Original subtitles

PART THREE

All better.

No more pus.

Giulia...

Could you throw this stuff out?

You mustn't get it wet.

We'll put on a bandage, but you don't really need it.

Done.

All set.

I feel better now.

See you tomorrow.

Alright?

You always throw the trash out in the street.

Why are we keeping this stuff?

It's evening. Too late.

It would upset the angel.

The angel?

Three angels come every night.

One guards the door,

one the table,

and the third,

the bed.

Really?

- And then? - They guard the house.

If I throw the trash out now, it'll hit the angel's face,

and he'll never come back.

So what do we about the trash?

Wait for the morning.

When the sun comes up, the angel goes away.

Water!

Water!

You wanted rain?

You got it!

Damn 1929! It sent us packing!

Why did you come back?

We all came back.

The dollar fell, the banks collapsed.

The politicians told us things were great here...

money, security... jobs.

We had to return. And here we are.

On Sunday, friends from New York are getting together.

- Why don't you join us? - Yes, it'll be fun.

We'll be in good company, eat well.

My dear mother, Christmas is near

Being away has a bitter taste

How I'd like to light the candles

And hear the bagpipes play.

Make a creche for the children

Set a place at the table.

On Christmas Eve

Make believe that we two

were together.

So many tears in America

For us Neapolitans

We pine for the sky of Naples.

How bitter is

this bread.

Naples is our capital because it's the city of misery.

Naples has no kings today.

We only go there for the boat to America.

And Rome's for the rich, the capital of a hostile foreign state.

New York would be our capital, if we had one.

You're right.

New York's a great city!

Listen to what happened to me.

Let me tell the story.

They gave me a pipe to empty, the ones they use in the mines.

It was full of dirt. But instead of dirt, it was...

Gunpowder!

Blew up in my face.

Just a few scratches, but I couldn't hear.

Broke my eardrum!

Not really. I just pretended.

But in America, there's insurance.

$3,000 they had to pay me.

I played deaf. They yelled at me, fired gunshots.

I heard nothing.

They made me shut my eyes.

I staggered, fell down.

The best doctors in America were convinced.

I got my $3,000. I bought a car, a house and came home!

Easy to say.

But you came back.

What else could I do?

I'm the only one who comes and goes.

Lucky you!

Every two or three years,

I take the ship and go to America.

I stay a while, then come back.

I could stay here.

Money's not an issue.

But I listen to the radio.

War is breaking out and I'm not going to get caught.

I'm packing my bags and going back to America!

In the south, we're all divided.

Half here, half on the other side of the ocean.

Families are all separated.

For those who stay here, America is even farther away.

The mail is all that's left.

Every now and then we get a letter

with a few dollars

from our lucky relatives.

From Rome, we get nothing.

Never have.

In America, I had a big barber shop.

With three employees.

Not the tiny shop I have here.

If you like...

I can show you my pictures.

Yes, let's see.

Have you ever been to America?

Then you must come and see!

It's our fault. Homesickness got us!

In the middle of concrete skyscrapers, all the houses, buildings, streets...

Not a patch of green!

On Sundays, we'd take a train for miles to get to the country.

Then all together, we'd get under a tree,

and drop our pants.

How delicious to feel the fresh air, nature...

not like American toilets, shiny and all alike!

It was like being boys again.

And when we finished, we'd all yell a heartfelt

"Viva l'Italia!"

It's not only an army...

marching toward its goal...

It's 44 million Italians

marching

with this army...

in unity!

To defend themselves against

the worst injustices!

To rob us of our place in the sun.

They say African soil is more fertile,

and the crops grow by themselves.

They say they'll give us all the land we want.

Plenty of land here. It's everything else that's missing.

Rocco's right. We're going to steal land from others.

It's bad luck.

With Ethiopia...!

we've waited 40 years.

Enough!

If these people in Rome have so much money to spend on war,

why don't they spend it here?

Make new fountains, plant trees,

instead of cutting down the few we have left.

They could repair the bridge. It collapsed four years ago.

We don't know how it will end.

England has a great fleet.

But we've got Marconi, who invented a new ray.

From 600 miles away, it can stop ships, cars, planes...

Just a minute!

As long as it doesn't stop the ship taking me back to America.

Right?

What can I say to convince you?

Stay with your brothers and mother.

We love you so much.

War is horrible.

You might die.

We've sacrificed so much to bring you up

and raise you.

You say you're going for all that money,

I love you so much...

...Like a dream you'll see many ships

and an Italian flag unfurl for you.

Pretty black Abyssinian girl,

the awaited hour is near...

He's volunteering for Africa. Don't we have enough Africa here?

- I'll see you after the war. - I hope so.

Be careful, son.

Come on, let's go.

... Our law is the slavery of love.

Our motto, Liberty and Duty.

We Black Shirts will avenge

the heroes fallen to free you.

Again.

You're a rock. Get dressed.

How old are you?

I'm up there.

I was 15 when my brother and I killed the carabiniere.

You killed a carabiniere?

He wanted to arrest us. So we killed him.

It was wartime.

War between us and the carabinieri.

And between the carabinieri and the nobles.

- Do you feel remorse? - Why? They wanted to kill us.

- You were at war, you said? - At war.

And I was a brigand.

A peasant brigand?

I'll give you your medicine.

Here.

This is my medicine.

I had a bad habit. Two cigars a day.

Two a day?

You're in good shape.

Really healthy.

Because during my military service,

I worked in the commissary

and stole cigarettes for my pals,

and Tuscan cigars for me.

Ever since, I've smoked Tuscans.

That's why I'm healthy.

Never inhaled. Cigarettes destroy your lungs.

- I'm strong enough to do anything. - Healthy as a horse.

Carmelo, go and play with Barone!

Take care.

Stay strong!

That old man used to be a brigand.

He knows people's secrets.

He knows where the brigands hid their treasure.

Does this treasure still exist?

Of course.

The carpenter found some. I saw it myself.

He put a log on the fire.

While it burned, he saw something shiny.

Gold coins!

It's useless to look for the hiding place.

It appears in a dream to the chosen person.

Or the monachicchio will tell you where to look.

What's the monachicchio?

The monachicchi?

The spirits of unbaptized children.

They're good, but they can be bad.

They're mischievous.

They tickle your feet,

tip over glasses of wine,

make laundry blow away.

They pull chairs out from under you.

They pinch you.

They pull your hair.

They do all sorts of things.

But they're innocent creatures.

Ready.

Why didn't you call me to wash your back?

Let me do it. It's our custom.

Sit up.

I didn't know.

You're well built.

Nothing's missing.

So you've decided to sit for your portrait?

No...

No portraits.

Why not?

It's not allowed.

I'd be a prisoner of the man who painted me.

Where did you hear that nonsense?

It's not nonsense.

I'm going to paint your portrait.

Why? Paint somebody else.

No, I'm doing yours.

Then I'm leaving.

No, you'll stay and do what I want!

No way!

Carmelo, why are you crying? What's wrong?

Now we'll have a nice bath.

Right away.

Here we go.

My little sweetheart.

What's wrong?

I'm going to put you right in.

Now let's take off your shirt.

Good boy.

Take this off, too.

Why not? For our bath.

The man you're treating...

The one with the bow disease. He'll never get better.

Who do you mean?

The man with the yellow face.

Why do you call it bow disease?

Because it comes from the rainbow.

Really?

How should I treat it?

Why do you ask?

You don't believe me anyway.

You should become a witch doctor.

Learn the magic spells.

Which ones?

Some cast a spell on someone near.

Others on someone faraway.

Tell me the one for someone faraway.

It's like a poem.

Recite it at night, gazing at the star.

Teach me.

Star, from the distance I see you, from near I greet you.

I go toward your face and spit in your mouth.

Star, don't let him die, bring him back home to stay with me.

Star...

from the distance I see you,

from near I greet you.

I walk toward your face

and spit in your mouth.

Star...

Don't let him die.

Bring him back home

to stay with me.

Look, an eclipse.

Who knows what it will bring.

Oh, Holy Mother of God, what on earth will happen now?

Dear Jesus, have pity.

It's a sign from God for our sins.

Maybe for the poison gas we're dropping in Abyssinia.

I've summoned you here about a delicate matter.

I wish to speak to you as a friend, a fellow scholar,

who understands and admires your learning.

Not as the mayor.

It's about this letter.

A letter you wrote to your sister in Turin.

If the Matera authorities see it,

you could end up interned not for three years,

but five, seven, maybe more.

Do you understand?

But no...

Listen...

Can I make a suggestion?

Read me the incriminating parts.

Speak your mind.

Tell me what's wrong.

I'm happy to be able to discuss these things with you,

an educated man.

You realize we're at war now?

In wartime, ideas don't matter.

The Patria is what matters.

You're for Italy, too, aren't you?

I'm convinced they sent you here by mistake.

Mussolini doesn't know everything that goes on.

People with the best intentions commit injustices.

Besides, in a city, you can have many enemies.

Some of the prisoners here are fascists.

Arpinati, the fascist leader from Bologna, is in a town nearby.

But he has freedom of movement.

- Going back to the letter. - Yes, the letter.

What makes me sound anti-Italian?

I never said that.

I wouldn't dream of it.

But others might think so.

Every day, the prefecture receives anonymous letters from all around.

And he's happy to get them.

I've already told you there are many bad people here.

And this letter contains certain statements...

For example?

"Here, none of the peasants belong to a political party."

They're the last thing we need.

"They're not Fascists, nor do they belong to any other party."

This makes you look even worse.

Then you add...

"What connection do they feel with the government, power, the State?

The State is 'the people in Rome,' who have always existed and always will,

like hail, landslides, drought, malaria."

A bit heavy-handed. Don't forget the Duce is in Rome.

"For the peasants, the State is farther away than the sky, and more evil

because it's always their adversary.

The State is a form of fate like the wind that burns the crops,

and the fever that burns the blood."

Such beautiful writing.

But do you think these comparisons are appropriate?

And then, who do you mean by "the people in Rome"?

And why go on about the peasants? Forget about them.

Ignore their small talk.

They're all superstitious and ignorant.

The more you do for them, the more ungrateful they are.

You should mix with gentlemen of your own class.

We're the State.

And you demean yourself with these words.

You have a point there.

You see, we agree.

Well, yes...

The kids in the Fascist Youth, the schoolteachers...

war widows, Florentine ladies,

Red Cross nurses, mothers,

shopkeepers, journalists, police officers, government workers in Rome.

Everyone we call "the Italian people"...

would agree with you.

But we're also fighting this war for your peasants.

I said so the other day in the piazza.

Here they have too little land to farm.

We'll find them land in Africa, and give it to them.

Give them more living space.

"Living" is the right word.

Because here they can barely make a living. I see it every day.

But it's the gentlemen who volunteer to fight,

to conquer the land for them.

Only one from our town enlisted.

I'd have gone myself.

But you and I both know my health's not great.

And if I went, who'd be left in town

to keep order and promote fascism?

Come, let me show you something.

That plaque...

bears the names of those who died in the Great War.

More than fifty, a lot for such a small town.

Every family name in Gagliano is there...

Guarini, Rubilotto, Racioppi, Bonelli, Carnovale and Marino...

Not one is missing.

Every family lost someone.

Even more were wounded...

and sick.

But what do you write?

You write,

"The peasants don't even care about the Great War.

Why do they never mention it?

Why do they tell no war stories,

show their wounds, boast about heroic feats,

like they do in the North?"

"The Great War was another great tragedy,

endured like all the others.

Another war waged by Rome."

You're really obsessed with this "Rome" thing.

You must know how dangerous it is today to write this...

"They die in Abyssinia today

as they once did on the Isonzo and the Piave.

For someone else's history.

A history that doesn't concern them."

May I have half a glass of your wine?

- With pleasure, Don Carlo. - Thank you.

The days are getting shorter.

Winter is near.

That's enough.

What do you mean by "someone else's history"?

Did you ever read the history of the city of Melfi?

Yes, when you borrowed the book from my uncle, Doctor Milillo.

So you're censoring my reading now?

Of course not. Just joking.

Yes, I found it among your uncle's old books.

There are many about local history.

This one tells what happened in 1500 in Melfi,

at the time a populous, rich city.

Yes, one of the richest in this area.

But what's that got to do with our conversation?

A great deal...

Because...

By chance,

pure chance,

a French officer fighting the Spanish found himself in this area.

He and his soldiers decided to set up camp in Melfi.

So the Spanish attacked the city,

conquered it, killing everyone they found...

innocents who never heard of Charles V, Francis I, Spain, France...

The Spanish destroyed all the houses,

and gave what was left to Philip of Orange,

who then gave it all to Andrea Doria,

whom the few survivors in Melfi...

knew even less.

Andrea Doria never came to visit his vassals, nor did his heirs.

They just sent the tax collectors to get as much money as possible.

And so...

by the inscrutable will of a history

that didn't concern them,

the peasants of Melfi

sank into abject poverty for centuries to come.

That's what I mean by "someone else's history."

With the example of the city of Melfi,

you mean to say that the Great War,

as well as this war in Abyssinia...

No...

I only mean that of course the peasants distrust every war and flag.

The States,

the organized armies,

will always be stronger than the disorganized peasants.

They should resign themselves.

But they are.

Resigned to always being dominated.

They feel no part of a glorious civilization

which they consider their mortal enemy.

Now and then...

Now and then they rebel against history and the State, and then...

And then...

They become brigands.

It's the only war they feel is theirs.

A desperate war, destined to fail, ferocious,

incomprehensible to historians.

So now you're defending the brigands.

No, I know they're indefensible.

But why do the peasants see the brigands as their heroes?

I'll tell you why. The brigands

allowed peasant culture to defend its essential nature

against a culture that's always opposed it,

and, without understanding it, eternally subjugated it.

You talk like there were two Italys.

Do you remember what Dante said about the humble Italy

for which maiden Camilla, Euryalus, Turnus and Nisus

died of their wounds?

That was the Italy of the peasants.

The peasants put up a good resistance,

and were always defeated...

The conquerors brought the State, and the State's religion.

First, they resisted Aeneas.

Then, Rome.

And finally, today...

Piedmont, the Kingdom of Italy.

You're a dreamer...

A poet, a painter, an artist.

And also a bit of an anarchist,

with your hatred of the State.

You see things your way.

You embellish them with words.

But the brigands,

listen to the stories the old men can tell you...

The brigands cut off ears, noses, tongues of the rich to get their ransom.

And the soldiers cut off the heads of the brigands they managed to catch,

and stuck them on stakes at the entrance to the towns.

That's what happened in the "two Italys" you're talking about.

It's better to have only one Italy, united...

under the leadership of a man whom the whole world envies.

It seems that Marconi has discovered secret rays

that'll blow the British fleet sky high if it dares attack us!

I'll give you back your letter,

but take my advice...

Destroy it.

It'll be better for you.

Women! The pig castrator is here!

Come, bring your pigs!

Wouldn't it be better to pick the olives off the ground?

No, we pick them from the tree.

On the ground, they turn bitter.

- So you pick them right away. - Always off the tree.

Three of a kind.

How big is a tree? How much can it yield?

How much can it yield?

Some yield 100 pounds, some 200, and some 600.

- Are the trees big around here? - Depends.

Depends on the cycle and the size of the leaves.

You have to do that work.

You have to do the work of

pruning every three years.

You have to do what?

Get the right shape.

How long does that take?

A year, more or less.

Have you ever seen cat eyes?

What color are they?

White, black, yellow, red, gray?

...They look, and they look.

- And they see even...? - At night.

At night, while you're sleeping.

So you must look carefully at these things.

We must look at a dry twig,

at a piece of bread,

at grains of sand...

Even at the air.

What does the air do?

Why are you doing that?

Do the tree, like you were doing before.

Well then, what does the air do?

The air makes the stars tremble.

Doesn't it?

Are the stars still or do they tremble?

- They tremble. - And what makes them tremble?

The air.

So are the clouds fat or skinny?

They're not all fat or all skinny.

Are the fat ones black or white?

- Black. - But also white.

And are the skinny ones white or black?

Go on, give the basket to Don Carlo.

But they can also be...

Carmelino has brought us a present!

Let's hear it for him!

How nice!

He brought us figs.

Help yourselves.

Merry Christmas.

Starting tomorrow, I'm not coming anymore.

Why?

That's what we decided.

Did the barber become jealous?

Children, what are you doing?

Eating the present for Don Carlo!

- These rags, this scrap paper? - No leave the paper.

Giulia, leave it. I want to keep them.

Give me those brushes.

All of them!

Zi' Nicola! What a nice surprise!

How are you?

Zia Rosa! How are you?

How wonderful to see you!

- I'll be going then. - Wait a minute.

- I've found another woman, - Just a minute, please.

Come on, let's go.

Get away!

Wait a minute, I want to say goodbye to Carmelino.

Carmelino, come here.

Come.

- May we come in? - Come in, Don Luigino, come in.

You brought me olive oil?

- So beautiful. - It's pure.

Best wishes!

Get plenty of rest, understand?

And stay bundled up.

I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.

And give you permission to go to Midnight Mass.

You mean I can stay up late?

This is a special occasion.

As a matter of fact...

Come, I want to show you something.

I'm writing a report

that I want them to read in Matera.

- A report for Matera? - Yes.

Because we've got to move quickly.

If we don't take measures against malaria in spring...

- By summer, it'll be too late. - Good man!

When you've finished the report,

I'll bring it to Matera myself.

I hope so.

END OF PART THREE