All language subtitles for The New Pope - 01x04 - Episode 4.TBS.English.C.orig.Addic7ed.com

We have only one viable candidate

for the papacy, Sir John Brannox.

Come back with a new
pope in your pocket.

I've got a lot of projects
to propose to Brannox.

Then I will use my
charm to persuade him.

If I were to become pope,

might I be able to meet famous people?

Oh.

Finally, a sensible reason
for aspiring to the papacy.

I still don't understand
why you can't get into

Brannox's good graces.

Guess who knows the Pope's secret?

Do you remember me, Holy Father?

Beautiful baby, your nephew.

Ah, thank you, Holy Father.

Um...

Appreciate that.

Oh, sorry, I brought a gift for you,

a painting that I did.

Thank you.

Interesting, thank you.

You're welcome.

So...

You look a bit older.

And it might just be the beard, but...

I've had a beard since I was 31.

Well, I remember this amazing speech

that you gave in Venice,

but I don't remember
you having a beard then.

That was Pius XIII.

Oh.

So... who are you?

I'm John Paul III.

Oh, oh... oh.

Please forgive me, Holy Father.

You gotta understand,
I've been in the studio

holed up for months, and I don't really

keep track of the news, so...

What helps?

Potassium phosphate

mixed with a capsule of Xabol.

So you're quite the
pharmaceutical adventurer.

So you're not Pius XIII.

No, I'm the new pope.

May I ask what happened to the old pope?

He's in coma,

and he had a successor, Francis II,

and he died.

Wow.

Um... have you gone to visit him?

Who?

The pope in a coma.

No, not yet.

Maybe you should.

Brothers.

Many,

far too many members of the clergy

believe that love

is an infinite meadow

and they're allowed to pick
all the flowers they want.

But they are not picking flowers.

They are ripping plants from the earth

and assuring by their actions

that in the scorched and barren soil

they've defiled,

nothing more will ever grow.

This is what our Church risks becoming.

The world wants to see
pedophile priests hanged.

But Jesus would not want this.

Jesus is civility, and the Church

cannot, must not abandon her children,

especially if they are ill.

But...

if they are ill,

she must distance them

from the heart of
ecclesiastical life forever.

Forever.

I know it sounds trite,
but seeing you surrounded

by all these men

makes me swell with pride.

Is that what we're calling it now?

Pride?

Your Holiness.

When you have a minute,

I would like to show you something.

A gift...

from me to you, Your Holiness.

They told me you only love Bentleys.

So this is the way the real world works.

Yes, this is how it works.

I hope that you are not
offended, Your Holiness.

It's only a welcome gift,

one that expects nothing in return.

What could I possibly
give in return, Eminence?

I am only a primus inter pares.

To be concrete,

you need to make appointments.

I'm never concrete.

Do you remember, Your
Holiness, when we slept

in the same room after the seminary?

What happy memories.

We were young then.

All I remember about my youth

is my brother, Adam.

Do you still sleep with that silver box

next to your bed?

Actually, you're right, of course.

We did sleep in the same room.

I recall you had an endless
stream of young visitors

day and night, no?

If you allow me, Holy Father,

I would be happy to inform you sometime

of certain habits inside the Vatican.

Oh, I very much allow you, Eminence.

Do it now. Do tell straightaway.

I'm curious.

In the Vatican, the choice is between

blackmail and benevolence.

I always prefer the second option.

Don't you?

I never answer important questions

in the evening, Eminence,

especially after three
glasses of champagne.

Matter resolved.

A quid pro quo in the chain of command.

May I swear?

Just once.

Like fuck it is.

The matter's not resolved at all.

Reverend Mother, Don Cavallo informed me

that you had requested 200 euro

in order to take Lisette's
mother to Lourdes.

And I have just given you 200 euro.

What we want now is not
what we wanted before.

Our requests have changed.

You don't understand.

I understand everything,
Reverend Mother,

but you need to be more clear.

We sisters have joined together,

and we now understand the difference

between charity and rights.

I am all ears.

We... demand respect.

Social, moral,

and economic recognition for the duties

we sisters perform.

We want to be welcomed into
the bosom of the Church,

to be granted a more active ministry,

including administering the sacraments.

And, in general, we expect
the male clergy to adopt

a psychologically mature attitude

in its relations with us female members.

Please, clarify this last point for me.

Do you really need me to elaborate

on the sort of things your
brothers are capable of?

No, not now... I don't have time...

but a detailed written account
would prove most useful.

- That you shall have.
- No, you won't.

It's a trap, Reverend Mother.

We will be dismissed as tattlers,

and he will have a record

of all his accomplices' depravities,

the better to blackmail them with.

Spectacular... the talent.

This will be a long
war, though it will end

as they all do, with my victory.

But you, Sister Lisette,

will make a formidable adversary.

You can bet on that.

Now what are you doing?

I'm dismissing you.

Then we will carry on with our strike.

Fine, and we priests will
learn how to cook and wash

and iron our robes.

It's about time.

Be careful, Sister Lisette.

Your rights are one thing.

The rites of the Church are another.

The former are negotiable,
for they belong to man.

The latter are not,
for they belong to God.

That's better.

You haven't joined
your sisters' protest?

No.

Me, no.

Why not?

Because I decided to believe in you.

What are your sisters asking for?

Respect.

Don't you need respect?

I have always had it.

I work with popes.

Are you mad at me?

I couldn't.

You're just a Sunday morning Christian.

What does that mean?

Ready to do good

only if you don't have
to get your hands dirty.

You're like those
philanthropists who think

they'll go to heaven if they give away

a tiny fraction of their dirty money.

You're being unfair. I tried.

No, you didn't try, Ester.

You just deluded some people
who are truly suffering.

When will I see you again?

Here I am, Holy Father.

Forgive me for being a little late,

but the Napoli coach's press conference

dragged on and on.

Brevity of speech is
not his strong point.

You, Voiello, have the
great gift of informing me

of things that would not interest me

even if I were you.

So what is this about the nuns occupying

the Sistine Chapel?

Every six months or
so, the sisters remember

that somewhere in
some parallel universe,

they, too, could say Mass.

But don't worry.

I have the situation under control.

Don't be too hard on them, Voiello.

The proper amount...

that way, they will
not be too hard on me.

Marilyn Manson doesn't know who I am.

Marilyn Manson doesn't know who he is.

The Church I have in mind

must be better at informing people.

Every Marilyn in the world

should know reflexively who the pope is.

This is not vanity. This is necessity.

Um, as for them knowing who they are,

there's always time for that.

Emory Kitsworth wants to interview you.

An in-depth, wide-ranging conversation.

Exclusive coverage on
the "Times" website,

live, then rebroadcast an hour later

on every TV channel in the world.

So voilà, now every Marilyn
in the world will know you.

Hmm, an appealing idea.

I have another one.

I wish to pay a visit to Pius XIII.

- Dutiful.
- Dangerous.

To have two popes, Pius
XIII and John Paul III,

together in one photograph

wouldn't do much to
clear up the confusion.

That photograph will never be taken.

My visit to Pius XIII
will be strictly private.

My face will only be seen in public

on my way to and from the hospital.

In storytelling, that is
called powerful deference.

My admiration for well-read women

will never fade.

Perhaps that's why I don't miss Meghan.

Is there any possibility

he could wake up?

Based on the knowledge we have now, no.

No possibility.

His hand was so warm.

I found that comforting.

He is still alive...

Even though he doesn't know it.

In Venice, my authority

did not turn into authoritativeness.

If I may, Your Holiness,
it is actually the opposite.

Your authoritativeness did
not turn into authority.

What should I have done?

Never mingle with idolaters.

Had you asked my advice,

that is what I would have told you.

What do you think, Sofia?

You cannot please everyone, Holy Father.

If I do not please, I cannot seduce.

If I do not seduce, I cannot influence.

If I do not influence, I repent.

Of what?

Of everything.

Do I please you?

Immensely.

May I ask you an indiscreet question?

I will never tell you what the woman

whispered in my ear, Eminence.

Appointments.

Our dear Sofia reconfirmed
as director of communications.

The masterful Voiello reconfirmed

as secretary of state.

Gutierrez will be my adviser.

And now an innovation...

my new personal secretary
in charge of creativity,

the most eminent Cardinal Spalletta.

What would you have me do, Holy Father?

Everything I do not wish to do,

which I can assure you
will be rather a lot.

In terms of creativity, what
do you propose, Spalletta?

I would commission Christo to make

a gigantic contemporary cross

to be exhibited in St. Peter's Square.

A classic extemporary
operation, Holy Father,

and also quite costly.

Nor is it devoid of the age-old stench

of corruption.

So not a good idea.

Spalletta?

Hmm.

A momentous diplomatic
visit to North Korea?

That's already been done.

I would be the second.

I've playing second
fiddle my whole life,

so not a good idea, Spalletta.

A smashing success, Spalletta.

And now I will instruct

my personal secretary in private.

Disappointed?

No, not in the least, Holy Father.

I won't deny that I aspired
to become secretary of state,

but personal secretary allows me

to work closely with you,

which is what really matters.

I'm only thinking

of your own good, Holy Father,

for your good coincides
with the good of the Church.

So Francis II's death...
what do you make of it?

Did he really die of natural causes?

Do you really want to know what I think?

Hmm.

Probably not.

Voiello probably had a hand in it.

So we share the same suspicions.

What do you say we look into it,

just to keep ourselves
from getting bored

and to keep me from
meeting the same fate?

May I offer you some
impartial advice, Holy Father?

Of course.

I would let it drop.

Hmm?

I will not deny my longstanding
antipathy for Voiello.

Yet I feel I must warn you

that making inquiries about him

would mean setting
yourself against him...

Which is the last thing you
want to do here in the Vatican.

Even the walls know that.

What makes him so dangerous?

No one really knows.

But the fact is,

every time someone tries to oppose him,

he has ended up in pieces,

literally.

Literally.

Voiello is helped... by
the Lord, Holy Father.

But... what is difficult
to understand is,

who is this Lord?

Is he divine?

Or is he human?

John!

Sir John,

what did that woman
in Venice say to you?

Good day, Sisters.

You wanted to see me?

Actually, we wanted to
see you five hours ago.

Ah, forgive me for
having kept you waiting.

The consequences of the strike...

everything is moving more slowly now.

So what can I do for you?

To start, fix the Wi-Fi.

If only I could, but the server is down.

That happens occasionally,
and a nun usually repairs it,

but that nun is currently on strike.

Are you saying we have
to suspend our strike

if we want Internet?

It would seem that I am.

Why don't you call in
an outside technician?

Because here in the
Vatican, we don't like waste

and because we can live
just fine without Wi-Fi.

We are the oldest institution
in the world, Sister Lisette,

not the Apple campus.

Reverend Mother, you seem tired.

So am I.

I am not sleeping well. Are you?

Try this, chamomile.

It helps, I've found.

If we suspend our strike,

what will you give us in exchange?

Wi-Fi.

And our other demands, what about them?

I will bring them to the
Holy Father's attention,

as I do with every request
that comes across my desk.

Do not overestimate my
power, Sister Lisette.

I am merely a paper pusher.

We would like to meet with
the Holy Father ourselves

to explain our position.

A sacrosanct right.

You merely need to file an
official request to see him.

Mm-hmm.

Filed with whom?

With me.

I'm confused.

What exactly is the
purpose of this meeting

which you have defined

as both urgent and highly confidential?

We are repealing the
"eight per thousand" law.

The tax Italian people pay

to maintain the clergy.

This is a declaration
of war on the Church.

No, no, no, it's a necessary step

toward saving the Italian people.

How?

One, our finances are
in incredible disarray.

The EU won't grant us any relief.

A surmountable problem.
I will talk with the EU.

Two, we were elected on the basis

of a clear and simple platform:

to do away with privilege,

which is exactly what we have done.

We put the Church at
the bottom of the list,

but now your time is up.

I see, so the issue is not my confusion

but your conviction.

I take that as a compliment.

Take it as a threat.

Your conviction conveys
a distinct lack of respect

for the only thing that matters
to us here in the Vatican.

What is that?

Mystery.

If they go through with it,
it would be the end of us.

The Church will be poor.

What do you advise we do, Holy Father?

Nothing.

As the great Cardinal
Newman used to say,

Christian virtues are poetic:

gentleness and grace,

compassion, joy, and modesty;

whereas common, course sentiments

are rhetorical tools:

anger, indignation, emulation,

combative spirit, the
love of independence.

We must fly high.

We shall hold on to the poetry

and leave the rhetoric to others.

Holy Father, with all due respect,

I'm afraid Newman may not be enough.

What a shame, Eminence.

What a shame.

The world once again confirms
it has no use for poetry.

But I am not the world.

That is not me.

You're back.

Yes, Ester, I came back...

To test your righteousness.

I should have stayed at home
to loll about my own house

rather than having to loll
about in someone else's.

This is your house,

and I will make it more
comfortable for you.

Listen, I can convince

the minister of economy
to delay the measure.

Delay it until the government falls,

at which point we will be safe.

Holy Father, the "eight per thousand"

is not the only source of
the money Guicciardini needs.

It can be found elsewhere.

Where?

In our own backyard.

We have our own financial organization.

Which is free and easy, I gather.

See, Holy Father, you can be
concrete when you want to be.

Don't alter my nature. It may kill me.

So give me a free hand.

I will continue to deal
with the stench of the body

and you with the perfume of the spirit.

An admirable poetic utterance, Eminence.

What must I do?

Tomas Altbruck, Sofia Dubois' husband...

Appoint him head of our
financial organization.

Thank you, Holy Father,

for receiving me at this late hour.

I shall always have
time for you, Gutierrez.

You are dear to my heart.

I am ready to hear your confession.

Freddie was dressed nicely tonight.

When we were in the hallway,
he took out his keys,

and, with the calmness of youth,

he opened the door to his room.

But first...

he turned and looked at me.

Once inside, he knew what to do.

I didn't, though.

His confidence excited me.

He got undressed in front of the mirror.

He wasn't looking at me, but...

he knew I was looking at him.

His back, his bare back.

It was too much.

I could barely bring
myself to look at it.

It excited me so.

But at the same time, I wanted more.

And...

and it was as if there
was a wall between us.

But it wasn't an obstacle, that wall.

Please, that's enough.

Yes, enough.

Holy Father, enough.

Freddie satisfied my body.

God satisfies my spirit.

So...

Why do I always feel so empty?

But you are not alone, my friend.

You are not alone. That
is all I can say to you.

This constant sense of
feeling inadequate...

Makes us constantly nervous. I know.

I absolve you of all your sins.

But now you will have
to hear my confession.

In order to stoke my pride,

soothe my insecurities,

satisfy my vanity,

and salvage my limping papacy...

I have taken the first step

in the everlasting garden of sin.

And coward that I am,

I pretended not to see,

not to understand,

and not to know.

But I do see.

I do understand.

I know.

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People are asking,

"Is this pope porcelain or steel?"

All this fanfare over Pius XIII
has made quite an impression

on the masses.

It's indispensable to
refocus attention on you.

I intend to make an
extraordinary overture.