecture.

On the walls, Dali.

The filing cabinet is Bauhaus.

Have a seat.

The secretaries are gone,
they took the day off.

You must forgive me.

We're alone.

Maybe you have a lot of things to do.
- Absolutely not.

Nothing.

No, because I don't..

That is, I passed by, and I came.
Is not that...

Don't worry, I'm perfectly free.
I'm all yours.

No, because I don't have to tell you
anything in particular, that is...

Just nothing, look.

What's up?

Has something happened?

Ah, no, no.

No, nothing at all, look.

Indeed, perhaps the problem is just that.

It's that nothing happens.

That is, nothing ever happens.

I mean,..

one is like...

In short, we are.. a little tired.

In what sense?
- That is, the things are...

tired.

What things?

Well... you... look at this wall, OK?

It's straight?

It's tired to be a wall.

The wall?

Yes, even if it just stays there.

Yes. I mean,..

it acts as a wall, but...

it just can't take it anymore to be a wall.

Ah...

Have you ever touched a wall?
- Yes.

Yes.

Yes, well, the...

All things, right?..

And we too, maybe,..

we're really tired.
That is,..

Even...

what can I tell you, well, the table,..

is tired to be a table.

It can't take it anymore to be a table!
- The table?

And also the chairs, in short, we're..
all dead tired.

I'll be damned!

I mean, you...

You're following?
- Yes.

I think I understood what you mean.

Although, oh well, no one ever told me
this thing of the tables, actually.

Luckily they've four legs, otherwise

they would have crashed to the floor,
probably.

But, it's true that we're tired, yes.
But, Svit�l,..

Even all this self-pity...

Every two steps, you find a comrade
who tells you the same things.

And he tells you he's tired, and
pours down upon you this devastation...

And they, step by step, huh?,

they come to my office.
And there also arrives

all the weariness
of all the comrades of Italy.

In the form of letters.
These are the letters to Lotta Continua.

Here, the comrades of Norcia complain for
those of Perugia who took the mimeograph,

which was found in Forl�,
two years later, in poor condition.

Then there's a poem on the funeral of
a woman comrade, which was beautiful.

Not to say, then, when they killed Moro.
Then, they unleashed themselves.

350 letters, all to me.
I read them all.

And who said: "I dream of him
at night, I killed my father."

"Moro was my father." Who says:
"Moro was my son, I killed my son."

Who says: "I'm a killer because I didn't
prevent the killers from killing."

Who complains for having a red Renault.
Or who was in Via Caetani the day before.

Or who had called his girlfriend
telling her "let's screw tonight",

without thinking about the tragedy
that would have fallen on his life.

So we've got it all wrong, huh?

We've got it all wrong,
and the newspaper is useless.

The Christian Democrats govern,

and we write, and we cry.

And they govern.
And we write.

And we cry.
And they govern.

They're happening some really weird things.

Svit�l...

Remember.

Depression kills more that repression!

It's true. I have wished the security that
hid behind the facade of these homes.

Where I was not invited, as a child,
to the snacks of my schoolmates.

But I entered not by accident, in '68,
to fuck the daughter of the landlord,

or to set sit-ins, flyers, and rhetorics
on the impossible with the minor child.

I really believed to be equal,

to remain forever a child.

These, the extenuating circumstances.

There are faults, by which these shitty
houses will survive even to my utopia.

It is true. I ordered the Red Guard
to quell the tumult at Kronstadt.

I've put on trial who did not agree.
I covered him with slander, lies.

Like Saetta, I too executed, on April 24,
the recruits of the Muti Legion.

Without asking myself
if it was really necessary.

Until I too read, one morning,

that they had murdered Moro.

That day piety has penetrated into my
heart, as betrayal does into a fortress.

For that death which,
perhaps, I had wished,

fantasized,

dreamed of being its performer.

The only one of all others.
Of my mother, my father,

of the men of power, of the
Commissioners, of my personal enemies,

of the men whom a girl had fallen
in love with, and eventually of myself,

unable to belong.

I... I no longer want to remember.

I no longer want to remember anything.

It's me.

Yes.

Then it's for tomorrow.

At Rome.

At dawn.

We'll meet at Piazza SS. Giovanni e Paolo.

Don't forget,

at dawn.

And above all alone.

"As is usually said,
the incident is closed."

"Aldo Moro
Your image remains in our hearts "

So then, where do we go?

Have you gone mad?
Why did you shoot?

What the fuck are you doing?

Christ!

What the fuck have you done?

Oh God!

Is that the way?

Is that the way to die?

But, you understand?

You understand that they make use
of idiots like you,

to say that you're all murderers!?

If you die, people won't give a shit!

And you are as responsible as me now.
Yes!

Now you think that you die
for the revolution, huh?

But what do you think,
that you die for the revolution!?

English subs by edam17@KG
November 2013