All language subtitles for Manuscripts.Dont.Burn.2013.DVDRip.x264-RedBlade

This story is based on true events...

MANUSCRIPTS DON'T BURN

A film by Mohammad Rasoulof

Who was that?

Where did he come from?

Did you do it? Is he dead?

Yeah, I'm sure.

I've no idea where that guy came from.

I told you it wasn't safe here.

Did he see your face?

- Did he see your face?
- I don't know.

Don't stop. We'll get into trouble.

Did you untie him?

Let's go to an ATM,
see if the money has come.

I can't.
I have to get the car back to the lot.

Drop me at the hospital, then.

Hello?

I'm on my way to the hospital.

Why?

Didn't you tell them
to take the child into surgery?

Then go and talk to them.

The money's in my account.

But I'm busy.

Just go and talk to them.

Call me if there's a problem.

Good-bye.

Did you get to the parking lot?

The money hasn't arrived yet.
I'm outside the hospital.

Well, I'm just waiting here.

I am aware of your situation.

I'm really grateful to you.

I really am.

I just wanted to check how you are.

Good-bye.

Drink something, Son.

Here.

Just a little.

Eat while you're watching.

You try. He's had nothing all day.

Drink something for Daddy.

Drink. It's good.

I bought it for you. It's good.

I don't know who else I can borrow from.

It'll be in my account tomorrow.

What will I do at the hospital
tomorrow all alone?

I'll be back before night.

What's wrong with you, dear?

Won't you tell Daddy
what's wrong with you?

Are you dizzy?

Are you going to be sick, dear?

- Tell me what's wrong, dear.
- Daddy's Amir-Ali.

What will I do if they hospitalize him?

They won't.

How do you know?

If they try to, call me. I'll come back.

This is Morteza's address.

I know it. I've worked with him before.

He's moved. Take it.

He's in the trunk. The instructions
are in the glove compartment.

Wait until 3:00 p.m.

If you don't get a call by then, finish it.

Here's the receipt. Sign it.

Take care.

Mr. Morteza?

Hello, I'm downstairs.

Did you find it easily?

No problem.

Nice neighborhood. Congratulations.

Thank you.

Is your son doing any better?

Yes, thank God.

His mom's taking him
to the hospital today.

They're supposed to be operating tomorrow.

God is great. He's going to be all right.

God willing.

I tried to get you the day off,
but it didn't work out.

On the other hand, you need the money.

I'm not coming for the money.

Where's the envelope?

In the glove compartment.

Did you check the trunk
when you received the car?

Pull over.

Open the door.

If you don't, I'll leave.

Are you okay?

Do what you want, I'm leaving.

You have to take your pills
in half an hour.

You're just trying to hold me up.

Kian, close the door behind you.

Come on in.

- What's happened?
- What can I say?

Where is he now?

Zamani from the publisher's
called this morning.

His book's been heavily censored.

Zamani hesitated for a week
before telling him.

Now he's locked himself in his room
and won't talk to anyone.

Zamani's called him 10 times,
but he refuses to return his calls.

Kian, talk to him.
Ask him what he's doing.

Tell him people expect
something else from him,

not for him to lock himself
in his room like a child.

I think that must be Zamani.

Let me talk to him.

Hello? Yes.

Hello. You're most welcome. It's me.

Yes.

His wife just told me that.
Yes, I know.

It's normal.

He'll be angry for a while.
We'll have to wait.

We just have to let things
run their course.

Yes.

No, don't worry, I'm here.

There's no need to worry.

Good-bye.

He's ruining his reputation and mine,
and his professional standing.

- Don't take it to head.
- I'm so late.

I have some meetings at the office.

His doctor also wants
to check his latest scans.

The lab results have to be checked too.

Don't forget his pills.

Smoking's absolutely forbidden.

Don't let strangers in.

You're going crazy.

While you're here,
respect the rules of my house.

Don't let strangers in.

His pills are there:
head, diabetes, high blood pressure,

and the times he should take them.

Got anything on you?

Empty your pockets. Come on.

- Give them to me.
- They're mine.

He'll trick you out of them.

Oh, I almost forgot:

He'll probably be embarrassed
to say he needs to pee.

Ask him once in a while.

Is she gone?

Yeah, come on out.

- How do you feel?
- Like shit.

So not as bad as Roshanak made out.

She puts everything away.
For a shot of vodka, you need a vase.

Is this what my life's come to?

Just bring some ice.

Did you really think
you'd get a publication permit?

They can shove their permit.

It makes no difference to me
whether I get one or not.

Then why the silent protest all day?

Is that all you've got?
That's mouse pee.

- It's Markarian.
- And you're going to drink half of it.

I talked to Zamani, your publisher.

He says there are only 108 censored cases.

The swine told me there were 30 or 40.

He didn't want you to have a head attack.

So he decided to break the news slowly.

How's your new work coming along?

New work? What new work?

With each new sentence I wonder,

“Will it be published or not?
Will it be censored or not?"

I can't work under these conditions.

Cheers.

I have a suggestion.

Go to the Censorship Office
and tell them you're censoring yourself.

Then ask for the censor's paycheck.

Are you kidding me, wise guy?

One day I'll die of a heart attack,
and then you'll understand.

I'm determined to publish it
without permission.

Not on the Web, a printed edition.

I want to touch it, feel that it's alive.

Do you understand?

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

Hello?

Why haven't you transferred the money yet?

What do you mean,
“It's too early in the day"?

Are you going to transfer it or not?

I know I owe you money.

I'll pay back part of it
by the end of this month.

Just one word: yes or no?

How much? That's not enough.

I can't get the rest.

You'll get it back
by the end of the month.

I'm still waiting.

I have to go back.

Don't you need the money?

I'm not doing it for the money.

You're not doing for the money,
but you'll get it anyway.

My wife called.

The doctor wants to hospitalize my boy.

And the money hasn't arrived yet.

Let me go and organize the money.

You can do this job alone.

I'll ask them to give you a raise.

I can't. I have to go.

Stay here!

I read your note.

I need to see you as soon as possible.

Cancel your appointment.
I'll see you at the sauna in an hour.

Good-bye.

As long as I'm in charge here,
I won't print anything by Abbassi.

Take it out and replace it
with something neutral.

I've signed off on the layouts,
send someone over to fetch them.

Are you sure
he hasn't e-mailed it to anyone?

I'm sure.

How can you be sure?

His IP address is being monitored.

He browses news sites, that's all.

Plus, he doesn't trust anyone.
He gives his manuscripts to no one.

Probably, there's only the one
manuscript he has hidden at home.

How much is about me?

I don't know.

I found out something else
from his phone calls.

All the details of the bus story
are written in his memoirs.

He'll try to hide them safely.

He bought an old chair last week.

That's probably his hiding place.

Don't worry, Roshanak, he's fine.

Yes, he's come out now.

I'll put him on.

Listen, Roshanak.

He took his pills.

I'm here too.

Don't worry. Good-bye.

Even if my wife says okay,
her father will never accept.

Why ever not? He'll be paid.

He could do it without a permit
for friendship's sake.

Nobody would know who'd printed it.

You think he'd endanger himself
just because he's my father-in-law?

That he wouldn't give a damn
about his printing business?

You think he isn't aware
of the consequences?

What consequences?

So I should just lay down and die?

If, after all these years, you still
don't know what life's like here,

dying isn't a bad idea.

I will publish the book.

Go ahead, then.

As if everyone
working at the printing company

will read all the stuff they print
and then report us.

Forget the printers,
the workers, the inspectors.

Suppose your book gets printed:
What about distribution?

How are you going to sell it?

What should I do, then?

If I knew that, I'd help myself.

Leave me alone.

What happened? Are you okay?

- Did you fall?
- Nothing happened.

Let me help.

I'm fine. Just get me a diaper
from the other room.

Thanks.

That's fine. I can manage on my own.

- Are you sure?
- Please, I'm fine.

The Uneventful Life
of a Fired Teacher.

Did you work on that novel for 10 years
just to throw it away?

Bring out a clandestine edition.
It'll go stale otherwise.

If we all did that, things would change.

Forouzandeh,

cut out the guerrilla act.

Fighting and change were 40 years ago.
That's over now.

Today's generation
doesn't give a damn about politics.

The Network Generation wants to live.

Pleasure, speed, Facebook, Twitter -

Those kids have Steve Jobs as their idol.

They don't give a shit about Che.

But they're using the Web, Facebook
and Twitter to express themselves.

If I don't want to publish my book
on the Internet,

it's because I want to bring out
the print version,

with a white cover
and without a permit, first.

Do you really think
we're the only ones using the Internet,

building social networks,

writing to each other,
“We are the medium”?

It's a nice pastime.

The government filters the Internet
and we “unfilter" it.

And we think we're smart

But we forget that we're just
disclosing our ideas to the regime...

letting them know who and where we are.

I hope you die of pessimism.

One thing this regime didn't screw up:

creating pessimism among intellectuals.

Don't tar me with the same brush as them.

I can't stand those intellectuals.

You're just scared.

“May the vine go ripe and right.

May the world be filled with delight.

May streets go erratic.
May borders be ecstatic.

May we, for a moment,
of ripping guns be ashamed,

of slitting knives be disclaimed.

May pen, fire and flame
to cease-fire be aimed.”

Your new poem? It's wonderful.

But you should see a shrink.

You're unwell.
I'm afraid you might kill yourself.

Don't forget your pills.

Will you talk to your wife?

I don't know any other printers.

Her father will never agree.
But I know another printer.

He's a brave guy.

I'll talk to him.

Don't scare him off as well.

Seeing as it's your book,

I'll talk to him.

I'll fool him. I'll trick him.

I'll bury my principles. Will that be okay?

God damn your poisonous tongue.

Kian.

Wife up?

You 're night.
Our prob/em is a cultural one.

Our educational system
needs to be reformed.

You Want to continue via the intercom?

Speaking by telephone isn 't safe.

Listen.

Wife exactly
What your novel talks about.

Let's print our works together.

Maestro, culture derives from education,

and education
is in the hands of the powerful.

A million copies of my novel
wouldn't change a thing.

We 're useless.

But you're a writer, goddamn it.

You know what?

The weather is nice today.
And basically, life's beautiful.

But the war/dis a shitty place.

Stop moaning, you sheep.

I've convinced him to sell me one.

He wants 15 toman, I only have 10.

Amir-Ali threw up
six, seven times last night.

I didn't sleep at all.

Ever since he's been in my life,
my life's turned upside down.

I've spent all my money
on his treatment and medications.

It has turned me into a beggar.

God alone knows all.

Can't we do it just outside Tehran?

Our orders are to do it in his hometown.

Wife he's from up north.

What's his last name?

Afraid he might be a relative of yours?

How do you know where I come from?

How could I not know?

This guy was on the bus too.

You know everything,
so why did you pick me?

I didn't pick you.

You were assigned to me.

I asked you to let me go back,
it's not too late yet.

Just let me out.

Listen very carefully,

when I'm in charge of an operation,
I don't tolerate mishaps.

Let God take care of the hospital
and your son.

Eleventh floor.

Come in.

We used to get a summons.
Now the interrogator does us a great honor.

He comes to us,
all by himself, without bodyguards.

Don't exaggerate.

We shared the same cell, didn't we?

That's right,
we once shared the same cell.

But as you guys say,
“It's one's present state that matters."

If you insist that I'm here
in my capacity as your interrogator,

then you'd better observe
the rules of the game.

Be polite and don't speak
until you're spoken to.

All right, which wall
should I sit and face?

May I offer you something?

The case officer
isn't allowed to eat with the defendant.

So what can I do for you?

We need to talk.

About my manuscripts?

I've waited for this moment
for a long time.

I said those things on the phone
so I'd get a summons,

but you've done me the courtesy
of coming here.

So there's no manuscript?

On paper or in my head,
there's no difference.

Yes, there is.

I've written down everything. Everything.

From the story of the bus,

to everything I know
about my dear cellmate,

who later made a confession...

and after his release,
joined the security service.

And shortly afterwards,

he was put in charge of the biggest
daily state paper in the country.

But most importantly,

because of his close ties
to parts of the intellectual scene,

he was given the task
of terrorizing intellectuals,

who had been dubbed
the “Cultural NATO" of the country,

and therefore he also became

the mastermind behind the project
to repress Iranian intellectuals.

I dare not say this
to my dear interrogator,

but I'll say it to my erstwhile friend:

You really are an incredibly talented guy.

I'm proud I had the honesty
to admit to the error of my ways,

proud of guarding the faith,
of sewing my country,

of being loyal to my people.

And you?

A coward who sold himself to foreigners
for a few thousand dollars...

who threw in the towel after one slap.

You denounced your wife and friends
in front of the camera.

We have the tapes. I've watched them all.

You admitted to every single accusation...

your extramarital affairs,
cheating on your wife...

your addictions to drugs and alcohol,

every vice imaginable.

No one pays any attention
to confessions made under torture.

The only tool you have at your disposal...

is to brand people as immoral.

Brand people as immoral?

That would make for quite a discussion.

We can talk about it another time.

But I'm here today so you can tell me
exactly what you want from me.

I want to leave.

I want you to help me leave the country.

Okay.

That could be arranged.

What would I get in return?

You know where it is, just go and get it.

It's in the other one.

The white one, with the books on it.

I've heard that at the beginning
of your press career,

you wrote thrillers
and detective stories for the tabloids.

I'd rather write tabloid serials

than run a smear campaign against
intellectuals in official newspapers.

I want a safeguard first.

The authorization to leave,
as a trade-off for the manuscript.

I need a guarantee.

I'm leaving.

My colleagues understand
your language better than I do.

Let me go and I'll tell you
where the copies are.

You can't stand their violence.
One slap and you'll rat on everyone.

Why make things worse?

I'm not asking for much,
just a little assurance.

After 10 years of jail, suffering and
torture, I want you to promise me

that you'll let me go to my daughter
before I die.

Will you promise me that?

“This year, the security service
decided to rid itself,

once and for all,
of a number of writers

who believe in freedom of expression
and union rights.

The fact
that We were all on the same bus

was an unhoped-for opportunity
for the regime.

We were all traveling on the same bus

to a cultural event
organ/zed by some writers in Armenia.

One afternoon in the fall,
27 writers and journalists

boarded a bus chartered
by the Armenian organizers of the even)'.

We spent the whole day
telling stories and joking.

In the middle of the might,
I was woken by yelling.

I looked up,
and the driver was not in his seat.

Some were saying that the driver
had driven us towards a precipice

just before jumping out of the bus.

The driver was standing by the roadside,

a few yards away from the bus,

observing the uproar
that was taking place inside."

How could you possibly
imagine such a fantasy?

Even on the night it happened,
we couldn't really believe it.

We tried to convince ourselves
it was an accident.

Sepan slapped the driver and said,

“You almost killed us, you idiot!”

He apologized and said,

“I dozed off for a moment."

This story is ridiculous.

How could 21 people allow the driver
to do such a thing?

We asked ourselves, “Why?"

“What have we done to deserve this?"

Do you wife intend
to publish this nonsense?

You 're worried
about What I've Written about you.

It's a personal thing.

It's purely a matter of national security.

How can my memories
possibly endanger national security?

It's not up to you to be a judge of that.

- How long will I have to wait?
- Two weeks at the most.

I'll call you myself.

Wait.

What I gave you is the original copy.

I've given two other copies
to friends for safekeeping.

If anything happens to me...

they'll publish them.

You should watch out for my safety.

What color?

Green.

- I've got no green, just blue.
- Blue is okay.

- How long?
- I said 10 meters.

- Is the money in your account yet?
- No.

- How many pairs of gloves?
- Two pairs.

I need a receipt.

Why do you call so often?

- Who should I make it out to?
- No name.

- No name, no receipt.
- Morteza.

I told you,
I'll call as soon as I get the money.

Tell them to admit him,
they'll have the money by noon.

They can't refuse to admit him.

How can I check my account?
I'm out on the road.

I'll call you.

- Which hospital is your kid in?
- Ali Asghar Hospital, pediatric ward.

Hello.

Ali Asghar Hospital, pediatric ward.

Tell your wife to tell the hospital manager
that Haj Agha sent her

and that he should admit the child.

Thanks a lot.

Take a nap, you're tired.

When I was eight, my father was
poisoned by gas While digging a Well.

I Went to work with my uncle,
who drove a rig.

Several years Went by,

then I did my military service.

They posted me to prison guard duty.

At first', / stood guard in the watchtower.

I made a good impression
on an officer cal/ed Haj Said

and/ was assigned
to the max/mum security wing.

After two years, he took me with him
to an operations section.

Wife a civil servant at the ministry.

I got married.

I didn't dare tell my wife what I did.

I 'm just a pen pusher, I used to say.

I had a good job. They counted on me.

One day, Haj Said said
he d heard / could drive a bus.

I said I could, but that I had no license.

He said he'd get it for me in a day.

I was lucky.

They picked me for an operation:

taking a busload of passengers
into the mountains

and driving the bus into a gorge.

The closer we got to the location,
the more scared I got.

I was terrified of messing
up the operation.

It was just before dawn.
There was no one on the road.

Just before I reached
the designated location

there was a sign.

I looked back into the mirror.
They were all sleeping.

My legs Went numb.

Then I reached the spot.

I floored it
and steered the bus towards the gorge.

I drove as close to the edge
as I could, then I jumped out.

We left the bus petrified.

A my rock had gotten stuck
under the bus and kept it from falling,

which saved our lives.

Sepan cursed at the driver
and grabbed him by the collar.

The driver kept apologizing
that he 'd dozed off for a moment.

That he b' planned wife driving us
into the ravine was unthinkable.

We believed it was an accident.

The driver returned to the bus
and sat down behind the steering wheel.

Shahriar and Toufan
stood behind the driver and watched him.

The driver drove the bus
back onto the asphalted road.

We were all wide awake and our eyes
were pinned on the bus driver.

To our bewilderment',

the driver headed toward the gorge
at full speed for a second time.

The bus left the roadside.

He grabbed hold of his bag again,

and at the very last second,
he jumped out.

Toufan grabbed the steering wheel
and turned the bus around.

Shahriar pulled on the hand brake.

The bus shuddered abruptly to a halt.

We were all terrified to the bones.

The bus was hanging over Death's jaws.

It was impossible
to go to the front of the bus.

To do so
would have unbalanced the bus

and possibly caused it
to fall into the ravine.

Petrified, We all gathered
at the rear of the bus.

We were the living witnesses
to an unfinished crime.

We were totally shaken up.

We wife 't comprehend
What had just happened.

Waiting for the Warming dawn,
our bodies were frozen with fear and cold.

Two passing cars stopped for a second.

We were certain web' seen these vehicles
and their occupants earl/er,

when we'd stopped for a break
at a teahouse.

- When will we get there?
- In two hours.

Will we get back by evening?
I'm invited to a wedding.

We'll get it over with quickly.

If he cooperates.

We'll make him cooperate.

Making him cooperate won't be easy.

How come?

He has to look brand new.
We can't leave a mark on him.

It has to look like suicide.

Hey, you, get up. Where's the key?

On the balcony, above the window.

Bring him here.

Get up. Come on.

Who are you?

What do you want from me?

Just keep going.

Get in there.

Morteza.

Watch your head.

Grab hold of him.

After I park the car,

I turn on the main tap by the front door.

One thing I always do

is call my wife and tell her I've arrived.

During the summer, besides me,
two of my brothers come here.

Sometimes their families come too
on public holidays.

The Key's always above the window
on the balcony.

But in wintertime,
hardly anyone but me comes here.

You turn on the main tap,
make your call, and then what?

I make some tea
and then I sweep up and dust the place.

And then?

In the late afternoon
I walk to the cemetery

and visit my mother's grave.

I stay there for half an hour,
then I come back and get down to work.

What work?

- Writing.
- So you're a writer?

Where did you put it?

What?

My colleague's here.

He's not as calm as I am.

Shall I ask him to repeat the question?

Where is it?

I don't know what you're talking about.

Hello, Haj Agha.

Yes, we're at his place.

Just a sec.

You're too smart
to risk your life for nothing.

I don't know -

I know you have a copy of the manuscript.

If you don't tell us where it is,
bad things are going to happen.

Intelligent writer, talented poet,

don'! do this to yourself,
you've only just begun.

Wife one will know that you fold us.

Hello?

Yes.

Yes, sir.

The floorboards are rotten.
Tell him to watch out.

It's dangerous,
tell him not to go up there.

He'll fall.

He's from the north too.

Morteza.

Is this it?

Yep.

We've got an hour and a quarter left.

There's a teahouse up ahead,
we can grab a bite to eat.

What are you crying for?

God gives and God takes away.

His dizziness is normal,

and he's vomiting because he's dizzy.

He'll get better
after the surgery tomorrow.

Do you think he's
the only sick kid in the world?

Trust in God.

What's my job got to do
with the boy's illness?

Everything I do, I do to please God!

You're scared, aren't you?

I told you,
it has nothing to do with fear.

If you don't make me come,
I'll be really grateful.

If the guy's innocent,
my kid will pay for it.

We don't decide what's right or wrong.

We've been given an order
and it complies with the sharia.

I know, but my wife's worried.

Now she says our boy's
paying the price for my deeds.

Don't make me come with you.

It's down there.

It isn't 3:00 p.m. yet.

Don't you want to wait?

The knife.

Take him down there.

Hey, you. Get up.

What's this? You've wet yourself.

That's disgusting. My trunk's unclean now.

Get out of there.

You couldn't hold it in
for 10 minutes? Get out.

Stay here.

You don't have to come.

Hello?

Hello, sir.

Morteza's in a ravine,
there's no reception down there.

Of course, sir.

I'll tell him to call you. Good-bye.

Don't finish him!

Where is he?

I said, “Where is he?”

I was putting the rope around his neck
when I noticed the scamp.

Don't worry, nobody will believe him.

- Where are we supposed to take him?
- Back to Tehran.

He's waiting for you to call him back.

Take him back up.

What are you going to do with the boy?

Go back up.

My beloved daughter,

a long time has passed
since my last meeting with my ex-cellmate,

who's now an agent of the secret service.

Eight months ago,

he promised to arrange for my ban
wife leaving the country to be lifted

if I handed over my manuscripts.

But since then,
he hasn't done a single thing,

and wife still being prevented
from seeing you.

All my efforts
to reach him or meet with him

and negotiate a solution

have been fruitless.

He hoodwinked me

and didn't keep his promise.

My last Wish is to see you once again.

Dad.

I know my phone is being monitored...

so listen carefully.

You promised me.

You said
that in exchange for my writings

you would arrange for me
to leave the country.

You said it would take only two weeks.

Eight months have passed.

You haven't done a thing.

You haven't even contacted me.

I'm giving you 48 hours.

I'm sick.

How long do you think I'll live?

Let me go and see my daughter.

You have kids too, don't you?

Hello, my darling.

Yes, I'm fine. What about you?

And your husband? Is he well?

No, my dear.

Why should I go to the hospital?

To get well?

To carry on living this life?

No, my dear.

No, I don't need a doctor, Azadeh.

No, my dear.

Yes, I'll go there.

Not tomorrow,

at the beginning of next week.

Yes.

All right.

All right.

My dear Azadeh -

Okay, my dear.

Okay.

I'll talk to you soon, my dear.

Which ward?

Thanks to Haj Said.

I'll be home tonight.

I'll take a shower
and head over to the hospital.

I don't think I'll make it back
by tonight.

I don't know either.

It must be in my account by now.
Don't you worry.

Bye.

Amir-Ali has been admitted to the hospital.

They're going to wait till tomorrow
for the money.

Thanks.

You'll be seeing Haj Said tonight.
Thank him.

I will.

Hello, sir. I've brought him.

- Take him into the building.
- Yes, sir.

Get up.

Come on, get up.

You're a good poet.

I like your poems.

But why are you so hopeless?

Four of your poems are about suicide.

The Uneventful Life
of a Fired Teacher.

I'd like to read your recent work,
see what you've been doing.

I should have it soon.

You see, thanks to your colleagues,
I'm fully informed.

No one's read the novel yet.

You underestimate us.

You forget the trouble we go to.

Your colleagues will do
anything to get ahead.

I don't want to reveal any names,

but some of your colleagues
would do anything to be top of the pile.

I've no complaints.

We've a complaint about you,

your way of being, your treachery,

the work you're doing for the foreigners:
modern espionage.

You shout, “Fight for freedom,"
but your aim is to betray the people.

Stop beating about the bush
and get to the point.

You have to make up for your past.

Make up for what?

It's not easy to say.

There are things which prevent us
from reaching an understanding.

You and I
will never reach an understanding.

Why not?

You will reach an understanding with me.
You have no choice.

I want the second copy.

Second copy of what?

Denial is easy,

but not here, not with me.

I'll have you taken back to the north.

I don't know anything about a second copy.

I do.

And you have to help me find it.

Assuming there is a second copy...

assuming you find it...

what about the other 21 people on the bus?

They witnessed everything in detail.

If you destroy the memories of one person,
what about the rest?

We're not just facing 21 individuals

but an entire army: the “Cultural NATO."

Regardless of any truth
behind your bus story...

what matters is national security.

In comparison with national security,
21 lives are worthless.

We're right opposite Forouzandeh's house.

His wife is about to leave
for an urgent meeting at your house,

called by your writer friends
following your disappearance.

You know how obsessed she is
about checking the door.

We don't want to use violence.

We don't want to risk anyone's reputation.

It would be easy
to issue a search warrant

for alcoholic beverages and drugs.

Let us do our work quietly,
and no one's reputation will be tarnished.

Once she leaves,
I want you to ring the bell.

Once Forouzandeh sees you
on the monitor and opens the door,

you're free to go.

Order them to take me back to the north.

Take him back to the north.

I can switch it on myself.

- Can you wife manage it?
- Yes, of course.

He wants to talk to you.

Okay. Put the suit on him.

I'll try not to be too late.

If you let me go see him alone,

I'll make sure you get his copy.

I trust you.

In case you're thinking of anything stupid,
let me explain something:

The entire area is being monitored.

All the phone lines have been cut,
and the whole house is bugged.

If you double-cross me,
it'll have severe consequences for you.

As a precaution, one of my men
will accompany you to the door.

- I have to go alone.
- You will go alone.

We're trusting you.
Now you have to trust us.

- How much time do I have?
- Twenty minutes.

Forouzandeh's stubborn.

In order to convince him
and explain everything...

and get him to hand over the copy,

I'll need more time.

Half an hour. No more.

And if he doesn't accept?

That's not an option.

Your reputations would be ruined,
and you'd still have to give us the copy.

Just imagine:

At this very moment,
people have gathered

to regretfully announce your disappearance
to the intellectual community.

Suddenly, the news hits the wires

that the police have caught you both
drinking alcohol.

It would be headline news
in tomorrow's papers.

That would be very ugly.

It wouldn't end there.

In jail, you'd tell us
where the copy is anyway.

It would make more sense
to get it over with without a scandal.

Then we can all get back
to our normal lives.

The woman's leaving the building.

Teams three and five get ready,
the subject is leaving the building.

Team three ready.

Team five ready.

Team five follow her vehicle.

If she deviates from the route,
switch to Plan B.

Team three ready.

Team five in position.

The subject is driving a black Tiba.

Bring him here.

Team five here.
The black Tiba has just passed us.

The vehicle is on the highway
and is following the expected route.

Why doesn't he ring?

Ring the bell.

Ring it yourself.

Where 've you been? Are you okay?

Come in. Come in.

Why don't you come up?

Come on up.

Why are you standing out there? Come in.

You scared us all to death,
you bald old fool.

Where in the hell were you?
We were worried sick.

Everyone's been looking for you
since this morning.

What's the matter?

Are you okay?

Come in, come in.

Come on in.

You didn't come back
from exercising this morning.

Everyone's at your place.
Roshanak's gone there -

Who's he?

Kian, who is he?

Shut up or I'll strangle you.

They're looking for Kasra's manuscript.

What manuscript?

It's over.

They know everything.

When someone like you
ends up being an infiltrator,

of course they know everything.

It's useless...

give them the copy.

There is no copy.

Looks like we're going to have
some fun tonight.

Here's some Markarian vodka.

The agreement was I'd come alone.

But you are alone.

What's wrong?

Why won't your friend say where it is?

What's going on?

Didn't my colleague explain it to you?

Your colleague?
I don't see what you're talking about.

Take off your glasses.

Go get a couple of shot glasses.

Have a seat.

Pour.

Fill it.

That's one shot.

Fill the glass.

It's bad for his head.

- I'm going to get some juice.
- Neat.

Drink.

I don't feel like it.

Drink.

Fill it again and drink.

My colleagues have borrowed a vehicle
from the vice squad.

Do anything stupid
and we'll tell everyone you're drunk.

Just walk downstairs very calmly.
It's in your own interest.

Please drive Mr. Kian home.

So, Maestro Forouzandeh,

who do you think is going
to change your diapers for you in jail?

Just relax.

The suppository's in.

Keep track of the time yourself.

Okay.

I'll check it out.

This evening, we've received
more than 1.6 million text messages,

and more than 30 million viewers
have tuned in to watch Soccer 90.

Which of these teams was the best
Iranian side of the last 30 years?

Shahin Bayani crosses the ball
info the goal area,

the ball's picked up by his teammate,

he shoots
and scores a second goal for -

- Thank you.
- You're welcome.

Just stop for a second
so I can check my account.

You can check it on the way back.

Just a bit further.

Turn right here.

- You sure it's safe here?
- Yes, don't worry.

I was on a mission here a few years back.

You keep look-out up there.

Come on, get out.

Get out.

MANUSCRIPTS DON'T BURN

Produced, written and directed
by Mohammad Rasoulof

Due to censorship in Iran,

and in order to maintain
the safety of the crew and cast,

they have renounced
from being named in these credits.