Original subtitles

-You really can't come. -Why not? I don't see why.

Because your mother doesn't know. Your sister doesn't know.

Because you are only 15. And I don't know what will happen.

Stop trying it on all the time.

But I am your girlfriend.

I know.

I'll be back.

Mother?

I am all wet. My bed is wet.

It's running out of me. Is it normal?

-Have the pains started? -I don't think so.

Just sometimes. I woke up with a pain.

Shall I call Dr. Kirchmeier?

You must know, Mother.

-Is it starting? Have my waters burst? -It was different with me.

3:00.

You overdid it today.

I told you not to go.

I can't relate to this child.

I am ashamed that I have no maternal feelings.

That will change when you see it.

When it loves you and needs you, you'll love it, too.

It's a stranger.

It needs everything from me and it's a complete stranger.

You have to get to know each other.

Was I a stranger?

Later, when you grew up.

Then you were often a great stranger.

You know, you forget so quickly...

what it was like, with children.

And Vo|ker....

I don't really love him.

I try to because he is gentle and intelligent and patient.

I try to be the same.

He is a good musician.

Almost a genius, sometimes.

-Almost. -I like him.

I worry about him.

He doesn't look well. Is he ill?

He has always looked like that.

It's all fate.

You can't choose who to spend your life with...

your children or your husband.

Success, too, just comes or doesn't come.

Why do we work, then?

Why do we fall in love?

I don't know, Clarissa.

It all sounds so hopeless.

I am so happy about your baby.

I'll help you to bring it up.

I can't just take things as they come like that.

But you must.

First you must have your baby.

I'll call a taxi to take us to the hospital.

That's enough ofthis night fears.

That's all they are, night fears.

ESTHER GOLDBAUM PHOTOGRAPHER

You can speak German.

You won't find Fraulein Cerphal here.

You're in my light.

I was told I could find Fraulein Cerphal here.

Perhaps you can help me?

-Are you her niece? -Who told you that?

Itwasjust a hunch.

You are Esther Goldbaum?

lam.

Out ofthe way.

They are almost medical, your pictures.

Case histories of sick cats?

In Venice.

All in Venice.

Shocked?

What is your name?

Reinhard Don. I am a filmmaker from Munich.

Or rather I live there.

I am writing a screenplay about a Munich story.

-A publisher's family, an heiress. -Hold this.

Various heirs.

It's really about a house.

I am still researching.

Who said my aunt would be here? Is she coming?

-Don't you know? -No idea.

I'll be here for a while. Can I come again?

-Will it be a feature film? -I hope so.

Are these for an exhibition? A cat's-eye view of Venice?

Something like that.

Come back in a few days. Come on.

Coming UP?

Been seeing Venice?

I have been thinking and writing.

I have something for you.

From my aunt. Read it.

From Peru. Posted six weeks ago. It took all that time to get here.

Peru? I'll have along wait, then.

Go ahead, read it.

After that she was going to Biarritz or somewhere.

Excuse me.

How is it going?

Not too well.

I can't keep my room, they don't like me typing.

And it's awfully expensive here.

Venetians have their own inflation, just add a zero.

Come here.

You can work here.

You mean....

It's free, there's no one to disturb.

The house is too big for me.

Lovely light.

Afternoon sun.

I can't work in the morning, anyway.

Take it. Fix it up to suit yourself.

It'll save you coming to ask all the time.

-She is coming with Herr Gattinger? -My father.

-Gattinger? That old-- -Nazi. Say it.

I am sorry. I didn't mean to.

I didn't know.

Guessed....

You can use it for your film.

Trixi, what's wrong?

-What is it? -Nothing.

You can tell me.

-Is it a boy? -Leave me alone.

ok3Y-

I can look into the depths of your wicked little soul.

And what do I see? The end of a Hollywood career.

Stupid cow!

At least you have stopped bawling.

One day it'll happen to you and you'll see how mean you were.

One day what will happen?

Right, I've got it. Seven seconds of musique concréte.

How does it sound?

Look what I've got.

Venice.

-It's from Reinhard. -In Venice.

"Dear Olga, I am on the track of a character here."

I can't read this bit. ''I am learning about her as I write.

"What are you doing next spring?

''l have got a wonderful part for you.

"Love from the city of dreamers and robbers, Reinhard."

Go on. Go on typing.

Stand up.

Over against the wall.

Take your vest off.

Turn around.

-What do you want to see? -Everything.

I never photograph people. This is new for me, too.

Go to the window.

Lift your arms up. Higher.

Now kneel down.

Didn't you have dysentery?

It hurt like hell.

-Where? In your stomach? -Lower down.

Clutch yourself, remember the pain...

like your guts were being torn out.

Sorry.

Take your trousers off.

You'll pay for this.

-You'll have to tell me everything. -Okay.

I want your whole life.

On your stomach.

What have I let myself in for?

How many more?

Not many. Turn over.

Catch!

Is he asleep?

I want to go away. To Australia, preferably.

And little Arnold?

He looks at me so reproachfully.

You are imagining it.

He's always hungry.

I'm not enough for him.

He's never satisfied.

But he's gained weight.

Look at his chubby cheeks.

We have to get to know each other, Arnold.

You were nine when your mother died in Dachau.

You had only one photo.

Only one photo ofthe beautiful Jewess.

At night, in bed that photo hung next to you on the wall.

In that room, in that house, in Ticino, in Switzerland...

you were homesick and couldn't sleep.

Every morning you asked your aunt...

when your mother was coming to fetch you.

Never an answer could you believe.

You were too young to understand what war meant or...

that they'd betrayed her and sent her to Dachau.

Your Swiss aunt couldn't understand that, either.

One day the war was over.

But for you nothing had changed. War was only a word.

Your mother seemed further and further away, until finally...

she was just a photo.

A piece of paper, which you smelled...

and licked, searching for some trace of your mother.

But she remained a piece of paper.

Perhaps, that paper made you a photographer.

You are rewriting me.

No, I'm telling you your own story.

-It's too romantic, too German. -But very good.

I can feel it, ever since you've been here.

You're so afraid when a woman comes near you.

"Alexander doesn't reply.

"He looks out the window at the half-moon over Venice."

Have you got a woman in Munich?

You needn't be afraid of me.

It's just a strange thought, that I'm giving you my life.

To make into a film.

I'm giving you my life.

You know what maddens me about writing?

That no feeling is ever simple.

You ought to hate all Germans.

But you think and speak German.

You ought to hate Herr Gattinger, who made you...

then betrayed your mother, to protect his Nazi career.

But you call him father.

He helped me to go to the Academy in Florence.

He helped himselfto your inheritance.

He and the Cerphals.

But you love him.

Do you love him?

-Do you? -Do I love him?

Of course I do!

Reinhard, what are you doing?

I'm not one ofthose Nazi Jewesses! Don't write that.

It's kitsch and it's not true.

l.\ \ I] .5 \\ I

Come back and listen properly! What do you hear?

What do you hear?

It'll take weeks and weeks.

You can have the attic, my ex-husbands room.

I'll leave you alone, and you me, okay?

"Alexander turns on his back...

"gazes up at the moon...

"and says...."

"'The half-moon shines in the sky...

"the air is foggy and cold...

"| hail thee, demigod ofthe heavens...

"Like thee I'm half, not whole.‘

"Do you know that poem?"

"Esther shakes her head."

''l was born half good and half evil.

"But paltry in either course.

"My goodness lacking grandeur.

"My evil lacking force."

"Esther gets up...

"steals over to Reinhard...

"sits on his lap...

"and whispers comfortingly in his ear:

"'The moon is waxing!"'

Is it really?

When it's round on the right, it's waxing.

Luckily for us....

It's all right, it's all here.

For you.

She's lost all her money.

She's destitute, did you know that, child?

I tried to warn her.

It was a completely harebrained scheme.

Some Frenchmen wanted to build a cultural institute in the mountains.

Doomed to failure from the start.

-But she gave them two million. -Marks.

Gone for good.

-How are you feeling? -Don't play the innocent!

You got me into this mess. I should never have listened to you.

My father warned me about you. Do you know what he said?

"That Gattinger is a bad cheque.

"Like the whole Third Reich."

You haven't learned a thing, Gerold.

It's not true. I tried to warn her.

But this artist appeared and there was no stopping her.

My father's here, and my aunt. Come in.

Don't we know each other from Munich? Well!

-What was your name again? -D6rr.

Elisabeth, look who's here.

Reinhard's living here.

We're working together.

Well, I've done my bit, once and for all.

You artists are bloodsuckers, absolute vampires.

For years they were all over my house, bleeding me dry.

Are you after me, too?

I'm writing a screenplay, about Esther...

and your house.

They only ever wanted my money. Money, it's horrible.

Look at me. In one year, I've aged 20.

It's horrible.

I wanted him to be goulash.

But he won't.

Maybe the other one will.

Will you?

That was my father.

My father was a fighter pilot.

He helped bomb Guernica.

He got a medal for it in '37. He wore it next to his heart.

It looked just like a fried egg.

Another murderer?

But nice.

He made my mother happy...

at least for a few years.

First I found you ugly.

Well?

The first photo's always the best.

How about the grain?

-It's good. -Go closer.

You know, I love your neck?

It's so vulnerable.

Have you ever thought of being beheaded?

The blade cutting into your neck...

and coming out through your throat?

I often imagine going to the scaffold.

How my heart pounds, and I start to panic.

But I keep walking.

It's just chance that we live in an age when such things don't happen.

Unlike your mother, in the Third Reich.

My mother was gassed, not beheaded.

If only I knew why I told you my story.

As if I'd been waiting to get rid of it.

Your story is my story now.

296 pages!

Don't you want to read it?

Later.

Now you'll leave me.

Let me out, please!

You were my prisoner all the time.

I must go back to Munich, to see what's real and what I've invented.

Maybe it doesn't even exist.

No one ever listened to me for so long.

If I stay here, I'll never make this film.

Have you got me now? Is your curiosity satisfied?

Have you got me?

I'll be back!

11 days ago I was in Venice.

Can you imagine? The whole city under water.

-And now, I'm back here. -Right, they're ready.

Don't open them yet, the g|ue's not dry.

I'd like one for my leading lady.

Of course, that's different.

May I introduce myself?

H6s|. I'm a real film fan.

As a kid, I went around with a travelling cinema.

I knew all the actors in those days.

Just a moment.

May I have your autograph?

Mine?

Better get used to it, Olga!

-Your name? -H6s|.

-With an "e"? -No, just "s-|."

Trixi! It's been ages!

I've finished the screenplay. Look!

Traitor!

Don't be like that.

Five weeks I waited for you! And you never sent one word!

Waited?

It was all my idea.

Everything's changed, Trixi.

I'll tell you about it soon, okay?

Phoney! I'll never speak to you again.

Has she got a crush on you?

I'm so happy it's starting at last. I've waited so long.

-Get in, I won't be long. -I won't disappoint you!

What'|| you have? Coffee?

Now listen, Trixi. In this film...

there's a really great little part for you.

Honestly.

So?

Esther, you know, the lead...

she's much older than you.

She was in the war, you see?

-And she has dark hair. -Like Olga?

Yes, well, she'll have to dye it.

You know what, Reinhard?

You're a stupid wimp! You'll never make a decent film.

Blonde, dark, Munich, Mexico.

And best wishes from Venice.

"|'ve got a wonderful part for you."

You know what you are? A straw in the wind.

Fluttering around, dipping...

and bobbing. Like this!

Wimp! Drop dead, Reinhard!

Shall I open the window?

No, there's an awful draught back here.

It's misting up. Wait, I'll fix it.

Just press the knob.

Let me do it, I can manage. Press it, and then what?

-I think he's hungry. -He's just tired, obviously.

You sound like my mother.

Well, our Simone's sleeping.

Hermann, close the window.

-Where are we? -Can't be far now.

-The sooner we get there, the better. -What if Rob's not home?

-He's always home at weekends. -True.

You can't go any faster?

-What a load! -You said it!

All right, Simone, all right.

-Get the pram, Hermann. -What do you think I am doing?

All right, my love.

Where's Mummy's little baby?

Why did they cut his head off?

St. Alban spread the word of God...

and that made him many enemies.

Finally he was beheaded for it.

He looks as if he could put it back on again.

You're right. For that is what Christ tells us:

"He that believeth in me hath everlasting |ife."

-Where is Clarissa? -In the church, I think.

Is there anyone in that boat?

I can't see anyone.

It must have come adrift.

-What's that? -Looks like a patrol boat.

There must have been an accident.

-Has anyone seen Reinhard? -No, why?

-I've called the Lake Patrol. -Why? What's happened?

-Have you found anything? -Not yet.

Reinhard went out very early in our boat.

-He wanted to think about the script. -Has something happened to him?

Reinhard was in that boat.

-Found anything? -Nothing.

He was bobbing about, but....

Herr Stiirmer, can I have a word?

You knew him?

He had a screenplay with him. A4, bound. Title Esther.

-Age? -33.

From here?

No, Munich, Wilhelmstrasse, 4.

Anything else you can tell us?

I can still see your face before me...

lstill hold my heart in check.

Sometimes it's too much, and I want to drop the film and run back to you.

But how could I face you, without having told Esther's story?

It's my way ofloving you. Isn't it?

Reinhard.

COAST GUARD