Original subtitles

These subtitles are intended for the 25 fps / 55m43s version of the video

"I stand amid the roar of a surf-tormented shore,

and I hold within my hand

grains of golden sand.

How few, yet how they creep through my fingers to the deep,

while I weep, while I weep.

Oh, God, can I not grasp them with a tighter clasp?

Oh, God, can I not save one from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see

or seem

but a dream within a dream?"

Oh, Eddie, that's beautiful.

Not as beautiful as you, my dear Sissie, but...

- It is fine, isn't it? - It's your best one yet.

Pluto, you imp. You don't care much for poetry, do you?

No, you don't, do you, you terrible beast?

Scat.

Oh, Sissie.

- My angel, are you all right? - I'm sorry, Eddie.

It's nothing. Must be the cat hair.

Yes, yes, fine stuff.

I'll give you 50 cents a piece

and print them in the September issue,

in the society section.

But, Mr. Graham, sir, what I have given you is gold.

It should be printed on your front page, not

buried in the ladies' pages.

Yes, indeed.

But I do believe I've read this one in last month's courier,

and this one in The Saturday Post

The ladies do seem to appreciate poetry, though for myself I find it tiresome.

Of course.

You're right. But...

They are the favorites of your female readers.

- A dollar a piece,then. - I'll take them, Mr. Poe,

- at the half-dollar price. - Mr. Graham...

if you agree to give us what we really want,

another of your fantastic tales.

That's your meat, Mr. Poe,

like TheTell-Tale Heart

Now, that was a real success.

Yes, killing his landlord because he was disturbed to madness by the man's dead eye.

Where do you get your ideas?

Take my advice, Mr. Poe.

Leave the poetry to the ladies.

Your mad tales... Give us some other of those!

How about a poet strangles his publisher, and everyone else takes him for dead

so they put him in his grave alive!

Buried alive!

Mr. Poe?

Mr. Poe!

Yes. Sorry. Another tale.

As a matter of fact, I'm working on one at the moment.

Excellent! Let's have it for the october issue.

Certainly, sir.

Your readers, Mr. Graham, will marvel at its invention.

I-- I was wondering if you could see your way clear to give me...

a small advance to assure its completion?

Really, Mr. Poe,

where does all the money go?

Poetry.

Poverty.

Barman!

Another bottle.

You haven't paid me for that one.

My credit has always been good here.

And that's the problem. You haven't paid me a penny in months.

No more until it's settled.

I am Edgar Allan Poe, grandson of general David Poe,

hero of the revolution, sir!

I swam the James river seven miles,

and I was first in my class at West Point!

Yes, Mr. Poe, we've heard it all before.

Griswold!

Friend!

Fellow poet.

Could you make me a small loan to appease this gentleman?

After the way you've savaged my last book in your review?

You may hang him, sir, for all I care.

- But, Rufus... - That's it, then, Mr. Poe.

No... Wait, master of the house.

A wager.

Set down a cryptogram as devilish as you can devise,

and I will solve it for a bottle of your best port.

Ask of me the impossible,

and I shall achieve it.

For example, I propose to you

that I...

can stand on only...

one finger!

- You can stand on one finger? - I can, and I will!

And if you can't?

I will reward you...

with all my time on this Earth.

Sir...

we have a wager.

Point to the exact spot where you would have me stand.

Stand where you like, as long as it's on one finger.

Oh,no,no,no. I want you to be satisfied, sir,

that there is no trickery involved here.

- Choose the spot. - All right.

- There. - Where?

- Right there. - There?

No, right there!

You didn't say it had to be my finger.

"The dream within the dream."

- There you are, Eddie. - Sissie, I...

Hey. Hello, Pluto.

Our guest, Mr. Fordham, has been wondering where you've been.

Oh, sir...

Thank you.

Sir.

I apologize.

I-- I was detained...

by...

I was detained by admirers.

Lovers of literature. They insisted on a toast--

Several toasts-- to my work.

Are you a...

literary man, mister...

Fordham. No, My tastes run more to musical entertainment.

But poetry is music

when it is poetical at all.

Shall I recite to you

one of my lyrics, mister... I'm sorry, mister...

Mr. Fordham is here to buy the piano.

- Yes. - Don't you remember, Eddie?

I'm sorry, sir,

but...

That is my wife's piano,

and it is not for sale.

- I-- - We discussed this.

I will not let you give up your music.

- We need the money. - No!

Let me do this...

for us.

As you see, Mr. Fremont--

or whatever your name is--

I can deny...

my darling little wife...

nothing.

Virginia,

you must play for him.

And for me.

One last time...

for me.

My angel, you all right?

My God, man, get her a drink.

Hurry!

Here... Take a sip.

Oh, my God.

Sissie. Sissie?

Get a doctor! Get a doctor!

Sissie. Oh, my God. Sissie.

I gave her a dose of Laudanum. She needs to sleep.

It's all right, darlin'. You'll be fine. I'll look after you.

She must be kept calm.

Now, this is of the utmost importance.

Nothing must upset her.

Nothing.

Administer this judiciously.

Will she recover?

- Your wife is a consumptive, Mr. Poe. - The white plague.

Why didn't you call me sooner?

That hemorrhage could have killed her.

I... didn't dare believe it.

Is there a cure?

You must move to a milder climate, sir,

if you love your wife.

Now, that'll be $10.00 for the fee and $2.00 for the sedative.

To speak of money while my wife is suffering in the next room is ill-mannered, sir.

I am a doctor.

When should I speak of it?

Send the bill to Mr. Graham.

I'm in the process of writing a story

for his magazine, the october issue.

This is the last time, Poe.

I have treated you in your drunken stupors and your delirium,

and you've never paid what you've promised.

But you can't just...

leave her like that.

Here. Here. Take my w--

Wait.

I'll pay you when I can. Please!

I suggest you find another physician to attend to her. Good night, Mr. Poe.

Pluto, stop it!

There, there, Annabel.

He won't hurt you.

What--

Virginia,

what are you doing out of bed?

We have to sell it.

We need the money.

You have to rest.

Husband's orders.

Breathe easy. Here.

Here, Sissie. Take a tincture.

There.

- I'm sorry, Eddie. - You have nothing to be sorry for.

I'm afraid taking care of me inspires you to drink.

Writing is your genius...

your life.

Please don't destroy them with drink.

Write, Eddie, please...

for me.

I will.

I promise.

The white plague.

Pluto.

What's gotten into you?

Damn.

Pluto.

Pluto,what have you done?

Pluto!

Pluto.

You come here this instant.

For pity's sake!

Oh, my God.

Sissie.

Angel.

Angel.

There,there. There,there.

I'll protect you.

I'm sorry.

Pluto.

Pluto. Get away from her.

Pluto,no.

You... Get away! You're killing her.

Come here. You-- No!

Come here.

Where are you?

There you are.

Don't you move.

You... You...

Gotcha.

Nope.

I've got you.

Demon!

What are you doing, Eddie?

Pluto.

Come here. Come on.

Oh, my-- what happened to you?

He must have, uh,

gotten in a fight. I found him like that. I tried to help him.

You poor thing.

My God.

What's been--

What's been going on? Our pets.

Now, Sissie, I...

was trying to write, and...

Pluto...

Pluto ate the goldfish.

- Phineas? - Yes.

- Pluto ate phineas? - Yes, and he killed poor Annabel.

No. No, I don't believe it.

He's the one who's been attacked. Look at him.

No, no, no, no. There was another cat, a black cat,

just like Pluto. He must have killed them, and-- Pluto fought with him.

- You-- you've been drinking again. - No! The cat's spilled that.

You promised. You said you would write for me. You promised me.

I know I did.

I'm so, so sorry. I can explain.

I have this longing in my soul to do violence

to the ones I love, to my own nature,

to do wrong for wrong's sake.

Eddie.

Sissie...

Sissy? Sissy!

- I'll go get a doctor. - No, no. Don't leave me.

It's all right, ci--

Sissie? Sissie.

No. No,Sissie!

It's a shame.

He could never provide for a woman of her...

delicacy.

How could he, so long as he fancied himself a poet?

And she's so young.

So very young.

A mere...

a mere girl...

and-- and his cousin.

An acceptable match in Richmond,

but this is Philadelphia.

Mr. Poe.

My wife and I just wanted to say

we're sorry for your loss.

Well, I thank you, mister, uh...

She's out of her misery now.

Yes, she is.

Look, Edgar,

I can advance you a small sum on your story.

She should have a proper buriaL.

Yes. She should.

So she can rot in an airless grave

with worms and ants eating at her flesh.

Get a hold of yourself, Edgar.

We all have to go on, you know,

and you'll have your writing.

I no longer wish to write.

What else will you do? Goodness, man, you're already famous.

I no longer care for fame.

There are ways...

to ease the pain.

Get out.

I do not...

wish to ease my pain.

Leave me alone!

That is not how a gentleman behaves!

How would you know?

All of you! Get out!

Now!

- Edgar, calm yourself! - Leave me! All of you!

Leave me!

I say calm yourself, sir!

Leave me alone!

You...

You...

killed her.

Come here.

"We stand on the brink of a precipice,

and peer into the abyss.

We grow sick and dizzy...

with blood."

"Nevermore."

Sissie?

Sissie.

Sissie.

Sissie. Come,Sissie.

Eddie?

Virginia.

Angel.

I thought I saw--

I'm afraid to be alone.

Don't leave me again.

You came back to me from the grave, and still I fail you.

Heaven curse me if I ever take another drink.

Virginia.

No.

No.

You'll catch a draft.

Hello. Who are you?

No.

- It's Pluto. - No. He died in the fire.

He must have escaped. Oh, you came back to us.

Sissie,

it can't be.

He burned away. There was nothing left.

You're right. It's not Pluto.

Look at this white patch, see?

It goes all around his neck,

like a collar.

Or a noose.

Stop it, Eddie.

Your morbid imagination is too much sometimes.

Now, Virginia.

He can't stay. Your condition.

I need companion when you're writing, or when you're gone.

He might make you worse, the filthy beast.

I haven't coughed since he's come.

He's just a cat,

aren't you, Pluto?

It's not... Pluto!

Heavens curse me.

You.

Eddie?

What's the matter? Why are you acting like this?

- Go upstairs. - You're drunk.

You promised. You swore you'd stop.

Yeah, and you believed me.

You always believe me.

I have no choice.

I love you.

How can you love me?

I can't clothe you. I can't feed you. I can't cure you.

I can't write!

God help me, Sissie.

I can't write.

Come with me, Eddie.

Come back upstairs with me.

It'll be all right. Please.

- There you are. - No!

- Eddie. - Leave me be.

- Don't, Eddie,please. - Where's that--

- Where... - Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie.

Oh, Sissie! No!

What's all that noise?

Farewell, my angel.

No!

Go back to hell, you succubus!

Excuse me, sir.

Mr. Poe, isn't it? The writer?

Yes, indeed. I am the poet, yes.

As you can see, I...

I have just now been working on one of my fantastic tales.

I apologize for any perceived insult, Mr.

Sergeant Booker.

Of the south Philadelphia constabulary.

Several of your neighbors professed

to hearing screams two nights ago.

Two nights ago.

Well, I have been writing,

and as you've seen,

when I am engaged in acts of the imagination,

I have little sense of the world around me. Such is my genius.

Indeed.

These neighbors thought the scams came from this room.

Well, as I say,

there may have been a brutal murder

in this room, and I would have been oblivious.

But by all means, gentlemen, please,

come in and satisfy yourselves.

Might I ask you, sir, where you've been since the evening in question?

I believe I told you.

In this room,

writing.

We were here yesterday, Mr. Poe,

when the complaint was first made.

You didn't answer your door, nor did you appear to be home.

Oh. Of course.

Uh, sergeant,

I felt the need to...

imbibe some inspiration.

Thank you, sir.

Thirsty work.

Indeed.

I wonder why my neighbors

did not ask me about the disturbance themselves.

They're quite afraid of you, Mr. Poe.

Nothing here, sergeant. Some women's clothing...

and toiletries, but so sign of violence.

You are married, aren't you, Mr. Poe?

Mm, my wife is visiting relatives in Baltimore.

The Poes of Baltimore are very well known,

descended from general David Poe--

... of the revolutionary

We won't disturb you anymore, sir.

No bother. None at all, gentlemen.

Thank you.

Wait!

You didn't search the basement.

Watch your step, gentlemen.

These stairs are quite rickety.

You don't want to fall and split your head open.

Now here. Please.

Let no hiding place go undiscovered,

secret go undivulged.

The wooden parts of this house are decidedly unsound,

but the walls, gentlemen,

the walls are extremely well constructed, don't you think?

What I think, Mr. Poe, is that there's nothing here for us to see.

Thank you for your help, but we have a great deal of business,

criminal business, to attend to.

Good day, sir.

I'm delighted to have allayed your suspicions.

I wish you good health and more than a little courtesy.

These walls! Gentlemen, are you going?

These walls are solidly put together.

Break it open!

Sissie?

Sissie.

Oh... oh, angel.

Oh.

- Come here, Pluto. - Pluto?

Of course.

Pluto.

- Eddie, are you all right? - Yes.

Yes, I am.

I can give old Graham what he wants.

I have it, Sissie.

I have it!