All language subtitles for The Light That Failed (1939).eng25000

Subtitles: Lu�s Filipe Bernardes

What shall we shoot at?

Just off to sea, then we
won't hit anybody.

- I don't care if I don't shoot just now.
- It's your turn.

I don't want to be selfish.
You enjoy it so much.

- Maisie, are you afraid?
- No!

Amomma!

Maisie...
Maisie, the powder stings.

- I can't see, Maisie.
- Dick! Dick, I didn't mean it.

I'm all right.
The bullet missed me.

Oh, you frightened me
nearly to death.

But Amomma was eating
the cartridges.

Please don't cry.

Look, Maisie,
I'm going to shoot again.

Next holidays I'll get a better pistol.

There won't be any next holidays for me.

I'm going away tomorrow.

Where to?

I don't know.
My lawyers wrote to Miss Janet.

I've got to be educated somewhere.

In France, I think.

Maisie, I'll...
I'll never see you again.

Of course you will, sometime.

Sometime...

Perhaps it would have been better
if you'd shot straight a moment ago.

Dick, how stupid you are!

And how selfish you are
to wish I'd kill you.

Think of all the trouble
it would have caused me.

What's the matter?

Amomma, he swallowed those cartridges.
Won't he explode if he runs?

- I don't think so.
- Dick, I don't want my Amomma to blow up.

Well, I'll be careful
and keep him at a walk.

Maisie, it will be a long time
before I see you again.

- We'll be grown up then.
- That'll be nice.

I don't know what I'm going to be
when I grow up.

I don't seem to be able
to pass any exams.

But I can make awful caricatures
of the masters.

Then be an artist.
That's what I'm going to be someday.

All right. We'll both be artists someday
and do great things.

Maisie...

you belong to me.

- Forever and ever.
- Yes, we belong forever.

It's very nice.

His knees look like the clubs
of the Fuzzy Wuzzy, Jim.

How did he get this far
on a set of legs like that?

Is he deformed or a member
of the blasted cavalry?

Don't be too severe
on the gentleman, Alf.

His legs are not matched
but he don't smell of horses.

He's what they call
a War Correspondent.

Friends, Romans, critics.

Observe this hole on the seat
of my britches.

It was worn through,
it is not a bullet hole.

Thus it is the fruit of leisure,
rather than cowardice.

Thank you.

- Rather neat.
- That's how I handle critics, Dick,

What's the matter, Rembrandt?

They're too quiet.
Looks like trouble.

Where the British army is,
there's always trouble.

Are you sketching what I think you are?

I am.

One of these days some of that work
of yours will bring down upon you a wrath

far more terrible than any so far exhibited
by the ignorant bigoted,

and frequently unwashed natives
of this arid country.

Pisan soldier is surprised while bathing.
Remember the picture by Michelangelo?

All beginners copy it.

Do you mind discussing this matter
of Art inside the square?

Not at all.

Steady men!
Hold your fire!

Ready men!

And fire!

We've got to take a hand.

Dick.

Maisie...
Maisie, the powder stings.

Maisie...

Here's something for Heldar.

Maisie, darling...

Behold a phenomenon.

Here is a man presumably human

who mentions the name
of one woman only.

And I've seen a good deal
of delirium, too.

Well, man, I owe you something
for stopping that Fuzzy Wuzzy

in the square at Abu Hamad.

Not at all. Good of you to have looked
after me all this time.

I don't know where I'll live in London

but if chance brings us to meet,
we'll meet.

Oh, we'll meet, Torp.

- Where are you going from Cairo?
- Alexandria...

Suez, Port Said, especially Port Said.

I'm going to make them all immortal...
in paint and canvas.

What will your address be?

At Port Said, Madame Binat.

- Nice place.
- We're old friends.

Monsieur Binat was
a pretty good painter once.

Besides, it's cheap and colorful.

By the way, Dick,
who is Maisie?

- What is it?
- I wire.

- A wire?
- From Monsieur Dicky.

Perhaps he has inherited a fortune.

It wouldn't do no harm to open it.

- No harm at all.
- Well?

Celeste!

Thanks.

What does it mean, Monsieur?

It means that my day as an artist
has arrived, Celeste.

That London awaits my great talent,
but I have a city to loot.

- Congratulations.
- Splendid!

- Wonderful!
- Now...

keep this for me to go home
to England with.

- Yes
- And this for a celebration tonight.

Tonight the British public
recognizes my genius.

And high time.

Champagne for everybody!

May you have visions of heaven...

and put them in colors
that will never know age.

As you have done.

And I want to dance, Celeste,
the best Zanzibar dance that money can buy.

Of course, Monsieur,
Dicky will sketch.

Monsieur Dicky is an artist
as I have been.

- And I want you.
- For my face.

Is my degradation so tremendous?
You cannot have it.

- But I'll pay.
- No.

Everything is for sale in Port Said.

You pay, you will have him.

Show me.

I was once an artiste,
even I.

Good-bye, Celeste, I must be going.

So soon?
Good-bye, my son.

Monsieur Binat, I won't forget
my old master.

No, you will never forget.

For in the end, Monsieur Dicky,
you will descend alive into hell

as I have descended.

- Here is your money, Monsieur.
- Oh, yes.

Come in!

Don't you ever put any trousers?

Rembrandt!

It's good to see
those knobbly knees again.

- Don't get sentimental.
- Say, you've got something to eat?

- I'm starving.
- Of course we have something to eat.

Beeton!

- Oh, Beeton!
- Yes?

- Breakfast for two.
- Yes, sir.

Oh, I beg your pardon.

- Heldar, meet Mr. Binkle.
- Delighted.

I love you.

I hear I'm a genius, eh?

Apparently they say you have
a new way of drawing things.

- I have.
- You're wanted by half a dozen papers.

Naturally.

Who can account for the fathomless
folly of the public?

Remarkably sensible people.

The subject of fits,
if that's what you mean.

You happen to be the object
of the latest fit.

Well, how do I look?

Beautiful.

Come in.

Mr. Heldar, meet Mr. Beeton,
my landlord.

- I'm happy to meet you, sir.
- And I'm happy to meet you, Beeton.

Binkie.

I will not tolerate my dog being stolen.

Too late, that's already completed.

- And how's the charming Madame Binat?
- Making money.

- And her gifted husband?
- Drunk.

Are you still doing good work?

Torp, I'm marvelous.

There. Let's see my studio.
Come on, Binkie.

There is your skylight, or north light,
or whatever light you call it.

There's your bedroom.

Nicely furnished, too.

What's that place?

St. John's Church.

After breakfast
you can go there and pray.

to be delivered
from the sin of arrogance.

You know, there's something about
that goat that reminds me of you.

- I beg your pardon!
- Now please, don't be angry.

Don't worry, I have a password.
If it doesn't work, you're not the girl.

I think I know the password.

- Amomma?
- Amomma.

- Then it's Maisie!
- Dick!

Maisie!

How in the world did you know me?

I don't know. I wanted this to happen
for a very long time, Maisie.

- If it hadn't been for these goats.
- If it hadn't been me.

I say, well throw me to the lions.

You'd have forgotten me, of course.

Men I've shot I never forget.

Let's sit down.
I feel weak.

I hope Amomma never blew up.

No, he lived to be a very old
and dignified goat.

And his manners improved.
He gave up cartridges for vegetables.

I'm glad.
Maisie, tell me about yourself.

I keep staring at the third finger
of your left hand

and then looking at you
and thinking it can't be true.

It's true.

I live at St John's Wood,
there's a girl lives with me,

I paint very bad pictures
and hope desperately to do better ones.

We did keep our bargain, didn't we?

When we said we'd do great things,
I haven't.

We will.

In the summer I work with Kami
in France. He's very good.

I know. I worked with him once.

He says there's no hope for me.

He says that about all his pupils.

They always go out and become famous.

Dick, do you know what the time is?

- It's a quarter past three.
- I must run!

I have an appointment
with an art dealer...

who may take some of my things.

Maisie, can I come to see you?
I can't continue to depend on these goats.

Of course.
Will you come on Sunday?

I paint madly all the week
for fear I might suddenly die

and never do my masterpiece.

I understand. I'll wait
and paint madly all the week.

- Good. 8, Elm Street.
- St. John's Wood.

We'll have tea
and argue about our work.

- Perhaps you can help me.
- I hope I can.

- Good-bye, Dick.
- Good-bye, Maisie.

Get back to your position.

Did you miss me, Mr. Binkle?

I thought not. What with this
new god you've acquired.

How does success taste, Dick?

Good.

The lean years have passed
and I approve if these fat ones.

So I see.

Yes, I like the power,
I like the fuss and I like the fun.

And above all I like the money.

I almost like the people who make
the fuss and pay the money.

Almost.

Decent of you.

- Well, that'll be enough.
- Working fast, I see.

- Yes.
- Carefully, too.

Oh, they sell.

Which one of these
is going to be in the magazine?

This one.

It's a fake. I wasn't ill in El Maghrib.
And I was wounded.

But I never looked like that.

- I looked like that.
- I know, I know, I was at El Maghrib.

I was proud to pose for the first one.
But you had to get me drunk for this.

Here's your money.

Keep your money.
I wish I could give you your whiskey back.

Maybe I could have a look
at that picture again.

Could the gentleman be right?

Doesn't compare
with 'Break of Day', does it?

Well, I did him
as well as I knew how.

I drored him and I redrored him.

And I tridrored him.

And I put the living fear of death
in his eyes.

Oh, he isn't pretty, but he's all soldier
and very much man.

Modest fellow.

Go on.

Well, then the Art manager
of that abandoned paper

said his subscribers wouldn't like it,

that it was brutal, and coarse
and violent.

Man being naturally gentle
when he's fighting for his life

They wanted something more restful,
so I took my "Last Shot" back.

And behold the result.

That's Art.

I put him in a nice red coat,

I cleaned his rifle, I shaved his chin,
I washed his hands.

Price? Thank heaven,
twice as much as for the first sketch.

Do you suppose you're going to give
that thing out as your work?

Why not? A man can't work forever.

The man might have gone to a pub
and gotten decently drunk.

Dick, if you were only a mass
of blathering vanity I wouldn't mind.

But when I find that you add
to your vanity

the two-penny-halfpenny pique
of a twelve-year-old girl,

I bestir myself in your behalf.

Thus.

Now, if you have any bad language
to use, use it.

You... You!

Don't you know what cash means

to a man who has always starved
and sweated as I have?

Now I've got it
I'll make the most of it.

I thought it was a man.
It's a child.

Break of Day.

That groom may well make
somebody a widow.

It's like being through a whole battle again
just to look at that horse.

He does it too real, that artist.

That's what I want.

But Maisie, you haven't even looked
at the pictures.

But the crowd, their faces.

- Maisie...
- Dick, don't talk now, please.

I'll have tea and crumpets, please.

Do you want the same, sir?

I'm trying to taper off.
Just the crumpets for me, please.

Now I can talk, Dick.

- Do you know why I couldn't before?
- I think so.

I was choked up with envy.

Oh, what a thing
to have come to you, success.

Well, it didn't exactly come to me.
I had to go out and look for it.

I've looked for it, too.
For years.

It hasn't come to me.

Maisie, the whole thing,
lock stock and barrel

isn't worth one of the hours
I spent with you back at Fort Keeling.

You're alone now, and I'm alone.

What's the use of worrying.
Come to me instead, darling.

Oh no, Dick. I've got my work to do
and you have yours.

- We'll do it together.
- I couldn't. It's my work.

You promised to remember.

I remember, just as well as you do.

But we were babies then.
We didn't know what was before us.

Well, suppose I go away
and wait for a while?

I don't want you to go away.

You could help me with my work.

All right, but don't forget, Maisie,

I love you. And no brother and sister
business either.

I knew you wouldn't understand.

Dick, look at my face
and tell me what you see.

Well, it's the same Maisie
and it's the same me.

And we've both
nice little wills of our own.

And one or the other
has to be broken.

- Perhaps with enough Sundays...
- A month of them won't alter things.

Perhaps two months?

Ah-ha, the great artist has arrived.

Thank you, gentlemen.

Well then, Nilghai, back again.

And how are the Balkans
and all the little Balkans?

One side of your face
is out of drawing, as usual.

Well, never mind about that.

There will be trouble in the Balkans
in the spring.

What brings you to London?

The same thing about all Correspondents,
a serious shortage of wars.

Where did I see you last?
At Suakin.

Right after a camel had bitten me.

No, no, no, you bit the camel.
I drew it.

He bit me first!

I hear you've been lucky.

Well, if you mean the British public
has finally recognized my genius, yes.

It's a common report you're suffering
from a swelled head.

Binkie, go over there
and bite that fat man.

Stand off, you enlarged rat!

Better stay away from him, Binkie.

He's a bad man.
If he'll bite a camel, he'll bite you.

Hmm...
Now, about your head.

I soak it every morning in hot water,
but it won't go down.

Well, I've been commissioned
to soak you in print.

Torpenhow refuses to out of false delicacy.

I've been overhauling these pot-boilers
in your studio.

- They're disgraceful.
- Oh, so that's it, is it?

The first part deals
only with the pictures.

Here's the end.

For work done without conviction...

for power wasted on trivialities,

for labor expended with levity,

for the deliberate purpose
of winning the easy applause

of a fashion-driven public.

It couldn't have been Torpenhow
who set you barking at me, could it?

...public, there remains, but one end:

the oblivion that is preceded by toleration

and cenotaphed with contempt.

From this fate, Mr. Heldar has yet
to prove himself out of danger.

Hm, clumsy ending, but very true.

Binkie, the public thirst for blood
must be gratified.

But you see, they have no arenas now,
so they have War Correspondents.

Nilghai, you're just a fat gladiator

who comes up through trap-holes
and talks of what he's seen.

You're no better than an energetic bishop,

an affable actress or...

or myself.

If it were worth my while
I'd caricature you in all the newspapers

biting a camel or worse.

I hadn't thought of that.

As it is, I'll give your writings

to the only audience
who can appreciate them. Here, Binkie.

Go home, Nilghai,
to your lonely little bed,

- Where are you going, Dick?
- I'm going to grapple with a serious crisis.

- What can you do with a man like that?
- Leave him alone.

He's as mad as a hatter.

Women and dogs.
They can't resist him.

He stole one away from me
once in Cairo.

I haven't forgiven him yet.

- Woman or dog?
- Hm?

Oh, it was a long time ago.
I don't remember.

- Hello!
- Hello.

- I was hoping you'd come this Sunday.
- Ah!

- I need your help so badly.
- Oh...

Dick, you shouldn't have brought
all these artist things.

- But I wanted to.
- Well, I...

I really don't need them.

- Or me.
- Oh, I need you, Dick.

Please sit down.

Have some tea?

I'll never want any of it again
as long as I live.

Sunday after Sunday here
I've swilled this up

until my stomach is coated
with a layer of tea leaves.

You don't have to come here
if you don't want to.

That's what I tell myself.
But I always come back.

Would it help if I forbad you to come?

Give me some tea.

There.

I've done that for the day.

Uhm... oh.

Oh, what's that?

Melancholia.
I took it from a book.

Well, that's bad to begin with.

It's from 'The City of Dreadful Night'.

Remember?

'And all her sorrow
shall be turned to labor.'

It's been done already by D�rer.

You might as well
try and rewrite Hamlet.

She was a woman.
She suffered a great deal.

Till she could suffer no more.

Then she began to laugh at it all.

I'll paint her beautifully
and send her out to the Salon.

Look, I'll take the same subject
and if I can't do a better head than you...

Oh, all your things
smell of tobacco and blood.

Anyway, I want to talk
about my picture.

Tell me what to do with that chin.

Well, you're weak in drawing.

You foreshorten...

Oh, there's something grim
and Dutch about your work that I like but...

why not spend some time
on line alone?

I don't care for pure line.

I know, you want to do
your fancy heads

with a bunch of flowers
at the base of the neck

to hide bad modeling.

Like cattle knee-deep in grass
to hide bad drawing.

In other words, my ability is much less
than my ambition.

No, no, you have the gift of color.

But with line you must go
backwards or forwards...

and it will show off your weaknesses.

Which according to you are many.

Well, you've got to...

I don't know, it's...

If I had a brush in my hand perhaps...

Maisie, all you want is success.

If you had that, you would have
more time for me, wouldn't you?

- Yes, I suppose I would.
- Well, then...

why not let me do some pictures
and you sign them?

Oh, that's childish.

It's got to be my work, I tell you.
Mine, mine, mine!

Well, then it shall be yours, yours.

Yours.

I'd better not interfere.

Well, Binkie, my lad,
did you catch any cats today,

or fought any butchers?

No?

Had a quiet day with the gentleman
on the couch, eh?

Any work today?

No.

Never work anymore, do you?

Very rarely.

Aren't you afraid of losing your hand?

Perhaps.

What's the matter?
Liver out of order?

No.

Dick, it's none of my business,
but what do you do every Sunday nowadays?

I haven't seen you
for the last five in a row.

Well, it's none of your business,
but I go out and see the flowers.

- And watch the pretty ships go by.
- Sounds good.

Suppose I try it with you
this coming Sunday?

I'm sorry, Torp, but it's sort of...

you know, a one-man business.

I see.

Who's the girl, Dick?

If you're going to start talking like that,

I'll rent a red-brick studio
with white paint trimmings

with begonias and petunias
and potted palms,

and I'll invite every woman in London
interested in Art over.

and you can receive them
in a velvet coat and an orange tie...

and no trousers on.

It's too thin, Dick.
You overdid it.

All right.

I overdid it.

What's the matter?
Did you burn yourself?

No, it's the glare of that match.

Like hot iron.

I suppose I'd better stop
sitting around in darkness.

Especially the darkness
of your own mind.

Now if Amomma were only here.

Maisie, doesn't it make
any difference, all this?

No. I'd tell you if it did,
but it doesn't.

Do I...
does this talking about it bore you?

Of course not.

You must forgive a man
when he's in love.

He's always a nuisance.

- You must have known that.
- Well, there were other men, of course.

Did you listen to them?

At first, because they praised my pictures
and I thought they meant it.

- Poor Maisie.
- Oh, it's easy for you.

You've succeeded
and you've plenty of pennies.

But never enough.

I'll always be three-pence short
in my accounts.

Why three-pence?

I carried a man's bag once
from Liverpool Street to Blackfriar's Bridge.

It was a six-penny job.
You needn't laugh, indeed it was.

And I needed the money desperately.

He only gave me three-pence

and he never had the decency
to pay in silver.

Whatever money I make I'll never get
that odd three-pence out of the world.

Here, Dick.

Are you paid?

A thousand times,
and we'll close the account.

But Maisie, you're going at it
the wrong way...

for success, I mean.

Painting is seeing, and then remembering it
better than you saw it.

You haven't seen yet.

Maisie, come with me.
Come across the sea and be happy.

I know so many places.

Islands tucked away under the line.

You reach them after weeks crashing
through waters black as marble.

And then you see the sun rise,
almost afraid...

because the sea is so lonely.

Who's afraid?
You or the sun?

The sun, of course.

Then you find your island,
alive with hot moist orchids...

that make mouths at you
and do everything but talk.

There's a waterfall,
three hundred feet high,

like a slither of green jade
laced with silver.

And millions of wild bees
live up in the rocks.

And an ivory-white servant
will sling you a long yellow hammock.

And you put your feet up
and hear the bees come

and listen to the falling water
until you fall asleep.

Can one work there?

Certainly. You hang your canvas
in a palm tree...

and let the parrots criticize.

I don't like that place.
Sounds lazy.

I'll show you others.
All kinds, all colors.

Bazaars teaming with life.

Jeweled peacocks, dead cities,
honey-colored sands.

See for yourself
what color really means.

Maisie, the world doesn't care
your life or mine,

for pictures or anything else
but doing its own work and making love.

Come across the sea and be happy.

What's that?

Sounds like a heart beating.

It's a steamer probably.

There she is.

Four masts and three funnels.
That must be the...

the Barralong, to Australia.

She'll lift the Southern Cross in a week.

Oh, you lucky old tub,
you lucky old tub.

- Let's go, Dick. I'm getting cold.
- All right. Look...

Here's a little heathen creature of fate,

which you won't believe in
but it might help.

Allah be merciful,

and if any evil befall,
let me bear the burden,

and let her go unscathed.

And here is my dearest possession
as sacrifice.

The fates will surely be bribed
this once.

Dick, I'm going back to Paris.

- Because of...
- Because of you.

You're the finest man I know
and the best friend I have.

I'm awfully fond of you,
and I need you.

But...

Well...

there's a limit to the selfishness of Maisie.

Hello, Binkie boy.

Dick, will you come here?

Torp, the moment my back's turned.

She fainted on the pavement.
Not drink, hunger.

I couldn't leave her there.

Barmaid, probably.
London edition.

Why didn't you turn her over
to a policeman?

Well, I haven't your ice water
in my veins

so I brought her up here
and gave her your dinner.

Oh!

And what happened to your dinner?

Greedy.

Feeling better?

Oh, yes sir, thank you.

There aren't many gentlemen
as kind as you are.

Turn your face to the light.

No, no, to the light!

- A picture?
- My Melancholia.

Marvelous eyes.

Terror in them.

Futility, sorrow.

If the eyes have it...
No, keep your chin up!

Don't let me hit me, sir,
please don't!

Don't be afraid. He's not going to hit you.
He's an artist.

They're all mad.
Do you know what artists do?

They... they draw things
on the pavement.

That's right. I haven't risen
to that yet, though.

- I want to draw your head.
- What for?

Because it's pretty.

That's why I'm willing to pay you
3 quid a week...

just for sitting still and being drawn.

Here's a quid on account.

For nothing?

Aren't you afraid I'll cheat you?

I'm sure you will.

What's your name?

Bessie.

Bessie.

It's no use giving the rest.

Bessie Broke.
Stone broke, if you like.

What's yours?

Oh, you don't need to give
the real ones.

No one ever does.

- Mine's Torpenhow.
- Mine's Heldar.

Those are the real ones.

By the way, Bessie,

when you come tomorrow don't bother
to wear that paint on your face.

I've got all the colors we'll need.

You know too much about women,
Mr. Binkle.

Good-bye.

There isn't a gentleman in the whole world
as kind as you are.

Er... is this Melancholia thing new?

Torp, are you really the kindest gentleman
in the whole world?

If you are,
why are you never kind to me?

Head up!

Certainly.

What a mess you gentlemen
keep your things in.

That Beeton.

- Head up.
- I'm sorry, Mr. Heldar.

Do you know, I sit all day long at home
doing nothing, just like a lady.

Well, you're working now.

Yes, sir.

I'm no more noticed than other tenants.
Then he suddenly flies.

- Head up!
- Of course.

It's quite nice though these days,
Mr. Heldar.

Do you think Mr. Torpenhow
will be in soon?

I don't know.

Mr. Heldar...

Do you have a girl?

No.

No, I haven't.

Does Mr. Torpenhow?

I don't allow him to.

Yes, sir.

Why?

Oh, he's...

He's much too young for that.

You're making fun of me.

I'm not making fun.
I'm very serious about that.

Well, only trying to help.

Yourself, you have.

He's beginning to look at you, isn't he?

It's the first step, isn't it?

Oh, that's enough for today.

The light's getting bad.

It's still good.
I'm not tired.

I am.

I...

I suppose Mr. Torpenhow
will be along any minute now.

I'll see you tomorrow at eleven.
Good-bye.

- Can I make you some tea?
- You could.

But you'd be risking your life
if you did.

You don't think much of me, do you?

A great deal, but not much.

Good sleep.

Come on, Binkie,
let's see is Torp's around.

Mr. Torpenhow,
couldn't you let me stay here?

But it's no use, Bessie.

I'm liable to be ordered off anywhere

at a moment's notice if a war breaks out.

But until you go, then.
I ain't asking for anything.

And you don't know how good
I can cook.

Well, I'll...

I'll think about it.

Torp!

Will you come here a moment?

Oh...

What right have you to interfere?

I oughtn't to have seen her
moving about in these rooms

as if they belonged to her.

That's what upset me.

Gives a lonely man
sort of a hankering, doesn't it?

It does.

Hello!
Anybody at work in these diggings?

Studio!

My, what cheerful, shining faces.

There's talk that little Binkie's
been bad again

and caused Mother to worry.

Worse than that.
Torp has female trouble.

Really?

May I ask where?

The usual place.

Mind if I have a look?

Hm...

Thank you.

Uh-hmm.

That makes it almost unanimous.

I always say that if you think
you can do better,

wait.

You waited too long.

Well, considering your case tonight.

What do we do first?

Get rid of her.

Torp does that.

Tell her, little man,

that you have to go in conference
with your friends

about the size of your dowry.

And that we'll have the matter settled
within a year.

You might as well run along,
Bessie, I...

I, uh...

- I, uh...
- You mean you...

You don't want me to stay then?

I'm afraid not.

You're so kind, Mr. Torpenhow.

You even throw me out nicelike.

Good-bye, Bessie.

Good-bye, Mr. Torpenhow.

Well?

I, uh...

- I, uh...
- Torp,

Why not take a nice little walk
with Nilghai?

To the dockyards
to see the troop ships.

To Aldershot to see the pretty soldiers.

To the arsenal to see
the great big cannons.

I suppose you're right.

I'll put a few things together.

I thought she wasn't immoral.
I was wrong.

She said she could cook.

You sent him away, I know you did.

Keep your head up, will you?

Mr. Heldar, please tell me!

Yes, I sent him away.

You can't take him
away from me, I'll...

Please, if you don't mind, I think
we'd better go on with the picture.

Picture! Picture!

What do I care about your picture?

I hate you, do you understand,
I hate you!

You telling him what to do.

He's a better man than you'll ever be.

You ain't fit to be
in the same room with him.

I know, I would have stayed
and made love to you.

Someday I'll get even with you!

Mark my words.

I can't do any more.

You'd better run along.

Got an headache again?

I hope it splits your skull.

Thank you.

Binkie, we'll go to a medicine man.

Can't have our eyes interfered with.

By these we get our bread...

and mutton chop bones for little dogs.
Come on.

Where did you get that?

In the Sudan.

The scar's your trouble.
The frontal bone is damaged...

causing severe pressure
on the optic nerve.

I would advise utmost caution...

and the avoidance
of any mental anxiety.

My business is painting
and I have no time to lose.

What's the verdict?

The symptoms you are experiencing

are the beginning
of complete degeneration.

Under such conditions, little can be done.

Can you give me a drink?

Yes.

As far as I can gather, you say
it's decay of the optic nerve.

and... and hopeless.

How long have I got
if I avoid all strain and worry?

About a year.

And if I don't take care of myself?

Not very long.

You don't mind if I just
sit here for a moment?

Yes, yes...

You've been very good
to tell me the truth.

Thanks.

Mr. Biggs.

We've got it badly, little dog.

Just as badly as we can get it.

Dear Rembrandt,

Gardner has joined us
and we have found our war.

Get ready to go back to the Sudan.

Will be home in three weeks.

Torp.

Well, I can't take him off his trip

to sit down and sympathize with me,
can I, Binkie?

Anyway, all the... All the Torpenhows
in the world can't save me.

Isn't that right?

We must be calm, Binkie.

This isn't nice at all.

What shall we do?

We must do something.
Time is short.

Binkie!

Where was Moses
when the light went out, eh?

Ah, you won't do.

You won't do.

Nor you.

No, no more soldiers, Binkie.

Death comes home to nearly.

and this is battle and murder
for me

You're no good either.

No.

No good at all.

No...

No, not yet.

Not yet.

That's better, Binkie.

Much better.

It really is night, isn't it?

Allah Almighty, help me
through my time of waiting.

And I won't whine
when my punishment comes.

Binkie, that picture's all nonsense.

I see it now.

There shall be Maisie in that head
because I'll never get Maisie.

And Bessie, of course,
because she knows all about melancholia,

though she doesn't know she knows.

She shall laugh right out of the canvas!

And every man and woman
that ever had a sorrow of his own

shall...

shall feel a stir
of fellowship in all disastrous fight.

That's it. That's better than painting
the thing merely to pique Maisie.

I can do it now
because I have it inside me.

Now!

Beeton!

- Beeton!
- Sir?

Remember that girl
who works for me, Bessie?

- Yes, sir.
- Go and get her.

Yes, sir.

Hurry.

Hurry... hurry, Binkie.

Before the night goes.

Pleased with yourself today,
aren't you?

As punch.

You're drunk again.

- As a lord.
- You've been drunk for a week.

Go on, get up in your chair quick.

I can hardly stand being near you.

Quite a comedown for a lady,
isn't it?

Uh-oh.

This will never do.

- That doctor's a liar.
- What?

Nothing. Now throw back
your head and laugh.

I won't!
I've had enough of that foolishness.

Come on, Bessie. Throw back
your head and laugh.

- Laugh, you little...
- I won't!

Laugh, Bessie, laugh!

I can't laugh, I can't.

I'm going to get it out of you
if I have to tear it out.

Look, it's good.

It's so good I couldn't do it very often

because I'd consider myself
the equal of God

and refuse to die
at my appointed time.

Why, you little fool,

I'm giving you something
you never had before, a soul,

It's all on canvas.
I'm making you immortal!

A hundred years from now
they'll be looking at you,

when you're dust, and water,
and the whisper of the wind....

saying that is sorrow,
that is every sorrow,

that sorrow's so deep, it's...
it's laughter.

Come on, Bessie, throw back
your head and laugh, come on!

Laugh, Bessie, laugh!

Laugh...

Just once more.

I can't, I can't laugh anymore.

Laugh, laugh.
Torp's coming home today.

I can't stand it!

I'll kill you if you don't let me
out of here!

He's driving me mad.
He's been torturing me!

- Oh, Mr. Torpenhow...
- What's the matter with him?

He's been drinking like a fish
for nearly a month.

We'll drop by tomorrow, Torp.

Good work, Dick.
Good work.

The best work you ever saw.

I'm drunk and everything's blurred

and there's no more hope,
but it's good work.

It's great work.

Can't I go away for a week without
you getting yourself into fresh trouble?

I'm disgusted with you.

You're right, but I'm right too.

After you went away
I had some trouble with my eyes

so I went to an oculist and he turned,
you know, a thing into them,

and he said, scar on head, sword cuts,
optic nerve...

so I'm going blind.

But I had some work to do
before going blind and I've done it.

And it's good!

Oh, I've had a lot to drink, though.

I can't see much now
but I can see much better when I'm drunk.

Oh, I'm glad to see you, Torp.

Dick.

- Dick...
- No, don't say it, don't.

Look, look at the picture.

- That face.
- Isn't she good?

Isn't she a beauty?

I've been down to hell to get her,
but isn't she worth it?

Where did you get the eyes?
They don't belong to Bessie.

No, they're someone else's, but...

isn't it thundering good?

Allah Almighty, what couldn't I do
in ten years if I can do this now?

Amen, she's a beauty!
I can feel it.

So will every man
who has any sorrow of his own.

He shall see his trouble there,

and by the Lord Harry,
just when he's feeling sorry for himself,

he'll throw back his head and laugh
just as she's laughing.

Oh, I'm tired, I'm awfully tired.

I think I'll go to bed.

Give Bessie thirty-six quid
and three quid over for luck, will you.

And cover the picture.

Good night, Mother.

Good night, Dick.

Aren't you going to talk
to me anymore?

Here's thirty-nine quid
from Dick, Bessie.

- Good luck.
- Mr. Torpenhow...

Don't let him take you away
from me again.

Don't be a little fool, Bessie.

Good-bye.

Beeton!

- Beeton!
- Yes, sir?

Keep an eye on him, laddy buck,

we've got about a thousand eye doctors
coming up to see him.

I was worried about him.
I wondered if I could do anything.

He's sleeping.

Well, what's the matter with you?

I'm thinking about killing a woman.

A woman named Bessie.

I was going to kill a woman once.

Never got as far as doing it, though.

That one chick of yours
is becoming a nuisance.

I can't stand heavy drinking
in any man.

He's drinking because he's going blind

from the sword cut
he got in the square at Abu Hamid...

...for me.

Oh...

Where are you going?

Me? Oh...

I'm going out to get drunk.

Now, Binks, the room's very dark.

There ought to be a moon.

Torp... Torp!

Where are you?
For pity's sake, come here!

- What's the matter?
- I'm all in the dark.

In the dark, I tell you.

Torp, old man, don't go away.

Light the lamp.

Did you light it, Torp?

Yes, Dick.

I can't see, do you understand?

Don't leave me. You wouldn't leave me
alone now, would you?

It's black.
Quite black.

And I feel as if I were falling
through it all.

Steady does it.

Yes, that's better.
Now... don't talk.

If I keep very quiet for a while,
this darkness will lift.

Just on the point of breaking.

Lie down.

- You'll feel better in the morning.
- I won't.

My God, I'm blind, I'm blind!
And the darkness won't go away.

Steady, Dick, steady.

Lie down.

Yes... it's all right.

We mustn't let them think
we're afraid of them, must we?

All the powers of darkness
and that lot.

No... lie down.

One of the ten plagues of Egypt.

Would you mind letting me
hold on to you?

One drops through the dark so.

# When we go, go, go away from here #

# our creditors will weep #
# and they will wail #

# Our absence much regretting #
# when they find that we've been getting #

# out of England by next Tuesday's #
# Indian mail. #

# When we go, go away from here #

# all the ladies will weep #
# and they will wail #

# Our absence much regretting #
# when they find that we've been getting #

# out of England by next Tuesday's #
# Indian mail. #

General De Gaulle commanding?
He couldn't command a corporal's guard.

Who else could for that matter?
The sergeants do their work.

- Pour me another drink.
- Quiet, quiet, please.

Why? Since when did this place
become respectable?

- Dick.
- You put him to bed, didn't you?

Yes, but I can't guarantee he'll sleep
through this bombardment.

Torp, have you signed your contract
with the Central Southern Syndicate yet?

- No, I'm not going.
- You're a fool.

Uh, excuse me, but Gardner's right.
Torp's a fool.

He's the best man among you
and he's going with you.

Do you hear me, Torp?

Yes, I hear you, Dick.

- Sit down.
- No, thanks.

- Who's taking my place?
- Barton, here.

Oh, Barton.

- Lots of luck.
- Thank you, sir.

It's his first outing.
Give him some tips, Dick.

I can give you one tip.

If you happen to get cut
over the head in a fight,

don't try to duck.
Tell the man to keep on cutting.

You'll find it cheapest in the end.

Oh, I'm sorry.
Thanks for letting me look in.

What about that girl of Dick's?

Her name is Maisie, she paints.

She's at Vitry and he's known her
since childhood.

I've often thought,
when I'd see men die out in the desert,

that if the news could be sent
through the world,

and the means of transportation
were quick enough,

there'd be one woman at least
at each man's bedside

Matches.

Now, Binkie, did you swallow them?

Torp, is that you?
Where have you been?

I'm tired of falling down,
I thought I'd crawl around for a little.

Is that you, Torp?

No...

it's only me.

Hm, a new phenomenon.

I'm hearing voices now.

Maisie!

What are you doing here?

I...

I came to see you.

Well, you see, I had
a little bother with my eyes.

- Why didn't you tell me?
- I couldn't write.

- Who told you about me?
- Mr. Torpenhow.

Well, believe me, I never meant
you to know anything about this.

Won't you... won't you sit down?

Thank you.

- I wish I could offer you some tea.
- Perhaps I can make it for you.

Oh, no, no, not for me, thank you.

I'm sorry, I forgot.

I hope you're not crying.

It's far beyond that.

I imagine it would be,
looking at me now and...

Dick, you mustn't say
things like that.

Why not, have things changed
since the last time?

Of course they have.

- I've changed, that's all.
- Dick, I'm so sorry.

- I've come to tell you that I want...
- No, no, don't, Maisie, don't!

I'm not a child.

Well, you came and you've seen,
and I'm really very grateful.

Dick!
I want to stay.

I came to stay.

That desperately?
To join me in my prison?

- Yes.
- I won't sentence you, Maisie.

You're pardoned.
Tell me only one thing honestly.

Honestly, so that I'll know
I not making another mistake.

Don't you feel relieved?

I'm sorry.

- Oh, Dick, don't hate me.
- Oh, God. I hate you?

Now, don't cry, don't cry.

You're quite right.

By the way, you haven't seen
my Melancholia.

I just had time to finish it
before all this happened.

Even Torpenhow thinks it's good.

There she is.
What do you think of her?

It's magnificent!

- It's wonderful!
- Is it that good?

I can't believe it.

You see what I meant now,
about...

flesh, and shadow,
and line and all that?

'Stick to line, Maisie"'

I see.

You're in it, too.
Don't you see yourself?

Yes, I see myself.

In all my futility.

Yes, I think you've looked at it
long enough.

It's not a thing
you can look at too long.

It seems to strike everybody that way.

Maisie...

you were very good to come.

But don't you think
you'd better go now?

May I come back again?

Perhaps when I'm very old
you can come back

and tell me if the world has changed.

May I kiss you good-bye, Dick?

You're not crying?
I can't have that.

No, not a bit.

Good-bye.

Good-bye, Dick.

Isn't there anything I can do?

Yes, you can give me my pipe.

It's on the mantelpiece

Good-bye, Dick.

Good-bye, Maisie.

Binkie, we should have asked her
for the matches while we were about it.

Are you alone, Dick?

Yes, come in.

I hope you didn't mind
my leaving so suddenly.

I understand now.

Did you enjoy your trip
to the Continent?

I don't know yet.

Thanks, Torp.

Did, uh...
Did it come out all right?

Oh, yes, yes, fine.

Tell me about it.
Where is she now?

She's out taking care
of a few things.

Torp, you mustn't stay here on my account.
I don't need you... now.

- Then it's all settled.
- Yes.

Yes, it's all settled.

- I'm awfully glad, Dick,
- Thanks.

- Every man needs a wife.
- Only after he divorces his Torpenhow.

When are you leaving?

The troop ship is leaving tonight
but I'm staying for the wedding.

Oh, no you're not.
I'm not going to have you kissing the bride.

You can do that
when you come back.

Would you mind, Dick?

Taking the boat tonight
would save me three days to Brindisi.

Just want to get you out of here.

- Want to help me pack?
- No, thanks, I'll stay here with Binkie.

If I get my hands
on some of that field equipment,

I might want to go with you.

You don't talk much
like a newly-engaged man.

Oh, I have the lot of life to forget.

By the way, Torp.

She liked the picture.

You've got a good girl, Dick.

Look at the old war horse.
See him prance.

He's smelling the powder smoke already.

Gorgeous. What would I give
to see the pretty soldiers.

Come on, come on, you fellows.
The boat is sailing.

- Good-bye, old man.
- Gardner, good-bye, good luck.

Dickie, I'm going to miss you
out there.

Don't let the campaign
thin you down, fat man.

You keep on worshipping your god.

I'll take good care of Mr. Binkle.

And don't get yourself shot.

I want to hear some of your
thumping lies when you get back.

All right. God love you, Dickie.
Good-bye.

Good-bye, Torp.

Good-bye, Beeton.

Deliver him in good shape to his bride
or I'll kill you when I come back.

I'll do me best, sir.

Come on, Torp!

# He must be a man of decent height, #

# He must be a man of weight, #

# He must come home on a Saturday night #

# In a thoroughly sober state. #

# He must know how to love me, #

# And he must know how to kiss #

# And if he's enough to keep us both #

# Ra-ta-ta-ta, Ra-ta-ta #

# I can't refuse him bliss. #

# Should auld acquaintance be forgot #

# and never brought to mind... #

Come on... let's get on.

- The boat ain't left yet.
- I know it!

Home, cabbie.

# And days of auld lang syne. #

- I often think about you, Mr. Heldar.
- That's pretty flattering.

Begging your pardon, sir,
but ain't anything going to happen?

It ain't my regular business,
but before Mr. Torpenhow went away,

he gave me to understand, sir,

that you might be moving
to a house of your own, so to speak.

The sort of house with rooms
upstairs and downstairs, sir,

where you'd get better attention.

You're probably thinking of a lunatic asylum.
No, I'm not ready for that yet.

No, it was hardly a lunatic asylum
that was on my mind, sir.

It was a matter of wedding bells-like.

I'm sorry, Beeton, no wedding bells-like.

Now, my idea of an outing,
Mr. Heldar,

is a picnic on the grass in the park.

Unless I'm mistaken, walking towards us...

is the young woman who used to come up
to your rooms to be drawed.

What, Bessie?
Stop her. I'd like to speak to her.

Wasn't it you Mr. Herald's model?

Why er... why, yes.

- He wants to see you.
- What for?

I don't know.
He's most particular blind.

- Drunk?
- No. Hospital blind.

He can't see.

Oh, all right, I'll speak to him.

- Hello, Mr. Heldar.
- Hello, Bessie.

I... I hope you're well.

I'm very well, thank you.
And I'm glad to see you again.

What are you doing now?

- Nothing much.
- I'm not doing much either.

Won't you come
and see me some afternoon?

- What for?
- Just to visit.

You aren't angry with me?

Angry with you?
Why should I be?

- All right, I'll come tomorrow.
- Good.

- Good-bye, Mr. Heldar.
- Good-bye.

All right, Beeton, let's go home.

Well, if money can buy her
to look after me, she shall be bought.

Oh, I know, we're falling
pretty low, Mr. Binkle.

It is a poor man to get nothing
out of life

but three meals a day
and a greasy waistcoat.

Come in.

- Here's Bessie Broke, sir.
- Oh, come in, Bessie.

You may go, Beeton.

Well, Bessie, won't you sit down?

I don't suppose I could
without spoiling my clothes.

What a mess this place is in.

The dust is just awful.

Uh... how long
have you been like this?

Oh, ever since the day you left here.

Where's uh...
Where's Mr. Torpenhow now?

Oh, he went away, to the desert.

- Where's that?
- East.

Out of the mouth of the river.

Then west, then south, then east
all along the underside of Europe

then south again
to the ends of the world.

That's an awful long way.

Bessie, I'm very glad
to have found you again.

- Tell me about yourself.
- Never mind about me.

What made you go blind so sudden?

Oh, I was cut across the head
a long time ago.

Mr. Heldar, you're a mess.

You may be blind as a barn door,

but it don't excuse you
looking like a sweep.

Do I look like a sweep then?

Oh, I'm sorry for you.

I'm that sorry for you.

Imagine me kissing you.

I know.

But I'll make it worth your while.

You'd better come
and keep house for me, Bessie.

- Oh well, I couldn't do it here.
- We'll go somewhere else.

Well, I don't know as I care
to earn a living for both of us.

Here.

See what my bank-book says.

Four thousand,
two-hundred and ten pounds...

nine shillings and a penny.
My!

Well, that's enough for us to move on.

We're taking inventory
before we go.

I'm sure that Beeton's
been taking things.

Oh, never mind that.
Let him have them.

All I'd like to take away
is that picture that I used you for.

Oh, I wouldn't worry
about the picture if I was you.

I might have to sell it one day.

May mean matter
of several hundred pounds.

Several hundred pounds?

We'll get rid of everything and make
a fresh start, shall we, Bess?

Well... I'm very sorry but...

you remember I was... I was angry with you
after Mr. Torpenhow went away?

Yes, you were very angry.

But I think you had some right to be.

Well then, I... but...

aren't you sure Mr. Torpenhow
didn't tell you?

Tell me what?

Now, why make such a fuss
when you could be giving me another kiss?

Well I... I was so angry I...

I spoiled the picture
with turpentine and paint.

You aren't angry with me, are you?

What?

Say that again.

I rubbed it out with turps and a knife.

I only thought you'd have
to do it over again.

Isn't there anything left
of the thing?

Nothing that looks like much.

I didn't know you'd take on about it.

You aren't going to hit me,
are you?

Hit you, yes, very lightly.
I don't know, let's think.

That accounts for Maisie's...

She must have thought me mad.

Why did you do it?

Because I was that angry.

I'm not angry now.

I'm awful sorry.

Great heavens, to think that
a little piece of nothing like you

should throw me out of my stride.

I ain't a little piece of nothing!
And you have no right to call me that.

I did it because I hated you.

And I...
I'm only sorry now because...

- Well, because you...
- I know, I know. Don't cry.

Well, I ain't a little piece of nothing.

Be quiet for just a minute.
You didn't know what you were doing.

And you don't know
what you've done now.

Torp would understand.

And I saved him from you.

What presumption, what arrogance,
and just now I was going to...

Oh, how it serves me right.

The Lord is a just
and a terrible God, Bess.

- Did you ever go to Sunday school?
- What are you talking about?

Strength in me,
I pray thee only this once,

and let me die when this dies.

- Now you're making fun of me!
- No, I'm not.

I'm going to give you fifty pounds
for spoiling a good picture.

And that'll keep you
in pretty frocks for a long time.

- Aren't we going away together?
- Not exactly.

But after we finish packing here
you're going to take me to the bank,

to the steamship offices
and see me off at the pier.

- And if I don't?
- If you don't, a man names Beeton...

will get your fifty pounds.

Mr. Heldar, where are you going?

East! Out of the mouth of the river.
Then west, then south, then east again...

all along the underside of Europe,
then south again...

to the end of the world.

Oh, it's good to be alive again!

- Well, it's the same life isn't it?
- The same.

No better, no worse.

Ah, Schiedam. Monsieur Binat and I
used to drink this together.

Yes, that his last drink.

To Monsieur Binat,

who mixed his colors with gin.

I had a talk with George.

He's going to take you
into the desert.

Why do you want to go
where they are fighting?

- My friend is there.
- Your friend.

Your friend is death then.

- Celeste?
- Yes.

This is for good morning,
Monsieur Dicky.

The amount of kissing lately
has been scandalous.

The mail guy will be doing it next.

Except that I'm a discreet age, eh?

Here is George.
He will take you to your... friend.

- How do you do, George?
- How do you do, sir?

Now, how do I look, Celeste?

Everything must be correct.

All correct.

As correct as the first day
I ever saw you.

Good.
Now, Binks...

Good-bye, Binks.

Will you keep him until
a man named Torpenhow calls for him?

- You'll know him by his knobbly knees.
- Yes, Monsieur.

What are you doing in the show?

War Correspondent.
Central Southern Syndicate.

Had a touch of ophthalmia
and can't see very well.

I have a touch of it myself.
It's as bad as being blind.

So I find it.

Stations!

It's a great improvement
on shooting Fuzzy-Wuzzy in the open.

Oh, he's still unimpressed.

We always have at least one demonstration
against the night train

from the happy children of the desert.

There it goes.

- Let them have a hopper a piece for it.
- Yes, sir.

This powder stuff stinks.

It's perfume.

- I found the column.
- What luck!

What stupendous and imperial luck.
And it's just before the battle, mother.

Come on.

Torp!
Torpenhow!

- Torp!
- Here I am, Dicky boy.

Get down.
Get down behind the horse.

Torp, is that the cavalry
getting ready to charge?

- Yes, yes, get down.
- Torp, put me in it!

Put me in it!

Put him in it, Torp.

Nilghai, God has been very good.

He's dead.

Subtitles:
Lu�s Filipe Bernardes