All language subtitles for Hitchcock s02e26 Ten Minutes From Now

I am resorting to this device to attract
attention to our program.

I have no shame whatsoever.

The Town Crier was a 17th century
American newspaper.

As newspapers go, it was rather
primitive.

It had no contests, no crossword
puzzles, no funnies. And, of course, the

colonists couldn't wrap their garbage in
the Town Crier.

They simply threw it at him.

when they disagreed with his editorials.
There was no advertising either. The

more I describe it, the more attractive
it sounds.

Naturally, this has nothing to do with
this evening's play.

Our story is a modern one about a man
who moves about a large city, carrying a

box which was both mysterious and
disquieting.

It follows this advertisement.

As may or may not be voted by the House
in Washington.

For the third time in a week, Thomas
Grindley, the Commissioner of Recreation

and Parks, received letters threatening
his life.

The Commissioner, when interviewed in
his office, could not find any cause for

this attack.

That's true.

I've received several.

I can't imagine why I've been singled
out for these letters, since my office

performs few functions that could
incense anyone to such a degree.

We run the playgrounds and the parks.

Oh, I do set up art exhibits and ceramic
classes and things like that, but

perhaps it's some disgruntled volleyball
player.

But whatever it is, it isn't very
amusing.

And the person who's doing it should
realize they're committing a crime just

mailing such letters.

Where the hell did the package go?

Call the bomb squad.

Commissioner Grinley's office?

What?

Oh, no, no, he hasn't, but... Yes, I'll
see.

I would like to see the park
commissioner immediately.

Do you have an appointment?

I would have mentioned it if I did.

Is this professional or personal?

One might say it will ultimately be a
little bit of both.

What do you mean?

I'm not here to argue the merits of my
visit.

I am not arguing.

It's your duty to announce me now.

You're not the park commissioner?

Lieutenant Weimar, detective bureau.

I haven't done anything.

Why do you want to see the park
commissioner?

Is a visit to a public servant now
considered a criminal offense?

What's in that box?

Call the bomb squad, man.

I'll take it.

Might be waterproof paper.

Outside, Lieutenant.

Your name?

We'll find out anyway.

James Bellington.

For someone whose profession reputedly
deals in facts, you have a penchant for

fantasy.

Read it.

I'll hold it.

To Commissioner Grindley.

You are a boor and a fool.

Completely unqualified to judge what
painting shall or shall not be exhibited

the city art shows.

Since there is no legal means to relieve
the struggling artist in the city of

your prejudice, I shall have to resort
to a bomb.

It's typewritten, but there's no
signature.

Of course not.

You seem to be accusing me of something,
a bomb threat.

Are you prepared to book me on that
charge?

If it's necessary.

I live in the Bedford Apartment Hotel. I
do not have a police record of any

kind, and I have never committed a
crime.

Maybe this is the first.

Or yours.

Against me?

On what basis?

False arrest.

You're only being detained.

How refreshing. A police officer who's
taken the trouble to read and comprehend

the statute laws governing arrest.

Jesus' description?

I need it for the charge. This alarm
clock.

I mean a technical one.

That's it.

But what explosive was used?

That's all.

You mean the explosive was inside the
clock?

He's trying to tell you there is no
more.

It is only a clock.

Not a dolly -esque clock of artistic
significance or a Swiss clock to create

timpanic music.

It is not an heirloom. It's not a bomb
either. It is simply a clock.

A plain pedestrian hand -wound alarm
clock that even someone with your

imagination could buy in a corner
drugstore.

You still didn't say why you want to see
the commissioner.

No, I don't want to see him.

Why not?

For the same reasons I wanted to.

And that is?

Personal reasons.

Private reasons.

Goodbye. You're not going.

Are you arresting me? I only said you
were being detained.

It's false detention. I'll sue you for
false detention.

But certainly a man with your expert
legal knowledge knows there can't be

detention.

I can hold you for eight hours without
booking you for anything.

You're going to be asked some questions.

I don't have to answer.

Oh, well, not by me.

I'm just a cop.

Since you describe yourself as
worthless, it would be impolite of me to

since you're my reluctant host.

But by Dr. Glover.

A doctor?

A psychiatrist.

But how do you make a living?

Like most people.

How's that?

By work, obviously.

You enjoy verbal fencing?

Only when the occasion doesn't merit
anything more profound.

You speak like a man with some sort of
education.

So do you.

Some sort.

Why aren't you wearing a white jacket?

Why should I? Well, you're an M .D.

On the other hand, wearing a white
jacket might raise resistance in

patients who come to see you.

You seem to know something about the
profession.

Too much.

Through reading or personal contact?

May I go?

Why don't you want to answer my
question?

What for?

To help yourself.

I can help you.

How?

If you tell me what is really bothering
you, I might be able to...

To help me adjust.

Perhaps.

Do you know... an artist has to go
through in this world.

I've heard.

Do you know what he has to put up with?

Do you know what uneducated oafs and
clowns do to his work?

Have you ever had a showing of your
paintings in a city or county museum?

Showing?

How can I? How can any artist have any
words with that stupid park commissioner

sitting up there and passing on art?

He didn't pass on them. He did.

A committee of artists and curators
selects the paintings for the city

What artists?

What curators?

I... I don't know. What curators?

I'm not sure.

Lackeys. I'm not through.

Charge me with something.

Name one crime I've committed.

One.

I can only name one you want to commit.

You're smart enough to know we can't
hold you.

We can't force you to take treatments.

But we're smart enough to know one of
two things about you.

Either you're faking your condition.

We can't stop him.

He might even commit suicide or a murder
within the next two or three days.

Why all the secrecy to get me to a hotel
as if we were intelligence agents for

profit? Your drollery doesn't help
sometimes.

It isn't meant to. It's meant to
disturb, provoke.

Mr. Bellingham's room?

It's safe to come in.

We went over the whole room already.

Wally was here?

Of course not.

Pretty awful, aren't they?

The content?

Yes.

But he has a very complex color sense.

That's either heightened psychotic color
awareness, or he has training.

Junk. I'd have turned him down if I'd
have been on the mayor's art committee.

But technique.

He has technique.

That takes control.

Superb technique.

Distorted.

Now, why would a man with technique want
to hide it?

Well, there are classy psychological
reasons.

Remember, I told you all that
psychological stuff, so please don't

to me. They don't apply.

If you look at all this stuff, how can
you find a way to stop them?

You've done the damage already.

What damage?

When he finds out you've been here...
Who'll tell him? Don't be foolish.

never know.

Being both brilliant and paranoid, he
set traps for anyone entering into this

room. I had the squad go over it.

Clever traps.

Things of rational mind would never
notice.

Ashes on the floor. Did anyone step on
them?

A picture. Did anyone pick it up or put
it down? Just one, but I set it back the

way it was.

Exactly the way it was?

Almost. But it has to be exactly,
precisely the way it was.

There are probably 10 or 15 things
around this room that you have touched,

moved, crushed, altered, or modified
just enough to make him walk into this

room, take one look at his hidden traps,
and go right out and build a bomb.

A real bomb.

A true bomb.

To make up for your visit.

I shouldn't have used so much yellow.

I wonder why some paranoids use such an
excessive amount of yellow when they

paint. Jenkins!

Yeah? Get on the car radio.

Call Central Bureau and have about a 24
-hour guard for every member of the

mayor's art committee. Right.

It will only be a matter of hours,
Lieutenant Weimar.

Only hours from the time he sees his
room again.

A couple of 5 -volt batteries, 10 feet
of bell cord, and a roll of friction

tape. Yes, sir.

Hey, Arthur.

Central Bureau, number 63, over.

This is Central.

Go ahead, 63.

Lost Bellington on 2nd Street. Alert
guards at all points and persons.

over. 63, this is Central.

Hey, buddy.

We help you? Yeah. What time is it?

10 .25.

Thanks. Hey, okay if I sit here for a
few minutes? No. No, it isn't. Oh, come

on. It's just for a few minutes.

Who's that package for? Well, that's it.
I'm not supposed to deliver this for

another five minutes.

Exactly. No sooner, no later.

Who is it for?

The director of this museum here.

Who sent it?

A guy named Bellington.

Call the bond squad.

That one cent of your tax dollar goes
into this function.

Now first we will cover the West Wing,
with its displays of Spanish, Dutch, and

Flemish masters.

An unusually large display of such
paintings for a museum of this size.

And next we'll cover the French
Impressionists and contemporary artists.

Then we'll cover their miniatures, and
finally the Statuary Room.

If there are any questions as we move
along, please don't hesitate to ask

Now,

ladies and gentlemen, we are now... I
nearly missed it.

They used to let artists come in here
and sit all day and copy these masters.

Are you an artist?

Not very good, but I try.

You mean you can copy some of these?

Some. I'd hoped to try today.

But I thought you said they didn't allow
it. I realize it's ridiculous of me to

try, but I was half finished a miniature
when they stopped me the last time.

You mean they made you leave?

Oh, no, but they said they would if they
found me copying or bringing in any

paint supplies.

Oh, and just because you wanted to copy
a miniature.

You know how absurd these bureaucratic
rules can be. They're just ridiculous.

But there they are.

Oh, look.

Isn't that a beautiful still life?

I got a nice...

To define

the multiple planes of content... Oh,

well.

Such a noise for a museum.

I guess I won't get to finish it now.

Why not?

Oh, I'm not going to break the law just
to paint a picture.

Oh, that's sensible.

But if they find me with my paint
supplies, they'll confiscate them.

But they're yours.

There's a sign near the front that warns
against anyone bringing in paint or

paint supplies.

Oh, I didn't notice it.

Well, if you were a painter, you would
have.

They'll take mine.

Probably got about $60 worth of supplies
in here.

In that box?

If I try to walk out with it, they'll
probably see me.

They don't examine every package people
bring in here.

They know me. They know I paint.

I don't paint, young man.

Would you? Would you really? I'd be so
grateful. I can't afford to lose them.

But be careful. Hold them tight if they
fell and spilled out.

I understand.

What do you mean to stand guard at the
director's door?

Do you see a man coming through here
carrying a shoebox? No, I haven't.

Where are you going?

There he is.

Stop.

I'll shoot him.

Where's the bomb?

That first bomb, that was a decoy.

Why have you done this?

When we get the second box apart.

Unless it blows up first.

It won't blow up.

We'll prevent it. It won't blow up.

I'll go to it, empty it out and show
you.

If I try to escape, you've enough men
around here to stop me one way or the

other.

You see, only the instruments of my
craft.

A harmless brush.

A defenseless tube of paint.

Some neutral oil.

If you don't mind, I'll go now.

I dislike breaking in at the middle of
our story, but we have some late

news. The station over which you are
viewing our show has just been

identified. Your local announcer will
now provide you with the details, after

which we shall return to our story.

His bombs have all been a hoax.

You've been a detective long enough to
know that many a hoax turns into the

thing. But he's like Quicksilver.

The brilliant paranoia is always like
Quicksilver.

He knows just enough psychiatry to keep
you from finding out anything.

And he knows just enough law to keep me
from doing anything.

Then he's picked his moment to die.

It's the closest he can come to watching
his own funeral.

In the last 12 hours, it's like he wants
us to know where he is. He doesn't try

to run or hide.

He doesn't try to shake the people I
have tailing him.

Then he's made his decision.

Exactly when and where?

Something like that.

If I could get him with dynamite or
nitro in his possession once, just once,

there's a fast way to find out.

The way you decided is good enough.

The faster way.

You beat him up and he'll try even
harder.

I didn't say that.

You meant it.

What are you?

A mind reader or a psychiatrist?

How do you know what I meant?

I only said there are fast ways.

Then let's drop it.

Well, just watch what you say.

Don't go around accusing me of things.

It's my job on the line, not yours,
mine.

If it happens, I get the hook.

If it blows, then I've made the big
mistake.

It goes against me, not you, me.

Yes? Fine.

Sergeant Marklin is here.

Good.

Central Bureau just reported him in a
bar on 24th Street.

Are there any other instructions?

Tell me what I've told you.

Verbatim? In your own words, the way you
understand it.

Avoid arguments. If I find myself
getting into an argument with him,

subject. Don't ask too many questions.
He'll suspect everything.

If he shows any signs of hostility,
offer to leave.

But don't get up to go till he says he
wants you to.

And don't be too aggressive.

You know everything you want to say?

The main ideas and the main subjects.

Our mail will be just across the street.

Remember every detail.

Listen and listen closely.

Everything he says.

Every tone of voice.

Change of inflection.

Every word he utters could be a clue.

If not to you, to us. Can you remember?

I can't, but this will.

For every detail, listen and listen
closely.

Everything he says, every tone of voice,
change of inflection, every word he

utters could be a clue.

Women don't generally like this kind of
program.

That's true. They usually don't.

I wanted to talk to you.

Why?

Because...

I

recognized you.

I like what you did.

I like the way you made the big boys,
the big shot, run all over.

I mean, I admire anybody who can make
the fat cats jump and run.

Louise Marklin.

I live around here.

I didn't ask you where you live.

I didn't mean it that way.

What way?

Oh, you know.

If you think I meant it that way, I
didn't, not at all.

Okay, you meant it another way.

I just wanted to tell you that I admire
what you did.

I mean, when you make a whole town sit
up and take notice, that takes a lot.

Well, I told you. I'll go now.

No, you stay.

Can I buy you a drink?

That's a good way to prove it.

Prove what?

That you're not the kind of a girl that
goes around striking up friendships in

public bistros in order to get drinks.

Goodbye.

No.

I like people who like me.

Of course.

Don't we all?

Touché. As the saying goes in certain
cosmopolitan centers of the world.

I'm not having a contest with you.

It's too bad.

I like contests.

I despise opposition.

But I like contests.

Contests without opponents.

Neat.

That way when I lose, I win.

When I'm the victor, I've only defeated
myself, but I don't mind because I have

won.

The papers say you're an artist.

Of sorts.

Objective?

A lady has an education.

Well, yes.

And something.

I'm an objective subjectivist.

I don't know that.

Okay, then I'm a subjective objectivist.

Are you putting me on? Are you putting
me on?

No. Who sent you to talk to me?

No one. The newspapers?

No one, honestly.

One of those lousy yellow journals that
dip into the slop bucket of human misery

to print their pseudo -human interest
stories?

I'm a secretary for a building firm.

Off work so soon?

The office closes at four.

Eight to four.

The building trades start early, you
know.

No, I didn't, no.

Prove it.

I have a business card with my hours on
it.

Unfortunately, I left them at the
office.

Why are you always trying to prove
something?

Well, because you seem to want proof.

Doesn't everyone have everything?

Prove you love me.

Prove you need me. Prove you want me.

Prove I'm your friend. Prove you're
mine.

Prove life is sweet and time is not
fleeting.

Prove your proof.

And then, prove it was worth it.

You're a scary man.

I'm a painter.

You said so. How can a painter be a
scary man?

No wonder you have the big cats pawing
the air.

You said fat cats the last time.

I meant it.

I like you.

Louise, that's it, Louise?

Are you married?

Well, in a way, sort of.

Divorced?

No.

My husband travels a lot.

You live around here?

You go too fast.

I thought you were in a hurry.

I can go fast, slow down, go fast. I've
got all the time in the world.

That's if you don't get into trouble.

Oh, I won't get into trouble.

They'll have to be a lot smarter than
they are before they get me into

Oh, I wish I had the nerve to do what
you've done.

Takes knowledge.

Planning.

And a need greater than a wish.

I want to do something daring.

Something that tells the whole world to
jump when I say jump.

Go in the red light, stay on the green.

Across the street in the middle of the
block.

Make a right -hand turn from a left
-hand lane. Tell everybody what you

when you think it. Or hate when you want
to hate.

I don't have the nerve to do anything
but stay married to a man I despise

and every morning go to a job I loathe.

You should see the next job I have
planned.

Would you let me?

Why not?

The whole police force will be watching.

And the big shots.

Why not unimportant Louise?

Prove to me why you can't.

What will it be like?

It's a plan that will work like a clock.

Bong, bong, can't go wrong.

Even some of the best plans do,
sometimes.

Not this one.

They wouldn't dare.

This won't be an ordinary device.

No.

This will be a... A button.

A smooth, black, efficient button.

To be held firmly, wisely.

but strongly.

And if anyone tries to make me release
that button before I've been where I

to go and seen who I want and obtained
what I want,

then we shall all be

destroyed together.

The loved and the

hated.

Help me!

Let's get him!

Let's get that guy!

All right, you men, cover the exit.

I'm putting you down there, three.

Upstairs. Come on.

Stop, everybody, stop!

One more step, and I release this
button.

I've changed my mind.

I've decided there's no point in just
revenge.

I said I would.

Now you're showing some sense.

One more step and I release this button.

Exactly. Ten minutes.

I shall release this button.

I could just talk to you.

Words are father to the deed.

Words are father to the deed.

Words are father to the deed.

How much damage could a box that size
do?

With some of these new type combinations
he's built this building up.

Words are father to the deed.

Words are father to the deed. But for
what?

All this art destroyed?

What a sterile protest.

There are no victories.

Only protest.

There are no victories.

Only protest.

In exactly nine minutes, I shall release
this button.

If you should be, the button will be
released before I hit the floor.

Out in eight minutes.

Why not now?

All right, now.

Go!

Let the people get out first.

I haven't done anything to you.

Come on.

I didn't mean to challenge you.

I meant to help you.

I wanted to see... Get that hypocrite
out of here before he provokes me to

a terrible mistake!

How many have you taken?

Five so far.

And we don't have time for any more
after this. I can't hold them off that

But with the paintings you made to
replace the other two, that'd give us

seven we were going to take. It's not
worth the risk.

You know, if I do say so myself, my
imitation's better than the original.

By the time anybody discovers the
difference, we'll be on our way to

City.

Hey. Boom.

My finger was getting sore.

And a sore finger's worth a half a
million dollars.

That much?

Of course.

You don't think I'd steal the paintings
before I sold them?

My public awaits.

About the bomb.

Bomb? What bomb?

There's no bomb. There never was. There
isn't going to be.

But... But the clock.

The wires. The button.

You told her.

Is there a law against buttons?

Against wires?

Dr. Glover, you're an incompetent man.

But an educated one.

Will you please tell this man he has no
case against me whatsoever?

You're going to jail.

Oh, really?

Name one law I've broken.

One. I didn't chase you. You chased me.
I never said I would blow anyone up. You

said it. I never had an explosive of any
kind in my possession.

You're disturbing the peace.

Provoked by you, and if you don't
release me immediately, I shall sue you

one million dollars and win.

Well, we can't arrest a man for what he
thinks, and much less for what we think.

Or for what we did that he didn't do.

Release him.

I suppose it would be too much to expect
one of your men to get me a cab.

Of course, I understand.

Fortunately, our hero chose to celebrate
a bit early.

The paintings were traced, and he is now
helping to manufacture cardboard boxes

for the state.

Of course, this program is not to be
interpreted as an endorsement of bomb

threats, even when used by collectors of
modern art.

As for what this program does endorse, I
shall leave that to the town crier I

hear in the wings.