All language subtitles for Night.Gallery.S01E00.1080p.BluRay.x264-PFa-1

Good evening, and welcome
to a private showing...

of three paintings displayed
here for the first time.

Each is a collector's
item in its own way.

Not because of any
special artistic quality,

but because each
captures on a canvas...

Suspends in time and space...

A frozen moment of a nightmare.

Our initial offering... a small
gothic item in blacks and grays,

a piece of the past
known as the family crypt.

This one we call
simply The Cemetery.

Offered to you now... six feet
of earth and all that it contains.

Ladies and gentlemen,
this is the Night Gallery.

Anything more you
need, Mr. Hendricks?

Then I'll move you to the
window, sir, for a few minutes.

Oh.

Aw. Appetite not so good today.

It never is at lunchtime, sir.

Then why do you load it up that
way, Portifoy? That is wasteful, Portifoy.

Mr. Hendricks doesn't
complain, Mr. Jeremy.

And he also pays for it.

Tell me something, Portifoy.

During all those 30 years you
have been waiting hand and foot...

on that dying blob
of flesh upstairs,

you didn't know there was a nephew
in the woodwork, did you, Portifoy?

Nor did your uncle, sir.

Well, now you do.

So dwell on it, Portifoy.

Tell me something, Portifoy.

When did my
uncle... paint that one?

Just before his
last stroke, sir.

Hmm. How festive. Yet which
brings to question, Portifoy,

not only my uncle's
minimal talents...

but also his somewhat morbid preoccupation
with all things dead and dying.

Tell me something. What did my uncle
do for kicks before his several illnesses?

I mean, with all that money,

what other interests did he
have besides, um, painting?

His painting has been
his only pleasure, sir.

And the house.
That's all he's cared for.

Oh, yeah. So my dear late
mother used to tell me, Portifoy.

She herself died at a relatively
early age from overwork...

and a surplus of pride.

She couldn't bring herself to crawl across
to that rich recluse of a brother of hers.

She had her dignity
to consider, Portifoy.

That was her
long suit... dignity.

As a result, I have spent
a good deal of my life...

acquiring a taste for the good life but
somehow never acquiring the means.

How sad, sir.

Ah, it's only a passing
sadness, Portifoy.

If painting was my
uncle's only indulgence,

I anticipate a much
more carefree existence...

as of the day he stops staring
at this particular point of view...

and becomes a part of it.

Why don't you say what
you're thinking, Portifoy?

I am a scoundrel, am I not?

You're a swine, sir.

What refreshing candor.

Well, now you just get that right out
of your system. You hear, Portifoy?

Because as of the
day I take over here...

and you bare those
ancient fangs at me,

I'm gonna pull
them... one by one.

Hmm.

Uncle?

Uncle? I've come to
have a little chat with you.

Ah.

Now, now, now, now.
Don't you move. No, sirree.

You just sit right there and you
let me handle all the conversation.

Oh, you know, I have had
the most interesting morning.

Oh, I have. I went through all
the correspondence in your desk.

Yeah. Guess what I came across.

Yeah, correspondence.

Letters between
you and your lawyer.

Having to do with?

Yes. Having to
do with your will.

Oh, Uncle, I tell you, I was really
impressed by your literary style.

Yes, sirree. Cogent,
right... right to the point.

I mean, you say what you
have to say. I'm very impressed.

And as to the contents,
more impressed.

I mean, to discover that you had
made my mother your beneficiary...

I tell you now, that touched
me, Uncle. I was deeply touched.

Now, what was the other thing?
Yeah, I know. I wrote it down.

I got it right here.

"That should she not be alive,

it would go to
her sole survivor."

Oh, now, Uncle.

Now you believe me when I
tell you that, when I read that,

I wept... I actually wept.

Oh, what a good heart.
What massive compassion.

It's stuffy in here, isn't it?

Don't you think it's
stuffy in here, Uncle?

Yeah, all right.

There. Oh, yeah.

That's better.

I wouldn't call for
Portifoy, Uncle.

Now, really I wouldn't.

Why disturb that old
gentleman? He has been

waiting hand and foot
on you for 30 years.

So why don't we just
give him the afternoon off.

Huh. Now,

I have been told by
your medical advisors...

to keep you away from drafts.

It seems that you are susceptible
to colds, perhaps even pneumonia.

Well, now let us just put
that medical advice to the test,

shall we?

Let us see just how
susceptible you are.

Voilà. Isn't that
refreshing, Uncle?

Oh, the cold.

The wind. Isn't that refreshing?

And think of this,
if you will, Uncle.

Your last view of life...

That family
graveyard down there.

Now you remember it well.

Drink it all in, Uncle,
like a new tenant...

investigating his new abode.

Very well. I shall
leave you now...

undisturbed.

And neither Portifoy
nor I shall come back

in this room for, let
us say, an hour, Uncle.

Or perhaps two...
However long it takes.

However long it takes to, uh,

simplify things.

No change.

The doctor says he may
remain in a coma for some time.

Pity.

I'm told you've become
acquainted with, uh,

certain aspects of the will.

Only certain aspects that
were lying around loose...

and unattended
in my uncle's desk.

Tell me, who told you of
my comforting discovery?

A little bird.

A little bird in
a butler's suit...

who should watch out that he
doesn't get his little beak smashed.

However, Mr. Carson,

seeing that my mother
was the major beneficiary...

and I am her sole survivor,

well, that would mean that
everything would come to me.

The man's not dead yet!

Do you suppose you
might stifle those great

expectations of yours
till the body's cold?

Mr. Hendricks has passed on.

He, uh, never
regained consciousness.

May I claim my inheritance now?

Would it be too much trouble to first
go through the motions of a funeral...

and a reasonable
period of mourning?

Is that a legal
requirement, counselor?

Let's say it's just what might
be expected of a civilized man...

as an act of respect
and appreciation.

Well, you see, Mr. Carson,

I'm not a civilized man.

I'm a black sheep
nephew... with an itch.

And now, Doctor, if I may impose upon you
to take care of the burial and all that.

Put it on the bill. He'll be
buried in the family plot.

He mentioned that to
me many times. Lovely.

And now, if either one of you
gentlemen should need me,

I will be in there.

Doctor!

Doctor, shouldn't he be covered
or somethin', or his hands folded?

I mean, isn't that part of the
ritual, that he look at peace?

He should be resurrected... for as long as
it takes to cut you off and boot you out.

That would give him peace.

Never mind, Portifoy.
We'll show ourselves out.

Would you care to pay
your last respects, Portifoy?

- He's gone, sir?
- Permanently.

Oh, uh, item of
interest, Portifoy.

There is a small stipend
mentioned in the will for you.

I believe it's, oh, $80 a month
for as long as you shall live.

Eighty dollars?

Eighty dollars... a month.

I'd like to stay, sir,
with your permission.

Oh, excellent. Crazy.

Well, now, I'll tell
you what, Portifoy.

First thing on the agenda will be to
remove the bulk of this grotesquerie and...

Something, sir?

Well, that's odd. Odd, sir?

- Look at this.
- Look at what, sir?

The picture. The
painting, stupid. Look at it.

It's been altered.

I don't understand.

Haven't you got eyes? Can't you
see? Now that has been altered.

It's a freshly dug grave.

I see nothing wrong, sir.

Well, forget it. Just forget it.

Uh...

You may go now. I'd like
my dinner at the usual time.

Oh, yeah.

Well, as I breathe and live,
if it isn't Osmond Portifoy.

Osmond Portifoy.

If there's nothing else, sir, I
thought I'd lock up and retire.

That is your life, isn't it,
Portifoy... Locking up and retiring.

You know,

to my dying day, I'm gonna
carry a picture of you...

walkin' through life...
Stiff-backed, straight-legged,

carrying a tray and
towels over your arm...

and that reproving
look in your eye.

Hey, you know that look,
now, don't you, Portifoy?

How shall I describe it?

Ah, yeah. Like, uh...

Like a bank manager
finding an incorrect balance.

It-It-It... It's changed again.

It's changed again.

Portifoy?

There is a casket
in that painting now.

There is a casket in there now!
Now, that was not there before!

What-What is happenin'? What
in God's name is happenin'?

I brought you some hot tea, sir.

I don't want any hot tea.

Suit yourself, sir.

Portifoy. Yes, sir?

Did you look at the
painting like I told ya?

Yes, sir. It's hanging
there as usual.

As usual?

Well, I-I... I don't understand.

I burned it. I
threw it on the fire.

And I watched it bubble and
crinkle up. I watched it disappear.

And there it is on
the wall... as usual.

Imagination, sir.

Imagination?

You burned me. Deliberately.

Oh, no, no, Portifoy.
That was your imagination.

The tray, the teapot,
your scalded wrist...

That's all your imagination.

Isn't that the catch-all
explanation to cover

all the phenomena that
goes on around here?

I tell you, this is not a haunt.
It's a prolonged hallucination.

Get out of here. If I
want you, I'll call you.

If you call me, Mr. Jeremy,

you call long distance.

What are you talking about?

I do not intend to spend
another night in this house.

- No?
- No.

In life, he needed me.

But in death, it's obvious he's
strong enough to take care of himself.

Now you look here, old
man. Death is final. Death is it.

I think not, Mr. Jeremy.

I think there are things stronger than
death and more lasting than the grave.

Portifoy? I think hate is
stronger than death, Mr. Jeremy.

And I think you're
beginning to realize that.

I shall spend the night in the hotel
in town and send for my things later.

But what about me?
What am I supposed to do?

Who's gonna tend
to my wants now?

Use your imagination, Mr. Jeremy.
You're rather good at that!

Tell me something, Uncle.

Why don't you stay
where you belong?

That is as close to a toast as
you'll ever get from me, alive or dead!

Portifoy?

Portifoy?

Portifoy!

Portifoy!

Portifoy!

Portifoy!

Operator, would you put me
through to the hotel in town.

Yeah, I know, I know. But you
see, I don't have the number.

I would be grateful.

Hello? Hello? Would you
connect me with Osmond Portifoy?

He checked in
there this afternoon.

What do you mean you can't
ring his room? You gotta ring...

Well, I don't care if it's 3:00
in the morning! Now, you...

Oh!

O-Operator?

My name is Jeremy Evans.
I'm-I'm at the Hendricks house.

And there's an intruder
here. Now, would you

call the police and have
them come over right...

Right away?

No! I tell you, I can
hear him outside.

Now, will you please...
please call the police

right now and have them
come over right away.

Yeah. Yeah.

Who... Who is it?

Who is there?

Who is out there?

You!

You don't belong here!
You belong in the ground!

You! You're dead!

You belong in the
grave! You're dead!

Hello. Doctor?

This is Portifoy at
the Hendricks house.

I'm afraid there's
been an accident, sir.

Yes, sir. Mr. Jeremy seems
to have fallen down the stairs.

I believe he's dead.

It appears his neck
has been broken.

Thank you, Doctor.
I'll leave a light on.

So I think a long vacation would
be in order for you, Gibbons.

You have performed your
task... extraordinarily well.

You really have.

Fifteen paintings
at $500 apiece.

Cheap at the price, I'd say.

Indeed, indeed.

Thank you.

Should I count it? If
you like. It's all there,

plus 500 extra.

You're no Rembrandt, Gibbons,
but you do have an uncanny knack...

of imitating other
people's style.

You can afford it, I take it.

The savings of a lifetime.

But just a temporary
inconvenience.

Perhaps I neglected
to tell you...

Mr. Hendricks was a
most-thoughtful old gentleman.

In his will, he stipulated that if
there were no surviving family...

six months after his demise,

his entire estate would be
inherited by his old family retainer...

Yours truly.

Run along now, Gibbons.
Enjoy the fruits of your labors.

What if the nephew
hadn't broken his neck?

What would you have done then?

Put something in his brandy?

Don't be crude, Gibbons.

If, uh, that unfortunate
accident hadn't happened to him,

he would have gone
slowly out of his mind.

And once he was committed,

I would be just where I am now.

Same end, just different means.

Would you... throw this
in a ditch someplace?

The trappings of
death depress me.

From now on, this is
going to be a place of cheer.

Well, good night, Gibbons.

Good night, Portifoy.
Uh... Mr. Portifoy.

Mr. Portifoy.

Rest easy, Mr. Hendricks.

Rest easy.

Back, Jeremy.

Back, Jeremy. Back, Jeremy.

Back, Jeremy. Back, Jeremy.

Back into the ground
where you belong!

Back! Back, Jeremy.
Back, Jeremy.

Back. Back!

Back, Jeremy.

Back!

Back, Jeremy.

Objet d'art number two.

A portrait. Its subject...
Miss Claudia Menlo.

A blind queen who reigns in a
carpeted penthouse on Fifth Avenue.

An imperious,
predatory dowager...

who will soon find a darkness
blacker than blindness.

This is her story.

Oops. I'm sorry. You're
looking for Miss Menlo?

Mm-hmm. Penthouse. You can't miss
her. She's the only one in the building.

Yes, I know. You know her?

I've been her doctor for years.

Say, that's a very
good likeness.

Not really, Doctor. There was
one thing I couldn't capture.

What's that? Her cruelty.

Well, Miss Menlo has
been blind from birth.

- Cause and effect, huh?
- Mm-hmm.

I'll tell you, Doctor. I was
commissioned to do this a month ago.

One final application of
lacquer and I am finished.

I used to wonder what kind of woman
built an apartment house on Fifth Avenue...

and then installed
herself as the only tenant.

Well, I'll tell you what kind
of a woman it is, Doctor.

A tiny, fragile little monster...
That kind of woman!

Afternoon.

Hello, Dr. Heather ton. Miss Menlo's
expecting you. Can I take your coat?

That's all right. Thanks.

How deliciously
prompt you are, Doctor.

You're only an hour
late. I saw your painting.

I think the artist
has done you justice.

If he has, Dr. Heather ton,

he's the only one in the 54-year
history of my sojourn on earth.

No one has ever done me justice,

beginning with God.

I'm sorry to be late. I've been
in surgery most of the day.

I'm impressed.

I always am with you. You're
constantly and eternally...

the gentle healer.

Now then, what
are we to talk about?

What we've already talked
about on the telephone.

Well, as I've already
told you, Miss Menlo,

the surgical procedure you questioned
me about has been tried only on animals.

- Successfully.
- A chimpanzee and a dog.

Both subjects had optic
nerves regrafted from

donors whose visual
organs were unimpaired.

In both cases, they
were able to see...

One for a few moments,
the other for a period of hours.

The donors, of course, were
rendered permanently sightless.

So, you see, Miss Menlo, this is nothing
more than a breakthrough, a beginning.

If it can work on animals, it
can also work on human beings.

One doesn't have to be a
high-priced Fifth Avenue surgeon...

to make this altogether
reasonable assumption.

High-priced or otherwise, Miss Menlo, no
surgeon would ever make such an assumption.

Nor would he put it to a test. You
must understand something, Miss Menlo.

In the first place, the
best you could expect...

Assuming the transplanting of the
central optic nerve was successful...

Would be roughly 11 to
13 hours of sight, no more.

Then you'd be blind again.

And then of course there's that
other insurmountable obstacle.

What is the
insurmountable obstacle?

To put it simply, Miss
Menlo, you need a donor,

someone who'd be willing to part
with his sight for the rest of his life...

to give you roughly
12 hours of it.

I don't believe there's
such a person around.

Nonsense, Doctor!
Everyone has a price.

For their eyes? I
seriously doubt that.

Well, that's where you're wrong.

My lawyer has found
such a person for me.

He represented him in a
criminal case sometime ago.

The man needs the
money desperately.

He's agreed to become the
donor and part with his eyes...

for a sum of cash.
How much cash?

$9,000. That's what the individual
required. That's what I'm paying.

Miss Menlo, listen
to me very carefully.

There are four men who could conceivably
perform the operation you're talking about.

I'm one of the four, but I can
speak for the others as well.

I would no more remove the
eyesight of another human being...

so that you might enjoy
a few hours of sight

than I would
deliberately kill a child.

Is that clear to you?

I want you to read
something, Dr. Heather ton.

In this envelope, I
have a complete file...

on one Dr. Frank Heather ton.

The impeccable Dr. Heather ton.

The respectable Dr. Heather ton.

Go ahead. Read it.

I told you all men had a price.

That's because all men
have something to hide.

And you, Doctor,

you have more than most.

All there, I believe.

Do you recall the young woman?

Miss Grace Reardon, age 22,

who died on a kitchen table
because the abortionist...

had the hygienic habits of a pig
and the surgical deftness of a...

Of a paperhanger.

She made the trip to that
butcher at the behest of you...

That rigidly moral, antiseptically
pure physician who...

Who might on occasion,
as he did on this occasion,

reveal a slightly gamier
side to his character.

The release of
this information...

would not enhance either
your professional standing...

or your marriage.

Would it, Doctor?

No. No, it would quite obviously
destroy me as a physician...

and it would wreck a
25-year-old marriage.

If that's what you've set
out to do, Miss Menlo,

you've got all the
proper ammunition.

As must be obvious over your
many protracted loyal years...

of hand-holding with this
dull, imperious woman,

I have no interest in
helping or hurting anyone.

I couldn't care less about
your extracurricular activities...

or my lawyer's off-Wall
Street productions...

or anything else that
doesn't involve me.

My abiding concern, Doctor,
and my singular preoccupation is...

myself.

Eleven hours or 12... Fewer or
more... it makes no difference.

I want to see something...

Trees, concrete, buildings,

grass, airplanes, color!

The idle rich.

A little something
to ease the boredom.

Like scrounging around in the
dirt, like a dog looking for a bone,

and finally unearthing whatever
it is that a man must keep secret...

to guarantee his survival.

All right, Miss Menlo.

Why? I don't know, but I
put a premium on my survival.

I'll perform the operation.
The donor, who is he?

I'll have my lawyer contact
you and give you his name.

He's an inconsequential
little hoodlum.

You can arrange with Packer
as to where it will all take place.

Because I want it to take place as quickly
as possible. Is that clear to you, Doctor?

What's clear to me, Miss Menlo,
is that you're to be satisfied...

For a whim, a fancy, a few
sweeps of some clock hands.

While you indulge yourself, a man
will deliver up his eyes, thanks to me.

I just hope the poor...

Realizes how much
he sold for so little.

Lou, don't play games with me.

My stomach's coming
up through my throat.

Hey, maybe you'll luck out
and choke on it, huh, Sidney?

Please. Will you have a heart?

I'm dizzy. I'm telling you,
this thing makes me sick.

Hey, this makes you sick? Well, you
don't know the meaning of the word.

I'll tell you about
"sick," Sidney.

You owe 9,000 bucks and
you've owed it for too long.

That's sick, baby. That's
terminal, you know?

Lou, I'm... I'm gonna get
the 9,000 bucks tomorrow.

I'm gonna be some kind
of a guinea pig for a doctor.

I'm gonna have a... Have
an operation of some kind.

I'm gonna get the whole
9,000 bucks for you.

You don't stop, do ya,
Sidney? On my father's grave.

The truth... Nothing
but the truth.

I'll give you this. You
got some imagination.

It's to laugh, huh?

What kind of operation?

I'm not allowed to say.

Ahh. I swear to
God, Lou, that's it!

It's an operation, and I'm not
allowed to say anything about it.

It's illegal or something.

But I swear, that's the goods.

I'm supposed to have a meeting
about it tomorrow afternoon...

with a lawyer and a doctor.

And then tomorrow night, I'm
supposed to check into a private hospital.

And I get my money when?

As soon as they give it to me.

Any time after 3:00.
You come to my place.

I'll have it for you.

All right, Sidney.

I'll be in your room
tomorrow afternoon.

If the 9,000 isn't there with you, you
get 15 seconds to say your prayers.

It's been nice having
this little chat with you.

Well, what do you think,
Doctor? Will he pass?

Yeah, I think so. I'll have
to do some more extensive

tests at the hospital,
but I think he'll do.

After all, we're not asking too much
of him. Just his damned eyes, that's all.

She's got you too,
huh? That's her style.

She knows precisely what
wheels to put in motion,

this fragile
bird-like little thing.

The threat to destroy, passed
down through channels...

You do it to him,
or I'll do it to you...

Till it reaches the
bottom echelon.

Then there emerges
one poor hapless soul...

who can find no one lower
or more vulnerable than he is,

and this is the one
who is destroyed.

Mr. Resnick, a little
something for you to sign here.

Oh.

Hey, it's to laugh. I
swear, it's to laugh.

You gotta be a Philadelphia
lawyer to read this thing.

On the bottom line, Mr. Resnick,
just above the word "donor."

Hey, just for kicks...

Really, just for kicks,

what am I givin' and
what are you gettin'? Huh?

Well, Mr. Resnick, you
are donating your eyes...

Specifically, the
central optic nerve.

Now, I could give
it to you medically.

I could talk about the nerve fibers
or the axons of the ganglion cells...

I believe it. I believe it.

I got no choice.

No choice.

Here, you take the eyes.
Outside, they take the body.

Here you are, Mr. Resnick.

Yeah.

My son the donor, huh?

Sidney...

the sight giver.

So, what's left to
see, huh? Mr. Resnick.

Mm.

I seen everything there is.

I seen the second Louis-Schmeling
fight, and, oh, I won a bundle.

I seen the Kentucky
Derby three times.

And I seen the home run that Bobby
Thomson hit that killed the Dodgers.

Oh, I seen everything,
man. Everything.

But, uh, the thing of it is...

May I? Yes, of course.

The thing of it is...

What's it gonna be like
when it's midnight all the time...

and nobody's paid
the electric bill, huh?

So-So, what do I do?

White cane, tin cup, pencils?

So, what's to do?

Grieve a little maybe.

Plenty of time for
that. Oh! Plenty of time.

I'll still be able to cry
out of 'em, won't I?

To your heart's
content, Mr. Resnick.

To my heart's content. Oh,
Doc, baby, you do turn a phrase.

I swear, you turn a phrase.
Here's your money, Mr. Resnick...

With an extra 500
thrown in by the doctor and

myself... and the
address of the hospital.

You're to be there at,
uh, 7:00 this evening.

It's got a nice heft to it.

I, uh...

I hope I don't meet
a bookie on the way.

I-I'm a sucker for
a game of chance.

Honest. It's a fact.
Anything at all.

For example, gentlemen,
I'll lay you 5-to-1...

that 24 hours after
you make me blind,

I'm gonna want to cut my throat.

And I'll lay you
even money I do it.

When I see, I shall
drink up Central Park.

I shall let it pour through my
eyes until it floods my brain.

I shall maintain a
reservoir of things that...

That I've seen
during that brief time...

to remember for
the rest of my life.

So, what's to do, huh? Nothin'.

That's the story of
simple Sidney's life.

Hey, put it on the tombstone,
will you, fellas, huh?

"Here lies Resnick.

"He wanted Miami
Beach and a 50-cent cigar,

and that's all he
really wanted."

So, learn the lesson, huh?

This is what you
get for cheap tastes.

You get your eyes cut out.

♪♪

Miss Menlo, the anointed
hour can be any moment now,

as I told you, any
time after 5:00.

But may I make a
few suggestions?

Remove the bandages
very gradually.

I'd keep my eyes closed, if I
were you, throughout the process.

Also, I'd keep the room dark.

The introduction of light should
come in stages, in degrees.

It's sort of like becoming
used to an artificial limb.

It may... may take time
for the eyes to focus,

to accept light.

Perhaps hours.

What's the matter, Doctor?
Looking at my gallery, are you?

You've got it all planned,
haven't you, Miss Menlo?

Indeed. All the paintings
and all the statues...

They're right there
where I can see them,

and so is the rest of the
evening and the night.

My eyes will take
pictures, Doctor...

Pictures of everything to
be filed for future reference.

A rather long
future reference...

Whatever is the
length of my life.

And now, if there's
nothing else, Doctor?

Miss Menlo,

I hope you enjoy
the next 11, 12 hours.

I hope...

that your eyes will see
whatever is important to see.

I hope that my efforts
have made it possible.

For both our sakes,
I hope they have.

- I'll say good evening then.
- Say good-bye, Doctor.

- We'll not be seeing one another again.
- How sad.

How revealing. I'm
to be discarded then.

The used light bulbs
of Miss Menlo's life...

When they cease lighting
her way... Out they go.

Of course. Doctor.

Flick on the light switch if
you will, the one in the hall.

Of course.

Perhaps if you're around
town this evening, Doctor,

you might introduce yourself.

It occurs to me that I've
never seen your face.

Oh, you can't miss
me, Miss Menlo.

I'll be the tall man
with the sick eyes,

the one with the
ache in his gut,

the infection in his conscience
so miserably incurable.

You can't miss me, Miss Menlo.

Thank you. Thank
you, Heather ton.

No!

No!

Oh, God, no!

Heather ton!

Heather ton!

You witch doctor! You quack!

You charlatan! Butcher!

Heather ton!

I'll destroy you!

Heather ton! I want you!
You come back here!

Elevator!

Heather ton!

Heather ton, please come back.

It... It didn't work.

It just didn't work.

Everything's dark again.

Heather ton, please.

Who's there?

Somebody's there.

Can anybody see me? I need help!

Heather ton. Please.

Hey, Officer, what's goin'
on? What's happening?

Blackout. No power, no nothin'.
Where you headin', mister?

Uh, home...
West port, Connecticut.

Lots a luck.

Go on over to Columbus Circle and
see if you can take 79th Street out.

But get out of
the city if you can.

- How long is it gonna last?
- Ask the mayor.

Come on, get movin'.

I can see.

That's the sun I'm seeing.

And sun is... It's
a golden yellow.

That's color.

Oh, God, it's beautiful!

It's going away.

No.

No, wait. Not... Not yet.

Eleven hours... all
gone, all finished.

That's not fair!

It's simply not fair!

I'm not ready. Come back.

I won't let you go.

Please come back.

I want it! I want the sun!

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

And now the final painting.

The last of our exhibit has
to do with one Josef Strobe,

a Nazi war criminal
hiding in South America...

A monster who wanted
to be a fisherman.

This is his story.

Halt!

Heil! Heil! Heil!

Heil! Heil! Heil!

Heil! Heil! Heil!

Olé!

♪♪

What is this, a bus station?

Oh, go back to sleep, old man,

or I'll put you there.

Bravo.

Next time, less
noise please. Bravo!

You are so
persuasive, Herr Strobe.

My proximity to a noisy
tramp makes that imperative.

But if someone were
to cut off your fists,

how would you
ever prove a point?

You must learn to live
with a little pain, my dear.

It's what the world is made of.

Hmm? So get used to it.

I am quite used to it.

It is the nature of my business.

It's what gets
deducted from my body.

But, uh, we all of us suffer a few
deductions along the way, don't we?

Instead of, uh,

a few thousand a day
in the gas chamber,

Now... Oh, now it is, uh...

It must be an occasional
drunk in a sailor suit.

Or a lady of commerce
who speaks my language.

That is an accident
of birth, Herr Strobe.

The language, that is
all we have in common.

So?

Good night, Herr Strobe.

Go into your room...

and have one of your
frequent nightmares.

When I hear all that fear
coming through the wall,

it is a lullaby.

Gruppenführer Her me
Arndt. Alias Josef Strobe.

Last known whereabouts...
Caracas, Venezuela.

Known to have left
the country April, 1961.

Assumed present
whereabouts... Buenos Aires.

Is there anything on him here?

Usual thing... Seen
here, seen there.

Supposed to have been
working in a steel mill.

I checked them all
out. Nothing connected.

I checked out beer gardens,
German social groups... everything.

Nobody remotely resembling him.

Avram, he is here.

This time, I go on my instincts.

He could have
had plastic surgery,

wear a beard or a mustache...

or a black homburg
hat... and sell securities.

He's here, and we will find him.

Nightmare. Huh?

He has captured a nightmare.

I saw such a thing. I was there.

My friend, Jacob Sternbach...
They crucified him that way.

It took him two days to die.

Forgive me. I was
affected by the picture.

It brings back certain...
Certain memories.

I hope I haven't disturbed you.

Excuse me. Yes?

I've...

That is, we've met
before, haven't we?

I think not. I've only
just arrived here.

You're German, aren't you?

No. Hungarian.

You look... You look familiar.

You were never in
a camp, were you?

Auschwitz or... Oranienburg.

I was at both places.

My name is Bleum.

I told you I am not German.

Excuse me.

♪♪

Senor, the museum is closed.

Kindly leave the
building, please.

Senor. Kindly
leave the building.

Please.

♪♪

Nightmares again, Herr Strobe?

Go to hell, my dear.

I hear you've become
quite an art lover.

My girlfriend told me that she saw
you this morning in the museum.

What disturbs you tonight?

Gretchen.

Talk to me for a moment.

What do you want to talk about?

Something happened last
night... and again today.

What? I was
looking at a picture...

Picture of a... fisherman...
on a mountain lake.

And after a while,
it seemed as if...

As if what?

As if it were me in that boat...

just fishing.

No pain.

No running away. No...

looking over my shoulder.

What do you expect to see?

Ghosts.

Israeli ghosts.

They have a list, it appears.

They have a list.

And, after Eichmann,

it is you who are on the
top of that list, Herr Strobe?

Very likely.

What would they do with you?

- So.
- What do I ask of anyone?

So much is it to stop running,

to stop trying to find
shadows to hide in?

Where is this compassionate
and forgiving God they talk of?

Let him show himself to me now.

Let him give me a
chance to survive.

Only that... just survive.

Like on that boat...

and that lake.

- Gretchen.
- Ja. Ja.

You know, if I had...

concentrated...
with all my might,

if I had exerted all my will,

I could have moved
into that picture.

You surprise me, Herr Strobe.

Who would have thought...

that all you hunger
for is a rowboat?

Yes.

That's all.

You black-uniformed gods...

who put barbed wire
around the Earth...

and all you want is a rowboat!

You know something, Herr Strobe,

your tastes are
really quite expensive.

You yearn for the most...

The most expensive
and unobtainable things...

Peace and immortality.

Forget it, Herr Strobe.

The price is a soul and a
conscience, and you have neither!

Go to hell, you...

After you, Herr Strobe.

Good afternoon.

Rather taken
with it, aren't you?

It has a quality.

And the concentration
camp picture...

That has no quality, Herr Arndt?

I beg your pardon?

I think you've made a mistake.

My name is Strobe.

Josef Strobe. You
called me something else.

Forgive me. I guess I did.

You reminded me of someone,

a certain Her me Arndt.

Herr Arndt was not
an admirer of Jews.

He would stand by the
front gate at Auschswitz.

With a riding crop in his hand,

he would indicate which of
the incoming people would die...

and which would
temporarily stay alive.

And how were you so
fortunate, Herr Bleum?

A concentration camp can be
a university of higher learning...

when it comes to teaching
a man to stay alive.

Good day to you, Herr Strobe.

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪ Ay, ay, ay, ay ♪

♪ Canta y no Ilores ♪

♪ Porque cant an do se a leg ran ♪

♪ Cielito lindo los corazones ♪

♪ Ay, ay, ay, ay ♪

♪ Canta y no Ilores ♪

♪ Porque cant an do se a leg ran ♪

♪ Cielito lindo los corazones ♪

♪ Ay, ay, ay, ay ♪

♪ Canta y no Ilores ♪

♪ Porque cant an do se a leg ran ♪

♪ Cielito lindo los corazones ♪

♪ Ay, ay, ay, ay ♪

♪ Canta y no Ilores ♪

♪ Porque cant an do se a leg ran ♪
♪ Über alles ♪

♪♪ ♪ Über alles in der Welt ♪

♪ Wenn es stets zu
Schutz und Trutze ♪

♪ Brüderlich zusammenhält ♪

♪ Von der Maas
bis an die Memel ♪

♪ Von der Etsch
bis an den Belt ♪

♪ Deutschland,
Deutschland über alles ♪

♪ Über alles in der Welt ♪

♪ Deutschland,
Deutschland über alles ♪

♪ Über alles... ♪

Deutschland, Deutschland ♪

♪ Über alles ♪

♪ Über alles in der Welt ♪

♪ Wenn es stets zu
Schutz und Trutze ♪

♪ Von der Etsch
bis an den Belt ♪

♪ Deutschland, Deutschland... ♪♪

Über alles.

Wie geht es Ihnen,
Gruppenführer?

Gut, danke.

Und Ihnen?

I knew who you were.

One doesn't forget a
man like you very easily.

I'm touched.

Well, shall we have
a drink, Herr Bleum,

or shall we talk
of old times or...

What shall we do, hmm?

What would please you?

Tell me and see if I
can't accommodate you.

Tell me, Herr Bleum,

have I changed much?

No. No, Gruppenführer.

You've changed very little.

Excellent.

Excellent, Herr Bleum.

The memory is still intact. Hmm?

The, uh, body is somewhat...
the worse for wear, hmm?

The body has had
much done to it.

This was done to me
with a lit cigarette...

during an otherwise
dull afternoon.

Your kind of sport,
Gruppenführer,

something you would understand.

Tell me, Herr Bleum,

have you, uh...

Are you content to
reminisce about these things?

- Or have you seen fit to...
- Tell others?

What do you think?

I think, Herr Bleum,

that if you have something
to say to the god of Israel,

now is the time.

I've made my peace...

Something you shall never
be able to do, Gruppenführer.

You have put too many
Christs on crosses...

for any god to give
you an audience.

Still the martyr, huh?
No. I am simply...

the six millionth plus one.

♪♪

De nada.

What time is the next bus?

The next bus to where?
Where would you like to go?

Just... Just anywhere.
Out of the city...

As far as this will take me.

Well, uh, that will take
you to Mar Del Plata.

Lucky for you it stopped raining.
You have kind of a long wait.

After 20 years,
it's not so long.

Excuse me. I believe we
have a mutual acquaintance.

Do you know a man named Bleum?

Listen to me. I don't
care what Bleum told you.

He's-He's mad. He's
out of his mind. Let's go.

Listen... Listen to me.

I'm not the one you want.

There are others, big ones.

There's-There's Bormann.
Martin Bormann... he's still alive.

Believe me,
he's-he's still alive.

And Müller. Heinrich
Müller is still alive in Silesia.

Listen to me. I know these
men. I can find these men for you.

Please. There must
be a price, huh?

There's some price. Any price!

♪♪

¡Estúpidos! Don't let
those paintings get wet.

You were hired to put them in
the truck, so put them in the truck!

All right, all right!

No wonder we have
no culture in this country.

Sure, sure. Get a uniform,
and right away you are a king.

Nobody cares for paintings.
All right. We take them in.

Be sure and dry them when
you get them in the truck.

Now get moving! Get
moving! All right, all right.

Come on, come on. Hurry
up. It's getting late. All right.

And be careful when you set
them down. Please! Please!

Who is in there?

Who is in there?

Shalom, Gruppenführer. Shalom.

Please. If there is a God,
let him show himself now.

Get me into the picture.

I must get into the picture.

♪♪

Please. Please.

God, Christ... anyone.

Get me into the picture!

I must get into the picture.

At this hour?

What's the matter?
What do you hear now?

Don't you hear it?

A dog or something. It
must have been run over.

Everything seems intact.

Maybe there was someone
here, but they're not here now.

What happened to The Fisherman?

Was that one of the loaners?
Yes, sir. It was taken away tonight.

The director had that concentration
camp thing put there in its place.

Hateful-looking thing.

Luiz. Luiz.

Good evening.