All language subtitles for Kaos.1984f.e

Saro!

It's a male!

...and he's brooding!

It's hot.

You're a male.
What are you doing?

Are you sitting on eggs?

This is a job for...

Don't let him go!

He's biting me!

Emanuele! Liseo!
What are you guys doing?

Look what we've got here,
a male that broods.

Shame on you,
you have no pride!

Shame, shame!

Wait...

If you hit it, it's yours.

Go on!

Missed!

Let me try.

My turn.

What are you doing?

- What are you doing?
- Hey, Salvatore!

Music.

Go.

"I am a native son of Chaos;

...and not just allegorically,
but literally,

...for I was born in the country
near a forest called Càvusu

...a dialectal corruption
of the ancient...

Greek word "Kàos"

First story
THE OTHER SON

Second story
MOON SICKNESS

Third story
THE JAR

Fourth story
REQUIEM

Epilogue
CONVERSING WITH MOTHER

First story

THE OTHER SON

"My dear sons..."

"this is your mother writing to you"

"in your land of gold,
from our land of tears."

"You left exactly 14 years ago"

"...and for 14 years I've been alone..."

"...waiting for you."

Have you got that?

"Tomorrow, another miserable handful
leaves for America."

"Among them I'll choose the brightest,
the kindest"

"and entrust him with this letter..."

"...so it reaches you safely."

"I will choose him for his eyes..."

"...because through the eyes
you see somebody's heart."

"I'm not one to be fooled by words"

"They may have told you
that I've become mad"

"...don't believe them."

"Believe instead, my sons,"

"in the words that this good girl
writes for me."

Hey! Giving me the evil eye?

No, more light to see

my sons in Santa Fe.

I'm going to Boston.

So much the better.
I don't trust you,

with your shrewd eyes.

Listen to everybody,
speak less.

Never spend more than half
of what you make.

Don't lend money.

Drink no more than two glasses
of wine per day.

Be a man...

...but never marry a
foreign woman.

Pray each morning at rise.

Put the dog down,
do you hear?!

Let him be. It's our last day.

In American you say, "Women".

In America, Where I have been,
'donne' are 'women'.

'Bacio' is 'kiss'.

'Amore', 'love'.

That raven is bad luck.

Don't cry. I'll come back soon.
Stop it.

Salvatore, let her cry.
You won't come back.

Mothers, don't believe your children.

Mine left me 14 years ago.

I was forgotten 14 years ago.

I've sent letters and messages.

But never heard a word back from them.

Those leaving, gather 'round.

Doctor! Are you going as well?
- Wish I were.

These are their medical certificates.

Give them to Antonio.

There are ten of you.
Let's see.

Wait!

He is number six.
He's coming as well.

He only has the clothes
he's wearing.

Here is the money.

You're worthy.
Take my letter.

If I were king,
I would destroy all such letters.

Outgoing or incoming.
I would not let them arrive.

It is useless.

You said so!

Whether they arrive or not,
They're a curse!

They never write about
the misery there.

And how they call out like hens...

...for their young ones...

...to get them to join them.

As for you,
you must never write to me!

Forget us, all of you.

We shall work our land
by ourselves.

forget your women...

they'll go to ruin.

Make way, Mosè.

With that wheel
you not going far.

Hurry. Repairs will take
three hours at least.

Three hours!
We've still got three hours together!

I will write it again.

Is it illegible?

There is nothing written.
Just scribbles.

Nothing?

What do you mean nothing?

I spoke it,
word for word...

... and she was writing it down.

What does it say?

There is nothing in the letter!
Nothing!

What do you mean nothing?

Just scribbles.

You really are dumb, doctor.

You cannot read.

Mariagrazia wrote
in "Americanese".

I am so glad.

My sons didn't forget me.

My sons, Doctor, haven't forgotten.

Now I know
why they never answered.

They have never received anything.

Bull's eye!

She wrote my letters.

But I forgive her.

Because now I am happy.

And because you'll help me
write a real letter.

I got it.

- And the dance?
- I showed it to you yesterday.

Like that...

I wrote over 50 letters for her,

real ones for the most part...

...to the right address in Santa Fe.

Those two bastard sons.

Good looking boys, I remember.

They were good-for-nothings
and now they've disappeared.

If she were my mother...

...I'd drown you in your own water.

Why shatter her dreams?

Why give her false hopes
when they could never come true?

She could live like a queen...

...waited upon hand and foot.

At her son's home,
if she wanted.

But she doesn't.

She has another son?

That one.

There's no pasture here for
his cows...

but he comes anyway...

because his mother comes here
when the immigrants leave.

He always follows her.

Why didn't you ever tell me that
you have another son?

Drink something, you need it.

Look, I go into a cold sweat
when you name him.

Why?

O, he is a good son,
respectable and honest.

Then why not live with him?

I gave birth to him,
but he's not my son.

Then you are mad!

Certain things are beyond
your understanding.

You are still a child.

Finish it up.

What? A child?

If you don't explain,
I won't write the letter.

Tie my handkerchief to that reed.

So we can wave goodbye for longer.

You weren't even
in the Lord's mind

...when I began seeing dark days.

Dark things.

Have you ever heard of a
certain Cunebardo?

Cunebardo?

Cunebardo, who preached liberty.

You mean, Garibaldi.
- Exactly, yes!

He came and rebelled
against unjust laws

...in towns and cities.

Cunebardo ordered
that all prisons be opened

The good were freed,
but so were the wicked.

Bloodthirsty animals,

maddened by years in chains.

He was ferocious:
Comizzi

He'd kill you...for nothing.

And there was another:
his helper Rocco Trupìa.

Comizzi and Trupìa
took to the countryside.

Farmers who refused
to follow were killed.

They dragged him away too
...my husband

I already had the two boys,
who are now in America.

I saw him return two
days later.

He was unrecognizable.
Speechless,

...for all the evil
his eyes had seen.

- Nino, are you injured?
- No

Did you escape?
They will kill you!

I can walk on my own.

He hid his hands, poor thing

...because of the horrors
they made him commit.

After three days of hiding,
he ventured out.

We were poor.
We had to work.

He went to the fields,

...but never came back.

After three days
I went looking for him.

Close the door!

Lock yourselves in!

My point.

Shut up! Shut up!

Stop it! Stop it!

Rocco Trupìa dragged me
into the mountains.

For three months
I was bound and gagged

...because if he came near me,
I screamed and bit him.

Finally, I was freed.

And nine months later
I had a son.

But is he, your son, at fault?

Not at all.

But he's his father's image.

I start shaking when I see him.
What can I do?

They left without my letter.

Another group leaves
in a week.

We will give the letter to them.

You still want to write?

"My dearest sons."

"Your mother writes to you
from this land of tears"

"to your beautiful land of gold".

"You left 14 years ago today"

"and it's 14 years
that your mother awaits you".

"Another miserable group
shall leave for America..."

"Among them I'll choose
the brightest, the kindest..."

"and entrust him with this letter
that it may reach you safely".

Second story

MOON SICKNESS

Batà married Sidora
just twenty days ago.

He led her to his property,

a house with a pigsty.

Isolated - an hour's walk
from the village.

The twentieth day is coming to an end.

But Batà hesitates this afternoon...

...before he goes inside.

Batà, did you hear that?

Batà, didn't you hear that?

Batà, what's the matter?

Don't be frightened.
Don't come closer.

Don't come closer.

Batá, what's the matter with you?

Go back inside.

Close the doors and windows.

Go on.

Don't be afraid
if I pound on the door

...if I scratch and scream.

Don't open...
lock the door.

Don't let me in.

What's wrong?

I'm sick.

Very sick.

But tell me. Go on.

Don't...
I'm scared too, you know?

Help... help.

Sick how?

What kind of sickness?

The moon!

You had me marry him!

You forced me into it.

The word is out, Tita.

Ours is the fault,
let ours be the penalty...

I... I am guilty.

Because I hid my sickness.

No one would have wanted me

...had I confessed it
before marrying.

I'm here to tell you
how my misfortune began.

My mother, when young,
would harvest wheat.

But one day she was forced
to work

late into the night.

She left me alone...

among the wheat
stalks, untroubled...

Exposed to the moon.

And I played
with the pretty moon,

a moon that bewitched me.

Every full moon,
the sickness returns.

It only afflicts me.

It lasts
but one night and goes away.

By morning, I've forgotten
everything.

I thought my wife had
greater courage...

But she doesn't.

We could do the following:

Every full moon her mother
comes to keep her company...

while I'm locked out.

Enough. That's enough.

Stop that. Stop it!

For each moon, I'll be there.

He'll terrify you too.

I won't come alone,
but with Saro.

Saro? Did he say that?

We'll tell him tomorrow.

We've no other man.

As a husband, I couldn't consent,

But as cousin and protector...

...that scatterbrain will do his duty.

You think that Saro and me...

You talk too much.

I'll be up ahead.

Your mother's right. I best be
there when your husband's sick.

You call him a husband?

Everybody has his shortcomings.

Batà has his sickness...
And I

...mine is much worse.

I wasn't sane enough
to be your husband.

You cut yourself.

The barber.

It tastes sweet.

I can't wait a month
until full moon comes.

Don't you worry.

There's time.

Trouble starts when
the moon loses its edges.

It's the first time
we have guests.

It should be something special.
Come.

I want them to be treated
as real guests

Get a cloth from your dowry.

I love you, Batà.

Forgive me.

Me forgive you?

They're here.

Shall we eat outside?

Oh Mother of God...

I'll never ask anything more.
Never, never, never.

but let me know love
just this once

Tonight...

Not from there.

The moon is fickle.

It doesn't come up
where you'd expect.

But we know each other well.

Watch there behind the mountain.

We've still time
for a little "grappa"

...distilled by me.

It's illegal.

That's why I hide it
with a rope attached.

If I want to take a nip in the dark...

...I can find it by groping.

But I can spot it by moonlight.

With a full moon?

I'm afraid.

You've seen it Sidora,

and Saro is a man.

But I am old and frightened.

Hide me in the stable.

I'll lock myself well.

and he can be the wolf outside.

I'll go fetch the hog.

Losing him is worse
than moon sickness.

Water, water.

My throat is dry.

Where are you going?

It's soothing, huh, Tita?

We're lucky tonight.

The moon can't spot us.

Is that him?

Quiet.

Don't worry.

I can't.

You're afraid?

You are afraid.

He's suffering.

Where are you going?

He needs help.

He'll stop. He'll stop now.

Don't listen to it.
Don't listen!

Get away! get away!

Come with me.

Third story

THE JAR

It was a prime year for olives,

despite the oppressive
fog at budding time.

Somebody far-sighted...

...ordered an enormous jar
for his harvest.

A great jar, wide as an abbess.

The old, enameled ones
wouldn't work.

Whose is this?

Don Lollo's.

If this is the place...
it's for him.

Don't get down,
you've still some to go.

Which way?

Get up on your cart
and I'll show you.

Go on.

Do you see that hill over there?
It belongs to Don Lollo.

Behind it is the farmhouse.

It belongs to Don Lollo.

Then go down to the river.

That's his too.

Cross over the riverbed
and climb the next hill.

Go down again and
Don Lollo will be waiting.

What a year!

Clean it.

They're watching.

...watching you!

You're their Charlemagne.

- And yet it saddens me, Sara.
- Why, what's the matter?

- God is unjust.
- Don't be blasphemous!

Take that boy.

He's penniless,
yet he'll live another 60 years.

I have all this -
but for how many years?

Fifteen, twenty years?

Don't you like working for me?

I do, I do.

Well then sing!

There it is!

There it is!

It's here, it's here!

It's here, it's here!

No, no, a little bit farther.

Here, here.

You hear?
Like the Easter bell.

Who was it?

Who did this?

Don Lollo, for Heaven's sake!

Put me down.

My poor jar.
What have they done to you?!

Envy, it was envy.
And cruelty.

Where will I find another one
like that? Where?

It's my own fault.

I never should have left you alone.

Now you are gone forever.

What now?

No, don't. It can be repaired.

It looks like a simple crack.

Maybe it was a defect.

No, it sounded like a bell.

...that will never ring again.

Yes it will.

It'll take a miracle.

- There is a man who can fix it.
- Who?

The best potter in all Sicily.

With magic hands?

Not with his hands,
but a miraculous glue.

Once it dries, you can hammer it.

- What kind of glue is that?
- He knows its secret.

Where would he be?

Close by. Next door.

We have sent for him.
Turn and look.

It's uncle Dima.

They say that you've...

You've a miraculous glue?
Let's see it.

He's very sensitive,

you mustn't be aggressive.

How about it,
can it be repaired?

Can it be fixed?

The glue!

The court has delivered its verdict.

Mind you, miraculous glue or not

...I'm skeptical.

I want it stitched.

Who do you think you are?
Charlemagne?

We must put oil in that jar,
and I want it stitched.

Glued and stitched.
That's an order!

No, not on my hump.
Please.

I beg you.

Don't stand there looking.
Get to work!

If you want stitching,
I need help.

For stitching, I'll need a helper.

My hat!

Did you really get the formula for
that glue from a dream?

In a dream, yes.

And what did you see?

My father.

- Did he tell you how to make it?
- You dolt.

How come?

You know who my father was?

The devil who devours you.

- The devil's son?
- Yes.

And here, in this bag...

there's a tar that'll stick together
those who deface jars with ugly stitching.

Black tar?

White.

My father made it white.

They'll know its strength
once they're boiling in it!

Below, the tar is black.

Understand?

If I smear it on your hand...

...and press firmly...

...you will never get it off.

Get to work.

Turn away.

Turn.

Easy.

Pull! Pull!

Knock! Knock on it!

And now, the stitches!

Help me out.

Help me out.

Damn, help me out.

You're sewed in.

Beautiful, as good as new.

But unfortunately you did not
consider your hump.

And now you want out
by breaking my jar.

But who'll pay me
if it's cracked again?

You want me stuck in here?

No, but one must consider
what one must do.

What must one... do?

Help! Help!

You won't break it?
Well then I will.

I'll let it tumble
so it breaks against that wall.

- Wait. Reason it out.
- Reason!

I'll get you out.

Nice and easy...
Like this.

Worse! Worse!

My shoulder is in the way.

Yeah, an oversized shoulder.

It's not my hump that's wide...

but the neck of your jar
that's tight.

Down! Down!

You bite? Very well...

I'll fix you!

Turn! Towards me!

No, don't...

I'm ticklish there.

I said no!

Then come in with me!

The buggy!

Did you hear me?

It would be in your best
interest to consult my lawyer.

But first my obligations.
I'll pay you for your work.

You shall all witness this.

Five liras.

You're cruel, Don Lollo.

I was just operated on
for appendicitis.

Laughing makes
the stitching pop.

What is there to laugh about?

You think it's funny,
because it's my jar.

And rather than lose it,
you would keep him inside it?

Oh, please, please...

You know what you're proposing?
Kidnapping.

No one kidnapped him.
He kidnapped himself.

In fact...
it's unlawful possession.

Send him an eviction notice.

The stitches! They're popping!

Come back another time.
I did warn you.

Please.

Let him stay.
I can still give counsel.

Don Lollo, as for you,

free the "prisoner" immediately.

And as for the potter,
he'll answer for the damages

his heedlessness has caused.

He must pay compensation for the jar.

I must choose my words carefully now.

Not for a new jug.
It was already broken.

But now it's better than before.
He says so himself.

Then let him estimate the value.
With witnesses.

Me? Pay you? Ridiculous.

If I only had used my own glue...

...I wouldn't rot away in here.

The lawyer hadn't foreseen this.

You hate me, then!

But my hate is greater.

Beyond your imagination,
for you haven't any

Put him in the stable.

And take down that canopy.
Immediately!

You are going to prison.

You can't reside in my jar.

I'll sue you for
illegal entry and possession.

You want to stay there?
Go ahead, but you'll starve to death.

With this, I'll eat
and so shall you.

Go and buy what you need.

Come, there is more light here.
The moon! The moon!

Don't leave me here.
I want to see the moon too.

Me too.

No, don't lift it.

Roll it, slowly.
Yes, like that.

Slide it on its belly.

On its belly.

I can see it! Go back!

It is beautiful.

It seems like a century ago
since I last saw it.

Look.

Break your neck, old devil.

He is dead!

You broke it.
I've won!

My jar...

My poor jar.

Fourth story

REQUIEM

My son.

If his mother is not here

...it's not that she refused him.

It was our first.

But the delivery was difficult.

I can't bury him before tomorrow.

I should have known earlier.

I walked day and night to get here.

Tomorrow I have to be back
with my herd.

I can carry him.

Tonight he can stay in the crypt.

Which is the most beautiful spot?

There, in the light.

Or in the middle.

Forgive me, but I'd rather lay him...

...where the others
from our village are buried.

Here, alone, he might be afraid.

How much is it?

Three tari.

Six months later the villagers
formed a committee...

to obtain their own cemetery.

No one moves
until the Prefect receives us.

I'm their pastor and I say

God sent us on this earth...

to live and to die.

- A cemetery! A cemetery!
- Quiet!

Though man made laws deny us...

a piece of land...

for one to say:
"That's mine"

...they cannot deny us a burial place.

Where are you?
Stand up.

There.

That man's father is about to die.

A father to us all.

The founder of our village...

who asks to rest...

in the grave he dug for himself.

Sixty years ago this man,
now dying...

...reached the heights of Màrgari

and built the first house
from clay and straw.

Now we've many houses,
more than 100 inhabitants

But the Baron...

Don't go!
Don't go away. Baron, sir!

But the barbarous Baron of Màrgari
refused to let us

bury our dead

...to have them close,
and tend them.

We withstood the suffering...

in silence.

If you light your pipe,
it's a bad sign.

You're worried, aren't you, papa?

Am I a barbarian,

...like the priest down there says?

Yes.

He is the barbarian, Francesca,
that old one.

He's dying,
I shouldn't speak unkindly.

He built on our lands
without purchase or rent

...and without asking permission.

It's as if we didn't own
what is ours.

That was ten years ago.
Do you remember?

I'm carrying a knapsack.

Mama, Ermanno, Valentina...

And that's him, the old man.

Yes, that's him.
He brought us cheese.

A curious man.

Authoritative, fascinating.

It was a nice outing.

Yes, very.

Let him have his cemetery,
and keep the peace.

I would like to...

...but I can't.

Try to understand, Francesca...

The usurpation spreads
and takes root with their dead.

I believe I am just.

They've probably gone.

If the Carabinieri don't intervene

...the old man will bury himself alive

...when he hears of my refsal.

You can stay on my land,
but alive!

Occupying it with your dead, no!

Never!

Sorry, it was meant for him.

There's no more.

Get him down! Come down!

Your pistol.

Bury it!

No, we must reach Màrgari
by nightfall.

We will never make it, Captain.

You mustn't leave animals unburied.

Sergeant!

Where are you?

You think he's still alive?

- I hope not.
- Why?

He will think he's buried
on his own land.

Quiet, the dead will hear us.

I'm afraid.
I can't sleep here.

Listen to him gallop.

Listen!

But can you do this?

The wind

...and the rain.

Are you asleep?

- Was that you?
- No.

But I heard...

Maybe you imagined it.

Come along, move!

Call the Captain, quick!

Find anybody?

Look in the back.

There is nobody there either.

Captain...

There is our Father.

He asked to be carried

to the field that was
to be our cemetery

...by his chosen plot.

He wants to die in the open,

among his people

...and be buried under his turf.

The Carabinieri!

Lower me into the grave.

Help me!

Push me in. Push!

Sit him down.

You are traitors.

Have them take you to your bed.

Take him home!

You'll be well there.

Even you betrayed me, my son.

Don't stand there, get to work!

You too. Remove that plow!

Knock the wall down!

Follow the procession

...at a respectful distance.

Macaluso! - the camera
the Baron gave us.

Let's hope it works.

What is it?

He's dead.

For such functions

I need
written authorization.

Go on men, go on.

The Father says

now we can wait together.

Epilogue

CONVERSING WITH MOTHER

I slept continuously the two days
it took to reach Sicily

where I hadn't returned
since my mother's death.

Someone thought to notify me.

Who, exactly,
I never understood,

but I was glad
to be away from Rome

where the torments of life
had become unbearable

...my work, my children
and my years...

However, I'll not explain
what can't be explained.

Having barely awakened

I wondered if I weren't still asleep.

Signore, your carriage.

- I saw the American first.
- What American?

Luigi!

Luigi.

I'll take you home.

Get in.

Do you remember me?

Why go through town?

Don't worry,
I know where to go.

I know your work.

We all know.

You honor our Sicily.

Yes, yes.

But let's go now.

How many ballerinas have
you had your hands on, Luigi?

- You didn't recognise me.
- You're joking.

What's my name then?

Forgive me...

You are Saro.

Saro!

The moment I entered the house
I felt another presence.

There was always something lurking
in the shadows.

The shadows spied on me
with such intensity...

that I was forced to turn.

You called, didn't you, Mother.

Yes, I did, Luigi.

Your music, isn't it?

I remember you singing it.

I must say what I couldn't say

before shedding this life,
because you were so far away.

To be strong, Mother?
Today and for always.

You're laughing at me, huh?

No, I need to hear it.
That's why I've come.

Calm yourself.

Being strong doesn't mean
living always like this

...but also like this.

My God. Mother, your fingers...

Yes, Luigi.
Our bodies deteriorate.

That's why death came.
It was forced to.

Don't cry, Luigi.

If you love me...

remember me like this,
as I am now:

Alive.

Yes... alive.

But that's not why I'm crying.

Of course I think of you...

and see you as you are now...

imagining you always
as I'm imagining you now.

Alive... in your armchair.

But I cry for something different:

because
you cannot think of me.

When you were seated
there I'd say:

"If she thinks of me from afar,
then I'm alive for her".

And I was comforted.

Now that you're dead
and cannot think of me,

I can't be alive for you

...ever again.

I have trouble now
following your thoughts.

It's all so difficult.

Yet I've still something
inside to tell you

"You must"

"also see things through
the eyes of the departed".

You'll suffer, yes

but it'll serve to make them
more sacred and beautiful.

Perhaps I had you come
to tell you that.

I know what your eyes see, Mother.

A lateen sail.

You told us about that voyage
so many times.

And I tried writing it down
so many times.

But always without success.

Something eludes me.

Tell it to me again.

When I was 13, I went,
as you know...

together with my mother,
brothers and sisters

one, a younger sister,
and a younger brother too...

we set off in
a tartan fishing boat.

Heading for... "the unknown"...
MALTA!

My father, your grandfather...

...pursued by the Bourbons
after the revolution of '48

...stayed there in exile.

And we were to join him.

- What is it?
- I was forgetting the cat.

Quiet or they'll hear us.

Exile... meant tears
for my mother... dismay.

Depriving the children
of their house... their games.

That was what exile meant.

But it was also a voyage,

with the tartan's red sails...
just sky and water

and that infantile pride
of misfortune

as when a child dressed in black says:
"I'm in mourning, you know".

As if it was a privilege.

Exile was also the eagerness
for new things

...things we were waiting
to see

...with our eyes fixed.

It lasted three days.

What you may not remember
of the story

is that we sighted an island

...and even went ashore.

A pumice stone island.

It's thanks to that trip
I got to see it.

The wind's dying, Signora.

We're better off stopping.
Over there, by the pumice island.

Sit here, Mama.

Lay your head down here.

Signora, be careful,
the sun's strong.

Let the little ones
cool down in the water.

Can they bathe?

What about sharks?

They're towards the East now.
Don't worry.

Girls! The sailors!

Oh, Mama!

Well, be quick about it.

Rub pumice on your skin,
then go in the water.

You'd like to go too?

Boys, give us a hand.
You too.

Row! Row that oar!

Row while you're still young!

Row the oar. Row!

Row!...

SUBTITLES
STUDIO ORION