All language subtitles for Adrift.In.Soho.2019.HDRip.XviD.AC3-EVO

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Come on, get your red apple.

That enough for ya?

Bloody smog is going
to kill all of us.

Bloody kill all of us.

What about two Bolex?

Two?

Where did you get that from?

What, are we going for
the Cecil B de Mille shot?

On loan for tonight only.

Free Cinema, common
people, the every day.

This is new rover.

Where's your shady producer?

We're meeting him
this week actually.

He's skint.

Am I part of the deal?

Not a bad idea.

Perfection is not a name,
commitment is everything.

Long live Free Cinema.

Revolution in the working class.

That is the future.

Why don't we give it to them?

Because we have become servile
bastards to commercialism.

American factory of dreams.

Where's reality?

What is reality.

In the name of art,
you sound fucking sexy.

Do you know if this is the
only public bar on the block?

Like me to sketch your
lady friend for you?

Oh, we're not together.

Oh, my apologies.

Do you happen to know

if this is the only
pub on the street?

There's another one
just on the corner.

In that case, I'd
better be going.

I'm meeting someone.

Tough luck.

They're always
waiting for someone.

I'm afraid so.

Thought she was one of these
wealthy American students

who occasionally
grace this dump.

He's not
in that one either.

In that case, there is
time for me to sketch you.

I charge half-a-crown
for my portraits,

but if you don't like
it, you needn't have it.

Sketch me?

I'm honored, why not.

But if my friend comes,
I'm gonna have to be going.

Lucky man.

Can I buy you a drink?

I got one, thanks.

I'll take half a bitter.

That's extremely
decent of you, old boy.

Never like to drink
too much when at work.

That comes later.

Is this what you
do for a living?

When I feel like it.

What brings you to this joint?

I'm meeting someone.

I saw you losing your
marble a minute ago.

I keep them for good luck.

Losing marbles can be tricky.

Is he late?

- Who?
- Your friend.

A little.

What will you do if
he doesn't turn up?

I don't know, go home I guess.

Old friend?

No.

I met him last night.

In a pub?

We're going to the theater.

He's a gentleman.

Those can
be the worst kind.

What do you mean?

Here, things are
not what they seem.

For example, why would he
ask you to meet him in a pub?

You find all sorts of
strange people in pubs.

Well, this one
seems safe enough.

You got lucky.

The name's Street, James Street.

Thespian, artist,
at your service.

Harry Preston, writer.

Doreen Taylor, student.

Ignore us, we're
filming a documentary,

if you don't mind.

My name is actually
James Compton-Street.

You wouldn't know it,
but there's a street round the corner

with the same name.

My father owned the entire
street long time ago.

He squandered his fortune in
women, gambling and booze.

In that order.

Can't blame him though.

To go with a bang, I mean.

Isn't that what we
are all striving for?

Voila!

I like it.

Yeah, very good.

It's rather
flattering, isn't it?

I don't think so.

Why don't you use the half-crown

to buy us coffee
round the corner?

There's a band playing.

I can show you the real Soho.

Oh, the dark side of Soho,

where things aren't
what they seem?

I don't know, I ought to give
him another five minutes.

I suppose he won't
come now anyway.

We might as well go.

Damn and blast.

Oh, here he is.

Can we meet here
later in the week?

I'll complete the sketch then.

Yeah.

I was just having a
chat with some friends.

Who are those guys?

They're scruffy locals, you
shouldn't be talking to them.

We were just having a chat.

Pity.

We almost made it.

Still, she will come
back, I can smell it.

The flower of youth and desire.

She'll be bored
stiff with that toff.

I know the type, used
to be one myself.

What did you think
of our new friend?

Wonderful.

He's in love already.

Bad news.

Beauty always hides
unknown dangers.

Like gonorrhea,
chlamydia, syphilis.

I was talking about
her personality.

Sure.

Hopeless.

I was like that once.

No good.

She's loaded, don't you think?

What do you mean?

Loaded, as in loads
of money, loaded.

Probably a rich student
living off her parents.

Does it matter?

I wouldn't mind her in
bed with or without it,

if that's what you mean.

Still, money gives
an added attraction,

a tangible je ne sais quoi.

Oils things along.

Adds to the beauty.

Or it can mess it all up.

Hey, Marcus, what's next?

We gotta rush up to the labs.

But what about
your film contacts?

I'm working on them.

Marcus isn't talking
about your greasy spoon cafe.

But I couldn't say,
squeaky clean, could I?

Tell your friends
I don't wanna see

these Soho creature's spoon.

This is a respectable cafe.

If he doesn't like my bacon,
he should say so to my face.

Give him some
artistic license.

Apart from this bloody
cafe, the only danger

you'll encounter in
Soho, is Sohoitis.

Sohoitis?

You'll only know
it when you catch it.

By then, it's too late.

There's no cure.

Let me guess, can I catch it
from some of the local women?

Or the local men.

What's for sure, is that
dogs can't catch it.

Although I have seen
some close calls.

Anybody can pass it on to you.

Maybe a venereal
disease of the spirit.

There's a subject for
your studies, find out.

Tell me, in which
direction are you going?

I think, in that direction.

Are you sure?

Yes!

In that direction.

I am then going
in that direction.

We'll catch up at some point.

In the pub?

This doesn't look like
the kind of material

we should be shooting.

It's life, and it pays
for the documentary.

That's not much
of a commitment.

We can't eat commitment.

Wow, that's a big statement.

Where is it coming from?

Where is it going
to, you better ask.

Well, it depends on
what you believe in.

Hey, Marcus.

Are you ready for your
closeup Mr. Compton-Street.

Always.

Your film will be worth
nothing without me.

I'm a walking slice of life.

Wow.

Marcus, not much
commitment there.

What's wrong with
filming beauty?

Writers?

Know many of them here.

As a matter of fact, I
know him, Dylan Thomas.

He's a Sohoite.

Dylan Thomas?

That's amazing.

Sorry, a Soho what?

A Sohoite.

I know them all.

Bernard, Wilson,
Pinter, you name them.

I proofread their prose,
I send them on their way.

I'm a writer.

I'm their new publisher.

I'll proofread your prose too.

Soho seems to live
in a world of its own.

Afflicted only by a
terrible disease, Sohoitis.

A con, transmittable disease.

But perhaps something
more insidious.

A disease of the spirit.

There is no exit strategy.

You can sneak in but
you can never leave.

If the devil offered me to
be complete master of London

on the condition that I
renounce any other ambition,

I think I would accept.

Unfortunately there
is no deviled attempt.

Nobody cares that much.

Bravo!

Perfect.

Philosophical reality.

I can deal with that.

Good God.

Must be six months
since I saw you last.

I'm sorry, I don't
think we've met before.

Really?

I could have sworn
we got drunk together

at Tommy Duffy's
party on the river.

I've only been in London
for a couple of weeks.

My apologies.

You're a writer.

I can recognize my
own sort a mile away.

Yes, trying to be.

Are you?

I'm just an avid reader.

The Philosophy of Dionysius.

Nietzsche.

The forces of darkness.

You study philosophy?

In an amateur way.

There's no other way.

Can you imagine a
man making a living

from wondering why he's alive?

Have you read Lautreamont?

Le Comte de Lautreamont

Born in opulence in Montevideo.

Died impoverished in
Paris, late 1890s,

not before writing one
of the most astonishing

literary works of the century.

I've heard of him, but no.

Would you like to buy
a rare first edition?

"Les Chants de Maldoror".

Have you ever heard
such a poetic title?

Sounds beautiful,
don't you agree.

There's literary music to it.

It is not right that everyone

should read the
pages that follow.

Only a few will be able to savor

this bitter fruit with impunity.

Consequently, shrinking soul,

turn on your heels and go back

before venturing further

into those perilous
unchartered wastelands.

One of the best opening
lines you'll ever read.

Vastly superior to his
more famous contemporaries.

But there again,
Lautreamont despised fame.

Not bad, not bad indeed.

Powerful stuff.

But this is incredible.

Don't you want to keep it.

I need the money.

Necessities of the flesh.

It's a first edition.

And the signature?

The Count himself.

Must be worth some money.

Is this how you
make your living?

Trading in books?

Well, there you
have a delicate point.

If I could bring myself
to trade in them,

I might make some money.

Perhaps I should
introduce myself.

My name is Robert De Bruyn.

I also have the right to a title
but I prefer not to use it.

It creates antagonism
around here.

Some people know me
only as The Count.

They think it's a nickname.

I'm afraid I ought to go.

Thanks very much for the book,

but I have to refuse buying it.

Look, keep it as
token of my friendship.

No obligations.

At least until you
finish reading it.

I'm looking for a writing job.

If I find one, I'll
be happy to buy it.

Oh, I couldn't possibly
take it off your hands now.

You were born to read it.

It would be a crime.

Someday you'll be
able to pay me for it.

Why do you want
to get rid of it?

I've got two.

Makes no sense.

- Can I ask you a question?
- Of course.

Do you know anything
about something

that happens to people in
this place, called Sohoitis?

Only true locals
know about that.

But what is it?

No use explaining it.

No use fighting it, it just
happens, I probably have it.

Some of the symptoms
are already visible

to those in the know.

Count!

Count!

Take the book.

If you're a writer, you
won't be disappointed.

This ain't what it used to be.

It's about the old days of Soho,

gone!

Forever.

We ain't got it up here.

We don't think enough.

We don't know
enough about Karma.

And that will destroy Soho.

Finito!

Kaput!

What they mean is Mazouma,
like the rest of London.

Could I interest you
in some of my wares?

I'm a celebrity in Soho.

The King of Bohemia,
they call me.

Yeah, yeah.

The King of Bohemia.

Into my prose to
find me a publisher.

Soho is where things happen.

What are you doing?

I thought you were gonna
proofread my prose.

I am, my dear
young writer, I am.

I'm proofreading your prose.

Beautiful.

Are you really gong to
introduce me to Dylan Thomas?

I will.

I will.

He's my hero.

I'm going to make
you into a star writer.

Dylan Thomas.

You scared the shit
out of these people with this.

I'm just scaring these people.

Just re-enforcing
their preconceptions.

The sickle represents farming,
and the hammer, industry.

It's that union what
scares off the bourgeoisie.

Workers of the world,

you have nothing to
lose but your chains.

Unite.

The revolution's coming.

Enjoy the lifestyle
while you can.

You're gonna get
your answers off me.

Next one is on me.

Oh my God.

Another one that exits Sohoitis.

We were right.

Couldn't find the exit door.

Considering what's
on the other side.

Need a bed.

A proper one.

Don't worry, I'll
find you one next week.

How much money have you got?

Not much.

It's disappearing fast.

All right.

Say your money will last
you a week, 10 days at most,

here's what I suggest.

Two weeks, we both
live on your money,

learn how to make it spin out.

Then, after that, for a
fortnight, I support you.

How's that?

But you haven't got any money.

And you don't appear to have
any visible means of support.

I support myself all
the time without working.

It won't be much more
trouble supporting you too.

I mean, what are friends for?

Why should I trust you?

Why shouldn't you?

You want to learn about
Soho, you come to me.

The way things are going it's
going to take you 100 years

to write your first novel.

We've got to speed
up the process.

I know how.

How?

Let me tell you
something my friend.

People round here
like to place you.

Nobody sits on their
own in a Soho bar

unless they're drunk or mad.

Even the chair you are sitting
on is somebody else's turf.

Unless you can take care of
yourself, they will fleece you.

What happens at the
end of your fortnight?

At the end of my fortnight,

you'd be able to
take care of yourself

in the middle of the Sahara
Desert, if necessary.

Guaranteed.

You won't regret it.

Why are you doing this for me?

Let's just say I owe you one.

And besides, you
like me, I can tell.

You find me an
interesting subject.

And I tend to agree; I'm
a wealth of material.

It's not for nothing that Street

is known to his fan
club as The Sorcerer.

I suppose that makes me
the sorcerer's apprentice.

I!

I call myself magician,

an angel free from
all moral obligations,

but I can see that at least
you're a quick learner.

The voyage of discovery consists

not in seeing new landscapes,
but in having new eyes.

That's good.

- It's French?
- Correct!

That calls for the French House.

Let's have a celebratory drink.

We have a deal.

Away with the banks.

Sohoitis.

Sohoitis.

Danny, old boy.

♪ Crispy rice ♪

Ready when you are.

Could you put the
crispy rice box

a bit closer to the center?

♪ Yummy, yummy cheap and nice ♪

Make sure the finger doesn't
cover the brand, please.

♪ Save money,
money crispy rice ♪

Is that all?

Standby.

Action.

♪ Nice ♪

Banana, banana, banana.

One, two, three, as
many as you like.

Bananas.

Three pence a pound, all
the way from Jamaica.

The sooner we
set off a class war

in this country, the better.

It's so stifling that
you can't breath.

Aristos and monarchists first.

Excuse me, this is an interview.

Show some respect for
artistic expression.

Where was I?

Aristocrats in the guillotine.

Aristocrats and
monarchists, yeah.

Cutting their heads off.

I suppose that wouldn't
be very English, somehow.

Revolutions in England
tend to fizzle out

before anybody fires a shot.

What are we waiting for?

Another capitalist world war?

Another nuclear war?

Another winner-takes-all?

In order to understand nature,

we must first understand
the outsider's problems.

Let's put ourselves inside
him to see as he saw.

Because the outsider's
problems are real problems

that everybody
confronts every day.

But under different names,

they can then avoid using
the word, philosophy.

And not be ridiculed by others.

I am filthy.

Lice gnaw me.

Swine when they
look at me, vomit.

The scabs and sores of
leprosy have scaled my skin,

which is coated
with yellowish pus.

I have not moved a limb
for four centuries.

Parasites!

Parasites you all!

Hi, Jo.

Hi.

I like what you do.

I've been looking into
that Free Cinema stuff.

I like the idea.

I might get involved.

Although the
revolution will take

another 100 years that way.

The masses can't wait forever.

Action time now.

This place has the power
to draw in and fascinate.

The variety of beings
loitering with intent,

or drinking themselves to
stupefaction, puzzles me.

But, it's a trick.

The projectile vomiting,
is to make sure

the day trippers
never come back.

Visitors are despised here.

Soho is the fortress.

The last bastion
after Soho, oblivion.

What are they waiting for?

Looking for something?

You talking to me?

They are Dr. Johnson's
escapees of Happy Valley,

where life is controlled,
ordered, predictable, attainable.

Is this a self-imposed exile?

Are they being kept in,

or are they keeping
the rest of London out?

At midnight, armed
with a burning passion.

Hi, James.

I've got a problem.

I want you to engage
Doreen in conversation.

The point is, Myra and I
are mad for each other.

Not that it bothers me.

Noblesse oblige.

I'm afraid I lost you there.

No, you didn't.

I'm right here where I was.

Where were we?

Sorry?

Keep it simple.

Don't complicate it,
don't analyze it,

just engage Doreen
in conversation.

I'll slip away
unnoticed with Myra.

I'll do the same
for you one day.

That American plum is
ready for the taking.

I can smell it.

Just go and do the business.

Stiffen your
resolve, so to speak.

I know exactly how it all works.

My problem is that I know it
too well what makes 'em tick.

Go get her, cowboy.

- You think so?
- She thinks so.

She's been asking
about you all evening.

I withdraw from that conquest.

I throw in the towel.

My hands are full.

This is Harry, writer
extraordinaire.

Boy-genius.

Published author.

He's on another level.

Immortal.

I discovered him.

- Hi, Harry.
- Hi.

He is writing a massive new
book about Western philosophy.

You know, Kant, Nietzsche,
Russell, Hume, Plato,

what have you.

All that shit in one book.

He's gonna make a fortune.

Really, philosophy?

Well, I love philosophy.

Is it gonna be a
bestseller, really?

I hope so.

I'm running out of money.

I'm gonna make it
into a best-seller.

Not just a best-seller.

An unputdownable blockbuster.

I've been talking to some
very, very powerful publishers.

Well, tell me a bit more.

Philosophy, the
nature of freedom.

For example, Andreyev.

He believes life to
be completely futile,

where people deceive themselves

until their illusions disappear,

when they're left
with, well, nothing.

It's fascinating.

Really, you think so?

That's nice.

What do you study exactly?

A bit of everything.

Well, you're in the
right place for that.

And how did you
end up, well, here?

I jumped off the
bus one evening,

thought it looked interesting.

You know, I'm trying
to figure it out.

Are people in Soho the sane
ones and everyone else is crazy?

And then I met you and James.

How did you end
up in this joint?

A bit the same.

Room for rent.

Couldn't afford anything else.

Consider yourself lucky.

For the price of a pint,
you're witnessing a great actor

at the peak of his powers.

Punters outside Soho pay
any money to see me perform.

In more ways than one!

Soho!

You scum of the earth.

Why do I love thee?

Soho, you lover
of the dilettante,

the unsuccessful,
the complete failure.

What can you give
me except nausea?

Soho!

You destroyer of the innocent,
you powdered old lady.

I have no illusions about you.

You green finger-nailed,
high-heeled, bug-ridden Soho.

- Hi, Jo.
- Hi, Harry.

Where's everybody going?

Where's James?

I think I saw him
leave with Myra.

♪ Freight train, freight train ♪

♪ Going so fast ♪

♪ Freight train, freight train ♪

♪ Going so fast ♪

♪ I don't know what
train he's on ♪

♪ Won't you tell me
where he's gone ♪

♪ Don't know where
he's headin' for ♪

♪ What he's done
against the law ♪

♪ Got no future, got no hope ♪

♪ Just nothing but the road ♪

♪ Freight train, freight train ♪

♪ Going so fast ♪

♪ Freight train, freight train ♪

♪ Going so fast ♪

♪ I don't know what
train he's on ♪

♪ Would you tell me
where he's gone ♪

♪ He lost his reason,
lost his life ♪

♪ He killed his friend
in more cool strife ♪

♪ He must not move
not the rolling star ♪

♪ Just awaiting till he dies ♪

♪ Freight train, freight train ♪

♪ Going so fast ♪

♪ Freight train, freight train ♪

♪ Going so fast ♪

♪ I don't know what
train he's on ♪

♪ You can tell me
where he's gone ♪

♪ When he dies just
bury him sweet ♪

And what about me?

What about my illusions?

I take these for illusions.

What about tomorrow?

All I know about tomorrow

is Harry's getting
kicked out of this dump.

She may have done you a
favor, that bastard old witch.

Nothing to worry about.

Been in your
situation many times.

Now the real fun begins.

So, how did
you get into Free Cinema?

I met some people.

People who want to cut the
crap out of filmmaking.

Things can be
different, you know.

Yeah, I know.

You need to wake up though.

The camera is much more subtle

than a hammer and a sickle.

Well, just with this?

Sounds easy.

It is.

So, what's this
button for, here?

What's your relationship
with Marcus?

We're friends.

That's the on/off switch.

It's kind of like a trigger

but it shoots different
sorts of bullets.

You hold the camera like this,

and then make sure
to focus here.

It uses 16 millimeter film.

Some new HP emulsions
are doing a great job.

Emotions?

Emulsions.

It's the sensitive bit.

It's the same idea.

How close can you get?

As close as you want.

Can I get
four apples, please.

Yeah, it's a good choice.

Best one today, yeah.

Four darling.

Yeah, three pence, please.

Okay, thank you.

Thank you.

There's talk that
there's gonna be war soon

in the Soviet Union, and
that war will be nuclear.

Armageddon.

We need people to
film the march.

They're looking for people

that have Bolex
cameras like yours.

Do you wanna work as a team?

That's right.

We'd love you to be part of it.

Plus, you can keep
Marty on check.

The eyes of the world
will be upon us.

No politics, no banners,
no chanting, no shouting.

There will be silence.

Now, just one placard
designed for the occasion.

A peace sign.

The silence of the dead,
if Armageddon is unleashed.

That's the message.

Are you both with us?

Count on me chief,
I'll keep my mouth shut.

And I'm speechless.

Of course, you can count
on me, I'd be honored.

I'll keep Marty on check.

Every man, every woman with
a camera will be important.

Nothing like this has
ever been attempted.

I've got to go.

I think I'm gonna cry.

I'm on the way out of
your Porno Verite stuff.

What is that?

Is that God Almighty?

No, I've heard enough.

I don't wanna film porn,

and I don't want to
film commercials.

The very idea makes
me terribly sad.

I'll carry on with the
documentary on my own.

With what money?

Commercials pay.

Commercials poison the soul.

I don't wanna see you losing it.

You'll never get it back.

It'll change you forever.

You don't have to be
so dramatic about it.

Look, I love film too.

But I don't wanna see you
crash against a brick wall.

Cinema is expensive and
we can do bigger things.

Well, I'll guess we'll
see in 10 years time

who was right.

You're a good seller,
but I'm not buying.

♪ I was born in East Virginia ♪

♪ North Carolina added gold ♪

♪ There I met a
handsome stranger ♪

♪ But his name I did not know ♪

♪ Well, I don't want
the green buck dollar ♪

♪ And I don't want
your diamond ring ♪

♪ All I want is
your love darling ♪

♪ Won't you take me back again ♪

♪ I don't want your
green buck dollar ♪

♪ I don't want
your diamond ring ♪

♪ All I want is
your love darling ♪

♪ Won't you take me back again ♪

♪ Well, his hair
was dark of color ♪

♪ And his eyes
were deep as blue ♪

♪ How I loved him oh so dearly ♪

♪ And he promised to be true ♪

♪ I'd rather be ♪

♪ In some dark corner ♪

♪ Where the sun ♪

♪ Refuse to shine ♪

♪ Than to find ♪

♪ You with another ♪

♪ Oh, when you
promise to be mine ♪

♪ 'cause I don't want
the green buck dollar ♪

The mattresses coming in
the evening for the night.

Business is brisk.

I've got a customer
who's a prince.

I suppose that
makes me a princess.

- A real prince?
- That's right.

I curtsy as you might expect.

It would be disrespectful
not to do so.

The position helps.

Man has some sixth sense,

or some faculty apart from
sense that must be satisfied.

Happiness doesn't come
into this question at all.

In Soho, it is an
elusive commodity.

The difference is that, here,
people are not looking for it.

I feel the city would
prefer to forget

there's an enclave stuck
right in the middle of it,

intent on keeping doubt
switched permanently on.

You kill doubt and
you kill everything.

What are you left with?

A giant department store?

A gargantuan shopping mall?

To give man only his
personal ends to serve,

is to condemn him.

I don't mind all the
philosophical rubbish, really.

My requirements
are, shall we say,

at this moment in
time, more pressing.

Like finding a job
and a place to live.

What am I doing here?

Good question.

The Windrush was an
ambulant hellhole.

A slave ship on rewind.

Let's hope life here is better

than a sugar
plantation back home.

The stinking ship sank
a couple of years ago

just off the coast of
Madagascar, or so I heard.

For Soho inmates,
London does not exist

beyond a few blocks
from Soho square.

It just doesn't register.

There's only one matter that
occupies their attention,

Sohoitis!

Absolute monster.

Still, blaggards
can't be choosers.

Not talking to the great
actor today, my dear?

I don't
know, when's he coming in?

Feeling obstreperous today?

Don't be insulting.

It was a compliment.

You obviously have
a talent for acting.

How do you know?

Good poise, imposing
manner, bags of confidence.

Surely, you could find
somewhere I can rep.

That's an insult.

I'd rather wait in London

and wait for the West
End to recognize me.

I don't like chasing things,

except women, of course.

Lovely piece of charver, that.

Charver?

Quite my own coinage.

It means, beautiful thing.

Surely appropriate.

James is half-American
matinee actor

and half-French romantic poet.

Girls seem pleased rather than
hypnotized by his attentions.

Perhaps he thinks it would be
too easy to hypnotize them.

I must admit that at
this moment in time,

my knowledge of feminine
psychology is practically nil.

The only girl I've met in
the last year is Doreen,

and I'm still none
the wiser about her.

Words are useless.

It's animalistic
action that matters.

Words can change the world.

But the world has
nothing to do with words.

Time to go to bed.

It's four in the morning.

If it hasn't happened by
now, it won't happen tonight.

- What?
- Whatever!

You should know better than me.

We're not here to accept
everyday consciousness.

Let's go and find
the one that matters,

not the one we're
told to choose.

Step outside of this madness

and you'll find
the real lunatics.

The people who go abut
their business like zombies.

They'll gladly talk
to you about freedom.

But if they see a
real free person,

they'll stone him
to death, or her.

Is that your freedom?

No.

No, no, I don't think so.

But it's much better

than what the commuters
out there are doing.

Look, it's your choice.

Go to work, follow
fashion, watch movies,

spend money, act normal.

Repeat after me.

- I am free.
- I am free.

Wow!

You're learning
faster than I thought.

Do me a favor, Harry,
we're going to close.

Just wait outside for a second,

I've got some romantic
business to attend.

The young writer.

You've been studying it.

Are you buying it?

Well, yes, I have

but fortunately not yet.

I'll take a small advance.

A small advance, I promise.

I'll buy you a drink as well.

Ah!

Mandrake wine.

That should do as an advance.

How much money
have we got in the kitty?

The kitty?

Marty hasn't eaten
for three days.

He's been busy overthrowing
the capitalist system.

We have enough
for three, just.

That's great.

Marty, dinner's on us.

Three fish and
chips, all trimmings...

And three teas please.

Well, thank you,
that's very generous.

Ar you a communist?

Not that I know of.

Why?

A hunch.

But that's great.

Better than having all
that Communist propaganda

in your head.

I thought you were.

No, my friend.

That's to confuse
of the proletariat.

To keep the bourgeoisie
out of Soho.

I kick their asses
every time I see one.

To keep myself in shape.

Essentially, I'm a Babouvian,
but keep that quiet

'cause very few know that.

A what?

A follower of Gracchus
Babeuf, 1760-1797.

There was socialism well
before the Russian Revolution,

did you know?

Yes, yes, I do.

Under different names.

That's right.

I think we understand
each other.

Sure.

Cut the political crap.

We are here to eat good fish.

I've been to the kitchen.

A six by six foot
room completely empty,

devoid of any cooking equipment

apart from disgusting tea
on a permanently hot plate.

Whoever is up there is
an undiscovered genius.

Huh!

One less star in the
firmament it appears.

That's the way to go.

Have a couple of hits
and bow out with a bang.

Buy an expensive car and
smash it against a lamp post.

Spare yourself the ravages
of old age, brilliant.

Live forever in a newspaper.

I'm gonna hang this on
my fridge, to remind me.

But you don't have a fridge.

Thank God.

Imagine me with a fridge.

It will be the biggest day

in the history of social
Britain since the war.

We will assemble
at Trafalgar Square

in only a few hours' time.

There will be some speeches.

We expect many thousands.

The march will last four
days over Easter Weekend.

It's going to be tough.

We will rely on the
charity of strangers

who sympathize with the cause.

Some people will
have to sleep rough

or find their own accommodation.

Food will be limited.

But we have a lot of people
willing to make the sacrifice.

Our job is not just to
take part in the march.

Our job is to film it.

These are the cameras.

We have about half a dozen.

We will beat the official
version of events

by releasing our own material.

I remind you all that
we are not political.

This is passive
civil resistance.

It is the beginning
of a long march.

A long march of non political
resistance in this country.

Political banners
will not be allowed.

No logo of any party.

This is what we will carry

to represent what we believe in

and what we are trying to do.

Especially designed
for our campaign.

We will distribute banners
and placards with this sign.

What does it mean?

It means peace.

Nuclear Disarmament.

A simple message to the world

that our commitment
is everything.

Everything we stand for.

This is the banner to end nuclear
weapons, to end all wars.

We will oppose all
war of any nationality

or political persuasion
with this banner.

Nuclear disarmament.

Peace.

We have new faces in our team.

Our own camerawoman.

Oi, Street, Street,
I want you out of here.

This is it, the
waiting is over.

The plan is that the teams
will leap-frog each other.

So every shot is important.

Nobody but you will have
the same shot that you take.

You know the route, good luck.

And remember, an
attitude means a style,

a style an attitude.

We will, boss.

♪ Last night as I lay sleeping ♪

♪ My heart was
filled with dread ♪

♪ I dreamt that the
bomb had fallen ♪

♪ And a million
people were dead ♪

♪ Millions of people
were mourning ♪

♪ A million were
lying there dead ♪

♪ I looked at forcing over ♪

♪ And it was worth the said ♪

♪ We could have been
happy and peaceful ♪

♪ The bomb could
be candy for real ♪

♪ There goes politician ♪

♪ Did everything by the book ♪

♪ Then a voice came
out of the rubble ♪

♪ They're not only to blame ♪

♪ We'll tell you those
silly telltales ♪

♪ And then they all
started shouting my name ♪

♪ You gave politicians
their power ♪

♪ You sat back and
watched the TV ♪

♪ You could have
forced them to punish ♪

♪ You could have
made them a view ♪

♪ Last night is
our last meeting ♪

♪ My heart was
filled with dread ♪

♪ I dreamt that the
bomb had fallen ♪

♪ And a million
people were dead ♪

I did this march in
the Lockout, in 1926.

We slept on the Corn
Exchange floor at Reading.

I was very proud of that march.

But I'd be thoroughly
ashamed of myself

if I hadn't come on this march.

I wouldn't be able to look
the children in the face,

if I'd not come on this march.

It's not much, but it's all
I can do and is my best.

And if everybody did their best,

the children of the
future will be saved

from the Atom and
Hydrogen bombs.

I never saw anything
like it in my life before.

Me neither.

It's very moving.

I almost cried.

Me too.

So, you decided to
finish the documentary?

You left me with no choice.

My life would be worth
nothing if I hadn't come.

Where's Marty when you need him?

He's busy.

We did the march together.

How'd it go?

Amazing.

Commitment is everything.

I'm glad.

Look, I wanna help you
finish the documentary.

I owe that to you.

I finished the
commercial last week

and I'm earning
some decent money.

I bought you some
precious film stock.

Thanks.

Who's the subject today anyway?

Because I can
fuck with impunity.

What do you think?

Do you expect me to
live in suburbia?

Yeah, you can paint
suburbia if you want.

It's your choice.

I've made mine.

I prefer the visceral
reality of a vomit.

That's why I'm in Soho.

Not forever.

I may move out.

Maybe I will go to
suburbia and disfigure it.

Safe mediocrity is the
name of the game now.

It's going to get worse.

Give me the miserable
face of the human soul,

in all its miserable gory.

Soho still offers that choice.

Booze, sex, drugs,
human dereliction,

profanity, sin, excrement.

All at your doorstep.

I'm lucky I can paint it.

Others live it.

Come on, old chap.

British Museum.

The best private toilets
in Central London.

Normally reserved
for intellectuals.

I feel ashamed.

This is supposed to
be the spiritual home

of Karl Marx and Bernard Shaw.

I suggest you have a wash.

Might be the last chance
you get in a week, at least.

To get a ticket and be official,

say you want to study
some obscure poet.

Your man Ducasse should do.

They get you to fill in a form,
you become an intellectual.

Great place to doze off
too, the Reading Room.

Quiet, warm, dimly lit.

I came here
looking for freedom

and all I've found is
1001 ways of living

without actually doing anything.

I'm not sure if
it's the same thing.

Sohoitis, finally uncovered.

Sohoitis?

I know what it is now.

I've worked it out?

Well, what is it?

Sohoitis is a
transmittable disease

and you can only catch it here.

Wandering in Soho day and
night getting nowhere,

that's Sohoitis.

Well, I've heard of worse
diseases you can catch here.

Did someone
mention Sohoitis?

Good God.

Who are you?

I am Raoul Montauban.

The greatest swordsman
in all Europe.

But tomorrow I
must fight a duel.

Could I persuade either of
you to act as my second?

Can we do this later?

We were just talking.

There may not be a later.

I may be wounded mortally.

What are you talking about?

But if I die, bury
me in this square.

No flowers, simply
a modest head stone.

Here lies Raoul Montauban.

Musketeer.

He had a deep knowledge
of superficial things.

Died after a long Sohoitis.

But you have the definition
wrong, mon brave.

Soho is a place where great
urban fighters come to rest

or to nurse their wounds.

They can leave any
time they want.

But here there is
food for the mind

and the rules can be
bent to suit the needs.

You should treat them
with more respect.

Some of them come here to die.

Extraordinary.

Exactly what I'm talking
about, totally bonkers.

I think he was really poetic.

Dangerous stuff, Sohoitis.

♪ Freight train, freight train ♪

♪ Going so fast ♪

♪ I don't know what
train he's on ♪

Everyday
consciousness is a liar.

A master plan to keep us
settled in our suburban dreams.

Maybe I am getting it all wrong.

Maybe there is a
devil deceiving us

and Soho is the escape hatch.

That's why they
all bunch up here.

A place where normal
rules don't apply.

A chance to see the oddballs,
the crazed, the unhinged.

To remind us that other
options are available.

The non-conformists,
the melting pot.

The talented flawed,
the failures,

the lost souls, the vomit.

If I understand
that, then I am free.

I find it difficult to believe

that Conan Doyle's London
and what I see around me

are the same place.

Somebody must be fooling us.

I curse the entire
educational system

for being in on the game.

To let me believe that
such a world exists.

Are you
with us, Moriarty?

Sorry.

All charvered out?

Absolutely old stick.

She was delicious.

Turns out she was a virgin
down for a last fling

before she signs her life away.

Personally, didn't
enjoy it very much.

Professional virgins
are bloody hard work.

Their sense of guilt is
a hurdle to enjoyment.

Oh, it's no use shaking
your head; she wanted me.

And do you know why?

Because I have an
indefinable smell of freedom.

That's what these bourgeois
swines from the city

and other places of
work-worship don't understand.

I'm an enfant terrible.

Like, take this
chap she's marrying.

He's got all the advantages
society understands;

you know, a job, a pension
scheme, a house in the suburbs,

apparently what
every woman wants,

and yet Jennifer prefers me.

Why?

Freedom, that's why.

The unpredictable arse of life.

But what good's
freedom if you don't know

where your next
meal's coming from?

But I do.

You're buying it.

Ready when you are, James.

Give it the performance
of a lifetime.

Is the camera ready?

Yeah, the camera's
already rolling.

It's gonna be
Cinema Verite style.

Okay, standby everybody.

Let me say the magical words.

Action!

Ladies and gentlemen, until
you move into the theater,

I shall endeavor
to entertain you.

Your castle is surprised.

Your wife and babes
savaged in a slaughter.

What man?

Nor put your heart upon your
brow gives sorrow words.

All the clicking chickens in
the famine one fell swoop.

I think I've got them.

However, I am sure you
will show your appreciation

by carefully folding
your donation,

and popping it into the Box
Office of my charming assistant.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Thank you for your generosity!

Thank you.

Thank you.

Bastards.

I thought you were
brilliant back there.

Bloody brilliant.

If you did that twice a night,
you'd make a good living.

You might even have
your own rep company.

Once, if my memory
serves me well,

my life was a banquet where
every heart revealed itself,

where every wine flowed.

One evening, I took
beauty in my arms,

I thought her bitter,
and insulted her.

If I did it every night,
I wouldn't enjoy myself.

It'd spoil the fun.

And frankly, I've had enough
of Monarchy tales in rep.

I think they are
brainwashing us.

Who is?

Shakespeare?

From the grave?

I'm more for a
visceral kind of drama.

Angry young men;
Pinter, Osborne anytime.

The future.

Shakespeare's
corpse is as ravaged

as the people who play it today.

You have played the fool
to the point of madness.

Rule number one, never
let your guard down.

You ought to write
a novel about us.

Show the way that
society condemns

the men who won't
live like hypocrites.

Describe the way the
bourgeois treat us.

Show that society is
rotten to the core.

Never give in, never falter.

Long live Maldoror!

People see us as tramps
wearing funny clothes.

They can't help it if
they've been conditioned.

Can you imagine the real Christ

or St. Francis in a Cadillac?

They were like us.

Drifters!

Come on.

I can't believe it.

First time ever.

Are you one of my fans?

Can I sign you an autograph?

I always was.

Are you one of mine?

Used to be.

Let's go for a drink.

I heard the news.

Sorry you didn't get the part.

I suppose my life is just
another anecdote for you.

I'm deluding myself
that you have anything

resembling a heart.

What do you live on?

Get a kick out of others?

I still have illusions.

I won't allow you to
kill my illusions.

I used to have illusions.

I lost them on my travels.

But I can get them back.

I know I'm a bastard,
but it's an act.

I'm soft inside.

Possibly.

But I'm moving on.

I don't expect it
to be like before.

I may catch you later then.

May do.

So, what does she want me to do?

Cut my wrists?

Jump in front of a train and
call it accidental death?

The prospect is dreadful.

Getting up at the crack of
down every day for 20 years

to become a manager
with a mortgage.

Marry a pretty girl and
make the best of her

for the rest of
her dreadful life.

The world slides on gently
and silently, dreadingly.

Nothing to get excited about,
not much to worry about.

Nothing gained, nothing
lost, nothing matters.

Void.

Putting it like that,
pass on the knife.

I'll slash my wrists after you.

Maybe the present
reality cannot be sustained

for much longer.

Maybe.

Terra Incognita.

Developed by the Americans
with you in mind.

They call it direct marketing.

It's a new experience of
such mind-bending qualities.

This will reach parts of your
brain you didn't know you had.

It will twist you and
tear you like a rag doll.

Unique, exhilarating.

This will be the rage
of the next 10 years.

A true ground breaker.

Really?

Well, I am in the mood today.

Tomorrow, I might have some
life-changing decisions.

Are you sure?

No.

Am I the first?

You bet.

I wouldn't give this
to anybody else.

Well, I have to.

If I'm gonna leave center stage,

I better go with a bang.

A bang it will be.

A real bang.

Let the show commence.

Curtains up.

Throughout his life, he has
seen narrow-shouldered men,

without a single exception,

committing innumerable
stupid acts,

brutalizing their fellow men

and perverting
souls by all means.

They call the motive for
their actions ambition.

Seeing these spectacles,

he wanted to laugh
like the others

but he found that strange
imitation impossible.

He took a knife with a sharp
steel cutting-edge on its blade

and slit his flesh
where the lips join.

For a moment he and I believed

he had achieved his objective.

He looked in the mirror
at this mouth disfigured

by an act of his own will.

It was a mistake!

The blood flowing from
the wounds prevented him

from discerning
whether the laugh

really was the
same as the others.

But after comparing
them for a few moments,

he saw clearly that his
laugh did not resemble

that of human beings.

He was not laughing at all.

I've got the manuscript ready.

Good, give it a try.

What are we gonna
do with Sohoitis?

We can leave
before it takes hold.

We still can.

I'll be back in a minute.

At dawn, armed
with a burning patience,

we shall enter the
magnificent cities.

Hi, James.

I want you to engage
someone in conversation.

I am afraid I am with someone.

But good to see you.

Oh, that's a shame.

Good to see you too, old boy.

Subtitles by explosiveskull
www.OpenSubtitles.org

♪ Last night as I lay sleeping ♪

♪ My heart was
filled with dread ♪

♪ I dreamt that the
bomb had fallen ♪

♪ And a million
people were dead ♪

♪ Millions of people
were mourning ♪

♪ A million were
lying there dead ♪

♪ I looked the
whole scene over ♪

♪ And these are
the words I sang ♪

♪ We could have been
happy and peaceful ♪

♪ The bomb could
be banned easily ♪

♪ But those politicians ♪

♪ Did everything but agree ♪

♪ But a voice came
out of the rubble ♪

♪ They are not only to blame ♪

♪ I'll tell you
who's really guilty ♪

♪ And then they all
started shouting my name ♪

♪ Going straight on a 38 ♪

♪ Going steady like the
ever readies in your tiny ♪

♪ My old man said ♪

♪ What's the plan ♪

♪ Well I'm going
out tonight, dad ♪

♪ Never coming back ♪

♪ If I cancel ♪

♪ Say goodbye to Terry ♪

♪ Spike and Nan ♪

♪ And the pantry ♪

♪ Round and round
and round we go ♪

♪ Call these streets,
they are so busy ♪

♪ Round and round
and round we go ♪

♪ He's got me in
a proper tizzy ♪

♪ I met you ♪