Original subtitles

G.

VTR 7222, Thriller Kiss Me and Die, Part 1, Take 1.

Let me out.

Let me out!

No! No!

The kind of English Shangri -La a man could get lost in forever.

I got a room at the village inn, the Columbine.

There's a sign over the inn, a painting of a girl dressed as a Columbine.

Her face is haunting.

It's obviously a very old painting.

I wonder who she was.

By the way, the inn serves the best bitter beer I've tasted in this country.

What can I get you?

I'd like a room if you've got one. Oh, I think we might manage that.

How long would you be wanting it for, sir?

Oh, a few days, I imagine. Rightio.

Jenny!

Show this gentleman up to number three, will you, please?

Oh, right. This way, sir.

Bring the money back with me, sir. Yeah, that's all right. All right?

Oh, yeah.

Oh, everything all right, sir? Yes, fine. Thank you.

Anything I can get you, sir?

Yes, I'd like a glass of your bitter beer.

Certainly. Would you like a half pint or a pint, sir? Oh, a pint, I think.

My grandfather always told me never do anything good by halves.

Oh, so you've heard all about our beer, have you?

No, it's just that I'm an optimist. All right, Jack's points are a bit

optimistic, too.

Just you wait till the flask are done on that one and see how much you've got

left.

I'll put less froth on my beer when you put more cream in your milk, Mel Gurney.

Tell you the truth, gentlemen, I like the froth. So do we.

We'd never do it without old Jack Woodbridge.

American,

are you? Yes, Robert McCabe.

Mind if I sit down? Make yourself at home.

He's not there, though, if you pardon us. That's old Fred's chair.

Fred? Local handyman, rat catcher, jack of all trades.

Pretty fair poucher, too. We can't say nothing about that. If he found anyone

sitting in his chair, he'd think the end of the world had come. He did find

someone mine a few months back. What?

Another American gentleman like yourself.

Well, old Fred, he nearly started the battle of Bunker Hill all over again. An

American, you say? That's right.

Jim Stiles.

Came from Chicago.

Very fond of him, we were. Someone else is very fond of him, too.

Here, can I get you another, sir?

No, I'm fine, thank you.

Who's that?

Miss Dominie, up at the manor. Dominie Lansford, Jonathan Lansford's niece.

You can just see the manor from here.

A family goes back venturing.

Mr. Jonathan owns everything round here, as far as the eye can see. As far as

the eye can see.

Genuine English squire, huh? Well, not exactly.

But I tell you this, he'd be always more like one than if he was one.

What do you mean?

Well, it's like this, see?

Lancer family's got roots here and Bavaria. Lots of intermarrying,

forces. So you get half and half.

And when Miss Dominic's father died, and her father was... We get the other

half, the German half.

Not English at all.

Jonathan Lansford. Ah.

It used to be Joe. But he changed it to Jonathan.

That's right. He's a foreigner.

Yes, he's a nice enough chap, mine just the same.

He's always been very good to us, isn't he? This other American, Jim Stone, did

he stay up at the house? Oh, no.

But he might as well have done. He was up there that afternoon.

There was a time when we all thought Jim Stone would be settling down here.

Either that or she'd be off to America with him right now. Right now.

What happened? Come along now. Time, gentlemen, please.

Let's have your glasses, then we shall have the law down on us. Get away, we've

time for another.

You certainly have not. I've got my license to think about.

Sir, I wonder if you'd mind signing the register while you're about it.

Nice to talk to you. Nice to talk to you too, sir.

What was all that about?

Since when did you keep licensing hours?

You know perfectly well that Mr. Lansford does not like his private

discussed with strangers.

I'm beginning to regret the time I spent vacationing in the rest of Europe when

all the time Domini was here, kind of waiting for me, the face of her ancestor

looking down from the inside.

bear to think that I might not have come here, never have met her.

Strange, isn't it? The ways we meet our fate.

And this is my fate. I feel it.

That's the end of this tape.

I'm sending it to you by the afternoon mail.

I should say it does work.

Well, my old uncle was using it until the day he died last year.

You know, with his powder flask and a few rounds of ball shot, well, he could

pick the legs off a fly.

You ask old Fred there.

Fred?

Fred with the chair?

The very same, sir.

Thank you. Thank you.

They tell me one of my countrymen nearly started a war in here.

How's that, sir?

When he sat in your chair.

Oh, that?

Oh, yes, yes.

Yes,

indeed, but he did make up for it, though. Oh, let me get you a beer.

Oh, that's very kind of you, sir. Thank you.

Thank you.

Now,

that's better.

That is must have.

Isn't it?

Isn't it, Sally, me old girl?

I caught her in one of my traps once.

And look how she looked at me so old -fashioned. I did not have the heart to

kill her.

Go on then. Oh, there's a girl.

Now then, what was that you were saying, sir, about your American friend?

Oh, he wasn't a friend. I didn't know him, but...

They tell me he was very popular.

Very popular he was. I don't remember any other stranger who was ever invaded

often up to the manor. Are you on business in these parts, are you? No,

I'm a painter.

Sort of.

I'd love to see the inside of that house.

No,

I'm afraid you will never manage that, sir.

Why not?

Oh.

Oh, put that on my bill, please. Yes, sir. Thank you.

Why not?

Because you won't be invited.

That's why.

Ah, Mr.

Lancelot was close enough before, but he's been watching ever since the

went.

And yet, nowadays you don't see nobody.

No more does Miss Dominy.

Yet it used to be such a fine old house, always full of people and parties.

Why did it change?

Nobody knows.

It seems in a way as if a great kind of sorrow fell in that house when Mr.

Lansford became responsible for Miss Dominique. That was after her parents

This Mr.

Lansford, though, what's he like?

Oh, he's a scholar and a gentleman.

He owns a family bank in the city, but he spends most of his time on the

just runs it like it were a business.

Is he married?

Divorced.

Yeah, he's got plenty of money, as Mr. Jonathan.

But he don't have much luck.

Even his blessed rats are bigger and stronger than anyone else's.

His rats?

I'll put that one on your bill as well, sir.

Thank you. Oh, thank you.

Yes, well, is he so, uh...

by way of being unofficial rat catcher in these parts.

Well, it'd been about six months ago. They asked me to come up the manor and

some chain traps in the cellar. I did, and they worked too, because Miss Dominy

told me that the rats had all been disposed of. And she said I wouldn't be

wanted no more.

So? Well, on one of my little moonlight

walks about two months ago, I heard them chains still rattling.

Well, it was, uh... They'd reset the trap and it was a new rat.

Don't you think?

Evening, Fred.

Good evening, Ben.

If you don't mind, I'd just say goodnight to you then, sir.

Finish your beer. No, no, thank you very kindly, sir. I'd just be saying good

evening to you, sir.

Who's that?

That's Ben Krug.

Been with Mr. Jonathan for years.

He's Mr. Jonathan's gamekeeper, and old Fred's the local poacher.

I see.

My arm.

Some barbed wire. I wondered if I could... I'm sorry. There's nobody here

can help you. But my arm, it's... You'd better go to the doctor in the village.

It's just a stranger, Miss Dominey. It's nothing for you to worry about.

It's all right.

Sorry to have bothered you.

That looks alarming.

Let's sit down.

I'll travel you with some water and antiseptic and a bandage.

How did it happen?

I got careless with some barbed wire.

On the stairs just now, you looked at me as though you knew me.

Thankfully, it wasn't your painting, Al.

You'd make a good nurse.

I used to think I'd like to be a surgeon.

Strange, isn't it?

How few women surgeons there are.

Yes.

What a fantastic atmosphere.

The tone of the whole thing.

I mean the color tone.

It's the painter talking.

Could I use it?

What? This room.

It would make a great background for a painting.

From here.

No.

From, uh... From here, yes.

Yes, you get the full depth, fading away to mysterious shadows, and you,

there in the foreground.

You would have to be the centerpiece, of course.

The room is beautiful, but it's nothing without you.

I'll make it noon.

With the sun streaming in.

Yes, catching your hair. Standing just like that.

Maybe with a book in your hand. Sort of brooding.

Enigmatic.

They're Jonathan's.

First editions, mostly, and all Edgar Allan Poe.

Jonathan says he's still an underestimated writer.

What do you think?

I never read him.

What, not even The Pit and the Pendulum?

I don't get much time for reading.

Any reading at all.

Someone should take your education in hand.

Maybe you could read them to me.

In the cellars.

For atmosphere.

No.

Jonathan wouldn't allow that.

But you can come and paint if you like.

I'm sure Jonathan couldn't object to that.

Tomorrow, then.

Tomorrow.

I look forward to it.

You shouldn't, you know.

Overdo it.

Mr. Jonathan. I wouldn't like that.

Chat with a passing stranger.

There's no harm in that.

Oh, it's disturbing you.

Over -exciting you.

Oh, look at you, Miss Domini. Your cheeks are all flushed.

A bit of colour back in them, that must be good.

Well, all the same, Miss Domini, I don't... You fuss too much.

I care for you, Miss Domini.

I look after you.

What was he doing here? He hurt himself.

Did she see him?

It's all right. I was here most of the time.

Yeah. Well, there'll be trouble when Mr. Jonathan hears about it. I promise you.

He's coming again.

Tomorrow.

Oh, no.

Not if Mr. Jonathan has anything to do with it, he won't.

Oh, he'll come.

Mr. Jonathan didn't crotter on a thing like that.

Can I see?

No. Just stand there, relax.

Talk if you want to.

What about?

Oh, I don't know.

What do girls usually talk about?

Boyfriends?

Don't be boring.

Can you get any of the books in?

What's boring about boyfriends?

Let me see.

I want to see.

I insist on seeing. It doesn't look like anything yet.

It never will look like anything.

You don't know the first thing about it.

Who on earth are you playing at? Why did you say you're an artist in the first

place? I needed to get into this house.

Talk to you.

For heaven's sake, why? Why didn't you just come and call?

Would I have gotten in?

No, I suppose not.

Jonathan's very protective.

What was it you wanted to talk about?

Jim Stone.

I don't know what you're talking about.

I think you do.

I'm a detective.

Jim Stone disappeared.

I know he was in this village, and I know he met you.

I think you better leave.

It's not a very pleasant thing to do, tricking your way into a private house.

I've never heard of him.

I've found my Snow White.

Her name is Dominie Lansford.

Stop it.

Shut it off.

I never want to hear his voice again.

Who are you?

What do you really want?

I told you.

I'm a detective, but my name's not McCabe. It's Doan.

Same as my brother.

Jim Doan is your brother?

That's what stopped you yesterday.

The likeness.

Jim and I work together. Our own business.

He was taking a sabbatical holiday over here.

But he always kept in touch with me. Let me know where he was.

After he reached this village, the messages stopped.

That was two months ago.

And Jim didn't come home.

You do know him, don't you?

Yes. Why did you say you never wanted to hear his voice again?

Why?

Would you say I was pretty, Mr. Stone?

Attractive?

Yes, I would.

I'm 22.

Almost 23.

Since I grew up, I've had three serious boyfriends.

I mean, ones I really cared about.

I couldn't hold any of them.

How do you mean, hold?

They all walked out on me.

walked out of my life, disappeared.

Have you any idea what effect that has on one?

Kids are funny like that.

Jim Stone wasn't a kid.

I thought he was the one.

I really did.

He was strong.

He loved me.

Really loved me.

That's who I thought.

I certainly loved him.

I swore I'd hold on to him, even if I had to.

Even if you had to what?

What is all this?

Who tells me to be under attack by an artist?

You know, if I wanted a painting of my niece, I'm quite capable of

one myself.

Who are you?

What on earth do you want here?

There's a detective, Jonathan.

He's looking for James Stone.

What do you mean, looking for him?

He's back in America, isn't he? No, Mr. Lancer, he isn't.

He was last heard in this village.

That was two months ago. Since then, nothing.

Miss Domini tells me that he walked out of here.

Suddenly, for no reason.

I didn't say for no reason.

There was a telephone call from America, wasn't there, Jonathan?

Yes.

Yes, there was.

What was the call about?

I don't know.

One thing we do know was evidently about something more important than me.

Mr. Lansford, I'm not only a detective, I'm Jim Stone's brother.

There was no phone call from the States.

But she just said that there was. To have someone walk out on you for no

is one thing, Mr. Stone.

To have him do it after a possibly traumatic telephone call is quite

At least I should imagine it helps a little.

You mean she was lying?

You are men of plain judgments, aren't you?

No.

Quite conceivably, Domini believes it better.

I think people know when they're lying, don't you?

Not always, Mr. Stone.

Not when the lie eases the pain of loss.

To quote your own poet, A .C. Allen Poe, a great

loss brings an iciness, a sinking, a

sickening of the heart.

To relieve it with a lie is a small offense.

Do you read Poe, Mr. Stone?

No, I don't.

It's a most subtle mind.

He stayed here once, you know, as a child.

I like to think that this house might have given him the ideas for some of his

finer stories.

The fall of the House of Usher, for instance.

No doubt he was told that the foundations of this house have been

centuries.

I feel quite sure that he planted the germ of the much more perilously

House of Usher.

He's the poet of pain, you know.

No, I didn't know.

I don't mean he celebrated it.

He understood its horror.

He could forgive anything that people might do to avoid it.

Yes, he knew all about the sufferings of the ultra -sensitive.

The Biranger has written a preface to Aja.

I'll translate it for you.

His heart was like a hanging lute.

The gentlest touch and it clivered.

Reading him can be quite a therapy.

I recommended it to Dominic, but instead of soothing the agitation, it seemed to

increase it. Mr. Lansford, exactly when did my brother leave this village?

I don't know.

I had to go up to London on business for a few days.

When I came back, he'd gone.

What you were saying two nights ago about the rats at the manor. Ah, we know

about that.

Don't we, Sally Mill girl? We know all... Why, what did I say

about them? About one of them still rattling in its chain trap.

Did I say that? Yes, you did.

Ah.

Well, if you wish to ask me...

That might have been no rat.

What do you mean?

The noise it was making.

You said it was just the rattling of the track.

I never did.

I never said that it was just a rattling.

What else then?

There were groans.

Whatever, Sally.

Grown. You mean human grown?

Well, I certainly do not mean there were rats grown.

Rats grown.

Why? What do you think was making them?

I know that would be.

But it's a funny old lie. It's not no mistake.

Did you... Did you...

Know that that house, it is haunted.

Yes, sir. Did I ever tell you

that... No.

You never did.

Well, I... What?

is not the only thing that I could tell you

over the house.

Looks like he'll be needing that little old rat of his to take him home tonight.

He keeps talking about noises from the cellar of the manor house.

Groans or something like that. Everybody knows about that.

Well, it's the foundations.

They're not safe. They haven't been for years.

You know, they keep settling, resettling, complaining like... Let's

Come along now, giant gentlemen, please.

Come on, Fred, let's be having those glasses. Come on, Fred, come on.

Come along, giant gentlemen, please. Let's be having your glasses, please.

Sure about what?

um

There's no one there.

The imagining thing.

I set the dogs on it.

The rabbits are doing a fierce amount of damage to me this year.

It's not the rabbits I'm interested in.

It's the foxes.

We nearly caught one last night, you know, but it got away.

Got a sore foot today, I shouldn't wonder.

Still, we're keeping the dogs out all night from now on, and I'll be carrying

gun myself.

How do you tackle foxes in America, Mr. Stone?

Oh, it's not as easy there, Mr. Whitten.

Our foxes shoot back.

We better go to my room What

was it you wanted to talk to me about

you must leave

Go away today.

Any particular reason?

I think I'm... I think I might get fond of you.

That sounds like a good reason for staying.

Please.

I mustn't... I mustn't want you.

It's your own sake.

You're mad, bad and dangerous to know, is that it? Don't joke.

I've decided I must never want anyone again.

It's the only way.

The only way to what?

Dominic, you're not making sense.

Just go, that's all.

I'll go when I find out what happened to my brother.

I very like your brother.

I got quite a jolt when I saw you.

I got a jolt when I saw you.

How many?

I've been looking all over for you. If I hadn't seen your horse outside, I

would... You've forgotten, haven't you? We're lunching with the right elves.

No, Jonathan, I hadn't forgotten.

I'll go back and get changed. Goodbye,

Mr. Stone. Goodbye.

What did she come to see you about?

That's none of your business. Oh, please.

She told me to go away.

She said that?

The sooner the better, she said.

Then I should do as he says.

What do you know about man traps, Mr.

Lanceford?

What kind did you have in mind, Mr. Stone? Sure. Thank you.

Cheers, Ed.

Cheers.

Fred's late, isn't he?

Yes.

Yes, he is.

Still, the lighter he is, the less it'll cost you in drinks.

I was looking forward to another of his tall stories.

Yes, well, is there anything I can get you, sir?

Oh, yes, sir.

Right.

What?

You won't tell him, eh?

Will you?

Where does Fred live?

Fred? Well, just down the village by the pond.

Sir, you've left your drink.

He was a rascal.

He was a proper rascal.

But you're going to miss him.

Yes. Well, you couldn't help liking the old fella, really.

If he hadn't had that one drink too many... I knew he'd end up in that pond

day. He's going to be missed, this old Fred.

He's the best rat catcher this old village ever had.

It's never been in the water, has it?

Yeah, but Fred always kept him in his pocket.

Always.

That's another thing I thought.

Anyway, the police should be interested.

Don't you think?

Use your phone.

Get that inside you.

You know, that was as pretty a piece of driving as I've ever seen.

I enjoyed it.

You enjoyed it?

What the devil were you trying to do?

Invite you to a party.

What? I called on you here, heard you'd driven off, thought I'd catch you.

And you turned it into a more enjoyable race.

Well, I suppose it was my fault, really. A race or any kind of challenge, I can

never resist it.

Yesterday, you were asking me to clear off.

Today, you're inviting me to a party. Ah, correction.

Yesterday, Dominique was telling you to go. Today, I am asking you to a party.

Well, I do like company.

Occasionally. And occasionally, you give sudden, impromptu parties.

Well, you're always the best, don't you think?

And this one promises to be particular fun.

You fancy dress.

Is it a theme?

You guess.

Now, Edgar Allan Poe.

I don't know anything about him, I told you. Oh.

Then come at anything you like.

Oh, you will come, won't you?

I'll think about it.

What?

Oh!

There was a package on the front seat of my car. Is it still there?

Oh, I'm afraid the dog ran off with it.

I'm sorry. Was it important?

Not anymore.

Oh, good.

I'll see you tonight.

Nine for 9 .30.

Or perhaps you could come as one of your wild American heroes. What about that?

Cool.

Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier.

You got it in one. Now I know why you wanted to borrow that old hat.

But there's something missing now, sir. Just come here a minute.

Look, why don't you try that, sir?

And try the old gun, too.

There.

Ah.

Well.

How do I look?

If I was an Apache, sir, I'd run a mile.

Hope you have a good time, sir. Thank you.

Columbine Inn.

Yes, he's here.

It's for you, sir.

It's Miss Dominique.

Hello?

You mustn't come tonight.

Why not?

I mustn't see you again, ever.

Good evening, Mr. Stone.

And welcome to the world of Edgar Allan Poe.

Much of madness, more of thin and horror, the soul of its plot.

I would say Edgar Allan Poe always puts it so much better than anyone else.

You bring a breath of transatlantic fresh air to our revels. The

hmm? Most appropriate.

And what are you supposed to be?

Oh, I am a hop -rock.

Hop -rock?

Oh, sorry, I'd forgotten you're not an aficionado.

Hoprock was the court jester, who hoisted the king and his courtiers in an

net and burned them alive.

Ah, here we are.

Thank you.

Yes,

my other guests, I fear, have displayed a most regrettable lack of imagination.

They have all decided to come as the mask of the Red Death.

Oh, it's allegory of the plague, you remember.

Oh, sorry.

Sir, you don't remember.

Yes, the plague that invaded, finally, even the sealed and aesthetic world of

Prince Prospero.

I suppose if Paul were writing today, he would have substituted television for a

detective.

Yes, or something.

Maybe he wouldn't have written it at all today.

You can't seal yourself off anymore.

Well, some of my guests you already know, others you don't.

Evening, Mr. Stone.

Oh, hello.

This is the time of masks, you see. They lend mystery to the most prosaic of

personalities.

Your own, Mr.

Stone.

That's a rather ineffective disguise in your case, I'm afraid.

And that costume?

Well, you're quite distinctive.

When was the last time you threw one of these parties? Ease your mask, Mr.

Stone. I said, when was the last time?

Oh, I throw them from time to time when the world gets particularly boring or

inclusive.

But let's go.

Yes, and here we have that miraculous world of the fear that vanishes here.

And the banjo.

The cat.

Murder is in the remote.

It's a little disappointing that, under all this thought, an animal can have no

conscience.

Without conscience, murder is quite flavorless.

You're speaking from theory, I take it.

I'm really very sorry we didn't get acquainted sooner.

You make an amusing companion.

Where's Dominic?

Well, you disappoint me. Now it was understood that lovers could detect each

other even through a lead casket.

Who said we were lovers?

You can't help it, Miss Domini.

Domini?

Domini!

Hello,

Mrs. Stone.

You enjoy the party, Mrs. Stone? Yes, thank you.

I told you not to come.

The last message I got from my brother was that he was coming to a party at

house.

Dominic, the other men who walked out on you, did they do it after a party? No.

We

come

now, ladies and gentlemen, to the facts in the case of Mr.

Waldemar. Who you will all remember was the man whose mind was kept alive by a

hypnotist for seven months after his body had died.

Monsieur Waldemar, can you explain to us what are your feelings or wishes?

For God's sake, put me to sleep or wake me up.

I tell you that I am dead.

The hypnotist, you may remember, then made the requisite mesmeric passes to

release Monsieur by the mar from his trance.

For what occurred then, however, as Mr. Poe says, it is quite impossible

that any human being could have been prepared.

We come now to our second tableau, Mr. Stone, before a far smaller audience.

Where's Dominic? The title of our second tableau is The Cask of Amontillado,

which you have never read either.

This is a great pity for you.

Your story is boring, Mr. Lance. It's a pity because if you had read it, you

would never have allowed yourself to be lured down to the cellar. Nobody lured

me. In the story, Fortunato was lured down by its enemy by a request to sample

fine sherry.

I don't drink sherry. Naturally, the lure for you was different.

You thought Domini would help you solve the mystery of your brother.

I can't quite tell it away, Potas, of course.

But in the story The Cask of Amontillado, it begins with Fortunato's

getting him drunk.

Two big differences.

I'm not Fortunato and I'm not drunk.

No, you're not drunk, Mr. Stone.

You're drunk with a little refinement of my own.

That second glass of champagne.

Help me with him.

And take food to get ready.

I'm sorry, Miss Domini.

The champagne's run out.

I'd have fetched some more, but the cellar door seems to be locked.

I'll get you the key.

In the story, Fortunato pleaded.

The chain is measured to perfection.

It won't work.

Too many people know I'm here.

And then Krum puts on your hat, jacket, and mask.

A great many people will see you leave, Mr. Thor.

But did I forget to tell you?

The story ends with the victim being victim.

Warda.

Alive.

That's how it was done with my brother, wasn't it?

There's nothing I've ever prized in my life that hasn't finally been taken away

from me.

My wife.

My lovely children.

My brother.

My extended sister.

Tommy needs a permanent price. I can't ever let anyone take her away.

Karuna and Miss Davison won't keep their mouths shut forever.

I do this to protect myself and my possessions. Oh,

the candle, by the way.

Son of Mary diamonds.

It can either have the light or the air.

While it's lit, it's burning up precious oxygen.

Put it out, and you're the dark.

That much sooner.

Goodbye, Mr. Stoltz.

Goodbye.

Miss Domini's bringing the key. Are you sure the door's locked? Well, I thought

it was, miss.

Ah, just what I was coming for, sir.

Look, Mr. Stoltz.

Fred, look, it's here, Woodbridge.

This is a celebration.

Thank you, sir. What do we celebrate here?

What do we ever celebrate, Dominique?

Your perfection.

I was looking for... He must be around somewhere.

Now, the prisoner had managed to smear his buns with his food. And while the

eggs swung low and low, the rats in his cell were gnawing away at the rats.

He got three in the nick of time.

But if his buns had been of steel... Mr.

Robertson? Mr. Jones?

Yes. I saw him leave a little while back.

There's no mistaking that outfit of hers.

Who was that?

I just believe he was fiddling about in that desk over there.

Thank you.

Do you understand?

I have a distinct feeling I've underestimated you.

Put the people to the left, I see. That means a slight correction to the right.

Oh yeah, that was a good one.

Let me out.

Let me out!

No! No!

Let me out!

Please! Let me out! Let me out!

A beautiful village.

The kind of English Shangri -La a man could get lost in.