All language subtitles for Opium.-.Diary.of.a.Madwoman.(J+бnos.Sz+бsz,.2007)

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Dedicated to Andrea Kormos

Present

With the participation of

A film by

Starring

Opium: Diary of a Madwoman

Executive Producers

Co-producers

Line Producers

Co-producers

Make-up, Wardrobe

Production Design, Art Design

Editor

Cinematographer

Based on the writings of
Geza Csath, Screenplay by

Produced by

Directed by

I'll have you know

that I'm an arm of your God.

God himself!

I was the first living being.

My upper part is the fiery Sun

in the rays of which live
the Souls of the Dead.

The Sun is God itself.

The Sun shoots off

millions and millions of electric beams.

Initially I started to
revolve around myself.

While circulating immense heat developed

and compressed itself to Earth.

This is how I created
the Earth and the Stars.

I took God's name, but I
am wicked in all my cells.

Yes, the Evil is sitting on
the throne of the world.

Lower her back!

For every person
I have an invisible arm

through which I govern the world.

These invisible arms that
arrange people's fate,

their every step and smallest action.

I'm an arm of your God.

October 13th, 1913, Tuesday.

A terrible and depressing thought:

I no longer have any
inclination to write.

Since I've been dealing
with psychoanalysis,

I no longer need to write.

Yet analysis only brings suffering,

bitter recognition, and disappointment,

while writing brings joy and fame

I've always longed for.

Ever since I've been
incapable of writing,

I feel as if I'm not able to speak.

I feel as if I'd gone dumb.

The deranged mind is just like

a broken mechanism of a clock.

We must get rid of the faulty parts
if we want it to work again.

With this tiny operation
medical science

can restore health to our
hopelessly suffering patients.

To put it frankly, we
bring them oblivion,

which frees them from their demons.

Next step: We cut the nerve tracks

and isolate the frontal lobe.

Thus we terminate its connection
to other parts of the brain.

Is that you, Doctor Brenner?

Welcome to our institute!

October 14th, Wednesday.

The tight garters of the corset
hindered penetration,

so I unfastened them.

Then I lifted up her petticoat
and she bent forward,

leaning against the window
of the carriage

to make penetration easier.

Her sighs put me into ecstasy,

I placed a vaginal
suppository in her,

and I penetrated her
after 5 minutes.

As often, I was shocked by how swiftly
a girl could be ruined.

Colour of hair: Brown; eyes: Brown;

height: Slightly taller than average.

I met her just a half an hour ago
on the train.

I forgot to ask her name.

- When did you write this book?
- Four years ago.

Do you like it?

Before that at dawn a light breakfast,

then 2 milligrams of morphine.

A long, never-ending journey

and depressing fantasies
about my new place of work.

And what else do you write about?

- About things that happen to me.
- Do you write everything down?

Every single minute.

- Doctor Brenner.
- Good evening.

Enough! Enough! Enough!

Today red, tomorrow dead!

I don't want to write!
I hate to write!

I hate to write!

Well little girl,

I'll take the life out of you

even if I need pincers to do it.

Don't worry.

You will soon have an autopsy,

and you'll soon have
a knife cut on your head.

Shit.

The Essence of life is
such an expensive commodity

that entire generations
receive not more than an hour.

He who accepts this

accepts the fact that he must die
even before he is born.

But who has forever
been obsessed with poison

should spare fourteen hours
every day.

These fourteen hours are equal

to eight thousand years of life
lived by four hundred generations.

But let's just say five thousand.

Which means that in just one day
I live five thousand years.

In one year, this amounts to

approximately two million years.

The Evil One is constantly
rummaging around in me,

he dwells in my lower parts,
enters my vagina.

He wants me to serve him,
to be his whore,

whose lower parts will help him
maintain his power.

I don't want this delight,

but I struggle against him in vain.

The traces of the night murder

had completely
disappeared by the morning.

The doctors should see me at night.

My head and my neck

hang listlessly on my breast.

If I go down on all fours,

I keep collapsing

since I have a living
soul only in my head.

October 15th, Thursday.

I have begun my service
at the Winter clinic.

Unfriendly people everywhere.

I still don't have a single rotten thought
worth putting down on paper.

But at least I can get
the morphine easily.

My first inspection went well,

disregarding minor issues,
nothing special.

If you start smoking
opium as a strong man

and pay attention to your health,

with the aid of a good doctor
you can live for ten years.

And then, having reached
the age of twenty-million,

you can lay your head down in peace
on the ice-cold pillow of perdition.

But before that,
the suffering lingers on.

In the morning, blaring rays of light
roar through the streets.

If I understand correctly, this story is
the confession of an opium-smoker.

Congratulations.

You write extremely sensitively
in your short stories.

Tell me: Where do you
get this insight from?

I'm a doctor.

Still,

you write so authentically.

I wonder if this is
pure imagination?

Or reality itself?

Pure fantasy, of course.

More tea?

Yes, please.

There is a patient of mine,

her name is Gizella Klein.

I'd like you to examine her tomorrow.

Maybe your methods
will work in her case.

Of course, you're a man
of the new ideas.

Psychoanalysis, superego,
penis envy.

You despise my medieval
methods, don't you?

And yet you accepted this job.

Why?

Gizella Klein, born
January 31st, 1885,

175 cm tall, a relatively
well-developed female patient.

According to our examinations
Gizella is a virgin.

There is no trace of
penetration of the hymen.

Her mother was bed-ridden
for eight years,

dying of a prolonged
bout of tuberculosis.

Gizella nursed her mother
at home from childhood

right up till her mother's death.

I remember one afternoon

a breeze lightly touched me

on the street.

The Evil One entered me.

I felt the force.

And I felt that

this force

wanted to compel me
to get married

and leave my mother forever.

That evening, my mother leant up
in bed and looked at me.

I heard her shouting something,
but I switched on the gramophone.

The music quelled her voice.

I didn't take in her supper
that evening.

Or the next morning, either.

Or ever again.

Read it. It's very important.

This Being.

Is he whispering something to you now?

Does he speak to you?

You can tell me.

I am spitting into your face.

So the creature speaks in German.

And does it speak in a male voice?

I wouldn't say that
it is a male voice.

Now it's saying:

Empty yourself!

Why?

It's telling you to talk

because it doesn't dare release me

until you've spoken.

I don't understand:

It's scared of you executing me

yet it slashes me.

I'm a fool.

I've no more brains!

I'm totally demented.

The Sun

is God!

The Sun

is God!

The Sun is God!

October 24th, Friday.

This year so far I've
earned 376 Koronas.

Spent: 297 Koronas and 12 Cents.

Morphine total: 170 centigrams.

Average per day: 0,6 centigram.

Coitus: 142.

I still haven't had
a single rotten thought

worth putting down on paper.

To encourage myself to write

I started counting the written lines.

However the consequence was

that I wrote ever bigger letters.

Since then I've been
counting the letters.

October 27th, Tuesday.

Today I was examined.

My new doctor seems to be
a very knowledgeable person.

A serious man.

He reminds me of the doctor
who cured my mother.

That man was seriously
interested in me.

By then mother was very ill,

tuberculosis had taken hold of her.
All my time was taken up nursing her.

I remember,

a breeze lightly touched me
on the street.

I felt the force.

It was something like electricity
equipped with some sort of mind.

This force wanted to
compel me to get married

and leave my mother.

My poor pale mother!

Don't write any more! Stop it!

Stop writing!

Lights out!

Stop writing!

Stop it!

Put it down!

Put it down!

Put it down!

Obsessed!

Your writings are very interesting,
do you know that?

I do.

How long have you been writing?

Since I was brought in here.

And why were you brought here?

Because I'm mad.

Why did you go mad?

Why did I go mad?

Because I do not have a brain.

I will comment on the pictures,

tell me the thoughts
that come to your mind.

My life is sad.

Yes.

My heart's aching.

I don't have one.

I suffer a lot.

I'm no longer alive. Oh, God!

Misfortune awaits me.

Never.

My life is misery.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

I'll be reduced to being a beggar.

I have been destroyed.

It'd be best if they buried me.

No!

If only death were here!

I want to live.
But I won't be evil.

I've committed a great sin.

I've committed a great sin.

I don't remember.

Everybody despises me.

They are lying.

October 27th, Tuesday.

My blood pressure is 136/88.

My secretory system works faultlessly.

I am increasingly occupied by Gizella.

Her level of intelligence
is undoubtedly low,

her condition is middling serious,

but in her writing there is
some sort of unusual force.

She swamps me with new pages.

She seizes every
opportunity to write to me.

Her passion is enviable.

If only I was able
to write like this!

Field.

Wide.

Home.

Spacious.

Leaves.

Shady.

And knife?

Sharp.

Horse - animal.

Stove - burns.

Cigar - smokes.

Child - runs.

Apple - falls.

Bud - opens.

Soup - tastes.

Scythe - glistens.

Old man - hobbles.

Shall we begin?

Yes.

Picture?

Frame.

Home, leaves, knife.

Home, leaves, knife.

Spacious, shady, sharp.

Sun, fish, field, horse.

Shiny, numb, wild, animal.

Stove, cigar, child, apple, soup,
scythe, old man?

Burns, smokes, runs, falls,
tastes, glistens, hobbles.

You've made a mistake!

I beg your pardon?

You left 'bud' out!

Have you been made to
do this exercise before?

I don't understand.

Have you played this game before?
Perhaps with another doctor?

I don't play with other doctors.

Don't write!

Please!

They will hurt you!

Don't write!

This morning

when I looked out my window

a bird looked at me.

I don't know what kind
of a bird it was.

But it was a bird.

Its eyes shone dully.

Its look was familiar.

That was my mother's
expression as she lay there,

looking straight through me.

First

it was her hands that went cold

and then gradually her arms,

her shoulders,

her legs.

She just stared at me

until she became
completely cold.

As cold as metal.

Like a doorknob.

How long haven't you been outside?

10 years, 4 months, 12 days.

You haven't left the institute
since then?

No.

Take a look around!

Isn't the countryside beautiful?

Lean back and enjoy the drive!

Surrender yourself!

I want to go back.

I want to go back.

I want to go back.

Take me back!

Stop!

Gizella, you must remain calm!

Stop!

Stop this, please!

- Stop!
- All right.

We'll soon go back.

Stop! That's enough!

Stop that!

Gizella, stop that!

Stop that!

Professor Winter has decided that
I shall oversee your treatment.

We'll meet more often in the future.

We'll meet more often.

Do you hear me?

Good.

Do you have any requests?

Yes.

All right,

tell me.

Remove my brain.

Everything is all right.
Relax! Try to sleep!

- Don't let me!
- Sister, give her more medicine!

Don't let me die!

October 27th, Sunday.

Sister Hortenzia came to me
on the transparent excuse

that she was very dizzy

and would like a doctor
to examine her.

She is a 30 year old woman
with huge buttocks,

slightly sagging but
beautiful breasts,

masterfully formed on the whole,
with velvet-smooth pink skin.

Have you ever had
dealings with a man?

Once. A long, long time ago.

And what do you say
to having it again?

I'd permit it.

I pulled on a condom

and there, standing by
the table I mounted her.

She raised her hips as much
as she could to serve me.

She worked with ghastly pleasure.

Her legs were poking
towards the ceiling,

and she leant her broad thighs
against my waist.

The orgasm that she produced
was noteworthy

because her ugly being was
transformed in a strange way,

and this excited and amazed me.

Don't you undress, Gizella?

You fucked the new doctor.
You will die for it!

What did you say?

What are you telling me?

- I see your death. You're going to die.
- What did you say?

November 1st, 1913, All-Saints day.

My morphine doses have risen to excess.

Many times bigger than
the biggest doses ever.

Shameful failures.

Zero lines zero letters.

I spend all my time reading
Gizella's diaries.

Gizella hasn't eaten for days.

The Evil One suggests every day
that I become his whore,

and then he would
turn my life into gold.

Force-feed her!

Eat!

You can go.

Yes.

Why have you called me?

I want to talk to you.

What about?

You are interested, aren't you?

I don't understand.

My diaries.

I have not shown this
to anybody yet.

Please read it!

Everything is in it.

How can you write so much?

I have time.

Don't you have a friend?

I've got plenty of friends.

Who's your best friend?

You.

Follow me, please!

I'm going to examine you.
You can take off your clothes.

You can leave your underwear on.

You can sit down.

Look here, please!

Follow my finger!

You have beautiful eyes.

Do you know that
you write very well?

I sometimes feel like
continuing your sentences.

Tell me if you hear anything.

Time.

I can hear time passing.

Go on.

I hear it clearly.

It's time.

And what about now?

I can smell it.

What do you smell?

The Devil.

He wants me

to serve him.

To be his whore,

he wants my body.

The creature

is constantly

rummaging around

in me.

He settles

in my lower parts,

and enters

my vagina.

Obsessed.

Give it back to me!

Give it back to me!

Gizella!

Give it back to me!

Stop that!

I know someone who loves me.

I despise him,

but he loves me.

I may give in to him even so,

I may become his wife even so.

I'm seeking someone who will
cut the Evil One out of me.

Someone who is wicked enough
to be good to me.

The Devil makes you an offer every day,

again and again

that you should be his,

and then he'll turn
your life into gold,

your sufferings will cease
in an instant

and you'll get everything you want,

happiness and time,

limitless time.

That was enough for me.

The Evil One doesn't gobble up
your body at once,

he just makes a meal of you,

day by day

eating your flesh
in tiny pieces.

He wants to destroy you
by slow torture.

Gizella, please.

Last night, in the bath

Sister Hortenzia died
of a heart attack.

According to our patients
you foretold her death.

This is obviously nonsense.

No one can foretell
anybody's death.

Listen to me, Gizella!

Answer me, please!

How did you know?

Where did you get the idea from?

Concentrate, please!

You can tell me.

Gizella, please.

Please stop this!

Two more weeks detention!

Don't give her any paper or pencil!

Why don't you let her have
writing materials? This is cruel.

- Gizella is not your patient
any more. - Answer me!

You want an answer from me?

Yes. Why do you interfere
with my work?

I'm the director
of this institution.

- That doesn't entitle you to...
- Yes, it does. It entitles me.

I created this institution
from nothing. On my own.

And I won't stand anyone
interfering with how I run it.

- Is there anything else?
- Why do you stop her from writing?

Because it makes her hysterical.

Being banned from writing
makes her hysterical.

- She'll die without it!
- You can't be serious about that.

She'll forget about
it in a couple of days.

How dare you?

Paper.

I beg your pardon?

Give me some paper!

I'm afraid, I can't.

Give me paper!

I beg you.

I'm sorry.

Don't worry little girl,

even if I need pincers to do it,

I'll take the life out of you!

Don't worry,

you'll soon have an autopsy,

and you'll have a knife cut
on your head.

Stop writing!

Stop writing!

No!

Let me through!

My God!

I know what you want.

You want me to give you my body.

You want me to be your wife.

All right,

you can have my body,

the Evil One has destroyed it anyway.

For God's sake, stop that!

Why are you doing this to me?

I'm risking my career
because of you.

I've had enough of your silly tricks!

I resign today!

I don't care what you want or not,

you're draining away my energy,
taking over my life day by day.

You are a...

I know you are aiming at something,
but I don't understand it.

You've moved right into me!

If you try to leave

I'll kill you.

What did you say?!

If you try to leave I'll kill you.

January 1st. Friday.

The sooty lamps glow,
hardly giving off any light.

Get yourself together
or you're going to die.

My friend, you're going to die.

In the afternoon I injected
another dose,

but I started to feel guilty.

I was unable to write.

Zero lines, zero letters.

Come! Don't be afraid!

Come!

January 3rd. Monday.

I feel new strength within me again.

I don't feel like taking the poison.

Today I started a new work.

The idea came like
a streak of lightning.

Strange I hadn't noticed, although
it was lying in front of me for months.

I got out Gizella's writings

and put new life into
the stories written there.

Or did I just copy them?

It makes no difference.

Every line of the growing work is mine,

every thought my thought.

You know why I'll have to
disappear forever.

Because you

erase me forever even
from your memories.

You'll forget me like
a worthless trifle.

And I'm going to sink

as if I had never existed.

I remember, one afternoon

a breeze

lightly touched me on the street.

The Evil One entered me.

I felt the force.

It was something like electricity
equipped with some sort of mind.

And this force

wanted to compel me to get married

and leave my mother.

Tuberculosis had taken hold of her.

I was nursing her all my time.

Now I know that she was only bait

on the hook of the Evil One.

First her hands went cold

and then gradually her arms

and shoulders.

She just looked at me

until she became totally cold.

Metal cold.

Like the handle of the door.

- What are you doing here?
- Eating.

Go back to your seat, Gizella!

I'm under the protection
of Doctor Brenner.

The doctor is my husband.

Tell him!

I beg your pardon?

Inform this gentleman.

Of what?

About the two of us.

What do you mean, Gizella dear?

We spent the night together.

We are husband and wife.

Of course, naturally.

The Professor knows about it.

We spent the night together.
We are husband and wife.

We are husband and wife.

We are husband

and

wife.

Of course.

We are husband and wife.

We are husband and wife.

Please!

What?

Please!

Yes?

I know you can do it.

Remove my brain!

I'm eaten alive.
I'm gradually rotting.

The Evil is chewing me up
from inside.

I know he is the one you want.

Kill me!

I'll die if you don't kill me.

What do you want from me?

Cut it out!

It's not possible.

I can't.

Please!

Please!

- I can't.
- Please!

Please!

Please!

Please!

Good evening.

Good evening.

I finished your book
a few days ago.

I was right.

You are a monster.

I'm honoured.

And nowadays?
What are you working on?

Have you found your
new subject yet?

I think so.

And what is it, if I may ask?

I am writing about the Evil.

That's interesting.

Go on!

I'm getting acquainted with it.

You're kidding!

Really?

And what's it like?

Stupid

and strong.

And what about the plot?

The hero has to commit a sin

to win the Evil's trust.

You writers,

you infect people's souls
with your scribbling.

I'm giving you 24 hours
to leave my institution.

Is there anything else
you need to do?

Yes. There is something.

All right.

But then be gone!

I never want to see you again.

I know you love me.

We are husband and wife.

Sleep!

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