All language subtitles for Darkest Miriam 2024.eng

Here are the trees.

Can you make
little leaves for me?

Here are the leaves with their--

trees with their
leaves so green.

And here are the apples
that hide between.

When the wind blows...

That's a lot of wind!

The apples fall.

Boom, boom, boom, boom.

I'm not finished!

It is my turn.

I found a pair of dentures
unattached in the foyer.

I'm not finished
sending my email!

Your half hour is over.

You'll have
to wait your turn.

Your half hour is over!

It is my turn.

I'm not finished!

I'm not finished.

It is my turn.

Bald man,
I'm not finished!

Your half hour is over!

Bald man, I'm not finished
sending my email!

You'll have to wait your turn,
bald man!

You shut up.

You shut the fuck up.

I'm not finished!

10:05 am.

An unusually pale female patron

accused a man with a suitcase
of hitting her.

A nearby patron would not
corroborate this claim.

Unusually pale female patron
then stole a pair of dentures.

I'll take these.

The owner
of these dentures

is currently unknown.

We ought to be
paid twice as much

as some of those idiots in
administration who have no idea.

Serving patrons
who've lost their minds,

who cry all over you one minute

and then bite
your head off the next.

Not to mention
those who piss their pants

and can't seem to find
their way to a shower.

Ever heard of soap?

The stench.

Four more hours to go.

I think I hear
a toilet overflowing.

Fainting man is out front.

Yeah, I need you to come.
He's back.

Are you okay?

All is well, all is well.

Please don't call 911.

They will charge me
for the ambulance.

All is well.

Ah... never mind,
it's fine. Okay, bye.

The following
is a list of patrons

who frequent the Allan Gardens
branch of the public library.

Fainting Man,
who is a new immigrant

and has no health coverage.

Su, my co-worker, who I would
describe as triangular.

Natalie, who seeks out a quiet
corner to study on Tuesdays.

Unusually pale female patron,

who always walks
on the diagonal.

Tom, who used to be
a classical pianist.

Irene Frenkle,
the branch head, and my boss.

Suitcase Man, who often bows,
bending abruptly at the waist.

Beautiful Man, who is beautiful.

Piano Girl and her mom...

who also plays the piano.

John B.,
our most regular patron,

who suffers from dementia.

Desperate Man, whose older
brother often leaves him

at our branch for the day.

And my father.

Sit down.

You can sit down if you want.

How you been doing?

My father
owned the same suitcase

as Suitcase Man.

He allowed me to press
the metal buttons,

and if I wasn't quick enough,

the tabs, springing back,
struck me on the knuckles,

causing me to cry out.

Sometimes my father placed
his hand kindly on my head,

pleased to see
that I was learning my lesson.

4:40 pm.

A sticky mess
was found at a table

in the back of the library.

A number of books were arranged
in an upright position

on the table.

They appear to have
served as a screen.

The books, soiled by what
looked like common semen.

No actions were taken.

Hello. Good morning.

Hmm.

"Laugh, laugh,
get on with your laughter
at my expense.

"You don't think I'm capable
of protecting my own daughter,

"do you? You'll see pretty--"

I just found this
in the garbage can.

Who throws books away...?
In a library?

Okay, I'm on break.

"You'll see pretty soon
"what I'm capable of.

"I am Rigoletto, and I will not
be doing any more suffering."

Weird.

When I was 11,

my father took me
to the opera .

He chose Rigoletto

and explained that it was
about a man who was cursed.

I sat on the edge of my chair
and allowed the music
to seduce me.

Excuse me, miss?

May I help you?

-I don't believe
this is the sort of guy

women find attractive.

I mean...

it's more what he thinks that...

that's what
turns women on, right?

It's...

it's more their ideas,
what they go for.

Uh, yeah.

-Right?
-Absolutely, yes.

Hmm.

Su cuts out
glossy ads for men's
underwear ,

close-up shots of
scantily-concealed genitals.

- She pins these to the
bulletin board by the fridge.
Hello, boys.

Irene
has tried for years

to get her to take it down.

Yeah...

To no avail.

Alright, see you then.

Hey, Janko!

Hi.

Sorry to interrupt.

You're very good.

Thank you.

Um...

Do you often play opera music?

No.

Um, we found
the music on the piano,

so my daughter wanted to try it.

You play it extremely well.

Thank you very much.

Sorry.

I'm off.

Alright. Have a good one.

Once, my father
disappeared for three days .

I listened while my mother
telephoned the police.

I asked her
if he'd been murdered.

She assured me that he was
alive and wandering somewhere,

ducking in and out
of used bookstores.

"How did she know?" I asked.

She told me that once
before I was born,

he'd vanished
and had spent his days

frequenting used bookstores.

But he'd promised her
he would never disappear again.

Miriam...

What good
is a promise? I asked.

Health card, please.

Name, Miriam Gordon.

Date of birth,
February 9th, 1985.

Yeah.

Father's name?

Pardon?

Father's name, please?

Why?

Edward?

No.

That's why.

We don't want to
confuse your records

with another
Miriam Gordon's records.

Oh. That makes sense.

Father's name?

Morris.

Married?

Yes, to my mother.

I mean, are you married?

-No.

Never married?

-No.
-Always single?

Yes.

Next of kin?

We need
an emergency contact person.

Irene.

416-534-2732.

Last name?

Frenkle.

With an "e."

Is this her cell?

I mean, I don't have it.

Okay, well, we'll need
to contact this person

outside of work.
Any... other family?

Friends?

Any medications you're on?

No meds.

Suicidal ideation?
Any history of mental illness?

Okay. What brings you in today?

I'm fine, actually. I feel fine.

I am Janko.

And you?

Miriam.

I've seen you at the library.

I work there.

Yes, I know.

You like opera?

Excuse me?

Opera? Yes, I guess so.

I'm reading Kekec.

Kekec.

Hm, Kekec.

It is a Slovenian novel
for children.

Is it good?

It is wonderful.

What's it about?

A story of a little boy
named Kekec

who overcomes fear.

Hm.

Oh.

I love opera.

Hm.

It's a bit dark.

Not really.

I drive a cab.

Oh.

Also a painter.

Hm.

I am not an artist.

I can show you my work
sometime, if you like.

Are you hungry?

Are these your paintings?

Yes.

I turn them around...

so they won't frighten anyone.

-Are your paintings frightening?

These are my most recent.

Can... can I see?

Yeah.

Can I see another?

Hmm.

Hmm.

I finished this one a week ago.

How do you create
the... the effect?

First I dig into the wood

to create different layers.

And with a torch
I burn the wood, the surface,

all of it.

And then I paint.

I studied fresco restoration.

-Hmm.

In Slovenia?

Poland.

Ah.

Would you like a cup of tea?

I think I will go.

-Oh.
-Yeah.

Is this okay?

Yeah.

Oh...

8:55 am .

The light switches
on the control panel are stiff.

Note to call maintenance
to fix the problem.

I was in the piano room.

-Yes, I signed you in.

There's a new piano
in the piano room.

-Yes.

-I need to stay here tonight.

As you know,
the library closes at 8:30,

and we all have to leave.

-I wanted to return
the beer cans inside for cash.

The piano was replaced,

and, moving forward,

please do not put beer cans
inside the piano.

-What would happen if you
were to force me to go out?

I... I don't know.
The library closes at 8:30.

Ah, yes.

No.

Don't leave cans...

in the piano.

No.

Thank you.

Okay, well, if you can't...
if you won't let me stay,

then will you at least take me
to the nearest police station

when the library closes,
uh, tonight?

I can't--
I can't do that.

I can't do that.

Your brother usually
comes and gets you at 5.

-Fine.
But this will be on your hands!

Two, three, go!

Oh, no!

Oh, wow...

That was really scary...

That was really scary-funny.

I did so scary!

You were so scary. High five.

Hmm.

"What do
you know about suffering?

"She takes children into that
room with the accordion door

"and tells them stories.

"She also sits behind
the information desk

"and answers questions.

"It doesn't matter how
drunk or crass they are,

"she speaks with them.

"She should see the danger."

"My gorgeous librarian

"with the freckled hands."

These...
these are for you?

I think so.

Freckled hands?

Do you feel threatened?

Rigoletto kills
his daughter in the end.

But by mistake.

You know, he kinda--
he ties her in a sack.

Where'd you find them?

That one was in a book
inside the children's area.

Any idea who's doing this?

No.

Do you have any
connection to Rigoletto
or opera?

My father took me
to Rigoletto as a kid.

Where's
your father now?

Um, he died.

Okay.

Okay, uh, well,
let us know if you receive

any more of these notes, or if
anything unusual transpires.

I will.

Unfortunately,
until he acts,

our hands are tied.

Tell me a story.

Any story.

-Mm, I don't know any stories.

-You're a librarian.

-Those aren't my stories.

-Well, then, read me something.

-Hmm...

Mmm.

I found this
in the repair bin today.

"My mother
killed her little son.

"My father grieved
when I was gone.

"My sister loved me best of all.

"She laid her kerchief over me
and took my bones

"that they might lie
underneath the juniper tree.

"Kywitt, kywitt,
what a beautiful bird am I."

-I will call you Darkest Miriam
from now on.

I will read it to you.

"My mother
killed her little son.

"My father grieved
when I was gone.

"My sister loved me best of all.

"She laid her kerchief over me

"and took my bones
that they might lie

"underneath the juniper tree."

"What a beautiful bird am I."

Can I get a low five
or a high five?

A low five.

Low five, yeah.
That's very nice.

Very nice.

Did I do very carefully?

You did.

Okay, do you wanna do--
I'll do-- I'll do this.

Yeah, you do that one.

And you put that on.

Thank you.

'Cause you just--
Not that.

-Not that one.
This one.

'Cause I need
to glue that one first.

"Ah!

"Vile scoundrel!

"To you who dare
to touch her breast,

"do you think I see nothing?

"Even weaponless,
this hand will soon

"be bathed in your blood,
you silly fucker.

"You shall be avenged, Gilda,

"oh my daughter of
the freckled hands."

Did you see it?

There.

Tucked inside the book.

A note.

A note.

It appeared in your absence.

I collect the notes.

I lock the suitcase.

But then another note appears,
written in a hand not my own.

Someone's trying to communicate.

" Milk, cheese,
bread, apples, lettuce,

"tomatoes, cucumbers,
strawberries, blueberries,

"kale, pineapple,
peanut butter."

Some...

somebody's trying
to communicate!

" Jam."

Slow day or busy day?

What's been
the most frightening

moment of your life so far?

Was it when you hurt your hand?

I was not frightened.

I was in shock, and then pain.

Oh.

Can we not talk about
more pleasant things...

than what we find
most frightening?

Hmm?

Can you scratch it?

-Yeah.
-Oof!

Mmm!

Mmm.

Right here?

-Upper.

-Upper...

-A little lower...
Mmm, yeah.

- Harder?
- Perfect.

My dispatcher is an asshole.

-Mm-hm.

-I will quit and go far away,
and when I come back,

my dispatcher will be an old man
with shriveled balls,

who sits on the park bench
dispatching pigeons.

-Will the pigeons obey?

They will rebel.

But not how I did
against my father,

by ignoring his letters.

They will circle...

...above, dropping
white shit in his hair.

He is cruel, and so they
will treat him in this way.

Mmm...

Argh!

I am the master.

You will succumb.

You are the pigeon.
I am the dispatcher.

Coo, coo...

Coo, coo.

Like a pigeon Darkest Miriam.

Slow day or busy day?

Slow.

It was beautiful out.

People walked.

They weren't in the mood
to ride a taxi.

-Anyone memorable?

They were all memorable.

-What did they say?
-Nothing.

They told me where they
wanted me to take them,

and I drove them there.

-None of them
said anything else?

-Nothing.

No one talks to me.

But I listen to them breathing
and moving about on the seat.

I heard one of them taking
things out of her purse.

I heard another scratching
behind his ears.

-You could hear him
scratching behind his ears?

-Oh, yes.

I watched him with the eyes
in the back of my head.

-Really?

-Yes.

I inherited this from my father.

When he was a teacher,
his students thought

that since his eyes
were on the blackboard,

he couldn't see their pranks.

But he had eyes on the back
of his head, my father.

Suddenly he would turn.

When he threw a piece of chalk,

he could hit a boy
in the side of the head,

above the ear,
from across the room.

He told me because
of his perfect aim,

and the eyes
on the back of his head,

his students respected him.

He could be kind to them
now and then,

even joke a little bit,

but they wouldn't forget to
fear him and to obey his orders.

-In Slovenia?

-Ljubljana.

-You grew up there?

-No, Ljubljana until I was ten.

Then after my parents' divorce,
we moved.

-Where to?
-All over.

Just me and my mum.

My brother and sister
stayed in Ljubljana.

What does your father do?

-Insurance.

-Where are your stories?

-I read you stories
all the time.

-Darkest Miriam,
you must have stories.

-You don't trust me.

-I do.

What do you want to know?

-I want to know you.

They're on the brink
of publishing

a collection of my poems.

-That's exciting.

-Very soon my book will be out.

I'll...

bring you a copy.

-That will be wonderful.

Okay, almost got it here.

-I knew I could count on you.

-I'm so glad.

-They're on the brink
of publishing

a collection of my poems.

-That's exciting.

Okay, here's the address.

Raccoon Jaw Press.

-Very soon my book will be out,

and I will bring you a copy.

-That'd be wonderful.

-My father...

my father was a man
who read lots of books.

I don't think I ever cried
from my father,

but I cried because of the
things that remind me of him.

He was a very good man.

A very good man.

As good as any that walked
on the face of the Earth.

And now he's dead.

"You...

"Open your eyes.

"What action must I take to
convince you that I love you?

"To protect you
from a fate like mine

"will take all my cunning.

"I will cause no more pain."

I don't go dancing anymore

because I don't have
the right shoes.

Or clothes.

Or the right legs. Or ass.

And then last night, who calls?

My sister, saying the arthritis
in my mom's hands

has got so bad, poor old Mom
can't even hold a pen.

Not going to the park today?

-No.

-So, what do you say?

Should we go out dancing
while we still can?

Anyone wanna come?

You're always so angry
when your plans don't work out.

I have no plans.

-Yesterday you planned
to meet me here.

-We both planned.

-True.

But then I didn't come on time.

I couldn't.

-I thought I would
never see you again.

-I was late because of
my dispatcher.

It was my dispatcher's fault.

-I thought...

I would never see you again.

-When I was a child
and wanted to think,

I would lock myself
in the bathroom.

Even when they
pounded on the door,

I pretended I was not
inside and refused to open.

But you see, I'm here.

-I know.

You've told me
that story before.

-In ten years I will beg you

to stop telling me
the same stories of your life.

But for now I want to know,
again and again.

-When I'm with you, I feel...

as though I'm standing
in tall grass.

It's disorienting.

Will you still be
here in ten years?

-Of course.

Whatever direction you will go,
all you will find is tall grass.

Are we almost
at the greenhouse?

Almost.

-Is anyone else around?

-No.

Nobody I can see,

except two men.

-Hmm.

Where are they?

-Some place faraway,
walking their dogs,

off by the edge of the park.

They each have a dog.

One small dog is white,
with short legs and short fur.

One big dog is brown,

with curls.

Aw.

Is the moon still out?

Yes!

Is there something else
you would like to see?

-No.

-Are you sure?

You could see
a lot from my eyes.

-And what happens when
we get to the greenhouse?

-Nothing.
-Nothing?

-I then close my eyes,
Darkest Miriam,

and it's your turn to lead me.

-Well, where to?

-Home.

-You don't have a home, Janko.

-Don't I?
-No.

-What about my apartment?

-No.

-And...

my paintings?

-Yeah.

Yes, those are the closest thing
you have to a home.

-What if I have children?

Where will they live?

-You won't have children.

-I won't?

You are deciding
I won't have children?

-I don't see you having any.

-You mean,
you don't want me to have any?

Is that what you mean?

-I'm...

I don't have any idea
if I want you to or not.

I'm just saying...

what I see with...

my eyes closed.

-Open your eyes.

-Are...

we at the greenhouse?

-No.

-Then why should
I open them?

-Open your eyes.

-No.

-Do you want me
to leave you here?

-They're open.

You said that
I won't have any children.

It sounded like a curse.

-I was just saying what I saw
with my eyes closed.

I wasn't saying
what I wanted to see.

-Is it true you don't care
if I ever have children or not?

-I don't know.

-I want children.

One day I want to be a father.

The most frightening moment
of my life is now,

because I've met you.

Janko...

Yes?

My father had a book collection.

He wrote poetry,
but he was never published.

-Yes.

That is more like it.

Not insurance.

Poetry.

-It was huge.

Eventually it overflowed
into the garage.

-Where is this
book collection now?

-He gave it away.

-What does your father do now?

-Not much.

-Okay.

Hello?

Hello, ma'am,
police here.

Is this the residence
of Janko Priajtelj?

-Yes...?

Could you please
let me up?

This is the residence
of Janko Priajtelj?

-Yes.
-Ma'am, who are you?

-I'm... I'm Miriam.

And what is your
relationship to Mr. Priajtelj?

-He's my boyfriend.

-Ma'am, I'm so sorry,
but Mr. Priajtelj

has been killed.

He was found dead in his cab.

His wallet was taken,
and in cases like this,

it's usually theft.

Is there anyone
I can call for you?

-No.

No.

-And Mr. Priajtelj,
did he have any family?

We need to contact
the next-of-kin.

-Uh...

In Slovenia, I think.

-I'm gonna ask you
to come to the station

and answer a few questions,
and we're gonna need someone

to identify the body.

-Right now?

-Yes, ma'am.

-Okay. I'm just-- I'm just
gonna change my clothes.

-Okay.

"Weep.

"Child, weep.

"Let your tears flow.

"Let your tears flow.

"Oh...

"on my heart."

"Let your
tears flow, my daughter.

"My daughter.

"On my heart."

Whereas many men
drink to ease their anguish ,

my father purchased books.

His collection
filled the garage,

stacked up against the walls.

The car remained parked in
the driveway in every season,

no matter the weather.

He imagined that his collection
might one day become

immensely valuable.

Not that he ever planned
to sell the books.

"My father
was a man who whistled,

"who wove himself
an armor of cheerful notes,

"and smiled and smiled.

"Light on his feet
for such a heavy man,

"and quick with his hands,

"he would have made
a fine magician or a boxer.

"Instead, he wrote poems
in rhyming verse

"that nobody would publish
and earned his living

"by selling insurance
of various kinds.

"I wanted to save him
from humiliation.

"One night I set myself
the task of memorizing

"as many of his poems
as I could.

"Shut in my room,

"I recited them...

"and wept.

"In the morning, my..."

"When
I was a young child,

"I rode on
my father's shoulders.

"The view was excellent,
though it swayed.

"I kept my eye
on the shifting horizon

"while he kicked small stones
out of our path."

"When I was 18,
someone broke my heart.

"A few well-placed blows
and my heart shattered.

"One of these blows was
administered over the telephone.

"I ran out the front door
without stopping

"to put on my coat or boots.

"The freezing air
slapped my face.

"My father, who happened to
be clearing the front walk,

"tossed aside a shovel

"and ran after me
across the lawn,

"his feet breaking the crust,
sinking into the deep snow.

"When he caught up,

"he took me in his arms.

"I present this memory
in my father's defense

"whenever I take him to trial,
as I so often do,

"laying my fears and shyness,

"my crippling self-doubt,
at his feet.

"My father had spent
the morning whistling.

"He'd mowed the front lawn
and trimmed the hedge.

"He'd kissed my mother
on the cheek

"and told her she looked
'pretty as a picture.'

"After lunch, he'd gone out back

"to do a bit of spring cleaning
in the garage.

"I was 22 years old.

"My brother was 19,
and my sister 17.

"My father left no message
of farewell for my mother,

"and no note of any kind
for his progeny."

They laid
my father among his books .

The day does not answer.

Why don't you just
take a leave rather than quit?

I have to go.

I just don't want you
to regret anything, Miriam.

That's why I have to go.

Mm...

Mm...

-Do you know
that one of your ears

is larger than the other?

Come here, show me.

- No.
- Show me.

-Show me.
-No.

-Show me.

Yes.

This left ear.

It grew during the night.

-No, no.

No. No, no...