All language subtitles for Nieciekawa historia (1982).en

AN UNEVENTFUL STORY

starring

written by W. J. Has
based on a short story by A. Czekhov

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make-up artist

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sound

edited by

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If I were asked

to name the essential
element of my existence,

I would answer without hesitation:

sleeplessness.

I remain motionless for hours

attempting not to think
not to feel

any desires.

I observe all too familiar objects and

despite myself, begin reminiscing.

I can see things
and hear words that

I would have never suspected
to find still tucked away

in my memory.

We speak two
different languages.

I wrote to you

about conmen who pass for
artists only by dint of their impertinence;

not a talent among them,
but mediocrities and busybodies.

I cannot tell you
how much it pains me

that art

fell into their hands.

My heart is heavy

that the best people

observe the evil
from afar,

and rather than
defend art

write banalities and useless
morals in a tortuous style.

There is a certain distinguished
gentleman - a professor,

privy counselor,
and chevalier.

He is a household name,
often mentioned

as "renowned" and "esteemed."

At present he has no friends.

As for the past,

he used to know many
who considered him a friend.

My name is as illustrious

as I myself am
unremarkable.

At times a peculiar
look comes over my face,

and provokes the
grim thought:

"This man will
soon be dead."

I write more and more poorly.

That bit of the brain which presides
over the faculty of authorship

has refused to function.

My memory has grown weak;

there is a lack of order
in my ideas.

Often I write what
I do not mean;

when I am writing the end,
I've already forgotten the beginning.

All this is an unmistakable proof
of a decline in mental activity.

The day begins

with the entrance
of my wife.

Excuse me,
I'll just be a minute.

You had another bad night?

I'm no prophet, but I know
what she will say next:

Every morning it is the same thing.

There is no one I feel as
sorry for as our Lisa.

The girl studies, mixes
with good society,

but goodness knows
how she's dressed.

Her fur coat is
a disgrace in the street.

If she were someone else's daughter,
it wouldn't matter,

but everyone knows who her father is.

I listen,

and probably because
I've had a bad night,

strange thoughts
intrude upon my mind.

Could this ageing woman,
who can talk of nothing

but her worries and expenses,

be no other than the Veronica
with whom I fell in love

for her kindness
and her fine intelligence?

Did you know we owe him
five months wages?

Of her past self nothing is left
but her concern for my health,

and her manner of calling
my salary "our salary,"

my university -
"our university. "

You mustn't

let the servants'
wages run on.

How many times have I told you!

It's much easier to pay each month
than twice a year.

It is painful for me
to look at her.

And so I let her say what she likes,

even when she passes unjust
criticisms on people

or nags me

for not having
a private practice.

Did she come to see you
yesterday?

She didn't say hello to us.
That's rather strange.

Say what you may,

but that's disrespectful:

to spend three hours in your
study, and not even a word to us.

Well, she has a mind
of her own.

I have a favor to ask of you.

I know you will be angry

but it's my duty

to warn you:

all our friends have begun talking
about you visiting her so often.

At your age, and with your
social position,

it seems rather strange...

that you should find
pleasure

in her society.

Besides, she has a
bad reputation...

After all, she grew up
in this house.

We loved her
like our own daughter.

That was long ago.

She got lost,

she was gravely ill,

she tried to poison herself,

she buried her child.

Of course.

Illegitimate pregnancy,
a child out of wedlock.

Veronica!

You dislike her
for being an actress,

for her pride...

For her ingratitude.

For her eccentricity.

And for all the
countless flaws

every woman knows

how to find in another.

When she wrote me

about her love,

when she fell prey

to extravagance,

in answer to her pleas,
I would send her

from time to time a thousand,
two thousand roubles...

When she wrote
of her attempted suicide,

and then of her
child's death,

every time,

I was shattered.

However, all that time,

my interest in her life
found no other expression

than the long
and boring letters

I wrote after prolonged reflection.

And yet I had been
a father to her and loved her

like my own daughter.

I lost track of time.

The samovar is on the table,
and here I am talking...

...and talking.

Good morning, papa.
Are you well?

And how are you, Lisa?

Pistachio... lemon... raspberry...

She was fond of ice-cream,

and I used to often take her
to the confectioner's.

Ice-cream was the yardstick
she used to measure all delight.

A question has been
nagging at me for some time:

How is it that, seeing

how hard I try
to conceal my poverty,

my daughter does not
give up

the expensive pleasure
of music lessons?

Of course I would not
accept such sacrifice.

That's not what I want, but...

such reflections
make me bitter.

The street I've known

for thirty years.

Since I was a student,
its appearance

has changed neither
for the better nor for the worse.

I don't like it.

The same bar
with rooms for rent.

This is where I worked
on my dissertation,

and wrote my first love letter.

Just as I was back then,
I am now interested only in science.

And I will continue to believe
that science is

the most essential thing
in the life of man;

that it always has been
and will be

the highest manifestation
of love;

and that only by means of it

will man overcome himself.

This faith is perhaps naive
and unfounded,

but it is not my fault

that I believe this
and nothing else,

and that I cannot eradicate
in myself this belief.

The keeper of
the university�s legends.

If you wish, he will
tell you many

stories and anecdotes.

The weather has finally
turned for the better.

But for how long?!

Dear Nicholas, for how long?

In his stories, good
vanquishes evil,

the weak triumph over
the strong,

the stupid � over the wise,
the young � over the old.

This is Peter, my assistant,

modest and industrious,

but devoid of talent.

He possesses a narrow outlook,

strictly limited to his specialty;

slavish reverence
for authority;

and lack of desire
for independent thought.

In the course of his life he
will prepare hundreds of chemicals,

dozens of conscientious
translations,

but he won't invent
the gunpowder.

I would give much to know

how this fossil
makes love to his wife.

Well, time to go.

The patient's waiting.

I know what I am going
to lecture about

but I don't know where
to begin

or where to end.

I will endeavor to

give my lecture a literary form;

keep my definitions brief
and precise;

and make my sentences
simple and eloquent.

I have to play all at once the part

of savant and teacher and orator,

and beware lest the orator
has the upper hand

of the savant and of the teacher.

And vice versa.

Please take the lecture over for me.

The topic of today's lecture
is the nervous system.

The nervous system is
divided into central,

peripheral, and enteric
nervous system.

The nerve cell is called a neuron.

We distinguish sensory
neurons, which respond

to touch, temperature, and pain,

and motor neurons.

My conscience and reason tell me

that I should deliver

a farewell lecture,

my last word,

and let someone else
take my place.

Something strange is
happening to me.

My eyes smart with tears

and I am overcome

by a passionate,
hysterical desire

to stretch out my arms
and cry out loud

in lamentation

that fate

has sentenced me

to death.

Thoughts previously
unknown to me

have poisoned
my last days.

...the surface of the brain,
the thickness of the cerebral cortex,

and so on...

When we cut open the brain,
we will see that

it is composed of two
different substances:

the grey matter

and the white matter.

Grey matter makes up
the surface of the brain,

known as the cerebral
cortex.

The cerebral cortex is
the locus of our consciousness.

We now move on
to the dissection.

Watch closely.

Please excuse me, professor...

I would have never
presumed

to trouble you if not...

What is it then?

What is it you�d like to tell me?

I've attempted your examination

five times, and have failed...

And now what?

Would you be so kind,
professor,

as to let me pass?

I did well on all my
other exams,

whereas I had studied
this subject

with particular interest
and I know it very well.

You will pardon me,
my friend,

but I cannot give
you a passing grade.

Go ahead, review
your notes, and come back.

We will see then.

In my opinion,

the best thing you can do now

is to give up medicine
altogether.

If, with your abilities,

you're unable to pass
an exam,

it's clear you don't have
a vocation to be a doctor.

Pardon me, professor, but

wouldn't it be rather strange
for me to quit suddenly

- after five years?
- Precisely:

better to waste five years than

to devote a life to a profession
you don't care for.

In any case, do as you wish.

Study some more,
and come again.

When?

Whenever you want.

Let's say tomorrow.

Of course, even
fifteen attempted exams

won't turn you into a scholar.

However, they might
strengthen your character.

And that counts for something.

Professor... I solemnly swear,

if you let me pass, I will...

You will... what?

In that case...

farewell, professor.

Please excuse me.

Farewell, my friend.

Best of luck!

He probably could have
told me many interesting things

about the opera, or his
petty love affairs...

Unfortunately, one doesn't
talk about that sort of thing.

That's too bad - I would have
been glad to listen.

You can be a privy counselor

a hundred times over

but if you have a daughter,

nothing will save you

from the air of petty bourgeoisie
that matchmaking, courtship,

and a wedding often bring
into the domestic atmosphere.

He comes daily,

but no one knows anything
about his origin, his education,

or how he earns
his living.

And the worst of it is
that my daughter

whom I was accustomed
to think of as a child,

loves those
bulging eyes,

this necktie

like a crab's neck...

Describing our dinner
is just as unpalatable

as digesting it.

Some time ago, my family
found it fit

to completely change
our dinner menu.

Fame

has for ever deprived me
of cabbage soup,

goose with apple stuffing,

and dumplings...

Now they feed me
creamy soups

with lumps floating about,

and kidneys stewed
in Madeira sauce,

served by a white-gloved,

dull and pompous fellow.

You can't imagine

what you have missed,
professor;

you shouldn�t have left
Androtti's soir�e so soon!

Let me tell you,
professor,

the butterfly aria...

His performance was
simply divine...

He gave the aria
a divine rank and status.

Mainly thanks to the
remarkable mellifluence

with which he imbues
his final appoggiaturas.

He is simply
a master of melismas.

He is simply
an unparalleled

master of melismas.

And, please
excuse me for saying this,

none of our tenors
comes even close!

Especially with regards
to the exceptional ease

with which he moves
in the upper register.

Starting with C sharp!

And, to finish off,
my dear friends,

perfect fifth!

He neither plays
nor sings,

but has connections

with both music
and singing.

He sells somewhere
someone's pianos.

He is acquainted with
all musical celebrities,

and lends a hand
at organizing concerts.

This creature

inspires in me
aversion and astonishment.

We awaken
on the Parnassus.

That's right,
professor.

We awaken
on the Parnassus.

I'm not a musician,
and perhaps

I am wrong about
Mr Gnekker

whom I hardly know,

but I find the
pathos

with which he
speaks of music and singing

highly suspicious.

Your student is here.

Take him to my study.

Your musical genius,
dear Lisa,

does wonders to help
us understand his art.

You don't like the roast?

You don't like it?

Do you?

You needn't worry,
darling,

the roast is delicious.

You're always very
understanding.

And never tell me
the truth.

Why won't you
eat more, Alexander?

But, Madam, the roast
is excellent.

An eagle may at times

descend to the coop,

but never will a chicken

rise up to the clouds.

I don't like it.

What can I do for you?

This year, I have passed
my qualifying exams.

All I need to do now
is to write my dissertation.

I would be...

...very much obliged...

I mean, I would like to

work under your supervision.

If you could

give me

a dissertation topic...

I understand.

I would like to help
you, my friend.

But

let's first establish
what a dissertation is.

The word is used to
describe the product

of independent
creative work,

isn't it?

On the other hand,
a paper written

on an assigned topic

and under someone's
supervision

goes by a different name.

Why do you all
come to me?

I don't deal in
dissertation topics.

Please pardon my bluntness,
but I'm sick of all this.

For the thousandth time,
please leave me alone.

Please forgive me,

but I'm not a shop keeper.

Tell me,

why don't you want
to be independent?

It's astounding.

Why do you show
such aversion for freedom?

I will calm down
and give in.

I will assign the student
a worthless topic.

Under my supervision,
he'll write a useless dissertation.

He'll defend it
with tedious dignity,

and receive a degree
he doesn't really need.

Ladies, you know this piece.

In a nutshell, Haydn,

Quartet no. 2, op. 76.

Go on, let's tune
our instruments.

Please pick up from
the beginning, second violin.

Once more.

Comprenez-vous?

Take your places.

Attention, dear ladies...

Oh, no, no, dear ladies,

this is Haydn,
a little effort!

From the beginning, please.

Again.

Her eyes used to say

"everything in this world

is beautiful and wise."

I now notice that

she has lost
her former curiosity,

and no longer
asks me questions,

as if she'd already
experienced everything in life

and didn't expect
to hear anything new.

You should find
some occupation.

Like what?

Get married,
for instance.

There's no one
to marry.

And no reason to, either.

You can't live like this.

Without a husband?

Men are a dime a dozen,
as long as I�m willing.

That's unbecoming, Katya.

What's
unbecoming?

Precisely what
you've just said.

How are you going to
support yourself

when you've spent
your father's fortune?

We'll see.

My dear,

this money deserves
a more sober treatment:

it was earned
through hard work

by an honest man.

Your father told me
before he died...

You already told me
about this. I know.

That must be Michael.

Good afternoon!

I see we're having tea.

Splendid idea, because
it's cold like hell.

I attended our
colleague's

public lecture
yesterday.

I'm amazed our alma mater
shows off such fools.

He spoke, picture this,
as if he were sucking on

a piece of candy.

He lost his head
and his place in the notes.

Tiny little thoughts were
crawling across his brain

with the speed of
a friar riding a bicycle.

And you couldn't even
tell what he was talking about.

Deadly boredom.

Even flies were
dropping dead.

Science is a thing
of the past.

Thank God.

It's song has
been sung.

It grew out of
the soil of superstition,

it fed on superstition,

and now it's
the essence of superstition

just like its senile
predecessors:

metaphysics, alchemy,

philosophy...

And what did science
give people?

The Chinese have
no science.

- And are they any worse for it?
- Flies have no science, either.

And so what?

You shouldn't be
offended.

After all, I'm just
talking among friends.

I won't declare
this in public.

God forbid.

The masses believe
superstitiously

that science and art
are above

agriculture or trade.

Our class thrives
on this superstition,

and we won't try
to abolish it.

I like reminiscing
about my student days,

when I dreamt of
getting into the university;

when, as I strolled
through our garden,

sounds of music
and singing

would float up...

sending a rush
of happiness

not just to my heart

but to my stomach,
arms, and legs.

In my mind's eye
I saw myself as a doctor,

and pictured scenes,

one more beautiful
than the other.

Details

I had not suspected
could still be

tucked away in my memory.

Let's go.

I have something to show you.

He's becoming more
boring every day.

Please leave all of this.

You're not making
any sense.

You don't love them
any more.

Why force your feelings?

- What about the university?
- That, too.

To educate doctors
who prey on ignorance,

you don't need to be
a good, talented man.

You are a rare exemplar.

There is no actor
you could play your part.

Me,

or him, for instance,

could be played even
by a second-rate actor.

You � by no one.

Here,

I've prepared it for you...

Please come here
every day.

You are going
to work here.

Aren't you?

You see, my dear,
the highest

and the holiest

prerogative of the kings

is the right
of mercy.

I have always exercised
this right without constraint.

I have never judged anyone,

and forgave willingly.

I'm no longer a king.

Something is happening to me
that befits only a slave.

Feelings, such as I had
never known before

are brooding in my soul.

I feel hatred,
contempt,

fear, and dread.

What does this mean?

I'm irritable,

impolite,
suspicious.

Perhaps the world
has grown worse,

and I better?

Perhaps I used to be blind.

You have just
opened your eyes.

You can see that which,
who knows why,

you used to refuse
to see.

I've been a professor
for thirty years.

I had colleagues,

enjoyed renown;

I loved, got married.

In a word, if you look back,

my whole life seems
one beautiful composition.

All I have to do now

is not to spoil
the denouement.

But

I am spoiling it.

I'm drowning.

I run to you

and you tell me,
"go ahead and drown. "

"That's how it should be."

You, my dear, have
too much time.

You must occupy
yourself somehow.

I can't.

You behave as if
you were a victim.

You yourself are
to blame.

You're angry with
people, but haven't

done anything
to change them.

You haven't fought
against evil.

And now you're a victim:
not of your struggle,

but of your helplessness.

You should work.

In the service of art.

I beg you,

let's agree,
once and for all,

that we can chat about
actors, actresses, writers,

but that we leave
art alone.

You are a wonderful man, but

you've no ear

or sensibility. You've
worked so hard

that you had no time...

In general, I don't like
talking about art.

I don't like it.

It's been trivialized
and defiled enough.

Who defiled it?

People.

They defiled it
by drunkenness.

Fools, philosophers...

Philosophy has
nothing to do with it.

But it does.

If someone
philosophizes,

it's because he doesn't
understand.

But you still
haven't told me

why you don't want to
return to the stage?

Oh, no, this is
pure cruelty.

You want to force me
to say the truth out loud?

Here you go, then,
if it pleases you:

I have no talent!

I have no talent.

Only a lot of ambition.

I must be going.

It's after ten.

I will stay a little
while longer,

if you allow me.

- I will.
- Bene. In that case...

why don't you ask
for another bottle.

"O you who are within
your little bark,

eager to listen, following behind

my ship that, singing,
crosses the deep seas,

turn back to see your
shores again: do not

attempt to sail the seas
I sail; you may

be losing sight of me,
be left astray. "

Please tell me, over
the past years,

have you had
at least one talented pupil?

Our youth
is stunted intellectually.

I'm not talking about
ideals, but if they

could at least think
properly.

Stunted, that's quite right.

That's it precisely.

I look upon
our generation

with great sadness...

I won't be able
to come by tomorrow.

I'm going to be busy.

You have grown
old lately.

Yes, I haven't
been too well.

And you are
not being treated.

Why won't you
let yourself

be examined?

No, there's no need.

"For the moment,
there is no danger,

dear colleague,
but it wouldn't hurt... "

And that would
kill my last hope.

- What's new?
- Professor!

I'll be damned!

Never in the world!

Go home, Nicholas,
it's getting late.

I've told you so many times!

I'll be damned!

Whether the sky
is clouded,

or stars and the moon
are shining,

I always look up
on way back home

and think that

death is going to
come for me soon.

One would expect
my thoughts to be

deep as the sky,
clear, and dazzling.

Alas, my view of life can
be expressed in these words:

"Nothing good in the world

can exist without evil,

and there is always
more evil than good. "

That is,

there is no
reason to live.

And the years I have
already lived

are as good as wasted.

You're awake?

What's wrong?

It's Lisa...

She's in the dining
room, go to her.

All right, I'm coming.

For God's sake!

I can't take it!

Lisa, my child,
what's the matter?

Help her.

Do something.

What can I do?

Daddy, please help
me, I'm so miserable.

Now, now, don't cry.

I'm miserable, too,
but it'll be all right.

It will pass.

Darling...

It's all right.

Come along, you'll
get some sleep,

and tomorrow everything
will be all right.

I can't take it...

What's happened?

Please forgive me.
I don't know...

Fear came over me,
and I ran here,

I saw the light,
and dared to knock.

I'm sorry...

What are you
going to do now?

Nothing...

I can't sleep.

I had a premonition...

Let's forget it,

my dear.

I beg you

please hear me out.

What is it?

Please take my money.

What an idea.
Why would I need your money?

You'll go away to
a sanatorium,

you must get better,
my dear,

you will take it,
won't you?

My dear, I can't.

I thank you,
but I can't accept it.

Go home now,
perhaps we can meet tomorrow.

So you don't
consider me

your friend?

That's not what
I meant.

But I don't need
your money.

I'm sorry.

I understand.

To be indebted
to someone like me,

a failed actress...

We need to talk.

I'm concerned about Lisa.

You don't give a damn.

What precisely?

Do you just pretend
you don't see anything?

How can you
be so carefree?

Alexander�

Mr. Gnekker
intends to propose.

What do you think about it?

I can't say he's
a bad man because

I hardly know him.

But that I don't like him
I've told you a hundred times.

You can't behave
this way.

You can't take lightly
such a serious decision.

When it comes to your
daughter's happiness,

you should rise above
your personal prejudice.

I know you don't like
him � that's too bad.

But there aren't
many other suitors,

and she may not
find another match.

He loves Lisa very much.

Clearly, she likes him, too.

Although he lacks
social status,

but, with God's help,
he may obtain a higher post.

He comes from a
good family.

He's well-to-do.

How do you know?

He told me himself.

His father has a house in
Kalisz, and

some property outside
the city.

In short, you must go there.

What for?

To gather information.

You have friends,
they will help you.

I'd go myself,
but I'm a woman.

I'm not going
to Kalisz.

For God's sake!

Take this burden
away from me.

I'm suffering.

Very well, Veronica,
I'll go.

And I'll do
whatever you wish.

Thank you.

When?

Tomorrow.

We have no bed sheets.

Apparently not.

You don't have
many guests?

None whatsoever.

There's a new inn
by the train station.

I'll make your bed.

The owner is away,
I'll give you a room

on the first floor.

I used to stay here.

Very long ago.

- On the third floor.
- The 3rd floor is being renovated.

Should I serve
breakfast upstairs?

No. Please tell me

what time is the
train to Kalisz?

You're from Kalisz?

I know that town
like the back of my hand.

A very nice town.

Do you know
the Gnekkers?

They have a house there.

I know the town,

but I don't recall
anyone by that name.

Has he been there long?

He was born there,
and has property outside the city.

What does he look like...?

He's old.

Like me.

Taller and fatter?

Yes.

He has a house and
a shop in the market?

But that's not his name!

His name is...

I can't remember.

Are you sure you've
got the right name?

How about some
breakfast?

I already said
no, thank you.

What's his name again,
your friend's?

Gnek-ker,
with double K.

And remember:
he is not my friend.

I brought your dinner.

Couldn't you
have come later?

I won't be able
to fall asleep again.

I'm sorry.

I thought you were up.

You didn't like it

on the first floor?

I did, but I'll
stay here.

I wonder if you'll
like the cooking.

Today we have
only cabbage soup

and dumplings.

And how do you
like our city?

- I don't like it.
- Neither do I.

It's strangely grey
around here.

Grey city.

Good afternoon.

You seem surprised.

I'm very happy to see you.

But I am rather
astonished.

You appeared as if
out of the blue.

I saw you come in here.

And I followed.

Just like that.

Let's sit down
and have some dinner, Katherine.

You were a father to me,
my only friend.

You're wise.

You have lived long.

Please tell me
what I am to do

next.

What can I tell you?

I have nothing
to say.

I swear...

I can't go on
like this.

I can't live like this.

I've no more strength.

I can't.

Please help me.

Save me.

I can't help you,
Katherine.

Just one word.

When I wanted to understand

someone else

or myself,

I would consider
not their actions

but their desires.

Tell me what you want,
and I'll tell you who you are.

What do I want?

I want our wives,
children, friends to love us

and not our names.

I would like to have
successors.

I would like to
live a few more years.

And then what?

Nothing more.

I think, reflect
at length,

and nothing more
comes to mind.

My desires are devoid

of something essential,

of something very important.

In my passion for science,

my desire to live,

in my sitting here on
a strange bed,

in my attempts
to know myself,

in all my feelings,
all my thoughts,

there is no common bond,

nothing that would
connect it all into a whole.

Every feeling and
every thought

are each present in me
separately.

In all my opinions
on science, on people

on life; in all my thoughts;

in all the images
drawn up by my imagination,

no one would
be able to find

what they call
an overarching idea,

that is, the idol
of the living man.

And since that's a fact,
since it doesn't exist,

it means that there is nothing.

In such a state of destitution

brought about by illness
and fear of death,

everything that used
to constitute my worldview,

everything that
gave life its meaning

and brought joy,
has been turned upside down.

When something loftier
and stronger than

any external impressions
is absent in a man,

a bad cold is enough

to upset his inner equilibrium.

I've been defeated.

And if that's true,

there is no use thinking.

I will just go on sitting

and waiting in silence

for what is to come.

I am looking at you
and I am ashamed

that I used to be happy.

I had not realized
that I lacked what they call

an overarching idea
until now.

But you will never
know peace.

Never in your
whole life.

I don't like it here.

Yes, it's strangely
grey around here.

Such a grey
city.

Ugly.

I am leaving today.

Where to?

I don't know.

For long?

Yes.

She hasn't looked back.

She knows I'm watching her.

And she probably
won't look back.

That's right.

She didn't look back.

Farewell,

my precious.

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