All language subtitles for Night Gallery S02E13 The Messiah on Mott Street.DVDRip.NonHI.en.UNVSL

SERLING: Starring tonight:

Edward G. Robinson,

Zsa Zsa Gabor,

Yaphet Kotto,

Tony Roberts,

and Arthur O'Connell.

Good evening.

Of course, you're
all here by invitation.

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

don't happen to be your thing.

These are rather
special paintings,

the kind of hangings
generally put up with a noose.

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

what has become perpetuated
in the language as the ghetto.

That dismal realm of
pushcarts and poverty

where hopes are stamped
down like dirty shoes on snow.

Death is a commonplace
visitor to these somber alleys.

But occasionally
someone else visits.

Our painting is called The
Messiah on Mott Street.

And this place, should
you not already know it,

is the Night Gallery.

No?

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

I don't much like it either.

And this place is
like a refrigerator.

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

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

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

Now there was a blunt man.

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

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

Your father, God rest his soul,

would say, "Lousy."

Did I ever tell you

how your father and I
spent our boyhood together

in the old country?

Frequently, Mr. Goldman.

How you lived in
the same village.

How you came over
here on the same boat

with your brother Sam.

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

You know he...

He owns a thousand
acres in a place called

Imperial Valley in California.

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

"Dear brother Abe,

"Good news.

"I am gradually selling
off much of my land.

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

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

A goniff that guy. A thief.

I hate to say that
about my own brother,

but larceny and my brother Sam

go together like
borscht and beets.

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

and blood is thicker than water,

so any day I'll be
receiving a check.

Mr. Goldman,
finances at the moment

are only part of the problem.

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

You're very close to pneumonia.

There are also
pulmonary complications

due to your former
tubercular condition.

I've got to recommend
hospitalization.

I think that's not
only essential,

at the moment, it's urgent.

Hospitalization?

You should excuse me, Doctor,

but from this
room I do not walk.

From this room you
may not be able to walk.

Another few days lying here,

you may be
carried out feet first,

and you may not be
breathing at the time.

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

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

His parents, God
rest their souls,

both gone.

That boy is my responsibility.

I told you two weeks ago

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

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

He can be put in a foster home.

He'll be fed and clothed...

And loved? Will he be loved?

I don't give him much.

Rummage sale clothes

and steerage-class
apartment like this,

but here he has a grandpa.

Here he has somebody
who loves him.

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

but when the Bureau
of Child Welfare,

not to mention the
Department of Social Services...

Doctor,

a message to the
Department of Social Services

and the Bureau of Child Welfare

and the Commissioner
of Public Works

and the Mayor,

he should live and
be well, from Goldman.

Subject: His grandson, Mikey.

Message as follows.

Tell them that he is not
giving up his grandson.

You can tell that to everybody!

Yeah.

What about the Angel
of Death, Mr. Goldman?

What do I tell him?

The Angel of Death?

Is he close by?

He's outside, Mr. Goldman.

That close?

Well, a message to
the Angel of Death.

Tell him I'll spit in his eye!

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

Everything will
turn out all right.

I'll get money from my brother,

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

and the Messiah will
come to Mott Street!

Keep an eye out for him.

Oh, excuse me,

does an Abraham
Goldman live here?

With a vengeance.

I'm Miss Moretti, Bureau
of Public Assistance.

Are you a relative?

I'm Mr. Goldman's physician.

What do I look like, a plumber?

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

Well, we don't
often find physicians

making house calls nowadays.

Especially in relief cases.

In the interests of
survival, Miss Moretti,

when you talk to Mr. Goldman,

don't refer to him
as a relief case.

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

I see.

No, you don't. But you will.

Seventy-seven years old,
both lungs tubercular scarred,

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

But if you try and take
anything away from him,

you better duck.

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

I understand there's
a grandson involved.

That's what belongs to him.

The child obviously
can't stay here.

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

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

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

And he has great expectations.

A Messiah and his brother Sam.

Oh, yes, the brother.

The other caseworker
mentioned him in her report.

A million-dollar lettuce
grower in California.

You mean, he's really...

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

suffering from hardening
of the arteries and delusions.

Broke?

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

I'll drop in again tomorrow.

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

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

We can't let this
situation go on indefinitely.

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

Borrowed from
where, I don't know.

As of the moment,
you take that child away,

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

It's still cold out?

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

Just right for the
Yuletide season.

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

Happy Hanukkah, Doctor.

Happy Hanukkah.

God bless us, every one.

God help you, Mr. Goldman.

Well, now,

what culinary masterpieces
have you whipped up tonight, chef?

Tomato soup.

Tomato soup.

And what did you have?

Tomato soup.

Well look, Mikey,
you know, for me,

tomato soup is a delight,

since only my gums belong to me.

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

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

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

I had milk, too.

How was school today?

Did you know that
a guy named León

tried to find the
Fountain of Youth?

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

But, unfortunately, he
came up empty-handed.

Mikey,

no such thing as the
Fountain of Youth.

If there were,

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

You not old, Grandpa.

Not very old.

No. Not very.

Well, comparatively speaking.

Yes, compared to the
Wailing Wall in Jerusalem

and the Leaning Tower of Pisa,

I'm what you might
call a sprightly youth.

Do they sell pizza at
the Leaning Tower?

Pisa is a place. Pizza is food.

And you, Mikey, you're a prize.

You know, you ask
so many questions,

pretty soon you'll
be a very wise man.

Like you. Like me?

Unfortunately, your
grandpa is not very wise.

If he were,

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

when they were young.

Well, though it appears

that the Messiah
is already acting.

Who's the Messiah?

Who's the Messiah?

He's the messenger from God.

Any moment he will appear,

looming big and
black against the sky,

striking down our enemies,

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

And he'll fix our
digestions, too.

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

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

Will he bring ice cream?

Oh, tons.

Toys?

Carloads. Freight trains full.

What else?

What else do you want?

Will he bring the Giants
back to New York?

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

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

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

You didn't have no nothing.

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

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

and I'll have some
bread and butter.

Mikey,

you know, you are my solace,

you're my prize.

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

Did you know that?

Me, too.

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

Yes, well,

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

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

Mikey.

Yeah?

Leave something behind for me.

What, Grandpa?

A smile.

Who is it?

Who's in here?

I know who it is.

I know who it is, I tell you.

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

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

And, to your unseen
face, I tell you,

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

Take that back to the cemetery!

Goldman is not ready.

No. My pulse still beats,

my eyes still see,
the flesh still warm,

and my heart,

you mamzer from a mausoleum,

my heart still loves!

What? Peace you offer me?

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

No, no, thank you.

Rest? No cares?

Well, I'll take the cares

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

Listen, Angel!

Go down to Argentina
and look for Hitler.

Goldman is not ready!

My child is out there.

The son of my
son, the thing I love.

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

What's the matter, Grandpa?

Who's that, Grandpa?

You saw him?

Something... It looked like...

I don't know, a shadow?

And I thought you were
smart. A regular Einstein.

You don't know who it was?

Come here to Grandpa. Come here.

That, Mikey, that
was the Messiah.

The Messiah? In here?

In here.

What did he want?

Well, strictly to
deliver me a message.

What, Grandpa? What
was the message?

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

On Mott Street?

His first stop. Right
here on Mott Street.

He wanted to arrange
with me a warehouse

for all of your toys
and the ice cream.

Grandpa, are you kidding?

Now would I be kidding
about a thing like that?

Grandpa.

Yes?

If he comes again, the Messiah,

can you give him a message?

Verbatim. What's the communiqué?

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

but just to make you well.

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

Mikey, I already told him that.

I told him that we were a team.

Goldman and Goldman.

That we were inseparable,
just like Solomon and David.

Like Damon and Phintias.

Like hot dogs and mustard.

That's right.

Do you want your tea now?

No.

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

You call me if you
need me, Grandpa.

Mr. Messiah?

Mr. Messiah? Can you hear me?

Could I talk to
you for a minute?

Yeah. Merry Christmas.

Excuse me. Excuse me.

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

Who? The Messiah.

Me? Listen, buddy boy,

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

Why, if the Messiah
was to come down here,

he'd get mugged in 10 minutes.

He's been here
already. I seen him.

Oh, you know him
to see him, huh?

You don't even
recognize Santa Claus.

That's me, Santa Claus.

Don't you even
recognize Santa Claus?

I'm Jewish.

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

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

and you're looking for
the Messiah down here?

Let me tell you
something, buddy boy.

Either go uptown or go home.

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

Repent! Repent, you sinners!

The day of reckoning is come!

Repent! Repent, sinners!

The day has come!
Repent, you sinners!

Are you the Messiah?

I am he.

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

Of course. And soon to die.

Born of iniquity.

Steeped in sin and soon to die!

You tell him to get ready, boy.

Tell him to get prepared

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

struck down in the
righteous wrath of...

Not my Grandpa!

Wiped out, boy! Decimated!

The wages of evil paid at last.

You're not the Messiah!

I am the Messiah!

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

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

Go on.

He's the messenger from God.

At any minute he will appear,

looming big and
black against the sky,

striking down our enemies.

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

What's your problem, little son?

Grandpa's sick,

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

At least, not now.

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

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

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

But if you come on
over and cure Grandpa,

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

Damon and...

Like hot dogs and mustard.

Well, does Grandpa
have a doctor?

A real good doctor, Dr. Levine.

But Grandpa needs
more than a doctor now.

He needs you. He
needs the Messiah.

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

Because you're big
and black and you loom.

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

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

I was?

Just a little while ago.
I seen your shadow.

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

But Grandpa told
me it was only you.

How is he?

Still breathing,
that's about it.

They gonna need an ambulance?

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

Grandpa!

Easy, Mikey. Your
grandpa's asleep.

Can I see him?

Well, after a
little while maybe.

Oh, that's the Messiah.

The Messiah? Yeah.

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

Then can I see Grandpa?

Well, maybe.

What brings you?

An act of God, I think.

I came back to look in on you.

You were unconscious
and barely breathing.

Where's Mikey?

He's getting ready for bed.

And in that room,
that's a hallucination

or somebody from
the funeral home?

According to Mikey,
that's the Messiah.

The Messiah.

Fetch Mickey.

Looks like he didn't do so bad.

He could've brought
an Evangelist

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

I'll go get Mikey.

No, no, please.

Just tell him
I'm still sleeping.

He wants to see you.

Alive, he wants to see me.

Alive is how I want
him to remember me.

The Angel of Death was here.

Mr. Goldman...

No, no. He was here.

He came here earlier
and then he came again.

He left me a message.

Tell me.

He said he would
be back at midnight.

So what's to do?

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

Look, Mr. Goldman...

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

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

or how to make
heart transplants,

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

Seventy-seven
years I'm on this earth.

Seventy-seven.

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

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

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

the minyan,

the condensed eulogy by an
assistant Rabbi I never met,

and you get buried
with all your wisdom.

Three more years I wanted.

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

But no.

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

Hurry up with the shovel.

Hurry up with the
ice-cold fingers.

So you're the Messiah, huh?

Does the Messiah have a name?

They call me Buckner.

Buckner.

All right, Mr. Buckner,

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

I could use a miracle.

Is he bad off?

He says the Angel of
Death is due at midnight.

Who am I to argue?

Do you believe in
the Angel of Death?

Levine the doctor dabbles
only in the sciences.

But Levine, the
son of Jacob Levine,

the well-known student
of Levitical folklore,

yes, he believes in
the Angel of Death

and the Messiah
and miracles, too.

Very quietly,
Mikey. He's asleep.

Just kiss him goodnight
and try not to wake him.

You don't have to
be worried, Doctor.

The Messiah will
handle everything.

Damned drafty tenements.

Was it just the wind?

Well, what else could it be?

Well, the old man is
expecting someone.

Yeah.

The old man's expecting someone.

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

Mikey, come over to me.

Now, I'm going
to talk to you now

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

Your Grandpa is very sick,

and there's not
much anyone can do.

But the Messiah...

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

but he's not the Messiah.

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

Tell him! Tell him
you're the Messiah!

Grandpa!

Mikey!

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

Anybody ever tell you
you make a lousy Messiah?

Forgive me, Mr. Buckner.

That's the problem
with all ghetto dwellers

and former ghetto
dwellers, of which I am one.

We're mystics and
believers and children

to our dying day.

And that applies to
ancient doomed men,

ineffectual doctors,
and nine-year-old boys.

A triumvirate of
desperate losers

who share this illusion that
God favors the tenements.

Doctor,

I had a nightmare
like you can't believe.

I was telling Mikey.

A grandfather of a
nightmare, a dean.

And what a cast of characters.

Shakespeare himself
couldn't create them.

The Angel of Death, the Messiah.

You and Mikey were there and

somebody in the living room.

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

I don't...

Don't recall anyone. Was there?

I remember going
out to find the Messiah.

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

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

The important
thing, Mr. Goldman,

is that we seem to
have licked this crisis.

Mmm.

Pulse is regular.

Strong. Yeah? Good.

Respiration is good.

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

Where do you think you're going?

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

No, no, no.

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

And in the second place,
Mikey should be asleep.

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

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

It's today! It's Christmas!

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

Oh, Doctor?

I must owe you a lot of money.

Don't sweat it, Mr. Goldman.

You're a living, breathing,
healthy testimonial

to my professional know-how.

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

No. No, no, no.

I have a letter here
from my brother Sam.

Or maybe I read
it to you already.

Well, he owes me
considerable money.

So any minute I expect
now a sizable check.

He's selling some
land in California.

I don't mind waiting,
Mr. Goldman.

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

Squeezing celery tonic
from a boulder is easier

than getting money
from my brother Sam.

It would take the
Messiah himself to do it.

I'll get it!

Does a Mr. Abraham
Goldman live here?

That's right.

Special delivery.
Sign here, son.

Thank you. Thank you.

Merry Christmas.

And a Happy Hanukkah to you.

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

Well, let me read it.

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

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

"I'm enclosing a certified check

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

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

and get me some celery tonic.

Mikey,

what did I tell you about
the Messiah, hmm?

Grandpa!

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

Happy Hanukkah.

Merry Christmas.

Don't overdo.

You just delivered
some holiday gift upstairs.

Did it please?

It pleased all right.

Dear God, how it pleased!

Every now and then, God
remembers the tenements.

Yeah.

How right you are.
Happy holidays to you.

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

To the whole earth.

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

There's a most appealing mystery

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

And, occasionally,
we turn into Alice.

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

and it's called
The Painted Mirror.

Louder, Mr. Pittman. Louder.

Louder, Mrs. Moore?

Yes, Mr. Standish.

Loud, clear and business-like.

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

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

Ellen, my dear.
You do look lovely.

I just don't walk
through those things.

Of course not. And
why should you?

Ah.

What in the world
do you have here?

Frank, where's my
clock I sold you?

Your clock didn't
work, Mrs. Chase.

But I managed to utilize it.

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

in exchange for utilizing
Mrs. Moore's partnership.

And money.

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

Ellen, have some tea with me?

In your bachelor's boudoir?

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

I'll give you a dollar for it.

Ah, Ellen,

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

Well, I'd hate to
sell that picture.

You know, Teddy
and I had lots of

those Maxwell Parishes
in our first apartment.

That was over on Elm Street.

Of course, it's North Main now.

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

I always thought the soldiers
brought that blight back with them

from Germany after
the First War, mmm?

The mirror, why
did you paint it over?

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

Now, Frank,

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

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

Oh, I don't think
that would be right

not to give you
some money on them.

Would 10 be enough?

Oh...

I'd put you up for
sainthood myself

if I thought I was
in better standing.

Frank...

Mrs. Moore.

Mrs. Moore!

Don't you ever do
that to me again.

Mrs. Moore, lend me 10.

Ten dollars?

Did Mrs. Chase bring
something worth $10?

We are not referring to this?

A delightful frame.

And an excellent mirror
beneath that paint no doubt.

I have collectors,
people who love beauty.

One phone call...

Maybe 10 years ago, but not now.

Not in this part of town.

A dollar for your cart?

A dollar fifty?

A dollar.

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

We need the space.

Rise and shine, Mr. Standish.

This is a place of
business, Mrs. Chase.

We've no time for social events.

We need some help, Mr. Standish.

Oh, isn't that something.

So life-like.

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

No, Mr. Brown, he does not help.

And he still lives
here. And he shouts.

He shouts!

He makes poor Pookie so nervous.

I can't stand it any longer.

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

How is it possible, Ellen?

How does a real mirror work?

I never could
understand that, either.

That path,

where do you suppose it goes?

Right past that cave.
Way in the back.

What have you done to Lorenzo?

And what is this, may I ask?

I don't know.

You don't know.

Well, the frame I
think I can utilize.

But I can live
without the picture.

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

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

until you find a new job.

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

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

Fix up the whole room.

Frank, I like this room.

Oh, I'll find a place.

Suitable employment, though,

will take a little
doing at my age.

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

I wouldn't mind
the gossip at all.

Mr. Standish, if you please!

Is there nothing
you can do about it?

Nothing.

Nothing.

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

Pookie!

Pookie.

Pookie.

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

Pookie, come here.

Come here, boy.

Pookie! Come here, come here!

Pookie, where are you?

Pookie, where are you?

Come here, boy.
Come here, Pookie.

Pookie!

Come here, sweetheart. Pookie!

Come here, boy. Pookie!

Come here, come here.

Pookie!

Come here, boy. Come here.

Pookie!

Pookie!

Pookie!

Come here, sweetheart. Pookie!

Come here, Pookie.

Pookie, where are you?

Pookie, come here, boy.

Pookie!

Pookie!

Pookie, are you in that cave?

Come here! Pookie!

Pookie!