All language subtitles for corrida.1982.1080p.web.h264-emx_ eng

Ragne, please hurry up,
we have to get going.

Time and again,
we just can't get going on time.

in the film

CORRIDA

Based on a novel of the same title
by Teet Kallas

Right. Osvald Rass?
- Yes.

Born?
- On 25 December 1927, in Tomsk.

Nationality?
- Estonian.

Education?
- Higher.

Social origin?
- Working-class family.

Party membership?
- None.

Party sanctions?
- None.

Foreign languages? - English and
Latvian, and naturally Russian.

Criminal penalties?
- None.

Been abroad?
- In India in 1979.

Workplace?
- Freelancer.

Freelancer?
- Writer.

Government awards?
- None.

Military rank?
- Soldier ... private.

Right, now about your...
- She is my wife.

Congratulations, new island people.
Here's your house ledger.

The collective farm will try
to assist you in any way it can.

Eimar, take the critic's family
to the islet. Visit them once a week.

Deliver bread and mail
on your own initiative.

Eimar, remember:
critics don't like jabberjaws.

You're either a tufted phlox
or a bird's eye primrose.

I am not going to any restaurants,
cafes or cinemas until winter.

Why not, we have a car and there's
a cafe and a cinema on the mainland.

Let me first write a few chapters.
- That's not what I meant.

Look how beautiful it is.

"My surprise to you"

This is Haapsalu.

That's enough. Thank you.

Thank you, darling.

Sit, please.

Let's have some coffee.

Ragne, darling,

I'm toasting you as my dearest,
closest, sweetest,

purest person.

Why did you marry me?
- Why?

Here's how it works
for men my age:

first they go nuts,
then they fall in love...

I'm your wife,
but you don't know me at all.

I can be real nasty at times.

Selfish and moody.

Ossie, dear Ossie...

I need a child.

You don't want one?
- Dear god, I have no children.

Ragne, darling...

Is this really me?

A miserable typist.

You were a miserable typist.
Now it's all in the past.

You know what I discovered?
- What, darling?

"I numbly stagger in a town on fire
to ghastly, gruesome cries,

to find a sip to quench the angry fire
I have raging on inside."

Edgar Artur Raasmaa.

Wonder why the birds
are so noisy today?

That's Tarmo. - Tarmo?
Who is this Tarmo, please?

Have I not told you? - No.
- An old friend from way back.

We had the same coach,
later he was my coach and so on.

Now he's a freelancer like you.
- I see.

Very interesting.
Well, what do you know.

Look, keeps coming this way...
Yes, well, what do you do.

A young man, of course.

Welcome to the island of Osvald Rass.
Be my guest.

Go on, go on.

Come have breakfast with us,
the only option here on Rassland.

Put your suitcases by the stairs
and hang your tailcoat in the hallway.

Have a seat, please.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Bon appetit.

You know, in these three weeks,
you have become a superb cook.

Here we have a boiled flank steak
with black plums, pudding,

scrambled eggs with cheese,
fish roasted in paper,

spinach porridge and wine jelly.

Darling, please don't get mad,

but next time please add
a pinch of salt to the pasta.

I now have to leave
your pleasant company.

Oh yes, work, work, work.

Are you happy, old maid?

Are you happy?

Are you happy?
- I'm very happy.

Looking at you two,
I'm reminded of a classical painting.

"The Unequal Marriage".

Have you seen it?

Osvald is a very smart, intelligent,
understanding, delicate, good person.

If only you hadn't been so lazy,
you'd have got a much bigger prize.

Now you got yourself an old geezer,
a literary blue-collar in your claws.

You're just jealous.
- But you're a fraud.

You think it's true: home island, junipers,
Ülgeme farm, literary husband?

Until in a terrible scenario
your entire lie is unmasked and...

You're horrible.

You'll regret it.
You will.

Here you are, which one?

I'd like to know
what you're currently working on.

I'm writing a monography
about the most gifted, interesting,

the most less known, mysterious,
loneliest

Estonian poet of all time,

poet Mart Viitar.

Are you familiar with his creation?
- You'd do best to leave him alone.

Don't you think you are too old
to understand Viitar?

Yes, I understand and even appreciate
your youthful scepticism.

As a poet, Mart Viitar should be
closer to your generation, or age,

but we mustn't forget
that he wrote about my generation,

about the problems and pains
of my generation.

But I give you my word
that in writing this monography

I'll put into this book all my soul,
all my knowledge, all my skill.

In a word, I'll try and do everything
my frail mind is capable of.

Oh, boys,
always talking of work...

The table is ready.

Great. The young man
will pour the cognac.

Well, how are your mistresses?

I can't recall the name,
the one whose bones always rattle.

Kati and Maie are doing great.
They even sent you their regards.

I propose a toast
to our sweet, darling Ragne.

And what do you do?

I understood Tarmo also writes.
- He's had three aphorisms published.

I see. - A photo of his was displayed
at an exhibition, the one in a cellar.

Well done.

Are you an honest person, Osvald?

I've tried to be. - How does it
then fit with your honesty,

that in the '50s you wrote
simpleminded hymns to work,

in the '60s airy free verses,
in the '70s you produced haikus

and in the '80s
you just imitate Juhan Viiding?

Excuse me, how old are you?

Have some water.

Thank you.

Well, good night.

Please don't smoke in bed,
don't harm your health.

Good night, darling.

The boat will come tomorrow
and Tarmo will leave.

We'll give him your old sweatpants.
The boy has nothing to put on.

What do you think?

And give him 10 roubles. It's a huge
amount for him, takes him a long way.

Oh, how I wanted to flip out.

I wanted to dance
and forget everything.

And now there's this.
- How did Tarmo get to the island?

How?
- How? He built a raft.

Built a raft?

He must have
really wanted to come here.

Help!

Oss, help!

Hurry!
- Help! Hurry, Oss!

Tarmo, push!
- Where the hell should I push it?

Shoo! Shoo!

Get lost!

Damn, my skirt got snagged.

Hold on, I'll help.

Give me your hand.

One hell of an island you have.

Ragne, sweetheart,
I didn't invite those bulls here.

Honestly, you're acting as if
I invited the bulls here.

How could I have known they graze
bulls here? - Should have guessed.

Guessed? How?
- That's what I wanted to talk about.

I would like to know
how much you paid for the islet.

How has that got anything
to do with this? - It has!

But I told you,
a rather small amount.

Did I really not tell you?
- Osvald... - Oh, the amount?

The amount was... The amount...
- Stop stammering.

550 roubles.
- Ah, yes!

Now you're laughing.
I couldn't have paid more for it.

Listen, man, you can't even get
a proper toilet for that money today.

If the price is so low, there must be
a fault, because below 8,000...

Stupid! - Hold on, please.
Money is not the issue.

I'd have gladly paid more, but I
needed exactly this kind of an island.

I have told you that I have
dreamt about this. - Dreamt...

And now I have to suffer
because of your stupid dreams?

Perhaps you're a cheapskate?
- What? Me?

A cheapskate?
No, I'm not.

Me, a cheapskate...

I thought I married someone
whom I can count on.

And now this...

I also do not think that the wife
must have the last say,

but it seems I have to start
teaching you how life works.

If it is all right with you,
I'd try to get some work done.

I hope you don't really want
to bury me alive.

Or do you want to turn me into
a housewife whose only interests are

cleaning and washing and retyping
the texts of his talented husband.

Why must I always cook for you,
clean after you?

What are you saying?
Tarmo is your guest.

It only seems that way. You two
keep talking of art and grand ideas.

Think logically,
whose guest he is.

Or would you like the opposite?
Very well.

But you better not complain later.

I'm so nervous, I don't know...
- Let's go to the windmill.

Or would you rather be alone?

None of your business.
- Up to you.

Ragne, look, they're just like dogs!

Look! Wussy-wussy-wussy...

Corrida! Ragne, come on!

Ragne, I have an idea:
let's take a photo. Come, Ragne!

Do you have a red dress, Ragne?

Come quickly, look,
it'll be the photo of the century!

Come quickly, Ragne!

It will be a great photo.

Enough.

It'll be...
- Do you not have enough models?

Bed mates...
- They've exhausted themselves.

And for me, art stands
absolutely apart from private life.

You must be selfless when creating...
Stop, Ragne, very good!

Anyway, I should regret...
- What?

You are a Spaniard,
a toreador, only female.

Wussy will be a wild torro.
Is there something there?

Let's do this photo,
hit the old photo fools in the teeth!

Throw a stone in the exhibition puddle.
Think of the meaning of the photo.

A woman
as nature's highest achievement.

Woman as the symbol of tenderness,
grace, fortitude and invincibility!

Ragne!

We'll take this St. Bernard.

Ragne, hurry! Away from here!
- Ouch, Ossie!

Where are you dragging me to?
- Hurry!

Idiot!
- Tarmo, don't run straight!

Why did you drag me into this mud,
you idiot? - Oh, shut up.

Tarmo, hurry!
Don't run straight, run in zigzags!

Tarmo, be careful! Tarmo...

It's a shame good ideas come so late.

It's possible that this bad weather
may extend our friendly existence.

Hello, Haapsalu!

What the hell is this?
Cobblers, not telegraph operators!

Can't fix the telephone for a week.

Food supplies are also running low.

We'll find out sooner or later
how the bulls got here.

But we should not hope
that they're all as friendly

as the one imbecile
prowling round the house.

Best not to get in its way, Ragne.

I'm begging you, Ragne,
do not go far from the house alone.

Do not forget that it's dangerous.

To end up on its horns -
that would be terrible.

Thank you.

Thank you, the lady of Ülgeme.

I wanted to ask you...

I don't seem to get myself
around to typing some clean copies.

Perhaps you'll find time to do it?

Do you really think I don't have
anything else to do on this island?

I'm not saying no, of course, but
I'll do it only when I feel like it.

Ragne! Ragne!

Ragne, did I offend you? I can do it,
I didn't want you for a typist.

Let me help you.

You happy now?

You know what you're like?
Like Hemingway.

Sweetheart.

Ossie, sweetheart, you're dear to me.

Listen...
- Yeah, talk, I'll listen.

I'm planning to do a little picture.
- Yes?

In the style of Salvador Dalí.
- Salvador Dalí? Interesting.

It must be...
- Oh, well.

I intend to do a hara-kiri
to all the bourgeois,

conjunctural,
sclerotic masters of life.

It will be a hymn to youth.
- A hymn to youth?

Tell me, who you yourself are.
A late youth? Or what?

Accusing young people of youth
is surely the first sign of old age.

In my time, people tended to reach
middle age and old age very early.

Fathers and sons were the same,
sons wore fathers' coats and hats.

I got my first coat at 40,
for I had to work to feed my siblings.

We grew old early.

Now, of course, it's the opposite.
Long live eternal puberty!

Boys of 30 and 40 roam the cultural
scene, yawning, philosophising.

Some kind of journeys of soul
and that ... nirvara.

Promising to turn everything upside
down in the future. Isn't that so?

Why do you so condemn the generation
from which you have a love partner?

I understand you're an expert:

a beautiful female body,
a naked figure, a nude.

You agree?

Of course, I don't know how to present
it to your lady. I doubt she'd agree.

I don't understand what talk this is.

I'd stage a classical bull fight.
A naked woman is the matador.

The bull is ferocious, but the woman
is invincible and graceful.

Hey, let's leave this discussion
for another time.

All right.

You're nuts, boy!

Don't think you can trample on others!
There'll be an end to it!

Fancy that you found time to pop by.
Someone promised to heat the sauna.

Do you know what time it is?

Almost half eleven.

In the old days, when the husband
came from the sea or field or a hunt,

a hot sauna, a laid table
and a kind wife awaited him.

Please keep that in mind, Ragne.

Younger men took some of the fish
and stuck these in the smoking oven.

Perhaps you, young man,
take that task?

Get out! Out of here!
Off with you...

Out of here, shoo!
I'll show you, barbarians!

Where are you going! Get out!
Off with you! Begone!

I'll show you!

I'd like some bread,
some ordinary black bread, with salt.

I don't want to stay here
for another day.

Let's leave.

I'm going to leave this place.

Let's take some photos first.
I doubt I'll ever come here again.

Neither will I.

Let's do this.
I talked to Osvald and he agreed.

Since when have you
started consulting Osvald?

He didn't have anything against
you posing for me a little.

Believe me,
it will be a beautiful photo.

Did Osvald allow it?

You're here again?

Damned barbarians!

Get away from here!

Bossy-bossy-bossy...

Start driving them.

I would urgently ask you to no longer
feed these beasts here. - Fancy that!

I wanted to ask you: did you and Tarmo
discuss a certain art photo session?

Well, yes, we did.

Tarmo was the one talking about
arty photos. - Is that so?

Didn't I tell you my husband is
very intelligent and understanding?

Please stop. - Wussy is not here.
We'll take this big one.

Get your camera ready, help me up.

Let's make some art, tickle the nerves
of the sober Estonian people.

The film star will undress now.
- Ragne, this is disgraceful!

It's all in the name of art!
- I don't allow it!

Ragne, I beg you!
- Have it, take photos, make art!

You are naked, it's terrible!

The bulls, get away, hurry!

Hurry!

Will you get the hell away of here!

I'd like to specify a few things.

Ragne, please listen. You don't
yet know about my works and archive.

Leave me alone! Let me be... Don't...
I don't want to know or hear a thing!

Published texts are in the wardrobe,
in the vacuum cleaner box,

unfinished work in the middle drawer,
the finished text in the top left.

By the way, no one has seen it yet.

It's titled "An Invoice to Myself".

All materials about Viitar are here.
The manuscript is useless.

When we're clear, run to the house,
shut the door, don't lock it.

Understand?

Give me those matches.

Light it, quickly now.

Oss, what are you doing?

Right.

Out!

Get out!

Dear firemen and smoke jumpers!

My old man's a firefighter,
I'm a fire poker.

We light fires, we fight fires,
see which one of us flies higher.

It happened once on a summer day,
leaves on trees dry as hay.

The soil was parched, a wind blew by
and all was really very dry.

To my plan it all went down,
I lit a sauna, burnt the town.

Lit a sauna ... town...
Ragne, did you hear?

You're a parasite.

And what are you preying on?
The haggard literary history.

It's pitiful.

See how fat you are.
On whose account have you fattened up?

On account of skinny Juhan Liiv
and bony Ernst Enno.

And now you're raping Viitar.
People like you kill literature.

It's easy to judge others.

But tell me,
what kind a of a man you really are.

A nice man.
- A nice man?

Is that a new profession these days?

I'm not the right man
to write about Viitar.

You take Viitar.

I'll give you all the materials,
you write the monography.

Then we can at least hope
that it will be a truly proper thing.

I'm not joking. Let's shake on it.
- Stop this.

That's exactly
what I wanted to prove.

You're all just sneering,
finding fault, mocking.

Why don't you do something yourself?
- I'm not interested in that stuff.

I want to the other shore.
- What kind of a place is that?

There's no point in explaining it,
if you don't understand it.

And still, I don't understand.
- And it's not important.

You snatched my girl.
- Yeah, of course.

She couldn't have
remained a girl for all her life.

Perhaps I would have married her
in the end.

But I can't imagine

having to raise another man's child.

Well, yeah.

I'm sorry, I don't understand.
What child?

Ragne's child, who else's?
- Ragne has a child? How?

How did she get it?
- How? In the ordinary way.

Yes, of course.

Every child needs a father.

Heaven forbid, come down from there!
- Here it comes!

What comes?
- Yeah!

For you, boys,
I won't hold anything back!

Ragne, don't be up there.
Do you hear me? It's dangerous!

You are art people, sages.
You see everything in depth.

Come down right now, do you hear me?

Oss, do you know that the foghead
who is always hunting the other shore

has not had any other photo published
than a close-up of your wife's boobs?

Ragne!
- That's all right, don't faint.

I wasn't your wife back then,
I modelled for this gifted young man.

I beg you, Ragne, come down.

Why did you marry me, when you sell
me to others. I'll never forgive you!

I didn't consent to it.

Come on, you tell her.
I was actually very much against it.

Come on, please tell her!
He knows.

You know what, Oss,
I'll simply leave you.

I'll find myself a man who...
a man who...

Boys, there are no men like that
on this island.

I should dance for you shitheads.
You wimps!

I'm going.

Go on, move!

Osvald!

Oss...

Osvald!

Osvald!

Oss! Osvald!

Osvald!

Oss!

Ragne, what happened?

Osvald, I don't have a child.
- Ragne, what is it? - No child!

Ragne, dear, did it hurt you? - No.
- What did it do, Ragne? Are you...

We don't have another option.
This is war.

Off with you!

Hello.

Oh, it's you, chairman Kaarlep?
My husband is busy at the moment.

No.

What bulls? No, no.

No, we're perfectly fine.

We're just fine, thank you.

We're just fine, we're all right.

We're just fine, we're all right.
Nothing has happened.

Boys!

Hello.
- Have a seat.

I'm going to leave you
to chat with Doris.

Doris, have you eaten anything today?

What did they give you today?

Auntie Ragne and me were thinking...

We would like to ask you:
would you like to come live with us?

In that case, I would be your father.

And auntie Ragne would be your mother.

Translated by Kati Metsaots
Subtitles by Mardisupp OÜ

The end