All language subtitles for Comandante.2023.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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“WE’RE ALL THE SAME DISTANCE FROM GOD,

AN ARM’S LENGTH AWAY,
THE ARM THAT SAVES US, THEN.”

– A RUSSIAN SHIPWRECK SURVIVOR RESCUED BY A
UKRAINIAN COMMANDER (SOUTH PACIFIC, MARCH ’23)

FLY, LORENZO.

Does it hurt?

Fascism is pain, Todaro!
You should be happy.

A phial of this
when the pain gets too much.

Thank you.

At your command.

“You should be happy.”

Perverted syphilitic prick.

The only pain he knows...

is the pain his wife gives him...

when she spanks him at night.

Salvatore...

This disability of yours is a blessing.

You too with that foul word in your mouth?

I like you disabled.

So what?

Retired,

more dead than alive,

but alive

and really handsome!

A prisoner of mine and my attentions.

I’ll take you to Montenero,

halfway up the hill,
where you can see the sea.

We’ll cultivate the land,
raise animals...

And bees as well,
that make good honey.

The boy’s weak.

There he can grow up with clean air,
far from the war and no one will harm him.

And we’ll always have food

because we’ll grow it with our own hands.

In winter I’ll make you hot soup.

And in the evening, we’ll always go
to bed early because we’ll be tired.

We can live well, Salvatore...

at peace...

happy.

Rina wants me to accept the minimum option.

A war pension.

What do you see?

Happiness, my Rinuccia,

I don’t demand it...

It’s for those who’re sated...

It’s a feeling of accomplishment,
an unchanging state.

LA SPEZIA,
ITALIAN ROYAL NAVY ARSENAL, SEPTEMBER 29, 1940

This wind,
I know where it takes all these boys...

It takes them to death.

There is in my heart
when you look at me

A longing that never leaves me

My life trembles next to you

I forget the world
and you know why

Just one hour I would like with you

I who can never forget you

To tell you again with my kisses

What you mean to me

Just one hour I would like with you

To tell you what you don’t know

And in this hour I would give

My life for you!

Muster!

Quick, quick, fuck!

You can never know.

You can never know.

You can never know.

There are some thoughtless blowhards...

who think
that submariners don’t really fight.

Bullshit!

Spectacular bullshit! Maximum bullshit!

Commander?

What’s your name?

Electrician Efisio Careddu, Commander.

At your command.

You stay ashore.

As you can see, we’re the last to leave.

The Germans attack in packs, we don’t...

We’re Italians.

And we’re alone.

The King, with all his majesty, isn’t here.

There’s no Duce to lead you...

There’s me.

There’s not even your mammy...

There’s Marcon.

And if anyone starts crying,
I’ll throw him into the sea.

My Gigino is a cook...

and he’s going to die like a mother.

He’s going to die
while feeding his comrades.

I still have his spunk on me,

but it’s not dirty.

Now I really haven’t thought
about washing it off.

This vessel is great.

Look at it.

Touch it.

Listen to it.

In moments of despair
it will tell you what to do.

Our trench cannot be seen...

and the enemy is far away,

protected by layers of water and steel,

by thousands of millimeters
of artillery,

by lethal technology
that our poets

can only imagine
behind their inlaid desks.

But he’s there...

somewhere, his heart beating...

exalted by the courage
of his British philosophy...

and full of fear.

Just like us.

Don’t pretend not to be afraid.

Don’t shy away from fear.

Love it.

Screw it.

At your command!

Ready to move.

I ran after him from afar.

Nunzia and Angelina were there too,

but we didn’t say hello.

We were caught up in our thoughts,

which were the same for sure,

but they were our own,

and we were silent, thinking them,

with the wind blowing our hair.

You can never know.

Our thoughts caressed these boys
for the last time.

These boys going to war,

full of nerves and boiling blood.

I know that these boys here

with their smooth skin
and innocent smiles,

should be diving into the sea
to fish for pearls.

Instead they embark to wage war.

I know they won’t return.

They have mothers,
sisters, girlfriends,

they should be here
to watch them disappear one after the other

inside the belly of this iron fish.

They should see them laughing
and joking for the last time,

but they’re not here.

Here it’s just us.

Then there are also virtuous ones,
those who won’t even let them touch them,

but they’re already in bed
at this time,

and so we have to accompany them and cry.

Why?

You don’t have to be a soothsayer
to know that they won’t be coming back,

and if they come back from this mission,
they won’t come back from the next one,

and if they come back from that one,
they won’t from the one after.

You don’t have to be a soothsayer
to know that at the end of this war,

when the casualties are counted,

we’ll find that
almost all the submariners died...

then we’ll cover our mouths with our hands.

What a waste of life in that coffin, oh...

“Ambush”?

You think they’d give us...

an Atlantic submarine
to go on a trip round Venice?

We get into the zone.

Anything that’s sailing,

if it’s got a cannon or a blowpipe on deck,
we sink it.

Atlantic...

get ready, shit yourself!

Did you really have to call me
for this mission?

You, yes.
You and me at war with everyone!

I get it, you and me at war. But...

to get to the Atlantic,
you have to get past Gibraltar...

and Gibraltar’s an ugly beast.

This vessel’s already been
to Gibraltar,

in June,
just after we entered the war.

With Commander Cristiano Masi.

Why didn’t he reach Betasom?

Why did he come back?

Because he was repelled.

There!

Yes, but that was lucky for us.

Masi was repelled by the British fleet
and took refuge in Ceuta.

And there,
he pretended to have a broken rudder,

the Spanish hosted him
for nine days in port,

and he studied how the British move.

Maybe...

But I, who’ve been through it,
can tell you that

the Strait of Gibraltar is already a
problem because of the currents,

without the British
shooting at you as well.

Here, look...

It’s narrow...

but there is room.

It’s like a chicken’s ass.

So, do we fuck this chicken
or are we assholes?

Come on, tell me, are we assholes?

With the biggest
pain in the ass of a vessel in the fleet,

with the most desperate, deadliest

sailor in the Royal Italian Navy,
are we assholes?

Huh?

No.

You and I have already died once, Marcon.

Are we assholes who’ll die twice?

- No.
- Are we assholes?

- We aren’t assholes.
- I can’t fucking hear you! Are we assholes?

- We aren’t assholes.
- I can’t hear you!

- Are we assholes?!
- We’re not assholes!

- Sailors...
- We’re not assholes!

Sailors, there’s a question
to be settled here. Marcon and I

were wondering,
are we assholes or are we not assholes?

No, we’re not assholes!

We’re not assholes!

- We’re not assholes!
- Well, then...

The mariner’s art is to die at sea

The mariner’s art is to die at sea!

Garlic, oil
and fanny juice today?

Idiot!

What can you hear?

Huh?

What can you hear?

Here, listen!

Listen, Radio Andorra!

If the Duce could hear us...

He acts like that, but deep down
he likes Radio Andorra as well.

And so,

since the mariner’s art
is to die at sea, here we are,

on this submarine called Cappellini,

73 meters long and 7 meters wide,

armed with two 100mm cannons and
two twin 13mm machine guns,

four 533mm torpedo tubes forward
and four aft,

and a supply of twelve 533mm torpedoes,

300 shells per cannon
and 3,000 shells per machine gun.

I know I’m considered
the craziest and wildest commander

in the Royal Italian Navy.

An ascetic, a fakir,

perhaps even a soothsayer.

I know that I crashed with the seaplane

and they got me back on my feet
in an armored corset of iron and straps.

The Greek spirit spoke to me
through the mouth of Betti, the tailor.

He protects and governs my destiny.

My victory is the battle.

Fucking hell, that whore of your mother!

Oh, come on!

Oh, where are you going?

- Hey, stupid, I’m before you!
- What are you saying?

Get back,
it’s alphabetical order, Vicienzo!

And my name’s Bicienzo, with a B,
I’m right after Alfredo! Shut up!

Get back there!

Your ma’s a pig!

Oh, fucking calm down!

Guys!

The shower’s broken!

Are you looking at my dick?

Handsome, I’m a child of God!

Go take a shower!

Stop it, or you’ll drive my dog crazy!

- Are you making pasta and potatoes?
- Yeah. Can’t you see?

What’s that orange stuff?

Shh, shut up, it’s the secret ingredient.

It’s a bit sweeter that way.

But don’t you ever make
octopus à la Luciana?

I like that so much.

Eh, you dive in and catch a few,
I’ll do it, sure.

No, I don’t dive anymore.

I don’t dive anymore.

- You don’t dive anymore?
- No.

And in here?

In here you’re not diving,
isn’t this the same thing?

This is too difficult a question, Gigì.

- Raimondi? A little salt.
- Yes.

Gigino...

- Do you know all the dishes in your house?
- No, sir.

I know all the recipes of all the dishes
of all the towns of all of Italy.

Good.

There’ll come a time when you won’t be able to
cook things as good as this pasta and potatoes.

Then, when I order you,

you will say the dishes,

always, continuously,

like a prayer.

Yes, sir.

On you go.

At your command.

The change in the previous order
on the use of summer time

will continue beyond October 12
for communications.

Go ahead, Piras. Over.

I have a message
for Commander Todaro.

Commander, are you there? Over.

A message for you, Commander.

I’m here, over.

This is a personal message, sir,
from my cousin, Careddu Efisio...

whom you left ashore in La Spezia.

Three days after leaving,

he was admitted to hospital
and had emergency surgery for peritonitis.

Had he left, he’d have died.

Careddu would like to express
his gratitude to you

for realizing that he wasn’t well

and saving his life.

Along with his,
also that of his entire family,

including, with permission, mine.

Thank you.

Sir.

The sailors call me Wizard Baku.

They even painted it on the conning tower.

I don’t mind, in fact, I enjoy it.

But I really do see things.

STRAIT OF GIBRALTAR - OCTOBER 5, 1940

I see an enemy when he’s coming

and I’m ready with the cannon.

Another thing I see

is that I will die in war.

But in my sleep!
They’ll never take me when I’m awake.

Numerous depth charges
from British destroyers.

We have a passage of 20 meters
and a depth of 70.

Go past periscope height
and down to 80.

Five degrees down.

It’s a chicken’s ass.

We have to make them explode above us.

Did they hit us?

No, it’s the shock wave.

It exploded above us.
It’s pushing us down. Stabilize now.

If we go any further down,
we’ll stay there.

The explosions have damaged
the electrical system.

The carbon dioxide is rising.

- Starboard tiller.
- Starboard tiller!

- Rudders up.
- Rudders up!

- Rudders stuck going down!
- Engine half reverse.

Air to surface.

Air to expel’s almost finished.

We’re over 100 meters down.

- Sulphuric acid from the batteries.
- Masks.

How are you?

Block it!
Another pillow!

Stop the leak!

Over 120 meters down.

We need to go up before we implode.

“Rina dearest,

those at home who
complain about stale butter,

you can give them a black eye,
because they deserve a stale existence.

Here, these boys have more terror
in their bodies than blood,

but they don’t complain,
they turn weakness into devastating strength.

They’re so tense
waiting for something...

they could pierce the hull
of a destroyer with a fingernail.

They’re ready...

and defenseless.”

Fuses replaced.

Air to the tanks, whatever’s left.

- Rudders to rise.
- Rudders to rise.

We’re moving.

110.

Minniti, what have we got above us?

It seems to be clear.

100.

Anchor cables for mines.

We’re tangled.

Don’t even think about it.

Prepare the conning tower.

Don’t even think about it.

This is my thing.

With the tank at 20 meters...

life is a flash,

taking it up the ass in no time.

Excuse me, Commander!

Adjutant, what are you doing?

Where are you going?

You wanna end up like a rat in a drainpipe?

You’ll have swum
in the Venice Lagoon twice!

Maybe you saw a spider-crab once
and thought it was a fanny.

At 20 meters, you need Vincenzo Stumpo...

coraller from Torre del Greco.

Give me the cutters.

Take the torch as well.

I’m ready.

Flood this conning tower.

Flood the tower.

With the tank at 20 meters,
I have 5 or 6 minutes.

Then I’m dead.

What do you think, Dad?

Can I make it?

So many little ones,

and how beautiful they are...

Plankton are the sperm of the sea.

I have to admit,
it’s really beautiful down here.

Really beautiful.

I could take advantage of this.

I’m alone here, I’d like to do something.

I’m 20 years old
and I’d like to get married.

I could fall in love
with a beautiful mermaid.

I’d visit her every night,
but what if a child is born?

Our Lady, Virgin and mother,
Stella Maris,

sharpen this blade for me
that doesn’t cut.

St. Vincent Romano,
protector of corallers,

you gave me my name,
now give me the strength.

Jesus, stop crying,
there’s nothing to cry about.

I just have to cut!

What’s he doing?
Is he not able?

He’s able, he’s able.

Eternal Father,
and blood of the Eternal Father!

No way! With my hands,
my nails, my teeth, my anger,

with anything,
but I have to cut this cable.

Dad, what are you doing here?

I’m dying.

Fuck off, death, you’re gonna have to wait.

Wait! Wait a minute, I said!

Because if I die now,
what was the point of living?

Depth?

25 meters.

Ahead slowly.

Honor and eternal memory

to Motorman Vincenzo Stumpo.

The vessel’s free now.

It’s heading slowly to the surface.

I’ll stay here a little longer...

maybe a mermaid will come as well.

You go, go, guys.

I’m dead anyway.

What do I care...?

Sir, the stern gun is out of use.

Start repairing it.

At your command.

What’s up, Mulargia?
You not like the fresh air?

Fresh air stinks.

What do you call
that way of smoking, Mulargia?

“Fire inside.”

“Fire inside”?

This way the enemy can’t see you smoking.

Put the music on.

Tell the cook to make gnocchi.

Yes, sir.

Gnocchi.

With semolina,
or water and flour?

Whatever you like.

They cut through the black waves
in the gloom

From the conning tower
every eye is on alert

Silent and invisible
the submarines depart

Hearts and engines ready to attack...

The damaged batteries have been repaired,
no more acid leakage.

But we’ve lost some bolts from the flanges,
and the generators aren’t charging.

- How long?
- One hour.

We haven’t got an hour, Stiepovich.

...Strike and bury
every enemy we meet on our way

That’s how the seafarer lives...

Battle stations!

Go, go! Move!

Quick! Up, up, up, up!

Help me up with this, come on!

Come on, Mulargia,
knock him out, come on!

Ammunition, Chierici, quick!

Load!

Get a move on with that gun!

Quick!

Ready! Fire!

Take that!

Take that, you ugly dickhead!

You like that? You like it?

I don’t have the power
to award a medal

to the gallant gunner Mulargia,

but...

I intend to decorate him anyway.

From this moment...

he can address me informally.

He can address me...

and use the informal...

So long as you add “Commander”!

- Oh, look! Good!
- Gnocchi!

Go, Gigino, go!

- Great, Gigino!
- Beautiful!

Let’s go, let’s go!

Thank you!

Is there any Parmesan?

Just what’s left.

- Pass that on!
- I’ll give you a hand!

- Here!
- Here.

Pass the plates, go!

Plates, boys!

- Here.
- Plates, plates.

Thank you!

Pass that on.

We’re sorted here.

- First course, first course, go!
- That’s us.

- How much did you make, Gigì?
- Right, then...

Enjoy your meal!

- Enjoy your meal!
- Enjoy your meal!

You know we have a gnocchi dog
instead of a truffle dog!

“Rina, my dear...

Maybe the Greek meant
it wasn’t enough to hide to not be seen.

Nothing has happened for a week.

During the day we dive,

at night we surface...

very far from the purpose
of this mission, which is called ‘Ambush’.

Drinking water is scarce,...”

- Angel wings...
- “...the gnocchi are a distant dream.”

Sponge cake.

Amaretti biscuits.

Marzipan.

Cat tongue.

Mantua cake.

Ricciolina cake.

The seven jar cake.

Walnut, rice, ricotta cake.

Pumpkin cake.

Casatiello and tortano.

Capri cake,

Milanese cake,

and almond and chocolate cake.

Doughnuts,

strudel,

roccocò,

biscuits in all sorts of ways,

pastiera,

Sicilian cassata,

Pozzuoli cassatina,

pinolata, meringue...

“This is united Italy, Rina...

here a Livornese and a Sicilian
are more than foreigners,

they really are inhabitants
of two different and distant planets,

in language, culture, temperament.

And yet,

this very melting pot
of all dialects,

small artifacts and
great works of genius,

obtuse pagan beliefs,

the egalitarian revolution
of Christianity

and the old relics have merged,
to form our treasure.”

Poma?

Are you praying?

Are you really religious?

Yes.

Me too.

I wanted to show you something.
Come here a minute.

Look at the crucifix I made...

You can give it a kiss as well.

What the fuck are you doing?
What the fuck are you doing?

Are you stupid?

You’re a scumbag, Leandri!

You’re a shit!

You don’t blaspheme the Lord,
Leandri, you can’t afford to!

Cool it!

You can’t afford to do anything
in this submarine, Leandri!

I was kidding!

But anyway, he’s right.
It’s a blasphemy.

How was I to know he’s a fanatic?

You say things as well, no,
but say them in Italian!

Don’t tell me, “I’m religious”,
tell me, “I’m a fanatic”,

and I won’t let you see it.

Listen, you need to throw this thing
away now, you understand?

- Throw it away? It’s silver.
- Everyone behave!

Come on. Go.

I’ll take it off,
but I won’t throw it away!

- All right.
- My God!

God, you need to forgive us!

What the hell are we doing?

You need to forgive us.

Ouch,

I’ve broken my hand!

“And it’s precisely this
wonderful, putrid fucking chaos...

that is Italy.

Rina, dearest...

be proud of our fight

and pass this pride on to our son...

and be patient
if I can’t get my messages to you.

We only turn on the radio
in cases of extreme necessity.

My back still hurts,
but I won’t touch the morphine,

even though I would like to...
I would really like to...

And I do yoga when I’m sad,

because I think with nostalgia
of Sottomarina,

of Don Voltolina who doesn’t eat
to feed someone hungrier than him.

Then I decide to cure the evil of distance
with a stronger evil.

I call Marcon and ask him
to speak to me in dialect.

The honey of the language of home lulls me,

I no longer feel far away...

but right there.”

Stay here...

and wake me up in an hour or so...

An hour’s not enough, Salvatore...

I told you, one hour...

That’s an order!

ATLANTIC OCEAN - OCTOBER 15, 1940

11 o’clock, Commander.

Can you see it?

Merchant ship, 8-10 thousand tons.

Well done, Morandi.

Its lights are out.

A cannon on the bow.

Its escort?

Can’t see it.

Can you tell what flag it is?

No, Commander.

Anyway, it’s a ship with a cannon.

It’s sailing with no lights
in a war zone. I’ll sink it.

- Dive?
- No.

- Battle stations.
- Battle stations!

Full ahead, 10 degrees to the left.

- Full speed ahead.
- Full speed ahead!

Get the machine gun!

Hold the bow!

Get the machine gun!

- Up!
- Free it!

- Ready!
- Armed!

Tore, why don’t we dive
and sink it with torpedoes?

Those suppositories never hit
the ass, Vittorio. We’ll stay up.

Poma’s hand is broken,
he can’t shoot.

Lower your aim, lower your aim!
1,000 meters!

- Fire!
- Fire!

Fire!

Get that!

Come on! Quick, quick!

- Down! Down!
- Poma!

Move!

Come on!

Let’s go!

Open up! Open up!

2 degrees left!

Go!

2 degrees left!

In position.

Correct aim, one degree up!

Fire!

1,000 meters!

Hold, hold, take aim, take aim!

- Close it!
- Armed.

Go, go, go!

Fire!

Commander!

Leave it to me, leave it to me!

Enemy cannon out of action!

Get three men,
have them bring him up!

No!

I saw my leg, Commander.

Leave me here.

I want to see the enemy go down.

Lesen!

Set course for 090
and fire a 533 torpedo.

Set course for 090
and fire a 533 torpedo!

You were right, Commander.

This is a great vessel!

It’s a beautiful machine!

And this is a war made by machines.

And the peace
will be a peace made by machines.

One day
machines will think as well, and reason...

They will be better than men.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...

Missed the target, Commander! Overshot.

- Shall I repeat with 30 degrees elevation?
- No, Lesen! Let it go.

- Mulargia!
- Yes, Commander?

- Lesen, approach.
- Approaching!

- Sink it.
- At your command!

They’re Belgian, Commander.

Yes. And they should be neutral, God damn!

I’ll point that out to them.

Maximum alert for possible air attacks.

Two men in the sea!

Approaching port, Commander!

Three more to the bow!

What’ll we do, Commander?

Tore...

The Nazis leave them in the sea.

What’ll we do?

Pull them aboard.

Mancini, throw the line.

Nucifero, the pilot ladder.

At your command!

Parlez-vous français?

I speak Italian.

Identify yourself.

Third Officer Jacques Reclercq.

And the sunken merchant ship,
what was its name?

Kabalo, flying the Belgian flag.
Neutral in this war.

So why did you shoot at us?

Do you speak Italian too?

Flemish.

How many lifeboats did you launch?

Two.

Are you aware
that I can’t take you on board?

Yes.

Give them some supplies.

Bring water, food and blankets, move!

Do you have a compass?

Yes.

I’m leaving you water and provisions.

We are at 31° 80′ North, 31° 30′ West.

Where are you heading for?

Madeira.

Stay on this course.

Put them back on the lifeboat.

Come on, let’s go.

Help him.

Let him down.

Let them go!

All the supplies
have to be kept here beside Marcel!

For submariners,
there are no gravestones to carve

or crosses to make.

To the submariner Danilo Stiepovich,

Lieutenant, Italian,

who died a hero’s death,

we offer up our inner cry...

and a coral cross.

The same coral that another hero,
Motorman Vincenzo Stumpo,

loved to fish from the sea...

He was a coral fisherman
from Torre del Greco...

to whom we also direct our heartfelt salute.

Attention!

In Charleroi, when I was little,
there was a milkman

who had a daughter

with two huge tits, this big!

My cousin told me that...

she produced the milk her father sold...

And I believed him.

Reclercq!

It’s pointless telling stories.

We’ll be dead soon.

That’s for sure.

It’s over, Jacques...

It’s over.

Have your last wank
thinking of the milkman’s daughter...

and then rest in peace.

Lieutenant Reclercq,

translate for your countrymen, please!

The survivors in the second lifeboat

were rescued tonight
by a Panamanian-flagged steamer!

There are no other boats in the area!

Secure the lifeboat to the ropes,

we will tow you
close to Santa Maria in the Azores!

Hold tight
and everything will be all right!

Thank you!

The British have disappeared.

At the port,
before we set sail, I heard

we’re going to join the war
on their side.

I really hope so! Otherwise
why would we be carrying their weapons?

And yet in a moment
they decided we were worthless.

It wasn’t the British who sank us,
it was the Fascists!

Fascist pigs!

They’re all the same.

Listen to me carefully.

I know,
many of you are not prepared for this.

It’s fine to fire cannon on the surface...

to risk our lives
to fight the enemy,

we enlisted with this idea
of sacrifice, didn’t we, good God?

But to expose ourselves in the open to planes
to save strangers...

who, under the façade of neutrality,

were probably carrying
war supplies for the British,

why?

And it’s not just
about saving them,

it’s about sacrificing ourselves...

and pushing ourselves

to the limit of human endurance
to bring them to land.

Lieutenant Reclercq, translate.

Everyone has to be aware of the situation.

We’re about 300 miles
from Santa Maria Island,

which is the nearest safe harbor,

where we are heading
to land the survivors.

Because we are overloaded,

we will not be able
to reach more than 6-7 knots...

which means

we will have to live in this situation
for about 48 hours.

I want to be...

very clear...

Taking on board

the survivors from the Kabalo

means disobeying
the instructions I was given.

Of this I am fully aware,
and for this I take full responsibility.

If, on our return, my decisions are
not approved, are not appreciated,

let them

remove me from command,

but here, now,
my decision is made, and it is unshakable.

We...

sink the enemy iron,
without mercy, without fear...

but the man, the man we save.

If you can move among
all these bodies, Gigino,

distribute some cognac
to those who need it most.

Take that to the big Black guy,
the one with the burnt face.

Go on, go on...

The three wounded men

will stay in the officers’ quarters,
where they are just now.

Three of us
will take turns to assist them.

I will share my cabin
with Commander Vogel,

Captain Fraternale will do the same
with Lieutenant Reclercq.

Some can stay, very uncomfortably,

in the boatswain’s hold,

three, even more uncomfortably,

in the latrine,

five in the galley,

standing, out of necessity,

but...

the others who’re left...

will have to be in the conning tower...

because there’s nowhere else.

It’s an atrocious place, it fills with water

even sailing on the surface,

but we can’t do otherwise.

With the help of Commander Vogel,

three-hour shifts will be arranged

to share the sacrifice fairly.

Let it be clear to everyone that,
in the event of an enemy attack,

this vessel will have to submerge
to protect the entire crew.

Should such an event occur,

there will be no chance
of saving the men in the conning tower.

The words with which...

I wish to close this communication
are not mine,

but those of the
Emperor of Japan, Matsuhito.

They were spoken at the beginning
of the Russo-Japanese War of 1904.

“Let life go on as normal.

Let everyone do what he must.”

That’s all.

The Japanese won that war easily.

Come on, did you hear the commander?
You have things to do!

Your feet are stinking.

Savage, wash yourself.

I hope you’re not offended...

and, above all, that they fit.

I noticed, when you came aboard, that...

you didn’t have any.

Thanks, but aren’t they yours?

I have others.

- Thank you very much, Commander.
- You’re welcome.

Do you speak other languages
besides Italian?

Portuguese,

English, French,

Latin and ancient Greek.

Cigarette?

No, thanks. I don’t smoke.

Your parents must be proud of you.

Up to a point.

They don’t like what I do.

Do you like it?

I do now.

That’s what counts.

Yes, Commander.

Do you speak any other languages?

French...

German, out of necessity...

God-damned Fascist pigs.

Soft degenerates!

What shall we do?

Come.

I’m coming, Marcel.

There.

What the fuck are you doing?

Piece of shit! What are you doing?

What is it, Commander?

Cannons don’t scare me.

When the power goes, I’m afraid.

To arms, Commander! To arms!

Did they do serious damage?

They ripped out all the cables.

Shall I cut their throats
or throw them overboard, Commander?

Fascist.

What did you say?

Fascist?

I’m a man of the sea!

Every one of you, Italians or Belgians,

will slap these shameful men,

who put our lives at risk.

We won’t kill them
or throw them into the sea. We’ll slap them.

You start.

Twice these men have come to save us!

Twice!

Twice!

Twice!

“Rina dearest...

I got soft and had pity.

After Stumpo and Stiepovich, I had no desire
to leave any more bodies at sea.

I gave them the punishment of the fathers.

So many slaps,

that if they survive, the memory of the
shipwreck will be sweet by comparison.”

You haven’t written everything.

Do the right thing and forget it.

It’s daytime, Tore,

we have to dive.

If we dive,
those in the conning tower

will drown like rats.

And if we don’t dive, the British...

will sink us.

I don’t recognize you.

We’re at war.

We’re still men, though.

Over there.

They’re British.

We have to dive!

Reduce speed to three knots!

For God’s sake, Commander,
let’s dive!

No. We’ll wait.

Hold the course!

What are we waiting for?

For us to be in range?

For the British to
land a shell in our belly?

Let’s get rid of these people, Tore!

They tried to sabotage us!

We saved them
and they tried to do us in!

No. They’ll let us pass.

They’re firing at us!

They’re firing
because they don’t know.

- Now they’ll know.
- You’re insane!

In five minutes, we’ll be in range!
In five minutes, they’ll sink us!

They’ll let us pass.

What are you talking about?

We’re being shelled, can’t you hear?

- We’re at war, Tore!
- We’re at sea.

Give me that.

This is Commander
Salvatore Todaro

of the submarine Cappellini,
Royal Italian Navy.

What are you doing,
talking to him in Italian?

Let him talk,
at least he speaks English!

They understand fine.

You can never know...

We are transporting 26 survivors
from the steamship Kabalo,

which we sank three days ago

in position 31° 80′ North, 31° 36′ West.

We request permission
to land the survivors in a safe harbor.

I’ll deal with it,
Commander.

What are you doing, Mulargia?
What are you doing?

I understand you, Commander!
I want to help! A little jag.

They won’t feel a thing,
at least we can live.

You, sir, who have a family,
can live...

Mulargia...

Have you forgotten already?
I decorated you.

You don’t have to speak to me formally.

“Rina dearest,

today is a happy day.

For there is a barbaric heroism...

and there is another
in front of which the soul weeps.

The sailor who wins
is never as great

as when he bows
before the sailor who is defeated.

Today,

we and our enemies, together,

saved ourselves.”

You’ve never eaten them, huh?
Right, they’re very simple.

You sauté a little oil, heat it up.

Garlic, yes,

then you add capers, olives...

Gigino?

There’s almost nothing left, right?

Not much, Commander.

Reclercq, what do you eat
that’s good in Belgium?

Chips.

I meant good, what do you eat...
The national dish, what is it?

Our national dish is chips.

But...

fried how?

Ja, fried!

Fried.

In the frying pan!

Did you hear that?

Yes, sir.

- Do you know anything about it?
- No, sir. Never heard of it...

- Are you sure?
- Sir,

I can do roast potatoes, jacket, Sardinian,
in a stew, brazed, Lyonnais, baked...

but fried, on my mom,
I’ve never heard of that.

And are they good?

Good?

They’re fantastic.

And where did you learn this?

We made them. We invented them.

- Is that even possible?
- It seems strange to me...

What?

It seems strange that we Neapolitans,
who fry everything, hadn’t done this.

In the meantime,
is there any lard left for frying?

Yes, sir.

Let them see.

Commander, it’s lard!

- Show them!
- Yes.

Raimondi...

We have this here.

Is that OK?

All right. It’s pork fat,
whereas we fry them in ox fat.

But it’s all right.

OK, so now you’re going to teach our cook

how to

make chips the Belgian way.

All right, it’s easy.

I’ll show you.
Can you give me a knife and a potato?

Raimondi,
a potato and knife for the gentleman.

- Come.
- Thank you!

This isn’t sharp enough.

May I?

- Thank you.
- Yes, it cuts, it cuts!

Go ahead.

He’s cutting!

He’s cutting!

Commander, up to this point...

OK.

He’s better at this.

- He’s showing you how to cut them.
- Yes.

- Fried.
- Fried...

- It’s really good!
- Chips!

- You’ve excelled yourself!
- They’re really good.

- Whatever, it’s good!
- They’re great.

- Well done, Gigino!
- It’s very good!

I wasn’t expecting it!

Well done, Gigino!

Well done!

Well done!

Raimondi...

Take these to those poor souls
in the conning tower, go!

Gigì,

will you play us a song?

Go!

Commander, may I?

On you go.

Go, Gigì!

Be sure about this love

As I am sure of you

Oh, life

Oh, my life

Oh, heart of this heart

You were the first love

The first and last you’ll be for me

Oh, life, oh, my life

Oh, heart of this heart

You were the first love

The first and last you’ll be for me!

Well done, Gigino!

Tore...

I’m going to rest for a while.
Wake me up in 30 minutes.

- Tore, I have something to tell you...
- In an hour, go...

A message arrived from your wife.

It’ll be a girl, Vittorio.

I’ll call her Marina.

I won’t see her...

and you’ll take care of her.

- Do you have children, Reclercq?
- No, Commander, I don’t.

Have some, then.

Have lots.

I don’t know how to thank you.

There might be a way.

Tell me.

What does this say?

- Do you know where it’s taken from?
- No.

Could it be the Iliad?

What does it say?

It’s a genealogy,
there are lots of them in the Iliad.

Could you translate it?

It says,

“Here lived Sisyphus,

as cunning a rogue as ever lived.

Aeolus was his father.
Sisyphus had a son called Glaucus.

And Glaucus in his turn was the father

of the incomparable Bellerophon.”

Is that all?

That’s all.

VILA DO PORTO,
SANTA MARIA ISLAND - OCTOBER 19, 1940

We were carrying British aircraft.

Of course.

Do you know that in your place
I’d have left you in the sea?

That’s war.

Why did you save us?

Because we’re Italians.

I have four children.

At least tell me your name,

so that the children can pray for
the man who saved their father’s life.

Tell them to pray
for Uncle Salvatore.

Salvatore.

Thank you.

“We’re ready to set sail,
dearest Rina.

I’m ready again

to strike and sink all the enemies

I meet on my path

and to become invincible again,

invulnerable,

when I save their lives...”

Amen.

“Thus it has always been done, at sea,

thus it will always be done.

And those who do not...

will be cursed.”

SEVEN DAYS AFTER THE SINKING OF THE KABALO,

BELGIUM ENTERED THE WAR ALONGSIDE BRITAIN.

SALVATORE TODARO WOULD DIE
TWO YEARS LATER ON DECEMBER 14, 1942.

HE WAS KILLED BY A BURST OF MACHINE-GUN FIRE

FROM A BRITISH SPITFIRE
OFF THE GALITE ISLANDS IN TUNISIA.

IN HIS SLEEP, AS HE HAD FORESEEN.

THE ENTIRE CREW OF THE KABALO
WOULD SURVIVE THE WAR.

AFTER THE WAR, VOGEL, RECLERCQ AND
THEIR COMRADES WOULD GO TO LIVORNO

TO MEET TODARO’S WIFE RINA AND
HIS DAUGHTER GRAZIELLA MARINA

WHOM THE COMMANDER
NEVER HAD THE JOY OF KNOWING.

OF THE ITALIAN ROYAL NAVY FLEET
OF 112 SUBMARINES,

ONLY 19 SURVIVED THE WAR.

ALL THE OTHERS LIE ON THE SEABED,

COVERED IN CROSSES MADE OF CORAL.

THE COMMANDER