All language subtitles for Girl.With.Hyacinths.1950.1080p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX].eng

Another glass... ?

Go ahead and pour. I've drunk
stronger men than you under the table.

- Germans can't handle much.
- I've been at parties with all nationalities.

- And not just for the booze, eh?
- Mind your own business, brother.

- So we'll head over to my place later, eh?
- I don't think so, little man.

- Why not?
- My time's worth more than you're offering.

- So, how have you been?
- Fine, thanks.

- You haven't changed, Dagmar.
- I can't say the same.

Can't you play something more cheerful?
What about a samba?

You can do the samba, can't you, Willy?

- Let go. Someone could come.
- Not at this hour.

Can't you hear that people
are still awake?

- Nice... it's almost like at the dance hall.
- Good for them... they have somewhere to go.

- You only have one thing on your mind.
- No, but this isn't natural.

You live at home.
Your mother can't stand me.

Of course she can. See for yourself
how easy it is to find a place to live.

I've tried four times,
and missed out every time.

- Things will work out.
- Yeah, when I'm on the old-age pension.

- But what matters is that I love you.
- I just wish I could appreciate it more.

Kiss me, Kalle.

- Let go. Someone's coming.
- Shit!

- She was in a hurry.
- She seemed strange, didn't you think?

And now
there's this damn stairwell light.

- Don't let it worry you.
- Let what worry me?

What you were thinking about.
He's not worth it.

- There's no he.
- There always is.

A man who's seen as much as me
can't be fooled so easily.

- Can I interest you in an etching?
- No, thanks.

It's really pretty. Sunset over
the castle. Only 10 crowns.

Signed by the artist.
See how nice it is.

Here you are.
Keep the etching.

Olofsgatan 13, fifth floor, Brink.
We're on the way.

Make sure no-one goes inside,
or touches anything.

- The ambulance is here.
- Yes, just to pick her up.

It's unusual for women
to commit suicide like this...

Yes, sleeping pills or gas are more common.
But she wanted to be sure.

Yes, and it went faster, I reckon.

She's in there.

Svensson... does a writer
named Wikner live here?

- Just across the corridor.
- Here's the death certificate.

Take the keys and bring them
to the station.

Inspector Lövgren.
May I come in?

Please do.

Anders, can you come out?
A gentleman wants to talk to you.

- I don't have time. Tell him to get lost.
- He's from the police.

That's an even better reason to.
I haven't done anything.

- I have a letter for Mr Wikner.
- If so, just put it through the slot.

He's an impressive man, don't you think?
At least, he thinks so.

- Don't you know what happened here?
- Who shot whom and why?

Nobody was shot. But your neighbour,
Mrs Brink, has committed suicide.

She hanged herself. Now you can get up
so we can continue our conversation.

- Have you lived here a long time?
- Three years altogether.

I had the apartment before we married.

Pardon my tone. I didn't know
it was so serious. You had a letter.

Yes, we found it on her desk...
it's addressed to you and your wife.

There's no doubt it was suicide,
but it wouldn't hurt to have confirmation.

She writes:
"Dear neighbours..."

"I have just decided to end
my meaningless existence."

"I have no relatives or friends
who are close to me...

... which is why I wish,
being of sound mind...

... to bequeath all my belongings to you,
the author Anders Wikner and his wife."

"Do what you want with my things.
Sell whatever you have no use for."

"Money for the funeral can be found
in my bank book in the bottom left drawer."

"Sorry for the inconvenience.
Stockholm 22.10.1949. Dagmar Brink."

She wrote that she didn't have
any close friends. Weren't you, though?

- No, not all. We didn't know her.
- I have to say this is quite strange.

Well, to me, everything's clear.
It might be trickier for you, though.

The will isn't legally valid,
since it wasn't certified.

But unless there any claims from relatives,
I wouldn't worry about it.

I'll take the keys so the administrator
of the estate can come to me.

- The name's Lövgren. Good-bye.
- Good-bye.

- A fuse must have blown.
- There's no light bulb.

- Do you think... ?
- Probably.

- Shouldn't we wait until tomorrow?
- We're here now.

- There, that should make it cosier.
- Cosy is hardly the right word.

The desk is nice. We'll keep it
so you don't have to write in bed.

Nobody's going to make me write
one word outside of bed.

The kind of books you'd expect.
Mostly poetry.

Boye, Gullberg, Södergran...

- Should we keep the radio gramophone?
- If I don't have to hear the radio...

There are lots of records.
Both modern and classical.

- Beethoven and Tchaikovsky.
- How did you know?

By her looks. She's underlined
a poem by Södergran.

Silent shall I be all my life,

a speaker is like the babbling brook
that gives itself away;

a lonely tree shall I be
on the plain,

the tree in the forest
perishes with longing for storm,

I shall be healthy from head to toe
with golden stripes in the blood,

I shall be pure and innocent
like a flame licking its lips.

- High ideals.
- Yes.

Why did she kill herself?

I'd like to find the people
responsible for her death.

- Maybe it was her own fault.
- No, and I'm going to work it out.

- How do you mean to work it out?
- 'Girl with Hyacinths'.

- What did you say?
- It's her. From the newspaper.

- Who painted this?
- Can't you tell? Elias Körner.

Elias Körner...
So we'll start with him.

N.B!
DEAD

DRUNK

Hello... is anybody home?

Hello... ?

- What is it?
- I'd like to talk to Mr Körner.

- What's going on?
- Some bloke wants to talk to you.

- My throat's dry. Come back later.
- He says to come back later.

- How much later?
- When his throat isn't dry. Piss off!

Good-bye.

Hello there! Wake up!
Here's one crown.

An order from Körner.
Go out and buy three litres of milk.

- A Mr Wikner wants to see you.
- I don't know the name. Ask what he wants.

- It's about Dagmar Brink.
- Let him in.

Wikner? Have a seat.
Please keep it short.

- I'm expecting someone.
- I saw you at Dagmar Brink's funeral.

- That's right. What's it to you?
- Do you know why she killed herself?

No, I hardly knew her.

I went to the funeral because
I'm an old friend of her mother.

So I saw... in the parish registers.

What gives you the right to pry
into people's private lives? Get out!

As you wish. Don't let me disturb
your guilty conscience.

Stop!

Sit down.

Dagmar Brink and I
met only the once.

It was in the New Year of 1946,
here in this room.

I was looking at a man shovelling snow
on the roof across the road.

I thought: "I'll be damned, if you're not
enjoying yourself more than me."

Then the buzzer sounded.

A Mrs Brink is asking for you.
Dagmar Brink.

Tell her to come in.

- Good day, sir.
- Good day.

Won't you sit down?

What can I do for you?

As you know, my mother died 10 years ago,
and since then I've been on my own.

It's been tough. I was hoping
that it wouldn't come to this...

... but now I need 5,000 crowns.
And I have nowhere else to turn.

- Excuse me, but why ask me?
- You're my father.

I'm sorry, but neither of us
can be sure about that. Unfortunately.

My mother was, and she never lied
to you nor to me.

Dear Mrs Brink. I regret to tell you
that when your mother and I were together...

... she was unfaithful.
She admitted it herself.

Yes, once. When you were abroad
for six months at the start of your relationship.

- She told you the day you came home.
- You're very well-informed.

- Then you also know I forgave her.
- Yes. But two years later she got pregnant...

... and that lapse you had forgiven became
your excuse for breaking up with her by letter.

You abandoned her
when she needed you most.

I gave her 5,000 crowns
to open a hairdressing salon.

Listen to yourself. It was a loan,
and she paid it all back.

I never asked her to.

No, but you took it. It's those 5,000 crowns
that I need now.

Honestly, I can't see why
I should give you any money.

But for the sake of your mother,
I'll write you a cheque for 1,000 crowns.

- I said 5,000.
- And I said 1,000.

- I still have that letter.
- What letter?

A farewell letter to my mother,
written one month before you married...

... a lady "of your own class".
Unfortunately, it's dated.

- Blackmail is a felony.
- The scandal would be unpleasant for you.

What guarantee do I have
that this won't happen again?

You'll get the letter back.

Here you are. I'm glad your mother
didn't have to live through this.

Yes, and that's thanks to you.
Good day, sir.

That was my first and only encounter
with Dagmar Brink.

- Do you think she was your daughter?
- I hope that she wasn't.

Then why did you attend the funeral?

- Attorney Ryhner is here.
- Send him in.

I'm afraid I'm busy.
Good day.

Any applause for that would be pure charity.
What is it?

- Sorry, are you Miss Wiklund?
- I used to be.

Is it about a lawsuit or an old debt?

- You used to live at Olofsgatan 13, right?
- Yes, but I don't owe any rent.

- Can we go somewhere and talk?
- Yes, I'd like a gin and tonic, thank you.

There's a pub downstairs.

...and you have to jump in like that.
It's very exciting sometimes.

That one's mine. Put the bottles
on the table, we're not going for a swim.

- Where's Ekberg?
- The manager's gone to the box office.

If he asks, it's 2½ in mine
and 7½ in his.

Farewell to sense and sanity,
as my husband likes to say.

But when it comes to him, there's
not a lot to bid farewell to.

I knew Dagmar Brink, but I don't have
anything special to tell you about her.

But we met in a funny way, of course.

It was on Christmas Eve,
just before I married Viktor.

It was 1946, and we were sitting
down here, the whole ensemble.

Ekberg owns both this pub
and the theatre.

It's a tradition that we celebrate
Christmas here together.

We sat over there. We were living it up.
Laughing and singing.

Viktor was a bit cranky,
because I had just passed him the basket.

But that was the only worry.
Nylander recited 'Clown Clopopisky'...

... as he always does after four shots.
But nobody listened to him,

except Viktor, who was feeling sentimental.
And then Dagmar Brink came in.

... and did his best circus leap,
and stood on his head, and then..

- Yes, dear friends, that's the end.
- Nice!

Is Madam on her own?
What can I get you?

- Whatever's for dinner, thank you.
- A sandwich, or a full meal?

- The sandwich.
- Anything to drink?

A small mineral water.

Fourteen years old I believe I was.
Just a girl and so happy because...

Not a suitor as far as I could see
But that was all the same to me

- What's the matter? Are you crying?
- As a matter of fact, I am.

- But why?
- Look at her over there.

Just like a lonely little sparrow...
without a Christmas sheaf.

- It's not as bad as that, I think.
- Oh, you have a heart of stone, Hugge.

Look at us, with our hams
and sausages and pâté...

while she's nibbling on dry sandwiches
and drinking mineral water.

- Invite her over here, then.
- What a good person you are, Hugge!

- Why are you crying?
- I'm thinking of 'Clown Clopopisky'.

You're drunk.

My name is Gullan Wiklund.
I'm sorry to impose...

... but you looked so lonely.
Wouldn't you like to sit with us?

- Thanks, but I don't know any of you.
- We're just harmless revue actors.

- And it's Christmas Eve. Please come.
- Thank you.

Don't mind Viktor.
He's had a few drinks too many.

Come on in
and make yourself at home.

- There's a letter here.
- A letter? Oh, it's from my friend!

I have a friend,
if you get my meaning.

It will be interesting to see the figure
he's come up with for me this time.

He's sweet and nice,
but not very generous.

You'll be sleeping there.
It's very comfortable.

What the...? Oh!
A cheque for 1,000 crowns!

He's got so senile that he can't tell
how many zeroes he's writing.

Hooray! Light some Christmas candles
to make it cosy.

Excuse me. I'll just read
what he wrote.

"Dear Gullan..."

This is bullshit!

What is it?

After eight years. A farewell on grey paper.
"Thank you for the time we've shared."

"You'll understand that you can't
count on my financial support any more."

And guess what his excuse is?
He's become a grandfather.

I bet he's found someone younger
and prettier. "I've become a grandfather!"

Well, that's just great.
Who'll pay for the apartment?

- Do you want to take it over?
- But what about you?

Don't worry about me.

Viktor, it's Gullan.
The answer is 'yes'.

I said, the answer is 'yes'.

Viktor, there's nothing to get weepy about.
Now he's crying too.

Yes, you know that I love you.
Yes, I do. Go to sleep.

So Dagmar and I lived together
until I married Viktor.

We didn't see each other much. She got
a job at the Ritz Bar and I was at the theatre.

- I could never work her out.
- How do you mean?

- Can I pay?
- One moment.

There was something a bit odd about her.
She was hard to connect with.

She was locked inside her own head.
But we were very different, of course.

You don't know where she'd come from
that Christmas Eve?

No, she never wanted to say.

But I overheard the address
when she rang the removalists.

It was Höglundsgatan 37.
I've forgotten the name.

Yes, come in, for goodness' sake!

- What the hell is it?
- I wanted to see Mr Körner.

Elias, the idiot who tricked me
into buying milk, he's here.

- So it's him?
- Yes.

That was pretty bloody funny.

Did you hear? Elias Körner, laughing.
Have a sip.

No, thank you, I'll come back later.
Good-bye.

Good-bye! Are you too refined
to drink straight from the bottle?

You bloody clean-cut...

... clean-shaven petty-bourgeois!
Get out of here.

Don't come back.

He was right. You are
a clean-shaven petty-bourgeois.

But you write like an illiterate.
What does it say here?

An illiterate can't write at all.
But you're one, since you can't read.

Yes, what does it say?
It's not easy when you're writing in bed.

- "Anthropomorphising", it says...
- What does that mean?

'Anthropos' means human
and 'morph' means form in Greek.

- No-one will get it.
- Yes, those who are meant to will.

- Ah, what is it now?
- Find something to drink.

We're having a visitor.

Can't a man ever be at peace
in his own home?

I can't even keep a bottle for myself.

- Good evening.
- Do come in.

Anders... this is Captain Brink,
Dagmar's former husband.

Wikner... please come in.

I saw your names
in Dagmar's death notice.

It's none of my business...
but how did she die?

- She...
- ... killed herself.

- Yes.
- I had a feeling it was that.

- So, do you know why she did it?
- No, not at all.

But I'm not surprised.
She was that kind of person.

She was different.
Hard to get close to.

Even though we were married for four years,
I wasn't sure what she thought or felt.

- But I suppose this doesn't interest you.
- On the contrary.

What you're saying
is very interesting to me.

It's hard to think
that she could have been alive...

... and the two of us still married,
if I hadn't opened that letter.

It was a few months
after our marriage.

I came home early one day.
We lived out in the suburbs.

There was a letter to Dagmar.
It was sent from Paris.

She was at the dentist's in town.
She rang shortly before dinner.

She said she'd be late
and that I shouldn't wait for her to eat.

I'd already been looking
at the letter for a couple of hours.

So I gave in to temptation
and opened it.

It was a love letter
from someone called Alex.

It was very obvious
that they had loved each other...

... and that he still loved her.

I was just about to reseal the envelope
when I heard the door open.

- Hi. You've eaten, I suppose?
- Yes.

So where's the 'thank you for dinner' kiss?
Or don't I get one because I wasn't home?

Let me look at you. Did something happen?
Has Alswärd been picking on you again?

No, but it wasn't much fun
to have to eat on my own.

So speaks the newly-wed husband.
Can you tell that I'm swollen?

No... be quiet, please.

According to the Stefani news agency,
German vanguards marched into Paris today...

... through Port St Denis.

When the Germans entered Paris,
the city streets were empty.

Most remaining residents
stayed inside or in shops.

The blinds were drawn,
and there was deathly silence...

- What are you doing?
- It's appalling.

No worse than when they entered
Brussels, Amsterdam or Warsaw.

- They're horrible.
- But damn good soldiers.

The rot and corruption in France
is due for a clean-up.

- You sound like a Nazi.
- As an officer, I admire them.

But I don't sympathise with them.
Please, let's not discuss politics.

No, let's not.

- Dagmar... ?
- Yes.

Could you answer me honestly?
Were you in love with anyone before me?

- Why are you asking me that now?
- I know so little about you.

Enough not to have to ask
that question, I think.

You can love someone
without becoming involved with them.

I don't know why you're bringing it up,
but I'll give you an honest answer.

You're the first man
I've ever loved, Stefan.

I don't understand
why she lied to me that time.

And you never told her
that you'd read the letter from Alex?

That would have been the same
as asking for a divorce.

She would have forgiven me
for cheating on her...

... but never for reading
one of her letters.

I burned it the same evening,
but it didn't help.

I couldn't forget
that she had lied to me.

It changed everything between us.
I couldn't trust her any more.

And she could tell... well,
I'd better be going.

Thank you for listening.
It felt good to talk about it.

- I haven't done that before. Good night.
- I'll come and see you out.

- Do you think she was unfaithful?
- Do you?

- No.
- Why not?

- She wasn't that type.
- She lied about Alex.

Not necessarily. We can't know
for sure what that letter said.

You can't rely on the word
of a jealous and suspicious man.

But I do know
that she loved Alex.

Do you?
How could you know?

- I'll tell you tomorrow. Go to sleep now.
- You must be joking.

Believe what you like. You won't hear it
from me tonight anyway. Turn off the light.

Good night.

- Anders, coffee's ready.
- I'm coming.

I wonder if that Elias Körner
is sober today?

Hi... did you sleep well?

- Must you read the paper at the table?
- If I don't, you will.

Are you in a bad mood?

No. But I've been dreaming
about that damn Alex.

So, will you tell me now?
Hey?

Will you tell me now?

It was at the beginning
of our relationship... February, 1947.

As usual, you had been
too lazy to walk me home.

- Can I come in for a second?
- Not now. I was on my way to bed.

Oh no, you weren't.

- What's that supposed to mean?
- I don't like to meddle in other people's lives.

But when it comes to suicide,
I consider it my obligation.

Can't we sit down?

You can sit. I prefer to stand.

Why did you want to do it?

Why would I tell you?
I don't even know your name.

Britt Söderberg. I'm the advertising manager
at Lange's publishers.

- I live across the corridor.
- Dagmar Brink.

Please, Miss Brink.
Sit down.

Mrs Brink.
I was married once.

Drink this.
It will calm you down.

So, won't you tell me?
Not for my sake, but for your own.

There's nothing to tell.
I just can't take it any more.

I'm sorry... it's over now.

I'm the hopeless kind of person, who asks
too much of life and the people around me.

I want them to be good, and kind,
and well-intentioned...

... and when they aren't,
I take it very badly.

And I never learn. After each blow,
I pick myself up, naive and hopeful...

... with the same demands.
And then I take the next blow.

I'm like one of those dolls
we played with as children...

... with a lead weight
under their feet.

But dolls like that
will sometimes break.

Surely there's someone
who hasn't let you down.

Yes, one person...
but they might some day...

... and then I don't want
to be around any more.

- So it's over for now?
- Yes, the doll is back on her feet.

- Ready for the next blow.
- Try accepting life as it is,

and not having
such high expectations.

And you do have someone.
Isn't that enough?

- We can never have each other.
- You don't know that.

No, in this case,
I can be completely sure.

I'm going to bed now.
Thank you for coming over.

- You don't have to worry. You can go.
- I'd rather see you in bed first.

Can you take a sleeping pill?
Get into bed.

Call out when you're ready,
and I'll come to tuck you in.

As you wish.

I'm ready now.

- Did you take the sleeping pill?
- Yes.

- Do I need to take care of the others... ?
- No.

- Should I stay here until you're asleep?
- Yes, I'd like that.

Close your eyes, then,
and fall asleep like a sweet little girl.

- Can I hold your hand?
- Of course.

It's been a long time
since I went to sleep like this.

Now the church bells are ringing
in the village. Can you hear them, Alex?

Go to sleep now.

It's good to be alive.
Don't you think?

Yes.

Never leave me, Alex.
Promise me.

I love you so much.
Much too much.

Why did you never tell me this?

I thought it was none of your business.

So she lied to her husband.
But it doesn't make sense.

- It doesn't fit with her character.
- I don't think so either.

Apparently, Alex was the love
of her life.

How could she be so sure
that they could never have each other?

Maybe he was married, or dead.

But she feared that the day would come,
when he'd let her down.

No, he definitely wasn't dead.
See you at lunchtime.

This is what she looked like
when I got to know her.

Well, it's how I saw her.
I called it 'Girl with Hyacinths'.

That was stupid. I should have
called it 'Miss Lonely'.

The first time I saw her was
at the Ritz Bar. It was the spring of '45.

She played there. I'd never seen
a person who looked so lonely.

Well, not counting
the mental patients in Beckomberga.

But that's another story. I was
at the beginning of one of my cycles...

... and had been staring at her
all night long.

- Can I buy you a glass of red wine?
- I'm on my way home.

No, don't do that. I'm asking you
in the nicest possible way, Little Miss Lonely.

Sit with me for a while. You see,
I'm just as lonely as you.

Come here.

You don't have to say anything.
I just want to look at you.

I know you think
that I'm a creepy fellow.

How could a fair and tender
fairytale princess like you...

A fairytale princess
who plays swing... Just a thought...

How could she find me anything
but ugly and repulsive?

Look at my nails.

It looks like drunken snails
tried to crawl in under them to hide,

but failed miserably.
My poor little snails.

To be sickened by yourself
and hate yourself – yes, that's easy.

"That is very easy."
Do you know who wrote that?

If you'll model for me
I'll tell you.

There are so many pretty things I want
to tell you about, Little Miss Lonely.

Let me paint your portrait. It's quite
an honour to be painted by Elias Körner.

One day I'll be up there with the big names...
the big and the lonely ones.

Let's make the arrangements now.

You'll come to my studio...

Höglundsgatan 37...

on Monday the 24th...

Let's say at 11?
Then this little phase will be over.

You'll be surprised
at how different I am.

- Say that you'll come.
- On one condition.

- What's that, Little Miss Lonely?
- That you get rid of the snails. Good night.

So, what do you think?

- Artistically, it's excellent.
- Don't you think it looks like you?

Yes... but not really.
I'm not so deep and mysterious.

It's much more like you than me.

Oh no, you're that lonely girl exactly...

... who's waiting for something
that she knows is never going to happen.

No, you may not know it about yourself...
or you're not willing to acknowledge it.

Isn't it beautiful... and soothing

to look out at a city
in the rain... ?

Soaking tin roofs...
a lonely umbrella in a doorway...

... and pigeons huddled on window sills.

Rain...

It makes me think of my mother.

I certainly wasn't
what she'd hoped for.

- Were you often lonely as a child?
- Yes.

So was I.

So she quit her job at the Ritz
and moved in here.

We didn't want to get married.
Neither of us believed in marriage...

... and deep down we both knew
that it wouldn't last anyway.

But we never admitted it
to each other... Poor thing.

She didn't know what she was in for.
What I was like at my worst.

We were happy on and off. There could be
months without me touching a bottle.

But then it came. I would be gone for days
and she'd have to run around town...

... only to find me
in some stinking watering hole...

... or with moonshine peddlers in a basement
in the Old Town. Or at a police station.

It can't have been much fun
to care for me at those times.

Would you like having to undress and wash
a foul-smelling, unconscious carcass?

She did that.

After three of these cycles in just under a year,
she was almost as wrung out as me.

Come and eat.

- I can't.
- You have to try.

- All this fucking nagging!
- I'm not nagging you for my own sake.

Then why don't you get out?
Accept that I'm a lost cause.

There's no use fighting it.
I'll end up dragging you down with me.

Why don't you leave
before it's too late?

- I love you.
- That's just something you're telling yourself.

Nobody can feel love for me.
It's just pity, and I don't want that.

You and your Good Samaritan deeds!
Your compassion is choking me.

I can't stand the look in your eyes,
that eternally forgiving look.

- Everything could still work out.
- Yes, if you left.

- No, if you did.
- So that's what you want.

You want to put me in an institution,
but you can forget about that.

I know all about those places,
with their intrusive nurses and doctors...

... who have so many patients
they can't even remember your name.

There's a professor in Switzerland
with a clinic that's using a new approach.

He's cured all his patients,
but it takes half a year.

So that's where you want me.
And who's going to pay for the trip?

It costs no more than 8,000 crowns.

No more than 8,000 crowns?
Where the hell would I get that?

Can't you get an advance
at the salon?

I have a fixed salary
of 500 crowns a month. It's hardly likely.

But if you can get the last 5,000,
I'd be happy to go.

- Do you promise?
- Yes.

- Where are you going?
- Never you mind.

- What are you looking for?
- A letter.

I hope I won't have to use it.

Whether you believe it or not,
she came back that same afternoon...

... and laid five big notes
in front of me.

I wanted to know where she got them from,
but she wouldn't tell me.

I had no choice
but to pack and leave. I'd promised.

I came home after six months,
disgustingly hale and healthy...

... having almost choked
on the mountain air...

with rosy cheeks,
bursting with creativity.

The happiest months
of our life together followed.

We hardly went out at all.
We stayed home in the evenings...

... listening to the radio and reading books.
Once in a while we went to see a film.

I never touched a bottle.

I never met up with any of my drinking pals,
and I painted obsessively.

Let me show you
one of the results...

- Well, what do you think?
- I'm not an expert, but...

- Isn't it just a bit banal?
- No, it isn't.

It's as mindblowingly banal and devoid
of life as a painting could ever be.

But I didn't see it.
I just kept on painting.

Until Christmas came suddenly one day.

Short of money, as usual, I took a couple
of paintings to one of my regular customers.

He was a know-it-all,
and he told me the truth.

It was quite a scene.
I told him to go to hell and left.

I walked out on the street,
propped the paintings against the house wall...

... and stared at them. It struck me
that the man had been absolutely right.

It was early in the morning
on Christmas Eve.

Is that Kjell?
Hi, it's Dagmar.

Merry Christmas...
I don't suppose Elias is with you?

So he isn't... ?
No, we had decided that we...

Oh, here he is.
Bye! Say hello to Maja.

Merry Christmas...
Merry fucking Christmas!

And a Christmas tree
and twinkling little candles...

And nuts... and raisins...

And... a plaster church, and a Christmas pig
with an apple in its mouth.

And a sheaf, and Christmas presents...
Well, I do thank you.

"To Elias, my love,
from the former Miss Lonely."

What can it be? A hand-knitted scarf
or a pair of slippers?

And I know what's in this package.
It's a nail cleaner. How splendid.

And Christmas angels...

And children singing on the radio.

Why don't you say something?
Say that I'm an arsehole, a skunk.

Five thousand crowns down the drain.
Where did you get them, by the way?

Is Little Miss Lonely a blackmailer?

Using such cruel methods against old lovers
to get the new one all well...

... so he can...
paint lots of new pictures.

That one got what it was worth.
Now I can breathe again.

Do you understand what you've done
to make us "happy"?

You've crippled me as a painter.
But I'm not dead just yet.

I wasn't put on this earth
to make us happy, but to paint.

And that's what I'll do.

So what now?
Doesn't being here suit you any more?

Little Miss Lonely
is taking off.

Yes, damn it, just go! Take the scarf,
and the nail cleaner...

and the marzipan pig,
and the whole fucking plaster church.

I'm finished with you,
and all your kind.

You soulless clods
with your false notions of happiness!

What the hell can you know about happiness
when you don't know what suffering means?

It's fortunate
that you don't comprehend...

... how damned hollow and meaningless
your existence is.

Because if you did,
you'd kill yourself!

Good luck, Little Miss Lonely!

I drank for two days straight
until I passed out.

When I came to, she had already
picked up her things.

On the table lay the keys
and a ring I had once given her.

The only present I ever gave her.
We never saw each other again.

You think that I was a bastard, of course,
and that we shouldn't have parted like that...

... but that's also
the only thing I regret.

You see, my snails are good for me.
We belong together, so to speak.

Now there's a meaning to what I do.

- Is the portrait not for sale?
- No, it is not.

It's my best work, but that's not
why I want to keep it.

But hang on a minute.
I did some sketches to start with.

They're around here somewhere.

Honestly, this is the best one.
Take it.

- Thank you, it's very kind of you...
- No, I don't want to be paid anything.

It wouldn't feel right.

- Who's that?
- Willy Borge. He used to be popular.

- Dagmar had one of his albums.
- I can't believe it.

I know that fellow.
We were at high school together.

- He was repulsive even then.
- Did he steal some girl from you?

Oh God, no. That's the silliest thing
I've ever heard.

- When was he popular?
- At the beginning of the war.

- And she had a whole album of his?
- Yes, but so do lots of other girls.

- What are you up to?
- "Borge, Willy. Advertising Assistant."

- It must be him.
- You're not going to call him, are you?

There's no harm in trying.

Excuse me, are you the Willy Borge
who used to be called 'The Pea'?

- Oh yes, it's 'The Pea' speaking.
- I just wanted to ask you...

... did you ever know a girl
named Dagmar Brink?

It's hard to explain over the phone.
Can I come over to you?

Good, I'm on my way.

I first met her at one of those awful
charity concerts at Blue Hall.

It was in 1943. I was performing there.
I was a popular singer back then.

She was walking around selling badges...
Please excuse me.

Borge speaking.
It's himself.

This is a good one... Tonight?
Well, it's hard to say right now...

I might get a better offer,
you know.

What was that? No, can I call you back... ?
No, I just mean...

This could take a while.

I know.

I don't mind them being stupid,
I just wish they talked less.

Come again?
No, I don't have a girl here.

Why must women
always be so jealous?

Great, she's crying.

I just had to pull the plug...

Dagmar, you said... well,
to cut a long story short...

... I bought all the badges she had,
and when the concert was over...

... I suggested we should come here
and listen to my latest recordings.

Well, I don't think they're any
more romantic than you do...

... but the girls usually like them,
and that's the main thing.

I made sure to always
give them an album as a present.

This album contains my best recordings.
I would be happy...

... if you would take it
as a memory of this evening.

- How many girls have got it before me?
- None, Dagmar. I swear.

Deep down, I'm a very lonely person.

Lonely, and an incurable romantic...
perhaps that's why I'm lonely.

Our generation is afraid of romance.

We'd rather jump out of a window
than acknowledge our need for tenderness.

- Maybe the need isn't there.
- Yes, it is. Don't you have it?

I suppose I do...
but not for just anyone.

- You mean me... ?
- Among many others.

- How long have you been married?
- Three years.

- Why are you unhappy?
- I should go now.

No, don't. I won't ask
any more questions like that.

- Are the walls thin here?
- No. Are you going to scream?

No.

- Keep going. You play well.
- I never go any further.

- Why is that?
- The inspiration runs out.

What was his name?

You're mistaken.
There was no him.

That's what's wrong with you.
You've never really loved anyone.

- Haven't I?
- Not happily, at least.

I can see it in your eyes.

- Can you call for a car now?
- I could make you so happy.

Call for it now.

Believe it or not, I called for a car
and even drove her home.

To the suburbs...
I, who never drive girls home.

So it wasn't
one of your more successful nights.

On the contrary.
You'll think I'm mad...

... but I'm glad that nothing happened.
It's become a pleasant memory.

- I don't have too many of those.
- Was that the only time you met her?

Oh no, but it was another year
before we met again.

I'd been doing a tour for conscripts,

and was pissed off when I got in
to the main train station.

- Dagmar, why are you standing here?
- I just said goodbye to my husband.

What a coincidence. Let's spend
the evening together. Is this your bag?

This whole month has been a drag,
and now I'm going to make up for it.

How do you like my cocktail cabinet?
Snazzy, eh? Nine hundred and fifty crowns.

But then again,
it was a limited edition.

- What would you like to drink?
- I think I've had enough.

But wouldn't you like a glass of champagne?
I can get it chilled in a minute.

- Not for me.
- Alright, as you wish.

So how long
will your husband be gone?

Forever... we're getting divorced.
We decided today.

How about that!
Well, these things happen.

- It must feel strange, right?
- Yes.

- I'm glad I'm not the reason.
- But you are.

What are you saying?

When I got home that night after the concert,
my husband was waiting for me.

Ouch! Well, there you go.

It's not hard to guess
what he thought.

He should have known me better.

But he never trusted me.
I wonder why that is?

So your honourable behaviour last time
was futile.

- Not for me, it wasn't.
- No, no, I mean for him.

A more cynical person might say
that we've got one on hold.

That's what I was thinking about
when you appeared at the station.

Really? Should I have the champagne
cooling down then?

- No, but will you call for a car?
- What are you saying?

I'm sorry to disappoint you.
It was a mistake to come here.

Dagmar, you can't
walk out on me again.

I've missed you.
I've thought about you every day.

- Don't you understand that I love you?
- You know that's not true.

There's just one person
you've always loved. Yourself.

Why do you enjoy hurting me?

Don't be melodramatic. It doesn't suit you.
Call for a car now.

There was nothing to be done, but at least
she had to drive herself home that time.

- And you'd gained another beautiful memory.
- You can have too many of those, too.

- She was a peculiar girl.
- Why? She didn't love you.

Actually, she did.
It came out later on.

Don't tell anyone,
but the reason she took her life was...

... that she was unhappily
in love with me.

The night before it happened,
a friend rang me.

He was sitting with two likely ladies
in Aldon's Bar.

I hurried over,
because one was a redhead.

Dagmar was playing at the bar,
but that didn't bother me at all.

The females were lookers. Two Swedes
who had just come back from abroad.

We sat there for a while
and loaded up on booze.

When Dagmar finished playing,
the redhead called out to her...

... because they had gone to school together,
and we kept going at my place.

- Wasn't it awful?
- It wasn't that bad.

- Benedictine or cocoa?
- Isn't there any cognac?

I got by quite well.
My German has always been good.

- Do you mean... you worked for them?
- Yes, it was that, or go through hell.

It's easy to sit here and frown
and talk about opportunism.

- Here's a cognac.
- I've always liked Germans, anyway.

- What work did you do?
- This and that.

None of it suitable for people like you
with clean hands, I can assure you.

But when you're knee-deep in shit,
after a while you're not afraid to touch it.

- Another glass?
- Go ahead and pour.

I've drunk stronger men
than you under the table.

- Germans can't handle much.
- I've been at parties with all nationalities.

- And not just for the booze, eh?
- Mind your own business, brother.

- So we'll head over to my place later, eh?
- I don't think so, little man.

- Why not?
- My time's worth more than you're offering.

- So, how have you been?
- Fine.

- You haven't changed, Dagmar.
- I can't say the same.

Can't you play something more cheerful?
What about a a samba?

- You can do the samba, can't you, Willy?
- Provided I'm holding you...

- I'm crazy about red hair.
- Even if it's fake?

- I hope they'll leave soon.
- Are you sleepy?

- No, are you?
- No... do we really have to wait?

- It would look better.
- Right now, I'd like to look bad.

In that case...

We had barely closed the door
when Dagmar stopped playing.

When we came back, she was gone.
And the next day, she was found dead.

- It's unfathomable.
- That's the story.

She might have loved me all along
without knowing it.

When she saw me in someone else's arms,
she realised, and it was too late.

I should put the stopper back in.
There could be an order on the way.

- So, the mystery of Dagmar Brink is solved.
- Poor Anders. Are you disappointed?

Yes, I am. I should never
have started looking into the story.

People never cease to amaze.
Or to disillusion.

A woman I thought
was one in a thousand...

- ... turned out to be nothing special.
- I still don't think that's right.

Then again, you haven't met Willy Borge.

If you kill yourself over him,
you're nothing special at best.

The mystery that never was has been solved.
There's nothing important we don't know.

There's no-one left to talk to.
I'm having a cup of tea.

- There is one person.
- Who?

The red-headed girl
she went to school with.

Whatever she had to say
wouldn't change anything.

I never heard her name.

- I'd like to get in touch with her.
- Call Borge. The stopper's back in now.

Excuse me, my name is Mrs Wikner.
My husband forgot to ask you one thing.

The red-headed girl
who was at your place with Dagmar...

What was her name?

- What did you call her?
- Alex.

Her actual name was Alexandra,
but I've forgotten the surname.

It doesn't matter.
Sorry to bother you.

Alex, I love you so much.
Much too much.

We can never have each other.

There's just one person
who hasn't let me down.

But they might some day. And then
I don't want to be around any more.

Well, did you find out her name?

No, he'd forgotten it.