All language subtitles for In.the.Presence.of.a.Clown.1997.DVDRip.x264-HANDJOB

Life's but a walking shadow.

A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.

It is a tale told by an idiot.

Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

IN THE PRESENCE OF A CLOWN

- How is the patient?
- Restless and depressed.

- I've put him in an empty room.
- Let's have a look.

Good evening, Mr. Åkerblom.

- You may wait outside, Sister.
- Of course, Dr. Egerman.

Good evening, Mr. Åkerblom.
May I ask you a few questions?

Of course, Doctor.
Provided I may ask one first.

- Have you time?
- Limited.

What do you think Franz Schubert
felt like that morning in April, 1823?

It had snowed that night,
and the tiled stove had gone out.

- What he felt like?
- What did he feel?

He sits on his bed in his nightshirt,
large cardigan and woollen socks.

He has his chamberpot between
his knees and is about to urinate.

As this causes him a little pain,
he has pulled back the foreskin.

Then he spots the sore. It is just
below the edge of the glans...

a sore and a taut hardening where
before there had been a redness...

ugly but not tender.

It is six in the morning, the bells
tinkle in nearby Trinity Church.

At that moment, Franz Schubert
realises he has syphilis...

and now I want to know
what you think about his emotions...

that April morning as he sits
on his bed looking at his sick Willie.

The evening before he'd been to
supper with his brother Ferdinand.

A bright and cheerful party, with
talented and charming guests.

They had played games
and sung. Friends, joy, music.

Then home through the still damp
snow. Joy-no drunkenness.

But then, syphilis. What do you think
Franz Schubert feels as he sits there?

I think he senses
a kind of sinking feeling.

- Sinking?
- Sinking.

Why do you think
he has a sinking feeling?

I was thinking about how I myself...
A sinking into terror.

- Suffocation. Enclosed
- No notes to help?

- No notes.
- Yes... The worst ever.

You wanted to ask some questions?

Mr. Åkerblom, do you yourself
consider you are ill...

with "weak nerves" as it says
in your notes?

Also, mania, visions, outbursts,
confused thoughts, depression...

inexplicable euphoria, self-
recrimination, sexual fantasies...

thoughts of suicide, hypochondria,
infantile faecal activities...

- But most of all, your violence.
- Was that all?

Well, yes, I think so.
You once said...

that your real profession was
"the inventor's vocation and vision"?

Exactly! Only two of my many appli-
cations have rendered me a patent.

Your fiancée, Pauline Thibault,
wishes to visit you.

She says you have forbidden
her to come.

Are we not to talk about Miss
Thibault? May I ask why?

Because it hurts, Doctor!

- So she's not to visit you?
- You said your time was limited.

- I have no desire to keep you.
- I see! Well, we'll meet again.

I liked what you thought about
Schubert. I mean that "sinking".

I'm glad to hear it. Goodnight.

Osvald Vogler, at your service.

I'm a retired professor in exegetics
at the university...

and... I'm not ashamed to say...
of independent means.

Please put my bag by my bed.
I'll unpack myself.

Here! A little something
for your trouble.

So...

"Arrived at the asylum at 5.13 p.m."

Excuse me...

I'm sicker than I look.

Yes, our freedom is restricted,
and freedom is God's gift to man.

But don't let us be niggardly and
instead compare outer freedom...

with inner freedom, subjective,
by Self conceived...

and by Self unfortunately destroyed;
What we call inner freedom...

as it is so complex that it can't
be codified, analysed or classified.

Let's sit down.

For freedom is the most elevated
characteristic of the human spirit...

the ancient source of the Sacred One
and the literal immortality of Life.

Our incarceration in this humiliating
prison of the body is thus a nullity...

which is not to disturb the flight
of our thoughts. Inner freedom is...

however threatened
it may seem to be...

a fascinating, unshakeable fact...

which we hold in our cupped hands
as we raise them to the eternal light.

I would also like to mention that I'm
a member of a worldwide society...

"I'Esclavage rompu, ou
la Société des Péteurs Du Monde".

- Liberté est Notre devise.
- What are the aims of the society?

We support free farting. We combat
the European slavery of farting.

I can extinguish seven lighted candles
with one single but powerful fart!

We must be allowed to fantasize
in our appalling situation.

I'm not just talking about you
and me, but about Humanity...

as seen from the perspective
of the enlightened human spirit.

We must invest in joint enterprises;
In that way combat chaos and decay!

Now... here...

at this very moment!

What was I going to say?

- Joint enterprises?
- Joint enterprises...

Well, yes,
that's the way of the world.

What kind of ill-health forces you to
dwell in these depressing premises?

Murderous rage. I almost took
someone's life. Killed someone.

I had cramp in my jaw muscles,
and ground six molars to pieces.

The person who tried to help me
out of the terrifying... difficulty...

was rewarded
with a murderous blow...

so that the skin on the forehead
split and blood spurted.

Luckily the skull wasn't broken.
An insignificant crack.

- Highly interesting, I must say.
- No, not me.

But Schubert is.

What are you reading,
Professor Vogel?

- The Confessions of Countess Mizzi.
- Oh, do tell me!

The girl's name was Mizzi Veith,
born in a suburb of Vienna in 1884.

She became the most sought-after...
object of desire... in the city.

Mizzi's mother married a certain
Marcell Veith who adopted the girl.

He had no profession, but
made out to be a Roman count.

At 14, the little "countess" enters the
gallant circles on her stepfather's arm.

Did I mention that the girl
was sensationally beautiful?

Within a year she was hugely
talked about, and it was said...

that she did everything, except
one thing. What was never revealed.

In the late autumn of 1908
she took her young life.

She left a diary which her father
sold to an unscrupulous publisher.

At Mizzi's autopsy, it was found
that she was still a virgin.

- Are you asleep, Mr. Åkerblom?
- Yes, but I hear you all the same.

"I'm asleep, but I'm listening."
Excellent!

My wife is a deaf-mute. She is also
rich, and I live well on her wealth.

Mr. Åkerblom?

Swedenborg appears to me and tells
me how beautiful the angels are.

They reflect the features of God.
Swedenborg looks at me and says:

"Believe you me,
Professor, I've seen them!"

Then I find the courage
to venture into mysterious worlds...

and my universe reflects eternity.
And while I travel the insight grows...

that I will be allowed to see
the Eternal One, as if in a mirror!

- What does He look like?
- Swedenborg says:

"We read that man
was created in God's likeness."

"That means that we partake in
His divine wisdom and divine love."

- But what does He look like?
- He is my image or I his.

Could it be
that you are God, Professor?

It wouldn't surprise me.

- Mr Åkerblom - my wife, Mrs. Vogler.
- A pleasure.

Wait a moment.
This is what my wife says:

My husband... is my life.

I refuse, refuse...

to let my love be kept
in an asylum!

He maintains he is a drag on me.
It's not true.

In a letter to Dr. Egerman I have
begged him to let my husband go.

Yes. You are released
until further notice.

Goodbye and hope to see you soon,
Mr. Åkerblom. Thank you, Dr. Egerman.

God, how tired I am.

Goodbye, Mr. Åkerblom. I'm tired!

- That's right, beddy-byes now!
- Beddy-byes... That sounds nice.

We'll take our powders, and we'll
sleep as soundly as in mother's arms.

No, not the powder.

I'll let you off tonight,
but don't let Dr. Egerman know.

Don't go! Dear Sister Stella,
my evening star.

Sit here, and I'll tell you how it is.

I'll tell you everything,
and it'll be over in a few minutes.

In the old days,
they used to punish criminals...

by sticking a sharpened wooden
stake into the delinquent's arse...

and then pressing it up
with light blows of a mallet...

so that the point gradually comes
out at the back of the neck.

Then they raised the stake by
the river, and there the wretch hung.

That's what it's like, Sister Stella.
I live threaded on a stake...

and people walk past,
and I become a sight worth seeing...

a subject of conversation, even.
Don't go.

Don't think I'm asking for pity,
like Jesus or Mahler...

or for that matter Strindberg,
that sentimental old whiner!

No, Schubert Franz, he's my friend,
my beloved brother.

Well, that's all.

- You understand, don't you?
- No, you can't ask that of me.

Go to bed now.

- Say your prayers, if you have any.
- I can say it backwards.

Amen. Happiness given is,
loves God whom he.

Goes happiness, comes happiness
happiness my is hand God's in.

That was rather silly.
I don't even want to hear it.

- Goodnight.
- What theatre! What an audience!

- Have you been here long?
- Quite a while. Quite a while.

- Am I not quite awake?
- No!

- How are you?
- I'm bored.

- How are you, Mr. Törneman?
- Törneman was my cousin who died.

He was a clever clown, he scared
the life out of me when I was little.

For that matter, I'm no mister...

if that's of any interest.

- So I'm talking to Your Majesty?
- Yes.

Well, I'll be...

- And now the time has come?
- No.

One say that one is not afraid.
Why should I be afraid?

As there is no life after life.
For there isn't, is there?

I don't go around with secrets.
Is that clear?

Yes, quite clear. But you
are alone, at the actual moment?

Alone. Inevitably.

One is always alone. But on occasion,
the aloneness becomes evident.

You are fond of locomotives,
aren't you?

The commanding weight, the ground
shaking, the deafening roar...

The plume of suffocating smoke
and the hot steam from the pistons...

And the irresistible wind from the
speed that both propels and repels...

I'm not revealing anything
unknown, am I?

If you think about it,
you have always known?

I like to think so.

Am I attractive?

Of course!
I have a hell of a hard-on!

Take me from behind.

But do it quickly!

No, don't touch my breasts.

Can you feel me squeezing?

- Isn't it pleasant?
- Yes, it is pleasant.

- Dig your nails in!
- I don't have any. I bite them.

Get your hand off!
Stick your thumb up my arse!

- Rigmor!
- Yes!

That's my name. Rig-mor.

When I was a child, towards morning,
Your Majesty used to dance.

Like this?

- In those days, I was also King.
- And now...?

I don't know... don't know.

- Other rules apply now?
- If only they were rules!

Non-rules?

It smells mostly like demons. But I
suppose they too can be tormented?

God, don't let me shit on myself!

Calm down. We'll get there.
We always get there in time.

Evil spirits tear at my guts. All the
nasty things I've done to Pauline!

She's already here. Miss Thibault
is waiting in the office.

- Oh God!
- Calm down.

- It's too late.
- We'll clear up that calamity as well.

- You can't escape me!
- Oh, God, the injury!

Stitched and disinfected.
But there will be a scar.

- It was your fault.
- You went mad and struck out.

- You asked for.
- And you asked for the truth.

If you've come to reap my contrition
you'll get none of it.

- You don't think I've gone mad, too?
- Then what can you have come for?

The cheap triumph of seeing your
future husband's total humiliation?

I certainly didn't need to come here
to see your humiliation.

- That's been a daily bitter diet.
- It didn't sound like that then.

I imagined I had a task.

Here comes the bit about
my stepmother and her jealousy...

Was I supposed to be jealous
of your stepmother? But never mind.

- I have a suggestion to make.
- What kind of suggestion?

I've spoken to Dr. Egerman. He has to
keep you locked up till the New Year.

Otherwise you'll be put in gaol
for six years for trying to kill me.

How about that?

But on Jan. 1, he can discharge you
on probation, if I look after you.

And I'll damned well keep you
on the straight and narrow.

- You mustn't swear like that.
- I'm an independent woman.

No one tell me what words I have
the right to use. Did you hear that?

And it's quite clear?
Then I'll go on.

- A reply from the Patent Office.
- With my application returned.

They write:

"Your application cannot be granted
as your 'cinema-to-camera' "...

"was constructed already in 1886
by R. W. Paul"...

"who soon saw that his invention
would have no practical application."

"However, the world patent remains:
London C. D. C. 18963875."

"Signed Stockholm, October 14,
Q. Nilsson, Patent Officer."

Stamped and franked. It cost
7.55 kr to redeem this document.

Did you think I'd be miserable?

That bright idea already lies
far back in my life.

The cinema-to-camera is dead,
long live the living, talking picture!

Cinématographie vivante et parlante!
Away with scratchy records!

Away with fumbling mechanics
and wretched four minute film cuts!

Here is the projector in a sound-
insulated chamber. There, the screen...

where the picture is outlined.
A lovely woman turns to the audience...

and whispers with sensual,
moist lips: "I love you, Bertrand!"

No distracting text! No delay! You,
the spectator, hear the whisper...

It strikes your heightened emotions
at the moment it is pronounced.

Cinematography, man's greatest
invention, is perfected.

Like all great innovations,
it is a foolishly simple construction.

And how?

The screen on which our heroine's
face is projected is transparent.

Behind the screen is an actress.

She speaks the lines into a micro-
phone when the heroine says them.

The microphone carries them
via an amplifier to a loudspeaker.

Voila, la cinematographie parlante!

- It sounds revolutionary!
- We'll make a film with this method.

What will it be about?

It'll be gripping cinematography.
Lots of music.

A piano behind the screen.
You playing Schubert symphonies...

- Why Schubert?
- The film is about Schubert!

And his love deal with Countess
Mizzi who drowned herself in 1908.

- Didn't Schubert die in 1828?
- So what?

- She, a poor prostitute, he, a genius.
- Wasn't she a countess?

Don't quibble over words! I need
pens and good quality writing paper.

But Carl...

Let your young heart be enthused,
my darling. Just for once.

- This once!
- I want to so very much.

- This is the future!
- But actors cost money.

Trifles! Who'll be Schubert?
I myself, in all modesty.

I shall be an incomparable Schubert!
And you are created for Mizzi!

But I was to play the piano! And a
prostitute? What will my aunts say?

I told you Mizzi was a virgin.
Didn't I? She was.

- Then how could she be a prostitute?
- What trivial questions!

The film industry is in difficulties.

The problems are artistic
rather than financial.

New ideas produce new money.

I see lovely, colourful,
brilliant pictures...

faces, limbs, movements...

and music.

Sometimes I wonder
why I love you as I do.

You're fat, you're bloated, your hair's
beginning to grow horribly grey.

You're not kind, you've tried to kill
me. You've deceived me twice.

What do you want with other ladies
and why are they attracted to you?

When clear-sightedness afflicts me,
quite often these days...

I don't understand
why I actually love you!

But now, as you sit there... holding
forth on your living, talking film...

and all that we are
going to do together...

I just want to cry and fall to
my knees and even kiss your hands.

Come, let me embrace you, Åkerblom!

You can go in.

Mr. Åkerblom!

- This is my fiancée.
- Pleased to meet you.

Once home, I longed to be back.
I have insisted on institution clothes.

My wife has finally accepted. She
cried all day, but now she's happy.

Shall we make a toast?

What about a joint project?
Against chaos and dissolution?

- What does your wife say?
- She just repeats: We love all of us!

A minute ago I related to my fiancée
a project of global importance.

- A joint project?
- Definitely!

AV Film has the honour to present...

the first and only living talking film
in the history of the world!

"The Joys of a Lady of the Night"
a cine-drama in tree acts...

by and with Carl Åkerblom, Mia
Falk, Pauline Thibault, Osvald Vogler.

This gripping drama is set in Vienna
in the 19th century and tells of...

The Passionate Love between
Franz Schubert and Mizzi Veith.

Gorgeous scenery! Lovely music!
Great acting!

"Nobody remains unmoved."
The Molde Chronicle.

- Hello, Miss Thibault, Miss Falk.
- Hello, Mrs Berglund. How are sales?

Eleven tickets, and that's not bad,
considering how remote we are.

- And the weather.
- That, too.

Mr. Landahl, the wind has torn
the poster to pieces.

I'll fix it.

It's going to get colder, and stormy
from the north with more snow.

People will have trouble
getting here.

- Hasn't Åkerblom showed up?
- No. He's probably taking a walk.

He lived here as a child, didn't he?
I shall be in the ticket office.

Stenbjörka, Storforsen, Videvik,
Mörktjärn -and now Granäs.

- No triumphant procession, eh?
- But you've had food and lodging.

You can leave! Anything you want,
but don't whine.

I've seen the film sixteen times.
I rate it as an experience...

equal to seeing The Conspiracy of
the Batavians at the Nationalmuseum.

You'll remember this time,
Miss Falk, and be grateful.

Kiss my arse! Slowly.

Mia Falk, I've had enough!

I've seen you in bed with Åkerblom,
I've heard you kissing and cuddling.

I've tolerated your insults
and your humiliating allusions.

But there comes a point
when nothing is of any importance...

except the enjoyment of pressing
this red-hot iron into your nasty face!

- Oh hell, I was only joking.
- Thought as much.

I can't help it if Åkerblom
chases me like a hornet.

It's snowing heavily now.
And the wind's got up.

- I must be off to my lecture.
- Calm down, it's in two hours' time!

- Petrus, will you put the screen up?
- I'm waiting for Åkerblom to help me.

- I suppose you can wind?
- I don't know, I think so.

But can you load? Never mind,
I can help you in the intervals.

There'll be two intervals. Then you
put the light on and sell sweets.

- How's your cough?
- Everyone in Granäs has a cold.

We all snivel, you just have to
adapt to it, as the vicar says.

- But how can you...
- Be here today? I'm playing hookey.

Ought I to give up
an experience for my duty?

- The experience is the only real duty.
- You may be right.

- I must finish the ironing.
- And I must put up a new poster.

I've got a toothache.

Oh, to hell with this!

I'll get the train to Falun. The freight
train stops at Granäs at three o'clock.

The tooth hurts
and I think it's loose.

The doctor said he would have to
cut the gum and clean it, so I said no.

Have you lost
your powers of speech?

Presumably.

I'll be off then.

No farewell kiss?

- You aren't angry that I'm leaving?
- No, Mia, not angry.

I'm just sad beyond all reason...
And tired.

Go now, before someone sees you.

See the dentist as soon as you can.
It smells a bit peculiar.

It was for your sake I joined you
on this adventure.

The money!

Can't we both run off, and leave
the old men and all this shit!

Take this. And go, at once.

The probable postulates
the existence of the improbable.

So the probable is unacceptable
as it presupposes the improbable.

Exactly!

Good afternoon, my Paulina Lilywhite!

- Is there any food in the house?
- Beef broth and bread.

- How's Osvald?
- I don't know.

- Quite a hangover?
- He's worse since his wife left.

On the contrary! Uninhibited drinking
has made him quite coherent.

He's 78, after all.

- And where's Mia?
- I'm not sure.

- What tone of voice was that?
- You seem to be in an enviable mood.

- Where've you been all day?
- Granäs is my childhood country.

Pappa built a handsome summer
place hall-way up the mountain.

I roamed around,
just roamed around.

I took the forest track to the house,
wondering whether it was inhabited.

There were no shutters,
but it was all dark and locked up.

Footprints and wheel marks
in the snow, though...

It was almost mysterious.

The river flowing far away
down there, dark and gleaming...

the snow falling and falling...

and sometimes the wind blew and
the birches swung their branches...

Mrs. Berglund has sold
eleven tickets.

Landahl! We must place
the cinematograph!

Kind of you to help, now our
labour force has been decimated.

- Wherever is Mia?
- You must keep track of her yourself.

We'll put the projector in the gallery...

connect the electric cable and
put stronger fuses in the fusebox.

The loudspeakers are up. All I have
to do is connect the microphones.

If we don't see to the fuses they'll
blow, as in Besna and Lännheden...

when we put the lights on.

- Have you got two pennies?
- I suppose so.

I should think
that's both illegal and dangerous.

Art knows no laws!
For art everything is dangerous!

Now we'll put the projector
at the very front of the gallery.

People like to sit in the front rows.

We must close off the gallery.
That's a fire regulation.

- We must put the extinguisher here.
- That's taken care of.

Nitrate film explodes like powder.
It's inflammable like hell.

19 theatres burnt down last year
in Italy. 117 people lost their lives.

Wait by the car, Jansson.

- I am Carl's stepmother.
- And I'm his fiancée.

As Carl is under guardianship,
the betrothal is somewhat doubtful.

"Adult male may without permission
of his guardian undertake betrothal...

or any comparable connection
not involving finance."

- May I sit down?
- Of course. Excuse the mess.

We've been delayed by the storm.

- So there's to be... what is it called?
- A cinema performance?

- Excuse me, nature calls.
- Osvald, put something on!

Professor Vogler, I presume.
Couldn't you sit down?

- I'm afraid I have nothing to offer...
- I haven't come here for coffee.

I imagine so.

Carl's guardian has written
to Professor Vogler's wife...

as we are aware that she
has financed the enterprise.

The other week he received a reply
in which the Professor's wife says...

that on her husband's request, she
has withdrawn from all commitments...

and that she knows nothing of
the future destiny of the project.

In a post-script she mentions that...

Mr Åkerblom and Professor Vogler
have run through 72000 kronor...

and that Miss Thibault is now
to be held responsible for finances.

Would you be kind enough to state
the reason for this visit?

I have come to take
my foolish stepson home.

And if I say no?

I admit that I feel a reluctant
admiration for your person.

Also, we have something in common:
Our love for the boy Carl.

We love him, it's as simple as that.

When I became his stepmother,
he was 26, but still a child...

a highly neglected child...

badly treated by his friends
and his older brothers.

Kind and industrious, terribly
cleanly and anxiously pedantic.

The great difficulty was that he was
afflicted with attacks of rage.

He once actually broke my nose.

Why are you telling me all this
which I already know?

You know only what my stepson
happens to have told you.

Would you mind not smoking.
It embarrasses me.

I care for this careless old child.
I want to give him a little security.

So do I.

When he realises his grand project
has gone the way of the world...

No.

If it's any consolation to you,
Carl and I are fairly unhappy.

We quarrel. He lies to me,
although he doesn't have to lie.

The weeks in February when we shot
the film was a grandiose hell.

I was to play Mizzi,
the leading female part...

but then he caught sight of
a young actress called Mia Falk.

She seduced him and I was out
in less than twenty minutes.

Vogler who wrote the script came
daily with changes and new lines.

He and Carl and Mia ganged up
against me, and what was I to do?

- I believe I have some sherry.
- Thank you.

And the money poured out.
At that time it wasn't a problem...

as Mrs Vogler realised that
her beloved husband was happy.

So she paid, and I assured her that as
long as the masterpiece was finished...

the money would be retrieved.

But no film company wanted to
take it in hand. There we were...

with "the first and only living
speaking film in the world".

And we said: Let's go on tour!

We'll hire premises as we go,
And one day we'll be visible.

And then success will come!

But Vogler suddenly sent his kind wife
packing, and she left with the money.

- And that's how things are.
- Time to call a halt, perhaps?

- I've still got 653 kr in the cash box.
- And how long will that last?

It depends on how much we take in.

- How did you meet my stepson?
- Hasn't he told you?

Yes, quite a bit.
Someone had opened his eyes.

His previous life had been an illusion.

When I wanted to know more,
he became very stern...

and asked me to keep out of it.
I was very distressed.

- A drop more?
- Thank you.

We met in August two years ago.

He sang in the University Choir,
and I played the piano.

At the party afterwards
Carl was troublesome.

Someone praised Leibniz, and Carl,
enraged, quoted Schopenhauer:

"In compassion we gain
higher freedom...

and feel fellowship with
all the suffering in the world."

His fine, beautiful eyes
were black with rage...

and that fat, clumsy, shy,
anxious creature...

I looked at him and...
Then there was a terrible to-do.

He grabbed a cheese knife
and slashed his antagonist's cheek.

He ended up in the asylum
and I wrote to him...

and got lovely replies
full of poems and drawings.

Then I started to go and see him, and
we got engaged, secretly of course.

And he tried to kill you.

You could say that, perhaps.

And now we're here in Granäs...

653 kronor from the end.

- Roughly that, yes.
- And then?

I don't care.

- It doesn't worry you?
- I'm beyond that kind of worry.

- How remarkable.
- Is that a compliment?

- Perhaps this could be of some use?
- No, thank you.

No?

I understand.

Now I must ask you to leave,
Mrs Åkerblom.

Forgive my lack of courtesy,
but I wish to prevent a meeting.

Goodbye, Miss Thibault.

- Yes, yes, yes.
- What is it?

My husband died six years ago.
He was ill for several years...

but then my life became empty.
Then my daughter married, unhappily.

Everything was... is deplorable.

- And your son died?
- He was killed in an air accident.

He was a meteorologist and studied
the formation of thunderstorms.

- I seem to get so tired.
- Was it Carl's illness?

Not the first time, nor the second.
But what happened to you...

I knew about his jealousy.
It was my fault.

This is how it is with Carl
and his stepmother.

He rests on my heart, and I neither
want to nor am able to tip him off.

When I joined the household I was
about the same age as you are now.

On the very first day,
he curled up above my heart...

just here...

and there he stayed.
Sometimes it was rather sore.

And now I've taken over
the responsibility?

Perhaps you think I'm jealous?

- Is that so inconceivable?
- Perhaps a little naive.

But I love him.

You can't tell catastrophes
in life to go away.

All emotion here, a passion there,
a hospital, medicaments...

promises, death. Friendly relations,
solicitude, discipline.

Love, if you want.

All those are chance circumstances,
thin threads...

- I'm just tired. Tired of waiting.
- Will you come to the performance?

Not I, but my daughter Karin, Carl's
half-sister, who is staying with me.

They are very attached to each other.

Goodbye, Miss Thibault.

- Osvald!
- I took a chill.

- Why are you sitting here?
- I didn't want to disturb you.

Come on now,
we'll put you to bed.

Switch on the current, Landahl!
Don't be afraid.

The worst that can happen is
that the temperance hall blows up.

- Very good! The pennies did the trick.
- They did, indeed.

And I wind and wind...

- Come on down!
- I'll switch off and come down.

- Have you seen Mia? Where is she?
- Go and look for her.

- Mamma was here.
- Just as well you kept away.

I don't want to know
what she said.

Let's get the screen up!

Yes, hoist the sail of the craft...

which is to take us to the boundless
continent of mysterious shadows!

- Now you really must find Mia.
- She's left.

- Left?
- She's left, yes.

Well, that's no disaster.
We can actually well do without her.

And save money, too. She was
expensive to run, the little whore.

- What are we going to do then?
- You take over the part.

- I don't know the lines.
- I think you do.

You can read them from the script.
We'll ask someone to hold a torch.

Who, if you're to be Schubert
and I'm Mizzi...

and Osvald speaks the other parts
and Petrus works the projector?

It's time to let the audience in,
isn't it?

Yes, let the audience in and
illuminate the premises, Mr Landahl.

Then it's all right for you to go in.

That's the teacher from Frostnäs,
Märta Lundberg, who came on skis.

Pastor Ericsson's not coming
because he's got a cold.

I invited Mrs Persson.

She never goes out since her husband
killed himself. He was a brooder.

Algot Frövik has such trouble with
his joints, he's almost an invalid.

It gets even worse when it's cold.

But if it's a question of culture,
nothing on earth will stop him.

Superintendent Larsson puts in
an appearance, that's unusual...

but he's not here in the course of
duty; He's intimate with Hanna.

That's a terrible secret,
but everyone knows.

Fredrik Blom was cantor in
Frostnäs and took to the drink.

He has a small pension and does
research into chorales from the area.

And that's Mrs Bergman,
Åkerblom's sister.

- So the time's come, has it?
- The audience is already in the hall.

- I've forgotten what I'm to say.
- First you welcome the audience.

Then you say
that Granäs is at this moment...

the centre of the artistic
expansion of cinematography.

There's no need to go on so.
I know my part.

- How are you feeling?
- I'm a bit dizzy. Quite a bit.

- Will you be all right?
- Yes, yes.

Oh Kajsa! Dearest little sis...

You've come to see
your brother's Spectacle!

The doctor thought the boys
needed a change of air.

- It's wonderful! Come and see us.
- I'm not alone.

- Where is your Pauline?
- Here she is. Good evening.

- What a lovely dress!
- It's not exactly 19th century.

Come in afterwards, even if you
didn't think much of our performance.

Hadn't we better start? It's 8. 15, and
the entire audience seems to be here.

Lend me your hand,
and I'll find you an excellent seat.

Bang the gong, so I'll know when to
put out the light and start winding.

Ladies and gentlemen! In the
terrible caves of primaeval times...

people assembled and in
an unfathomable excess of desire...

painted figures on the damp walls,
carved or hammered out ornaments.

Through mighty storms
and in every conceivable discomfort...

other people came to look
at those painted and carved figures...

or to feel the polished amber
in their hands.

Can one be anything but moved...
but that is a rhetorical question.

I don't think that anyone of you,
in front of or behind the curtain...

has grasped the greatness
in this evening's...

SHOWS

A TALKING CINEMA DRAMA

TO WIT

A splendid spring day.

Franz Schubert lies
on his poor death-bed.

You came after all,
my darling Mizzi!

Whatever happens, you must know
that I love you, my own Franz.

Play for me, my dearest.
Play for me.

In his last moments the Maestro
listens to this never before heard music.

- I think the vestibule is on fire!
- The fusebox is on fire, that's what.

Don't panic, I've got a torch. I'm on
my way with the fire extinguisher.

Damnation!

- I hope it's insured.
- It's the twilight of the gods!

- He's going to make it!
- The ceiling's on fire too.

- I hope it won't fall down.
- Could it?

- What we need now is coffee.
- I think we have plenty of candles.

- Yes, both big and small.
- Left over from the Christmas party.

- Play something soothing for them.
- That's a good idea.

One moment, ladies and gentlemen.
I have a suggestion.

Would you honour me by lending
my suggestion a willing ear?

We have braved the rage of the
elements and the electric demons!

We have beautiful candles,
we have food and drink...

and there's warmth in the stove.
We have music.

We'll sit here and let the drama
take shape in our circle.

Let's start at once!

Let's put the moon in the sky.

And let its light shine
on the bench.

Music, Miss Thibault,
if you please.

Dear friends!
We move to Vienna in 1823...

a warm, almost close,
August evening.

We find ourselves in the leafy
grounds of a magnificent palace...

where statues shimmer in
the twilight and the fountains play.

The French windows are open,
the festive rooms radiate light...

Dance music, laughter and hubbub.
On a marble bench sits Franz Schubert.

I'm Franz Schubert,
and I'm deep in thought.

An exquisitely beautiful woman
timidly approaches.

You can come now, Pauline!

- May I sit down?
- Your Grace!

- Am I disturbing you?
- Please, sit here in the moonlight.

Thank you for your music-making.
People's indifference must offend you.

No, I'm neither sad nor offended.
The Count is extremely generous.

He has offered to buy my last
string quartet for an astonishing sum.

- Provided I let him publish it.
- But how can you allow...

I can immediately write
another quartet. He can't.

A secret, Herr Schubert.
I'm not a Countess at all.

I'm just a little whore. My stepfather
has just sold me to Baron Siraudon.

The one who writes comedies
and farces. He's colossally rich...

and owns two palaces in Hungary
and apartments in London and Vienna.

I'm to live in one of them. It was
fortunate that the Baron bought me...

though I can't say
he's particularly nice.

A doctor certified
that I was a virgin.

My stepfather gave me 2, 5 % of
the purchase sum, wasn't that nice?

But the funniest thing of all
is that I'm still a virgin.

How considerate of Baron Siraudon.

- There's a bit of a wind.
- Perhaps we should go in?

No, I like it when it rustles
in the oak trees by the river bank.

- Yes. That's it.
- You laugh?

- We're both bought and sold.
- I must have been more expensive.

Rent, wardrobe... I feel quite proud
when I think of how costly I am!

- At least 5000 guilders!
- I won't say the price of my quartet.

May I hold your hand?

You bite your nails, Herr Schubert!

There you are, my errant dove!

It was hot in the ballroom,
and I have a fever. This is...

Wouldn't I recognise our beloved
Master? All Vienna sings his songs.

An appropriate meeting! Today I
attended a rehearsal of my comedy...

"Women's Whims", with the lovely
Madame Sassari. But she complained.

- What troubled the great actress?
- She sings a little ditty...

It recurs in every act,
it's her signature tune, you see.

It goes like this:
My pussycat, what doth thou want?

Pussycat, pussycat.
How I love thee.

The composer has not grasped
the subtle obscenity of the poem.

Can you help me?

My pussycat.
What doth thou want?

My pussycat, my pussycat.
I love you so.

You are a true Master.
Please write down the notes.

- And payment?
- At your pleasure.

- I'm going to teach you not to run.
- Not here! Not now!

I find you in the arms of that
filthy squinting musician!

You must rinse your mouth with
iodine. And then a rose edema.

- But first I must punish you!
- Not here!

- I'm still here.
- Oh, I didn't see that.

- An acknowledgement for your tune.
- Thank you, Herr Baron.

Arrange your clothing.
We're going to dance the pavane.

Give me your hand. Farewell, Master.
I remember your tune perfectly well.

Schubert stood outside the tall windows
and watched the stately dance.

He wept with humiliation
and sudden insight.

This is the end of Act 1.
You may applaud now, if you wish.

Change of scenery.
Will the audience please sit here.

The piano goes there.

Anyone for another cup?
There's plenty of coffee.

Are there many acts?
I was supposed to be home by 11.

Two more, but they are not long.

I wasn't asking
because it was dull.

No, thank you.
No pastry for me.

Towards the end
Schubert must have realised...

how he was to do the last
movement of his Great Symphony?

Excuse us.

Before the play continues
I would like to read something...

I found long ago in a book. It's
the story of a man seeking his way.

It's as if the seeking
had become the main thing...

and was concealing what he
was seeking. The author writes:

"You complain that you cry out,
and that God doesn't reply."

You feel imprisoned and you're
afraid that it is a life sentence...

although no one
has said anything.

Consider then,
that you are your own judge...

and your own gaoler.

Prisoner, leave your prison!

To your astonishment you will find
that no one will stop you.

The reality outside prison
is indeed terrifying...

but never as terrifying as your
anguish down in that locked room.

Take your first step towards
freedom. It is not difficult.

The second step is more difficult...

but never allow yourself
to be defeated by your gaolers...

"who are only your own fear
and your own pride."

- Well, that was it.
- Won't you have a little coffee?

Now we must begin Act II.
This is what it looks like.

Behind a tattered screen we find
Schubert's simple resting place.

On the iron stove there are unwashed
kitchen utensils of the simplest kind.

A piano, a few chairs
and a broken table.

I hope you are able
to imagine all that...

as well as the unendurable
stench of mould, dirt...

and the primitive medicaments
the Master takes to fight his decay.

He is being visited by
a good friend, Marcus Jacobi...

the respected organist
in Trinity Church.

- Well? You say nothing?
- You must give me breathing space.

You're my friend, Jacobi. We've
played the symphony right through.

- I've only confided in you.
- It's a major work.

- Yes, great. My greatest.
- I mean long.

- As your friend, I must be honest.
- You don't like my symphony.

The beginning is brilliant.
I don't say things to console you.

You told me you were looking for
a teacher in composition technique.

- What happened?
- I lacked the courage... and money.

A pity, Schubert. Your symphony
suffers from the most terrible faults.

In several places, the violin and
wind sections are quite unplayable.

- And this... sounds utterly baroque.
- It's supposed to sound baroque.

- The last movement seems frantic.
- That's my intention.

How many times do you repeat the
main theme in all this masticating?

- I haven't counted.
- Forgive my honesty. I may be wrong.

The theme, the main theme,
the constantly recurring theme...

is a cry... of joy!

I stood here at my desk
and I couldn't avoid...

at every moment,
I couldn't avoid feeling in my body...

in my flesh, in my sex,
in my nerves, in my heart...

in the terrifying racing of my heart
how my illness was burrowing away...

how those repulsive medicaments
were poisoning my nerves.

Every minute. I was in hell.

But God sent me that cry of joy,
that cry that is so short.

And it helped,
it made the pain unimportant.

It made the rage of the medicines
into distant echoes.

I thought that...

My intention was to...

I thought that other people...

tormented by their hellish
humiliation as I am tormented...

I thought I would cry out
to them as to myself.

And I cry out
so long and so often...

the pain becomes unreal
and the illness a phantom.

The great form has never been
your form. You are no Beethoven.

- You're Schubert, and that's enough.
- What revisions should I make?

I can only give you
one piece of advice.

- Forgive me.
- Don't ask forgiveness, brother.

You've done your friend
the greatest of favours.

- You've told the truth.
- I must go. I have Mass at three.

Goodbye.

I'm sinking... sinking.

By all means, come in.

Good evening, Franz. It's heavenly
spring weather outside.

Shall we take a little walk?
Only as far as you can manage.

- You're happy, Mizzi?
- For your name-day.

Sit down and tell me. Something's
happened, I can see that.

I've given Paul Siraudon the boot!

Goodbye, Baron, and your comedies
and rose enemas and little whips!

- What does your stepfather say?
- He's just now reading my letter.

I tell him the state of things
and my very own decisions!

- You can hardly write your name!
- I dictated it to a student.

Don't keep asking silly questions!

- Love?
- The great love, the all-embracing.

- Can he support you?
- He can hardly support himself.

But I'm temporarily
in the chorus at the Folk Theatre.

- You have your jewels.
- I've given them all back.

The Baron promised to let me out
if I did all the things he likes best.

So I did, but he didn't live up to
his promise, and gave me a beating.

Would you like to see my backside?
It's rather colourful.

Suddenly I was out, in that great
windy park by the Danube.

I was so insanely cheerful I cried out
aloud: I can do what I like!

So I picked those flowers...

and ran here and tell you
what had happened!

- And the student?
- We can't meet until this evening.

- Let me contribute to your evening.
- You are the very nicest man!

- I must be allowed to kiss you.
- No, no kissing.

No, no, no...

Pull yourself together, Carl.

I know you can, if you want to.
And I know you want to.

Listen to me.
It's all right, Carl.

It's nothing to be afraid of.

Excuse me.
Please excuse me.

I don't know what came over me.

I'm usually of an extremely
controlled nature.

Let's bring this drama to a close.

It is autumn and the leaves on
the trees in the parks have all fallen.

Schubert is seriously ill, living
on alms from his brother Ferdinand.

It's a Thursday afternoon in October.

You remember the beginning of
our film. Now we're there again:

Same pictures, same misery,
same words! Schubert says:

"You came after all, dearest Mizzi!"

Whatever happens, you must know
I love you, my own Franz.

Mizzi, this is the score
of my last sonata.

Please hand it over
to my brother Ferdinand.

You must go. I've fouled myself
and vomited. The smell is terrible.

I've come to say goodbye. I and
my student are off to Paris shortly.

- A joy!
- Goodbye then, my poor dear Franz!

- Herr Schubert?
- To whom do I own this honour?

Count Marcell Veith.
Little Mizzi's stepfather.

- Ghastly! There is no God!
- I am dying.

Please show my humiliating condition
the respect of getting to the point.

Mizzi, my poor child,
has taken her own life.

- She was so happy.
- And the blame rests on you.

She loved you and was prepared
to throw everything away.

A brilliant career, a wonderful lover,
a father's love, all this she gave up...

in her blind love
for a wretched musician.

This morning, at 10. 30,
my servant announced a visitor.

In the vestibule two police officers
in civilian clothes informed me...

that my daughter had been found
under Tegenbrücke.

- But the student?
- What student?

- How can you know...?
- Very simple, and terrifyingly obvious.

My daughter kept a combined diary
and account book. Please read it.

Read and consider. Let the flush of
shame flare on your ravaged cheeks.

If I didn't know that you will soon
suffer the rake's painful death...

I would challenge you to a duel. But
I don't wish to reduce your suffering.

A harsh God holds his hand
over your head.

Revenge is mine, says the Lord.

Excuse me... excuse me.

Some courteous gentlemen are
waiting for me outside that door.

They are sent by my wife to gather
up what's left of Osvald Vogler...

and deliver him
into the security of the asylum.

How often in their foolishness have
people not imprisoned the prophets?

But we have never yet called
on the scores of angels.

The rustle of their wings has not
yet reached the ears of mankind...

with the exception of, for instance,
Beethoven. There is testimony.

- Stop now, Osvald.
- No, I want to go on!

One day darkness
will thunder over the cities.

One day worms will eat
into your rotting bodies.

Your entrails will come out
of your shameful orifices...

those that exist and those that
the angels of Satan have ripped open.

I'm cold. Where's my overcoat?
No, there's no Defense!

You're talking about the wrong day.

- The wrong day?
- Quite wrong.

But all my rage? What shall I do
with my justifiable rage?

Poor, poor Mr Vogler.

I've got your hat
and your coat, Professor.

Goodbye, Osvald.

- Where are his galoshes?
- We forgot them in Avesta.

- The storm has died down.
- Is the play over?

What? Of course...

You mean the film?
The cinema film is practically over.

- But is there anything left?
- A little, but not much.

Pauline plays a few bars...
Will you please play the end...

and there's a large close-up
of the dying Master...

who is looking straight at
the spectators, roughly like this.

And then we have to imagine the
wretched, ill-smelling room filling...

with a mysterious light. When he
hears the wonderful notes, he smiles...

although he is so tired,
and he says...

He says: "I'm sinking."

Then he's silent for a few moments
listening to his own music.

Then he says,
as clearly as anything:

"I'm not sinking."

"I'm not sinking-I'm rising."

Then the picture darkens
and the music ends.

Our film is over.

- Time to be going home then.
- Thank you very much and goodbye.

Goodnight...
I dozed off for a while...

but I start milking at 5. 30 so I get
tired in the evenings. But it was so...

Well, thank you and good night.
I can help in the morning.

Just phone,
Granäs 12 is my number.

I'll come and help with the packing
before 7. 30, then I have school.

I want to give you this book,
Miss Thibault.

It's got underlining and dog-ears...

Thank you.

It'll be a cold night
so keep the stove going.

Sure to be thirty below.
You can see that from the moonlight.

- Come on, Hanna, I'll take you home.
- Goodbye then.

We'll take down the projector in the
morning. I'll be along with the truck.

The freight train usually gets
to Granäs by quarter past nine.

Shall I wake Blom?
He's fallen asleep on his bench.

No, I'm not asleep.

Thank you for
the lovely music, Miss.

I interpret the Schubert sonata
differently. No criticism intended.

It was lovely, though
somewhat feminine for my taste.

But absolutely lovely.
Thank you.

Thank you and goodbye.

Wait, Blom, we'll go together.
We're going in the same direction.

Put on your ear-flaps!

This has been
a great rendering of real art!

Excuse my saying so, but
the play was greater than the film!

Thanks again.

- Goodnight, sis. Thanks for coming.
- Thank you for a lovely evening.

- Mamchen sends a message to you.
- Something unpleasant, no doubt.

Don't put on airs! This evening's
takings amount to 8 kronor 80 öre.

Not too bad.

And the message?

Should you wish to stay the night
with us, you're welcome.

- How very kind of Mrs Åkerblom.
- I wouldn't grant her such a triumph.

- You can tell her that from me.
- I simply can't say that!

Tomorrow the lunatic will be carted
off to the asylum by Gustaf-Adolf!

You know he's in Florence
with his new wife. Mamma and I...

and old Miss Nilsson and my boys
make up the whole complement.

- You've got the boys with you?
- Come and do some conjuring, Carl!

- We had such fun last winter!
- Then I could...

- What do you say, Pauline?
- I say nothing, to avoid trouble.

Please thank our mother for her
incomprehensibly friendly invitation...

but tell her it came too late.

Goodbye Carl. Sleep well.

No. No!

Are you asleep, Pauline?

Why don't you answer?
Are you angry about something?

Are you going to send me back to
the asylum when it comes to an end?

Come over here. Come!

- You're going to leave me.
- I'm not going to leave you.

- You're lying.
- You'll never know the truth.

Make up your mind to believe me.
I have no intention of leaving.

- Now you're lying again.
- All right, then I am.

- You'll make sure I'm locked up.
- Shall we stop now?

Do as you like.
Just don't think I'm afraid.

Oh, for Christ's sake!

Look at me! Look at me!

LOOK AT ME!

Am I going to die now?

Perhaps we both are.

That's all right.

Don't reproach me, please.

Nor yourself, for that matter.

No.

I would like to say that my step-
mother is an extremely amiable lady.

- That's what you usually say.
- Karin would have woken the boys...

They would have tumbled out of the
nursery and demanded conjuring tricks.

Or something else
we usually do together.

And I would have said that
tonight it's much too late...

but tomorrow we'll look at
the moving pictures.

Then we would have sat down under
the brass lamp in the dining room.

The boys would have been there, too.

And we'd have drunk
stepmother's elderberry aquavit...

and helped ourselves to herring and
eggs with anchovy and liver paté...

and cold meat-balls and boiled ham
and poached eggs...

and best of all:
Miss Nilsson's game paté.

Then when we'd had enough...

we would help to clear away...

and then sit by the fire
until only the embers were left...

by which time the boys
would have fallen asleep.

And I would carry them into
the nursery... my nursery!

For Christ's sake
it's my nursery, Pauline!

Then we would have sat
for yet another while by the fire...

No... no...

First Stepmother would have taken
you by the wrist...

and thanked you for having taken
responsibility for me.

If you die, I don't want
to go on living. You know that.

Are you listening?

You know you can wake me
whenever you like.

She's already here...

- Who is here?
- Listen, and you'll hear.

I can't hear anything.

You sink...

sink.

You really do.