All language subtitles for S.A.2014

And so we come
to that condition

which most often afflicts
the more nervous sex.

Hysteria.

Derived from the Greek
for "uterus".

Much studied
by the French,

it has of late come under the
scrutiny of our Austrian colleagues.

Tonight, we'll endeavor to add
a British accent to this chorus.

Bring in the patient, please.

As you can see,

the patient is a comely woman
of five and thirty years

who has been under my care
at Bethlehem Hospital.

Of impeccable breeding, she has
suffered much of her life

from the classic symptoms
of the chronic hysteric.

Who can tell me
what these are?

Lassitude?

Correct.
Another.

The tingling of the extremities.

Yes. Another.
Convulsions.

Sometimes called
"hysteric fits",

during which the patient
may become violent,

dangerously unmanageable.

Which is why,
as a precautionary measure,

I've had her injected with
four grains of heroin.

One cannot be too careful when attempting
to trigger a fit in a clinical setting.

As I shall now endeavor to do.

Please.

I beseech you, sir, do not.

Shh, shh, shh.

The trigger point...
Help me.

Help me.

One of you, please.

Look at me.

I am not mad.

I am not mad.
Look at me.

The trigger point may be hidden
anywhere in the female anatomy.

Most often
upon the breasts.

Do not touch me.
The inner thighs.

Or the ovaries.

Note the clenched fists,
the arched back,

the tonic and clonic spasms.

Concluding finally

in a profound contracture.

Watch yourself.

She's started her
monthly bleeding.

Next patient, please.
Bring in the patient.

Any questions? What of the woman's
insistence that she is not mad?

Just as every criminal
maintains he's innocent,

so does every mad woman
insist she is sane.

But she seemed so...
Reasonable?

Perhaps.
Well bred?

Beautiful?

She is all these things.

And quite mad.

And therein lies the
paradox of insanity

and the great peril
of our profession.

Thus, I caution
you all, gentlemen,

as you embark on your
careers as alienists,

believe nothing
that you hear

and only one half
of what you see.

Bloody hell.

Hey!
Wait!

Hello there.
Excuse me.

I beg you, stop.

At first,
Da didn't want to stop

on account you may be
a lunatic who escaped,

but I convinced him
you couldn't be

since you're headed toward the
madhouse and not away from it.

Ah, clever deduction.

And you look like a man who's
only lost his way, not his mind.

Well, I'm grateful.
Thank you.

Are you visiting
someone at Stonehearst?

Actually, going there to complete
my training as an alienist.

That's a doctor who specializes
in asylum medicine.

Well, I can tell
you'll be a good one.

You have kind eyes.

Aw, thank you.

The madhouse is just up that hill.

You're certain?
Oh, yes. Look!

I don't see anything.

Merry Christmas.

Hello?

Hello!

And who the feck might you be?

Ah, good God.

Good afternoon, sir.
I'm-I'm Edward Newgate.

Dr. Edward Newgate,
from Oxford.

Might-Might you let me in?

Well, now, that depends.
Were we expecting you?

Well, I hope so. I did send a letter
to the superintendent here.

Must have been
weeks ago now.

Well, the post isn't regular
this time of the year.

Oh, really?
I...

I'm just acting the maggot.
Of course you can come in, Ted.

What kind of Christian would I be to leave
another outside to freeze his onions off?

And on Christmas Eve no less.

Well, thank you so much.
I... I do appreciate it.

My name's Finn.

I'm the chief steward.

Welcome to our little madhouse
in the wilderness.

Presently we have 200
residents at Stonehearst.

Sons and daughters of some of
the finest families in the realm.

We have lords, dukes.
We even have a cousin of the Queen.

Now, she likes to finger paint
with her own shite.

There you go, Rosie.

We have a viscount who's
convinced he has two heads,

and an earl who thinks
he's a teapot.

Seriously.

Wait-Wait here.

The doctor will be along shortly.

Right, yes.

Trephination.

An arcane medical procedure
performed by savages

upon those possessed
of evil spirits.

By boring a hole in the skull,

they believed it would allow
the demons to escape.

Let us be thankful we live
in more enlightened times,

don't you agree, doctor...?

Newgate.
Edward Newgate, from Oxford.

Forgive me for turning up
unannounced.

I did write a letter. It's just your
Mr. Finn tells me it never arrived.

An Oxford man is always
welcome here.

So,

what brings you to Stonehearst?

Well, as I wrote in my letter,

I had hoped I would observe
your methods in or...

Oh, no, thank you.
Nonsense.

You've had an arduous voyage.

From the backwaters
of blissful ignorance

across vast oceans
of academic blather

until at last you've
arrived here,

on the shores of my
little kingdom.

And at the dawn of a
new century, no less.

So,

it's asylum medicine
you wish to practice.

Uh, yes, since as long
as I can remember.

Why?
I'm sorry?

Why not some specialty that's held
in higher regard? Surgery, for instance.

I don't much care for blood,
I suppose.

Tropical medicine then.
Or problems of the female anatomy.

Both offer better pay.

Well, I've always been fascinated
by the troubled mind.

So is a priest but he at least
is guaranteed heaven.

What do you hope
to gain?

The satisfaction of
helping those in hell.

See, of all the afflictions,
I can think of none more,

more cruel than madness, sir.

See, it robs a man
of his reason,

his dignity,
his very soul.

And it does so,

so slowly, without the
remorse of death.

Please, sir.

I have the desire
and the training.

All I lack is the clinical
experience.

Time for afternoon rounds.

Of course.
I didn't wish to keep you...

Join me, Doctor.
Thank you.

Mr. Finn, help the doctor off
with his coat, would you?

Thank you.

You'll find us well-stocked
with the usual cases.

Neurasthenia,
dementia praecox,

incurable homosexuality,
epilepsy, melancholia.

But where we differ
from other asylums

is in the social station
of our patients.

All hail from the finest
families in Europe.

For instance, Terrance here

is heir to one of the largest railroad
fortunes in the continent.

And what is the nature
of his disorder?

He suffers from an utter lack
of interest in trains.

So his family
had him committed?

Interesting case
this one.

Signore Balzoni was thrown from his
horse during a polo match in Milan

and ever since he's believed himself
to be an Arabian stallion.

He gets a tad agitated
at feeding times.

Please go ahead.

You'll find most of our
patients are here

because they are embarrassments
to their families.

Outcasts.

Signore, give the gentleman
his arm back

or I shall be forced to withhold
grooming for a week.

You-You groom him?

Small price to pay to
keep him contented.

Isn't that reinforcing
his delusion? Yes.

What, you don't attempt
to cure your patients?

Cure them?
To what purpose?

Well, to bring them back
to their senses, of course.

And make a miserable man out
of a perfectly happy horse.

Madame.
Your Eminence.

Is it always this lively?

Here we do not believe
in sedating our patients

into a stupor with
bromides and the like.

We prefer to celebrate them in
their natural unadulterated state.

Check.

Mm.

Good afternoon, my lovely.

Nurse.
Nurse?

Has she eaten today?

She refuses to eat until her
son returns from the war.

He was killed in action
in Peshawar, '85.

Have you tried
a feeding tube?

We do not use such
medieval methods here.

I'd hardly call it "medieval".

What would you call it then?

Well, a necessary means
of preventing death.

Death cannot be
prevented, Doctor,

any more than madness cured.

There's no cure
for the human condition.

And it's a foolish
physician who tries.

Suppose I were to present you
with the following case.

A woman who suffers
from violent fits

triggered by physical
or emotional contact

that she perceives to be
of too intimate a nature.

Ah, sounds like hysteria.

What treatment would
you prescribe?

Ah, mustard packs,
I should think.

Is she a patient
or a pickled herring?

Pelvic massage?
Potassium bromide?

I'm interested in your opinion,
Doctor, not some textbook's.

Forget bromides.
Open your eyes.

Look at her.

So, I ask you again,

presented with a woman of
utmost grace and refinement

within whose breast
roils passion so great

she fears they will destroy her,

what treatment
would you prescribe?

Music.

Three times a day, no less.

Bravo, Doctor.
I concur.

There are few therapies better
at restoring the soul than music.

Her name is Lady Charles Graves.
Eliza. Mrs. Graves to us.

I presume you know
her husband?

No.
Repugnant chap.

Possesses
a tremendous fortune.

Not to mention many
unnatural appetites.

As one would expect,
her hysterical episodes worsened

following the engagement,
until one night she bit off his ear

and gouged out
his eye with a comb.

So her husband
had her committed.

No, her father.

If it had been up
to the Baronet,

she'd still be at home
in his loving embrace.

In fact, not a week goes by that
I don't receive a letter from him

threatening me and demanding
I declare her cured

so she might be remanded
into his custody.

So, you refuse?

For her own safety.

Come, Doctor.
Yes, of course.

We have much to see
before dinner.

May I just say that your
playing is sublime.

Oh.
Oh, your playing is sublime.

It's quite sublime.

I'm Newgate.

Dr. Edward Newgate. My name
is Edward Newgate. Doc...

Nurse.

May I have
a glass of water?

Yes, ma'am.

Your playing is sublime.

What was that,
Mozart, Beethoven?

No, I wrote it.

Of course.

Let me introduce myself.
My name is... Dr. Newgate.

I know. We don't receive
many visitors here.

We're rather like
a leper colony.

Well, I doubt lepers
are so charming.

I wish you would stop
complimenting me.

It makes me uncomfortable.
Forgive me, Mrs. Graves.

The last thing I wish to do
is offend you.

Are you quite certain
you're a doctor?

Yeah, well,
of course I am.

Because I've never known
one to apologize.

Or, for that matter, give a
damn who he offended.

Well, I... I'm not like
other doctors.

I mean, to be honest, I still haven't
gotten used to being one.

Whenever someone
calls "doctor",

I still turn to see if they're talking
to the chap behind me.

Here you go, ma'am.
Thank you, nurse.

Right.

Remarkable, isn't she?

She should be on a stage,

not languishing
in some asylum.

Forgive me,
I'm Dr. Newgate.

Edward Newgate.
And you are?

Let Jael rejoice
with the Plover.

Pardon me? And Hobab
rejoice with Heraclitus.

That is Greek for the grub.

Ah, Newgate.
Tuxedo fits, I see.

Yes, thank you.
Thank you. Thank you.

I'm sorry, but what's
he doing here?

Oh, Jeremiah.
He killed his wife with a hammer.

Not without provocation,
mind you.

But what's he doing here
in the staff parlor?

When I was a medical officer
in the war,

we would on occasion invite the
enlisted men to dine with us.

It strengthened the bond between
the men and... kept morale high.

And I believe the same
principal applies here.

It's therapeutic for the patients
to mix with polite society,

and, I might add, for polite society
to mix with them.

Dinner is served.

Good boy.

Good boy.

Good boy.
Good boy.

Tell me, doctor, what do you think
of our little asylum?

Why, it's quite... unlike
anything I've ever known.

Newgate recently took his
medical degree at Oxford.

But why come all the way here

when there are other asylums
far closer to London?

Well, I've always longed to return
to the countryside, I suppose.

You know, I... I grew up
in a farm in Yorkshire,

and, uh, some of my
fondest memories

are of the cows and chickens
that were my playmates.

You don't have the
Yorkshire man's accent.

Why's that, Ted?

Well, my, my, my parents died
when I was six

so I was sent to an
orphanage in London.

Appalling place.

But, I mean, you know, fascinating if one
was curious about human nature as I was.

In a funny way,
I was quite grateful to them.

How so?

Well, misery has a way of
clarifying one's convictions.

See, it was in the orphanage that I
realized what my life's work would be.

To labor amongst the wretched
and the friendless.

And to give these poor souls
some small measure

of hope and kindness

in a world that knows too little.

Forgive me, I... I seem to have
turned dinner into a Dickens' novel.

Bon appetite.

What is this tonight, Finn?
Squirrel?

At present we find ourselves
somewhat modestly provisioned.

A toast to Mr. Finn

for providing such fine victuals
for our Christmas repast.

Mickey Finn.

I'm-I'm sorry.
Is that really your name?

'Tis. Why?

Well, you know,
to slip someone a Mickey Finn,

you know,
with knock-out drops.

It's quite,
quite, uh...

Well, quite.

That never occurred to me.
"Slip someone a Mickey. "

That must be how me
da got me dear old ma

to lie still while he ah, ah,
ah, ah, ah, ah.

You'll forgive me if I don't
find that at all amusing.

No?

What would bring a smile to that
puckered-ass of a mouth of yours?

That will be
enough, Finn.

My apologies.
I meant no offense.

Yeah, well, none taken.

That's the Christmas spirit.
Come now.

Let me offer you a little
drink of friendship.

No, no, no.
I've had quite enough.

Come on,
we're celebrating.

Honestly, Finn.

I'm sure he doesn't mind raising
a glass to our Lord and Savior.

Do you now, Doctor?

I... I'd be delighted.

Oh, dear.
I'm afraid that will stain.

Soda water
will save it.

Follow me.

You must leave here
immediately.

But I've only just arrived.

You do not belong here.

Why, I was going to say
the same thing about you.

There's time before
they get suspicious.

They'll assume you went to your
room to change your shirt, but don't.

Leave your things.
Go straight to the stable.

The roan is the most
sure-footed on the moor.

She'll see you
safely back to town.

You want me
to steal a horse?

Lower your voice.

No, not until you tell me
what's going on.

Do as I say.

Leave.
Now.

Eliza.
Eliza, please...

Mrs. Graves,
I'm... I'm so sorry.

I didn't mean
to upset you.

Mrs. Graves, indeed,
then listen to me.

There's-There's something
I need to tell you.

Help us.
Please.

Get off me.

Help us!
Help us!

Help us.
We need food.

Please.
Please, help us.

Who are you, boy?

I... I'm a doctor.

Liar.
I've never set eyes on you.

Where are you from?

Upstairs.
Before that, you fool.

I'm from Oxford.

You listen to me,

and listen carefully, boy.

You have got to help us
escape from these cages.

We're not mad.
We're not mad.

We're not mad. We're not mad.
Please.

Please help us.

Of course you're not.

You've got to help us.
I will, I will.

First thing in the morning,
I'll consult with Dr. Lamb.

Dr. Lamb?
Are you daft?

If he learns that you found us,
he'll slit your throat and ours.

You must get the keys.
Let us out.

Please, we're not mad.
All right.

You've got to help us.

I'll see to it in the morning.

Let us out.

Newgate.

Edward Newgate.

How do you know
my name?

Your letter.

You remember, Benjamin?
It was weeks ago.

The young man who wrote
to us from Oxford.

I remember.
Newgate.

Your letter came with
the last mail delivery

before Lamb overthrew us.

Overthrew you?
Yes.

Overthrew?

What is going on?

I am Marion Pike.
Matron.

Charles Swanwick.
Chief medical officer.

Nurse.
William Paxton, groundskeeper.

Dr. Benjamin Salt,

rightful Superintendent
of Stonehearst asylum.

Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.

If you really are
the superintendent,

then that means
that Dr. Lamb is...

A lunatic demon
of the worst kind.

Oh, good God.

God.

What happened?

They put something
in our drink, Doc.

Chloral hydrate.
It's-It's a surgical anesthetic.

It's colorless and odorless,

but lethal in imprecise doses.

I lost four doctors that night.

Three of my nurses died.
Poor creatures.

They'd been planning this for months.
Treacherous bastards.

Just biding their time
to slip us...

A Mickey Finn.

I don't believe...

They give us water,
a pittance of food.

But make no mistake, Doctor,
we are dying.

We are dying.

You could steal
the keys from Finn.

Ah?
Set us free.

They'd tear us apart before
we'd gone a hundred yards.

We'll take
our chances fighting.

In our condition,
against their numbers?

There are homicidal maniacs
upstairs with guns, Charles.

Look around you.
None of us are fit to fight.

Some of us are
too far gone already.

There's only one solution.

It's you, Doctor.
You're our only chance. Please.

Run, boy.
The keys.

Run, boy.
Get to town.

Bring help.
Run.

The keys.

Run.
Run, boy.

Who is it, Eliza?
I'm frightened.

It's no one, dearest.

Just the Sandman.

Mrs. Graves.

Is he going to try
and make love to us?

Back to sleep.

Mrs. Graves, we must
leave here immediately.

You had your chance
to leave before.

I have found Salt and the others,
Mrs. Graves.

Do you realize what would've
happened if you'd been caught?

I have some idea.
You have no idea.

We can argue
about this later.

Right now I need you to
fetch your warmest coat

and meet me in the gazebo
in ten minutes.

We can steal a horse,
and if we're lucky

we can make it to town
and summon help.

Why would you presume
I would go anywhere with you?

Because I cannot...

I will not leave
without you.

I must go back to bed.
Listen to me.

The lunatics are running
this asylum.

Yes, and I am one of them.

What's this I see?

Evening rounds are finished, Doctor.

I was just giving Dr. Newgate
directions back to his room.

Lost, is he?

Ah, yes, embarrassingly so.

I was looking for
the staff library.

I must have made
a wrong turn.

Well, any event,
I know where I'm headed now,

so I'll bid you all good night.

Thank you, Mrs. Graves.

Finn, see the young doctor
to his room.

My pleasure.

No, no.
Won't be necessary.

Oh, I insist. And I shall expect
you for morning rounds.

Half past eight.

Right.
Of course.

This way, Ted.

Does he suspect anything?

No.

We must endeavor to make
sure it stays that way.

Something is troubling you,
my dear.

This cannot last, Silas.

Eventually we will
be discovered.

The spring is coming.
People will come.

Visitors.

We cannot just
lock them out.

The only reason
any of us are here

is because the world
wanted to be rid of us.

We're embarrassments
to our family,

exiles to the human race.

We will not be discovered for the
simple reason that no one cares.

My husband does.

I promise you

you will always be safe
within these walls.

I'm afraid this
is all I could find.

Supplies upstairs
are running low.

I'll bring more
next time.

And some laudanum
for that cough of yours.

Bless you, Doctor.

It's men with guns we need,
not medicine.

That's not an option
anymore, Doctor.

After last night, Finn and his goons
are watching me like hawks.

I barely made it
here undetected.

Come back here.
Please mate, come on.

I could be wrong,
but Lamb strikes me as a man

who would rather see the
ship sink with everyone in it

than give up the helm.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

So, even if we did steal
away and find help,

God knows what would await
us when we returned.

We?

Well, me-me
and Mrs. Graves.

Eliza Graves?

Don't be a fool, man.
She's as mad as the lot of them.

No, no, I...
I don't believe she is.

Tell that to her husband.

But make sure you speak into his
good ear, the one she didn't bite off.

The man is a monster.
She was right to defend herself.

Mrs. Pike, may I remind you on
which side of the bars you sit?

So, you cannot flee,

you cannot steal
Finn's keys.

What do you propose to do?
Huh?

Look, I came here
to study his methods.

Now, Lamb sees me
as his protégé.

If I could just maintain
that-that trust,

you know, understand
the workings of his mind,

maybe I could bring
him to reason.

He killed five soldiers
in cold blood.

And do you think you
can outfox him, boy?

If you could just
give me his case file.

Long gone.

It's the first thing
he'd have destroyed.

Well then... well then,
I'd best be back before I'm missed.

In the medicine cabinet.

Behind the Scotch.

In his...
In-in my office.

He escaped once before
and he stole it, briefly.

I didn't want to give him
that pleasure again,

so I hid his casebook.

Right.

Doctor?

I want to warn you.

I do not know what
Lamb's plan is for us,

but I do know that if he believes
you could jeopardize it,

he will not hesitate
to slit your throat.

Deplorable conditions these,
but soon I mean to make a change.

And what better way to
bring in the new century

than by doing away with
this godforsaken ward

and all the backward
thinking it represents.

Right, Finn?
Right, then.

So, what do you hope to do
with the current residents?

Introduce them to the
general population.

You're not serious.

Keep a man in a cage and
he'll behave like an animal.

Give him his freedom and he'll
remember his humanity.

And that's your plan, is it,
to create an enlightened society?

Do I sense skepticism
in your question, Doctor?

No, not at all.
I suppose I'm just curious to know

if you think there are any individuals
whose crimes are so heinous

they justify imprisonment.

Sadists... who find gratification

in the debasement
of others.

And those cowards who would
send younger men to their deaths

in battles they themselves
would avoid.

Except for these, I believe
all men can be rehabilitated

often by the simple act of
having their dignity restored.

Who-who's down there?

The Ogre of Oxbridge.

The Ogre of what?
Stage name.

His family sold him off to a side
show when he was a child.

He injured his hand a few days
ago whilst attacking a nurse.

Would you be so kind as to
change the dressing, Doctor?

You expect me to
go down there?

You came here for clinical
experience, did you not?

Yes, of course.

Well, two grains of opium,
I should think, will do the trick.

Don't need that.

What do you expect me to do,
sing him a lullaby?

Use these.

The asylum doctor's
greatest ally.

Look out for the piss bucket.

Hello?

Now listen here.

I don't mean to harm you,
Mr. Ogre.

I just want to see your hand.

Oh, good God.

It's all right.

It's all right.
It's all right.

Lamb, please help.

Eyes, Newgate.
Eyes.

Arthur.

Arthur.
Arthur, please.

P- Please, Arthur.

Arthur.
Arthur.

Forgive me, Arthur.

May I call you Arthur?

Can I?

I... I didn't mean to enter
without permission.

I meant no offense.

I'm Dr. Newgate.

But you can call me Edward.

It's all right.

Eddard?

That's right, Edward.

Eddard.

Now, Arthur,

let's, let's have a look
at that hand, shall we?

It's okay.
All right.

That's it, Arthur.

Bravo, Doctor.

Bravo.

Can you take your trousers off,
please?

No, no.
It's, uh, it's my shoulder.

Please?

I will do that, Millie.

You may return to your duties.

But I want to.
Leave us.

Sit down.

Bare your shoulder.

Stubborn fool.
Why didn't you listen?

You could've left when
you had the chance.

I didn't know then
what I do now, Eliza.

Don't call me that.

Mrs. Graves,
you have to understand,

you are in danger here.

I can assure you
I am not.

Give me your hand.

And what of those
down below?

What about them?

Mrs. Pike and the women,

are they suffering terribly?

Yes, all of them are.

You could go down
there yourself.

Or are you afraid that what you'll see
will weaken your loyalty to Lamb?

You have no idea what
it was like here before.

What monsters Salt
and his men were.

How we were stripped bare
and subjected to examinations

of the most disgusting,
intimate nature.

Strapped to tables,

given drugs to dull our senses,
and doused with ice-cold water

and made to suffer a thousand other
indignities too horrible to mention.

But you couldn't
possibly understand.

I can.
I... I can.

I can.

I can.

I know what cruelty is,
Mrs. Graves.

I... I know.

And I give you my word

that you will never again have to
suffer the way that you have.

Never.