Original subtitles

- Open up! - Will do!

- Will do. - Open up! - Will do!

Spremni! (Ready) [short Croatian fascist salute]

Close it.

Look at it! What is this?

What?

A bar, sir officer.

And here is a gramophone.

- There is also there. - What? - Separe (A private room)

- Some like it. - Gambling, cards, eh? - A little bit.

- Chartreuse. - Much good. For best clients.

Sit down. There!

- Name, last name and occupation. - Mento Papo.

A bar.

Bar 'Titanic'

Based on Ivo Andric's story

Seeds, peanuts, fresh, salted!

A son of a small merchant, a former merchant school pupil,

while still in school, Mento started to gamble and drink...

with low lifes from the city suburbs.

A jovial drunkard, better known to his friends as Hertzika,

he quickly made his way to this bar and gambling den at Hiset.

All efforts by his parents, family and other Sefardim Jews of Sarajevo,

to make him change his ways, were in vain.

Sarajevo's Sefardim community considered Hertzika a lost soul

a black sheep, an unheard of misfit among the Jews.

Because of him they'd often repeat an old saying:

"Nothing worse than when one of ours turns a drunk and a bum."

- Just five more minutes. - Want a change of bedsheets too?

Bar patrons were a motley crew.

And you, Augustine, could buy some pumpkin seeds for your wife,

so that, at least once, you may dine like nobility too.

The bar was frequented by the poor of the neighbourhood...

by workers and porters, looking for some relaxation,

but also by drunks and layabouts from around the city...

those who spend their days hopping from bar to bar,

always looking for something new, but only finding the same old.

People around the town are poking fun at me, you whore.

Upper class whore!

For thirteen years now, I've been rearing that bastard.

Do you know who we, the Kovich's, are?

- Do you? - He's ours, I swear.

- Liar, I'll kill you. - I'm not lying. - You are lying!

You dare plant that cuckoo's egg to me?

Hi.

- Do you hear me, boy? - Yes, Dad.

You know that I am good...

...when you study good? - Yes, Dad.

What's with those 'F's, Stjepan?

Come here.

You have to become someone.

- Don't you see where we live? - I do, Dad.

Why are you not studying then?

Do you want to be taking shit at work one day, too?

You're good for nothing. Nothing!

Daddy wants you to one day become a gentleman.

To be a leader in the community.

You have to study, my son.

Daddy does not mean harm to you.

Who would help you if not your Mum and Dad?

Mento. Please. Another one.

I will pay.

- Sit down, brother. - Ten.

I will pay.

Won't it be too much, Augustin?

- What? - Brandy. At your age. - None of your business.

No.

All of you will serve my Stjepan.

- All of you! - Easy to say that, when lords make his kids.

Study, my son...

It wasn't long after the death of Augustin Kovich...

that his widow realized, that because of his poor marks...

and their creeping poverty she must...

take her son out of gimnazium and into an apprenticeship.

How do you like it with the old man?

We'll close early. Swipe the floor and go home.

Don't come near the shop anymore, understood?

Or I'll report you to the police. Get lost now!

Later, Stjepan went to Zagreb and worked for a photographer,

but couldn't make it there either.

He wrote to Mum from Zagreb, and later from Belgrade,

where he somehow completed his apprenticeship with a photographer.

Those were the turbulent years...

when one could easily get a diploma, work and money.

As a salesman, Stjepan travelled countrywide...

taking orders for photograph enlargement by his firm in Zagreb.

That's how he got married somewhere in Backa,

where women are quick to marry and got a big dowry in cash.

But he didn't stay in that large village in Backa...

while his wife didn't want to move to his native city.

He returned alone, dressed like a dandy, with a tired look on his face.

With the money he brought back, he started a foto-studio.

Please put your heads together.

A little bit to the right.

Too much. A bit back.

That is right. Look into the camera.

Smile please. Cheese!

- Please play that song of ours. - No, will be next time.

Hertzika, pour me something better.

Some finer drink. I don't want to drink slivowitz any more.

There is liquer. Green. Sweet.

- Chatreuse. - If you want sweet, better take that.

You want or not.

You no able pay Chatreuse.

- Can I have one? - Sure, Nail.

- Mento, give me something light. - Let go. Must go there.

- Ever been to Banja Luka? - No. - Go take a walk.

I paid for the drinks. What more do you want?

Where are you hiding?

- Give it to me. - I don't have.

Give me the money.

Don't have Agata. When have, I give.

Late in the month. Don't have.

Any change?

I don't have.

You don't want to give, do you?

You will give, yes, you will.

I'll shake you like a sack.

- Will you give? - I don't have. - You don't have?

- Agata whore is. - Whore.

Not a whore. Not a whore.

A whore.

Bastard. Whore.

She's on his case again.

- A whore? - Not whore.

Give me the money.

Whore.

- She's off to turn tricks elsewhere. - So what? They're not married.

- Where's Mento? - Uh, she does him, he does her.

What are you doing there?

- Where's that one of yours? - Which one?

The one who was running the shop while you were away.

- Were you coming then too? - I did, why wouldn't I?

- A bit. - And you? - I'm enjoying.

- Don't say you did it? - No. He wasn't naughty.

He was like an artist. But he drank a lot.

- He's no more. - How come?

Just so. Tuberculosis.

Yellow are withering, and reds are travelling.

- He didn't tell me you were coming here. - To me, he was telling everything.

- About what? - About you.

It's said your Mum was washing commander's underpants.

- She didn't! - Have to go.

- I'm fed up with that. - Put it on.

- Don't be like that, Agata. - It's the wrong one.

Easy. Now the other.

- He made me laugh. - How?

Said you did funny things.

That you carried a violin around, and you couldn't play a note.

That you walked some dogs.

I did walk a Nabukodonosor.

Nabukodonosor. An imported purebred.

Come on, it was a mongrel, just combed and with a haircut.

Not true, Agata, I swear.

Bet you didn't see Agata's treacherous eyes tonight.

Leave mine. You watch yours.

- Another one Nail? - Well... - Will be.

- Give me a glass of water. - Will be.

- How about some gramophone? - No gramophone.

Hertzika, why don't you play the gramophone for him?

I watch mine. You watch yours.

Put on the gramophone.

Let him be. He lost again last night. Don't.

- Put on the gramophone. - Can't.

Broken. Agata broke it.

Will be again.

Who knows what more will be, Hertzika.

As if you didn't hear what Hitler's doing to those poor Jehudis.

It's said he's crushing all the Jews.

In Galicia. You must've heard about it.

By god, it's said their Black Friday's come.

No Friday. Jehudis observe Sabath.

It's all the same, Mento, even worse.

Haven't you heard anything?

They're saying Hitler isn't fooling around.

Hitler looks after his business, Mento looks after his...

- Hertzika tell me something. - When did Mento not answer?

Say, what are you? A Jew, somehow you are not.

You're not a Muslim, nor a Christian.

- Which is your faith? - It is, it is.

- I know it is, but what? - What?

I'm a captain.

The captain, transatlantico Titanic!

- Bravo captain! - Long live captain!

Pigs!

Nothing but pigs!

Here comes that idiot.

- Good day colleague. How are you? - Good, thank God.

We've been waiting here for someone clever to come by. We have this...

- Would you like to buy a brick? - Yes, he would. I know the gentleman.

After many years of onerous life, disillusioned,

Stjepan started to abandon his pretenses and masks.

He got tired and exhausted in his feverish quest...

to stand out and get attention.

By quitting his act, it seemed that all vitality was drained from his body.

He got bored and disgusted by that naive and sorry game.

Drop your hands!

God didn't make you good for anything.

He realized he always hated all of those cheap masks

he used over the years in trying to stand out.

He hated them because they were of no help,

instead made him ridiculous, leaving him in his home town

and just the way he always was.

That awareness pushed him to look for new masks and perversions.

But as he knew none of it will work,

he started to hate the world, his own perversions and himself.

- Give me some change. - No.

Peanuts, pumpkin seeds, hot, salty, roasted...

Don't worry, Nail. Pay next time.

You come in?

- Watch where you go! - Need any help, madam?

No one comes no more.

It all goes away.

The gramophone is here too.

I can still carry more in my teeth than these young punks can lift.

Yes, you can Nail. But what am I to do?

My Hertzika, this is some...

as they say, some awful politics.

It's some kind of a Black Friday, God save us.

It's not good, not good.

In your place, I would... but then...

You have to ask your folks, even if they are not really yours.

It all comes down to them. Try, what can you loose?

You is here Hertzika.

Not on Sabath. Nor Purim. Nor Pasha.

Maybe married?

What a splendid young bride.

- Why do you have to joke like that? - Not joking.

Ask those at Titanico.

- How lives, that's how asks. - Asks whom?

- There's no one. All gone. - Will be again. - How, rabi.

All masters are good when feed them.

Can't feed oneself.

- Come on, pull a bit stronger. - I can't.

- Don't want to. - Do the other. - You'll soil my skirt.

Skirt? These are the boots that I risked my life for.

- No more. Someone will pay for that. - Come on, enough talk.

Not any more. I've changed.

- Are they like an army officer's? - Not just army, our army's.

- Where are my photographs? - Couldn't do it. Had to run for my life.

My whole shop has been ransacked.

Doesn't matter. They'll pay for it.

What's this? Let me see.

- Yours? - Whose else! Give it back.

- Where are your things? - At the station. - Where?

At the station. Let them be there.

- Until this clears up. - It's close. Stop by.

Can I get photographed for the new ID.

- Where's the 'good day sir'? - Good day, sir. Can I?

Now, even Mento realises this is really the Black Friday...

after which there will be no Sabath for the Jews...

just black doom and an end.

He doesn't know why, nor how or when....

but he can feel it by this silence and emptiness around him...

and by Nail's stare and stutter.

In fact, the only thing he feels now is fear.

Fear is his reaction and a yardstick for everything.

In these parts, fear is sowed like a cash crop,

with a plan and good knowledge of the soil and other conditions.

Then it was carefully groomed, and now it is harvest time.

Fear is what is robbing and slaughtering the likes of Mento.

Fear blocks minds and ties hands, so Ustashis can rob and kill at ease.

That fear is getting a major part of the business done.

Mento was one of those who got so scared and out of their minds,

that they aren't even questioning how strong is that murderous storm,

and if a man could at least avoid its onslaught, even if unable to fight it back,

but have resigned to wait for their turn.

It's no wonder that he, with his simple mind and sinful life, is scared,

when so many others, smart, strong and respectable, are scared too.

Pull, you beasts!

¿Qué bueno? What is this?

- Prisule, delete him. - What? Let him go to Mostar, to Italians.

- N. Samuel. - Give him to me. - Address... - No need, I know him.

- Gratias Mordehan, brickworks owner. - That's far, find someone in the city.

Papo Isidor, 25 Basandzani St.

- Food wholesaler. - Aha, that's him.

There is more. Autobus transport company.

- We'll go there, eh? - Enough for tonight.

- We'll continue tomorrow. - Fine. - It's not fine!

- What is it? Say it? - I've been sworn in too.

- No doubt about it. - What is this then?

- OK then. - Give him this one.

- OK. Canti Lukashi. - Who's that?

Corsets' maker.

If he's not happy with that one, find him some little old lady.

- You wanna hit me? - Calm down.

Haven't you heard? Sit down before I rip your head off.

- Take it easy. He's one of us. - He should get someone too.

- Bar owner is for him. - Yes, that'll do.

Have this one. He's not bad.

Excuse me. I'm not from here.

Open up!

- Open up, or... - Will be!

Will be.

- Spremni! - Yes.

Close it.

Look, look. What is this?

Well... it's a bar... sir officer.

Here is a gramophone.

- There has there. - What? - Separe.

- Some like it. - Gambling, cards? - A little bit.

- Chatreuse. - Much fine.

- For best customers. - Is it?

Sit down. There.

Name, last name and occupation.

Mento Papo.

- Bar. - Religion?

- How should tell him? - Jewish? - Yes.

- Sefardim community? - Yes.

- And that? - Will be.

- Good. - Good.

Red. Sweet.

Don't you 'green, sweet' to me.

- What about communists? - No that, sir officer.

Just hedonists. Good people. That no.

Relatives? Friends?

Black market? Black market.

- Speak! - Had relatives. Now none.

Nobody wants to run a bar. Just have guests.

Had woman. Left. Took all.

Woman like woman. Knows sir officer.

Black market.

Tell me about the black market.

- Officer... - Constable! - Constant... - Constable! - Constant...

Ask anyone you want.

Hertzika I'm called. Just ask. Hertzika no blackmarketeer.

Don't have.

Don't have?

Don't have.

You're lying.

This is all.

- Give me gold. Give me gold! - How? Don't have.

Think I'm an idiot?

- I don't think that, sir officer. - Then give it to me!

For you, Hertzika finds...

gets... tomorrow...

Tomorrow?

Will be tomorrow. Will give.

There's no tomorrow. Now!

Money.

- Gold. - Don't have.

Give me.

- Will you give? - How?

Beg you. Will be tomorrow.

Finds. Gets all. Tomorrow.

Finds. Gets all.