Original subtitles

Good evening.

The entertainment industry is always crying for new faces.

I've decided to give them one.

Not that there's anything wrong with the old one.

In fact, I think it's rather good.

Well, it could have been worse. What if I had cracked?

See, here's the one.

I've always wanted to be someone else.

That won't do.

I look like a near-sighted hearth rug.

By an odd coincidence,

we have a story about a man

who decided to be someone other than himself.

And by an equally odd coincidence,

it is rehearsed and ready to start.

Here it is.

I suppose you could say it began that Easter Sunday.

I was spending the weekend at my Aunt Muriel's house in Norwich, Connecticut.

A place I was forced to spend many weekends.

Not that I found my aunt's company particularly congenial, far from it.

But the food was fair and even she didn't have the effrontery

to charge me for my visits.

Not that she wasn't capable of doing even that.

As a matter of fact,

nothing my aunt did would be too surprising.

But that weekend, she went too far.

Even for a person as good-natured as myself.

Can't you see my problem?

The shop is a veritable gold mine.

But when you work with objets d'art, you have to begin slowly.

I don't think we'd better discuss the antique shop anymore, Seymour.

I simply cannot let you have any more money.

Well, I know it's true. I wasn't cut out to be a businessman,

but the shop is different.

Now, it might interest you to know...

I'll tell you what it would interest me to know.

Just what you think you are cut out for, Seymour.

You don't understand.

I should have lived in the Renaissance.

Or some other period

when refinement and culture and taste

really meant something.

I doubt if there was ever a period in history

when men could enjoy those things without money.

Well, if it comes to that...

If dear Papa hadn't left all the money to you instead of to me,

I would have money.

Your father was a very sensible man, Seymour.

He felt he must force you to make your own way for a while.

He thought it might put some sense into your head about money.

It's a pity Father didn't have any understanding of what I'm really like.

Oh, you're wrong, Seymour.

Really you are.

Perception and sensitivity don't seem to run on your side of the family.

He couldn't help it any more than you can.

Ordinarily I'm a fairly good-natured person, Seymour,

but I find it impossible to spend any time with you and remain that way.

Is it possible

that you're suffering from a feeling of guilt?

You mean guilt about the money? No.

I'm only grateful you live in the city

and aren't around to embarrass me all the time.

Why should I embarrass anyone?

Oh, Seymour...

Your affectations.

Don't you see how people around here laugh at you all the time?

What people?

I never see them, much less care what they think.

The only way I could possibly survive

in this so-called civilization

is not to see anything unpleasant.

Just to pretend

it doesn't exist.

Oh, I give up.

Don't tell me you're running out of good advice.

No. Out of patience.

I thought that was something that you and Father had an inexhaustible supply of.

No one could have enough patience to put up with you, Seymour.

Because of all the vain, silly, egotistical, unattractive...

Unattractive?

Of course, everyone has a right to his own opinion,

but unfortunately you're in the minority.

I'm going upstairs.

Seymour.

Do you realize that when you're in a room with a person,

you not only get into a position where you can admire yourself in a mirror,

but where the person with you can only see what you call your best angle?

It is my best angle.

Oh, stop it.

I never heard such nonsense in my life.

Good heavens. This sort of thing is bad enough in a woman,

but in a man, it's...

Well, it's embarrassing.

At your age, do you think it's wise to get yourself upset like that?

It might not be good for your health.

Don't worry about my health, Seymour.

Though I have no doubt you've given a good deal of thought to it.

Oh, why shouldn't I be concerned?

After all, you are my aunt.

Don't waste your time worrying about my health, Seymour.

I know you can't wait to get your hands on the money.

My dear Aunt Muriel, that is almost a vulgar remark.

A little vulgarity in your nature would be a very healthy thing.

That's beside the point at the moment.

Oh, there's never been any secret of the fact

that the money is yours when I die.

But I wouldn't waste my time if I were you, Seymour, waiting for it.

It may take a long time.

You might just as well make up your mind.

If you want any more money, you've got to go to work.

What about my shop?

Your shop is just an excuse not to work.

I'll thank you not to make derogatory remarks about that shop, Aunt Muriel.

Will you or will you not give me that money?

No. Not one cent.

Not one cent of the money do you get while I'm alive.

I didn't answer her. I simply smiled.

Obviously, there would have been no point

in prolonging the discussion with her any further.

For while I had no intention of descending to her level

and bickering about anything as sordid as money,

it was at that moment I made up my mind.

Now, there was no alternative.

I would simply have to murder my aunt.

I moved slowly,

discarding plan after plan as unworthy,

until one day when I was eating,

certainly not enjoying my meager lunch,

it happened.

It was a wallet.

A wallet obviously dropped by someone else.

My first thought was it might contain money.

Shocking comment on the position my aunt had placed me in.

However, it contained only a driver's license.

But after my first disappointment,

I realized suddenly

that fate had placed the solution in my hands.

As I looked down at the license,

the whole plan came to me.

Complete and perfect in every detail.

Seymour, why on earth did you drag me down here

in the middle of the afternoon?

And why are you closing the shop at this hour?

I want to talk to you.

I don't wish to be disturbed.

If you mean by a customer, I don't think there's much danger.

If I wasn't in such a good humor today,

I might be a little annoyed by your attitude.

I'm terrified.

I'm also getting extremely impatient.

What's so special about this afternoon?

Don't tell me your aunt had the decency to die.

Not quite.

Let me ask you something, Liza.

Have you ever been presented

with a large complex idea,

complete down to the last detail?

I wouldn't know. Ideas aren't my specialty.

Like leisurely unwrapping a large Christmas parcel

full of the most wonderful surprises.

I've almost forgotten what that's like.

I've been going with you for so long now, Seymour.

That's unworthy of you, Liza.

You've always known that even if things are a little tight now, as soon as...

As soon as your aunt dies, it will all be different.

The only trouble is by the time she does, if she ever does,

we'll both be so old it won't matter.

I never worry about age.

I have the kind of bone structure that lasts.

Well, I haven't.

I want my share of the cake now.

That's right. You don't have that kind of bone structure.

For your information, I've about decided not to sit around here any longer

admiring your bone structure.

There's no point in both of us doing the same thing.

There's an edge to your voice, Liza, that means you want to quarrel.

You know how I abhor quarreling.

Then suppose you stop talking in circles and tell me what this is all about.

Let me ask you one more question.

What, in your opinion,

is the most important thing in the world?

Money. I'm serious.

All right. I'll play.

What is the most important thing?

It's not money.

It's not taste or personality,

or distinctive features.

It's a passport.

A what? A passport.

An official document.

A social security card. A driver's license.

In other words, an identification.

Because it is only by an official identification

that we really exist.

I don't get it. Sit down.

Liza, do you know what that is?

A driver's license.

Correct. A California driver's license in the name of Antonio Bertani.

I found it quite by accident at lunchtime.

Pity it wasn't a $100 bill.

It's worth a great deal more than that.

With this license, I can create a person.

A person who will do exactly

what I require of him.

Would it interest you to know that I have no idea what you're talking about?

How can you be so stupid?

My dear Liza,

don't you understand that with this license,

anybody can become Mr. Bertani?

He can buy a car and register it in his name.

He can rent a house in some little town, let's say, in New Jersey...

Now, wait a minute.

I want to be sure I've got this all straight.

You're going to hire someone to impersonate this Bertani.

Bertani.

My dear Liza, it is not a question of impersonation.

I shall create

a fictitious person by the name of Bertani,

who will do anything I want him to do,

including the all-important last act.

My aunt's demise.

And who, if I may be so bold, is going to play the part?

I am.

You?

Me.

Liza, why are you laughing?

I can't help it. It's too funny.

I fail to see any humor in this situation whatsoever.

I don't doubt it, Seymour.

Humor was never your strong point.

Honestly, I can't take it seriously.

I can't do anything but laugh.

As a matter of fact, at this moment,

I can't think of anyone in the world who's safer than your aunt.

I had no intention of allowing her attitude to stop me.

The only effect it had

is that I made a mental note that at my convenience,

Liza, too, would have to go.

Meanwhile, I wasted no time putting my plan in operation.

I purchased those items necessary for my disguise.

The actual creation of the good Senor Bertani

was extremely simple.

I had only to use my purchases skillfully.

I was no longer Seymour Johnston,

but Antonio Bertani.

Mr. Bertani? Yes?

I'm your neighbor, Mrs... What do you want?

I'm soliciting funds for our new church organ...

I don't give to any churches.

Oh, I'm sorry. And what's more, I don't like to be bothered.

You can tell that to your friends.

Well, really... And don't let that happen again.

I had no doubt as to how she would describe Senor Bertani

when the police finally traced him there.

I made the same impression on other neighbors

during the weekends I spent in that ghastly little apartment during the summer.

Then with this last purchase in Bertani's name,

I was ready.

The plan was complete but for the final act.

The murder of my aunt.

I was full of satisfaction as I arrived on the grounds of my aunt's estate

in the car I had purchased in the good Bertani's name.

Or should I perhaps call him the bad Bertani?

There's something very satisfying

about drawing to the end

of an extremely complicated and delicate operation.

I hid the car in the bushes a short distance from the house.

And since my plan called for it to be found there by the police,

I made certain the wheels were deeply embedded in the soft earth.

Then I walked the rest of the way to the house.

The evening went as usual

with an endless lecture of my failings.

In a way, I was glad of this,

for it reaffirmed the rightness of what she was forcing me to do.

What are you looking at me like that for, Seymour?

I was just thinking how nice you look this evening.

I see.

You sound unconvinced.

I am.

As a matter of fact, everything you've done this evening

has been very unconvincing.

You've been more peculiar than usual.

And here, I thought I'd been particularly charming.

You have been trying to be.

Trying?

Yes.

You're the most exasperating woman I've ever known.

I don't know why I put up with you.

It's the other way around, isn't it?

This is my house, Seymour.

I am the one putting up with you.

Yes, it is your house. Temporarily.

Yes, temporarily.

Oh, it's silly of me to play this game with you.

What game?

I know perfectly well what's wrong with you tonight.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Don't you think I know that it was you who sent me that silly letter?

Letter? What letter?

The letter threatening my life,

unless I pay $10,000 by the first of the month

to some man by the name of Antonio Bertani.

No one else in the world would think of anything so childish.

My dear Aunt Muriel,

if you've received a letter threatening your life,

don't you think you ought to go to the police about it?

The police?

Of course.

If your life is in danger, shouldn't the police know about it?

So that's what you wanted.

You wanted me to take it to the police.

Well, no, I didn't...

Oh, Seymour, it isn't possible.

Don't tell me you were planning to kill me

and then have it blamed on some fictitious character that you invented.

You find that amusing?

Oh, it's wrong of me to laugh, I know.

It's so silly and childish and typical of you.

What have you done with the letter?

What have you done with it?

I put it in the wastepaper basket. What else would I do with it?

Now, what are you doing?

Shut the desk drawer.

This has gone far enough.

That's right. So it has.

You're right. I did send that letter.

And I did want you to turn it in to the police.

But it'll be just as well if they find it in that drawer.

It will serve as a motive.

You don't have to worry about paying up by the first of the month.

Don't worry. You won't be overdue.

Now put that thing down, Seymour, you might hurt yourself.

Dear Aunt Muriel,

always so concerned with other people's welfare.

What was that noise?

I don't know, sir. That's what I came to find out.

It sounded like a shot.

Well, that's impossible. It must have been a car backfiring.

Perhaps we better look.

Good heavens.

Oh, sir.

Poor Mrs. Drummond.

How could such a thing happen?

There's a man out there.

Don't worry. I'll get him.

It all worked beautifully just as I had planned.

But then, of course, if you're intelligent to plan well,

it always works out.

I started the motor even though I knew the car

was deeply embedded in the soft ground.

And then as I left the gun in the car,

my work was done.

I had nothing else to do but return to the house,

call the police and act the part of the bereaved nephew.

I'm so ashamed, Inspector. I mean, to think I had so little courage.

You mean you could have caught him?

Well, I don't know about that. I heard a sound at the gate and I...

Well, frankly, I was frightened. You see, I remembered he had a gun.

I was simply afraid.

What happened then?

Well, I waited at the gate for a while

and then I heard a car start up back in the woods.

I went toward it, not very fast, I'm afraid.

Well, did you get a look at the car as it came out?

It didn't come out.

What do you mean it didn't? It's not still there?

Well, yes. I heard someone starting the...

Never mind. Tell me the rest on the way. Come on.

When we returned to the house, the detective found the letter in the desk

and seemed dissatisfied not only with it, but also with everything.

He was that kind of person.

An unnaturally suspicious, pleasureless soul

who depressed me even to talk to.

However, although it wasn't necessary,

I decided it would be a nice touch to win him.

Didn't your aunt ever tell you she was receiving this sort of thing?

Why, never. I don't understand it.

We were so close.

She never had any secrets from me.

Well, as far as that goes, I knew your aunt pretty well myself.

I would have thought she'd told me.

That's so strange.

Why should anybody want to blackmail Aunt Muriel?

I mean, she had nothing to hide.

Well, I imagine we'll find the answer to that

when we've traced the car and the gun.

Well, I imagine that won't be too difficult for you.

I suppose you're very experienced at that kind of thing.

It's my job.

Oh, good morning, Inspector.

Have you found out anything?

We've traced the car, Mr. Johnston.

Then, you've traced the murderer?

Have you arrested him?

Well, not yet. But I think we're pretty close.

Of course, he wasn't at home when we paid him a visit.

His name was Bertani.

Have you ever heard that name, Mr. Johnston?

Bertani? Bertani.

Isn't that the name of the man who wrote my aunt that letter threatening her life?

I wondered if you'd remember.

In any case, we found that he lived over in New Jersey.

The people there thought that he was hiding out.

Well, he certainly won't go back there. Didn't they give you a description of him?

Oh, yes, we got a description. A very complete description.

Well, then, you shouldn't have any difficulty in picking him up.

We don't expect to.

Why are you staring at me?

Because I can't believe it.

I'm looking right at you and I can't believe it.

Mr. Johnston.

I think I told you that your aunt and I were very good friends.

She used to talk to me a good deal about you.

I wouldn't pay any attention to anything she might have said.

Tell me.

Why is it that when you're talking to someone,

you always keep your right profile turned away?

I wasn't aware of it. I didn't...

Just a minute.

I remember that once she told me that when anything annoyed you,

you simply pretended that it wasn't there.

She said you were able to do it

so that you never really saw anything you didn't want to see.

Well, what's so dreadful about that?

There's nothing dreadful about it.

It's just a little difficult when you want to disguise yourself

and you've managed to convince yourself that something isn't there.

So you don't bother to disguise that.

Particularly something as conspicuous

as that birthmark of yours.

Poor Seymour.

It couldn't have happened to a more deserving person.

I've decided not to be someone else after all.

If I won't be myself, who will?

However, allow me to indulge my exhibitionist tendencies

with this quick-change demonstration.

The Alfred Hitchcock of today.

The Alfred Hitchcock of 30 years ago.

The secret of this transformation is rather simple.

I just removed my wallet.

And now, I shall remove myself.

But soon, I shall return with another story.

Good night.