All language subtitles for Alfred Hitchcock s03e01 The Glass Eye.eng

Good evening.

Tonight's narrative is about a private
eye.

A very private eye.

A glass eye is a very interesting
object.

For one thing, I've always thought a
glass eye would be better than the real

article. It never gets bloodshot.

And being made of glass, it must
certainly be easier to see through.

This evening, due to one of those
delightful coincidences, our story

be about a glass eye.

It is entitled The Glass Eye.

You see, everything fits in.

What appalls me is that Cousin Julia had
no one to leave her things to.

No one except us, that is.

Did she ever let you know how lonely she
was?

Nobody in the family ever knew much
about Julia. She was impossible to know.

She never talked about herself.

Well, I simply don't understand how she
could possibly have stood it, living

here so alone.

I wonder what went on in her mind.

Do you... suppose she ever stood here
staring at these ships and dreaming that

she one day might sail right out of this
drab little room?

Once she very nearly did.

Just once.

Let me show you something, Dorothy.

Oh, how horrible.

What is it?

An eye.

Glass eye.

What a strange thing to keep.

Stranger than you think.

If ever a life was symbolized by any one
single object, Julia's was.

And by this.

This glass eye.

How do you mean?

I only got to know about it long after
it happened.

Julia was still in her thirties then.

Many years ago.

The loneliness, the desolation of her
life were beyond belief, for she herself

was unaware of just how lonely and
desolate it really was.

I imagine that long ago she had found a
way to escape into a world where emotion

and feeling never intrude.

In her own way, I suppose, she was
happy.

She, well, adjusted to it.

Every morning she made tea on the single
flame.

When she would dress, go to work as a
clerk for an old -fashioned solicitor, a

man named Malfrey.

who wrote to his clients by hand, making
copies by the old moist paper method.

And each day, like clockwork, she
lunched cheaply at a tea shop, where she

steadily from the volumes of the
Toshnitz edition of the best English

She had worked her way down to the
elves.

Did she look at those two young people
and wonder why life had passed her by?

I wish I knew.

In the evening, she cooked a simple
meal, fried some ham, perhaps, or a chop

boiled vegetables.

All in the same single flame, a
complicated conjuring trick involving

juggling of pots and pans.

She had nothing to anticipate, but
retiring early, seldom later than ten or

past.

Did she hope that the young man in the
flat above might come home one night and

by mistake enter the wrong room?

Did she ever dream of a life with a
husband, a home, and children?

How could Julia, whose life had been so
loveless, possibly have known that when

love did come, it might lead to
something dangerous and horrifying?

Yet there is one small twist in it, one
odd and unaccountable

thing.

Late one summer, as she was accustomed
to do every Saturday afternoon, Julia

took the small son of a neighbor to the
old music hall in Fulham.

She worshipped the boy, lavishing all
her love on him, looking forward to the

one day a week when her neighbor
entrusted the child to her devoted care.

She fed him lunch on those days, bought
him a toy or a book, and the only reward

he ever gave her was a smile. Still, it
was enough for Julia.

Enough until the summer afternoon.

the day she first saw Max Collodi.

Ladies and gentlemen, the management of
the music hall takes pride in presenting

the high spot of this week's program,
the great Max Collodi, gentleman

ventriloquist, and his amazing dummy,
George.

Well, George?

Here we are back in Fulham once again.

What do you think about Fulham?

I can't say.

You can't say? Why not?

I haven't been around.

Oh. No money?

That's right.

I'm a little short this week.

You forgot my lemonade.

Now, George, before we go ahead with our
act, I want to ask you a question.

Did you give fresh water to the goldfish
this morning?

Goldfish? Yes, goldfish.

Fresh water?

Yes. Did you give fresh water to the
goldfish this morning?

What for?

They haven't finished the water I gave
them yesterday.

I'm thirsty.

I'll tell Mommy you were mean to me.
Please, Alan, dear, just as soon as this

act is over.

George.

Do you like going to school?

I like Sunday school best.

I'm glad to hear that.

Tell me, why do you prefer it?

Because I only have to go once a week.

Do you suppose he could be Italian?

I'm thirsty.

Oh, please, Alan, in a moment, dear.

That name, Max Collodi, do you suppose
that could be Italian?

I said I'm thirsty.

Why not?

What key is best for unlocking the
tongue?

Here, Alan, dear.

You buy yourself some lemonade or
whatever you want. I'll be right back.

You're not going to leave me, are you?
No. Mommy says I'm never to be left

alone. No, dear. I'll be right there at
the other side of the lobby.

I

want

a ticket for tonight.

Just one.

Thank you.

Where are we going now?

Let's go back inside.

No, dear.

No, I have to go straight home.

I have a great deal to do this evening.

Such a great deal, really, to do.

But he didn't leave you any money, did
he?

No. I am the executor of his estate. And
he left me 500 quid for a memorial

stone. And this is it.

George, I refuse to work with you
tonight unless you answer a very

question. You refuse to work with me?

Now that's a bit of news.

Where would you be without me?

Please, George.

All right.

Ask whatever you like.

George, have you ever met a girl you
cared for?

Have I ever met a girl I cared for?

Yes. It was love at first sight.

Wonderful, George, wonderful.

Are you going to marry her?

No.

No, but I thought that you... Yes?

I thought you said it was love at first
sight.

I took a second look.

And so all in the summer's day and
night, a warmth came to Julia she had

known before.

She did not know exactly what it was she
felt for Max Collodi. Certainly if she

had known, she could never have
confessed it to herself. Not that first

anyway.

She couldn't get his image out of her
mind.

Max Collodi, a wonderful name, she
thought. A name full of poetry.

Max Collodi.

Mrs. Max Collodi.

Madam Collodi. Or was it to be...

Signora Collodi.

Suppose she was Signora Collodi.

She was lying in the upper room of the
villa in Italy on the outskirts of Rome.

Max had been appearing at the theater.

It was his footsteps she heard now.

He would come in.

He would come close to her. She would
hold him. She would comfort him. She

send him to sleep.

Max.

That was the beginning of Julia's
romance with Max Collodi.

And this was the end of it.

Let me tell you something, Dorothy.

This.

She managed to steal it from one of the
theatres in London where he appeared.

And these programmes.

From the Hippodrome at Streatham.

The Bavarian at Sinsbury.

Every night she traveled across London
to pay her half -crown to sit in the

balconies wherever he appeared.

How pitiful.

Was it really, Dorothy?

Or was it better to have these programs
to look at every night before she went

to bed?

And every morning before she set off to
work?

No. It wasn't pitiful.

It was frightening.

As you see, Julia had made a resolution.

A resolution?

Yes.

She resolved to meet Max Collodi.

He had to love her as she loved him, no
matter what.

No matter what she had to do.

Julia wrote Max Collodi a letter.

I'm not able to quote it.

I don't know what was in it.

I do know that somewhere in the course
of it, she asked if she might meet him.

She'd given her employer her notice.

She had read that the great Collodi was
going on tour of the provinces.

She had a small capital accumulated
through many years of saving, and she

proposed living on this while she
followed Collodi about the country.

So for a while at least, possibly
forever, who could know?

It was goodbye to the alarm clock, the
narrow bed, the lonely meals, the faded

wallpaper.

Collodi had replied to her very first
letter saying he was grateful for her

praises, but that he never gave
interviews.

Nevertheless, Julia went on writing and
he went on replying.

Finally, he asked her to send him a
photograph and Julia, with great

trepidation, sent him a blurred snapshot
taken long ago when she was 23.

As she grew more persistent in her
letters, he grew more benevolent.

He began to hint a meeting might be
possible.

Finally, in Blackpool, it happened.

Yes? A letter for you, ma 'am.

Come in.

Are you Miss Julia Lester? Yes.

He sent this letter by hand.

He'd given me just ten minutes ago
backstage.

Take it to the lady, he said, ma 'am.

Max.

Max Collodi.

Yes, ma 'am.

Oh.

Thank you.

Thank you so much. Thank you, ma 'am.

My dear Miss Lester.

Like all of us in show business, I, too,
have a certain amount of the theatrical

within my makeup.

Therefore, you must forgive my exacting
certain conditions for this, our first

meeting.

Our first meeting!

This first time, you were only to stay
five

minutes.

Later, perhaps...

If you still wish to go on seeing me, we
might arrange longer appointments.

If you do not mind being received with
no other chaperone than my dummy George,

then, dear lady, come to the Seabank
Hotel on Mortimer Street at ten o 'clock

tonight after my performance at the
Winter Garden Theatre.

Respectfully, Max Collodi.

Oh, imagine.

Imagine him writing...

If you still wish to go on seeing me.

Oh, perhaps he may not notice how much
I've changed since the snapshot.

You see, I... How did I do my hair?

I had it... What I'm trying to do is to
look as

I once did in a snapshot.

What do you think?

Most becoming.

Women of my age must be more
discriminating.

I suppose so.

What time is it?

Past closing time, madam.

Half past six.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

I'll take this one, the one I've got on.
Very well, I'll have it wrapped. Oh,

no, no, that's all right. I'll wear it.

I'm in a hurry, you see.

Thank you, madam.

You would not want me to go into details
about the hour and a half Julia spent

that night before the mirror.

Nor will I say anything about the agony
she must have undergone before she could

make up her mind what to wear.

But it was 9 .30, and no turning back.

Mr. Max Collodi's room.

He expecting you? Yes.

Number seven.

Number seven? First floor.

Down that corridor.

Mr. Collodi?

Max Collodi at your service.

I'm most grateful to you that you will
consent to see me.

And I'm most flattered, dear lady.

Adulation is something one savors all
too seldom at close quarters.

Oh, forgive the darkness, but I have an
aversion to strong light.

I suppose because in my professional
life I'm constantly exposed to glare and

fortune.

You are...

May I say something?

But of course.

You're just as I knew you would be.

So, so handsome.

Thank you.

There was a woman I remember.

She sat just behind me during your
performance at the old palace at Fulham.

That was when I first saw you.

She said he's too handsome for my
liking.

Of course, I was furious with her.

You're not disappointed in my
appearance?

Your devotion touches me more deeply
than anything in my whole life.

You are most beautiful.

Please sit down.

I thought the snap I sent you was taken
a while back.

You have mellowed with time.

Some people do not.

Oh, I am so grateful to you for letting
me come.

I've said that before, haven't I?

Actually, I'm... Well, tense, I suppose.

You know, I've seen every one of your
performances since that first one a year

ago. It is I who am grateful to you,
dear lady.

My life, I regret to tell you, has been
an unbelievably lonely one.

Oh. Of course, you wouldn't know how
that is.

Oh, forgive me.

Did I say something to you? No, no.

I was just thinking how lonely your life
must be after all.

We in the audience never think of an
artist as being lonely.

I suppose we only think about ourselves.

I do want to come back again.

And my time, I see, is almost up.

Mr. Collodi, I don't quite know how to
say this.

But ever since I first saw you, I've had
the greatest urge to touch you.

Oh! Ma 'am! Ma 'am!

Madame.

In her desperation, without knowing it,
she picked up the eye.

And that's the story of Julia and Max
Collodi.

And this is all she had to remember of
her one love, of her one chance to, as

you say, sail out of this room forever.

Oh, Jim, how terrible for her.

But what about Max Collodi?

Yes, what happened to him?

He made no more appearances.

There were no more notices about him in
stage magazine.

But I have heard of a small traveling
circus somewhere in the provinces

which has a strange clown in its
company.

He has a beautiful voice.

And the children love to watch him, it
is said, because he is so very sad and

yet so very funny.

That was a heartwarming little story,
wasn't it?

Obviously, heaven does protect the
working girl.

Now I have a confession.

This is not a glass eye.

We were unable to find one, but we got
the next best thing. I hope you don't

mind.

Good night.

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