All language subtitles for Anima Persa (1977) EN vs2

-Who's living here?
-A couple.

-I can't see anybody.
-They don't go out.

-Your first time in Venice?
-No no.

I spent a summer here,
as a child.

-It's a wonderful city.
-Venice is Venice.

-Annetta.
-Yes, ma'am.

Take care of Mr Tino's suitcase.

-Your suitcase.
-But it's light.

No, give it to me.

-Nice trip?
-Yes. Thanks.

-You must be tired.
-No.

How you've changed.
You're a fine young man now.

-How are your parents?
-They send their best.

This is your room.
Want to wash your hands?

-Trains are quite dirty.
-Give me your coat, sir.

-I'm in the dining room.
-All right.

Damn window!
It never stays closed.

Latin, no. Maths, impossible.
Dad's plans don't interest me.

Even mom said.

"Try painting. You're gifted."

Are you gifted?

Well, as a child I was praised
for my drawings of Tarzan.

-No.
-I'll have some more.

What an appetite...

-May I finish it?
-Yes. Don't be so formal.

Oh, my head!

Always at this time.

Join me in the other room
when you're ready.

Tino, come here.

I'll show you around.

This is Uncle's study.

He always eats out.

He meets important guests,
some from abroad.

-What is he?
-Engineer with the Gas Company.

A very important position.

I won't recognise him
after so long.

-Is that him?
-No. His father, Mr Stolz.

A peculiar man.

When the Italians took Venice
he moved to Vienna.

"I want breathe the air
of the Empire..." he said.

-So you met there.
-No. We met in Venice.

He sleeps there.

Let's see the abandoned
parts of the house.

The house has been
in my family for centuries.

We've only restored
a small part of it.

Everything's so costly today.

We'll wait for better times.

This was the theatre.

Look at the decay.

How terrible.

As a child I'd sing...
and dance here.

Come.

Watch your steps.

-Where does this lead?
-Into a locked room.

Don't ever go up there.
The staircase is rotten.

Understood, Tino?

Come on. Let's go.

This is my room.

He comes home late.

I'm a light sleeper.
It's my nerves.

Go to bed. You must be tired.

Good night and thank you.

I thank you for bringing
your youth into this home.

Ciao.

-Can you find your way?
-Yes, Auntie.

-I can't find my room.
-It's right in front of you.

Thank you.
Good night.

Good morning, son.

-It's late, almost 7:00.
-Good morning Uncle.

Just say your morning prayer
if you want.

I'll look the other way.

Know how long you slept?
Nine hours.

Plato said...

"There's a beast in all of us
which comes out in our sleep."

So rule 1 is: Sleep little. How long
do I sleep? 3 hours a night.

Here's what you need
to wash yourself.

A touch old-fashioned,
I love the simple things.

Cold water and exercise
are good for you.

I do it every morning.
Naked by the window.

Do likewise.

We have 35 minutes to get
to Professor Sattin's school.

He's a poor painter.
And a hopeless teacher.

But it could help. The boat
is ready. And breakfast too.

You may start breakfast.
I'll come immediately.

Hurry up.

What you see are the windows
of the prison.

Doge Faliero and
the Fornaretto of Venice...

were imprisoned and then
executed there.

That's Cimetta's house... the
first real murder after the war.

Her lover cut her up and threw
the pieces into the canals.

A little dirty, your Venice.

Yes. A humorist said:

"Venice is an old lady
with a bad breath."

A ghost that speaks at night
lives in that palace.

It says strange words
in an unknown language.

Some fauna!

This is a provincial relative.
I wonder if he's talented.

We'll see soon.

Actually, who needs talent today?
Goodbye.

Look at them.
The remnants of a fleeing army.

Stateless vagabonds.

All rebellious Absaloms,
victims of their hair.

-Are you crazy?
-I was joking.

But they are lost.

Spoiled by too much attention
and understanding.

-Well, go ahead.
-Bye Uncle.

Since some of you
are new here...

The others are old pupils.

Here are a few words
for the new ones.

The others are free to listen.

-This will be my third time.
-There will be many more times.

Drawing makes a good painting,
I tell you, not the colour.

If you think colour can hide
a bad drawing,

you're grossly mistaken.

Because the drawing underneath
always shows...

like the tits under a beautiful
girl's blouse.

Has Lucia arrived?
Lucia!

I'm here. I missed my ferry.
I came by motorised gondola.

Is that why you're late?

The gondola ran out
of petrol.

You're really gifted
in telling myths.

This elegant line
from the shoulders to the hip...

Try to draw it
with just one stroke.

With just one stroke.

And here,
don't overdo the shadows.

Your bum's getting rounder.

Is this your first time
in a nude class?

No. I've been many times.

This is my first time.

If you're so experienced,
tell me,

are these nude models actually...
little whores?

What are you saying?
Modelling is serious work.

Some hot coffee
for these nice kids.

Lucia,
can you help me?

Coffee's here.
Just what I needed.

Thanks.

-Sugar?
-Two... Three...

-Two or three?
-Three.

-Are you new here?
-Yes. It's my first day.

-One or two?
-Two.

One.

-Are you reading word puzzles?
-Yes.

Interesting.
Very good.

I don't work them out.
But they still facinate me.

It's the link between
such diverse things...

A king,
a farm and two bulls...

a fisherman casting his net...

a tall girl
next to a grave...

and all those mysterious
letters here and there...

A, Q, M, R...

Poetry...

Surrealism...

At times I think I'd love
to live inside a word puzzle.

Isn't it so? Don't we all
live in a word puzzle?

Dear, you've been inside
all day.

Have a stroll with Annetta
before turning in.

-I can go with you if you like.
-No...

I want to show you my library.

You're right.
A stroll will do me good.

See? The idea of going out
makes her feel better already.

-Have you noticed?
-What?

That every woman
has a special smell.

Men and women, we all have
our own individual smell.

True. But women smell
of vegetables.

Strindberg...

Strindberg said,
women smell celery.

I'd go further.

Some smell of celery,
others, of rosemary...

radish, artichoke,
cabbage...

Because, among all
living creatures,

women are closest to
the vegetable species.

-Don't you think?
-No. Go on.

I really believe that the transition
between animal and vegetable...

is represented by the woman.

Women are the link
that joins the two.

So long both of you,
I'm going on my health stroll.

Can you smell it?
A delicate fragrance of celery.

-Pardon?
-Nothing, dear.

Are you going out like that?

I'm covered. It's not cold.

I think I noticed
a light fog outside.

It denotes dampness.
I don't know if you should...

I'd say no.
You coughed a lot last night.

-Maybe a little.
-No, my dear. A lot.

You'd be asking
for trouble.

You're right.

You'd better stay at home.

I'll read something for you.

Listen. Do you know
what's in here, Tino?

All H�lderlin's poems.

Here's a beautiful one
from his schizophrenic period.

When he thought he was
Scardanelli, the cobbler.

I have enjoyed
the pleasures of life.

The joy of youth
has long gone.

April, May and June
are past. And...

Now I'm nothing.

Life has lost its appeal.

It sounds nicer in German.

Doesn't it sound nicer
in German, dear?

-What are you doing?
-Nothing!

I needed something to drink.
I'm thirsty.

-Don't you know where
the kitchen is? -Yes.

Good night.

Good night, Uncle.

Yes?

-I don't want to impose.
-Come in, Tino.

-What's up?
-Nothing. How's your headache.

It's gone this morning.
Sit down.

Thank you.

-Shouldn't you be at school?
-No. It's an hour later today.

-Do you mind if I smoke?
-No.

Thank you.

Did you sleep well?
Were you cold?

No. I slept very well.
Just that...

Just... what?

-Who plays the piano?
-What piano?

Last night I heard someone
playing... It was...

A tune I seem to know.
It went...

-As if a child were playing it.
-Why a child?

I don't know. Children have
a hesitant way of playing.

Maybe it wasn't a child.

-Who was it?
-Nobody.

Perhaps a neighbour,
from a house nearby.

I don't know which one.

The sea breeze carries in
every voice and noise.

That music comes from outside.
But I don't know from where.

I don't know.

You always say you love me.
Show me then.

Would you kill yourself for me?

Kill myself, no. But I'd injure
myself badly for you.

Hi, Lucia.
Hi.

-No. Please don't...
-Let me get out.

-You look even better dressed.
-Nice of you to say that.

Usually when a boy
meets a girl

he wonders how she
looks like undressed.

-I have already...
-Forget it.

-What's your name?
-Tino Zanetti.

Lucia Pandin.

-Lived in Venice a long time?
-Since birth.

-How old are you?
-Almost 18. And you?

-Nineteen.
-Gee, you're old!

By the way, who was
that bearded man?

-Did you see me?
-Yes, vaguely.

Not so vaguely.
You walked past me twice.

-Did you notice?
-Of course. I'm not blind.

Why didn't you say hello?

-He's jealous.
-Jealous? Why?

Haven't you got it?
He's my lover.

No, you fool!
He's my uncle.

Nice man.
He looks like an artist.

He's an artist in his field.
He's a plumber.

Auntie?

Aunt Elisa?

-Isn't anyone home?
-Just you and me.

-Your uncle's out.
-Is Auntie out too?

Yes. Charity work.
She went to the hospice.

-Where?
-The hospice.

She donates money and clothes
but forgets the poor near her.

Neglecting this poor old woman
who would love to retire.

And enjoy
a nice bottle of wine.

-Care for a coffee?
-Yes.

-Annetta?
-Yes...

Can I ask you a question?
Who lives on top of my room?

What do you care?

Rather think of studying, eating
and have a good time.

Annetta, please,
answer my question.

There's nobody.
Heavens above!

It must have been the rats.
We have plenty of them.

With all the houses in Venice,
how did you end up here?

Think of pretty girls instead.

They'll go crazy
for a guy like you.

Find yourself a girl.

And at night,
you'll serenade her.

Oh, Colombina,
come into my heart...

-Thanks, goodbye.
-Wait. Mr Tino...

If you promise not to say a word
I'll take you up there.

Come along.

-But you mustn't laugh.
-What?

-Speak softly.
-Where are we going?

Sooner or later,
they would have told you.

Someone lives in the room
just above yours. A sick man.

-Who?
-Mr Stolz's brother.

He's gone mad, the poor man.
Come.

Hasn't left his room for years.

He only sees his brother.

You'll see him through
the peep-hole. Don't be afraid.

He's always happy
and makes funny faces...

One day he kept going
like this with his two fingers.

So I played on "2"
in the Venice Lotto.

I won 48.000 lira!

Come.

Look.

-I see nobody.
-Just wait.

We'd better go now.
Shut the peep-hole.

Did you see it?

When he sticks out his tongue
he looks really like a snake.

I wonder what's in his mind.

Did you see how he
can role his tongue?

He's a real pig.

Sometimes he lifts up his robe
to shock me.

I was a nurse in World War I.
I've seen a few.

Imagine if I...

Madam's back.

-It's quite painful, my dear.
-What?

Having him here,
above our heads.

Despite his silence, we know
he exists and thinks.

Maybe he even hates us...

Locked in like an animal...

Can you help me?

Annetta was wrong.
She had no permission.

It's my fault.
I insisted...

You'd have found out anyhow.

But...
what really happened?

I didn't know
Uncle had a brother.

His name's Berto.
He was a science lecturer.

Suddenly one day,
he fell ill.

He lost his mind.

He's a maniac but harmless.

-Is he always up there?
-Always.

So he plays piano at night?

No.

But...
who is it then?

Don't make me talk.
I beg you.

Please.
Don't ask questions.

Are you my friend?

-Promise?
-Of course, Auntie.

Good.

I'm not a curious person,
but those strange noises...

I won't tell Uncle...

The oddest thing is that
Berto doesn't speak any more.

He used to talk a lot and
sing in beautiful tenor.

Not a word now,
not even to his brother.

Your uncle's a saint.

He washes and shaves him
every morning.

He cuts his nails
and makes his bed.

No one's allowed in there.
Only Fabio keeps a key.

-You visit him?
-No.

Fabio would be furious if
he only heard us talking.

Your uncle's a good man.
But he can be quite rude too.

-What are you doing?
-Nothing, just closing it.

Excuse me, Tino.

I thought you were...
Why would you open it?

You've no reason.

-With or without milk?
-A little milk, thank you.

That's enough. Thank you.

See, Tino. We're survivors
of a great empire,

heirs of the Habsburgs.

Our forefathers or fathers
of Venice, Trieste in my case,

all spoke German as their second
language. Goethe's mother tongue.

To think we learn that the
Austrians were all ruthless.

What?

On the contrary, they were
honest and able administrators.

And strict educators too.

Without Italy's unification we'd
still be part of civilised Europe.

-Hans, how are you?
-Very good.

-Good sermon!
-Thank you.

Who's this boy?
I never met him before.

My nephew Tino. He studies
art at the academy.

-A cute boy.
-Thank you.

Thank you.

Great chocolate.

Churches are deserted.

Only cinemas are full.

That's where people
confess today.

-Did you see him?
-Who?

My brother...
The deranged.

-I'm sorry.
-No need to apologise.

Silence is better than lies.

In fact my brother was
a noble soul.

A respected science professor,
mainly occupied with insects.

He devised an interesting theory.

It says God is to be sought below,
not above us.

He meant we were more likely
to find evidence of God...

among the insects.

"Why look to the sky
when thinking of God?

"Let's look down and study
more mysterious forms of life.

"God... is an ant.

"God's a bee. We must
look for God amid the insects."

Once he removed
the crucifix over his bed...

and replaced it with
a photo of a scorpion.

We really got along.
I envied him in a way.

I had opted for a
somewhat dull career.

Gas engineering.

Whereas he...

He had chosen the absolute,
the great mysteries of nature,

an unknown world,
full of wonders.

Don't think he, as a scientist

was a slave of his work,
his research, not at all.

Instead, he lived...
a total commitment.

Especially to love.

He was hardly 20 when
he knew a tragic love for...

Well, I won't go
into the details.

It was an overwhelming love.

For a girl who turned out to be
different from her image.

It left him with
an incurable wound.

And that caused...

Yes. That heartache
was probably the cause.

But there are also ancestral,
familial factors.

Madness is like a ghost creeping
randomly into people's heads.

But sometimes it
skips a generation.

So, one day,
he was grabbed by

an idea, a phobia, a whim...

It's always a whim
that drives us to madness.

He got afraid that his face
would slip off his head,

slide down his chest
to his feet

and vanish on the floor.

-You understand?
-Not really.

A spinechilling obsession.

He took to looking at himself
in the mirror more often

to check whether his nose
or eyes had in fact descended.

With a ruler, every day,

he'd measure the distance
between his nose and hairline.

He was really mad.

But there's reasonable psychological
explanation for his mania.

The fear of seeing
one's face slip off

is nothing but fear
of losing one's identity.

To lose oneself.

Know what that is?
A mental asylum.

Could you imagine to leave
your brother in there?

Forcible restrained to a bed?

Look!

Poor souls!

Only guilty of rejecting common
sense and its rigid rules.

Hello, Minister!
Come and keep me company.

Do you know why
they're locked up?

Like kids, the insane
know the truth.

And people fear the truth.

And since he's in that room
hasn't he seen anybody?

Nobody, except me.

He has his toys,
his things...

He's quite well equipped.

He has even film cameras,
microscopes...

He hates clocks though.
He can't stand their ticking.

My brother came here often
before he...

became a recluse.

He loved this oil tanker,
abandoned here.

He could watch it for hours.

Then suddenly he'd
yell a word.

A name... Eufrasio.

I wonder why?
Eufrasio.

That's how he yelled.
Who knows why?

Until recently his madness
was kind of predictable.

He used to film interesting,
curious things.

There was order,
logic to it.

He was very interested
in spiders, arachnids...

and scorpions...

and in dipteras...

which we, as you don't
know, normally call flies.

Nature can be so cruel.

Very good observation,
and so inventive.

Here is a film
shot a few years later.

He had already lost interest
in living things.

What?
Who included that footage?

I don't know. Not me.

That's enough. Let's eat now.

Tino, the wine please.

-It's your third glass.
-No, engineer, the second.

No, the third.

It's your birthday soon.
Anything you'd like?

Never mind. I'm grown-up,
I don't need presents.

I'll have another sip.

It's enough, dear.

You'll only get red spots
in your face.

A little present
would be nice.

A diligent student deserves it.

It's a shame today's youth has
no more interest in these things.

Here.

You see, Tino... my father gave
me these on my 18th birthday.

American duelling pistols
from 1830. Look.

Such elegant lines.

Nothing's more perfect than arms
and musical instruments.

A pistol in particular,
has a unique

a rational, essential beauty.

Certain objects remind us of
other things. But a pistol...

will only remind us of a pistol.

-Please don't do that.
-Why not?

-Think I could kill you?
-No. -Yes.

You believe I could do it.

We know so little of each other.

The chiropodist has arrived.

Accidents happen to all of us.

Every day someone falls
into the canal.

But not her.
She's as reliable as bad luck.

No need to talk in mysteries.

You're grown up.

-Did you notice that girl?
-Yes.

She's one of those.

She comes every Thursday...
for the professor.

His mind may be sick
but he's still a man.

We have to accept it.

Charity doesn't only mean
alms and kind words.

What that poor woman does
is anything but a pleasure.

And Uncle is present?

Of course. He stays there
the whole time.

He doesn't trust him.
And I can see why.

God only knows
what could happen.

For him, it must be...

Once we thought
we should change.

Your uncle went to find
another woman,

and negotiated with her...

But it was in vain. He wouldn't
accept any other woman.

We trust her. She comes
and goes so discreetly.

Like a nurse.

Nurse, my chin! She's a whore.
Why not say it?

I'll get your uncle to disinfect
himself. He's too polite.

He walks her out
and shakes hands.

This is Vermeer's Sleeping Girl.

Next time I'll go through
its virtues and beauty.

Today we'll discover
something else.

This is a detail of the painting.

Look very carefully.

This isn't a still life
by C�zanne.

Here is an enlargement of it.

Sandokan, come and
lift up these apples.

Hold up the C�zanne.

Aren't they similar?

And isn't this a Burri?
Just like this one.

What did modern artists
invent? Nothing!

-Rascal!
-How dare you?

-I'm leaving, sir.
-Have a nice day.

What I mean, is what
contemporary painters do

has all been done already
by the old masters.

But their paintings room
so much more in addition.

Get the idea, fools?

Especially you, Francesca.
And you, Tino.

Where's that clown?

He plays with toys like a kid.
He shoots short films too.

Films about what?

Insect's life for instance,
ants, spiders...

My uncle showed me a few.

Aren't you afraid of living
with a madman?

I am.
But I also feel sorry for him.

Yesterday, I went to see him
unbeknown to anyone.

-What was he doing?
-Having coffee.

Nothing wrong with that.

He poured it on a plate and
lapped it up. Like a dog.

Disgusting.

But let's move on...
Nice place, is it famous?

People come from all over the world.
Mainly Americans. Artists, writers...

Look. That should be
an American writer.

It's the owner counting
his money.

-It's pricey. Can you pay?
-Of course.

They look like mummies.

Shall we wake them up?

-It won't be easy.
-Let me try.

What's going on?

A Swiss came in, screamed,
and went out again.

Some people!
Venice has become unlivable.

Come in.

-I'm leaving now.
-Alright, Annetta.

You'll be home alone.

All alone?

Well, not really.
You've got him.

-Who's there?
-Me. Lucia.

-I'm so happy to see you.
-What're you doing?

No, it's just... They all left.
I'm home alone.

-With him.
-Him?

-Where're you going?
-I don't want to disturb.

I'm all alone.
How could you disturb?

-Where are you taking me?
-We'll have a drink. Do you want one?

-What brings you here?
-Aren't you glad? -Of course.

-Where is he?
-In the attic.

-Can I see him?
-Do you really want to? -Yes.

-Yes... I do.
-Let's go, then.

What a sitting room!
Your relatives must be wealthy.

Okay. Little Red Riding Hood
meats Big Bad Wolf. Come on.

-This way.
-After you.

Watch your step.

Come.

-You're afraid? -No, but...
-I'm here. Come along.

Careful. He might hear you.

I can't see him.

-Oh, it's you.
-Let me see.

What a fright!

My heart's pounding.

-Yes... -Can you feel it?
-I sure can.

And what's that?

Look!

Pretty, isn't it?
What's this?

Cute...

You're Lelio,
and I'm Rosaura.

Oh Signorina Rosaura, you're so lovely.
Give me a kiss.

-What? I'm a decent girl.
-And I am a decent boy.

I'll give you my heart and my
father's estate when he dies.

Forget it. I'm already engaged
to Fabrizio, the servant.

Then let me be your lover.

-Are you hurt?
-No.

I've never been in here before.

-Quite pretty.
-Yes.

-Who was that girl?
-A school friend.

We weren't doing anything bad.
We came in here by chance...

There's something new
in the sun today.

Or in fact, ancient.

How mean! He may not
speak to me like that.

I swear I'll never let him
talk to me like that again.

I've asked Jesus to forgive me.

-Let's go, Gino.
-Where are you going?

-To a lecture.
-Aren't you saying goodbye?

Yes, Auntie.

-Is it serious if you're late?
-No, I can even skip it.

Are you ill?
Anything I can do?

No. I'm better now.

Sit with this poor patient.

God, I've changed.

My face... my eyes...
everything's so grey.

I'm starting to decay.

I'm discovering that years
are like an eraser.

A light and invisible eraser.

It slowly goes over our eyes,
nose, mouth...

Making everything blurred,
confused...

I can feel it going over my face
time and time again.

-You're partly to blame too.
-Me?

Yes.

You woke up some things
I wanted to forget.

You've made me think...
recollect...

Those memories hurt.

-I didn't mean to hurt you.
-No. You did the right thing.

With your thirst
for knowledge...

I know I'd better keep quiet,

and stop wandering at night.

I've apologised to Uncle.
Excuse me please, you too.

Open the first drawer and take
out the box. Bring it to me.

Here it is. Look.
My little one.

-This must be... -Beba.
-Your daughter?

Yes. My daughter.
From my first marriage.

When I met your uncle I was a
widow with a 10-year-old child.

A sweet, gentle
and sensitive girl.

She loved music
and dance.

I can still see her
in her tutu,

a pretty little ballerina.

She loved Fabio.
And he loved her...

like his own daughter.

Then Fabio had to leave
on business for two months.

At that time his brother
came to visit us.

He returned from a long trip.

He was already ill.

He fell for the little girl.

Understandably.
He was lonely, unhappy.

Beba was sweet, radiant...
full of life.

She covered him
with caresses, kisses...

In a very innocent
way naturally...

very innocent.

But the professor was
no innocent man.

The girl's slender arms
around his neck...

her never-ending kisses
on his forehead, his cheeks...

on his lips at times...

the presence of her body,
her hair, blonde and glittering...

awoke a violent passion in him.

Or even love,
if we want to call it that.

The poor girl was upset...
shocked.

I saw her cry more than once.
He'd told her everything.

He begged her for love
as if she was a grown-up...

a woman able to understand.

He'd send her flowers

buy her dresses...
bracelets...

bracelets
for her slim wrist.

He charmed her.

He fascinated her
with his weird stories...

his stories of anguish...

told in low voice while he
stared her in the eyes.

Once the child was
totally besotted by him,

he grabbed her and kissed her
desperately... passionately.

But why didn't you stop him?

You didn't do anything?
Speak to him?

I knew nothing.
I found out much later.

You said you saw her cry.

But I didn't know why.
I swear, Tino.

One day he suddenly became
violent... agressive.

The child was frightened.
I was out.

Crying, she ran
towards the canal.

When they fished her out
she was dead.

And he has locked himself
away since...

A prisoner...

A prisoner of his own remorse.

Can you hear him?

He can't rest.

He never sleeps.

He hasn't found peace.
Never more.

What means horehound?

-Not during the recitative!
-Pardon

Always when I listen
to the music.

You always ruin the mood.

It's you who ruins the mood.
I'm quiet.

It's enough now.
The concert's over.

-So, what was it about?
-Never mind.

You can't pull back now.

I've to teach you.
Instruct you.

-Well? What was it?
-Horehound, I think.

We don't need a dictionary
for that.

Horehound is a plant
with small white flowers.

Of the labiates family.

Satisfied?

It's amazing how insensitive
women are

to everything spiritual.

Your aunt, for instance,
who's not so silly after all.

But... she loves holding
a book in her hands,

flicking through it,
reading here and there...

But it's only empirical reading.

Empirism...
It's not true culture.

Sorry, but I'm reading.

Want and example?

When she takes a book she never
puts it back in the right place.

Better as if she wouldn't
put it back at all.

But no.
Tidiness doesn't bother me.

The fact is, the poor woman
still hasn't grasped the idea

that some writers
find it painful

to be found next to each other.

Recently she took out Ulysses,
which is bitter, difficult reading.

So she decided to return it.

Know where she put it back?

Next to Goethe's works.

How can anyone put those two
side by side? Joyce and Goethe!

The classical, sublimine Goethe!

Joyce can only detest Goethe.
And vice versa.

Where does Joyce belong?

Next to the great
charlatans of language..

and literature.
Next to Rabelais,

Teofilo Folengo, Gadda,
Folengo, Celine...

Only a stupid woman

can try to reunite
Joyce and Goethe.

Good night, Tino. You'll spend
a nice evening. Have a nice time.

Oh well, our little tyrant
is ironic?

You don't like being
called stupid?

But you are.

You drive me crazy.
Stop torturing me!

-I'll kill myself!
-You want to kill youself?

You've been dead for years.
You're a corpse.

And I am rotting away
next to a corpse.

Like in Middle Ages, when they
tied people to a corpse.

Yes, it's a torture.
But the corpse is you.

Do you know why
I married her?

One day I didn't know
what to say to her...

So I told her I loved her.

Poor woman...

She's been a nervous wreck,
ever since.

-She told you, didn't she?
-No.

The way you answer
lets me understand "yes".

It's one of her delusions...

She frees herself from guilt
by blaming others.

Like my poor brother, who's
innocent like a child.

I must be frank with you.
You know too much now.

You see...
young Beba...

my wife's child
from her first marriage

was a nice child,
without any malice.

She was attached to me,
like to a real father.

Suddenly, Elise...

was overcome by unfounded
jealousy towards her.

She was jealous of our hugs,
our caresses...

I could tell from the suspicious
way she looked at us.

Yes...

Elisa came to hate
little Beba.

-She caused her death.
-What are you saying?

Yes...

Yes, Beba fell ill...

A pulmonary bronchitis.
Nothing serious,

if she'd been treated properly
and if she'd taken right medication.

But Elisa neglected all that.

She even forgot the injections.

And so...

Beba got worse.

We couldn't save her.

But what you say is terrible.
I don't believe you. How a mother...

Beba died because of Elisa.

And she lies there...
in our family vault.

Where I wanted her buried.

And I hope to join her soon.

What do you believe?

I don't know. But my uncle lied,
or my aunt. One of them.

Listen Tino.
You'll never know the truth.

-Besides, who cares?
-You're right.

But I can't just
ignore this story.

Really! The cause of death
won't be written on the grave.

There is something amiss.
My aunt's still very young.

When was Beba born?
When did she die?

Let's have a look.

It must be over there.

Strange...

There's no Beba.

It's a nickname. Means doll
in Serbian. Didn't you know?

No, I didn't know.

Who is that? Barbara Stolz,
1920 -1968.

Impossible.
She died at 48.

She's not here.
What's that empty stone?

Do you know where
the Gas Company is?

Of course. I'm from Venice.
Third bridge to the left.

You scared all
my fishes away, idiot!

-We don't have a Mr Stolz.
-My uncle. He works here.

Not to my knowledge. Augusto,
do you know a Mr Stolz?

Stolz?
I don't remember him.

I've never heard the name.
No, never.

Oh yes, of course!
Engineer Stolz! Ah yes!

A great man...
quite handsome too.

I thought he was dead.
He worked here years ago.

Maybe 12, or 15 years ago.
You see, he isn't here.

-Happy birthday, Master Tino.
-Thank you.

Blow.

This is my present,
Vermouth.

-This is from me.
-Thank you.

With my best wishes.
Buy what you like.

-Thank you, everyone.
You shouldn't have.

Mind you, presents also
please the donor.

This morning I went
to see your office.

Well done, Tino.

-What were you talking about?
-Nothing.

Tino and I are going out
together tonight.

So much studying calls
for a break.

But it's so cold.

It's not cold. Besides,
we'll be in a heated Caf�.

Perhaps Tino prefers...

Who decides? You or him?

Don't you want to let him
make up his own mind?

He's old enough.

Careful.

What are you doing?

Give it to me.

An additional toast
to your birthday.

A plum liqueur,
an excellent stimulant.

It warms.
Outside it's cold.

Frankly, it's quite cold
inside too.

It's so boring this room.

Well...
You said this morning, at noon?

I bet that dreadful gas building
hasn't changed much.

Dark, grey...

a grey like muddy water.

But inside, it's a beehive.

You have no idea
of its many stairs,

corridors, offices,
like a rabbit burrow.

Is the caretaker Augusto still there?
Elderly, thin, with a red nose.

There is an old man, yes.

You won't believe it, but I feel
that certain words such as...

gas, yes, gas
seem ridiculous.

Simple words are already funny,
such as "engineer"

or even better...
"surveyor".

"Expert"...

But monosyllables like "gas"...
are really truncated words.

Foot, foot, foot,
footer...

Do you hear the sound?
"Foot, foot, foot"!

Like suffered, wounded,
died, loved, died...

Died, died!
Irresistible!

One of these days...

I'll show you my collection
of dictionaries...

22 of them.

Excuse me. If I had known...

No, I beg you.
Don't justify yourself.

No excuses or justifications.
Not at all.

Remember Homer's words instead...

''Be calm, my heart.
You've suffered far worse.''

-Why are you staring at me?
-No reason.

-Are you afraid of me?
-No.

You don't need to fear me.

I'm only fond of you.

Let's go,
have a talk in the caf�.

That's the girl!

Is it good?

-Yes.
-I'm glad to hear.

I also love Cannoli.

Those little logs,
how about them?

-I really shouldn't, sir.
-Come on...

-Is it good?
-It's good.

Give it to me, then.

Come.

I'm not crazy about sweets
but I love the game.

And that Daniela, she's
so sweet and friendly...

My dear Fabio...

Always so handsome.

Tino, in front of you sits

a real Duke.

This must be your nephew.

I've heard...

My nephew, yes.

He wanted to visit me at work today...

At the gas company.

How incredibly smart!

What can I say?

Blessed youth.
Blessed innocence...

Sorry, forgive me.

The Duke and I
are very old friends.

His presence helps me speak.

The fact is
I don't have a work.

I haven't worked
for 15 years.

So I live on the capital...
my wife's capital.

Yes.

What a tattle.
This isn't my business.

Excuse me please.

Don't you move.

I can't explain everything.
It would take years.

Tell me,
why should I work?

Why? For whom?

I don't have a reason,
a child...

Do you find me indecent?

I'll be right back.

I won't forgive him.

But don't think badly of him.

Someone who does what he did...

for his poor brother...

Buried alive...
A life in misery.

-Is there a train tonight? -At 1:00.
After roulette which starts 23:00.

It's 22:45.
You'd better hurry up.

It's drizzling.

-I can't guess your age, son.
-Nineteen.

Nineteen!
No occultism, please Fabio.

Come on. Let's go, Tino.

-Hurry up. It's late.
-Ah, Fabio!

-Where're we going?
-To Venice. The Venice you don't know.

I'm so glad to see you.

-Hello, my doll!
-Who is this young man?

This is my nephew.
Come on in.

Sir, you can't enter without
a tie. That's better.

-A little cognac?
-Yes. Give me the bottle.

Four, black, even.

-You've got the money?
-That from my aunt.

If you have it, get it out
of your pocket. Quick!

Here...

Orphans. 10 on orphans.

Six...
six and nine, split.

Christ!

-Aren't you playing?
-Yes, I am.

Nineteen, red and odd.

-You bring bad luck.
-Nineteen...

-Is that you?
-Yes.

You won and you say I did?

The 19 here.
Bravo. Sit down.

Good.

No!
I'll take this.

This allows me to go on.

Shut up or I'll eat you.
You know that I eat children?

They must have told you.

Let's play on odd numbers.
1, 3, 5, 7, 9...

1, please.
3, 5, 7, 9...

E, U, A, I, O.
Eufrasio!

You know why my brother
said that word?

Because it contains all the
five vowels. E, U, A, I, O.

Seventeen, nineteen,
twenty-one...

Twenty, black, even.

The train is leaving.

Come. Lets go.

-May I pay later? -Yes.
-Let me touch your bum.

Go ahead, make the bat!
Do the bat! Fly, fly!

And now we'll wait for
the casino survivors.

Your uncle gambles away
his last money with them.

-We should go home, Uncle.
-Yes, of course. Home...

Let's go home.

Duke, I'm taking
the boy home.

Wait here.
I'll be right back.

-Let's go.
-I'll go alone.

Listen to that...
Okay, go ahead.

Just go alone.

But don't fall into a canal.

No. I'll wait here.

Are you crazy?

I'm going... I'm staying...
I give the orders here.

I command you to go.
Off with you!

You're not well.
Let's go home.

Don't touch me, fool.

Don't look like a seminarian.

Go home. Get lost!

Good night.

They're coming.

I have a royal flush!

-Duke, I have a royal flush!
-Bravo!

What are you doing here?

Nothing.

You've paid a visit
to the forbidden room, right?

May I offer you something?

A chocolate?

They are good.

They are delicious.

Listen. Listen.
Listen to the cicadas!

It's like a violin in...

In my brain.
Just listen...

Can you hear the bow,
how it...

how it sweeps and screeches...

cutting...

Like a circular saw.
A circular saw.

What's up?
Do I scare you?

I don't want to scare you.

You're afraid of your poor...

Your poor uncle,

half wise, half insane...

Half engineer
and half professor...

Like two sides...
of a mirror...

A light side...
and dark side.

Tino, aren't we...?

Aren't we all like that?
Are you scared?

You're really scared.

You think of poor Beba...

You think I killed her.
You see me as a...

You see me as a murderer.

-You haven't killed anyone.
-Why? -Beba isn't dead.

Isn't she?
Where is she then?

Perhaps she's sick.
She might be in...

a clinic.

-Or...
-Or?

-Or she's hiding in here.
-That's right.

You found it out.

Why couldn't she be right here?

And you're here looking for her.
Right?

Of course.

But she's not here.
She's not in this room.

But... wait...

Wait...
Maybe she's in another room.

Beba!

She can't hear.
Let's try louder.

Call her, Tino.

-I'm leaving.
-No, no!

No...
You can't leave now.

Now...

This is the time.
Do you understand?

Consumatum est.

Come here.

Can you hear her?
She's coming up.

She's here.

Come closer.
Don't be afraid.

Come closer.

You shouldn't have...
You shouldn't have told him.

Your tutu, Beba...

And your dancing shoes.

-I can't wear them any more.
-Why not?

They don't fit any more.
I'm grown up now.

I beg you, try them.

You know it's impossible, Fabio!

It's absurd... totally absurd.

Beba, then it is...

I loved her when
she was a child...

when she was innocent.
Because youth is innocent.

I wanted to make her
stay young for ever.

But everything decays,
gets spoiled.

She grew up...

changed...

and killed my little girl.

The little girl I loved.

Should I send a message to Mr Sattin?

No, I will write to him. I guess
he understood I'm not a painter.

Too bad.
Painters earn a good living.

The gifted ones, yes.
A blank canvas is 3000 lire.

My paintings aren't
even worth that.

-Where are you going?
-Back home.

-Bye. Write to me.
-What's your address?

-What?
-Your address?

Original subtitles
of unknown origin

Revision & Timing:
TheHugeAnimalFromTheNorth