All language subtitles for The Hourglass Sanatorium (1973) {tmdb-45698} - [Bluray-1080p][FLAC 2.0][x265]-SARTRE.eng

THE SANDGLASS

Written by
Based on the writings of Bruno Schulz

Starring

Music

Director of Photography

Directed by

We're almost there.

How do I get there?

You'll find it
without anyone's help.

I've come a long way.
I booked a room here.

Who should I talk to?

Everyone's asleep now. The Doctor
will see you when he gets up.

Asleep?
The night's a long way off.

They're asleep all the time.
Don't you know?

We don't have nights here.

You better wait downstairs.

In the restaurant.

- The Doctor's waiting.
- Where is he?

We got your message yesterday...

...and sent our carriage
to the station,

but you arrived on another train.

- To the station?
- Train connections are poor, alas.

How are you feeling?

Is my father alive?

Certainly.

Within the existing circumstances.

You know as well as I do...

...that the way you see
things at home...

...as you can seen them
from your fatherland,

your father is dead.

That can't be fully undone.

His death casts a shadow
on his existence here.

But he doesn't know it,
can't even guess it.

Don't worry.

Our patients don't have a clue.

They just can't.

Would you like to see him now?
I'll take you to him.

As you wished, you can have
a bed in Father's room.

The whole trick is that
we turned back time.

We're behind time here
by an interval,

whose length cannot
be measured.

This simply boils down to relativism.

Your father's death has
not happened here yet.

The death that in your country...

...he has met with already.

So, my father is dead...

...or about to die.

No, you don't get it.

We reactivate the past time
with all its possibilities,

including that of a recovery.

We let our patients sleep long,

saving their vital energy.

They have nothing else
to do here, anyway.

You should lie down too.

There is nothing else you can do now.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

I've come to talk to you.

Speak.

What's the point of all the lies
and rumors you spread about Father?

- What lies?
- I know they all come from you.

No, I didn't lie.

You must remember that.
Even then...

He'd vanish for days
and couldn't be found.

He'd avoid us.
He might as well be alive somewhere.

I must know the truth.

Don't pester me.

You know how hard it is
to communicate with him.

Can I cope with it all alone?

How to answer all the questions
God inundates me with?

It's beyond me.

The enormity of his demands
frightens me.

- Don't cry.
- I have a migraine.

You won't go to school today.

To school? Mother!

- I'm not a child anymore.
- You are, you are...

Look at your ink-stained fingers
and bruised knees.

You're a naughty
and unruly boy.

Hanging out God knows
with whom and where.

Go wake up those spongers.

Time to open the store.

- But I'm sure...
- Don't nag at me.

I told you your father's
a traveling salesman.

You know that sometimes
he comes home at night,

only to go farther away
before dawn.

But I'm sure he'll be back.

You wriggle about
like a door on hinges.

- A little sleep, a little slumber...
- A little yawn...

...and again folding
your hands to rest.

Go to the ant, lazybones,
learn some wisdom from it.

And you, to hell,
meshuggenah!

That ant of yours knows no teacher
or a boss, not even a shaygets,

but is doing quite well.

What's he talking about?

I walked the field
of a slothful man...

...and the vineyard
of a stupid man...

That's not written anywhere.
These are not the Lord's words.

We mustn't listen to this!

All that was overgrown
with nettles,

thorns covered his land...

...and the stone wall
tumbled down.

Hush! Hush!

Clap your hands...

...and praise His name
with a voice of rejoicing.

Praise His name
among joyful singing...

...with the sounding of a trumpet.

Praise him with a harp and a lyre.

Praise him with a tambourine
and dancing.

Praise him with strings
and a flute.

Praise him with a clash
of cymbals.

Praise him
with resounding cymbals.

Everything that breathes,
praise the Lord.

Hallelujah!

Clap your hands and sing.

Sing, sing wisely.

And he dreamed and beheld
a ladder set up on the earth.

And the top of it
reached to heaven...

...and angels ascending
and descending on it.

Is it possible?

Good God, this is our Joe!

You must've lost your way
taking a shortcut to school.

Those no-goodniks.
They're always around.

In the morning when I want
to buy some bread.

I can't...

...open the door.

They barge in through the cracks,

invite themselves into the kitchen.

Simper in front of me.

Almost wag their tails.

Go crazy at the sight of a fire.

Clap their hands,
dance like savages.

Slouch when it comes
to putting out the fire.

Only good at play.

- Who are you talking about?
- Those spongers, firemen.

They get lazy in the autumn
and fall asleep standing.

Aren't you biased against them?

They're nice guys.

A stove-fitter told me...

...that while repairing chimneys,

he'd find them clinging
to the smoke-hole,

motionless like chrysalises,

sleeping there,
drunk on raspberry juice,

whimpering imploringly
in their sleep: "Sugar! Sugar!"

I only look keenly at any of them...

...and his face bloats
like red shameless meat,

as if he were a turkey.

They claim their inner selves
revitalize...

...and renew the abundance
of colors...

...which the firemen spurt out
like flares of fireworks or rockets.

Whatever. No juice for them.

I haven't ruined my complexion
standing by the stove...

...for their pleasure.

Adela, you could never
grasp things...

...that rise above the ordinary.

Look.

Is it possible for someone
to grow their hair to his feet?

How different you are!
Wonderful!

A captain of imps!

"I, Anna Csilag, born
in Karlovitse, Moravia,

had poor hair growth."

I would like to have it like this.

Would you like some water...
with raspberry juice?

No, thank you.

Too bad.

By divine retribution
her hair grew poorly.

As a result of prayers
and penance,

her curse was lifted.

She was granted
the grace of enlightenment,

marked with stigmata...

...and then she made
this wonderful ointment.

Look here.

These are her brothers,
cousins, and brothers-in-law.

And this one?

A brother-in-law too.

She made the whole town happy.

Town?

Elsa, a fluid with a swan?

A balm for all afflictions.

- It makes miracles too.
- Where did you get the book?

It's always been here.

Lots of books around.

Smoke to your heart's content.

Sexual neurasthenia. Gramophones.

Stupid. We tear a page every day
to wrap up meat...

...or breakfast for the father.

A sacred original so badly disgraced!

You're late, pal. No more juice.

There's only some rose preserve left.
Not bad either...

Adela!

Here.

Thank you... It's not a preserve!

No matter. Tastes sweet, still.

Is your name Jacob?

No, my name's Joseph.
My father's Jacob.

A lucky coincidence.

Could you get out of there?
We can't talk like this!

- Excuse me.
- Suit yourself.

A precious parcel has just arrived.
Can you tell me where's your father now?

Sorry. I'm looking for him too.

Let me introduce: Honduras...

...and Nicaragua. Come closer.

- Spotted?
- Exactly...

Highly perishable goods.

- Birds of paradise.
- Not only.

Belgian hens hatch them
the best.

Or do it yourself if you like.

I think it's your father.

Over there.

Don't you think
he's acting strange?

He's demonstrating.

Father!

Father!

In these matters, beware
of petty mindedness,

priggishness, and dumb
literal meanings.

Haven't you noticed,
in between lines of some books,

flocks of swallows fly,
whole verses of swallows?

You should read from
the flight of those birds.

Father, I have to tell you a secret:

- I've found an original.
- An original?

Yes.

See for yourself.

Worthless rubbish!

- The Book.
- The book's a myth...

...that we believe in
when we're young.

With time, you cease to
take it seriously.

There are only books,

but they live borrowed lives.

Each of them has its moment,

when, screaming,
it rises like the Phoenix,

all its pages aflame.

Father, look.

We love them
for that very moment,

though they're cinders then.

Thank you.

Why no one offers us
Herzen goldfinches now?

- Where?
- Fresh broad beans, buy, mister.

"The Book's a myth, my son."

"It rises like the Phoenix."

Hyderabad.

Guatemala.

Tasmania, San Domingo,
Sierra Leone.

Labrador. Barbados, Trinidad,
Salvador, Borneo, Sumatra,

Pernambuco...

Hiporabundia.

You say whatever comes into
your head. Why not "Penfibras"?

Haleliva. Abracadabra.

Why this feeling of déja vu?
A long time ago...

As a matter of fact, don't we know
all the landscapes...

...we're likely to run into
later in life?

Can anything completely
new happen to us?

Something we haven't expected?

Do you hear me?

I want to know if all
this could've happened?

Answer me!

Has it happened or not?

Yes and no.

There're things that can't
happen in full.

Too big for an event
to admit them...

...and too magnificent.
They only try to occur.

Tell me, despite all the reservations,
do they really exist?

It did exist.
Nothing will shake my belief.

Have no fear.
She can't hear us.

It's my dead mother
who lives here.

She's full of specters
and phantoms,

larvae and spooks.

Defenseless and naive,
she takes them into her dream...

...and sleeps with them.

Bewildered, she wakes up
at dawn and remembers nothing.

That's why she's so sad,

because she has to live
all those lives by herself alone.

Do you know the story
the time will never alter?

Among all the stories, there's
one you haven't heard...

...that has long been a part
of the realm of night.

Are you patient enough
to listen to it?

Someone will walk
across heaven...

...with a baby snuggled
down in his cloak,

wandering continually.

He'll pass us by in long strides.

This will go on forever.
Again and again.

Again and again.

Bianca, count on me!
To my last drop of blood!

- What then?
- A riddle.

- How about her?
- She?

She's all gray.

The touch of her hand
may be beyond all imagination.

But tell me what
you saw there.

Something colorful,
colonial, and glowering.

Abductions, pursuits, betrayals.

I know!

It's a story of the abducted
and transmuted princess.

Exaggeration and fabrication.

Java... Sumatra... Borneo.

I can appoint you a co-regent,

anonymously, of course.

Along with the stamp album
we'll make a triumvirate,

responsible for this
impenetrable affair.

With a stamp album?
How come?

A naive question.
The album is a universal book.

It's the sum of knowledge
about human life...

...in parables
and understatements,

interspersed with dashes,

ellipsis and sighs.

But it takes some
imagination to grasp it.

It's becoming an insane blather.

Though I was partial to you,
Rudolf, because of the album,

your envious outbursts
scare me away.

You depend on me, remember?

I must get to the other side!

I know. Her father's
a ships doctor.

And night after night,
that riverboat with side paddles...

...waits for her,

lights off on board.

Don't go there.
I've got this presentiment.

No worries.
Despite appearances,

my heart is heavy
with apprehension.

We'd better take a peek
into the album.

You haven't seen
my new Mexico yet.

No Mexico is ever final.
One ends and another opens up.

They only appear dead.

We don't care about creations
with a longer breath.

They won't be heroes of
romances in many volumes.

They're temporary,
for one showing,

frozen just when their
fixed idea...

...was the truth for a while
and, cleverly prepared,

became the core of
their new existence.

Man was recreated again...

...in the image of mannequins.

The anarchist Lucheni,
the Empress Elizabeth's assassin.

Draga, the demonic Serbian
queen. This is Dreyfus.

Edison, Bismarck over there,
the Leather Stocking.

Here's a youth of genius,
the hope and pride of his family,

lost to the pathetic
addiction to masturbation.

Alas, not genuine.

Much effort was put up
to make them presentable.

They're as pale
as they should be,

but flushed with the diseases
that killed them.

Now behold the Emperor
Francis Joseph I.

Thanks to an arrangement
of wrinkles,

the face seems to smile.

At close range, though,
the face features...

...a grimace of bitterness
and mundane concerns.

His younger brother was
of other spirit and ideals.

Wronged by his birthright
as it were,

the wretched antagonist
was called...

...Archduke Maximilian.

The Emperor loved him
in secret,

plotting his undoing, though.

He first appointed him commander
of the Levantine squadron,

hoping he'd drown wretchedly.

Then the Emperor secretly
conspired with Napoleon lll.

It's him,

who implicated Maximilian deceitfully
in the Mexican adventure.

With panache, the duke gave up
the Hapsburg inheritance...

...and on a French ocean liner
the Le Cid...

...sailed straight into the trap
set for him.

Some say he was just a cousin,

Others say that, he was not even born.

He fleshed out of the Emperor's
fears and hallucinations,

overheard in his sleep.

Having been shot at
Veracruz, it was difficult...

...to put him together
and to remove his scars.

His still suffers
from amnesia, alas.

I had to teach him his life story.

All I've managed to do
is that he draws his sword...

...at the sound
of Francis Joseph's name.

He even injured
Victor Emanuel,

who failed to move out
of his way fast enough.

Bianca and Maximilian.

Just a mechanical trick.

Wind him up and he works
as if he were alive.

Just a mechanical trick,
dammit!

A cynic of the tropics.
No! A tropical cynic.

And Rudolf said,
exaggeration and fabrication.

They should've taken their medicine
and gone to bed by now.

They shouldn't be kept so long
on uncomfortable stands.

I smell curare here.

Would you like to see
my weapons collection?

My presentiment was right.
My hair stands on end...

...at the things going on here
under the guise of legality.

Will I find out who Bianca is?

Her mother was a Creole,

whom Maximilian
fondly called Conchita,

and went down in history
under this name...

...by the back door
as it were.

- Her mother?
- Yes.

Her grandmother rather
than her mother.

After Maximilian's demise,

Conchita left for Paris
with her little girl,

where she lived off
her widow's pension.

Here the history loses trace
of this touching figure.

Let me finish for you.

This is top secret.
A State affair!

You'd better mind
your movements.

100,000 pesos.

I'm nearly broke.

Don't you see how
costly all this is?

In 1900, one Madame V.,

an extraordinary exotic beauty,

with her daughter and husband,
on a forged passport,

leaves for Austria from France.
In Salzburg, on the border,

when they transfer
to a Vienna train,

the family is arrested.

Oddly enough, when his forged documents
are checked, Mr. V. is released,

but he doesn't lift a finger
to have his wife and daughter freed.

He leaves for France the same day,
never to be heard of again.

Never ever.

It'll be my discovery when
I identify that gentleman.

150,000 pesos.

You're uncompromising.
What do you actually want?

Your decisions will
confirm if you understand...

...the new lay of the land.

All I demand is facts
and only facts!

Stop!

Bianca's origins seem

to have been proved
beyond any reasonable doubt.

Negroes, hordes of Negroes!

How come they're here
at this time of year?

The barometer must be
showing a disastrous fall.

Bianca?

I thought you wouldn't come.

Well, sit down.

No, Infanta, I'll soldier on
where fate has put me...

...to see the matter through.

Have you brought
anything to read?

Just decrees to sign.

"Daisy, Daisy, give me
your answer, do!"

Barrel organ songs!

True technological wonders,
still to come in handy.

I've got involved...

...in intricate dynastic matters
of the greatest powers.

This spells trouble, I guess.

- Time to think of betrayal?
- Of betrayal?

Exactly. Unless you come
up with something better.

I don't get it.

This must be a wonderful feeling,

to plunge into the abyss
of villainy...

...and to erase yourself
from your own memory.

Wouldn't you like, for a second,

to be defiled and revolting,

but completely revived?

Do it, do it. You'll become
one of them,

one of those black Negroes.

Now that the matters
come to a head,

you're talking me into betrayal?

You're ridiculous with your
steadfast loyalty and mission.

- What if I'd chosen Rudolf?
- No, no...

I prefer him a thousand times
better than you, boring prig.

He'd obey me.

Obedient enough...

An obedient Rudolf...

Remember Lonka, Antosia
the washerwoman's daughter...

...you'd play with as a kid?

- Oh, yes, yes.
- It was me!

I was still a boy, though.
Did you like me then?

Things are getting out of hand.

You let me down too?

Your tickets, please.

Conductor, what's going
on here, for Goodness sake?

Keep your calm.
Don't panic.

We'll sort everything out
in secret with nobody's help.

Plain facts are chronological,

lined up as rosary beads.

This makes the narrative
and continuity possible.

All right.

But what about the events
not anchored in time?

Those that came late when
the time had been parceled out.

Could it be so that the time is
Too tight to admit all the events?

There are side tracks of time,
illegal and problematic a bit.

Yet when we have to
do with unordered events,

one can't be too choosy.

As we're talking about it,

the shady manipulation
may be already behind us...

...and we're on a dead-end track?

Right. How do I get out of here?

You may try once again...
under the bed.

Excuse me, I have to go.

- Coward.
- I hope to return here.

Coward!

A mean and stupid coward.

Oh, it's you.

You don't look too well.

Everything got mixed up, Father.

It takes lots of patience
to tell the right text...

...from this maze.

This is what careful parsing of
sentences and periods could do.

Sentences and periods...
Whom, what... whose?

Dad, I got it!

Whom, what...

You should eliminate
the misleading cries of birds,

their pointed adverbs
and prepositions,

and the skittish reflexive
pronouns,

to slowly sequester
the healthy grain of time.

Legendary books,
books never written,

huge epics, bland
and monotonous...

...novels without names,
giants sans faces,

dark twilight texts,
dramas of clouds,

errant and lost books...

...in partibus infidelium.

You've been working
hard recently.

I see you burn midnight
oil till late into wee hours.

Try and you may succeed...

Fascinating...

The most beautiful
I've ever seen!

Remember:

it's paradise a apoda.
Bird of paradise, that is.

Cardinalis, cardinalis.

Chrysolophus pictus!

Upupa epops...

I'd like you to take
something along with you.

Anything, even a dash.

Absorb it in your blood
and life, saving it thereby.

And go on living with it.

Come in, come in.
Come in!

Go. They're looking for you.
I hate them to disturb me.

Go now, go.

Go! Go!

Look at you! What a sight!

There're cobwebs all over
you... and the coat's torn.

Been to the attic again?

Our clerks steal,
people buy only on credit,

and you keep getting
into mischief.

Take it down to the store.
Your father hasn't eaten all day long.

- To the store!
- "To the store..."

- They seem to be looking for you.
- How hot it is!

- Who?
- The salesmen.

Theodore most of all.

They'll be climbing the ladder
up and down again.

Up and down...

Up and down...

Joe...

I wish you'd been born earlier.

Come here!

Take it there to scare them.

Adela, wasn't Helofernes a man?

Never mind.

I've kept it in beetroot
soup so it looks better.

I'll buy it.

Get away. It's not for sale.

If a head is in the store, it's for sale.
I'll buy it.

Father! Father!

Take it away from here.
There's no room for it!

Don't bother me. I have no time!

Jacob, keep trading!
Jacob, keep trading!

Father! Father...

Wake up, Joseph. I know
you're on your last legs,

but it's only a couple
of steps away.

Though so sick, you don't
take care of yourself.

He's coming! You hear him?
He's coming along.

I've known him since childhood.

I remember him in school.
Even then he was revolting,

the egoist, pigging on
countless buttered rolls.

Go to meet him or he'll think
I'm slighting him.

Come on...

This is Joseph, son of Jacob,
if I'm not mistaken.

May the sky overhead
be always blue...

...and the earth underfoot
wet with dew.

I'd say so, but there's no need,

as we hear their store
is as busy as a beehive.

Appearances and regrettable
mystification.

Mother complains
that people buy on credit.

- What's he saying?
- Credit.

I must've misheard.

- It's to be expected.
- They sell on credit.

- No more of this word!
- Why do you bow all the time?

Bend your ear, son,
and hear the words of the wise.

Apply your heart
unto my knowledge.

I used to sell for cash.

Let's help our neighbors
as much as we can,

but beware,
lest we fall ourselves.

Behold, there come seven
years of great plenty...

...throughout your land.

Must've been Christian
Seipel & Sons himself!

Mechanical spinning
and weaving mills.

The rich man toiled
to collect riches...

...and, in his rest,
He will be filled with goods.

The poor man toiled,
short of food,

and finally becomes a beggar.

L'chayim!

Come.

She never shows up in the park.

They watch her closely,
having sensed danger.

It's all baloney:

Exteritoriality! Mexico!
Maximilian!

Cotton plantations!
Enough already!

Excuse me, who's told you
all of this?

This dossier of the secret plot
has never seen the light of day!

I'm the owner of the stamp
album after all...

...and am not going to lend it
to you for such ends.

I have to admit it,

the case is improbable,
if not incredible.

In whose mind, Rudolf,
could this idea have been born?

So venomous and devilish,

outdistancing all flights
of fantasy?

To my utter amazement!

Fiddlesticks!
Our partnership is off.

Good riddance!

After all, I decided
to prove that it's all true.

- Where is Mr. de V?
- He's left.

We'll find out right away.
Where's the Infanta?

Her Highness has left too.
All of them have.

No doubt. Get out of here!

Someone must've betrayed me.

Abra...

Abra... Abracadabra!

Wonderful!

Come on, get up.

Haleliva.

Vienna.

To horse, gentlemen!

Haleliva!

What's going on here,
young man?!

This way, Your Majesty.

Forward!

Sorry to have bothered you,
gentlemen.

These people are free
and will leave unmolested.

Through blindness, I decided
to interpret the Scriptures,

to interpret God's will.

Falsely inspired, I latched onto
misleading circumstantial evidence,

which I pieced together to associate
only with a random figure, alas.

Allow me, my friend.

Honorable gentlemen
and you Infanta.

I relinquish the regency to Rudolf,

abdicating down the line.

You're free, noble gentlemen.

My heartfelt thanks
on behalf of the idea.

Our dethroned idea,

which in spite of everything...

Faster!

Faster!

Faster!

Father! Father!

Call Garibaldi. He knows
how to dress wounds.

Bianca!

Get a stretcher. Come on!

This is a really fatal night.
I haven't foreseen that.

A noble heart beat in his breast.
I did him injustice.

You must comfort Bianca
in her grief, Rudolf.

Give her twice the love
she needs. Sub for her father.

You'll want to take
him along with you.

Let's line up.

Line up!

Line up!

I hate to impose my will
on you, Rudolf.

It's my duty to provide...

...for those homeless, aged
heroes of mankind.

Alas, I'm a pauper.

- How much?
- 10,000.

- 5,000...
- No...

- 12,000.
- Uh-huh.

Gentlemen,
after all that happened...

...no collection of curiosities
will take you.

And the competition
is running high.

As you've learned
no practical trade,

my friend has given money for
12 barrel organs from Schwarzwald.

Disperse all over the world,

playing to lift up
the hearts of the people.

The choice of tunes is up to you.

Now, dear friends and
honorable gentlemen,

join me in a cheer:

Long live the happy newlyweds!

I bid you farewell.

Draw a warning from what
you're going to see now:

Let nobody ever try
to guess God's designs.

Ignorabimus, dear sirs,
ignorabimus.

Are you Joseph, son of Jacob?

Possibly... yes.

Did you dream the standard
dream of the biblical Joseph?

I could have...

It tallies, doesn't it?

Your dream was noticed
in the highest place...

...and severely criticized.

I'm not accountable
for my dreams.

In the name of His Imperial and Royal
Majesty, you're under arrest.

At your disposal.

His Imperial and Royal bureaucracy
grinds slowly a bit.

I've committed much worse
deeds than this early dream,

for which I wanted to mete out
punishment to myself.

Now this outdated dream
is saving my life!

- Don't cry.
- I've a migraine attack.

Come. I'll have them
make you some tea.

- Is Adela home?
- She's left for America.

She's gone?

Her ship sank
and they were all drowned.

She's never been heard from again.

And my Father? Where is he?

He'd leave many a time,
but never for good.

The good thing was...

...he made us get used
to his final departure.

- Take me to him.
- All right.

I think it's about time
you visited him.

The store is no more either.

I sometimes go down there
to sell out what's still left.

With the blinds half-rolled down.

He was one of those God moved...

...his hand over their faces...

...in their sleep, so they know
what they know not.

They're full of speculation
and suspicion...

...and images of remote worlds...

...pass behind their closed
eyelids.

Because man goeth
to his distant home,

and the mourners go
about the streets:

Or ever the silver cord
be loosed,

or the golden bowl be broken,

or the pitcher be broken
at the fountain,

or the wheel be broken
at the cistern.

Then shall the dust return
to the earth as it was;

and the spirit shall return
unto God who gave it.

I'm so happy
you have come, Joseph.

What a nice surprise!
I feel so lonely here.

One can't complain in my plight.

I've gone through worse things.

I have news to tell you.

Don't laugh, Joseph.

I've rented some space
for a store here.

No big deal at all.

I'd be ashamed of such
a stall in our town,

but here where we've had
to forget so many...

...of our upscale aspirations...
Don't you think so?

And so... we get by somehow.

I must've over wound it.

You look sleepy, Joseph.
So take a nap.

It's mind-boggling how hard
it was to get some credit.

They distrust old merchants here,

even those with a no-nonsense past.

Remember the optician's shop
in the market place?

Our store is next door.

No signboard yet,
but you can't miss it.

Going out without a coat?

She must've forgotten
to put it in the trunk.

- Take mine.
- No... Bye, bye.

Jacob, do business.

Why don't you sit down, Father?

So sick, you don't take
care of yourself.

Don't disturb me.
Can't you see I have no time?

There's a letter for you
among the papers on my desk.

Just imagine, on my first day here,
I was served...

...a superb fillet de boeuf
with mushrooms.

A devilishly hot steak.

Watch out if they ever try
to serve you that fillet...

Filet de boeuf...

My belly is still burning.

The runs won't stop
and I'm completely helpless.

Or roast beef a la hussar,

stuffed with a kind of paté
with gravy.

We don't have to deny
ourselves anything here.

We can indulge in real
big-city debauchery.

An angelic, priceless boy.

You have to admit
that he's charming.

Light, please.

Even schoolgirls here
tie a bow in a special way.

The moment you notice one,
you see her smarmy look that...

...freezes us...

...with delightful certainty.

I want to see the doctor
immediately.

He's just gone to the restaurant.

That's where I've just come from.

Oh, sorry.
He's in the operating room.

There's no doubt
that we've been trapped.

The management doesn't care...

...to give us even a semblance
of attention.

We're left to our own devices.

Though I ask, I can't have
a separate bed,

let alone clean sheets.

Your mysterious
and discreet airs...

...are plain mystification.

I would like to open all those doors...

...to expose the intrigue
we've been implicated in.

Why don't you lie down?
You're on your last legs.

Oh, Joseph, Joseph.

I lie here completely unattended.

The wires are broken off.

Nobody looks in here.

Not even a cup of tea
to be served.

And my own son leaves...

...his seriously sick father...

...to chase skirts in town.

You'd better look in
the store more often.

The salesmen are robbing us.

The business will go to the dogs,

when it's left to its fate.

See how my heart is racing.

I can't put up with
all that any longer.

Joseph,

any mail from ho...?

- Doctor...
- You don't look too well.

Take off your coat.
We'll examine you.

Your irritation is understandable.

The system, the nervous one
especially, must adapt itself.

It was an unfortunate idea
to send my father here,

attracted by your hyped-up ad.
You turn time back, huh?

Sounds beautiful,
but what is it, really?

Do we get decent time
of full value here?

Quite the opposite.
It's completely threadbare,

done to death by humanity, tattered
and torn, riddled with holes.

A vomited time, as it were.
Second-hand goods.

No matter what your father's
life looks like here,

you still can see him,
be with him, and talk to him.

You should be eternally
grateful to the doctor.

Enough already!
Space is for man!

We can somersault there,
leap from star to star,

but for God's sake,
don't tamper with time.

It's all because of the too rapid
disintegration...

...of time.

We all know that we can
still keep...

...a tight rein on this
undisciplined element...

...only by continual
and careful regulation.

Without it, time gets out
of hand, does it not?

You'd better take better
care of yourself.

Dress more warmly.

And get more exercise
in the first place.

And then we'll see what next.

Well, chin up.

My father is lucky to be dead, actually.

All this does not affect him at all.

Translation: Krzysztof Fordoński
English language editor: Eric J. Isler

Subtitles:Cyfrowe Repozytorium Filmowe