Original subtitles

Graham, Graeme, you're seeing me. I'm

approaching target, moving south of

coordinate 517

with no small degree of difficulty, I

might add. So, it's preferable to having

you bundle the assignment.

Prepare the landing teams once I've

located the plant. Extraction and

transplantation time will be critical.

Arcane over.

Marvelous.

Yes.

Information has come to me at great cost

of a ritual cavern where medicine men

created a hybrid swamp lily for mystical

and magical purposes.

It is within this lily that I hope to

find the vital missing properties for my

formula to reverse the aging process.

Arcane, leave this place.

Haven't you got anything better to do

than follow me around?

I'm warning you. This is hallowed

ground.

This is science. Something some of us

still practice.

Yes, this must be it.

Yes, I found it.

Graham. Graeme, the legend was true. I

found the cave.

Alert the landing teams.

Graeme, come in. Can you hear me,

Graeme? Graeme, where the hell are you,

you idiot?

He can hear you, Arcane. Your radio

signals dead.

Then I'll harvest the damn plants

myself.

Don't touch them.

Heat.

The swamp is my world. It is who I am.

It is what I am. I was once a man. I

know the evil men do.

Do not bring your evil here. I warn you.

Beware the wrath of

Swamp Thing.

My god. Holland.

God. Holland. What happened to you?

I can't move.

Your vital systems have been traumatized

by the debris.

The lack of sunlight and air limit your

ability to photosynthesize a

regeneration.

Not to mention my own chances for

survival. Damn the luck.

Well, never fear. There's got to be a

back road out of here.

Things can't be as bleak as they seem.

Where's that inevitable route out?

Well, it's a good thing we've got your

secret weapon. Let's have it, old man.

Huh? Where are those powers of nature of

yours? One good earthquake might be just

what the doctor ordered, so to speak.

Little shake, rattle, and roll, and

you're free.

Are you even listening to me?

Apparently not.

Well, there it is, then.

Several tons of rock blocking our

escape. Very little air and no food.

There's no shortage of silence.

So much to be forbidden. Say something.

Damn it. I I can't stand silence.

It's over, Arcane.

We're going to die.

This can't be it. The end of an era. The

end of all that is exceptional and

special in the world. The end of me.

It can't be

to be so close to the secrets of

immortality, yet denied the final

resolution by such a primitive

circumstance.

What irony. And it's all your fault. You

and that horrid swamp of yours. Don't

think that I don't know who's behind

this detestable incident.

Hope has ended.

Not yet. It hasn't.

Graham's out there. He knows exactly

where I am. He adors and worships me.

He'll stop at nothing to find me. Dear

Graeme,

I know he'll come through for me. My

loyal assistant, Proteé.

Well, Proteé is a bit of an

overstatement.

Fact is, the poor man's a sorry excuse

for an assistant to a scientist. He does

function moderately well as confidant,

companion, and friend.

That's an interesting concept.

Friendship.

I even remember

those days when you and I shared a few

of those affections for one another. It

felt good as I recall.

Of course,

that was then, and those days are behind

us now, long forgotten.

Besides, sentimentality has not become

me. Not when my work demands total

focus. Where the hell is Graham?

His rescue plan should be underway by

now.

Where the sounds of men working outside

the cave.

It's work. Work. You see, it's always

been that way for me, you know.

work taking precedence over other

things.

Even as a boy, my academic prowess kept

me apart from the other children.

You think it bothered me now? And they

used to laugh at me because I excelled

in scholastics rather than their silly

football games

that they could all see Anton Arcane

today. After all, I am the Anton Arcane,

doctor, visionary, and gifted

intellectual. Do you have any grasp what

it's like to be me, Holland? To be

thinking day and night, to have

brilliant concepts and complicated

reasoning constantly fermenting in your

mind? Well, of course you don't.

Intelligence is like a a protozoa,

Holland. It's fascinating, mysterious,

and forever multiplying.

I'll tell you a secret, my friend. There

are times when my mind takes on a will

of its own. That's right. It does. A

demanding bugger it is, too.

That's when the headaches begin

and my eyes throb in their sockets and

my ears are filled with that damnable

ringing.

If people knew

how difficult,

how incredibly taxing being me is, I

doubt if they'd be as envious as they

are. You know, many times I have to

pretend that everything's all right so I

don't upset or alarm people. Can you

imagine that? I actually have to act

normal to hide my superiority.

It's always been like that for me. You

know, even when I was growing up, my

mother's oppressive manner would become

too much for me. And I'd have to somehow

silence her incessant nagging criticisms

of me.

So, I'd simply become someone else.

I became quite good at it, too. Acting

away the pain. So, you can undoubtedly

see how acting comes rather naturally to

me. I've always thought I'd make a

splendid thespian.

Of course, I excel at everything I do,

but the dramatic arts hold a special

lure for me. And I'm not talking about

film or television. There's certainly no

art to be found there.

I'm talking about theater.

God, the notion of standing alone on the

stage performing the classics,

being held in the center of a bright

spotlight, becoming someone else,

holding an entire audience in the palm

of your hand captives every one of them

as they hang on your every word,

gesture, and emotion. riveted to their

seats, spell bound by the sheer

uncontested power you hold open.

I know what you're thinking. Beneath

that drooping green veneer, if I'm so

bloody marvelous, where's the

international recognition? Don't deny

it, Holland. I can see it etched in your

beady little eyes. You want to know

where all the prizes are? The tributes,

the accolades from my esteemed peers, my

admiring fellow colleagues. Don't make

me laugh.

My peers are all deceased. Aristotle,

Galileo, Newton, Einstein, all of them.

Only men of real achievement could ever

begin to understand, to comprehend the

totality of my scientific contributions.

I'm surprised at you, Colin. That

envious group of sniveling morons that

pass themselves off as scientists.

They're all completely worthless.

So quite frankly, are there awards?

Even as this oxygen in this wretched

cave dissipates,

soon I shall be joining my infamous

predecessors in death.

To be forever installed in the pantheon

of greatness. What a travesty.

Look at me.

How the hell can this be happening to

me?

Where the hell is Graham?

Can the fates be so irrational as to

take me now?

Damn the heavens for doing this to me

and THE SUPREME BEING IF THERE is one.

And that brings us to the question of

the hour, doesn't it?

Is there a supreme being?

Hello? Is there anyone out there?

Millions of your believers claim that

you are. And if you are, what should I

call you? God, all master. You must have

a name you like to go by. What about uh

Grim Reaper? It's catchy. It's got a

nice ring to it.

And it occurs to me as I stand here at

your mercy that you, creator and

executioner,

may well be one and the same.

Oh, come on now. be fair. The least you

can do is show yourself.

How do I know you exist?

Because of the complex laws of physics,

the miracle of nature, or is it the mere

spectre of the universe which is

supposed to convince me? Well, sorry, my

elusive deity.

But all that can be explained by the

sheer inevitability of mathematical

probability.

Got you there, didn't I?

You forgot you weren't dealing with just

any ordinary man. You're dealing with

Anton Arcane.

I grant you that. I'm pretty bloody

amazing.

Mere chance could never account for my

astonishing presence on the earth. So

therefore, I suppose you must exist.

I don't like the sound of that, Holland.

Your time's finally come, hasn't it?

Strange that it brings me no joy,

only emptiness.

Goodbye, my adversary.

I've won at last.

Rah.

How utterly frustrating

to be the only one who sees it, who

grasps the big picture.

And yet I must stand by and take the

pathetic carping of inferior minds who

could never, will never understand.

I've been called a madman. Holland.

Absurd.

But not all that surprising, is it? I

mean, most geniuses have been similarly

reviled. It's just another burden I

carry, I assure you.

But sometimes I can barely hold my

restrain for the inequity of it all,

that I should be so imprisoned by my

mental endowment, while others live

their pointless little lives in blissful

ignorance, totally unaware of the big

picture.

And they actually seem happier. How

could that be

to be happy not being informed? I mean,

what is happiness anyway?

You and I know happiness, don't we,

Holland?

Well, you did before you expired.

We always had that much in common,

didn't we? The ability to extend our

minds into the deepest, darkest recesses

of the unknown. the capacity to

comprehend and appreciate the finer

things in the universe

and the euphoria which accompanies the

love of a beautiful young woman.

That ultimately was our common bond,

wasn't it? Not science or physics or

advanced mathematics, but manhood.

We both had to endure the agonizing loss

of our beloved wives, my beautiful

Tatana,

your Linda.

You know something? I never meant Linda

to die. It was an unfortunate accident.

The result of your stubborn refusal to

share your discoveries with me.

What was that?

The cave.

It suddenly grew dark.

It's begun for me. Holland.

Optic nerve sensitivity is waning. My

limbs have less strength than before.

Oxygen carbon dioxide ratio is

imbalanced.

Meaning red core puscles are weakening.

Unable to carry nutrients to the

cellular walls. We know the scenario,

don't we? It's textbook anatomy. Classic

case for medical students.

Clinical evaluation of one Anton Arcane.

Human specimen. No more.

Whatever Mr. Anton Arcane was in life,

he is but a classroom demo to us now.

Let's have a go at him, shall we?

No, please. I deserve more than that.

Surely

it is

delirium.

My god, Holland. Is that how it happens?

Must I die one cell at a time? Where's

the angel of death to caress me in my

final moments?

Will there be no poetry in my ending? Or

must I endure this bitter pill of

torment and interminable deterioration?

Yes, Erica.

Oh, do stop crying, dear. Yes. Skeleton

from a real person. Who? Oh, I really

don't know, darling. Does it matter? He

was a man. That's all I know. Wait a

damn minute. I'm Anton Arcane. Don't you

know me?

Now, class, let's examine the human

cranium.

No, PLEASE DON'T DO IT. NO, NO, NO.

We are gathered here to pay final

tribute to a truly great man.

Anton Arcane was a genius of legendary

proportions. Or so he claimed.

A person who will be revered and

remembered for all his wonderful

contributions to the human experience.

What are they?

Well, I don't know. I'm just a paid

employee here. I mean, there must be

some good things about the man.

After all, a person is measured by that

which he leaves behind when he is gone.

It can't be true.

Have I left nothing?

Nothing to the world of any merit.

Not even a child to continue in my

image. Damn this cursed life.

I'm dead too soon.

What do I say to you, doctor?

You're gone now without any chance of my

rectifying the damage that I did to you.

And there was plenty of that.

Oh, Alec,

we would have reached such exhilarating

heights together.

Now instead, because of your petty

foolishness and your pointless

orientation to doing work for the good

of others, all we reach together is

death.

And that small model of the baron earth,

that service paste and cover to our

bones

on my light, that precious light, I beg

you, I'll do anything. Listen to me,

Holland.

If you can still hear me and your swamp

and God, if he's listening,

I swear. I swear I'll use my incredible

gifts for good and only good. I promise

you, I'll be the person you always

wanted me to be. Only let me live.

Don't let me die alone here. I beg you.

Please, I'll do anything. Only bring me

back. Don't let me die. I beg you.

Please don't let me die.

You're not dead, Arcane. You're only in

the deepest of sleeps. Fresh air and the

scent from this lily will revive you.

Help me, Holland. Help me.

I am helping you. Though the idea makes

me sick. If you only knew the irony of

what saved me. It was your constant

talking. You used up the oxygen in the

cave faster that way and gave me the

carbon dioxide I needed. The sun did the

rest.

Holland,

you're alive.

I'm alive.

It's incredible.

I never thought I had a chance.

Obviously, someone did.

What are you talking about?

Who?

You said a lot of things in your final

moments, Arcane. Do you remember the

promises you made if your life was

spared?

I swear I'll use my incredible gifts for

good and only good. I promise you. The

swamp heard you and so did I.

Oh, don't be absurd, Holland.

You can't take the ramblings of an

incoherent man seriously. You should

know that by now.

Graeme,

where the hell are you?

Come here.

Cheating is never wise, but cheating a

promise to the swamp is a debt that will

always be paid eventually.

Heat.

Heat.

Heat.

Heat.