Original subtitles

Looks like the Lord's blessing us

with another lovely day.

Morning, Preacher Seth.

Bit of a nip, though.

I had to cover up the rhubarb last night,

keep the frost away.

You seem to be shooting at your chickens.

No, I'm shooting at that eggstealing

son of a bitch that's cowering in there with them.

Can't afford to lose more eggs.

Times are hard enough as it is.

Aren't you losing both eggs and chickens

each time you take a shot?

A man has got to abide by his principles.

Suppose he does.

I was only gonna take one egg.

Stay down.

- Did I get him? - No.

And it's not a him. It's a young girl.

Well... old enough to steal,

old enough to deal with the consequences.

Blessed are the merciful, Frank,

for they'll receive mercy themselves.

Are you saying that I could get into heaven

if I don't kill that dirty, eggsucking thief?

Yes.

What else is in it for me?

Besides eternal salvation?

Yeah.

I can probably also get you a dozen eggs

and maybe a gallon or two of fresh buttermilk.

It's a deal.

How'd you get me off the hook?

I spoke in parables.

- You what? - I lied.

What denomination are you?

Pick one.

Sam, Junior.

How are our blockades holding up?

- They're holding for now. - We can't let

one shipment get through to town.

If a truck gets through,

it'll be carrying my dead body on it.

Who's that?

Sam Riley. He's leading our farmer strike.

Yeah, I've been hearing about that.

- What are you striking against? - The American economic system.

How you gonna do that?

By breaking the system's back...

one asshole banker at a time.

One of these asshole bankers, named Calvin Rumple,

has been paying off the local grocers

to keep their food prices low. They call it pricefixing.

And it means none of the local farmers can

make back enough money to pay off their loans,

no matter the crop.

Which is why we're doing this strike.

And once people start going hungry,

not even Calvin Rumple'll be able to keep food prices down.

And then the farmers can sell their goods

and we might be able to save their farms.

How's this banker get away with doing all this?

He must be making someone rich.

You do that, and you can get away

with just about anything in this country.

Okay, this is where I live.

I don't see any houses out here.

Didn't say you would.

You can come to our church.

Whole congregations eats after our morning service.

I think I'd rather live in the woods

and go hungry than listen to a preacher tell me

how to live my life.

We're not that kind of church.

Did you steal those from that oldtimer's coop?

We're all a part of God's body.

All I did was shift these eggs

from God's left hand to his right.

Here.

I don't take charity.

They're not an offering.

This is a payment for listening

to what I'm gonna say next.

Okay. Let's hear the sermon.

Next time... don't settle for just eggs.

Take the entire hen.

Simple economics.

Okay.

And splatter some blood and feathers

when you leave. It'll look

like foxes hit the coop.

Amen to that, Preacher.

Any deliveries today?

No. Not today.

Not this week.

Good.

Just keep prices where they are.

If the farmers keep blocking shipments

and refusing to sell,

they're gonna starve us all out.

I've got a feeling they won't.

In fact, when a dairy farmer does deliver

a load of fresh milk today,

pay him... and only him... double the going rate.

What makes you so sure a load will get through,

today of all days?

Call it banker's intuition.

Pete.

Something wrong?

I'm heading into town.

Calvin Rumple told me I could get double for our milk

if I brought it in today.

But the blockades.

I can buy some groceries while I'm at it.

The doctor said you need to start eating

if you're gonna get well.

Well, how lovely of you to join us.

I had to do a little proselytizing.

- How's the goulash coming along? - I can't tell if

it's bringing more people in or driving them away.

Sounds like my sermons.

How do I look?

Almost like a preacher.

Welcome, friends.

I'd like to speak to you today about Jesus.

Somehow in this modern era of ours,

we have convinced each other that Jesus Christ was

some kind of respectable man... a figure of...

solemn authority.

But the cops and judges didn't crucify Jesus

for being respectable. No, they crucified him

because he was an outlaw...

a revolutionary.

They crucified Jesus because they were afraid

he was gonna take power away from them

and give it to the poor.

My friends, we're living in biblical times again.

There is a holy war in this country.

The rich versus the poor...

it's the same war Jesus himself was in.

- Whoa! - Stop the truck!

Stop the damn truck.

Damn it, Pete. We're on strike.

You ain't taking your milk to town.

Look, Pam is real sick. I'm broke.

Yeah, we're all broke, you idiot.

Colby, give me the gun.

All right. Off with the tarp.

- Sam, please. - We're all in this together,

whether you like it or not.

Now, you're gonna get up there and dump that milk yourself.

Sam.

All right, boys.

You're gonna let Pete go.

See, Pete has milk to sell in town.

Get back.

Now, I shot this man out of selfdefense.

Or am I incorrect to say...

that he aimed his pistol right at my person?

Unless you wish to join this man up yonder,

I suggest you remove your gaze from that weapon.

See, this farmer strike? It's over.

So go home.

'Cause tomorrow, you're gonna sell your goods in town.

"And Jesus tells us," Think not

"that I am come to send peace on Earth.

I come not to send peace, but a sword."

Not peace... but a sword.

Jesus Christ Himself says that...

because Jesus knew he was at war.

But the question is...

do you?

Subtitles by explosiveskull

Pete, buy yourself a drink.

Wash the stains from your conscience?

Let's all have a drink?

Round of whiskeys for all my friends... on me.

You bet.

Well, now, if y'all think you're too good

to drink my hardearned whiskey...

well, we can...

we can settle matters right now

in Wyoming fashion.

I hope you enjoyed the service.

Never seen the pulpit used for politics like that.

Well, the point's

not to just understand the world

but to change it.

- Is that in the Bible? - It's on every page.

Preacher Seth!

Ma'am.

We was... we was blocking Pete's shipment like we planned.

But there was a strikebreaker. He shot Sam Riley.

- He claimed selfdefense. - Sam's dead?

He killed Sam right in front of his own boy.

A toast...

to the life of Sam Riley.

He was too good, truly, for this...

godforsaken world.

Now, who else can speak to the character

of Sam Riley? Must be a brother among you.

There's nothing to do but farm, fart, and fornicate

in these parts, so...

Sam Riley must at least have a cousin.

What's your name, friend?

Preston.

Preston what?

Riley.

Another round, on me.

Well, cousin Preston.

Let's have ourselves a little talk.

Leave the bottle.

Bottoms up, comrade.

Comrade?

Well, isn't it true what they say?

That all the Iowa Rileys bleed communist red?

I mean, isn't that what Sam here was doing?

Out there organizing and agitating a commie revolt!

Sam was my, um... second cousin.

We weren't that close.

Preston, I can see that you're a reasonable fellow.

So what I would like to know now

are the names of anyone who might react

to these unfortunate events in an unreasonable manner.

Who would seek revenge for the death of Sam Riley?

His son...

Sam Jr.

He chews a toothpick, doesn't he?

What about Sam?

Sam Riley is your family.

Not mine.

But I'm sure you're gonna do right by him.

Nice work, boys.

Is it true what they're saying?

You deputized a bunch of Yankee strikebreakers

- to shut us up? - Times are hard

on everyone, Gil.

We gotta get those mines open again.

"Times are hard on everyone"?

Hell, you sound like a company man.

Yeah, well, go back to work.

What, Prohibition's been repealed?

Get the governor on the phone.

Tell him I'm gonna need more than these strikebreakers

to get those mines running again.

We're gonna need the damn National Guard.

It is not politically viable for Governor Sampson

to send in the Kentucky National Guard

at this moment...

so he sent me instead.

And... who are you supposed to be?

My name is Connie Nunn.

I am employed by the William J. Burns.

International Detective Agency.

Burns Detective Agency.

Like the Pinkertons, right?

Yes... except we are competent,

dependable, and discreet.

It appears you have been suffering

some local unrest.

Yeah.

And the... the governor sent you?

As I mentioned, it is not politically viable

to call in the National Guard.

But...

if the striking miners...

instigated a bloodbath...

it could become politically viable.

Ooh... look.

Everyone's real angry right now,

but there hasn't been any kind of bloodbath.

No, not yet.

But before I commence my work,

I would like to ask you a personal favor.

Have you ever seen this man?

- Who's he? - His known aliases include

Seth Bergson, Seth Fredricks, and Seth Dalton.

And it's rumored he now masquerades

as a roving preacher,

composing seditious pamphlets and inciting riots.

He was last seen in Marion County, Arkansas.

Doing what?

Murdering my husband.

Maybe Sam Jr. should think about heading out of town

for a spell.

Until things settle down.

Sam Jr. is needed here at home.

Well, what if this cowboy fellow

that shot Sam wants to come for Sam Jr. too?

Why would you think that, Preston?

He was a cowboy. He fired a Colt.

I don't know where he was from.

He mentioned Wyoming.

How do you know that?

The cowboy brought Sam's body to the speakeasy

after shooting him.

He bought everyone a round of drinks.

That son of a bitch.

I know you and Sam shared similar ideals,

but unless you can call down a miracle,

we're gonna lose this farm.

I say we call down a miracle.

How?

I believe a miracle is nothing more than

a moment of God's attention.

A man named Martin Luther argued

against the corrupt authorities of his day.

He... he wrote out his argument on a piece of paper

and then nailed it to the door of a church.

And he called down a miracle.

What do you have in mind?

A revolution.

Is there some kind of church event

you and the preacher would like us to cover?

Not presently.

We've been here for six months, and I'm still trying

to get a sense of this town's landscape.

I can help you with that.

The town's landscape's predominantly flat.

Yes, I noticed. Pretty damn flat.

Yes, it is... Ms. Preacher's Wife.

Call me Amelia.

- May I? - Please.

And it's not the town's physical landscape

I'm concerned with; It's the metaphysical one.

They say a man's language is a map of his soul.

Of course, I wouldn't know.

Is it true?

- Perhaps. - And the "Holden Tribune"

is word of public record here?

- For better or worse. - So, for better or worse,

it's the map of this town's soul.

And yet for weeks, your paper has refused to report

on the collective revolt of the local farmers.

"Collective revolt."

Those are dangerous words around here.

Are "dangerous words" the reason

that the farmers' leader was just shot dead

in cold blood?

Someone shot Sam Riley?

Is your paper going to ignore that too?

I'm sure the appropriate words will be found.

Well.

How lovely... "the appropriate words"!

"Here stands

"the proud proprietor Archibald Weems.

"As we can see, 'the only emperor

is the emperor of ice cream.'"

DL Sullivan.

You're presently in the brief interval

of your only life. Is that how you want

to spend it, writing about ice cream vendors

and school recitals instead of the lifeanddeath struggles

- of your fellow man? - Yes,

if I want to keep my job.

And what about your soul?

Is something wrong, miss?

"Let be be finale of seem.

The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream."

What the hell was that?

A line from a Wallace Stevens poem.

- Never heard of him. - No one really has.

She said someone just murdered Sam Riley.

The preacher's wife was just in here.

She said Sam Riley's been killed.

Sam Riley's dead.

- An American tragedy. - Calvin,

she was reciting poetry to my new reporter.

Well, let's make sure the sheriff is appraised

on both accounts.

How long you been in this country, Eddie?

Three hellish years.

Then you should be familiar with our moonshining laws.

Shouldn't you?

Uncle Sheriff Don?

Yes, Raymond?

Trouble in town. Some cowboy shot Sam Riley.

You don't say.

You brought me a clean shirt.

Ma even ironed it.

Aw, bless that good woman's heart.

So this is when you kill me, is it?

Kill you?

Now, Eddie, that would just be a waste

of your fine moonshining talents.

No, now that you better understand

our local customs...

I'm going into business with you.

I want you to double your usual batch,

- half going to my speakeasy... - Your speakeasy?

And one half goes to the brothel.

You're not the only entrepreneur

in Holden County.

Find the cowboy.

- This is good here. - Whoa, ho!

All right. Thank you for the ride,

and here, take this. Maybe now you can afford

to put some fuel in this thing?

Yes, sir.

Is this really necessary?

If the great humanitarian

Herbert Hoover himself walked through that door,

I'd be checking his cock and balls as well.

Drop 'em.

Okay, let's take a look.

Slow down your excitement there a little bit, Valentino.

I know I'm a pretty little flower,

but you gotta save something for the girls.

What the hell was that?

Did it burn?

- No. - Good.

That means you don't have any sores.

It's Lysol.

Della, we've got some real money out here.

You're ready to go, Your Honor.

Well, hello there, handsome. Welcome to our happy home.

Have a seat.

- If you wish. - How much to stay here a week?

Well, that depends

on how many girls and what, exactly,

- you have in mind. - One girl,

and I pay not to discuss it.

Will she be able to walk at the end of it?

It depends if she stays on my good side.

$300 for a week.

$200. Room and board included.

The pure products of Iowa.

What they lack in glamour, they make up for

in pliability and grit.

This $100 bill could be yours.

- For what? - Well, first off,

for not being stupid enough to ask me questions.

Take a look at this and tell me what you think.

Yours.

I want $200.

And why would I give a prostitute $200?

'Cause it appears you're looking for a reader,

and I'm the only one you're gonna find

in this place.

Supply and demand, cocksucker.

Her.

Yankee strikebreakers weren't enough?

You had to bring in scabs while you're at it?

They've got wives and children too.

Sure they do... up north or down south.

Not here in Harlan.

- Who fired? - Those bastards!

- Shit fire! - Get down!

- No, stand down. Stand down... - Lower 'em! Don't shoot!

Stand down, men! There's children here!

Stand down!

Gil!

Uncle Sheriff Don? He's in room three.

You put him with Bessie?

Don't get sentimental, Donald.

This is all you want?

Why don't you read it yourself?

I mean, you can read, right?

You know why I like to hire whores

to be my secretaries?

Because if you disappoint me,

you can be so easily discarded.

I'll read the letter.

Privacy.

"Our client has a vested interest

"in a peaceful heartland.

"These farmers must be put in their proper place.

"This is no time for exotic political ideals.

Our nation's very survival depends upon law and order."

Private room.

I'd like to chat with a cowboy

from Wyoming. Would you be him?

Who's asking?

Sheriff Don Berryman.

- Well, hello, Sheriff. - Hello, Bess.

I'd just like to talk to your cowboy friend.

Well, my cowboy friend's presently balls deep

in darkling muff.

Give us just a moment to finish up.

Okay. One minute.

You can go out the window.

I think I'll stay.

Some of us have a reputation to uphold.

Leave.

- Ask. - What?

You told the young lady to leave.

You should've asked.

My dear Bessie,

could you please give us a few minutes of privacy?

Of course, Sheriff.

So gentle of you to ask.

There was a shooting today.

Here, in my county.

Now, this is a quiet corner of the Earth.

We resolve our differences with words and laws here,

- not guns. - "Words and laws."

Of course, you do know that neither means shit

unless there's a gun behind them.

Besides, that farmer aimed his pistol

right at me, Sheriff. You can ask anyone.

I shot that hayseed...

My, my. Aren't we suspicious?

Shouldn't we be?

Glad we're having this talk, Sheriff,

because I do fear that some local citizen's gonna

seek revenge for my act of selfdefense.

Well, they might. You should leave town now.

Yeah, in due time.

First, take out my wallet.

It's under my hat.

"Pinkerton National Detective Agency."

Name's Creeley Turner.

We've been monitoring your farmer strike

for some time. We can't have it getting

any bigger or louder.

Now, I thought you fellows stuck

to smacking around factory workers.

Why are the Pinkertons so concerned

about some angry farmers out in the middle of Iowa?

Well, because some of us would rather not have

a homegrown Bolshevik uprising, Sheriff.

I can take care of those farmers myself.

If that were true, they wouldn't have sent me.

But we don't have to make this unpleasant, so...

I'm gonna continue to conduct my business quietly,

and you, you can continue to...

do all your business.

Now, unless you're sticking around

to give me a free one...

I think it's probably time you leave.

Now, where did you get this one, Preacher?

Seminary tussle?

Disturbed Calvinists?

Pet bobcat.

Pet bobcat? Really?

Her name was Peaches.

She was ferocious.

Fearless. Sort of my type.

What?

I heard something.

Yeah... me.

Seth, what is it?

There's someone outside.

Lock the door. Keep the lights off.

If anyone tries to get in, shoot to kill.

Right here.

Hide all you want, preacher man.

We know you're in here.

All your preaching and agitating...

it ends tonight.

That was the main artery in your leg.

If you answer my questions, I might be able to save you.

How many of you are there?

- Three. - You from here?

No. Chicago.

- Who sent you? - Preacher, please.

Answer.

Some kind of doctor paid us...

100 bucks...

What do we say if someone comes by here?

Goldenrod, for our winter garden.

Unexpected beauty pleases the Lord.

You're actually starting to sound like a man of God.

Good...

because I sure as hell don't feel like one.

Seth, they were going to kill us.

They had it coming.

Maybe they did.

Why are you shutting me out?

I didn't know I was.

For two years...

we've been going from town to town,

trying to start a revolution,

trying to get the working people

to stand up for themselves.

And you still won't tell me anything about who you are...

Or where you're from.

We agreed we wouldn't talk about our pasts.

We're burying the bodies of three men we just killed.

If that doesn't top what you've done in the past...

It doesn't come close.

I've done wicked things in this world,

and every day, I'm trying to make up for that.

When these three don't show up back in Chicago,

whatever doctor hired them will be sending more.

Good.

That's how revolutions begin.

Pete.

Scrambled eggs and blood sausage.

Maybe later, dear.

Okay.

Everyone, listen up.

Gather round.

My father, Sam Riley, the leader of our farmer strike,

was murdered in cold blood the other day.

- What the hell's going on? - I don't know.

Then find out.

Preacher Seth is gonna talk about it

up at the chapel... talk about change...

Holden County Sheriff's Department.

- Sheriff Berryman. - Nah, he's not in.

This is Deputy Berryman.

I passed Sam Riley's son on a farm road this morning.

He had a rifle with him and it looked like

he was headed to Pete Collingsworth's place.

Who's this calling?

I think I heard a gunshot.

I just thought you should know.

Give me that whiskey.

Anything else?

Where's my letter?

I took it and I hid it.

- Why? - It was in plain sight.

Sheriff's sharper than he looks.

And I thought it'd come in handy.

Blackmail, extortion... that kind of thing.

So what are you?

Some kind of grifter whore?

That's exactly who I am.

Yeah.

Well, you're gonna grift plenty out of me.

But only if we stay alive.

Go on, take it.

Come on.

Two more.

Come on, right there. Make 'em deep, damn it.

Another.

So who's this Dr. Hopkins?

He's a hell of a writer. Touch of genius, maybe?

He'll be delighted to hear it.

Welcome.

My name is Seth Davenport.

My wife, Amelia, and I do our portion

of the Lord's work here through this church.

Whatever I want men to do unto me,

I should do unto them.

As children, we were taught

that the golden rule means to be kind.

But we're not children anymore.

And the golden rule is not an invitation to compliance.

It's a call to arms.

Because if I were to conspire as our banks, businesses,

and government have all conspired

to rip off the very people who grow our food

and keep our nation strong, what would I want

my fellow man to do unto me?

I'd want him to break my fucking back.

And if I were to threaten the brave farmers

who've banded together to strengthen one another,

what would I want my fellow man to do unto me?

I would want him to break my fucking back.

And if I were to attack those brave farmers,

what would I want my fellow man to do unto me?

I'd want him to break my fucking back.

And if I were to murder in cold blood

the very man who led these brave farmers,

what would I want my fellow man to do unto me?

I'd want him to break my fucking back!

And if I were Sam Riley himself,

what would I want my fellow brothers and sisters to do?

I would want them to listen.

Listen to Sam. Listen to his silence.

A roaring, furious, deafening silence.

And what does this man's silence mean?

Can you hear it?

This is a peaceful assembly, Sheriff.

Pete Collingsworth's been murdered.

Sam Jr.

You need to come with us.

No, this isn't right!

No, listen, I didn't kill Pete.

Sheriff, I didn't kill Pete.

Preacher! Preacher!

I didn't kill Pete!

I didn't kill anyone!

Preacher!

- What are you doing to do? - I'm gonna find

the devil who's behind this.

I thought you'd never find me.

You look different than the last time I saw you.

You killed two men in this town.

Guess the Lord works in mysterious ways.

Wanna try and add a third?

No, see, I'm familiar with my limits.

Your work in this town is done.

So leave while you can.

Or else what, Preacher?

You're gonna save my poor immortal soul?

No, I'll kill you...

and drag you to hell with me.

Who was that?

My little brother.

Now, you be good. You be good, boy.

I didn't kill anybody! I didn't kill Pete!

You settle, boy.

You want some roughhouse?

It is begun.

Subtitles by explosiveskull.