All language subtitles for The Blood Oranges [1997]_EN

Illyria...

It is that place lying between
the country just left...

and the country just ahead.

A faraway land, where the only
enemy is convention...

and Love is free to weave
its golden thread wherever it may.

Illyria, 1970.

Girl: Let's be buried
here together, baby.

Man: Alive?

Girl: Yes, alive.

Cyril, baby, don't smoke,
for God's sake.

What's wrong with my cigarette?

Little boys have been
relieving themselves in here.

You can smell it.

Girl: You're making
me nervous, okay?

If little boys can make water,
then I can make smoke.

Girl: My God...

I found the skeleton
of a child.

Head, ribs...

hands, feet,
the whole works.

Oh, how could
they do it?

So beautiful...

poor little thing.

I'm going to kiss him, Cyril.
Shall I?

I want to light
a candle, okay?

Cyril: Sure, who are you
going to light it for?

Oh, I don't know.

(bell rings)

Is it fire?

I don't know.
Let's go and find out.

(clanging)

(rallying)

They're laughing!

Come on, baby,
I want to see!

(chattering)

- Let's go.
- Come on, baby!

(crowd cheers)

Do something Cyril,
there's someone still inside!

There's no need. The fire
brigade's doing a grand job.

Woman: Get rid of all that
stuff before you take us off...

Get the ropes off. You can't
carry us at the same time.

No, get rid
of those ropes. Go.

Girl: Come on,
let's get close.

Hugh, can you
come up, please?

Baby, that little girl
is waving at me!

Oh, Cyril,
he's handsome.

(cheers and applause)

Oh, my God,
he's handsome!

Cyril: You always knew what
you wanted, didn't you, Fiona?

And from the first,
you wanted Hugh.

It was Fate that spun
their motorbus off the dirt road

and into the river
that day.

And it was our good fortune
to be on hand for the rescue.

And safe delivery
of the stranded family

to the shores of Illyria...

and our welcoming arms.

There.
Now you'll be safe.

Here, I'll take her.

Oh, my God.

- You all right?
- Yes. thank you.

- They nearly dropped you in!
- I know.

Welcome ashore.

Thank you.

You're not shivering,
are you?

My wife thinks you must
be exhausted after your
dunking in the river.

(giggling in distance)

She's worried about you.
(more giggling)

Fiona:
Hugh?

She admires your courage.

Fiona's character judgments
are always right.

(Hugh in distance:)
Fiona?

We've been married
a long time.

Married a long time...?

We've been travelling
for over a year.

I see.

Where?

Can't even remember where.

Wherever Hugh wanted
to take his photographs.

Sort of blurs into
packing and unpacking.

Fiona and I have also
been married a long time.

In fact, Fiona's a kind
of priestess of marriage.

It's late, do you want
to be sitting out here?

I like your voice
in the darkness.

Okay.

Wouldn't it be better if
you were with the children?

You needn't worry about
me or the children.

Meredith will shout
if there's a problem.

We hardly know each other...

(Hugh in distance:)
Fiona!

I'm a lot older
than you think.

I'm 40.

(laughing)

Ah.

Baby, sharing secrets?

No, we're just talking.
Why don't you join us?

I couldn't sit still.
Not tonight.

I'm so glad you're here.
I want you here.

You and Hugh.

Easy, Fiona,
calm down.

Oh, Cyril,
don't be stuffy.

At least Catherine
doesn't think I'm stuffy.

Catherine and I were having a nice
conversation until you came along.

Sharing secrets,
I know... Drinking wine.

You're perfect, baby.

Cyril's different
from other men.

Do you like him?

Do you like my Cyril?

Of course she likes me.

Baby, you ruin everything.

Well...!

Okay...

You asked for it.

Hugh: Fiona!

Where were we?

- Hugh: Fiona!
- Shh!

Quiet, you two...
You'll wake the children.

We were talking.
What about?

Ourselves.
Exactly.

Telling each
other heart-stoppers,
Fiona would say.

So...

Do you think you see me
as Fiona sees me?

The perfect man?

Yes. But it doesn't have
much to do with me.

Not even now?

(distant laughter)

Of course,
Fiona exaggerates.

I'm a lot more ordinary than
she'd lead you to believe.

You asked for a secret,
I told you.

- Good, tell me another.
- No. It's your turn.

What's in your pocket?
What did she give you?

Just her panties.
They're not important.

- Why did she take them off?
- I don't know.

Do you care?

I don't know.

Trust me.

You remind me of my father.

Listen.

Listen a moment.

What?

Damn, I knew it.

They've woken the children.

- I don't hear anything.
- Come on, let's go.

Usually I hear
if there's a cry.

I have very sharp ears.

There's Dolores...

and Eveline...

And over there,
is our big girl, Meredith.

We are going to be sleeping
in there, Hugh and I.

All safe, no nightmares.

No, they won't wake up.

Fiona and that noisy
husband of yours may try.

I'm glad we looked.

(door opens)

You're thinking
about your children?

Yes.

My children.

In all this confusion,
can you find your pajamas?

Yes.

Put them on.

I'll be back in
twenty minutes.

All right.

Cyril: It has been six months
since all of you departed.

I miss you, Fiona.

I hear your footsteps
on the metal stairs,

and look for you in rooms
I imagined you've just left.

Without you, my only comfort
is faith in our Illyrian dream.

I live on with Rosella,

my maid,

my shadow,

who understands
nothing I say but...

whose eyes tell me
she judges everything I do.

You do not know Rosella,

except from Hugh's photographs.

Though that should be enough.

Come on Catherine, you know
you still want me to woo you.

Stop being a child, Catherine.
Take the flowers.

(distant bell tolls)

I shan't give up.

I shall continue to come here
week after week.

Year after year, if need be...

until you get better.

What can I say
to rouse you?

I might have prevented our...
what did I call it?

Idyll.

I could have...

walked down to the beach...

and thrown pebbles into the night
sea for a couple of hours.

But a steady,
methodical...

un-designing lover,
like me...

really has no choice,
Catherine.

The glasses come off
in my hand,

the dressing gown
falls open.

I close the wings
of the glasses. No choice.

Don't forget, you were
waiting for me, Catherine.

We both knew
you were waiting.

Neither of us had
any choice that first night.

It was inevitable.

Fiona: Cyril?

Is it you?

(giggling)

I know it's you, baby.

Stop hiding.

It's me, Fiona,
you know it's me.

How are the grapes?

Fiona: We're going to sit up
and watch the sun rise.

Okay, baby?

Cyril: Great idea.

Great.

(crickets chirping)

I wonder if they're lying
in bed together, right now.

Like us.

Would it change anything?

It might explain what
I'm doing here with you.

You think so?

No.

As a matter of fact...

they are both just sitting up
together, to watch the sunrise.

- Is that better?
- It's worse.

Why?

I don't know.

I can give you clarity...

but not understanding.

Don't be prudish.

I'm not.

Your shoulder's cold.

Cyril?

Are they staying away
from us on purpose?

It's only been a few hours.

More orless.

It's been a day.

A whole day...

Perhaps they just don't
want to intrude?

I hope they don't end up
like those other two.

Remember?

Greatest ever beginning,
then...

quick fizzle.

Yes, I remember.

Kiss me, Cyril.

You're not in the least
interested in kissing old Cyril.

Why pretend?

You're right, baby.

How did you know?

Fiona: Hi...!

Come on over!

Oh Cyril, come look at them.
They're all dressed up.

Found this in the luggage.
I thought you'd like it.

- Pretty formal, don't you think?
- But sweet baby, sweet.

- Shall we try it?
- No thanks, not me.

- Hugh's been sick.
- Oh dear, what's wrong?

Cramps, diarrhea,
weakness.

Oh, dear.
Are you feeling better?

Ask Catherine.
She'll tell you.

- Hugh's all right.
- You can see he is.

Yes. Great Pan
is not dead, hmm?

What a lovely
bottle of cognac.

- Terrific.
- How are the kids?

Fine, fine.

Meredith is babysitting.

Time for a spot
of grape tasting, I think.

Oh yes, Cyril...

The grape tasting game.
You must play.

(laughter)

Hugh:
Is this the game?

Now, is this the game?

Right,
this is the game.

It's very easy.

You keep your hands
behind your back...

- or in your case, your hand...
- Fiona: Oh, my God! Cyril!

Sorry...

...and go for the grapes.
With our mouths.

No grapes for me.
No, thanks.

You don't need to eat them. Try and
catch them between your lips, and...

pull them down.

Why can't we pick a bunch
with our hands and sit under a tree?

Catherine: Let's do what
Cyril says, Hugh, please?

Fiona:
Come on, Hugh.

(giggling)

(cheers)

Hugh:
That is very funny.

All right, Catherine,
you going to try it?

Oh no, not me.

Go on, I'll pick you up.

- Your turn.
- All right.

The honor
of the family.

Put your hands
behind your back.

Put both feet
on the table.

(cries out)

(laughter)

You missed. Try again.

I lost my balance.

They're only grapes,
come on, try it.

Hugh: Nipples!

Oh, Hugh -!

That's what you mean.

Suit yourself,
but they're just grapes.

Cyril:
Nipples, indeed.

Good girl.

Hugh: Catherine!

Enough, enough.

(laughter)

What's this, fella?

Arm around
my wife's shoulders?

(mock growls)

Come on, baby!
Let's do the grape.

Baby, I want to nibble
each one of them.

Me too.

(singing:) "What shall we do
with the drunken sailor...

what shall we do
with the drunken sailor...

what shall we do
with the drunken sailor...

Early in the morning."

Hi, baby!

What are you doing?

Hi, Fiona.

Fancy a swim?

- Bye everyone.
- Bye.

Why don't you take a
photograph? Look there.

No, thanks.

(birds fluttering)

That should do it.

Let's go.

There.

Hugh: Perfect, perfect.
Let's hunt her down.

No.

You wait here.
When she's warmed up,

I'll wave.

These sullen types
always end up compliant.

(camera snapping)

Smile at her...

Make her feel at ease.

Peasant nudes.

That's what I'm going to call
my collection. "Peasant nudes."

Perfect.

Perfect.

Now...

let's just push her over
against that stall.

Easy...

Easy...

Easy...

Perfect.

Perfect.

Most of the faces of these women
are just fat and happy.

They're all mothers...

with or without children.

But this face...

is skin tight.

With the beauty of...

The beauty
of illiteracy.

Sullen face
of an illiterate virgin.

She couldn't be better.

Make her smile.

- What?
- Come on, do something.

Make her smile.

- No, not there.
- Sorry.

Time to change tactics.

- Want some?
- Thank you.

It's hot work.

Now to business.

No boots, no dress.

No boots...

no dress.

(camera clicking)

Go on, Cyril, give her the rake.
Let's try the rake.

Give her the machete.

- Take the rake away.
- Sorry.

Magnificent. I've spent over
a year on my collection.

My catalog of natural
art photographs.

I have them
sitting in hay...

Standing in the darkened
doorways of ruined barns...

(camera click)

All nude.
Or semi-nude.

My peasant specimens.

In the bag...

there's some underwear.
Get them, will you?

Give them to her.

Should I have placed myself

between Rosella and
Hugh's probing camera?

By doing nothing I became
Hugh's willing accomplice.

But who was I, the advocate
of sensual abandon,

to stand in the way
of his desire?

Had I interfered,

I would have become
the worst possible hypocrite.

Even in Illyria there
are difficult choices.

And every choice
has its consequence.

You and I always knew
that life among the roses

would not be
without thorns.

Didn't we, Fiona?

Here you are again, Rosella.

The girl by the well.

For my part, I have paid dearly
for living our Illyrian dream.

Where once I was your satyr,

I am now impotent.

Rosella is
my unwitting torturer.

There was a time
when her candid sensuality

would have aroused
my desire without fail.

But not anymore.

Now I seek solace in
the rituals of domestic life.

(bones crunching)

I see you eat the bones
as well, Rosella.

And the feet.

For the full effect we must
eat the entire bird, hm?

(bones crunch)

Mmm...
Magnificent.

Where are we?
Tell me quick.

We're in Illyria.
Do you like it?

I like you, baby.

You.

Come on you two,
quit lagging!

Cyril baby,
don't say anything.

Don't spoil it.

(faint sound)

- What's that?
- Sheep bells.

(faint bells rattle)

Do you see what I see?

Goats, not sheep.

But the girl, baby,
look at the girl.

(goats bleating)

She's just a child.

Young woman.
Seventeen, I should think.

Fiona: She's so beautiful.

Fiona... Sit down,
you'll fall.

It's all right, fella,
I've got ahold of her.

Oh look...

Baby, she sees us.

Hi!

(laughter)

Fiona: Come on, baby...

Kiss her. She probably thinks
you're some kind of God.

Well, of course
she does.

Come on, Hugh.

How about it?

Pass, one woman
is enough for me.

Oh come on, Hugh. Kiss her
just once, like Cyril did.

Catherine won't mind.

I don't care
if he kisses her or not.

Doesn't care,
did you hear that?

I mean it Hugh,
kiss her.

If that's what you want.

Cyril, save us.

Fun's over.

All right, Hugh...

Since you didn't kiss
ourlittle goat girl...

why don't you
kiss me instead?

Maybe another day.

Come on, Catherine.

He says he's the only man in
the world who can resist my charm.

What'll I do?

I did warn you
he might not work.

Remember?

I remember.

He just can't see that

anything that lies in
the palm of love is good.

He stays all night
in that studio.

I hope he comes 'round

for your sake.

I'm not giving up yet, baby.

Not yet.

No, of course not.

Ah!

I see you're wearing
your magic pants again.

You're wearing your
magic pants too, aren't you?

Of course, I am.

Maybe I'll steal
your magic pants.

For him, okay?

I wanna see your
magic pants, baby.

Right now.

Submit.

Kiss me, Cyril.

Kiss me.

Oh, baby...

Fiona: Why can't they
all be like you?

Why?

(gentle tide)

(distant sea gulls)

- Cyril?
- Hmm?

We don't have
to go back yet, do we?

Fiona:
Come on, let's play.

Please?

(laughing)

Oh, baby...

Can't we just stay
like this forever?

That's it, Fiona.
Castration.

All these years you've been
castrating your own husband.

Flaunting yourself
to other men.

My husband
is virile.

Hugh...

...undo my top.

Meredith: Mommy!

Don't worry.
I'll go.

Mommy!

Ah, Meredith.

You think I don't know
what you're doing?

There's a huge rock over there
I really want you to see.

- I don't want to go.
- It's very interesting.

Come on, we will
have a look.

Today, I went to the asylum
to visit Catherine.

Only to find her gone
from her usual chair.

For months on end,
I have pleaded, cajoled

and implored Catherine
to come back to herself.

To no avail.

Now...

a couple of small rabbits
have succeeded

where I have failed.

For the first time
in almost a year...

I feel the gentle stirrings
of my sensual self.

And I am certain Catherine's
recovery, and my own

will be intertwined.

Given time,
our wounds will heal

into small,
silvery scars.

But some memories
do not fade.

They are indelible,
like blood etchings.

Fiona?

Hugh?

(moaning)

Fiona: Cyril!

Cyril!

What were you
doing out there?

Not much.

- I was looking for you, baby.
- Were you?

Cyril:
Come on, Meredith, join in.

Where's my mother?

I told you,
they're bringing the wine.

You can't have
an idyll without wine.

I'm sick
of your old idylls.

You're lucky
to be here.

If it weren't for me
you'd be in your room

babysitting your little sisters,
where Hugh thinks you should be.

My father lets me
do anything.

Except, go to his photo studio.
Because that's his work.

That's enough, Dolores,
leave some for Meredith.

All right.

Don't bother, I don't want
to make anystupid old crowns.

And why not?

I thought all girls
liked crowns.

I'll help you.

I know what
you're doing.

You're trying to impress
my parents. That's all.

You're just trying
to fool them again.

I am simply trying
to bedeck their daughters

with beautiful things.

- It's a nice idea.
- It's dumb.

That's enough.

To work, Meredith,
to work.

Hey, not so hard,
the grapes will fall off.

I want my mother.

Some of those stems are
a little short for weaving.

Theylook splendid.
Good choice of colors.

It's falling apart.

What do you
think of that?

God, you're selfish.

I knew it would take longer to make,
so I made mine first.

Come on,
let's fix up yours.

I thought we were making
them just for us.

And who's being selfish now?

You don't need one, why do you
have to have one, too?

They're only for children.

If you want me to make you
a crown as nice as mine...

why don't you try
a little politeness?

Now...

shall we carry on,
or do you want to stop?

It has to be
as good as yours.

Promise?

I promise.

Now, pass me one
of those flowers.

Hugh, look what he's done.

Catherine, look what Cyril's
done to our children.

Oh, they're sweet,
they really are.

Hi!

- Meredith, you look stunning.
- You really do.

Dolores: What about me?
Don't I look stunning too?

Hugh: Jesus, look at that.

(laughter)

God, fella...
what a sight.

Don't ever take it off, baby.
Ever.

Catherine: Oh, Cyril.

Still the same, more or less.

This way.

(man pleading)

Oh!

Why do you spurn
your lovers, Rosella?

Hmm?

What are you
waiting for?

Not me, I hope.

Sexless matrimony
is all I can offer.

Even that would
go on unspoken for.

(pigeons calling)

(sobbing)

Meredith?
What's the matter?

Nothing.

Your nose
is bleeding.

It's not...

I'm going
to tell my father.

Let's try and stop
this nose bleed.

He'll kill you
for coming here.

I'm sure, now,
just sit, sit still.

Well, it stopped.

Now, you can wash all
this off in the morning.

Go back to sleep.

Don't worry,
you'll be fine.

Fiona: Is that you?

Expecting someone else?

Just you, baby. You.

(rapping on table)

Come on Dad,
you can beat him.

Come on, Dad, do it.

Catherine:
Do it just for fun.

What do you say, fella?

Fiona:
Be a good sport, baby, do it.

(together)
One...two...

three -go!
(cheering)

(groans)

Dolores: Oh, daddy!

I think I'll go
to the studio.

Fiona: Can I come?

No.

Oh!

What's the matter,
something wrong?

The light.
The photos.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I didn't realize.

It's so bloody dark in here,
I don't know how you can stand it.

You're sweating.
Do you have a chest problem?

No. It's not my chest.

Well, how about Fiona?

Fiona?

Why not?

God!

Do you know
what's happening?

Let's talk about it.

I'm appealing to you, fella,
don't let it happen.

Well...

You've had your eye on Fiona
since the beginning.

Let's reason from there.

She's got a husband.

- You've got a wife.
- I'm talking about you, not me.

And the torment,
is that yours or mine?

You don't know what's going on
in the shadows, that's all.

Tell me.

If we don't work together...

if we don't stop this
thing you'll lose her.

- To you?
- To me.

To me.

Don't you see?

Of course, I do love Fiona.

She... wants me...

for God's sake.

It seems to me that what you're
really after is my permission?

You don't mean it.
You can't.

Well, put it this way, you want
to play footsy with Fiona.

No, you're wrong.

And you want me to sanction
the bare feet under the table.

For God's sake -!

I don't.

But why should I?
I don't expect you to.

Why can't you play footsy with
Fiona, and leave me out of it?

Because I couldn't do that.

Forgotten the ten commandments?

Keep your hands off
another man's wife.

Written in stone, fella,
written in stone.

Trying to do you a favor.

Do we really have to have
all this male camaraderie

in matters of love?

I thought you'd listen.

I thought you'd get me
out of this mess.

What more can I say?

How much has she
really told you?

If you want to know what Fiona calls
"her little trade secrets", ask her.

I don't believe she's
told you a damn thing.

There it is.

Well, the problem is...

Fiona thinks you don't
like her enough.

I just don't understand.

I can't believe it.

She couldn't confide
in you like that.

Manhood rebels in infidelity.

It's only natural.

Well, I would not consider
Fiona unfaithful to me...

were you and she to...

taste the love lunch.

Why should I? Hmm?

She says
she loves you best.

She doesn't love me best.
She couldn't.

Hugh, why do you put
yourself through this?

Why not just let
love take its course?

It's the only thing
to do, isn't it?

Do me a favor.

Don't tell her about this...

talk of ours.

Fiona?

No.

Of course not.

By the way,

I won't tell
Catherine either, okay?

Hugh: Hey! Come on!

Catherine: What's the rush, Hugh?
Hugh: Come on!

Cyril: He wants
to show us something.

Catherine: Oh, God.

Fiona:
Wait for me, Hugh!

Cyril: Can we all
stick together?

Pity we can't share Hugh's boyish
enthusiasm forself-imprisonment.

Fiona: I love these
old masculine places.

You know I do.

Hugh: Look! Burned.
Burned clean.

Cyril: No juice of the growing fruit,
that's forsure.

Fiona: Don't be cryptic,
baby, please.

Hugh: Can't even smell it, fella.
No smoke, no ashes. Nothing.

It's like the reflection
of some fiery nightmare.

Sure...

If that's what you want.
Personally, I prefer something

a little more than weeds
and discoloration.

- How about you, Catherine?
- Oh, Cyril, stop arguing.

Upstairs, now,
is it?

No.

The dungeons.

Come on...

- I smell pee.
- Me, too.

I thought you loved these
masculine places, Fiona?

Cyril: If there's nothing
down there, what then?

Hugh: Oh, it's here,
all right.

I dreamt it.

Catherine: Stop him. Can't you
do something?

Cyril: It's too late. Besides, he seems
to be enjoying himself.

- Catherine: Why can't we hold hands?
- Fiona: Hugh, tell us the dream.

Can't we just climb back up
and go for a swim?

Fiona: Don't you want to go
swimming with me, baby?

Catherine: Of course he does, but Hugh's
not about to change his mind.

He'll deny us the same way
he denies the children.

Fiona: Hugh, we can't have a little
hugging and kissing down there.

- Can't you see?
- Catherine: He doesn't care.

(Hugh laughing)

Fiona: Cyril, help me.

Tell Hugh I always
mean what I say.

I wish they would wait.
I wish they would just wait.

Hugh is in a hurry.

Fiona: Owww!

What's that?

Hugh: You better come down here,
your wife's in trouble.

Oh, God.

Fiona?

What happened?

- Are you all right?
- I slipped, baby.

Me...I fell.

Stand up, see if
you can walk.

I hope you're satisfied, Hugh.
Fiona might have broken her ankle.

- She just slipped.
- Here, put this sweater on.

- We have to go.
- She'll be all right.

There's no way out.

We're at the bottom.

Buried, you mean?
Buried alive?

- How's it feel?
- All right.

Here we are.

Come see how
you like it, fella.

If I were you, I'd leave
that thing where I found it.

That's my advice.

Catherine: I don't want to know
what it is. I don't want to see it.

Old Cyril knows what it is.
Don't you, fella?

- Yes, I do.
- Fiona: Tell us, baby. Tell us.

No, Fiona,
it's up to Hugh.

Damn right, it is.

Hugh, it's a bad omen,
leave it behind.

My God, fella, where's
your sense of humor?

I knew it was there,
it had to be.

Okay, so you found it,
now put it back.

Not a chance.

Not a chance.

Is that all?
Doesn't look like much.

Take a better look,
it'll change your mind.

Oh, no!

It looks like a belt.

What are all
those little teeth?

You put it there,
didn't you, Hugh?

You planned it!

Don't be afraid, pick it up.
Show us how it works.

Fiona:
Cyril, let's go.

The only trouble is we've only
one of these, instead of two.

Catherine:
Shut up, Hugh, for God's sake!

Or maybe one's enough.
What do you think?

Do you want me
to try it on for you?

Is that what you want?

Cyril: Beneath every footfall of
our daily procession through town...

other footsteps echo.

Yours, Fiona,
and Hugh's as well.

My hope is the mantra
of familiar places and memories

will draw Catherine out of her
mute state and revive her.

(slow strumming)

Oh!

(swearing)

You're wearing
your nice old robe.

Have fun, baby.

I could stay here tonight,
if you prefer.

What do you think?

You're feeling amorous...

and she's expecting you,
I can tell.

This blue mood
is not like you, Fiona.

No, baby.
I'll stay.

Go ahead.

Please?

All right.

- I won't be long.
- Don't hurry, baby.

I'm gonna read.

Listen...

If Hugh does show up...

He's at the studio.

I told you,
I'm gonna read.

It's just never
gonna happen, baby.

I was wrong.

You'd better go.

Come back when you want.

Catherine, what's the matter?

What's happened,
what's wrong?

Something you want me to know,
but you don't want to say? What is it?

Fiona's not herself tonight...

- ...neither are you.
- I wish you hadn't come.

- But you've been expecting me.
- Yes, but you'd better go.

- Is it Hugh?
- It's not Hugh.

- Tell me, what's he done?
- Nothing.

Catherine...

Put your arms
on my shoulders,

your hands in my hair,
and kiss me.

I can't, I just can't.

Well, I'm not going
to leave you like this.

- You know I'm not.
- That's what I want you to do.

Join me, Catherine.

You may as well.

Confide in me.
What else can you do?

Stop. I wish you'd stop.

What?

No.

- It can't be true.
- I didn't want you to know.

Oh!

How could he do this,
how could you let him?

He made me.
That's all.

All night long, you've been
wearing this wretched thing?

- What are you doing?
- Never mind.

I won't be long.

Trust me.

Hugh?

Hugh?

Is that you, fella?

- You know it is.
- Come, I want to talk to you.

Why don't you smoke?
It'll be easier.

Did she say anything...

or did she throw you out,
like I told her to?

I got your message, Hugh,
if that's what you mean.

You got my message.

(laughing)

Well, it must have come
as quite a shock.

Don't you know
what you've done?

Hugh: I know you've been
sucking two eggs at once.

That's what I know.

But it's over, it's finished.

Cyril: You haven't felt
this way before, why now?

I didn't know before.

Call me slow, fella.
Slow.

But now, I know.

So, tonight's your night?

(footsteps)

Planned it all
beforehand, fella.

And you fell right into it.

I guess you just walked in there and
told my wife to strip down as usual.

And then found there's one easy way
to stop that sort of thing.

I made it pretty plain,
the lid's on the jar.

It's all over.

Have you finished?

My room, my bed...

my wife.

With the children
in the next room.

And you naked, crawling
all over my marriage.

She took off her clothes,
she lay on her back...

She tongued you.
You've tongued her.

With Meredith there
in the next room.

Let me tell you
something, fella.

You deserve that belt.
The both of you.

At least it's ingenious.

You've gotta admit,
it's pretty ingenious.

Hugh, come out.

Hugh, for the last time,
come out here.

You think I'm afraid
of last resorts?

I thought that damn thing was going
to come apart in my hands.

But it fit, it worked.

I found my own way to deal with
the problem and you can't fight it.

I'm crafty, fella, crafty.

And that damn belt's
a work of art.

If Catherine and Fiona
could see us now,

what would they think, hmm?
How should they feel?

How should they feel?
What about me? I'm the victim.

You, the victim?
Who's the culprit?

Me? Catherine? Fiona?

You're to blame.
By God, you're to blame.

Oh no, I'm not.

Since Catherine isn't using me
to revenge herself on you,

and I'm not having sex with Catherine
for malicious reasons of my own...

your defeat, chagrin, antagonism,
whatever it is you feel...

is your responsibility,
and not mine.

Anguish!
Just anguish.

That's what I feel. The point
of the pike in the scrotum.

You just need a little
reassurance, Hugh, that's all.

Take my wife and
give me reassurance?

You want me to leave,
just let you have her?

Be gone with the dawn,
just disappear? That would
suit you, wouldn't it?

No, no, it wouldn't.

If you leave now,
you'd be deserting Catherine.

The children would suffer.

Fiona would just send
me out to bring you back.

That's not a good idea.

So I don't count?
Don't count at all?

No, Hugh,
I'm not saying that.

Let's look at the other options.

The belt...

That's an option.

Choose the belt and your own
sex life would be destroyed.

Catherine would despise you.

The children would side with
their mother, they always do.

You'd be hated and
isolated by them all.

Fiona wouldn't be able
to bear the sight of you.

And all because you can't
condone Catherine and me?

You've got your manhood.
Let me have mine.

Manhood? All right,
let's talk about manhood.

Do you think I'd treat Fiona
the way you're treating Catherine?

What does Catherine
see in you, anyway?

What does Fiona see in you?

God knows.

I'm not worth it, fella.
Not worth it.

Cyril: Well, Fiona feels
otherwise, that's all.

Maybe I'm too idealistic.

Fiona's idealistic, too.

She's just as idealistic
as you are.

But her idealism
is not prohibitive.

It doesn't preclude sexual
affection. It begins with it.

That's the difference.

Everything Fiona feels
for you is genuine.

She has a lot more
to regret than you do.

I'm depriving myself of the wife
of a man who's taken mine.

That's plenty to regret.
Plenty.

If you can benefit
from this discussion,

all four of us will be better off.
I won't deny that.

On the other hand, if you can't
learn anything from this...

then naturally your...

dissatisfaction's going
to rub off on the rest of us.

I won't deny that either.

Harmony...

is something all four
of us can enjoy.

I'd like to see Fiona happy.
But that's your affair.

Catherine's fondness
for me is hers.

It can't be changed.

There's always the belt.

There's always that
damn chastity belt.

Don't worry about the belt,
I'll deal with that.

Is there anything you want me
to say to Catherine?

- Where have you been?
- With Hugh.

He hates the whole thing.

I talked to him,
it's not so bad.

We can't go on.

He's come around.
He's probably with Fiona right now.

I've hurt Hugh
as much as he's hurt me.

I can't face it
any longer.

You can forgive Hugh for
what he did. And so can I.

It's over.
That's all I can say.

Catherine, you know why I spoke
to Hugh, you know why I'm here.

Don't touch me,
don't ask me to move.

Catherine, I want you
to stand up.

Hugh made me put this on.

He'll have to tell me
to take it off.

I'm speaking for Hugh.

For his good,
and yours and mine.

Now please, stand up.

You'll feel better.

Come on.

Stand still.

That's one.

Do you still
want me to leave?

It's up to you.

Kiss me, Cyril.

Kiss me.

(annoyed bang)

I miss them.

I miss Rosella's lovers.

They don't come anymore.
They've given up, I suppose.

Fiona would never
have let them go.

Of course, Rosella
had to let them go.

She's already
spoken for.

Rosella was Hugh's
last peasant nude.

Never laid a finger on her.
He didn't need to.

He had his photographs.

His art.

Catherine, did you know
about Hugh?

About what he was doing?

- Did you...
- Don't ask. I don't know.

Why didn't you
say something? Hmm?

Catherine,
it wasn't your fault.

If it was anybody's,
it was mine.

But then really
it wasn't mine, either.

Hugh's agony had nothing
to do with any of us.

What he was doing
in his studio was a private thing.

A private perversion.

But he won in the end,
didn't he?

No, no, he didn't.

He poisoned all of us.

But we will recover.

I miss my children.

The children will
be awake soon.

I'll leave now.

Yes, you should.

(moaning)

To us.

- To all of us.
- Cyril: To us.

(glasses clink)

- Speech baby, speech.
- Speak to us, Cyril.

You're the sex singer.
Voice of us all.

Well, there's always monogamy.

What a ugly word!

We can trust Cyril, Catherine.

We can trust ourselves.

Talk on, Cyril.

The only real enemy to
the mature marriage is monogamy.

Anything less than sexual
multiplicity is naive.

What are we, if not...

sexual idlers
in a vast wood?

What is marriage, if not
that wood in which we wander?

The cynics
are against us, Cyril.

You know that.

None of them has tasted
the love-lunch.

None of them know about
the sexual properties

of our golden wheels
of ripe cheese.

Old detractors should curb
their judgments of a man

who knows what
he's talking about.

To young detractors,
I will say only this.

If orgasm is the pit
of the fruit...

then lyricism
is its flesh.

Marriage is the fold
that gathers in all lovers...

naked and alone.

Oh, it's beautiful, baby,
it really is.

(laughter)

Cyril: Catherine?

Catherine,
look what I've got.

You ready to see them yet,
Catherine?

I don't know.

I want to see them
so badly, but I...

don't know if I can yet.

Soon.

Cyril...

- He's not there.
- What?

I mean it, baby.
He's gone.

Catherine, too?

No, she's still asleep,
but he's not with her.

He's just not there,
he is just not there.

Look around,
he can't be far.

I already looked for him.
Everywhere.

Cyril, I know
something's wrong.

How do you know
something's wrong?

Well, I just know.
Premonition. I know.

Come back to bed
for a while. Come on.

All right baby,
I'll go alone.

Fiona?

Fiona, wait!

(whinny)

- Fiona...
- Hugh!

- I think you should wait.
- I'm here!

Help me, Cyril!

Hugh...?

Lift him up,
lift him.

Get it off!

It's no good.

Did you know
he was doing this?

Did you have
any idea?

No, I didn't. If I had
I would have told you.

This is what he was doing
when he came here alone at night?

Here, in this room, with a noose
and the photographs of these...

poor peasant girls?

My God, was this
what he wanted?

Orgasm with a noose
and a photograph?

I thought we were
in Illyria, baby.

I guess I was wrong.

We are in Illyria.

I'm going to...

I'm going to go to Catherine.

You can do the rest.

Catherine!

Mommy?

Mommy?

Mommy, it's me.

They're asleep.

We both know
what we must do.

I'll take them home,

and when she's better
I'll bring them back.

- Home, you want to go home?
- Cyril, we have no choice.

This place is poison for them.

Obviously, Catherine
can't look after them.

So who else
is there but me?

I have to go.

You know that.

It won't be forever, baby.

You'll tell her that
when she's ready.

I'll tell her.

Fiona, I don't
want you to go.

I must,
for Catherine's sake.

Do you think...

she'll blame us for Hugh?

I'll explain it.

How?

I don't know which is worse...

a suicide, or a accident
of Hugh's sort.

She will think
we're responsible.

- She'll hate us.
- No, she won't.

- What will you tell her?
- I'll tell her the truth,

that although Hugh
was finally able to join us,

he couldn't resist
his secret pleasures.

Fiona, it could
have happened at any time.

Before we met them,
during our time together...

Even after we'd
gone our separate ways.

Poor Catherine.

Be good to her, baby.

Be good to her.

As good as I've been to you.
That enough?

Don't bother
being a husband, baby.

- Be a sex-singer.
- Oh.

Remember when I said that?

I remember.

(prayers)

(cheers)

(cheers and applause)

Take the glass, he just
wants you to toast his boat.

It's all right.

Ahh!

(delighted squeals)

What does this
remind you of?

I'm not sure,
tell me.

How about
the day we met?

Does it remind you
of a wedding?

A birth,
more like it.

Same thing.
It's the same thing.

Cyril: One day soon, Catherine and I
will walk into the town

to meet you and
the children off the bus.

At long last Fiona,
we will resume our Illyrian dream.

You, me, Catherine...

and whoever else
wants to join us.

The sun is an orange disk
upon the sea...

our nights are cool.

In Illyria,
there are no seasons.