Original subtitles

SERLING: Starring tonight:

Edward G. Robinson,

Zsa Zsa Gabor,

Yaphet Kotto,

Tony Roberts,

and Arthur O'Connell.

Good evening.

Of course, you're all here by invitation.

But don't let it disturb you if these paintings per se

don't happen to be your thing.

These are rather special paintings,

the kind of hangings generally put up with a noose.

This painting, for example, is of a rather special world,

what has become perpetuated in the language as the ghetto.

That dismal realm of pushcarts and poverty

where hopes are stamped down like dirty shoes on snow.

Death is a commonplace visitor to these somber alleys.

But occasionally someone else visits.

Our painting is called The Messiah on Mott Street.

And this place, should you not already know it,

is the Night Gallery.

No?

I don't like the pulse, Mr. Goldman.

I don't much like it either.

And this place is like a refrigerator.

Come in July. Then it's a Turkish bath.

Mr. Goldman, I've got to be blunt with you.

Be blunt like your father was, God rest his soul.

Now there was a blunt man.

You know, if the devil himself came up to your father

and asked him, "Jake, how do I look?"

Your father, God rest his soul,

would say, "Lousy."

Did I ever tell you

how your father and I spent our boyhood together

in the old country?

Frequently, Mr. Goldman.

How you lived in the same village.

How you came over here on the same boat

with your brother Sam.

Oh, my brother Sam. Yeah. I got a letter from him.

You know he...

He owns a thousand acres in a place called

Imperial Valley in California.

Well, here. Let me read you what he has to say.

"Dear brother Abe,

"Good news.

"I am gradually selling off much of my land.

"Very shortly, I will close a million-dollar deal

"and I will immediately send you the money I owe you."

A goniff that guy. A thief.

I hate to say that about my own brother,

but larceny and my brother Sam

go together like borscht and beets.

He knows the tough times I'm going through now,

and blood is thicker than water,

so any day I'll be receiving a check.

Mr. Goldman, finances at the moment

are only part of the problem.

I'm not going to minimize the seriousness of this.

You're very close to pneumonia.

There are also pulmonary complications

due to your former tubercular condition.

I've got to recommend hospitalization.

I think that's not only essential,

at the moment, it's urgent.

Hospitalization?

You should excuse me, Doctor,

but from this room I do not walk.

From this room you may not be able to walk.

Another few days lying here,

you may be carried out feet first,

and you may not be breathing at the time.

You want blunt, Mr. Goldman? That's blunt.

And my grandson? Nine years old, my Mikey is.

His parents, God rest their souls,

both gone.

That boy is my responsibility.

I told you two weeks ago

I'd already discussed this with the Bureau of Child Welfare.

You're in no condition now to look after the boy.

He can be put in a foster home.

He'll be fed and clothed...

And loved? Will he be loved?

I don't give him much.

Rummage sale clothes

and steerage-class apartment like this,

but here he has a grandpa.

Here he has somebody who loves him.

That's all well and good, Mr. Goldman,

but when the Bureau of Child Welfare,

not to mention the Department of Social Services...

Doctor,

a message to the Department of Social Services

and the Bureau of Child Welfare

and the Commissioner of Public Works

and the Mayor,

he should live and be well, from Goldman.

Subject: His grandson, Mikey.

Message as follows.

Tell them that he is not giving up his grandson.

You can tell that to everybody!

Yeah.

What about the Angel of Death, Mr. Goldman?

What do I tell him?

The Angel of Death?

Is he close by?

He's outside, Mr. Goldman.

That close?

Well, a message to the Angel of Death.

Tell him I'll spit in his eye!

Mikey is all I've got and I am all that he has.

Everything will turn out all right.

I'll get money from my brother,

I'll be back on my feet again in a few days,

and the Messiah will come to Mott Street!

Keep an eye out for him.

Oh, excuse me,

does an Abraham Goldman live here?

With a vengeance.

I'm Miss Moretti, Bureau of Public Assistance.

Are you a relative?

I'm Mr. Goldman's physician.

What do I look like, a plumber?

Forgive me, Doctor, it's just that...

Well, we don't often find physicians

making house calls nowadays.

Especially in relief cases.

In the interests of survival, Miss Moretti,

when you talk to Mr. Goldman,

don't refer to him as a relief case.

He has very precious little, but he's got pride.

I see.

No, you don't. But you will.

Seventy-seven years old, both lungs tubercular scarred,

and a pulse that varies from a gallop to a slow crawl.

But if you try and take anything away from him,

you better duck.

He'll be out of that bed Indian wrestling with you.

I understand there's a grandson involved.

That's what belongs to him.

The child obviously can't stay here.

And I gather the old man's condition is quite serious.

Today it's serious, tomorrow it's critical.

They've been getting a $121 a month, plus rent.

And he has great expectations.

A Messiah and his brother Sam.

Oh, yes, the brother.

The other caseworker mentioned him in her report.

A million-dollar lettuce grower in California.

You mean, he's really...

I mean, he's really in an old men's home in Santa Monica,

suffering from hardening of the arteries and delusions.

Broke?

So much for his brother Sam. That leaves us the Messiah.

I'll drop in again tomorrow.

In the meantime, I'd appreciate it, Miss Moretti,

if you didn't make any decisions about the boy.

We can't let this situation go on indefinitely.

Agreed. But the old man is living on borrowed time.

Borrowed from where, I don't know.

As of the moment, you take that child away,

that's when we can go out and look for 10 mourners.

It's still cold out?

Mmm. And I think it's going to snow.

Just right for the Yuletide season.

And should I not see you, a Merry Christmas, Miss Moretti.

Happy Hanukkah, Doctor.

Happy Hanukkah.

God bless us, every one.

God help you, Mr. Goldman.

Well, now,

what culinary masterpieces have you whipped up tonight, chef?

Tomato soup.

Tomato soup.

And what did you have?

Tomato soup.

Well look, Mikey, you know, for me,

tomato soup is a delight,

since only my gums belong to me.

The ill-fitting teeth, the product of a sadistic dentist,

who must have originally made them for a man with a much smaller mouth.

But for you, you know, you got to eat more than this.

I had milk, too.

How was school today?

Did you know that a guy named León

tried to find the Fountain of Youth?

Ponce de León. Yeah, he was an Italian man.

But, unfortunately, he came up empty-handed.

Mikey,

no such thing as the Fountain of Youth.

If there were,

I'd have taken the subway long ago to get to it.

You not old, Grandpa.

Not very old.

No. Not very.

Well, comparatively speaking.

Yes, compared to the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem

and the Leaning Tower of Pisa,

I'm what you might call a sprightly youth.

Do they sell pizza at the Leaning Tower?

Pisa is a place. Pizza is food.

And you, Mikey, you're a prize.

You know, you ask so many questions,

pretty soon you'll be a very wise man.

Like you. Like me?

Unfortunately, your grandpa is not very wise.

If he were,

he would never have lent all that money to his brother Sam

when they were young.

Well, though it appears

that the Messiah is already acting.

Who's the Messiah?

Who's the Messiah?

He's the messenger from God.

Any moment he will appear,

looming big and black against the sky,

striking down our enemies,

and lifting us up to health and wealth and heavenly contentment.

And he'll fix our digestions, too.

He'll supply me with a new set of teeth.

And very likely he'll install us in a palace.

Will he bring ice cream?

Oh, tons.

Toys?

Carloads. Freight trains full.

What else?

What else do you want?

Will he bring the Giants back to New York?

Not only that, he'll throw out the first ball.

Here, thank you. I've had enough. Thank you.

Grandpa, you didn't eat no bread and butter.

You didn't have no nothing.

Well, yeah, before I go to bed. Later on, you know.

Then maybe... Then I'll have you fix me some tea,

and I'll have some bread and butter.

Mikey,

you know, you are my solace,

you're my prize.

You're the dearest thing on God's earth to me.

Did you know that?

Me, too.

You okay, Grandpa? You're coughing much worse.

Yes, well,

with the coming of the Messiah, I'll cough much better.

Now close the door, Mikey. I'll take a little sleep.

Mikey.

Yeah?

Leave something behind for me.

What, Grandpa?

A smile.

Who is it?

Who's in here?

I know who it is.

I know who it is, I tell you.

I have a message for you, you snuffer out of candles,

you wholesaler in the corpse business. I know who you are!

And, to your unseen face, I tell you,

I am not ready for the Angel of Death. You, I'm not ready for!

Take that back to the cemetery!

Goldman is not ready.

No. My pulse still beats,

my eyes still see, the flesh still warm,

and my heart,

you mamzer from a mausoleum,

my heart still loves!

What? Peace you offer me?

You can have that peace. The peace of the grave.

No, no, thank you.

Rest? No cares?

Well, I'll take the cares

and the woes and the aggravation and the anguish, yes, and the pain!

Listen, Angel!

Go down to Argentina and look for Hitler.

Goldman is not ready!

My child is out there.

The son of my son, the thing I love.

Will I be able to caress him and fondle him and love him lying in a box?

What's the matter, Grandpa?

Who's that, Grandpa?

You saw him?

Something... It looked like...

I don't know, a shadow?

And I thought you were smart. A regular Einstein.

You don't know who it was?

Come here to Grandpa. Come here.

That, Mikey, that was the Messiah.

The Messiah? In here?

In here.

What did he want?

Well, strictly to deliver me a message.

What, Grandpa? What was the message?

He just wanted me to tell you that very shortly he'll arrive here.

On Mott Street?

His first stop. Right here on Mott Street.

He wanted to arrange with me a warehouse

for all of your toys and the ice cream.

Grandpa, are you kidding?

Now would I be kidding about a thing like that?

Grandpa.

Yes?

If he comes again, the Messiah,

can you give him a message?

Verbatim. What's the communiqué?

Tell him not to worry about the ice cream or the toys,

but just to make you well.

That's the most important thing, Grandpa, to make you well.

Mikey, I already told him that.

I told him that we were a team.

Goldman and Goldman.

That we were inseparable, just like Solomon and David.

Like Damon and Phintias.

Like hot dogs and mustard.

That's right.

Do you want your tea now?

No.

Maybe later on. I'll try for that nap again.

You call me if you need me, Grandpa.

Mr. Messiah?

Mr. Messiah? Can you hear me?

Could I talk to you for a minute?

Yeah. Merry Christmas.

Excuse me. Excuse me.

Huh? You aren't the Messiah, are you?

Who? The Messiah.

Me? Listen, buddy boy,

let me tell you something. You're working the wrong street.

Why, if the Messiah was to come down here,

he'd get mugged in 10 minutes.

He's been here already. I seen him.

Oh, you know him to see him, huh?

You don't even recognize Santa Claus.

That's me, Santa Claus.

Don't you even recognize Santa Claus?

I'm Jewish.

Santa Claus, the Messiah, what's the difference?

From here to the river, it's half soup kitchen and half saloon,

and you're looking for the Messiah down here?

Let me tell you something, buddy boy.

Either go uptown or go home.

I can't. My Grandpa's sick. I have to find the Messiah.

Repent! Repent, you sinners!

The day of reckoning is come!

Repent! Repent, sinners!

The day has come! Repent, you sinners!

Are you the Messiah?

I am he.

I'm glad I found you. My Grandpa's sick.

Of course. And soon to die.

Born of iniquity.

Steeped in sin and soon to die!

You tell him to get ready, boy.

Tell him to get prepared

because tonight, Sodom goes, and Gomorrah, and the whole world,

struck down in the righteous wrath of...

Not my Grandpa!

Wiped out, boy! Decimated!

The wages of evil paid at last.

You're not the Messiah!

I am the Messiah!

And your grandpa is doomed and you are doomed and...

Take it a block away and stop scaring little kids, would you?

Go on.

He's the messenger from God.

At any minute he will appear,

looming big and black against the sky,

striking down our enemies.

Mr. Messiah, I've sure been looking for you.

What's your problem, little son?

Grandpa's sick,

and you don't have to bring all the ice cream and toys.

At least, not now.

But Grandpa's sick, and they're talking about taking him away.

And if they do, there's this lady from the Relief

that's going to send me to some kind of foster home.

But if you come on over and cure Grandpa,

then him and me could be a team like Damon and...

Damon and...

Like hot dogs and mustard.

Well, does Grandpa have a doctor?

A real good doctor, Dr. Levine.

But Grandpa needs more than a doctor now.

He needs you. He needs the Messiah.

Look, what makes you think I'm the Messiah?

Because you're big and black and you loom.

Come on, Mr. Messiah. I'll show you where we live.

But you know where we live. You were there already.

I was?

Just a little while ago. I seen your shadow.

First I was scared, I didn't know what it was.

But Grandpa told me it was only you.

How is he?

Still breathing, that's about it.

They gonna need an ambulance?

Well, the doctor's up there now. He said the old man can't be moved.

Grandpa!

Easy, Mikey. Your grandpa's asleep.

Can I see him?

Well, after a little while maybe.

Oh, that's the Messiah.

The Messiah? Yeah.

Mikey, you... You put on your pajamas and get ready for bed.

Then can I see Grandpa?

Well, maybe.

What brings you?

An act of God, I think.

I came back to look in on you.

You were unconscious and barely breathing.

Where's Mikey?

He's getting ready for bed.

And in that room, that's a hallucination

or somebody from the funeral home?

According to Mikey, that's the Messiah.

The Messiah.

Fetch Mickey.

Looks like he didn't do so bad.

He could've brought an Evangelist

and I'd be sitting up all night arguing with him.

I'll go get Mikey.

No, no, please.

Just tell him I'm still sleeping.

He wants to see you.

Alive, he wants to see me.

Alive is how I want him to remember me.

The Angel of Death was here.

Mr. Goldman...

No, no. He was here.

He came here earlier and then he came again.

He left me a message.

Tell me.

He said he would be back at midnight.

So what's to do?

That Messiah out there has got his work cut out for him.

Look, Mr. Goldman...

Please. Please. My best friend's son, the doctor,

look, I don't tell you how to make visits

or how to make heart transplants,

so don't you tell me who beckons to me in shroud.

Seventy-seven years I'm on this earth.

Seventy-seven.

That's how long it takes to find out a little bit about what life is all about.

Then one day you turn around and what good is all this wisdom?

All that's left is the laying out, the casket,

the minyan,

the condensed eulogy by an assistant Rabbi I never met,

and you get buried with all your wisdom.

Three more years I wanted.

I don't know, maybe more, just for Mikey's sake.

But no.

Death is in a hurry, Doctor. It can't wait.

Hurry up with the shovel.

Hurry up with the ice-cold fingers.

So you're the Messiah, huh?

Does the Messiah have a name?

They call me Buckner.

Buckner.

All right, Mr. Buckner,

if you have any special messianic powers, I wish you'd trot them out.

I could use a miracle.

Is he bad off?

He says the Angel of Death is due at midnight.

Who am I to argue?

Do you believe in the Angel of Death?

Levine the doctor dabbles only in the sciences.

But Levine, the son of Jacob Levine,

the well-known student of Levitical folklore,

yes, he believes in the Angel of Death

and the Messiah and miracles, too.

Very quietly, Mikey. He's asleep.

Just kiss him goodnight and try not to wake him.

You don't have to be worried, Doctor.

The Messiah will handle everything.

Damned drafty tenements.

Was it just the wind?

Well, what else could it be?

Well, the old man is expecting someone.

Yeah.

The old man's expecting someone.

He's asleep but he... He looks so sick, so pale.

Mikey, come over to me.

Now, I'm going to talk to you now

just as if you were a grown-up, understand?

Your Grandpa is very sick,

and there's not much anyone can do.

But the Messiah...

Mickey, your friend, Mr. Buckner, is a very nice guy,

but he's not the Messiah.

Yes, he is. No, Mikey. He isn't...

Tell him! Tell him you're the Messiah!

Grandpa!

Mikey!

Leave the boy be, Doctor. There's nothing you can do.

Anybody ever tell you you make a lousy Messiah?

Forgive me, Mr. Buckner.

That's the problem with all ghetto dwellers

and former ghetto dwellers, of which I am one.

We're mystics and believers and children

to our dying day.

And that applies to ancient doomed men,

ineffectual doctors, and nine-year-old boys.

A triumvirate of desperate losers

who share this illusion that God favors the tenements.

Doctor,

I had a nightmare like you can't believe.

I was telling Mikey.

A grandfather of a nightmare, a dean.

And what a cast of characters.

Shakespeare himself couldn't create them.

The Angel of Death, the Messiah.

You and Mikey were there and

somebody in the living room.

There wasn't anybody in the living room, was there?

I don't...

Don't recall anyone. Was there?

I remember going out to find the Messiah.

But I guess I didn't find him. At least...

It's as if part of my memory had been cut away.

The important thing, Mr. Goldman,

is that we seem to have licked this crisis.

Mmm.

Pulse is regular.

Strong. Yeah? Good.

Respiration is good.

I'm either a miracle worker or you're one miraculous patient.

Where do you think you're going?

I'm going to go and fix us some hot tea.

No, no, no.

In the first place, you're not to get out of bed.

And in the second place, Mikey should be asleep.

And in the third place, I need something stronger than tea.

You call me tomorrow if you need me, Mr. Goldman.

It's today! It's Christmas!

It's kind of the season for miracles, I guess.

Oh, Doctor?

I must owe you a lot of money.

Don't sweat it, Mr. Goldman.

You're a living, breathing, healthy testimonial

to my professional know-how.

At least, that's how I'm gonna tout you.

No. No, no, no.

I have a letter here from my brother Sam.

Or maybe I read it to you already.

Well, he owes me considerable money.

So any minute I expect now a sizable check.

He's selling some land in California.

I don't mind waiting, Mr. Goldman.

You know, this is a game I'm playing, really.

Squeezing celery tonic from a boulder is easier

than getting money from my brother Sam.

It would take the Messiah himself to do it.

I'll get it!

Does a Mr. Abraham Goldman live here?

That's right.

Special delivery. Sign here, son.

Thank you. Thank you.

Merry Christmas.

And a Happy Hanukkah to you.

Hey! It's a letter from California, Grandpa.

Well, let me read it.

"My Dear Brother Abe, people thought I was crazy,

"but I did have land and I just sold it.

"I'm enclosing a certified check

"in the amount of $10,000, which is what I owed you."

Next time, I'll run down to the stone quarry

and get me some celery tonic.

Mikey,

what did I tell you about the Messiah, hmm?

Grandpa!

You call me if you need me, Mr. Goldman.

Happy Hanukkah.

Merry Christmas.

Don't overdo.

You just delivered some holiday gift upstairs.

Did it please?

It pleased all right.

Dear God, how it pleased!

Every now and then, God remembers the tenements.

Yeah.

How right you are. Happy holidays to you.

And to you and yours. And to the whole earth.

To the whole earth.

We... All of us have a kind of fascination for mirrors.

There's a most appealing mystery

to what is on the other side of the looking glass.

And, occasionally, we turn into Alice.

Our last selection in tonight's gallery, a very special-looking glass,

and it's called The Painted Mirror.

Louder, Mr. Pittman. Louder.

Louder, Mrs. Moore?

Yes, Mr. Standish.

Loud, clear and business-like.

Surely, Mrs. Chase, you've seen those before.

Maybe not here, but the time, they are a-changing.

Ellen, my dear. You do look lovely.

I just don't walk through those things.

Of course not. And why should you?

Ah.

What in the world do you have here?

Frank, where's my clock I sold you?

Your clock didn't work, Mrs. Chase.

But I managed to utilize it.

I'm sorry, Ellen, but there were things I had to give up

in exchange for utilizing Mrs. Moore's partnership.

And money.

I'm teaching Mr. Standish to utilize things a little bit more practically.

Ellen, have some tea with me?

In your bachelor's boudoir?

Do you want to sell your cart, Mrs. Chase?

I'll give you a dollar for it.

Ah, Ellen,

the world was beautiful and romantic once, wasn't it?

Well, I'd hate to sell that picture.

You know, Teddy and I had lots of

those Maxwell Parishes in our first apartment.

That was over on Elm Street.

Of course, it's North Main now.

Well, there aren't any elm trees left anyhow.

I always thought the soldiers brought that blight back with them

from Germany after the First War, mmm?

The mirror, why did you paint it over?

It's been like that in the attic ever since I can remember.

Now, Frank,

if you can't clean it, maybe you could sell the frame, hmm?

I'll leave them both here on consignment of course.

Oh, I don't think that would be right

not to give you some money on them.

Would 10 be enough?

Oh...

I'd put you up for sainthood myself

if I thought I was in better standing.

Frank...

Mrs. Moore.

Mrs. Moore!

Don't you ever do that to me again.

Mrs. Moore, lend me 10.

Ten dollars?

Did Mrs. Chase bring something worth $10?

We are not referring to this?

A delightful frame.

And an excellent mirror beneath that paint no doubt.

I have collectors, people who love beauty.

One phone call...

Maybe 10 years ago, but not now.

Not in this part of town.

A dollar for your cart?

A dollar fifty?

A dollar.

You are supposed to find new quarters, Mr. Standish. Remember?

We need the space.

Rise and shine, Mr. Standish.

This is a place of business, Mrs. Chase.

We've no time for social events.

We need some help, Mr. Standish.

Oh, isn't that something.

So life-like.

Well, come on. Let's see the rest of it.

No, Mr. Brown, he does not help.

And he still lives here. And he shouts.

He shouts!

He makes poor Pookie so nervous.

I can't stand it any longer.

Tell me, Mr. Brown, how cheap could I buy him out?

How is it possible, Ellen?

How does a real mirror work?

I never could understand that, either.

That path,

where do you suppose it goes?

Right past that cave. Way in the back.

What have you done to Lorenzo?

And what is this, may I ask?

I don't know.

You don't know.

Well, the frame I think I can utilize.

But I can live without the picture.

I'm exercising my option. I bought you out.

Enough to put you up in a hotel for a couple of months

until you find a new job.

It appears I'm not the businessman I imagined myself to be.

If we get some bright lights up there and knock this wall out...

Fix up the whole room.

Frank, I like this room.

Oh, I'll find a place.

Suitable employment, though,

will take a little doing at my age.

I live with my grandniece, you know. Otherwise, I...

I wouldn't mind the gossip at all.

Mr. Standish, if you please!

Is there nothing you can do about it?

Nothing.

Nothing.

You awful woman! You see what you have done now?

Pookie!

Pookie.

Pookie.

Pookie, where are you? Come here, boy, come here. Pookie!

Pookie, come here.

Come here, boy.

Pookie! Come here, come here!

Pookie, where are you?

Pookie, where are you?

Come here, boy. Come here, Pookie.

Pookie!

Come here, sweetheart. Pookie!

Come here, boy. Pookie!

Come here, come here.

Pookie!

Come here, boy. Come here.

Pookie!

Pookie!

Pookie!

Come here, sweetheart. Pookie!

Come here, Pookie.

Pookie, where are you?

Pookie, come here, boy.

Pookie!

Pookie!

Pookie, are you in that cave?

Come here! Pookie!

Pookie!