All language subtitles for bade-h saba.ENG

(The Lovers' Wind / Baad-e Sabaa)

Producer

Movie and Photo Producing Administration

Directed by

Albert Lamorisse

French Script Writer

Roger Glachant

Translator and Narrator

Manouchehr Anvar

Cinematographers

Guy Tabary)'

Raymond Lotusette

Camera Assistant

Mahmoud Nourbaksh

Aerial Filming

Helivision Ltd.

Pilot: Gilbert Chomat

Editing by

Denis de Casablanca

Claude Lamorisse

Assistants

Masoud Arabha

Homayoun Pourmand

Sound

Show; Shabdiz

Bahram Daraei

Etalonnage

Bijan Jabbari

Special Effects

Esmaeil Fijani

Production Manager

Abbas Mohammadi Nam

Producing Manager

Gholamhossein Alagheband

Imperial Iranian Army

The Red Lion and Sun

I was born on the edge of the desert.

In this Persian land, there are winds galore as
alive beings:

wondered and settled.

They are hard hearted, tenderhearted,
humorous or saturnine.

Some winds are pets! Some are savage!

Men know them well and call them by their
names.

My name is Badd-e Sabaa.

I was first an oasis wind.

I used to jaunt through places where my
father and mother have lived.

I cooled myself ruffling palm trees shaking
ripe dates down.

In some villages, the smart men had made wind
catchers called Baadgir to welcome the wind-

When I met one, I was rushing to it cooling
the abode and then, I would come out.

Overburdened by homes secretes, I deeply
sensed their sorrows and their royalty.

When the shadows cast on my life by my
brother, Bead-e Deev!

My brother was much stronger harrowing me.

Constantly repeating: 'You, poor, little, local
wind! You, breathless breeze! You, draft!'

I was well aware that I had no taste for
fighting.

And I was ashamed of it.

If Baad-e Deev wasn't existed, I would be
happy-

But it was not the case!

One day, winds passed by our oasis driving
clouds.

They told me anecdotes aplenty of their
adventures and travels.

And offered to let me join them.

I felt like finding out what existed beyond the
mountains.

[would dare going to the end of the earth to
extricate myself

from the image that Baad-e Deev had
imposed on me.

I was installed as a blower of some pieces of
cloud and we hit on the road altogether.

However, I wish I knew the tricks of this
profession.

The pieces of cloud used to run away in
different directions.

They would scatter they would fade away...

Finally, my being unsophisticated resulted in
my pieces of cloud,

which I was in charge of, got stuck around the
mountains

and poured their water around useless
ground of the desert.

Thinking all about this lost water,

I felt sorry for the far away gardens that had
prepared themselves to receive.

The other winds went their way leaving me
wondering whether

or not I was that very hopeless fool as always
addressed by Baad-e Deev.

[was abandoned whirling this question
frequently on my mind.

Am I truly a fool?

At this point, I heard Baad-e Deev coming.

Once again he mocked me and laughing at
my heart's sorrow.

'You, idiot!' he said. What are you doing here
all by yourself?

We've been searching for you everywhere!

'Look! This country is ours. We've made humans
run away from it capturing his mirages...

A crapulence in drifting sands and moving
them!

And reveling in smothering cities.'

When these places were reduced to silence,

our hosts and playmates were reptiles and
wild beasts.

'Look at this tower.

Some day an old wind told me that was the
Tower of Babel.

Men had built it as the stepladder for the
Gods.

This way they tend to prompt them to come
down on earth.'

Men always possess strange ideas on mind.

Well, we the desert winds, without any
attempts, have been stronger than their ideas.

Due to their minor differences, they found
themselves into disputes and strife...

Not drawing back from their standpoint, they
started to forfeit their common language.

And we kept blowing darkness into their
minds.

In the beginning, architects inaugurated
looking down on each others' plans.

After, masons pitched into one another.

And the rest followed suit.

In the end, everyone went his own way each in
its turn whirling nothing but revenge on mind.

Nomads arrived and settled here.

Peace existed between us.

They believe the earth belongs to no one the
same applies for us.

They have never accepted the existence of the
towns.

Like us, they are wanderers and we
accompany them.

This hill, named Susa, is made out of towns
we have interred.

Recently, some reminded these very towns.

In order to discover them, they had to dig so
deep...

Since we had done our job to the best of our
ability!

Thousands and thousands years ago, the first
town stood here.

Here, generation after generation, people
have toiled and rejoiced.

We entombed everything

And the nomads arrived, pitching tents over
town graves.

And the town one more time rose.

Razed to the ground, then!

And we buried everything.

In short and long eras, here has seen fifteen
towns to itself grown and died.

Each town owned its great scholars, great
politicians, great warriors, and great artists.

Each claimed not only to be the most beautiful town
on earth but also the mightiest and the widest.

Fifteen times, we have overlaid them with dust
and sand...

And each time the nomads would come back!

Here, the Persian kings had a vast palace built
entirely from cedar wood, marble stone and fine gold.

Every wall told about their victories!

A large town surrounds the palace.

Most of the gold of the time converged to
Persepolis...

And was used from this point to smash the
most remote rebellions!

However, here the kings inhabited earnestly in
search of purity.

Nevertheless, they cogitated that the gold
could bear the protection of anything.

And it was this very cogitation that opened
the gates of triumph to the people.

Purity, they were not too much concerned
with...

However, they were consummate bon vivant...

Thus one night, we had to see Alexander the
Great from Macedonia rose

from the dinner table and set fire to this all
glow.

In the ring of imperialists, Alexander wasn't a
bad person...

However, he craved for a life of dissipation.

The story goes that he burned Persepolis in
order to bring a smile to the Greeks' face.

But historians can have such a story!

In fact, we were responsible for it all.

Fire was actually a late night hobby.

However, we blew so hard that the flames died
out only when nothing was left to be burned.

Such a roar drowning the dins and uproars of
creatures in the crossing and alleys galore!

From burning dados it dripped the fine gold.

The euphoric courtiers of Alexander chortled
with delight to have their eyes fill with tears.

The warriors' conquests could only disorganize
the daily routines and intimidate the ladies.

It had no purpose of other sorts.

But we did the main part of the job.

And forsooth, we blew so hard, indeed!

This is what Bead-e Deev told me.

But I, Baad-e Sabaa, prefer men to ruins...

And embarrassingly I told such to Baad-e
Deev and other desert winds.

They called me simpleton and went their way.

It's not my fault getting pulled to the
vociferous villages.

What should I do?

[enjoy loving people and being obliging.

Awhile, I thought to find a village of my taste.

I grew fond of these people-.

As it happened, they had a wind who wished
to stand as little as possible.

[dropped in on him.

He was so charming, svelte and soft-spoken.

I pretended that I was a sophisticated wind
and an important figure.

It hit my mind to make some changes to the
situation since everything down there was stable.

People themselves had to push their own
boats.

[was going to change the situation.

My host addressed me:

'Don't! No one would appreciate such an act!
Here,

people are habit-stroke and breaking habits is
bothersome! You, in no way, should blow.-.

Or to waste your breath more than required
whereas sustenance blocks buffaloes' throats

and it won't be a long shot that it leads in
unsolvable problems.

Eventually, I and my host did nothing but
speaking.

He had been dreaming of a voyage
throughout his entire life...

And since he had never seen Isfahan before,
he suggested travelling to Isfahan together.

My heart forgets as easily as it is moved.

In spite of my all intensive emotional feelings,

we stepped on the path and left the village
inhabitants windless!

Not far from Isfahan,

a youth who had undoubtedly thought of
fairness entrusted me this message:

'O musk-perfumed wind!

As waves of the river Zayand-e Roud, send
my exaltation to the land of Isfahan...

a town where gardens and the artifacts of
artists have been mingled

and a land where the regenerative breeze of
the heaven spreads enchanting runes over!'

This message was no gush of relief.

[wondered at so large a town had managed
to retain the charm of an oasis.

Greatness and the effect of this town are such that
even its sorrowful memories leave no haze on its air.

Mongol’s scramble and Afghan's assault and
the blood streams being flown

in this half-world sees no trace of lowered
pleasantness of its gardens.

In this Shah Abbass' town, the weather is
heavenly clean...

And is running singing!

And if it comes to a halt, you don't perceive
it...

as colors take over sounds.

And the colors are singing!

Isfahan offers onto God the most spiritual
sensuality.

People here have been invaded so many
times...

Yet, they have never allowed themselves to be
diverted from the peace to the worse!

They are still humorous, lighthearted and smart and
the invaders have been obliged to follow suit.

This has continued for nearly 4000 years.

Overwhelmed by mystical enthusiasm

And we decided to make a pilgrimage to
Mashhad,

the capital city of Nader Shah the languisher
of great Mogul.

The Muslim Wind in Mashhad is my uncle
from father's side.

He lectures around Imam Reza's tomb during the day and
blows the scent of loyalty in the hearts of pilgrims-

From there, craving for pilgrimage, we blew toward the
domes of Qom and stood praying beside the shrine.

But in the end, my comrade was lost among
the pilgrims.

I soared that my eyes might find him from
that lofty height...

But I found another wind blowing around the
shrine having a ridiculous sneer on his lips.

This wind was named Baad-e Sorkh known as
Heathen Wind.

He addressed me:

'You slavishly admire these monuments and
but winds too, O poor my friend, can build.'

He dragged me to watch castles, edifices and
towns of his own making.

A vast expanse for winds exclusively...

Man was wonderingly absent in this country.

Beneath my foot, I saw things that humans'
eyes do not often see.

Scenes of the private life of wild beasts were
disclosed before my eyes.

Here is happy the animal...

And free from the mankind's fear.

Baad-e Sorkh, eventually, showed me his
chosen shelter his own favorite sanctum.

A mineral island in the midst of a boiling sea!

There has been neither a creature nor a plant
grown in here.

And Bead-e Sorkh is the ruler of the island-.

He has entrusted the custody of the place to the
terrifying Baad-e Saam, the wind, Sudden Death.

He would not only kill any creature on the
spot but also make it rot immediately.

Forsooth, death percolated through this
molten desert.

Baad-e Sorkh explained that all these colors
are the doings of fire.

Fire has always been shining across this expanse being
worshiped by Iranians long ago and some still eulogize.

With the dream of being purified and
enlightened as fire!

They also eulogize water and earth.

That's why they have entrusted the dead to
these towers of the dead.

To retain the purity of earth, fire and water.

I had a strong ambition to relocate from the
domain of fire to the territory of water.

I left Baad-e Sorkh and passed by these
solitude-existed, whimsical patterns.

[reached its sea and Whirlpools...

and its crimps and waves.

As the Persian Gulf turned rose-like and
golden, Baad-e Shorteh,

responsible for creating waves and hoisting sails,
welcomed me and taught me how to push the boats forward.

He explained:

'Look! It's easy. You only need to blow. The
boats understand what you are doing.

However, if you want them to sail across
water, you should not be afraid of blowing.'

[approached the boats while chanting his
words to myself.

As usual, I was afraid not to have enough
breath.

Being all unsophisticated though, Baad-e
Shorteh insisted on my staying with him.

He was quite proud of his work on the sea.

He stated:

'Sailing is his exclusive art. All these sails
corrugating the sea are in want of me.'

However, where would exist these sails?

I hardly see any.

[felt that nothing more was left on his hand
and I sympathized with him.

Well, I left him as well.

As I continued on my way, my eyes encountered
a landscape resembling a new Persepolis.

These heavy, cumbersome, sail-less vessels
had undoubtedly concealed a secret within.

Their strength and effort were unknown to
me.

Baad-e Sarsar, the flash wind of the valleys,
she light upon everything.

He replied to my question saying:

'These pipes transfer fire to the vessels and the
vessels relocate that to different parts of the world.

I show you where they come from. It's far
away from here...

it's not unbelievable. Come with me. It's a
long way off.'

Through this way, men have tamed the fire he
worshiped

However, when you make use of gods, there
are always drawbacks.

What Baad-e Sarsar said outraged me.

Seems that within, it concealed a secret to
which the earth's survival pertained.

An impulse surging from the depth of my being drove
me away to the dreamlike world of lucid waters

free animals and fresh air...

boundless, full-of-water lands and crispy,

vigorous flowers and the people who have not
been touched by the harm of fire impatience.

This dream guided me to the north.

[then reached to the roof of the empire.

To Damavand a 6000-meter jewel!

To the eyes of highland winds, this summit is
a hostelry,

a living room, a summer resort, a resting
place, the country.

Here, before heading Tehran, they catch their
breath.

I have never thought of encountering such a
vast city in my life.

Many times I have perceived that we,

the winds, blowing through the residential areas, would
be aware the importance of what is going on in there.

I don't know where the effusion of light
originates but I know him well.

Here, I found something old becoming new.

From above, I faced a royal palace and
slipped in through a window.

I was left breathless for what I saw.

Such a mood in a wind akin to me means the
highest appreciation.

I wouldn't know well of the age I had stepped
in.

Any sign of neither the angles or fairies nor
austere,

sword-carrying eunuchs or hunchbacked,
bandolier-carrying emissaries.

The palace was pleasantly vacant.

Outside the palace, there were joy,
sprightliness and bustle.

I blew and rambled for hours galore.

In the meantime, the stream of such numerous
mingled fates dragged me along irritating.

At midnight, I hit a wind and he apologized
politely and introduced himself.

It was the Bazaar Wind.

He was kind.

He looked fatigued.

We exchanged some philosophical remarks

and informed him of the prostration-heavy
joy of accompanying this horde of people-.

I told him that until that time, wherever I was,
people had been scattered around...

And how prepossessing this scattering was!

He replied:

'I can understand you well. I often envy desert
winds' life.

I was grown up in a village and for a long
time I have had the thought of going back.

However, there will be a day when you find
yourself intoxicated by the town.

It makes you happy and unhappy at the same
time.

And the truth is that you are unable to leave
it anymore.

From morning to night, because of talking about
returning to Mother Nature over and oven

my friends have grown restless. However, don't
disclose that I will never abandon Tehran.

lam well aware of it. Nevertheless, as you
wish being to nature,

take a trip to the north and stop by my
village.

It lies beyond the Alborz along the sea.

To cross the mountains, the easiest way is to
follow the train.'

I bid my obliging friend farewell.

The next day, I spotted the train and did my
best to follow it.

At times, the train would disappear into the
mountain...

and it wasn't always easy to find it again.

Once, I lost trace of it altogether.

I couldn't bear penetrating into these caves.

[wasn't too sure of what might happen to me
in there.

However, finally, I made up my mind and
went in.

It was stunning.

The passengers admired my bravery.

These black holes, how cool they were!

I understood why they have been dug!

Undoubtedly, in order to cool the travelers!

The Bazaar Wind had not mistaken.

I have been to many places.

Anyway, I didn't anticipate such a sight!

It was my dreamland.

I was told that the world had been crafted by elegant
hands not by heart-blinded elements of the world.

The shape of the hills, the sitting of the trees

and the still waters running in the streams have all
been organized based on a system as our hearts wish.

Here, the landscape had been created by the
affectionate hands of mankind...

and it contrasted sharply with what I had
flown over until then.

I had wondered for sometime whether these
mirrors that call those brilliant palaces

were not attempting to endlessly repeat the
sky...

or a vast impression of the veins of
rain-soaked leaves reflecting the sky!

Eventually, I reached this gentle sea into
which the earth's blood flows amorously.

If any paradise for the men, the Caspian shore
would be a variation of it!

A few steps away, it is Ramsar welcoming
sea's guests in summer with shelter.

Whereat flying to Central Asia, I forgot fire
altogether...

as I rode with flocks over the plain.

Have I been reasonable, I would have settled
down in this lively piece of land..-...

and disentangle forever from the memory
of my brother,

Baad-e Deev, and his derogatory attitude.

However, eagerness didn't permit me do
such!

And eagerness, with its own reasoning, diverts
us from what appears reasonable.

Nevertheless, right after such a deviation, I
acquired my private paradise.

I kept asking myself about the existence of
these spherical, tent-like cabins.

I remembered that I knew something about
Turkmen.

Until the last half century ago,

they practically dwelled upon horseback and
every once in a while

they would gallop toward the heart of the
empire and at their will,

they would conceal in cavities and meadows.

So many landscapes had tripped by,

but at a certain point I was unable to
remember where I have seen them.

World travelers are well acquainted with this
wearing-away of memory.

However, one day I encountered something rather
strange that it was very unlikely to forget.

Something resembling a benign dragon being
spread on a hill!

An old wind owned a shelter at this hill.

This wind was a veteran carpet dryer.

He complained of being pressed of the work exhausted
by the ceaseless flow of the wet carpets.

'I am so busy.' He said, 'lam too much under
pressure.'

However, infect, his problem was indolence.

And I didn't notice it at the first impression.

The old wind took advantage of shyness and
recruited me.

They would come and go days in days out and I,
in an utmost careful manner, was drying carpets.

Once as I was performing my duty, repeatedly
without implementing anything,

[found some carpets fluttering strangely.

Then, carpets threw themselves around akin
to ghosts.

I was cogitating deeply over this strange
phenomenon

when a wild guffaw from behind compelled
me to turn my head back and, oh, woe!

Yes! It was him! My brother! Baad-e Deev!

Who I thought I disentangled from him.

He was insolently blowing through my two
legs!

When he looked into my eyes, he said:

'Well! What a progress! Now, you've become
a carpet dryer!

I show you how to dry carpets, you stupid!...

...'I show you how I leave no stones unturned
when [decide to act.

That how these speechless creatures are
flooded all over by quivers.'

In the next moment, the whole carpet hill was
turned upside down.

Panicked, not knowing what to do, I kept
running after him begging him to cease.

But it was too late.

He was flamingly enraged.

He was determined to smash everything.

I thought that I was still out of breath and I
wouldn't dare interfere with what he was doing.

I was unaware of my lungs being strong
enough after prodigious number of journeys.

However, when I found that Baad-e Deev,
billowing up,

was collecting whatever darkness existed and
spreading onto this unfortunate village...

[could think of nothing but only fly up into a
passion.

I went to encounter him.

I, who knew myself as frustrated,

filled my lungs as much possible as I could and
blew with all my might in the opposite direction.

Against what I anticipated, Baad-e Deev
deflated.

My intervention was soon noticed by the
villagers...

and I was overwhelmed with their
appreciative remarks.

The time for attachment had come for me.

Time to be attached to is always on the way.

However, sometimes its time flashes
unexpectedly.

Here, I found my homeland...

and now my sole concern is to look after
the happiness of its inhabitants.

[have taken on a helper who notifies me of
any peril.

In minor cases, I let him handle the situations
in person.

One day, he rushed to notify me of a bride
who was in danger.

By typical local conviction, the bridegroom
had carried off his sweetheart

However, bride's brothers were about to
reach him and thus he would lose her forever.

I did my best to hold the brothers back.

As a matter of tact, I kept them on the run
until they were out of the race-.

And the fugitives lived happily ever after.

And God granted them several children.

Since then, I have turned mellow.

Now, I am pure scent and tune of music.

I have become Baad-e Sabaa!

The Lovers' Wind!

Whenever you come across a gentle motion
between trees...

know that Bead-e Sabaa is meddling.

It blows to infuse life into flowers, souls and
fleshes.

Albert Lamorisse, the French famous
filmmaker, was charmed by the old,

wide breadth of Iran's diversity and
prodigiously interested in Iranian culture.

Lamorisse, through an exploring camera,
pictured Iran's multicoloredness.

And thereafter, 'The Lovers' Wind' came into
existence blending Iranian legends.

However, the charm of this land and diversity
of historical towns pictured

in this plot do not encompass the
development of contemporary society

and the deep gap between past and today's
Iran.

Lamorisse returned Iran once more to follow
the missing line communicating between past

and today's Iran in The Lovers' Wind.

However, he failed for his decease.

The production team of this film commemorates
him incorporating the last scenes

directed by late Lamorisse as an epilogue.

May The Lovers' Wind as an exquisite
memory of a man who respected

and loved Iran and Iranians be engraved in
viewers' hearts.