All language subtitles for Beyond the Clouds (Além das Nuvens) 1995 eng

BEYOND THE CLOUDS

When I'm very tired after finishing a film.

I start thinking of the next one.

It's the only thing left for me to do.

And which I know how to do.

I begin trying to define the form
which I like

after the one I just finished.

The most difficult thing is to refrain
from taking an interest in anything

and not to allow myself any distraction.

It is in the darkness
that reality lights up

And in the silence that the voices
arrive from last night.

I believe that one moves forward

driven by that vital impulse which
is manifested in all things.

That which originated life
which created the past and

will create the future.

We will always remain in the present and deceive
ourselves that we also change with the world.

Whereas I fear we remain irreparably ourselves
as we were when we began to live.

I don't know why I'm telling you this,
don't get me wrong, I'm not a philosopher

on the contrary, I'm someone who is
profoundly attached to images.

I only discovered reality
when I began photgraphing it.

Photographing and enlarging the surface
of things that were around me.

I tried to discover what was behind them.

I've done nothing else in my career.

One of the stories I had in mind
suggested to me by a friend

and the story had drawn me here
in the first place.

It delt with a man and a woman in Ferrara

It's a strange story only for those who
weren't needed of this city like me.

Those citizens of Ferrara had no trouble
understanding a relationship that lasted for years

without ever existing.

Excuse me.

Can you suggest a hotel?

A good one
or a simple one?

You choose.
I'll trust you.

There's one just back there.

Thanks.

I need a room, please.

A single?

Room 4. Any luggage?

I'll be right back.

We met earlier,
but you didn't even look at me.

The beautiful thing is
that I came here by chance.

Why beautiful?

I was supposed to go
somewhere else.

At one point
I let the car drive me.

Me, I'm stuck here
in the fog.

I'm a teacher. I can't escape
except when school is out.

Where do you go?

The city.

I just escaped from there.

Have you noticed
nobody watches sunsets anymore?

Maybe it happens in towns too...

but when my job brings me
out to the country...

I'm always enchanted
by the sunsets.

I'm a drainage pump technician.

There are lots around here.

My name is Carmen.

I'm Silvano.

Voices never become part of you
like other sounds.

The sea, for instance.
You end up not hearing it.

But a voice
you can't help listening to.

It's strange.

We always want to live
in someone's imagination.

Maybe that's the secret
of being in love.

I like your eyes.

They're so empty
of everything...

except sweetness.

Which is your room?

The one on the right.

Good night.

Night.

Has the girl in Room 8
already left?

Of course.

She's always up early
for work.

Where can I buy flowers here?

Flowers don't grow
in the lagoon.

Can you send those
to her room?

I'll get some fresh ones.

Did you like it?

It's a miracle
meeting you again!

Nothing happens by chance.

- This is Sara.
- Pleased to meet you.

- I have to go. I'm running late.
- Did I scare you off?

No, I must get to the shops
before they close.

Bye, Carmen.
See you tomorrow.

Bye.

I've wondered for two years
why you left that morning...

without even saying good-bye.

I waited all night for you.

I've been wondering lately...

why I have such a need
to hear words.

Nobody talks anymore.

Eyes are in fashion.

True words are shut up inside.

Bring some out.

All right.

There's a kind of enslavement
that we can desire...

when we're under a spell.

For example, now...

I'm enslaved by your silence.

Do you live here?

Yes, this is my home.

You must be very rich!

It's beautiful.

Another world.

Who else lives here?

A family from Naples
lives upstairs.

Are you with somebody?

Not at the moment.

There's always something
left behind.

Like dregs in a coffee cup.

My grandma used to read
coffee cups.

She knew all about everyone
who drank coffee with her.

I lived with a man
for a year.

Ten days ago,
he wrote me a letter.

I know it by heart.

It's about scents.

Some scents cling
to your skin forever.

"I can still smell the scent
of your skin and your words.

A few nights ago,
I went back to the river...

where we stopped last time.

I stayed there...

feeling you close to me. "

Words do us good,
even in writing.

A woman expects them.

She always does.

He went on being in love with
that girl he never possessed

either out of stupid pride or from folly.

That quiet folly of his city.

God dag.

Can I help you?

Just looking.

It's better if I speak to you plainly.

Whatever you have in mind,
I'd rather tell you who I am.

I wish you would.

I killed my father,
I stabbed him 12 times.

Why did you kill him?

When?
A year ago.

And you were acquitted?

Yes.

I spent 3 months in prison
before the trial.

They acquitted me.

Stabbed him 12 times?

I did.

Where did it happen?

Generally it is a bad conscience that brings
you back to the scene of the crime.

I went back there for the
opposite reason.

Are you going or staying?

You want to see me tonight?

You remind of... somebody.

Who?

I'm not sure yet.

I don't remember what's
the answers to my questions.

I came to this place to look for
a character and found a story.

And now the story let me
think of nothing else

not even of my own.

12 times she stabbed him.

If she had stabbed him only 2 or 3 times
would the difference between

the real fact and the
invented one be any less?

And his wasn't the answer
I was looking for.

The disturbing point was...
something else.

It was that I felt 12 stabs were
much more... familiar,

more domestic than 2 or 3.

In that chilling number there was
everything there had to be in that story

there was truth.

I felt tired and irritated.

As I had just been shooting
the scene of the knifeing

and instead of 12 blows,
I decided that 3 were enough.

Out of prudence.

And... one more thing
was clear to me

that there was no longer any sense
in staying in that place

where the idea of the film
had brought me.

and from which the same idea
was sending me away.

The girl's look of... awareness

which had so struck me
on entering the shop.

had remained inside me and
fixed me with... tragic irony.

The same irony of the late sunlight
that was now touching everything,

falling over everything like Joyce's snow,

over all the living and the dead.

Excuse me.

Sorry to bother you.

May I?

Thank you.

I read a strange thing
in my magazine.

I want to talk to someone
about it.

And you picked me?

You're not French,
are you?

No, I'm from New York,
but I live here.

Where are you from?

Italy.

- So may I?
- Go ahead. I'm "all ears. "

Isn't that what they say?

I hope so.

In Mexico...

some scientists hired porters
to take them...

to an Incan city
in the mountains.

At one point,
the porters stopped.

They refused to go on.

The scientists got angry
and tried to get them moving.

They couldn't understand
the long delay.

After several hours...

the porters set off again.

Finally, their leader decided
to explain.

What had happened?

I see you're interested.

Now, very.

He said...

they'd been walking too fast.

They'd left their souls behind.

Their souls?

It's wonderful! It's like us.

We go rushing around...

and lose our souls.

We should wait for them.

To do what?

Everything that seems
pointless.

You're still up?

I asked you
a friendly question.

Were you with her?

We met briefly.

Since that story
about souls in the cafe...

it's been three years.

Some things can't be
called off overnight.

For the last time...

it's her or me.

You're late.

Sorry.
The traffiic was bad.

Everything's against us.

Look, we've got to talk.

Go ahead...

but caress me
at the same time.

Gently.

I've forgotten it all.

Patricia.

Oh, shit.

What's up?

What are you up to?

I've been calling you
for two days.

That's a vase to me.

What's a vase to you?

Vase of flowers.

Flowers... colors.

Colors... beauty.

Beauty... love.

Everything seems ridiculous.

Love is ridiculous.

It has to be said.

It's an illusion. A trap.

But the trap is mysterious,
so we all fall into it.

Like stewed prunes!

You bring me your calm...

after sleeping with her?

I slept alone.

I felt bad.

I was away on a trip.

You know that.

Didn't you take her?

I didn't take anybody.

I loved making love to you.

Go fuck yourself.

You've got a new vocabulary.

Because you're talking gibberish.

Say what you like,
but last night...

I realized how much I miss
making love to you.

I'll come back
if you leave her.

I will. I swear.

- When?
- Today.

This morning.

Now.

Right now.

Don't leave me.
Don't leave me.

Tell me.

Do you still make love
behind my back?

I've been saying no to her
for three years.

Would she want to?

Probably, yes.

And you've always refused.

Well, yes.

And today?

Did you say yes or no?

I pitied her.

Don't you pity me?

For three years you've been
bringing her smell here!

The smell on your clothes.
The stale smell of a cheated woman!

Thanks.

Bye.

You'ne back?

- Where are you?
- Somewhere.

What's gotten into you?

- Emptying the house.
- It's my funnitune.

- You could leave a note.
- You never did.

- Because of my job!
- Leaving me stuck at home!

- Where are you?
- Don't try to find me.

Is the lady here?

No, she went out.

I spoke to her
about renting the place.

What place?

This one, I think.

I brought the newspaper ad.

It's entirely my wife's idea.

I'm not even sure I agree.

Don't say that
or I'll go crazy.

May I explain my situation?

I prefer short stories.

I'll put it in a nutshell.

My husband has been having
an affair for three years.

I was patient.

He always said it would pass.

But in fact-

- The doorbell rang.
- I didn't hear it.

I'm expecting the furniture.

What furniture? Mine?

My husband's.

So you emptied an apartment too.

What are you going to do?

I don't know.

I guess I'll have
to go away again.

Where to?

I have commitments
outside Paris.

So you'll cope somehow.

Yes.

But this time I was planning
to stay put.

I told her so.

Maybe that's why she went
to live with him.

With whom?

The lover.

So you're in a precarious
position too.

Right.

It seems to be the thing.

This is her.

She's beautiful.

My wife.

Don't try to find me.

There's a cure for everything.

That's what disturbs me.

May I?

I told you.
Don't phone me again.

I wonder why our society needs
all these copies of things.

Not just paintings.
Copies of everything.

Even things like clothes,
suitcases, bags, watches.

Originals are very costly.

True.

But in your case,
a reproduction of Cezanne...

or a photo
of the landscape would do.

I believe that anyone
who copies a masterwork...

has a chance of repeating
the artist's action...

and possibly recapturing,
if only by chance...

the exact gesture.

A copy of the gesture.

Why not?

Recapturing a genius's nature...

will satisfy me more...

than any brushstroke of my own.

I can see why you laugh.

I won't sell it to you anyhow.

Don't worry.

- Please.
- I'm sorry.

Thank you.

I'm looking
for the architect's office.

It's across the street.

Excuse me.

May I come with you?

I'm going to church.

Are you a Catholic?
Do you believe in God?

What is this, a test?

If I say yes, I can escort you,
and if not, I can't?

Is that the idea?

Sorry.

No, I'm not sorry.

Are you always so quiet?

Why?

I have nothing to say.

With so many things
going on around you?

Maybe I should go alone.

No, I should escort you.

Don't worry.
Nothing can happen to me.

You must read a lot.

Not even the papers?

I used to browse through them.
Not anymore.

Once I read this in a paper:

"If only a cherry tree
could eat its own cherries!"

You're the tree
that eats its own fruit.

I think that to be happy
we should eliminate our thoughts.

That's a thought in itself.

That's true.

That's why I prefer
to keep quiet.

That only makes it worse!

Silence fills our heads
with thoughts.

I mean pointless thoughts.

How do we get rid of those?

If I could...

I'd escape.

Where to?

Away from my body.

Why?

One of the body's shortcomings...

is that it needs so much.

It's never satisfiied.

Don't run down all its needs.
Some can be fun to satisfy.

Try giving up your little fun.
You'll see the peace it brings.

We already have
so many unfulfilled dreams...

at the end of each day!

I think I've got it.

You're in love.

You show all the signs
of a girl in love.

- It's true.
- I knew it!

You're detached,
like all satisfied women.

Yes, I am satisfied.

So peaceful!

Right now I have
life's rarest treasure: serenity.

It comes from being
with a satisfied woman.

Satisfied people are rare.

Excuse me.
Are you satisfied?

Don't be ridiculous.

- See? It's rare.
- What time is it?

A quarter to 5:00.

Can we hurry?

Where are we going?

St. John of Malta's.

- Are you from here?
- No.

Will you tell me
where you're from?

I'd really rather not.

Like flowers.

That's true.

It's pretty.

This sounds like sacrilege...

but I don't like flowers.

I do, but they make me sad.

They're beautiful-
gorgeous for two days.

Then they wilt
and get thrown away.

The Japanese don't grow flowers
so as not to see them die.

Why are you smiling?

You're scared of death,
aren't you?

Scared is not the word.

I'm scared of life.

A girl your age,
scared of life? Absurd!

The life people live.

You undervalue it.
What do you want from life?

Nothing.

What? Nothing?

Life is all we have.
It's all there is.

It's the only thing
we know exists.

Look.

Here we're alive.
There we're dead.

Here we can laugh.

There we can laugh all we like-
no one will see.

We're in the beyond.

Your opinion is
beside the point.

Please don't treat me
like this.

Your courtesy reminds me too much
that I'm a woman.

You don't like it?

I wish I were a man.

A strong man.

Almost all women say that...

but usually
for practical reasons.

Never for poetic ones.

I mean I'd like to be
as strong as a man.

An enigma-
that's what you are.

And, like all enigmas,
disconcerting.

I want to know you better.
Discover you.

I'd like us to be friends.

It's hard to relate to someone
who's in love...

but I'd like to try.

I'm not saying this
to please you.

You're not the type
to like compliments.

Not that kind of compliment.

I'd rather be told
that I pray well.

Can you be good or bad
at praying?

Oh, yes!

The way you looked in church,
you must be brilliant!

It was like you were dead.

I was dead.

A little.

Look!

Lone men at night
look like criminals.

Typical!

A criminal who lets you by
and then starts singing.

I haven't seen a man sing
in the street for years.

Are you hurt?

- Sure you're okay?
- I'm fine.

You got your coat dirty.

What if I fell in love
with you?

You'd be lighting a candle
in a room full of light.

Can I see you tomorrow?

Tomorrow I enter a convent.

The director's profession is a very
particular one.