All language subtitles for Crimes.Of.The.Future.1970.720p.BluRay.FLAC1.0.x264-CtrlHD

(Pulsing and crackling)

(Pulsing and crackling fades)

I am Adrian Tripod,
the Director of this place,

the House of Skin.

In a sense, my present
incarnation was generated

by the mad dermatologist
Antoine Rouge.

The House of Skin
began its existence

as a residential clinic
for wealthy patients

who were treated for
severely pathological skin conditions

induced by
contemporary cosmetics.

(Rhythmic croaking and birds tweeting)

Antoine Rouge,
who at the time,

was considered little more
then a gifted technician

seized control of the house
many years ago

and guided it towards
a more fantastic species of research.

There was much opposition
to the Rougian ascendancy

in certain high places.

(Indistinct atmospheric sounds)

(Cawing)

(Buzzing)

The House is undeniably in decline.

Somehow, without
my direct comprehension of it,

it has fallen into the hands
of my two sullen interns.

Their purposes

are entirely opaque to me.

As are the purposes
of so many others.

Before the disappearance
of Antoine Rouge,

there were many strange creatures
in residence here.

But for some time now,
there has only been one.

And he...

...I believe, I have noted

a whitish, aerated
amorphous affluence

oozing from his ears.

I am not quite certain.

My interns have also noted
the deadly emergence

of this secretion
which we call Rouge's foam.

(Whimpering)

(Rhythmic pulsing)

(Rapid rhythmic pulsing)

(Pulsing stops)

(Wind howling, birds tweeting)

(Ghostly sounds)

It has been mandatory
to cremate all those

who have died from Rouge's Malady.

Although during the period
of secretion and haemorrhage,

the various pathological fluids
are relatively harmless,

even essentially attractive.

These fluids soon develop

a virulence
which can be devastating.

There was a time
when Rouge's Malady appeared

only in post-pubertal
human females.

(Repetitive hooting and birds tweeting)

It is perhaps natural
that in my present confusion

I should find my way to
the Institute of Neo-Venereal Disease.

In the exhilarating days
of Rougian administration,

there was much collaboration
between the House and this institute.

(Crackling)

(Bird tweeting)

My former colleague
has somehow withdrawn.

He himself has contracted

a species of venereal disease
from one of his patients.

He was once a fierce sensualist

but he has now become
a pure metaphysician.

His body has begun
to create puzzling organs.

Each one very complex, very perfect,

unique yet seemingly
without function.

As each is surgically removed,

it is quickly replaced by another
equally mysterious.

He has taken to breaking
into the specimens room

and stealing the jars
containing these organs.

His body, he insists, is a galaxy.

And these creatures
are solar systems.

He becomes melancholy
when they are far from him.

His nurse says that his disease

is possibly
a form of creative cancer.

I believe that this is
what they have said.

It is difficult
to recall so many dialects

when one has remained
so long in isolation.

(Crackling)

I have found a position
as a therapist

with the Oceanic Podiatry Group.

They support
their theoretical structure,

in part, by a grossly
distorted interpretation

of the later evolutionary writings
of Antoine Rouge.

Still the closeness of certain
Rougian concepts is comforting.

The technique I am to attempt
is the invocation

of the genetic history of feet.

That is, tentacles, lobed fins,
flippers and so on.

By these
and other more esoteric means,

I am to reverse
the psychic relapse, now so common,

which can occur
under intense genetic pressure.

I am, thereby,
to encourage patients

to bear the burden
of a suddenly alien gravity.

To walk, for example,

when they would prefer to revert
to more primitive oceanic forms.

(Chirping)

(Chirping grows louder)

(Chirping stops)

(Rattling)

(Rapid whirring)

(Grows louder)

(Silence)

(Cawing)

(Cawing grows louder)

(Chirping)

(Rhythmic beeping)

(Silence)

(Seagull squawking)

(Mechanical engine sound)

(Electronic sounds)

I have achieved
a sort of equilibrium

in my anonymity here
at Metaphysical Import-Export.

It has been simple
to remain aloof

from the internal workings
of this corporation

because as a minor
intramural courier

I am not required
to communicate

with many candidates
for executive positions with whom I deal.

As a consequence, however,

I am uncertain
as to what constitutes

the significance of their incessant
exercises and competitions.

(Water gushing)

When Antoine Rouge disappeared

soon after he had himself
contracted the disease

which bears his name,

we believed that
he had preferred to die alone

in an exile only partially self-willed.

Still, he on one occasion
remarked that Rouge's Malady

could not possibly be fatal to Rouge

though it had already killed
hundreds of thousands of women.

And it is true that his death
was confirmed only

by certain authorities
who had long wished for his death.

Yet, the Rouge,
as my mentor, and I

were preternaturally close.

And I feel sure

that he no longer exists.

(Static-like pulsing)

I have been studying
the stereoscopic card

delivered to me
by the man with webbed toes.

Though his manner was brutal,
the card he left me

was both inviting
and peculiarly flattering.

Yet it was perhaps
because of the perverse sexual nature

of the card's images,

so reminiscent of those
which had gained an odd popularity

at the House of Skin

which decided me against contacting
these subtle colleagues

as they describe themselves.

(Metallic pulse and dripping)

I fear, however,
that if I remain here much longer

my hard won equilibrium
may become a morbid stasis.

(Metallic pulse
and dripping grows louder)

(Silence)

My former difficult patient
now welcomes me with open arms.

He no longer limps

and claims that as a result of
my abortive attempt at oceanic therapy

he feels he has come to terms
with his mutant toes.

He adds something
elaborately philosophical

about sea creatures,
air and water,

but his idioms
are extremely obscure.

As I had anticipated,

I have been invited to join
a gathering of conspirators.

Their purposes are,
as yet, opaque to me.

As are the purposes
of so many others.

It is, however, quite clear

that they are
heterosexual paedophiles.

A group specifically outlawed

though increasingly pervasive,
nonetheless.

We are now all disciples
of a new master it seems.

He is called Jomkin.

He describes these provocative
spheres as his aquaria

and directs me to engage psychically

any aquarium
for which I feel empathy.

I cannot deny my attraction

to certain of these perverse
multi-dimensional images.

Jomkin suggests
that there must evolve

a novel sexuality
for a new species of man.

An emergent genetic biochemistry

for a most innovatively
reproductive form of life.

He mentions Antoine Rouge.

But... I cannot

seem to see the connection

between

(Non-descript scraping and cutting)

(Silence)

Adrian Tripod has been accepted
by the Board of Directors

of the Gynaecological
Research Foundation.

The Liaison Officer complains

that his feet and legs
are most unpredictable.

He is afraid that they will give out on
him entirely some day without warning.

And so when he is alone,
he does not walk.

He notes the vastness
of the Foundation's quarters

and the difficulty in reaching aid

for those
suddenly rendered helpless.

In this connection, he mentions
the Foundation's hired gunman

who apparently has a tendency

to misinterpret
subtle social confrontations.

Adrian Tripod is
to be directly introduced

to the subject of his study.

She is a research import

brought at great expense
from a great distance

across several
most contentious borders.

The Corporation
Metaphysical Import-Export

has been involved in the venture.

He stresses the complex nature
of prematurely induced puberty

which leaves such a subject
vulnerable to Rouge's Malady

and is unable to guarantee

that she is not already
somewhat defective in this respect.

(Static-like noise)

(Silence)

(Loud indistinct atmospheric sounds)

(Silence)

(White noise)

(White noise grows louder)

(Silence)

At an obscure hotel for transients,

the same one some had said,
that the faded mad dermatologist

Antoine Rouge occupied
during those last years in exile,

Adrian Tripod secures
temporary accommodations

for himself
and his fellow subversives.

(Distant birdsong)

The concierge speaks at length
about a root-like excrescence

which has begun to grow
from one of his nostrils.

He believes it to be an extension
of certain cerebral nerve cells.

A modified antennae, perhaps,
a delicate sensing organ.

Attuned to what?

I ask him about Antoine Rouge

but he does not answer.

(Loud birdsong)

(Dull white noise)

Although for safety's sake,

we shall be without
Jomkin's guidance for some time,

we have agreed among ourselves

that there must be no delay

in attempting to impregnate
our strange, unfathomable captive.

(Pulsing)

(Static-like noise)

(Silence)

(White noise and pulsing)

(Pulsing continues)

Adrian Tripod senses

the presence of Antoine Rouge.

(Indistinct atmospheric sounds)