All language subtitles for King.Lear.1987.DVDRip.x264-HANDJOB_track3_[eng]

Well...

Let me tell you in two sentences
my main concern.

Yes, of course.

My main concern
is the concern of the company

and the prestige of Cannon.

Cannon has announced
for a year-and-a-half, approximately,

the Jean-Luc Godard movie,
King Lear.

People do not believe
that the movie will ever be done.

We're losing confidence.
We are losing our name.

It's bad for us
because every now and again,

a clever interviewer, or who thinks
he's clever, comes to me and says:

"You made a big noise once you signed
with Godard", etc., etc.

And I protest:
"We are shooting". Anyway,

it's hanging us

and I must insist that movie,
as promised,

which was already postponed
so many times

will reach the Cannes Festival.
This is my main concern.

- Okay, Jean-Luc, why don't you
respond to that? - Action!

Mailer. Oh, yes.

That is a good way to begin.

The contract dated
the sixteenth of April, 1986.

It was between Norman Mailer
and JLG Films.

It said: "Norman Mailer
and certain members of his family,

including Kate Mailer,
as may be required and available,

could provide generous services,
including services as actors.

But words are reckless.
Words are one thing,

and reality, gentle reality,
is another thing.

Would you like a drink?

And between them is nothing.

You know, I'm all keyed up.
I want to go back to America.

Why don't we change
our plane reservations for tomorrow.

Dad!

Dad!

Don Kenny, Don Gloustro, Don Learo!

- Learo.
- Learo.

Why are you so interested
in the mafia!

I think the mafia is the only way
to King Lear.

Cordelia.

Mailer.

Oh, that's a good way.

That's a good way to begin.

To begin the thought I said:
"Let's go".

The greater writer said:
"Why don't you say action?"

So I did.

Then I said: "Kate enters your room
and kisses you,

when she hears you finished the play.
Not "your" play, "the" play.

The great writer said:

"Why don't I kiss her
instead of her kissing me"?

I said okay again.

And now began a ceremony
of star behaviours:

"Why do I have to put my jacket on"?

"Do I have to drink orange juice"?

And again: "Why does she have to take
my hand instead of me taking her"?

And anyway, this picture,
what's the hell?

- Would you like a drink?
- Yeah.

You know, I'm all keyed up.

I think I'd like
to go back to the States.

Why don't we grab a plane
and get out of here?

It was not Lear with three daughters.

It was Kate with three fathers.

Mailer as a star,
Mailer as her father,

and me as a director.

Too much indeed,

Dad?

For this young lady
from Provincetown.

After the fifth take of the first
shot, the great writer left the set.

They took off for America, they said.

He and his daughter first class.
Daughter's boyfriend, economy.

- Don Glouster?
- Don Gloustro.

Don Gloustro. Why are you
so interested in the mafia?

Anyway, I was fryed.

I kept on thinking
about the relation of heart and fire.

Cordelia!

Hello everybody.
Good evening, folks.

But why did they pick me?

Twenty years later I still wonder.

Why not some other gentleman?

From Moscow or Beverly Hills?

Why don't they just order some goblin
to shoot this twisted fairy tale?

- Marcel.
- No! - Yes!

A picture. So high,
you could put it in a cell

and condemn it to solitary
confinement forever

and condemn it to solitary
confinement forever

without it being a...

Ingrid! Yes, of course.

Be sure you have exhausted
everything.

Which is to communicate
by mobility and silence.

No, Francoise, no.

I'm not sure.

If an image, looked at separately,
expresses something clearly,

take courage with it,
show an interpretation.

It will not transform itself
in context with other images.

There are other images
who have no power over it.

And it will have no power
over the other images.

No action. No reaction.

Leopardo, yes!

Yes, the night has come.

- Fritz, yes, of course.
- Another world awakens.

- Of course.
- Hard, cynical and alphabetical,

amnesic, twisted without reason.

Spread flat as each perspective
has been abolished.

I life's strangest thing,
the living dead of this world

are constructing this world.

- Joseph, yes! - The fire
and the sensations are from before.

The vanishing point has been erased.

Again, Jacque, again.

I'm alone, the world seems to say.

Caught for having a necessity
you can not change.

If I'm only what I am,
I'm indestructible.

Being what I am,
and without reserve,

my solitude knows yours.

I will repeat the pattern
of old warriors.

I will say nothing.

Am I in France?

In your own kingdom, sir.

- And now, you desert your kingdom.
- Do not dessert me.

Looking again at Luchinds picture,

from the time when he was young
and first assistant to Renoir,

and noticing
the difference between that

and the old man
that he became with time,

I suddenly discovered
why his artistic father, Jean,

also becoming old,
was so keen on young girls.

Like his father, August.

Father, Father.

Dorei, do not haunt me.

And then looking again at Sages.

Still editing on his death-bed.

I remember what Plogi told me
years later about editing.

I fear I'm not in my perfect mind.

- Physically... - When the rain
came to wet me. - In both hands.

- And the wind make me chapped...
- The future...

- When the vendor would not do
my bidding. - And the past.

There I found him.
There I smelt him out.

Gotou, they are not men
of their words.

- Betwixt my eye and...
- They told me I was everything.

- Each doth do violence
to the others. - It's a lie.

- I am not. - And not mine eye
is famished for a look

or heart in love's picture
then my eye doth feast

with my love's picture
then my eye doth feast

and to the painted banquet
bids my heart.

Come not between the dragon
and his wrath.

I loved her most
and fought to se my rest

on her kind nursery.

Hence, and avoid my sight.

So be my grave, my peace

as here I give
her father's heart from her.

Peace. Mr. Shakespeare.

Come not between the dragon
and his wrath.

I loved her most

and fought to set my rest

on her kind nursery.
Hence!

And avoid her look.

So be my grave, my peace.

No nudity. No, no!

I'm on duty now
for the cultural division at Cannon

and they definitely
don't accept nudity.

And then suddenly it was the time
of Chernobyl

and everything disappeared.

Everything.

And then after awhile everything
came back: electricity,

houses, cars.

Everything except culture and me.

I was one of the few survivors
in that field, as an individual.

At the corporate level, there was
the Cannon cultural division.

So, by special arrangement with them,

and the Royal Library
of her majesty the Queen,

I was engaged.

My task: to recapture
what have been lost,

starting with the works
of my famous ancestor.

And so it happened
that on my way back from Denmark,

where I rediscovered
"To be or not to be",

I stopped here,

in a little city of Nyon,
between Italy and Germany,

between the woods and the water,

where I would try
to locate another survivor,

where I would try
to locate another survivor,

who, according to local legend,
specialized in visual media.

His name? I can't remember.

I'd been told that his research

had been moving in parallel lines
to my own.

By the way, my name is William
Shakespeare, Junior, the Fifth.

What is this?

It's the best part of the fish.

Give me the map, then,

now meantime

we shall express our darker purpose.

Yes, father.

Know that I have divided

in three my empire.

Twis my fast intent

to shake all cares of business

from my age,

conferring them on younger strength

while I unburden

and crawl towards death.

Are you listening?

Now, my joy, all my last enrich...
Speak!

What shall Cordelia speak?

Love and be silent.

- What country is that over there?
- This is the Kingdom of France.

- Take off.
- Yes, Mister Learo.

Now, you know,

Bugsy Seigal and Lansky,
that's Meyer Lansky,

they was always fighting,

and the point was that Bugsy,

that Bugsy was the real killer.

Not like this Richard Nixon,
you know.

- How many people did he kill?
- How many?

Eight or ten, that I know of.

- With his own hands?
- Yes, mostly.

Sometimes he got some friends
to help him to get rid of.

But this Meyer Lansky,
the little guy,

he was a philosopher, you know.

And two days in Vegas, this was two
days before Bugsy was murdered,

this Lansky said to him,

I got his words
in his own writing here.

I want you to hear this.

He says... This is Lansky, to Bugsy:

"Studying human nature
I came to the conclusion

people prefer to be rightous at home

and a sinner somewhere else...

Own hand-writing.
"As for myself I..."

"As for myself I stick to the saying:

when you lose your money,
you lose nothing,

when you lose your character
you lose everything...

Well, think about that, my beloved.

What do you think about that?
Answer me.

I don't have my heart in my mouth.

You mend your speech a little.

- You may mar your dollars.
- As you wish.

Love's labors lost.

As you wish.

As you wish, as you wish.

As you witch, as you witch.

As you watch, as you watch,
as you watch!

Witchcraft.

As you...

As you like it!

That's it. That's it.
As you like it.

Thank you, miss.

Thank you, my lady.

Sure.

I shall never marry like my sisters.

To love my father all.

But goes thy art with this.

Aye, my good lord.

So young and so untender.

So young my lord, and true.

You just saved my life.

Are you trying to make
a play for my girl?

No, sir. Please.
Allow me to introduce myself.

Get your hands off me.

There's a play we're trying
to make anytime, sir.

A Play, sir.

Characters.

Come not in there, Nuncle.

Here's the spirit. Help me.

- Give me thy hand, who's there?
- A spirit.

Hello? Hello?

Hello?

Where is everybody?

Where are we?

- The name is Goodwater.
- Goodwater?

That's a nice name.
What city is this?

When the French where here,
they called it Les Oranges.

But before that, when the Spanish
was here, they called it Los Angeles.

Who was she? I needed to know.

I decided to forget of the "To be
or not to be" business for awhile.

Something was going on between
this old man and this young girl.

I decided to concentrate
on their story.

So I was trying to locate
this Pluggy.

I was walking in the woods
near the lake.

The place was named Oban
which means "good water".

This information was given me
by a young man, poorly dressed,

named Edgar, accompanied
by his girlfriend Virginia,

except that she wasn't there.

They seemed to be looking
for something.

What were they looking for,
I asked them.

The boy and the girl didn't know.
The girl wasn't even there.

Only the professor knows, but he
hates the outdoor and natural light.

Pluggy, I asked.

"Yes, he's stayed inside his editing
room now for twenty years".

Editing. That sounded familiar.

What's that, I asked.

But the girl and the boy
couldn't remember either.

And the girls still wasn't there.

I tried to make an appointment
but they disappeared.

Now, even if Lansky and I

are as awesome as
we are reputed to be,

we are now scarcely more than,

than... More than

isolated men.

Lonely isolated

men on the criminal landscape
of America.

- Now... - Do you wanna check,
father? - Yes.

I want to check.

Lansky organized crime's ancient hope
of getting casino gambling...

Wait a minute. Take your time.
What's you hurry?

What's your hurry?

- By the late sixties the whole
country was Las Vegasized. - Right.

Entertainment conglomerates like MGM
own the largest building in Vegas.

Ah, yes.

Bugsy Seigal's Flamingo
is now the Las Vegas Hilton.

Move slow, slow.

Bally, Playboy, Holiday Inn
have rushed into Atlantic City.

- The new Eldorado on the sea.
- Yes. On the sea.

And New York City is not far behind.

All of there vice and leisure centres

are linked together
to my Lea ro Jet Company.

Ah, my!

All of America
is now embracing...

All of America
is now embracing our vision,

and Bugsy Segal's death was not...

Whoa! Not death.

His martyrdom.

- And Bugsy Segal's martyrdom
is not in vain. - Right.

The question universally asked
is how much influence...

No! No!

How much power. Put power down.

All right?

Power.

The question universally asked
is how muck power

Meyer Lansky and I
exercised over these...

The art of our necessities
is strange,

we can make vile thins precioius.

Even if the worst arrives...

When the mind is free,
the body's delicate.

And in the end the system
swallows up the gangsters

and his gigantic mob,
leaving behind...

See what breeds about her heart.

Is there any cause in nature
that make these hard hearts?

Then isolated men
on the criminal landscape of America.

I bear the mark of Cain, and...

I bear the mark of Cain, and...

Make no noise, make no noise.

Draw the curtain,

so... So...

they'll go to supper in the morning.

Sir, in my heart,
there is a kind of fighting

that will not let me sleep.

Children...

Children...

You begot me, bred me, loved me.

And I return thus duties
as I right fit.

Love you, obey you
and most honour you.

There is two telex, Mr. Learo.

Your sisters.

Sir, I love you more
than word can weild the matter.

Dearer than easysight, space...

Space and liberty.

Beyond what can be valued,

rich or rare, no less than life.

In grace, heath, beauty, honour,

as much as child err loved,

or father found.

Love that makes breath poor
and speech unable,

beyond all manner of so much

I love you.

Is that Gloria?

It was our eldest, yes.

And Regina?

The art of our necessities is strange
that can make vile things precious.

"I am made of that self-metal
as my sister

and prize me at her worth.

In my true heart,

I find she names
my very dear thoughts...

When the mind is free,
the body's a target.

"And find I'm alone".

Make no noise. Make no noise.

Draw the curtains. So. So.

We'll go to supper in the morning.

I find I'm alone, falicitate,
in your dear highness love.

Then poor Cordelia.

And yet, not so, since I'm sure my
love's more ponderous than my tongue.

Tell me my daughters.

Since now we will divest us
both of power and business

which of you shall we say,
deservest most?

Now my joy to who's young love...

See what breeds about her heart.

Is there any cause in nature

that makes these hard hearts?

Speak to me.

- Nothing.
- Nothing?

No thing.

Let me have surgeons.

I am cut to the brains.

I've never seen anything
as stupid as these goblins.

They're showing up
too soon or too late.

You never really know
what they're up to.

Then again, I suppose
they don't either.

They can't help it: these gentle
and powerful beings.

The secret agents of human memory.

They blow it every time.

And my love.
Where is that cheap lady?

I do believe her. No, I know.
She lies.

Does any here know me?

This is not real.

Does Lear walk thus?
Speak thus?

Where are his eyes?

Either his notion weakens

or his discernings are Iethargied.

Waking!

Waking. "Tis not so".

Who is it that can tell me

who I am.

Lear's shadow.

Have more than thou showest.

Have more than thou showest.

Speak less than thou knowest.

Len less than thou owest.

Ride more thou goest.

- Hello? Excuse me, Mr Learo?
- Learn more than thou trowest.

Have more than thou showest.

Speak less than thou knowest.

Lend less than thou owest.
Ride more than thou goest.

Learn more than thou trowest.

Whereforeare you not odd.

I'm old.

What are you writing for?

I'm trying to recover the work
of my ancestor.

I understand you've been working
on this problem here, doctor?

Well, nobody writes.

So writing still exists.

The trouble of what
we're looking for.

It doesn't make sense.

Nobody does it.

Just what are you aiming at,
Professor?

When the professor farts,
the moonbeams are trembling.

No, no. Don't pretend to be a fool.

Light it!
It's been invented.

Fools have bear crazyness in years
for wise men have grown foppish.

And know not how their wits to wear
are their manners so apish.

How is it
that you're always disobeying, Edgar?

Oh what?

No, professor. No, no.

Children.

Ah, children.

What is their need for learning?

They don't hear no thing.

Yes we do, professor.

Eh, e, a] r]

What's that?

Cry you mercy.

I took you for a trade-school.

Yes, it is a bet.

Each one of us
when one does anything,

one is always disobedient
in some way to something.

Or obedient to something.

Yes, and watch Mrs. Bersano.

But disobedient is more interesting.

Really, you never study,
Mr. Shakespeare?

Number five.
I'm in her Majesty's service

and I obey my orders

and my orders are to bring the work
of my ancestor to life,

but I can't stop
till the story's over.

Yeah, what's this all say?

Little bitty laughs.

They've all disobeyed goodness,
death.

Know thou art an "O",

Well, thou art an "O"
without a finger.

I am better than thou art now.

I'm a full.

Thou art nothing.

Yes, Versus, I will hold my tongue.

So your face bids me
though you say nothing.

Mum, mum.

It is born and it is burnt.

It begins from the thing it ends.

At the same time.

Birth and death,

linked, like mouth and breath.

The answer to your question
is there.

What we are looking for
is like that fire.

It is born from what it destroys.

Then what it it? Tell me the name.

I ain't interested in names.

Why is that?

Look! No names, no lines.
No lines, no story.

To name things
makes the professor pee.

Who are they?
To need a name to exist.

Do I need a name

to see live beauty.

I don't agree.

Do you need to say red to see red?

Do I need to say lips to say...

I love you.

I disagree.

With no word,
then come the mistake.

- I need the memory.
- But between us into vanity.

- I need the memory.
- But between us into vanity.

How can I possibly reach words
with no words?

First, the tragedy of choice.

And then second,
the comedy of errors.

Suppose we made a mistake
at the very very beginning,

and we called red green.

How would we know today?

Betwixt mine eye and heart
a league is took.

A tension twisted in memory...

to show you what it's like.

Yes, tell me, professor.

- Show. - Show.
- Show, that's what.

Show must go on.

A violent silence.
The silence of Cordelia.

To the question of a king,
her father,

her answer was: nothing.

No thing.

But Cordelia is not mute.

It is not
that she hasn't say anything.

She has said: "Nothing.

No thing".

This girl silence,
which is not mute,

does not lead to violence.

But everything that conspires and
organizes itself around her silence

that want to silence her silence.

This produces violence.

Let me not be mad.
Not mad, sweet heaven.

Keep me in temper.
I would not be mad.

You must bear with me.

I'm old and foolish.

Let me not be mad.

Not mad, sweet heaven.

I don't know
if I made this clear before,

but this was after Chernobyl.

We are in a time now when movies,
and more generally art,

have been lost. Do not exist,

and most somehow be reinvented.

Thanks to the old man
and his daughter,

I had some of the lines.

Her answer was: "Nothing.
No thing".

It does not mean anything.
She has said:

"Nothing.
No thing".

I don't know if I made this clear
before but this was after Chernobyl.

We are in a time where movies
and more generally art

has been lost, do not exist.

And it has to be somehow reinvented.

Thanks to the old man and his
daughter, I have some lines

and I was told this man Pluggy and,

I still don't know what to call them,

they had to go together
with the lines.

Somehow I felt they needed to go
together, that's why...

Do not abuse me.

I meant to please you Highness all.

You must bear with me.
I am old an foolish.

You must bear with me.
I am old an foolish.

Thou shouldst not have been old
'till thou hadst been wise.

Oh...

Let me not be mad,
not mad, sweet heaven!

Yes, tell me professor.

- So. - So!
- So! Show. Not tell.

There's a lot of noise around here,
huh?

What's it for?

What's it all for, professor!

Please!

Welcome, my dear Mr. Shakespeare.
Welcome.

What is all that?

- Snakes. - Mister,
brother a mystery. - Number five.

And you, my dear Mr. Shakespeare.

You see, all those reckless words

for the simple things on earth.

It's only life and how it works.

Thank you indeed
for this definition of life.

Oh, not life. Only an image.

An image? What's that again?

The image is a pure creation
of the soul.

It can not be born of a comparison,

but of a reconciliation
of two realities

that tell more as far apart.

The more the connection between
these two realities are distanced,

too, the stronger they get to be,

the more they emote the power.

Two realities
that have no connection,

can not be drawn together usefully.

There is no creation of an image.

Two contrary realities will not come
together. They oppose each other.

One rarely obtains forces
and power from either position.

So out went the candle
and we were left darkened.

So out went the candle
and we were left darkened.

An image is not strong
because it is brilliant

or fantastic

because it is the sensation
of ideas is distant and true.

The result
that is obtained immediately

controls the thus of the cessation.

A narration is the major mark
of creation.

It teaches the symbols
of connections.

The power and virtue
of the created image

depends on the nature
of these connections.

What is great is not the image

but the emotions that it provokes.

If the latter is great,

one obtains the image at its measure.

The emotion thus provoked is true

because it is born outside
of all imitation.

All evocation. And all resemblance.

I'll go and see. I'll ask Virginia.

Ready to go?

- May I bring some friend?
- The old man and the young lady?

- How do you know?
- Never know, always see.

Never know, always see.

- Anyway, what's her name?
- Cordelia.

That's her real name
or you just invented it?

- Well... - You're the sparkler,
my friend.

You're the sparkler.

When you and Edgar did just now

its glow was dirty yellow.

If it's gleaming white in her hand,

then her virtue is true.

And her name is Cordelia.

A violent silence.
The silence of Cordelia.

To the question of a king,
a gangster, her father,

her answer is: nothing.
He demands the essential.

How is he loved? Desired?

From where is he loved?
He has power. He is king.

He wants to be wanted.

Who wants him? Nothing.

Not will, not intelligence, no sex

but all the same, a body,
a little bit of flesh.

Because for Learo, to hear is to see.

A man may see
how this world goes with no eyes.

Look with thin ears.

This is what he tries to do,
the king who calls himself L'ear:

E A R. In listening to his daughter,

he hopes to see their entire bodies
stretched out across their voices.

What he wants is not what he desires.

What he wants is to forget
this desire that he can not stand.

The nothing of Cordelia.

So that he can silence the silence,

he listens as though
he were watching television.

But Cordelia.
What she shows in speaking

is not "nothing",
but her very presence,

her exactitude.

Take off.

Get out.

So what do you think will happen now?

- You will not have that for me.
- No, no.

Come. Let's away to prison.

We two alone will sing...

Take me out of the grave.

...like birds in the cage.

And when thus dost ask my blessing,

I'll knell down...

on a wheel of fire.

...And ask of thee forgiveness.

So we'll live and pray and sin

and tell old tales...

They are not men of their words.

...and laugh at gilded butterflies

and here poor rogues
talk of court news.

We'll talk with them too.

Who loses and who wins
who then who's out.

And take upon us
the mystery of things.

As if we were God's spies.

And we'll wear out in a walled prison

parts and sex of great ones

who ebbed and flowed

by the moon.

People forget
that you hear your own voice

not with your ears
but with your throat.

I've reinvented the lines,
I've reinvented the plot.

Now it's up to the characters.
Or are they actors.

Which is the Doctor Jeckyl
and which is Mr. Hyde?

All I know is that
I can't control either.

Maybe they're controlling me.

Obviously this old man was power.

Obviously this girl was virtue.

They are fighting.

I don't know what the issue is.

Do you have any cigarettes?

Pall Mall, Malboro, Lucky Strike,
Camel, Philip Morris...

- You don't have Kent filters?
- I'm sorry no.

Quiet Virginia.
This is a family residence.

Nature's above art in that respect.

Good light form the north
or from the south?

Pall Mall, Lucky Strike, Camel,
Philip Morris, Malboro.

That's fine Virginia.

- What paper did you say
you were from? - From New York Times.

Why that?

Oh, that. Well, you see

I'll tell you, miss.

Yeah, yeah.

Where the chairs are placed here

they are all facing
the same space and direction.

And the voices going over that space

it's projected all over.

You know, in a simple living room
in an apartment,

when someone is speaking,

all the people are listening around
the walled space.

Not here, miss. Not here.
This is our invention.

All the people are facing the same
direction, same...

Same space.
Even suppose it is dark,

people will know where to look at.

In a simple apartment
if it's in the dark,

people are lost.
They don't know what to look at.

Here they know.

Okay, but why that?

That, my dear, it will kill you.

- You mean the truth?
- Yes, if it's properly centered.

Professor Qentef has arrived.

Hello, my dear Salow.

You may excuse the battle,
I need your car.

This is professor Quentef,
she is the Arkansas Daily.

No, from the New York Times.

You come all the way from Lenningrad?

What's the name of your invention,
Mr. Quentef?

Image, that's a great word.

They are not men of their word.

They told me I was everything.

'Tis a lie.
I am not.

Let's hope that we don't make
any mistakes, Mr. Shakespeare.

- Number five.
- What do you mean?

With all those damned
and reckless words, one never knows.

I don't get it.

Suppose, my dear, we call it "image"

and that the real word is reality.

Then change it.

No, no.

It's right.
Must come from the back.

From the back.

We got the wind.

Nature's above art in that respect.

It's too narrow.

Needs a push of reality out.

Anyway, we have
to stop the experiment.

No, why that?

Something is missing

OF someone.

I'm there.

No, you have boggled the experiment
like all of us,

we are all part of it.

Even if we have not found it,
whatever you call it, reality

or image, we fought for it.

And by god,
we are no longer innocent.

Professor, there are two people here.

Peace, Mr. Shakespeare.

Come not between the dragon
and his wrath.

I loved her most and thought

to find my rest in her kind nursery.

Hence. And avoid my sight.

So be my grave, my peace.

I went one last time to visit
this mysterious young woman.

She was asleep. Or maybe sleeping,
or just pretending.

There were so many questions
still unanswered.

The old man, facing the screen,
had not dared pronounce the words:

"As here I give her
father's heart for..."

I've a message from your father.

I didn't quite understand them myself
when I wrote them,

I didn't quite understand them myself
when I wrote them,

but I can't afford to lose them.

Come, let's away to prison.

As here I give
her father's heart from her.

We two alone will sing
like birds in a cage.

The doctor use the word prison
last night. Remember?

You where there.

Oh maybe I wasn't there myself.

What do you think will happen now?

Before seven years have passed,

the Americans will lose
everything they have in France,

in a great victory
which God is sending to the French.

I say this now
so when the time has come

it will be remembered
that I've said it.

In what year, on what day?

You will not have that from me.

How can you know whether
your apparitions are male or female?

I see and I hear.

- Do they have hair?
- That could be.

Their hair is it long and hanging?

I don't even know
if there are arms and a body.

How do they speak
if they don't have bodies?

These apparitions.

Have they promised
to deliver you from prison?

- Yes. - From the prison
that you are in at this moment?

I told you that you cannot know all.

It must come to pass that one day
I will be delivered.

Thos that wish to take me
from this world

could well have to leave it
before me.

Your voices have always promised
that you would be delivered.

Your voices have deceived you.

Yes, they have deceived me.

You write what is against me.

You do not write for me.

Kingdom of France.

Ninety-nine percent of the play
had now been rediscovered.

Maybe even a hundred and one.

I came to thank Professor Pluggy.

I guess the first bells
of Easter were ringing.

Mr. Alien.

Mr. Alien.

Yes, they were Easter bells.

The images were there as knew.
Innocent.

Shy. Strong. Now I understand
the Pluggy sacrifice was not in vain.

Now I understand through his work
St. Pauls' words

that the image will appear
in the time of resurrection.

Stop!

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
my heart into my mouth.

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
my heart into my mouth.

The images were there as new.

Innocent, shy, and strong.

The images were there as new.

Innocent, shy, and strong.

I might have saved her

but now she's gone forever.

Cordelia! Cordelia! Stay a little.

What is thou sayest?

Her voice was ever soft and gentle

and low, and excellent thing
in women.

Tis true, my lord.

Did I not, fella,

I've seen the day
with my good biting falcon!

I would have made them skip!

I'm old now, and these same crosses

spoil me.

Who are you?

Mine eyes not at the best,

I tell you straight.

Your fortune brag of two
she loved and hated.

One of them we behold.

This is a blow, son.

- Are you not Edgar?
- Yes, sir.

I must be bad, no not mad.

Give me the temper.

I would not be mad.

And in me too, the wave rises,

it swells, it arches its back.

I am aware once more of a new desire.

Something rises beneath me

like the proud horse
whose rider first spurs

and then pulls him back.

What enemy do we now perceive
advancing against us?

You, whom I ride now.

As we stand pawing
this stretch of pavement.

It is death against whom I ride.

With my spear couched and my hair
lying back like a young man's.

Like Hercable's
when he galloped in India.

I strike spurs into my horse.

Against you I will fling myself

unvanquished and unyielding.

Oh, death.

She's gone forever.

I know when one is dead
and when one lives.

She's dead as earth

then me a looking glass.

If that her breath
or mist would stain the stone.

- Edgar!
- Why then she lives?

It's a pity there is not music.

Okay, let's use gentle words
for once.

To accompany the dawn
of our first image.

The weight of this sad time
we must obey.

Speak what we feel,
not what we ought to say.

The oldest hat on most

be that it's young,
shall never see so much.

- Light sir.
- Or live so long.

I couldn't help remembering
Pluggy's last words.

Mr. Alien. The bad time of Chernobyl
had long been forgotten.

The motion picture industry
was growing fast again.

Paramount, Fox, Warners
were booming.

And so was the Cannon
Cultural Division.

I was finishing the picture
or bringing this twisted fairy tale

to and end in a small editing place
they had hired for me.

The man in charge was named
Mr. Alien.

- Lights, sir. - This can't be
no accident. - Lights, sir.

Oh, then I see a king dealing alone
with his many subjects.

Lights, sir.

Twenty years later I still wonder.

Why not some other gentleman

from Moscow or Beverly Hills?

Handling. Why don't they just order

some goblin to shoot
this twisted fairy tales?

In both hands the present, the future

and the past.

No. I will be the pattern of all
patience. I will say nothing.

Am I in France?

- In your own kingdom, sir.
- Do not abuse me.

She's so young and so untender.

So young, my lord, and true.

Like as the waves make towards
the peppled shore,

so do our minutes
hasten to their end.

Each changing place with that
which goes before.

In secret toil, all fonlvards
do contend the tifity,

once in the main of life,
crawls to maturity.

Where with being crowned,

crookedy clipses
age this glory fight.

And time that gave doth
now his gift doth vow.

Time doth transfix the flourish

set on youth and delve the parallels
in dutys' brow.

Feed on the rarities
of nature's truth.

And nothing stands
for his sight to bow.

They are not men of their word.

They told me I was everything.
'Tis a lie.

She's gone forever.

She's gone forever.

I know when one is dead
when one lives.

I know when one is dead
when one lives.

- She's dead as earth.
- Hand me a looking glass.

If that her breath will mist
or stain this stone,

why, then she lives.