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When Brod first introduced Franz to me,
something unexpected happened.

Before he shook my hand,
he bowed so awkwardly

that his hair touched my forehead.

He was the first person
who didn't treat me any differently.

Even though he knew I was blind.

How often have I begged you
not to wear my clothes?

But this is my dress!

- I bought it last summer.
- What are you talking about?

- And I'm telling you...
- Only in the evening.

Morgenröte! Rosy dawn!

Can't you hear it in German?

How could there be
a rosy dawn in the evening?

Morning...

Franz, you know what?

You and I will make a pact, right?

You stay outside until you've calmed down
and until you learn

that your mother and I need
to get enough sleep.

We have no one to open
the shop for us in the morning.

And if you behave like a man,
you can come back to our bedroom.

Deal?

We can't leave him out there.

Don't worry. That little bit of fear
will be a good lesson for him.

The moon was already
at some height.

A mail coach passed by in its light.

A gentle wind rose all around.

You could feel it even in the ditch,

and nearby...

This is outrageous!

- ...the forest began to rustle.
- An impertinence! Do you understand?

Proletarian greed!

That's this disgusting,
calculating Czech way.

Hermann, calm down,
you will be sick!

Sick? I've been sick
and disgusted for ages

of that leftist rogue!

What happened, Dad?

The attorney has resigned.

- Again?
- To hell with him.

Does he want more money?

More money, yes! Yes, gladly!
Does he want more?

He can have more!
A couple of kicks in the backside!

Kasl persuaded the assistants
to join him at some Vinohrady shop.

- Franz.
- We have no one left.

- They are all gone.
- Franz!

Listen to me.

Tomorrow morning you go to Radotín
and persuade accountant Pinek,

that at least he withdraws
his resignation.

- Tomorrow?
- Yes, scare him.

Tell him I'll take him to court
if he's not back at the shop on Monday.

Without an accountant, we're finished.

- But I...
- Franz can't make it tomorrow.

He has a reading
at the Civil Servants' Association.

What reading?

Never mind... I...

Are you saying that your stupid writing
is more important

than the bankruptcy of our business?

No, of course not.

They invited him,
along with Max and Werfel.

It's not important.

- But you've been preparing for weeks!
- Ottla, please, stop.

You can't just cancel
and give up now.

Do I really have to witness this?

See? Your children.

We built everything from the ground up,
so they could have a good life!

And when they could help just once,
they turn their backs on us.

I already said I'll see
the accountant tomorrow.

- You can't do that.
- Ottla, go to your room.

Every father wishes for such a son.

- I'll talk to him again.
- You might as well talk to the wall.

Smile!

When you see Yitzchak perform, you will
understand what I'm talking about.

This is not just ordinary theater,

it's a revelation
about the nature of thought.

- Jewish thought?
- That too.

He shows us what lies behind us

so we can understand
where we actually want to go.

And you'll also have a great time.
It's incredibly entertaining.

You don't even speak Yiddish
and neither do I.

You feel this kind
of theater here, sister.

How about a crown, sir?

I haven't eaten for three days.

- I'll give him something.
- Wait, I'm the one who's earning.

I only have a two-crown piece,
do you have any change?

Change?

You wanted one crown.

- I haven't got change.
- So give it back to me.

- What?
- The coin.

I... I will find a crown.

No, he should return my two crowns.
Then we can change.

Please!

- You gave it to me.
- I gave you a crown.

A two-crown piece.

The lady here saw it.

- Come on, let him keep the second crown.
- No!

Why not? See it as a double good deed.

He is responsible
for what he says, Ottla.

We are all responsible
for what we say.

You wanted one crown, sir.
I gave you a two-crown piece,

so now you have to give me back
what you owe me!

All words have a unique,
unmistakable weight!

Franz...

That's what the Bible says!

How can nobody understand
what a word is worth?

How?

There is so much more
I want to tell you!

And yet it can all be put
into one word!

Abnegation!

That is the choice that
drives the body to perform.

A shout towards God
that we are ready!

I am ready!

Ten days in this crate
is only the beginning!

The art of asceticism
begins at fifteen!

Twenty days open up the gates of heaven,
but only forty will let you

step out of the body
and truly see!

See the world
in its primordial form

in which the Lord
entrusted it to mankind!

Everyone is created to learn the truth!

Everyone! Even you!

Franz!

- Come on, hurry up!
- Franz!

Oh dear...

Alright, girls!

A little bit more.

Come on! Get moving! Go on!

- Young sir!
- Are you alright?

He was a normal, healthy boy.

He'd visit me in Třešť
during summer holidays.

He was interested
in everything modern.

He'd often say: "Uncle, you must
keep up with the times,

whoever oversleeps, loses."

He's the reason why I sold the carriage
and bought this infernal machine.

He was a different Franz than the one
cramming paragraphs back in Prague.

I think that he was...

happy at my place.

- Good morning, doctor.
- Good morning.

Director Marschner and general director
have been waiting for you for ten minutes.

Go.

I apologize profoundly.

I apologize profoundly.
The manufacturer, he was unstoppable.

We can begin.

Dear General Director,
allow me to introduce the law clerks,

Doctors Kraus, Zentel and Kafka.

All three were recommended
by Director Marschner

for promotion to deputy secretary.

Thank you.

Gentlemen,

the Workers' Accident Insurance

is the largest insurance
firm of its kind

in the Kingdom of Bohemia
and in the entire empire.

Not only here in Vienna,
but across the country,

we observe that mandatory
insurance for workers

is the most important step forward
in the field of insurance

that we have taken
in recent decades.

Excuse me.

At the same time,
it should be noted

that the evidence and management
of individual cases

require the very best and brightest minds.

Excuse me. Please accept my apologies.

- Kafka!
- I'll get him. Sorry.

This can't be. I'm very sorry.
I ask for your forgiveness.

If you want to speak
to Doctor Kafka himself,

please arrange an appointment
with his secretary.

And if you're interested in his proposals
on worker protection,

then contact the patent office.

Can you hurry up, already?

The blind man longs for a plain,
an empty plain.

Franz is also a little blind,
though he still has his eyesight.

He bumps into things
and people around him.

He doesn't understand them.

Franz!

Only when he imagines them,

materializing them in his thoughts,
then he understands them.

In his own way.

I was about to go to the park.

I washed my hands
three times in a row.

Finally, something is happening.

He only revolves around himself.

He dissects himself like a fly
under a microscope

and proudly tells us what
he's discovered about himself.

Well,

he's actually a very nice boy.

He just has to eventually figure out
what he really wants.

And then we can all laugh
about this silliness.

"At our feet, the dragonflies
came to rest

wings spread in the gentle vapors' mist.
In the water, emblazoned by the cliffs,

we appeared as flowers
or as the rocks to them."

"Up to the heights, there meandered
from afar a dried path,

incandescent dust in the purest form,

leaning down to us
with grapes' heavy gift,

from the vine a cool breeze flowed,

mature as a woman."

It's not bad.

- I wrote it for you.
- For me?

This is the best
of the 21 I'm going to publish.

- I will publish them through Fleischer...
- You've written a successful novel, Max.

You write poems
and for the newspaper.

Have you finally finished
writing something?

No.

Of course you did.
Yes, come on, show me.

- You don't have to read it.
- What?

Should I or shouldn't I?
What do you want?

It's all nonsense. I want you
to agree with me on that.

Wait a minute. You want me

to read it and agree with you
that it's all nonsense.

Did I get that right?

You really don't have
to read this.

Franz...

no one can describe a pile of rubbish
as beautifully as you.

Maybe we better leave it.

Keep up the pace
until below Vyšehrad.

"'It's a peculiar apparatus,'
said the Officer to the Traveler,

gazing with a certain..."

Franz!

You have to speak louder.

Louder.

"...gazing with a certain
admiration at the device,

with which he was, of course,
thoroughly familiar."

"It appeared that
the Traveler had responded

to the invitation of the Commandant
only out of politeness,

when he had been invited to attend
the execution of a soldier

condemned for disobeying
and insulting his superior."

I don't know whether someone has already
explained the apparatus to you.

This apparatus is
our previous Commandant's invention.

The organization of the entire
penal colony is his work.

Have you heard of him?

It consists of three parts.

The one underneath is called the bed,
the upper one is called the inscriber,

and this moving part
is called the harrow.

What was the man guilty of?

He overslept his duty.

It was his duty to rise
at every stroke of the hour

and salute in front
of the captain's door.

Certainly not a difficult duty,
but a necessary one.

And the sentence?

The sentence is light.

The apparatus will write

the order he disobeyed on his back.

Does he know the verdict?

Why?

He experiences it on his own body.

Shit.

Step aside.

- "'This is all the Commandant's fault!'"
- Shit!

"'My machine's as filthy as a pigsty.'"

"'Haven't I spent hours
trying to explain

that a day before the execution,

there should be no more food
served to the condemned?'"

The long needle inscribes
and the short one squirts water out

to always keep the inscription clear.

After two hours,
the felt is removed,

for the man has no more energy
for screaming.

I like to watch it.

- And then?
- Nothing more.

Finally, the harrow fully impales him
and tosses him to the ground.

In earlier days, the valley
was overflowing with people.

Full of fanfare.
The ladies with their hats.

And children used to sit at the front
so they could see properly.

"'Here in the penal colony
I have been appointed judge.'"

"'In spite of my youth.'"

"'For I stood at the side
of our Old Commandant

in all matters of punishment, and I also
know the most about the apparatus.'"

"'The basic principle I use
for my decisions is this:

guilt is always beyond a doubt.'"

"'Other courts could not
follow this principle,

for they are made up
of many heads

and, in addition, have even
higher courts above them.'"

"'But that is not the case here,

or at least it was not that way
with the previous Commandant.'"

May I speak to you in confidence?

Someone is conspiring
against my legal authority.

I know the New Commandant.

I understood right away
what he intended with his invitation.

He wants to know your opinion.

You may say, for example:

"We also have other punishments
in our country

besides the death penalty
or that the torture is not..."

You're overestimating my influence.
I am not an expert.

Help me against the Commandant!

No, I am against this apparatus.

Then it is time.

Begone!

Let him go!

Drop it!

Thank you.

Great, Franz.

"On a dark, cursed night
Kissed by the very son of the devil

All around, ignited in a single moment..."

At first it made me angry.

As if the worst student

in the back row of the class stood up
and lectured me, the teacher.

One wants to disagree,
but the longer the boy goes on,

the more one must realize
that he can put into a single sentence

what would take myself
a dozen pages to express.

I felt panicked disgust
and admiration at the same time.

If it had been Werfel or Baum,
I would never talk to them again

for the rest of my life. But Franz...

It was completely impossible
to hate Franz.

He had the innocent charm of a martyr.

I just can't accept
that you're an atheist,

because you have doubts
about God's existence.

Your doubts, your uncertainties
are given to you by God.

To lose faith,
you must have had it.

Many people have lost their faith,
even if they never had it.

That's an anachronism, Franz.

How would God come up
with something like that?

With the heart.

Kierkegaard writes
that doubt defeats faith,

not the other way round.

Kierkegaard is an old babbler
who went insane

from the lack of sunlight.

No religion questions its God. Bed.

Doubts are hard

to nail to the cross.

All he says is we mustn't
confuse faith with gullibility.

For such talk they'd
burn you 100 years ago.

I'll do it myself.

Come on.

Do you need more help?

The meaning lies in the search
for God, not in finding Him.

Lie on your side, please.

Dirty things cost extra.

What's your name?

Róza.

Where are you from?

Listen,

this is not an interrogation.

If you don't want to do it,
you won't get your money back anyway.

Why are you staring at me like this?

It's nice.

Don't stop.

Silence!

Should I be quiet?

They stole my silence.

- Two degrees to the left!
- We're late, Franz.

- What're they doing?
- What do you think? Measuring.

- And why?
- So they can tear it all down.

- Why tear it all down?
- You understand nothing.

They're about to build a new city here.
Very beautiful. Like Paris.

And where're we going to live?

Only Czechs will live in Prague.

And why?

Because the Jews and Germans
are not welcome, that's why.

Dad won't let them.
I'll tell him about it.

If you rat, I'll tell father what you say
about him, when no one's listening.

No, please don't do that!

Hello, you have reached
the Franz Kafka Museum in Prague.

To speak in English, say: one.

To speak in German, say: zwei.

To speak in Japanese, say: san.

My God, what happened?

I have been thinking.

The first text must not be
"The Trees," but "Sorrow."

That's nonsense,
"Children on the Road" remains first.

They're infantile.
I've completely cut them out.

Max?

Franz. Felice. Felice. Franz.

So you're the genius
we've been waiting for?

No, he... he comes later.

- Max is my cousin.
- Second cousin.

Felice is currently on her way
to relatives in Hungary

and has fortunately found
a day to spend with me.

We see each other too rarely.

I heard that you are publishing
a book together?

It's more of an experiment.

What are you writing about?

Franz is a writer
who doesn't like to talk.

I, on the other hand,
talk too much.

Then don't stop.
Maybe you can wake him up.

- May I?
- Yes.

- Have you read Herzl?
- Only briefly.

Good, Doctor Kafka avoids anything

that even remotely
smells of the synagogue.

- I'm learning a little Hebrew.
- Me too.

For three years now, very seriously.

The past is the path
of the future.

Your "a little" seems to be more
than my "seriously."

I think Herzl explains very clearly
why the world is so out to get the Jews.

- Really?
- Yes.

It's all because
we don't have our own state.

A state is identity.

And a people without an identity
will always be a problem.

Listen carefully, Franz.

In Berlin they're already
more progressive than here.

Good Lord! What was that?

In our country,
we solve the Jewish problem

by tearing down half the city.

The ghetto redevelopment is meant
to make Prague a world jewel.

Franz is very old-fashioned.

On the contrary, I'm all for making sure
no stone is left upon another here.

And why not?

Because maybe then I'll finally
find the strength to leave.

Franz kept rewriting Contemplation
for two years. He was never finished.

Then he meets Felice and she...

She drives him on like
a gust of wind.

Within a few months, he wrote
The Judgement, completed The Stoker

and began work
on The Metamorphosis.

Suddenly, he was able
to transform his doubts into words.

I believe there are only two sins,
that lead to all others:

impatience and indifference.

It was because of impatience that
people were expelled from paradise,

and because of indifference,
they do not return.

Did God tell you that?

No.

He knows that there
is only one sin.

Impatience.

We were expelled
because of impatience

and because of impatience,
we do not return.

That is really very interesting.

He wrote her countless letters.

In the first year,
two or three a day.

Her mother initially
pretended to be angry

about the connection,
but I think she was secretly glad.

A Prague civil servant with
a pension was a good match

for a poor girl from Berlin.

A direct hit.

Felice parroted what she read
in books and Franz fell for it.

Here it is.

I copied that from Franz's diary,
out of jealousy at the time.

"When I saw her for the first time,
she looked like a maid."

"A bony, empty face that
did not hide her superficiality."

"Her neck was exposed."

"A blouse with the collar turned up,

the nose crooked,
as if it had been broken."

"Dark, stiff, unattractive hair,
a strongly receding chin."

He described her
with such precision.

I only understood it much later,
but that was a declaration of love.

If we clear out the storage
behind the shop,

we can start selling
a range of work fabrics.

An excellent idea.

Work clothing is the future!

Such a business is like
a steam engine.

If you don't keep shoveling coal,
you'll be left standing still.

How's our factory doing?

Franzi.

We have... new customers for
asbestos in Eastern Bohemia.

It's time you took care
of the family business, boy.

Asbestos is the future.

Could you at least show
a spark of interest?

For me.

Go on, say something!

He is asleep.

I got engaged to Felice.

Engaged?

My little brother
is full of surprises.

This summer, I'll ask her father
for her hand in marriage

and the wedding
could be in autumn.

That's strange,

I can't recall you asking
my permission on this matter.

That's Franz's business.

Oh, really.

This is a matter that
concerns the whole family.

That girl from Berlin is dirt poor.

Felice works hard
and earns her own money.

And?

How much can a woman
earn by herself?

We'll rent a flat in Berlin.

That's a wonderful idea.

You don't have time
to help in the factory.

You let your work
in insurance slide.

But at night, you're awake enough
for your scribbling.

Your father doesn't mean it that way.

Then go ahead and get burnt, if you must.

You've disappointed me
so often, boy,

once more or less makes no difference.

Marry her.

Make her a few brats.

I'll behave like a proper grandfather.

Why didn't you tell me before?

You would've tried to talk me out of it.

Yes, I would have.

Welcome to the yoke
of marriage, brother-in-law.

You'll soon enjoy going
to the factory, you'll see.

Franz.

I think he never wanted to visit her.

And Felice scared him.

He could only love her on paper.

There she was perfect.

Physically and mentally.

But every time they saw each other,
his terrible headache returned.

Mr. Kafka!

Second floor.

Franz?

- The movers are here.
- Finally.

Let's see how long
the fine gentleman

can last all alone without servants.

I bet a gold coin you'll come
crawling back by the weekend.

We will see.

Remember,

we dine at eight.

And dress properly.

I can do it on my own.

- Alright. And now, turn!
- Okay. Good.

Thank you.

Finally, silence.

Keep moving, please!
There's another group following us!

This is Kafka's original
room and desk

at which he wrote most
of his masterpieces and letters.

Here we can see more than 11,000 letters,
a hypothetical example of Kafka's

prolific correspondence
during his 25 years of active life.

He didn't use a typewriter?

Never. Kafka only wrote with a pen,
it was a question of principle.

One to three letters a day, approximately.

But given the number of characters,
it was more than four average emails

or twelve Twitter messages.

So from today's perspective
one might say that Kafka

was an extremely social person.

Moreover, the fact that he preferred
writing to meeting in person

makes him a third millennium personality.

Kafka uses letters to announce his arrival

and initiate fictional
and apparent movement.

Let me explain:
the sending of the letters,

his journey and the gestures
of the postman,

replace the actual encounter.

An example of Kafkaesque love:
a man falls in love with a woman

he has seen only once.

He writes tons of letters
but he can never come.

And the day after they break up,
when the last letter is delivered,

he punches the postman in the face.

Hide and seek, hide and seek
Everything must be hidden, so to speak!

Smile!

...must be hidden, so to speak!

Hide and seek, hide and seek
Everything must be hidden, so to speak!

Franz, where am I?

You'll never find me.

Where am I?

Franz, now come find me.

Where could I be? Come search for me.

Elli!

Vali!

Elli!

Vali!

Where does the vermin
keep coming from?

So, the parlograph consists of
a wax cylinder with a needle

and an electric drive and it records
the voice that is dictated into it.

That's incredible.

Imagine the possibilities
this opens up.

I can't write you a letter,
so I dictate a message for you,

that you don't have time
to listen to,

but a typewriter connected
to your parlograph

will transcribe it
and leave it on your desk.

Or you can listen to my voice
at night before bed.

The whole world could be connected.
Everyone with everyone.

Maybe one day it will be like that.

Certainly!

Don't you want to ask me
how my trip was?

Forgive me, I'm a fool.

How was your trip, darling?

Maybe I should have gone
straight to Berlin,

just as you had written.

No, I thought Prague
was a detour for you.

Franz.

Franz.

Franz.

Franz, we are engaged.

Coming to see you is no detour for me.

You have no idea how happy I am.

My parents want you to ask for
my hand in marriage in Berlin.

They can't afford
a trip to Prague right now.

I found a few hotels on the outskirts

which hopefully won't be too expensive
for your parents.

Did you get my copy
of Contemplation?

Yes,

I wrote to you and thanked you.

Yes, of course.

You wrote that you thanked me.

Are you angry with me?

Me?

No, why should I... be angry?

Apparently, ten copies
have already been sold.

I bought nine of them myself.

So I'm very curious
who owns the tenth.

Franz?

Felice?

I am sure you will enjoy
your stay here, Mr. Kafka.

Back to nature.

That's the motto we all follow here.

We want to give our guests back
the joy of nature,

of their own bodies.

I guess that's why
you chose Jungborn?

I'm getting married soon.

Hm. Congratulations.

But I'm afraid I'm a bit reserved
when it comes to physicality.

Then you're in the best place
in the world, my friend.

Don't worry.

Our sanatorium
will change you for the better.

One, two. One, two.

On the floor, please.

And one, two.

- Madame, how may I assist you?
- Mr. Kafka?

- This way. First floor.
- Thank you.

- I'm looking for Doctor Kafka.
- Over there, please.

Is everything all right with you?

I am perfectly fine.

Have you never heard of
Jørgen Peter Müller?

No. Should I?

It helps with circulation.
Every five hours.

Good for headaches.

I've heard a doctor can help too.

Doctors profit from illness.
Why should they cure it?

Felice has already warned me
that you're quite the deep thinker.

- Felice?
- Oh, sorry.

I haven't introduced myself yet.
Grete Bloch.

I'm here in Prague
for a phonograph fair.

Felice asked me to talk to you.

To me? And... about what?

About you, of course.

So? Shall we go?

- Yes, of course.
- Good.

You really don't want anything?

I avoid sweets.

Felice says you're also a vegetarian.

- Do you disapprove?
- No.

Anthroposophy claims
that animals have souls.

In that sense,
I just avoid cannibalism.

Felice fears she might
have offended you.

Why doesn't she write me that?

I don't know anyone
who would be

a better match
for a famous writer than Felice.

Then perhaps you were looking
for someone else.

I've read your prose, Doctor.

Franz.

We record a whole range of titles
in my company's studios.

Döblin, Dostoyevsky, Mann...

Kafka's texts would be an honor.

You are exaggerating.

I even cried during your Requiem.

Rilke wrote that.

Oh, sorry.

Would you go to the cinema with me?

You don't like it?

On the contrary.

They look like Felice's parents.

Nonsense.

That is an outrageous claim.

A few years later, Grete wrote
a letter in which she implied

Kafka could be the father
of her child. Franz!

Can you seriously believe that?

She said she gave birth
to the boy in 1914

and named him Marcel.

Martin.

His name was Martin.

If you say so, darling.

They exchanged many letters,

yes, that's certain,

but... him touching her... No.

Nonsense. That's unthinkable.

Quick, quick!

You're very lucky that
it's impolite to beat a guest.

Why did you never get married?

Why should I have done that?

Just look around.

The beauty, the completeness. Harmony.

Why spoil it with something
as imperfect as marriage?

For God's sake, Franz, don't listen
to me! It's normal to get married.

If everybody was like me,
we'd be extinct.

Maybe that would be better.

Come on, I want to show you something.

Move it, hop on!

Come on.

You don't want to be put to shame
by your small-town uncle.

Come on.

What is it?

Come.

Sit down.

Fifteen hundred revolutions per minute.

You want to open
a torture chamber?

I want to fix people's teeth.

I don't know why, but in Bohemia,
everything decays faster.

But the important thing is
the principle of this device, Franz.

A bit of pain can prevent great suffering.

And that's exactly
how marriage works.

What about harmony?

It's not easy to be alone.

I know something about that.

Alright, let's have a look at you.

Open your mouth. Mhm.

Come on, like a frog. Go for it.

Good.

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

I don't want
to see your palms!

That's it! Like a frog.

- Franz!
- Well done! Good!

Come on, sailor.

You'll see, together we can do it.

Today, you'll swim alone.

You're as skinny as a stray dog.

You need to eat more meat.

Otherwise, the girls
will just be looking at me.

Alright.

Fine.

That's it.

Good.

Off you go.

Hello, Mr. Kafka.
I'm sorry, my hands are wet.

- Do you remember how to tie yourself up?
- He doesn't need it anymore.

- He's only had three attempts so far.
- I'm saying he doesn't need it.

Nobody needed a pole for me either
and I swim like a fish.

So, Franzi.

Show them you're my son.

No. Please, please, please!

No! No! No!

No, he'll manage.

Follow me, please.

The local chronicle says

that Kafka regularly visited the Černošice
swimming dock between 1900 and 1917,

two to ten times during the summer.

He was a good and avid swimmer.

He would lie in the sun
at the very same spot.

And that's right here.

Why?

That remains a mystery to this day.

If you'd like to try the spot out,

you can buy a disposable towel
from me for two euros.

Dear Grete,

not a day goes by
without me thinking of you.

With you, a new, unknown abyss

seems to have opened
between me and Felice.

I long for sleep as much
as I long for your gaze.

And this twist in the third act.

Even I have never read anything like it.

I despised you in that moment.

I'm so sorry.

How can you do this to me, I wondered.

Who wants to read
things like that.

And when Georg finally jumps into
the river, as his father told him to,

I even shouted out loud.

- Really?
- Yes, shit, damn it!

I shouted out loud.

He is blind.

Margarete had to calm me down
and read it to me again and again.

Until I finally understood.

- Understood what?
- That Georg is guilty.

So you think the ending
is justified after all?

He is guilty

because he does everything
the way it's supposed to be done.

He does everything right and therefore
he is guilty. Like all of us.

Be that as it may, I think...

I think The Judgement is the best
thing you've ever written.

And this color?

Very nice, it matches your eyes.

Petr doesn't like silk.

Why ever not?

It bothers him that it's produced by bugs.

And milk doesn't bother him?
Since it produced by cows?

So tell him it's chiffon.
Men can never tell anyway.

Two meters, please.

Of course, ma'am.

I had to bury two boys.

That's why Franz has to bear
both mine and Hermann's worries.

Sometimes I imagine
what it would be like

if the two little boys hadn't died.

Then Franz would have had buddies.

He could have learned
to push and fight with them.

Like other boys... his age.

He might have even
become a writer.

Two meters ten, is that alright?

Yes, that's fine.

Damn it, how can you be such a fool?

How can you accept a promissory note
for such a large sum without a guarantor?

- It looks genuine to me.
- It's a worthless piece of paper!

Who gave it to you?

- I don't really...
- What did he look like?

He said he was from Linz.

- From Linz?
- Yes.

Do you know how much that idiocy of yours
is going to cost me?

Maybe the bank will cash it in.

- Do I look like a crook?
- No.

- What happened, Hermann?
- Out!

I think the marriage
will do him good.

Thank you.

No, you don't need to spare me.

I don't want any meat.

Give it to me.

I sacrifice myself.

Hermann?

No, thank you.

Felice telegraphed
that she arranged accommodation

at the Askanischer Hof.

Trains from Kiel to Berlin
run every morning,

so you could combine that
with the aunt's return.

Good idea.

You're not going?

Someone has to stay in the shop.

Ottla is right.

It's better this way.

Can you finally swallow?

Do it for my sake.

Thorough chewing aids digestion.

Oh, that's why you spend hours
on the latrine?

Hermann, we're eating now.

But it's true, isn't it?

I'm really starting to look forward
to your new household.

If your Felice
wasn't already such a saint...

I'd bet she'll end up a martyr.

Franz will be a good husband.

Just like you.

"'Jesus!' she cried
and hid her face in her apron."

"But he was already past her."

"He leaped out the front door,
driven across the roadway to the water."

"He was already clutching the railings
the way a starving man grasps his food."

"He swung himself over,
like the outstanding gymnast

he had been in his youth,
to his parents' pride."

"He was still holding on,
his grip weakening,

when between the railings
he caught sight of a motor coach

which would easily drown out the noise
of his fall. He called out quietly."

"Dear parents, I have always
loved you nonetheless

and let himself drop."

"At that moment an almost unending stream
of traffic was going over the bridge."

- Will you show him?
- No.

No, I'd rather not.

Thank you for the dinner.

Don't write all night
again, will you?

Franz!

All right.

He's published a novel.

It's just a novella.

That's good news.

Congratulations.

Papa?

In Vienna, you can place bets
whether the war will start in the autumn.

God, spare us from war.

Put it on my bedside table.

THE VERDICT

I... I'd like to pick out
some furniture this week.

If you'd like.

Something light. The apartment
is on the ground floor.

Maybe rattan?

Or what do you think of Biedermeier?

I find it more comfortable
than most modern pieces.

I haven't thought about it yet.

And the wallpaper?

Franz?

- Franz?
- Yes?

Well, the kitchen,
I'd like it to be darker.

Perhaps ocher
or with a few splashes of red.

But for the bedroom and hallway,
definitely lighter tones.

And the children's room,

I'd like it painted white.

That's the most cheerful for a child.

Could we perhaps check
into our room now? That would be...

Erna? Erna!

I thought you were coming this evening.

I couldn't wait any longer,
my dear sister.

There's no one here I looked
forward to seeing more than you.

You look wonderful.

- Really, darling?
- Gorgeous, gorgeous.

Franz, look.

Ladies.

I'm glad I wasn't there.

Miss Bloch probably wanted
to return Franz's letters to him

and placed them on the bedside table
in his room. But...

by chance, Felice found them.

Franz was afraid of being locked in
a flat with the woman he had imagined

for months only in his head,
now in real life.

Dreaming it and living it...
There's a difference.

It was Franz who gave her
the letters. I'm sure of it.

She had the right to know
what he really thought about her.

I couldn't bear for her
to marry someone

who writes to another woman
such things about her

like Franz wrote to me.

Felice?

The parents are waiting.

- What happened?
- Aren't you ashamed?

I don't understand, what...

He doesn't understand.

He wants to marry my sister,
while he craves another woman.

Erna, please.

Franz, I must ask you
not to write to me anymore.

Can you explain this to me?

You had a headache.

You couldn't sleep.

Then you started writing
to my best friend?

Because my letters
are oh so boring to you.

My silly chatter about
wallpaper and furniture.

I'm just a little fool

awkwardly fawning
at the feet of the great thinker.

Is that it?

Is that why I deserve your mockery?

Franz, say something.

Tell her that we never
even thought about it.

- That it was never about that for us.
- Whoever believes it.

Erna... We've heard your opinion already.

Please, Felice, believe me.

I would be the happiest
if Franz marries you.

I'd sock her one if I were you, Felice.

You're right.

But I don't have time
to look for a new best friend.

And no time either
to find a new groom.

Didn't you say the parents
are waiting for us?

Erna.

I wouldn't forgive him.

That's quite a bit.

How long did your trip
from Prague take?

- We traveled from Kiel today.
- Ah.

Yes, we visited family there.

At last!

We were almost running out
of things to talk about.

Where is Grete?

She's not feeling well.

- We are late because...
- Of my hair.

Sorry.

Franz.

Dear parents, dear relatives, friends.
My dearest Felice.

We've invited you here today,
to give you the joyous news

that Felice and I will soon
fulfill our engagement.

Hallelujah.

It's no secret that I have kept
Felice waiting far too long

and in doing so, hurt her.

And not just her.

The reason for that lies in my,

as my father would say, hesitant nature.

Your unbearable nature, Franz.

Right.

Which is why, hopefully,
my decision will relieve you all.

I have made it
with the deepest conviction

that it is the only right thing
to do at this point.

Please raise your glasses...

and drink with me to the dissolution
of our engagement.

A person like me

does not deserve a wonderful
being like you, Felice.

I hope you can all forgive me.

Felice.

Excuse me.

Yes, come on.

Adolf Meier recently replaced
the diagnosis of melancholia

with the term depression.

It's from Latin depressio.
To squeeze. Spit it out.

It's a fear that completely
overwhelms you.

Freud would surely scream that behind
everything that happens to Franz

lies Hermann and the whole family circus.

Open your mouth.

But I think that in his case
it was something he wanted himself.

He chose it.

Like walking into the dark
and waiting for your eyes to adjust.

- It's better for everyone this way.
- Don't say that.

You shouldn't be happy
to go to war.

- Everyone says it will be over by winter.
- The boy is right.

Discipline has never harmed anyone.

Write to us. Please.

Franz?

That fool in his underwear,
tossing and turning in bed all the time...

That's me, right?

You read The Judgment?

Write to us, please.

Franz?

Act like a man out there.
Don't make us ashamed of you.

Eyes: blue.

Fit for duty.

Next!

Height:

182.

Weight:

64.

Age: 30.

Eyes: Grey.

In the town of Hodonín, recruited was I

Fit for duty.

Next.

Cropped my hair so short

My lovely hair, aye, aye

On their knees they fell

My mother

And my sweetheart wept

Maybe it was the other way around.

Maybe Franz abandoned his father.

He remained for the rest of his life
a boy, who forbade himself to complain.

Suffering... as a new perspective.

That was Franz.

Ah, excuse me. Elsa, my wife.

Tomorrow we will try
to leave the country.

Franz found the notion
of death enticing.

He believed that he had failed as a son,

as a man, as a writer.

He decided to succeed as a victim.

Here we have publications analyzing
Kafka's work from a religious,

philosophical, philological,
and semantic perspective.

So Walter Benjamin,
Albert Camus, Hannah Arendt,

Foucault, Blanchot, Adorno,
Derrida or our own Milan Kundera.

These are biographical publications.

And here you can see the collection
of Kafka's work that Max Brod

transported from Europe
to Palestine in 1939.

The whole world is grateful to him
for not carrying out Kafka's last wish.

Věra, get up!
Where do you think you are?

Thank you.

And also for not burning
all the manuscripts.

And one more interesting thing
that's very easy to remember.

The ratio of words written by Kafka
and those written about him

is now one to 10,000,000.

It's good, right? Alright.

Good day.

My name is Kafka.

I am the father.

I would like to speak
with the director.

Kafka.

Kafka.

- Here, sir!
- Pack up your things!

And leave the barracks by dinnertime.

- Sir?
- You heard me!

You have no right to do it.

I enlisted to defend the monarchy
and the honor of the Emperor.

You believe that as little as I do.

- I was conscripted.
- And sent back.

But why?

Any idiot can load cannons,

but I'd be looking
for a good department head for years.

Our insurance company
needs you, Kafka.

- I'll enlist again.
- That's your business.

But as long as I'm the director
of this tax office,

you will serve
the monarchy here.

And I can assure you
that the war will find you anyway.

It will find us all.

I will quit the insurance company.

Just because you're dying,
doesn't mean you're a hero.

Not being afraid of death

is the first step
on the path to enlightenment.

That's nonsense.

If you were dead, then...

wouldn't you miss all of this?

Prague is like a lover with claws.

Once she has you in her arms,
she will never let you go.

You can take off your coat,
it's warm here.

Who lives here?

I rented this apartment.

This is my Josef.

Otylka keeps talking about you.

Yours?

Josef works for
the insurance company as well,

but nobody can discharge
him from the army.

Did you get discharged?
Well, you're very lucky, Franz.

The news from Galicia
is not good at all.

Take a seat.

Are you even Jewish?

Don't you know what will happen
when Father finds out you're seeing a goy?

He will give us his blessing.

That's your problem.

You ask yourself question
after question all day long,

but in truth, you never want the answers.

I love Josef.

And nobody will take him
away from me. Nobody.

Isn't she amazing?

Franz?

Shh.

Such silence.

"'But even this second acquittal

isn't final,' said K., turning his
head away dismissively."

"'Of course not,' said the painter.
'The second acquittal is followed

by the third arrest, the third acquittal
by the fourth arrest, and so on.'"

"'That's inherent in the concept
of the apparent acquittal.'"

"K. remained silent."

"'The apparent acquittal doesn't
seem to be advantageous to you,'

said the painter. 'Perhaps
the postponement suits you better.'"

"'Shall I explain the nature
of the postponement to you?'"

"K. nodded."

"'The painter had leaned back
comfortably in his chair,

his nightshirt wide open.
He had slipped a hand underneath,

stroking his chest and sides.'"

Oh, that's Pollack.

He has the talent to appear
when everything is at its best.

Ah, it's exquisite.

- I hope I'm not too late.
- Thanks.

"Despite this confirmation, the painter,
summarizing everything again,

as if to give K. some comfort
on his way home, said:

'Both methods have in common
that they prevent a conviction

of the defendant.'
'But they also...

they also prevent a real acquittal,'
K. said quietly,

as though ashamed to have realized it."

That was it for now.

- It's magnificent.
- Yes, I can only agree with that.

- How does it end?
- Excuse me, isn't that obvious?

The trial was a mistake
from the beginning.

All these fools will become part of
K.'s moral victory over the system.

Or what do you think, Franz?

I see it differently.

I think you're oversimplifying it.

And what do you think?

Well... Trial or no trial,

they all make themselves responsible.

Perspective, Franz.

Yes. Responsibility.
Perspective and responsibility.

Think about it.

Come. Here.

To you, Franz!

Why the dinner is not ready yet?

And?

I can't tell him.
He'll go out of his mind.

Franz?

Could you...

You have a little something here...

Without investments,
we can't keep the factory running.

Are you okay?

Asbestos is now being sold below value.

Sorry, I had to tell you.

I'm losing my share too.

I... I thought maybe
you could tell him.

You, as his son.

Franz?

No, no, no! I'm not eating that.
I'm not a dog.

I walked across half the city.
There's simply no beef.

That doesn't mean we have to eat a rat.

That's rabbit.

Did you see the fur?
Did you? You saw nothing.

- I'm telling you, that's rat.
- It's a small rabbit.

How dare you lecture me?

Forgive me, sir.

Hermann, it's war.

Everything is rationed
and we still have meat.

Who else is so lucky?

There's another know-it-all.
Come on, come on.

Franz, what is this?
Is it rabbit or rat?

It's a hybrid. Cat and sheep.

Very funny.

I have consumption.

How?

What?

To put the patient to sleep,
we use Ombrédanne's breathing mask.

Unfortunately, the effect of ether
on patients with pneumonia is limited.

So we combine it with procaine.

Calm down, everything will be fine.

Add ether.

Induced pneumothorax leads to
the collapse of the cavernous pulmo

and to subsequent scarification.

Sacrificing patient's lung
is not an easy decision for a doctor,

but life comes first.

Patient Kafka was admitted
to the clinic in Vienna

with progressive tuberculosis
of the larynx.

Operative anesthesia
of the laryngeal nerve failed.

Patient could not tolerate
laryngoscopic examination.

He refused further surgical procedures.

Palliative treatment
with alcohol laryngeal injections.

Chance of recovery: up to five percent.

The doctor said it has strength.

At least try.

You know what? I will stop
eating meat in your place.

Deal? That will balance things out.

I'll carry your suitcase
to the hotel, yes?

Thank you, but I have an appointment here.

Please.

Give it to me.
I'm the cheapest here.

Madame, wait.

Wait, give me my suitcase,
I must go back.

You don't need to be afraid.
I'm very good.

But I... This is absurd.

If I don't translate you,
someone else might ruin your texts.

You're Madame Milena.

Don't you remember?
We met at the Arco.

- You wore those colorful scarves.
- Now I prefer suitcases.

Can you speak Czech?

Sure, I write in German,
but Czech is very close to my heart.

- Here you are.
- What is it?

A translation of the first five pages
of The Stoker.

I asked Mr. Brod to select
the best German writers in Prague.

And do you know
whose books he sent me?

- Max is always exaggerating.
- He sent me his own books.

But also The Stoker
and In the Penal Colony.

Listen,

I'll translate your books
whether you like it or not.

Mrs. Milena...

Stealing flowers from graves is wrong.

You're mistaken. Putting them
in cemeteries is wrong.

They're wasted on those
who can't appreciate them.

And I love flowers.

And I want to have it nice here with you.

You won't take off your clothes?

- Me?
- Yes.

You're soaking wet,
you could catch a cold.

Your husband is my friend.

You see, we have
a lot in common.

You don't have to worry.

He's not coming here.

He's got his own interests
which I don't need to know about.

Marriage is...

a complicated and muddled institution.

Who is your favorite Czech writer?

Just one name.

Mrs. Polláková...

Just one name.

I'm... I'm not much
of a connoisseur.

Give it a try.

"Do the devil good
and he shall repay you with hell."

"That's the way of the world.
One goes, another comes."

Němcová.

You see? We agree again.

She combines the poetics
of the Czech language

with the punch of the German verb
at the end of the sentence.

This way,
she creates an entirely new style.

You are extremely inspiring.

And you have beautiful hands.

These are lazy hands.

You're being too hard on them.

Did you know that just before death
one's fingerprints disappear?

Really? Why?

So they can recognize you in heaven.

And how will they recognize us in hell?

For Franz, the sexual act was always
a punishment for his happiness,

until he met Milena.

Felice and Franz were both
equally inexperienced students.

But Milena was an attractive woman
and also extremely intelligent.

Even I believed for a moment
that she could stop Franz's illness.

Josef?

Where are the girls?

At my parents.

Did you file the petition?

Otylka, we don't need to divorce,

we can wait.

- It was your idea.
- I know.

I thought it was
the best for all of us.

For the girls.

It will be.

This won't last long.

I'll make it all up to you later.

Are you tired?

Did it feel like it?

It didn't.

You're going to be my treatment.

A retired official
with tuberculosis, migraine,

and the strange obsession of
not being able to live without writing,

asks a young, healthy woman
to ruin her life with him.

You've never said so much to me
all at once before.

Come with me to Prague.

We'll choose the furniture and wallpaper
for the dining room together.

- I'm sorry.
- I'm fine. Thank you.

Well, what can I do for you?

Sir?

A telegram. To Vienna.

Dear Milena, I'm afraid
I'm not coming today.

Why?

It's too much for me.

Why not remove
the salutation and this?

Anybody can understand this, right?

Sure.

Here one immediately realizes
the value of one word.

So shall we send "I am not coming"?

I am not coming.

I-am-not-com-ing...

Giddy up!

Dear doctor, dear Max!

I don't know what to do, I am in despair.

Am I guilty or not guilty?

Please don't comfort me,
don't write that no one is to blame.

If I had gone to Prague
with him back then,

I would have given him
a chance to live.

But I...

I was unable
to leave my husband.

If it is true

that we are here
to accomplish a task on Earth,

my performance, as far as he goes,
was very poor indeed.

Thank you.

Clients get up at seven.

Breakfast is served on the terrace,
lunch is at one.

We have dinner together
at half past seven.

Healing treatments take place
throughout the day.

And after afternoon coffee,
we recommend staying outdoors.

The room will be ready
for you soon.

If you need anything,
just ring the bell.

My apologies.

I have to irradiate my ulcers
twice a day for 30 minutes.

Are you interested?

The lens concentrates the sunlight,

reflects it inside and another
one directly into the throat.

Like this.

Do you want to try it?

Thank you.

You're new here.

What did they recommend to you?

Sunlight as well? Or cold air?
Gargling, inhalation?

Meat.

You're a joker.

Only a month ago,
I was as healthy as an ox.

And now they feed me porridge.

Don't worry, my friend.

It's faster than you think.

- May I?
- Whatever you want.

Pull.

Pull.

Come.

Pull.

Pull.

Pull.

Yes.

Yes.

Dear doctor owed me
190 crowns for rent,

another 12 crowns for electricity

and 7 for lighting gas.

- Keep the change.
- Most kind of you, sir.

And now?

Wait outside for a moment.

But we also have
other customers, sir.

Get out!

Go to hell!

Exactly, exactly. Yes.

Do you have a lighter?

- Do you have a match?
- No.

Match?

Match?

- Match?
- Max, he's coming to us.

Say nothing. Leave it to me.

- Do you have a match?
- Certainly.

Men know everything that's important.

And we know the rest.

Thank you.

Keep it.

Let's go.

ENTRY TO JEWS PROHIBITED

From the chimney of the neighboring house,
a small bird slipped out.

It hopped around the edge
of the chimney a few times,

looked around,
stretched its little wings and flew away.

It was no ordinary bird.

It couldn't have been an ordinary bird
if it flew out of a chimney.

From the window on the first floor,

a little girl looked up at the sky,
saw the bird and cried out.

There it flies.

Franz.

Subtitle translation by: Jan Feldstein