All language subtitles for Bourbon Street Blues 1979 eng

- Thank you, Sir.
- Welcome.

Now what is this? Loitering in the stairwell, huh?

This is a decent house.
Now get lost, and make it snappy!

Out in the street where you belong -
you and your racket!

Don't you ever show up around here again, you hear!

Lazy riff-raff...

12 dollars - well, finally someone has got some money.

- Yes, who is it?
- It's me!

Oh, Mrs. Wire!

Please, come in.

Oh, Mrs. Wire! I'm just about to get ready for going out, but

I had meant to stop by you to discuss something
that has come up.

- Oh, is that so?
- Um, yes.

- It's because of...
- Because of what?

I'm sorry, Mrs. Wire, but you being the landlady -
I have to tell you that

cockroaches aren't the most desirable kind of roommates.

- I suppose you will agree.
- Cockroaches, you say?

Yes indeed. I haven't had much experience
with cockroaches, and the

precious few that I have seen in my time,
they were the - how do I say it -

pedestrian kind - they would walk.
But your kind - they fly!

Do you understand, Mrs. Wire? I was shocked
when one of them took off the floor

and whizzed through the room -
and it nearly hit me on the nose!

I had to muster all my strength
to sit down on this bed and weep.

I was so nauseated by this
disgusting vermin. Just imagine -

flying cockroaches! I wouldn't have
dreamed of something like that.

They whizz and hum all around you -
well, in a nutshell, Mrs. Wire:

- This has to stop!
- This has to stop? What do you mean?

Flying cockroaches are all over the place,
nothing special about them.

Every old house in the neighborhood has them.

- They've got them uptown even!
- Be that as it may, Mrs. Wire --

but not in heaps. But here, every nook
and cranny is crawling and buzzing.

Behind the mirror, under the bed, in the kitchen -
they don't even spare the Holy Virgin!

- There, you see?
- Now hold your horses, young lady.

I don't want to change the subject,
but I have actually come for something else.

For the record, Mrs. Wire:
Cockroaches give me convulsions.

Even the ordinary pedestrian kind
disgust me profoundly.

Let alone your flying kind! So if I'm
supposed to stay here any longer, Mrs. Wire,

these disgusting things have to go - immediately!

And you're going to tell me
how to keep cockroaches from getting

into this room through the open windows, is that it?

I have no idea, Mrs. Wire, but I am positive
that it's only a matter of good will.

All I know is that these sickening things
will have to be taken care of.

When I wake up to find one of those
crawling critters on my sheets -

I swear to God, Mrs. Wire, I'll get
the cramps, I'll die of revulsion!

Now if you'll excuse my saying so,
you'll more likely die from drinking.

- I beg your pardon?
- Never mind. Now let's cut to the chase.

You know full well I'm not here
to discuss cockroaches with you.

It's about the money
you still owe me for this month.

- So, how about it?
- You'll get the balance of the rent

as soon as the cockroaches are gone.
If not, I'll leave this house.

Be my guest! The sooner the better.
But first you cough up that rent!

What are you, crazy? I can't
move immediately, out of the question.

Anyway, I don't have time for this,
I have to run some errands.

You pay right now, or I'll call the police!
And no more cockroach talk.

All I'm saying is that it's not
very amusing to share the flat

with cockroaches.

Then don't! Pack up your shabby belongings
and move where there

are no cockroaches, neither
the flying nor the other kind.

- But first you pay up!
- So you insist in having cockroaches?

I insist in collecting my rent.

Unfortunately, that is impossible.
At the moment, anyway.

- Oh, is that so? Impossible?
- And I can tell you why.

Mr. King - you know, the manager
of my rubber plantation in Brazil,

hasn't forwarded the quarterly payment.
It has been overdue

for weeks now. It's unlike Mr. King though,
he's usually very punctual.

But in his letter from this morning -
where did I put it? Here!

I'll find it any minute now - I don't know,
I can't seem to find it.

Anyway, in this letter he mentions difficulties.

Tax declarations and the Brazilian authorities...

Stop it already!

I've had it with your rubber plantation
and your punctual Mr. King.

I have been in this business
for 17 years, so do you believe

you can have me for a fool?
I know your kind.

What do you mean to imply?

Do you think I'm deaf and blind?
You, with your highfalutin'

crappy coat of arms over the bed.

What does that mean?

It means I know first hand
from Thrift Store Lily.

Cost you all of a single dollar, that thing.

A Hapsburg, are we? My reverence.

- And now, my money!
- STOP IT!

Oh, you - just what I needed.

You will stop harassing
this lady with your uncivil greed.

- Oh, Mr. Shakespeare, is it?
- I beg your pardon, but this

female monster's squealing
has disrupted my afternoon nap.

Is that so? More like your
afternoon whiskey anaesthesia!

I do need my nap to soothe my nerves,
I am a tad sick, you know.

Never mind, good thing you're here.
I'll repeat it for your benefit:

I have had it with the likes of you,
parasites and drunkards!

I have had it up to here!
You coke-snorting, whoring scum.

You've got one foot in the grave!
The whole quarter is infested by you.

Dead birds, is what you are.
Always the same spiel.

Nothing but bragging and empty promises.

- I beg you, do not scream!
- Stop that fuss already.

Now you stop picking
on that desperate woman right now!

Whatever happened
to compassion and understanding?

Yes, the Brazilian rubber plantation...
even if it didn't exist...

- But it does exist!
- But even if, even if those rubber kings

didn't exist for that lonely woman
that has been dealt such a lousy hand

well, then there ought to be rubber kings!
Can you blame it on her

that she tries to balance the unfair dealings
of life with a little bit

of God-given power of imagination?

But no, no, that's not imagination!

I'll have to ask you
not to spit your lofty talk in my face.

You, with your 780-page novel

The masterpiece you keep blabbering about -
it belongs right up there

with that piece of crap
from the thrift store!

What a nice couple.
The two of you go together well.

Two grandmasters of God-given
power of imagination!

Craziness - that's what I call it.

So what? So what if it was
like you say, Mrs. Monster?

For argument's sake,
let's assume that my masterpiece doesn't exist.

It wouldn't exist, Mrs. Monster -
except for a few scribbled pages

down on the bottom of my old ragged suitcase

right next to the other bold drafts
of short stories and novels

all of them going nowhere,
never reaching the final chapter

Suppose I once had the ambition
to become a great artist once,

but I had neither talent
nor perseverance enough

And again, suppose I then would have
taken a downward spiral from one

boozing joint to the next,
one bottle after the other,

and I finally would have ended up
in this bordello, on a bug-infested mattress

and then, Mrs. Wire -
in order to overcome this nightmare,

no, to even make it tolerable,
I would glorify it,

finally embellish it with pieces
of my imagination, with dreams

and illusions - like the existence
of the 780-page masterpiece,

just keep supposing, Mrs. Wire,
that I tried to exist in this miserable

world of fabrications -
what satisfaction would you, Mrs. Wire,

draw from tearing all of this
into little pieces, to crush it,

- and to just call it a lie?

You don't say! You're one to lip off.

Mrs. Wire, you may be correct
in saying that I am a liar.

But now you listen to me,
Mrs. Wire, and listen carefully.

There are no lies except those
that a person needs to survive.

Those that are shoved up
one's trap by the hard fist of necessity

Yes, only those, Mrs. Wire.

Please leave now.
I am tired, and I have said what I had to say.

Just leave, will you!

And leave that poor woman alone.

I'll be back tomorrow morning.
Money or out you go, the two of you!

Including your 780-page masterpiece
and your Brazilian rubber plantation.

Filthy scum!

Dead birds

All of us

Here, puss puss

Roaches all over the place.

Wallpaper, ceiling, walls -
the entire house is infested with them!

I know. I suppose there was
no such vermin on your rubber plantation?

No, of course not. Everything was spotless.
At all times. Always.

- The floors bright and clean, like...
- Like mirrors!

And I suppose there was a
marvelous view from the windows?

- Unspeakably beautiful.
- Is the mansion far from the coast?

- From the Mediterranean, I mean.
- Mediterranean? Just two minutes.

Give or take a few minutes.

I am sure that on a bright clear morning
you'd be able to make out the

famous White Cliffs of Dover?

Over on the English side of the Channel.

Yes, on a clear day you can see them.

All white.

- Help yourself.
- Thank you, Mr. --

Chekhov. Anton Pavlovitch Chekhov.

Many thanks, Mr. Checkhov.

You're welcome. You're very welcome.

Checkhov - funny name.