All language subtitles for Christ.Stopped.At.Eboli.1979.ITALIAN.1080p.BluRay.x265-VXT 3_English

CHRIST STOPPED AT EBOLI

PART ONE

Many years have gone by.

Years of war...

and what we call history.

Tossed about by fate,

I could not keep the promise I made,

when I said goodbye

to my peasants,

that I would return.

And I do not know if

or when I can keep it.

But closed in a room,
in a closed world,

I indulge in remembering
that other world.

Imprisoned in its pain and customs,

forgotten by history, by the State,

eternally patient.

That land of mine,

without comfort or kindness,

where the peasant lives
in misery and isolation,

in his motionless civilization,

on arid soil,

in the presence of death.

My name is Barone.
May he who finds me care for me.

Whose dog is this?

May I keep the dog?

Fine with me,
but we'll have to ask the mayor.

- It's my dog.
- Then shut him up!

We've got a job to do!

Put a muzzle on that dog!

That dog needs a muzzle,
to be on a leash.

I work so hard to feed my chickens!

You mind? Tie him up right now!

I've got him, I've got him.

- Comfortable?
- Yes, thanks.

Christ stopped at Eboli.

Where the road and the train
abandon the coast and the sea,

and venture into
the wastelands of Lucania.

Christ never came here.

Nor did time,
the individual soul, or hope,

nor did cause and effect,

reason or history.

No one has set foot on this land,

except as a conqueror, an enemy,

or an uncomprehending visitor.

Today the seasons rush past
over the toil of peasants,

as they did
3, 000 years before Christ.

In this dark land,

without sin or redemption,

where evil is not moral,

but an earthly sorrow,

in all things for eternity,

Christ never descended.

Christ stopped at Eboli.

I'm the only one with a car here.

I bought it with the dollars
I made in America...

I thought it'd be good business.
Here they need a car.

As, you know, a "public service."

But the best I can do
is two trips a week,

to take the mayor
to the prefecture in Matera.

Seen the local mail carrier?

A donkey!

So much for good business!

See those poles?

They'd stick
the heads of brigands on them,

and leave 'em there
a long, long time.

Here comes the town clerk.

Don Peppi'...

The Brigadiere wants
to tell you something.

Who gets the consignment papers?

The Town Hall will stamp them.

I'm the town clerk.

Carlo Levi.

Well...

Is there a hotel, an inn?

No, but I can suggest very
comfortable lodgings with a relative.

She cooks, too.

If that's what's available.

- Which way?
- That way.

The dog?

There he is.

He followed me.

Come.

I'd like to keep him,
but I don't know if it's possible.

I think so,

but we have to ask the mayor.

He's teaching
at the elementary school now.

Maybe tonight.

Wait for me here.
I'll come and get you.

Signor Levi, come.

- Come in, come in.
- Thanks.

May I?

I know everything.
Come, I'll show you your room.

I'm going.
See you at the Town Hall.

Thank you. Very kind.

Choose the bed you like.

Thank you, signora.

Signora, which way to the piazza?

Go straight, then turn right.

What are those ribbons over the doors?

It's our custom.
When someone dies,

we hang the ribbons
from the funeral wreaths

and leave them above the door
till they fall off.

Dr. Levi...

I'm Luigi Magalone, the mayor.

Carlo Levi.

Welcome.

Let me tell you right away
that in addition to you,

we've ten other political prisoners.
But you're not allowed to see each other.

Anyway, they're riffraff.
Factory workers, small time.

Not your class.
You're obviously a gentleman.

How did you get yourself sent here?
In such a great year for our country!

Anyway, you'll like it here.
The climate's good, the town is healthy.

A little malaria.
Not too much.

But one thing...

You have to be careful.
There are a lot of bad people.

Avoid getting too close to anyone.
It'll be better for everybody.

You must respect the curfew.

Orders are orders.

Everyone here goes to bed
with the chickens anyway.

And every day you've got to sign
the prisoner register.

Mere formality.

Orders from our superiors in Matera.

That's Don Trajella, the priest.

Watch out. He's always drunk.

A disgrace to our town.

Desecrating the house of God.

We can't get rid of him.

But maybe we can soon.

He's been here for years
as punishment.

He taught in the seminary
at Mondragone, or Naples.

We're not sure.

Seems he took some liberties
with his pupils.

You know what I mean.

See those two older gentlemen?

The one with the cap
is the richest man in town.

Last year his only son died.

So his two daughters can't leave
the house, not even for Mass.

That's the custom here
among gentlemen.

If the father dies,
three years of seclusion.

One year for a brother.

Luigi!

Let me introduce my uncle,
one of Gagliano's two local doctors.

Dr. Milillo...

Dr. Levi.

Pleased to meet you.

You're young...

and good looking.

- Wish I were.
- But you are.

In this town, you've got to watch out
for the women.

Never accept anything from them.

No wine and no coffee.

Nothing to drink or eat.

They'll put a love potion in it.

Do you want to know
what they make them out of?

Menstrual blood.

I heard you're a doctor, too.

Gentlemen, I've got a medical degree,
but never practised.

So I'm not a doctor.

Well, you should know that the peasants
don't listen to us.

They never call us when they're sick
and they never want to pay.

But they'll regret it.

One of them
who didn't call us died today.

- Served him right.
- Stubborn as mules.

We give them quinine,
and they don't take it.

So of course malaria kills them.

Dr. Levi, I'll leave you
with your colleagues.

Listen, I wanted to ask
if I can keep a dog.

- There he is.
- A dog?

Sure, why not?

The Brigadiere from Apulia.

The midwife's lover.

I heard he was the lover
of the pretty Sicilian mafiosa.

The one who's always singing.

- Oh really?
- Yes.

He's been here three years.

They say he's already stashed away
40,000 lire...

Using his authority
over the peasants,

10 lire at a time.

The mail! Here's the mail!

Castiglio, Ippolito.

This one's from New York!

Guerrino, Giuseppe.

It's ready.

That was my husband.

He died a nasty death three years ago.

They put the evil eye on him.

Who did? Why?

A peasant witch!

My husband went with another.

Another woman.
They had a child.

My husband wanted to leave her!

But she gave him a magic potion
that turned him black all over...

until he died.

A peasant witch?

That nasty bitch whore slut,
she ruined my family!

Now I'm supporting my 10-year-old son
at the seminary in Potenza.

And I'm stuck with this weight
on my shoulders.

Who is it?

Don Peppi'!

So cold and wet, it'll kill you.

My bones are shivering.

Madonna del Carmine!

Sit by the fire.

May I?

What are you eating?

Soup.

Good, I'll have some, too.
Haven't eaten since last night.

My stomach's empty.

Excuse me...

What do those two letters
on your cap mean, "UE"?

"Ufficiale Esattoriale,"
tax collector.

I curse the man
who sewed those letters on.

Nobody here wants to pay taxes.

Nobody.

With the excuse that they're poor,
all of them.

But they all have a slaughtered pig
hanging from the rafters.

Sausage, soppressata,
pancetta, you name it.

While I have to settle for
some bread and cheese.

A little wine?

Signora, do you have another glass?

You know, the taxes are a little high.

They are what they are.

We're not the ones who get the money.

We only make them pay.

What do they want from us?

So you go and take
whatever there is.

Whatever they have, I take.

They have no furniture.

They have a bed,

but the law says
you can't take their beds.

So what do they give you?

Whatever they have.

If they have a goat...

I take it.

A rabbit, I take it.

If someone's got a whole cheese,
I take that, too.

Sometimes even a bottle of olive oil!

An awful job.

Awful.

And they hate me.

Everybody hates me.

The other day at Miglionico...

carrying a club this big...

they ran after me
to split my head open.

At Ferrandina,

a man even dared
to come after me with a rifle!

He wanted to shoot me.

An awful job.

Unfortunately...

We have to make a living.

I'm curious,
what do you have in that case?

My salvation.

It gets rid of all my anger
toward these people.

When I get away from them...

Let me show you.

See how beautiful?

It gets rid of all the venom
these people put in me.

This is a clarinet.

I play in the Stigliano band.

Your towel.

Peppino is a good Christian
and a clean young man.

Take the bed near the window.
You'll be more comfortable.

Here's the doctor!

Excuse me... Wait a minute.

Excuse me, signora.
What's going on?

- They heard you're a good doctor.
- No, who said I'm a doctor?

Listen to me, I never practised.
I've no experience.

I can't give you good advice.

Listen, I can give you some medicine
that I brought here for myself.

Let's see.

This child can't breathe
because his tonsils are swollen.

You must get him to Matera
and have them taken out.

Listen...

I'll give you some medicine
that I brought here for myself.

Alright?

Excuse me.

Believe me, I never practised!

I've never been a doctor!

- Who's that?
- The foreign doctor.

Ugly idiot!

This is nuts!

Where've you been?

Let's go! Let's go!

My fellow citizens,
I'm thrilled to be among you.

Our Duce has allowed me
to undertake this historic journey

over mountains, forests and seas,

to bring the Patria's greetings
to my brothers across the ocean.

My fellow Italians,
keep up the good progress

and respect the Country that hosts you.

- I was listening to your record.
- It's De Pinedo's arrival in New York.

Interested?

- I don't want to interrupt you.
- Glad to have a guest.

It was 1925,
the "Flight over Three Continents."

This record...

Did you buy it here?

No, I brought it from America.

My records are all that's left
of my years in America.

Homesickness always tricks you.
And I was tricked twice.

Once because I had to come back,
and twice when I married a Gagliano girl.

And Sicily's now far, far away.

- You're Sicilian.
- Yes, Sicilian.

Postcards from my friends in America.

The great President Roosevelt!

So you were there
when De Pinedo landed.

Sure! All the Italians
in America were there!

When we first saw the plane,
it was a dot, a fly in the sky.

We all started shouting and jumping!

You couldn't even hear
the Royal March!

When I got home,
my jacket sleeves were gone.

Ripped off by the crowd!

Incredible.

My name's Levi,
a political prisoner.

Honored.
I know who you are.

I'm La Sala.

In a town like this,
everyone knows everything.

...to bring the Patria's greetings
to my brothers across the ocean.

My fellow Italians,
keep up the good progress.

Respect the Country that hosts you
and do not forget your faraway Patria.

Take as your motto:
"Work and Patria."

With great satisfaction,
I tell you that Italy grows greater.

And you must be proud to say
that you are Italian.

Italy has sacrificed its sons
for its greatness.

And you, out of respect for our martyrs,
must know that you are Italians.

You must be Italian
in name and in fact.

Remember these three words...

Civilization, honesty and work!

In order to succeed, take example
from our Duce, Benito Mussolini!

Give me a hand here.

Lift.

This way you don't ruin the goat.

Now we have to slaughter them all.

Why?

The government put a tax on them.

They say goats are no good.
They're bad for the plants, for farming.

This law may be good for the North,
but not down here.

Goats are our only valuables,
the only way we survive.

Without them we'd starve.
Now we have to kill them.

They're political prisoners like you.

The blond is a communist
from Ancona, a sailor.

Caught coming back from Odessa
with a poster of the hammer and sickle.

Other's a student from Pisa.

A communist, too.

The prisoners used to be allowed
to fraternize.

But now the mayor
has prohibited all contact.

They take turns cooking to save money.

Right, because eating
spaghetti together...

is such a threat to the State.

The men marry the women
and then leave them here.

They stay in America
and the children are a mix...

Are you crazy? Scram!

Scram!

Heathens!

This town doesn't even have
the grace of God.

They only come to church to play.

Maybe it's for the best.
Otherwise, nobody would come.

I say Mass to empty pews.

They're not even baptized.

A town filled with animals,
not Christians.

Look at these paths.

Only mules can walk on them.

Have you looked around?

Look at this disaster.

When it rains,

the earth gives way

because there are no trees or rocks
to hold it in place.

So the clay dissolves,

and it runs like a river,

carrying everything away,

and the houses collapse.

Look at this.

It was the main piazza.

And up there,
that was my cathedral.

Not that little white church
down in the other piazza.

And the people here
are worse than the land.

Profanum vulgus!

Profanum vulgus!

- May I have some wine?
- Of course.

Let me wash my hands
and I'll get you some nice hot soup.

Don't be offended, signora,
but I'm not hungry tonight.

Why not?
Don't you feel well?

Guess I'm a bit fatigued.

I'll get him out of the way
so he won't disturb you.

What are we doing here?

Me...

I'm here because they sent me here.

But you...

You're here, because...

You chose to come...

My dear Barone...

I came here,
because they sent me.

But you...

You wanted to come.

And so...

And so, my dear Barone...

END OF PART ONE

PART TWO

Doctor...

My wife is sick.
Can you see her?

Listen...

Doctor.

It's my wife.

I'm not a doctor, I've never...

Alright, come in.

Excuse me, signora.

Your arm, so I can check your pulse.

Did the fever make you shiver?

Vomit?

It's erysipelas.

It's not dangerous.

But for the medicine she needs...

you'll need a prescription from
the local doctor. I'm not authorized.

May I wash my hands?

Get a clean towel
for the doctor.

Listen...

Take that coin off her forehead.

- It doesn't help.
- Alright.

But it does help...

Helps the pain.

No, you need medicine
for the pain.

Medicine.

No, I need the coin.

- Get the prescription.
- Thank you, doctor.

Tell me clearly how far I can go.

As far as the cemetery.

No farther.

We're already at the cemetery.

Let's turn back.

Come in, come in, Baron.

- My apologies, Don Carlo.
- None needed.

Change the pillowcase as usual.

Sorry to disturb you.

May I introduce myself?

Rotunno.

Baron Nicola Rotunno.

From Avellino.

I own land here in Gagliano.

I come here from time to time
to collect the rent.

You're also here on business?

No, I'm a political prisoner.

Where are you from?

Turin.

A precautionary confinement, I presume.

Maybe I can put in a good word.

I'm friends with the best friend
of the lady friend of Senator Bocchini,

Chief of Police.

We could try to have you
sent back to Turin.

How do you like it here?

Fine.

But there are boundaries
I'm not allowed to pass.

But fine.

How far would you like to go?

Since you so kindly offered
to get me returned to Turin...

Please understand...

It seems absurd to worry about
a few feet, more or less.

True.

Our goal is Turin.

May I turn off the light?

The lady I know,

the friend of Bocchini's lover,

is, like me, devoted,

deeply devoted
to the Madonna of Montevergine.

We often meet in that sanctuary.

And in others.

On my motorcycle,

at least once a year,

I visit the sanctuaries

of St. Rita of Cascia,

the Madonna of Loreto,
and of Camaldoli.

Have you ever visited these holy places?

Perhaps you're not a believer.

I have my doubts.

Of course.

You deal with politics.

You love money.

I'm a soldier of Christ.

You see.

Faith is very important.

An immense gift.

I don't know if you've ever heard

of San Rocco of Tolve.

I've witnessed his miracles!

Every year there's a pilgrimage
in early August.

It's not far.

Go if you can.

Get a special permit.

Better yet, I'll get it for you.

Then...

You'll realize,

you'll see,

that people come
from the whole region.

Men,

women,

children.

San Rocco is there waiting,

descended from the sky,

motionless,

above his church.

Everyone

can see him!

Gagliano also has a good patron saint.

San Maurizio.

As for me,

I serve Mass every morning.

At the age of 84, I feel

like the humblest altar boy.

We have been given everything.

Sorry.

I have nothing against you.

In the name of Baby Jesus,

Savior of the world,

I bless you.

Who could that be?

Who is it?

Excuse me, it's Levi.

- Who?
- Levi!

Perhaps you remember.

- We already met.
- Just a minute.

Sorry, maybe I shouldn't...

- No, on the contrary...
- I can come back later.

Come in, come in.

- Forgive me.
- For what?

Don Cosimino told me you paint.
So do I, so I thought...

Good. Please come in, doctor.

Excuse my mother. She's deaf.

She's almost 90.

Vetula et infirma.

Have a glass of wine, doctor.

Drink, drink.

How is it?

Good, thank you.

You're looking at my books.

Yes, because without books...

In this town, even reading
brings no pleasure.

I had some nice books,
even rare editions.

When I arrived, the swine
who transported them

spread tar on them,

out of spite.

I lost all interest in opening them.

I left them on the floor

where they've been ever since.

You wrote this book
on San Calogero of Avila?

A little-known Spanish saint.

I also painted in those days.

Episodes from his life.

Polyptychs.

Can I see them?

Really?

That's why I'm here.

Gladly.

Come.

Once...

I enjoyed doing these little things.

But here, you can't do anything.

They're nice with this orange.

Very nice.

- More wine?
- No thanks...

I just dropped by.

Wake up, Don Carlo, wake up!

The Carabiniere wants you.

Here I am.

Suit yourself.

I am.

This is the coolest spot in town.

And should be the quietest.

This town is built atop the bones
of the dead.

The bones of the dead!

Dig a hole,
and out pop our dear relatives

and get eaten by the dogs!

How did that story go?

The one about Ninco Nanco?

No, the one
you were telling me before,

about carts full of bones
coming and going through town.

Yes, the time of the landslide!

When the church
of the Madonna collapsed.

- What happened next?
- What happened?

One night, as I was walking
by the church,

I lost my strength.

I felt so faint, I had to sit down
on the chapel steps.

I couldn't get back up.

- Someone stopped me.
- And then?

Then the voice of a wild animal
called me.

Called me by name.

It was the devil!

A devil that kept me
from walking or talking.

I made the sign of the cross.

The demon started
to gnash its teeth,

and howl like a beast
to the slaughter!

In the darkness, I saw
a goat on the church ruins.

Then the devil plunged off the cliff!

- Stop! Back to town!
- What's going on?

Nobody works today!

Everyone in the piazza
to hear the mayor's speech.

- We don't care!
- We've work to do!

People of Gagliano...

In Abyssinia, Selassie
continues to provoke us!

Down with the Selassie!

How much longer must we wait?

How long till the Duce
loses his patience?

Good dog, Barone.
Sleep, don't listen.

The Roman legions
once ruled the world.

Rome's renewed greatness shines

on its seven hills!

"Shines on the seven hills.

But here the hills...

crumble

and turn to dust."

Down with England!

The most despicable nation,

a colonial power,
denies us our own colonies!

Happy to see your sister?

So sweet.

- Can you get her suitcase?
- Sure! Right away!

Luisa.

Are those the ribbons you mentioned?

Yes, they leave them there
till they wither.

Why are they so happy to see us?

Because before
I was just a guy from the North.

Your being here fills in a gap.

What's that?

Nothing.

What gap?

Their deepest feelings
are for the family.

Blood ties are sacred.

How do they know I'm your sister?

They see and know everything.

Who's he?

Another prisoner.
A teacher from Padua.

But we're not allowed
to talk to each other.

There are other prisoners?

About ten.

I barely see them.

You know how it goes.

A lot of friends don't call
out of caution.

Others we don't call
to protect them.

But the brave ones
come by and ask about you.

Has Mario Soldati's book come out?

Yes, you'll get it with the others.

He told us how you finished
doing the cover

while they were arresting you.

So he told you.

Coming.

It'd be perfect for painting,
with all these windows.

But I don't like the tiles.

Why?

I've never liked loud geometric shapes

when I paint.

They're too overpowering.

You'll need a woman here.

Yes, I will...

But it's not easy.

Don't exaggerate.

Finding a cleaning lady
can't be such a problem.

Here a woman won't enter
a single man's house.

Being in the same space
means they've made love.

- You're kidding.
- I'm not.

- They said there was a terrace.
- Yes, upstairs.

Let's go see.

Beautiful, isn't it?

This house has a unique feature.
Did you notice?

Tell me.

A porcelain toilet!

The only one for miles around.

Does it hurt if I touch here?

You feel cold?

You've got to stay covered.

The girl needs an extra blanket.

Your daughter has malaria.

I've got some quinine. Here.

When it's done,
get more from the doctor.

One in the morning, one at night.

- How many children do you have?
- Six.

Six.

Stick out your tongue.

Bravo.

They don't have anything.

You let your daughter work?

Yes, she works.

- She has to stop working.
- Alright.

Thank you!

They call this the Bersagliere's ditch.

During the Brigand's revolt,
they threw in a northern soldier,

who got lost in these mountains.

So doctor, what does she have?

The usual. Malaria.

When I asked the police
to transfer you somewhere healthier,

the officer answered that
there's no malaria here.

"One case a year, at most," he said.

"I'm a doctor," I said.

"Then you know," he said.

"But if they can live with it,
so can your brother."

Impeccable reasoning.

Yes, but at the Matera pharmacy,
they never heard of a stethoscope.

At least Matera has a pharmacy.
There's none here.

Amid this disaster,
you play the painter.

Luisa, don't start,

I do what I know and what I like.

I didn't just start painting.

It's not right.

You're perfectly capable
of being a doctor,

but you're afraid.

Afraid of what?

No experience?

What better place
to gain experience?

Yes, I found my guinea pigs.

What are you saying?
Carlo, please.

Why do you talk like that?

Move! Do something!

I can't understand why nothing's
done for these villages.

Time to act!
Not wait till tomorrow!

You're constructive and efficient
by nature.

What you're saying
should have been done long ago.

But here, people are...

complicated.

After a couple of weeks here,
you'd change, too.

I don't change so easily.

When I see how people suffer
just because they were born here.

First thing they tell you is
you can't survive here, you have to leave.

They used to go to America.

Then Naples, or Rome...

Now Africa, they say.

Their last hope.

After what I saw in Matera,
I can't blame them.

I went to visit that crater
full of caves.

The place called "Sassi."

20,000 men and animals
crammed together.

It looked like a city
destroyed by the plague.

This is what the petty bourgeoisie
has come to.

Since they can no longer live
like "gentlemen," as they say,

they exploit the peasants,

while reserving jobs
as pharmacist, priest, mayor,

or police chief for themselves.

But since everything is so suffocating,

the fight becomes fierce

and petty.

It's a matter of life and death.

So the war is a way to escape.

Yes, but they're headed for destruction.

You know,

maybe

what attracts them...

is the possibility
of defeat and annihilation.

Things look so different from here,
compared to Turin.

Turin.

Turin is farther from here
than India or China.

In Turin, there are other rhythms,
other laws...

that make no sense here.

Here you understand
why these kids become fascists.

In their condition,
one could easily become

a spy, a thief, a murderer.

Or die a hero in Africa.

So they go to war
out of desperation?

Of course.

But most of them stay behind...

and their passions grow...

Trapped between a few houses.

As for me...

How long will the world of men remain

trapped in the circle

of their dark passions?

What time is it?

I don't know.

I never look at my watch anymore.

- Tomorrow you'll leave behind...
- Excuse me?

All those meadows you purchased,
your house,

washed by the yellow Tiber.

You'll leave them behind.

Your heir will own

those towering riches.

Rich or poor,

whether of noble lineage
or humble birth,

You'll still be the victim of the Tartar

who's pitiless.

To a single end

we'll all be driven.

Sooner or later,

from the lots tossed in the urn,

a single fate will emerge

and seat us in the boat

of eternal exile.

How beautiful.

Is it a poem from Horace?

Can't the mayor's sister
put a bathroom in her house?

They're happy with a chamber pot.

Really?

Hard to believe.

So you don't have
messages for anyone?

Nothing?

Well, send them all my regards.

Truth is, I feel like
I've always lived here.

Spying on me now?

May I?

Hello?

Can I come in?

He said to meet him,
but no one's here.

Don Carlo, where are you?

It's in French.

I'm here.

You're up there!

- There you are! Finally!
- The stairs are inside.

We're coming right up.

I've found a cleaning lady for you.

Her name is Giulia Venere,
from Sant'Arcangelo.

Ah, the "Santarcangelese."

She's a witch.

Mixing potions, casting the evil eye.

She's the barber's lover.

The only woman in town
who can work for an unmarried man.

Very clean and hard-working.

Shall we go downstairs?
It's hot up here.

And most important,
she knows the house tile by tile.

Obviously...

She ruled over this house,
and over the priest's bed.

Have you seen the well?

The priest used it to chill wine
for his guests.

Nice.

You should, too.

You lower them slowly
into the well in a basket.

When they're ready,
you pull them up,

fresh and cool, and you drink
to your health.

I have two letters to send.

Can you check them right away?
I want them to arrive quickly.

I'm sure you know.
You write so beautifully

that I usually keep your letters
for two or three days.

I gathered as much.

I like to read them slowly.

But there's a small infraction
I must bring to your attention.

Really?

One of your books...

The one in French.

It's forbidden.

But Montaigne is a classic.

An author of the French Revolution.

I've every reason to confiscate it.

He's a dangerous writer.

Really?

Carmelo, what are you doing here?

Don't cry, come with Mama.

Let's go inside and I'll give you
some figs to eat.

You sit here and play,
and don't bother Don Carlo.

Why are you crying?

Be a good boy.

Here's some bread.

Don't want it?
I'll leave it for the ants.

Keep quiet.

Giulia.

How many children do you have?

I've had 17 pregnancies.

17?

Madness.

What does your husband do?

My husband?

He gave me my first child,
and then went off to America.

He took the boy with him.
I never saw him again.

The children born after that
never saw their fathers.

Right, Carmelo?
Where's Papa?

- Here.
- Papa's not here.

Only Mama's here!

America. Good for you.

They all go off to America.

Mama is both
your Papa and Mama, right?

END OF PART TWO

PART THREE

All better.

No more pus.

Giulia...

Could you throw this stuff out?

You mustn't get it wet.

We'll put on a bandage,
but you don't really need it.

Done.

All set.

I feel better now.

See you tomorrow.

Alright?

You always throw the trash
out in the street.

Why are we keeping this stuff?

It's evening. Too late.

It would upset the angel.

The angel?

Three angels come every night.

One guards the door,

one the table,

and the third,

the bed.

Really?

- And then?
- They guard the house.

If I throw the trash out now,
it'll hit the angel's face,

and he'll never come back.

So what do we about the trash?

Wait for the morning.

When the sun comes up,
the angel goes away.

Water!

Water!

You wanted rain?

You got it!

Damn 1929!
It sent us packing!

Why did you come back?

We all came back.

The dollar fell, the banks collapsed.

The politicians told us
things were great here...

money, security... jobs.

We had to return.
And here we are.

On Sunday, friends from New York
are getting together.

- Why don't you join us?
- Yes, it'll be fun.

We'll be in good company, eat well.

My dear mother, Christmas is near

Being away has a bitter taste

How I'd like to light the candles

And hear the bagpipes play.

Make a creche for the children

Set a place at the table.

On Christmas Eve

Make believe that we two

were together.

So many tears in America

For us Neapolitans

We pine for the sky of Naples.

How bitter is

this bread.

Naples is our capital
because it's the city of misery.

Naples has no kings today.

We only go there
for the boat to America.

And Rome's for the rich,
the capital of a hostile foreign state.

New York would be our capital,
if we had one.

You're right.

New York's a great city!

Listen to what happened to me.

Let me tell the story.

They gave me a pipe to empty,
the ones they use in the mines.

It was full of dirt.
But instead of dirt, it was...

Gunpowder!

Blew up in my face.

Just a few scratches,
but I couldn't hear.

Broke my eardrum!

Not really. I just pretended.

But in America, there's insurance.

$3,000 they had to pay me.

I played deaf.
They yelled at me, fired gunshots.

I heard nothing.

They made me shut my eyes.

I staggered, fell down.

The best doctors in America
were convinced.

I got my $3,000.
I bought a car, a house and came home!

Easy to say.

But you came back.

What else could I do?

I'm the only one who comes and goes.

Lucky you!

Every two or three years,

I take the ship and go to America.

I stay a while, then come back.

I could stay here.

Money's not an issue.

But I listen to the radio.

War is breaking out and
I'm not going to get caught.

I'm packing my bags
and going back to America!

In the south, we're all divided.

Half here, half on the other side
of the ocean.

Families are all separated.

For those who stay here,
America is even farther away.

The mail is all that's left.

Every now and then we get a letter

with a few dollars

from our lucky relatives.

From Rome, we get nothing.

Never have.

In America,
I had a big barber shop.

With three employees.

Not the tiny shop I have here.

If you like...

I can show you my pictures.

Yes, let's see.

Have you ever been to America?

Then you must come and see!

It's our fault.
Homesickness got us!

In the middle of concrete skyscrapers,
all the houses, buildings, streets...

Not a patch of green!

On Sundays, we'd take a train
for miles to get to the country.

Then all together,
we'd get under a tree,

and drop our pants.

How delicious to feel
the fresh air, nature...

not like American toilets,
shiny and all alike!

It was like being boys again.

And when we finished,
we'd all yell a heartfelt

"Viva l'Italia!"

It's not only an army...

marching toward its goal...

It's 44 million Italians

marching

with this army...

in unity!

To defend themselves against

the worst injustices!

To rob us of
our place in the sun.

They say African soil is more fertile,

and the crops grow by themselves.

They say they'll give us
all the land we want.

Plenty of land here.
It's everything else that's missing.

Rocco's right. We're going to
steal land from others.

It's bad luck.

With Ethiopia...!

we've waited 40 years.

Enough!

If these people in Rome have so much
money to spend on war,

why don't they spend it here?

Make new fountains, plant trees,

instead of cutting down
the few we have left.

They could repair the bridge.
It collapsed four years ago.

We don't know how it will end.

England has a great fleet.

But we've got Marconi,
who invented a new ray.

From 600 miles away,
it can stop ships, cars, planes...

Just a minute!

As long as it doesn't stop the ship
taking me back to America.

Right?

What can I say to convince you?

Stay with your brothers and mother.

We love you so much.

War is horrible.

You might die.

We've sacrificed so much
to bring you up

and raise you.

You say you're going
for all that money,

I love you so much...

...Like a dream you'll see many ships

and an Italian flag unfurl for you.

Pretty black Abyssinian girl,

the awaited hour is near...

He's volunteering for Africa.
Don't we have enough Africa here?

- I'll see you after the war.
- I hope so.

Be careful, son.

Come on, let's go.

...Our law is the slavery of love.

Our motto, Liberty and Duty.

We Black Shirts will avenge

the heroes fallen to free you.

Again.

You're a rock. Get dressed.

How old are you?

I'm up there.

I was 15 when my brother
and I killed the carabiniere.

You killed a carabiniere?

He wanted to arrest us.
So we killed him.

It was wartime.

War between us and the carabinieri.

And between the carabinieri
and the nobles.

- Do you feel remorse?
- Why? They wanted to kill us.

- You were at war, you said?
- At war.

And I was a brigand.

A peasant brigand?

I'll give you your medicine.

Here.

This is my medicine.

I had a bad habit. Two cigars a day.

Two a day?

You're in good shape.

Really healthy.

Because during my military service,

I worked in the commissary

and stole cigarettes for my pals,

and Tuscan cigars for me.

Ever since, I've smoked Tuscans.

That's why I'm healthy.

Never inhaled.
Cigarettes destroy your lungs.

- I'm strong enough to do anything.
- Healthy as a horse.

Carmelo, go and play with Barone!

Take care.

Stay strong!

That old man used to be a brigand.

He knows people's secrets.

He knows where the brigands
hid their treasure.

Does this treasure still exist?

Of course.

The carpenter found some.
I saw it myself.

He put a log on the fire.

While it burned,
he saw something shiny.

Gold coins!

It's useless to look
for the hiding place.

It appears in a dream
to the chosen person.

Or the monachicchio
will tell you where to look.

What's the monachicchio?

The monachicchi?

The spirits of unbaptized children.

They're good, but they can be bad.

They're mischievous.

They tickle your feet,

tip over glasses of wine,

make laundry blow away.

They pull chairs out
from under you.

They pinch you.

They pull your hair.

They do all sorts of things.

But they're innocent creatures.

Ready.

Why didn't you call me
to wash your back?

Let me do it.
It's our custom.

Sit up.

I didn't know.

You're well built.

Nothing's missing.

So you've decided to sit
for your portrait?

No...

No portraits.

Why not?

It's not allowed.

I'd be a prisoner
of the man who painted me.

Where did you hear that nonsense?

It's not nonsense.

I'm going to paint your portrait.

Why?
Paint somebody else.

No, I'm doing yours.

Then I'm leaving.

No, you'll stay and do what I want!

No way!

Carmelo, why are you crying?
What's wrong?

Now we'll have a nice bath.

Right away.

Here we go.

My little sweetheart.

What's wrong?

I'm going to put you right in.

Now let's take off your shirt.

Good boy.

Take this off, too.

Why not? For our bath.

The man you're treating...

The one with the bow disease.
He'll never get better.

Who do you mean?

The man with the yellow face.

Why do you call it bow disease?

Because it comes from the rainbow.

Really?

How should I treat it?

Why do you ask?

You don't believe me anyway.

You should become a witch doctor.

Learn the magic spells.

Which ones?

Some cast a spell on someone near.

Others on someone faraway.

Tell me the one for someone faraway.

It's like a poem.

Recite it at night,
gazing at the star.

Teach me.

Star, from the distance I see you,
from near I greet you.

I go toward your face and
spit in your mouth.

Star, don't let him die,
bring him back home to stay with me.

Star...

from the distance I see you,

from near I greet you.

I walk toward your face

and spit in your mouth.

Star...

Don't let him die.

Bring him back home

to stay with me.

Look, an eclipse.

Who knows what it will bring.

Oh, Holy Mother of God, what on earth
will happen now?

Dear Jesus, have pity.

It's a sign from God for our sins.

Maybe for the poison gas
we're dropping in Abyssinia.

I've summoned you here
about a delicate matter.

I wish to speak to you
as a friend, a fellow scholar,

who understands and admires
your learning.

Not as the mayor.

It's about this letter.

A letter you wrote
to your sister in Turin.

If the Matera authorities see it,

you could end up interned
not for three years,

but five, seven, maybe more.

Do you understand?

But no...

Listen...

Can I make a suggestion?

Read me the incriminating parts.

Speak your mind.

Tell me what's wrong.

I'm happy to be able
to discuss these things with you,

an educated man.

You realize we're at war now?

In wartime, ideas don't matter.

The Patria is what matters.

You're for Italy, too, aren't you?

I'm convinced they
sent you here by mistake.

Mussolini doesn't know
everything that goes on.

People with the best intentions
commit injustices.

Besides, in a city,
you can have many enemies.

Some of the prisoners here
are fascists.

Arpinati, the fascist leader
from Bologna, is in a town nearby.

But he has freedom of movement.

- Going back to the letter.
- Yes, the letter.

What makes me sound anti-Italian?

I never said that.

I wouldn't dream of it.

But others might think so.

Every day, the prefecture receives
anonymous letters from all around.

And he's happy to get them.

I've already told you
there are many bad people here.

And this letter contains
certain statements...

For example?

"Here, none of the peasants
belong to a political party."

They're the last thing we need.

"They're not Fascists, nor do
they belong to any other party."

This makes you look even worse.

Then you add...

"What connection do they feel with
the government, power, the State?

The State is 'the people in Rome, '
who have always existed and always will,

like hail, landslides, drought, malaria."

A bit heavy-handed.
Don't forget the Duce is in Rome.

"For the peasants, the State is
farther away than the sky, and more evil

because it's always their adversary.

The State is a form of fate
like the wind that burns the crops,

and the fever that burns the blood."

Such beautiful writing.

But do you think these comparisons
are appropriate?

And then, who do you mean by
"the people in Rome"?

And why go on about the peasants?
Forget about them.

Ignore their small talk.

They're all superstitious and ignorant.

The more you do for them,
the more ungrateful they are.

You should mix with gentlemen
of your own class.

We're the State.

And you demean yourself
with these words.

You have a point there.

You see, we agree.

Well, yes...

The kids in the Fascist Youth,
the schoolteachers...

war widows, Florentine ladies,

Red Cross nurses, mothers,

shopkeepers, journalists, police officers,
government workers in Rome.

Everyone we call "the Italian people"...

would agree with you.

But we're also fighting this war
for your peasants.

I said so the other day
in the piazza.

Here they have too little land to farm.

We'll find them land in Africa,
and give it to them.

Give them more living space.

"Living" is the right word.

Because here they can barely
make a living. I see it every day.

But it's the gentlemen
who volunteer to fight,

to conquer the land for them.

Only one from our town enlisted.

I'd have gone myself.

But you and I both know
my health's not great.

And if I went,
who'd be left in town

to keep order
and promote fascism?

Come, let me show you something.

That plaque...

bears the names
of those who died in the Great War.

More than fifty,
a lot for such a small town.

Every family name
in Gagliano is there...

Guarini, Rubilotto, Racioppi,
Bonelli, Carnovale and Marino...

Not one is missing.

Every family lost someone.

Even more were wounded...

and sick.

But what do you write?

You write,

"The peasants don't even care
about the Great War.

Why do they never mention it?

Why do they tell no war stories,

show their wounds,
boast about heroic feats,

like they do in the North?"

"The Great War was
another great tragedy,

endured like all the others.

Another war waged by Rome."

You're really obsessed with
this "Rome" thing.

You must know how dangerous
it is today to write this...

"They die in Abyssinia today

as they once did
on the Isonzo and the Piave.

For someone else's history.

A history that doesn't concern them."

May I have half a glass
of your wine?

- With pleasure, Don Carlo.
- Thank you.

The days are getting shorter.

Winter is near.

That's enough.

What do you mean by
"someone else's history"?

Did you ever read
the history of the city of Melfi?

Yes, when you borrowed the book
from my uncle, Doctor Milillo.

So you're censoring my reading now?

Of course not.
Just joking.

Yes, I found it among
your uncle's old books.

There are many about local history.

This one tells what happened
in 1500 in Melfi,

at the time a populous, rich city.

Yes, one of the richest in this area.

But what's that got to do
with our conversation?

A great deal...

Because...

By chance,

pure chance,

a French officer fighting the Spanish
found himself in this area.

He and his soldiers decided
to set up camp in Melfi.

So the Spanish attacked the city,

conquered it,
killing everyone they found...

innocents who never heard of
Charles V, Francis I, Spain, France...

The Spanish destroyed all the houses,

and gave what was left
to Philip of Orange,

who then gave it all to Andrea Doria,

whom the few survivors in Melfi...

knew even less.

Andrea Doria never came to visit
his vassals, nor did his heirs.

They just sent the tax collectors
to get as much money as possible.

And so...

by the inscrutable will of a history

that didn't concern them,

the peasants of Melfi

sank into abject poverty
for centuries to come.

That's what I mean by
"someone else's history."

With the example
of the city of Melfi,

you mean to say that
the Great War,

as well as this war in Abyssinia...

No...

I only mean that of course the peasants
distrust every war and flag.

The States,

the organized armies,

will always be stronger
than the disorganized peasants.

They should resign themselves.

But they are.

Resigned to always being dominated.

They feel no part of
a glorious civilization

which they consider their mortal enemy.

Now and then...

Now and then they rebel against history
and the State, and then...

And then...

They become brigands.

It's the only war
they feel is theirs.

A desperate war,
destined to fail, ferocious,

incomprehensible to historians.

So now you're defending the brigands.

No, I know they're indefensible.

But why do the peasants
see the brigands as their heroes?

I'll tell you why. The brigands

allowed peasant culture
to defend its essential nature

against a culture
that's always opposed it,

and, without understanding it,
eternally subjugated it.

You talk like there were two Italys.

Do you remember what Dante said
about the humble Italy

for which maiden Camilla,
Euryalus, Turnus and Nisus

died of their wounds?

That was the Italy of the peasants.

The peasants put up a good resistance,

and were always defeated...

The conquerors brought the State,
and the State's religion.

First, they resisted Aeneas.

Then, Rome.

And finally, today...

Piedmont, the Kingdom of Italy.

You're a dreamer...

A poet, a painter, an artist.

And also a bit of an anarchist,

with your hatred of the State.

You see things your way.

You embellish them with words.

But the brigands,

listen to the stories
the old men can tell you...

The brigands cut off ears, noses,
tongues of the rich to get their ransom.

And the soldiers cut off the heads
of the brigands they managed to catch,

and stuck them on stakes
at the entrance to the towns.

That's what happened
in the "two Italys" you're talking about.

It's better to have
only one Italy, united...

under the leadership of a man
whom the whole world envies.

It seems that Marconi
has discovered secret rays

that'll blow the British fleet sky high
if it dares attack us!

I'll give you back your letter,

but take my advice...

Destroy it.

It'll be better for you.

Women!
The pig castrator is here!

Come, bring your pigs!

Wouldn't it be better
to pick the olives off the ground?

No, we pick them from the tree.

On the ground, they turn bitter.

- So you pick them right away.
- Always off the tree.

Three of a kind.

How big is a tree?
How much can it yield?

How much can it yield?

Some yield 100 pounds,
some 200, and some 600.

- Are the trees big around here?
- Depends.

Depends on the cycle
and the size of the leaves.

You have to do that work.

You have to do the work of

pruning every three years.

You have to do what?

Get the right shape.

How long does that take?

A year, more or less.

Have you ever seen cat eyes?

What color are they?

White, black, yellow, red, gray?

...They look, and they look.

- And they see even...?
- At night.

At night, while you're sleeping.

So you must look carefully
at these things.

We must look at a dry twig,

at a piece of bread,

at grains of sand...

Even at the air.

What does the air do?

Why are you doing that?

Do the tree,
like you were doing before.

Well then, what does the air do?

The air makes the stars tremble.

Doesn't it?

Are the stars still or do they tremble?

- They tremble.
- And what makes them tremble?

The air.

So are the clouds fat or skinny?

They're not all fat or all skinny.

Are the fat ones black or white?

- Black.
- But also white.

And are the skinny ones white or black?

Go on, give the basket to Don Carlo.

But they can also be...

Carmelino has brought us a present!

Let's hear it for him!

How nice!

He brought us figs.

Help yourselves.

Merry Christmas.

Starting tomorrow,
I'm not coming anymore.

Why?

That's what we decided.

Did the barber become jealous?

Children, what are you doing?

Eating the present for Don Carlo!

- These rags, this scrap paper?
- No leave the paper.

Giulia, leave it.
I want to keep them.

Give me those brushes.

All of them!

Zi' Nicola! What a nice surprise!

How are you?

Zia Rosa!
How are you?

How wonderful to see you!

- I'll be going then.
- Wait a minute.

- I've found another woman,
- Just a minute, please.

Come on, let's go.

Get away!

Wait a minute, I want to say goodbye
to Carmelino.

Carmelino, come here.

Come.

- May we come in?
- Come in, Don Luigino, come in.

You brought me olive oil?

- So beautiful.
- It's pure.

Best wishes!

Get plenty of rest, understand?

And stay bundled up.

I wanted to wish you
a Merry Christmas.

And give you permission
to go to Midnight Mass.

You mean I can stay up late?

This is a special occasion.

As a matter of fact...

Come, I want to show you something.

I'm writing a report

that I want them to read in Matera.

- A report for Matera?
- Yes.

Because we've got to move quickly.

If we don't take measures
against malaria in spring...

- By summer, it'll be too late.
- Good man!

When you've finished the report,

I'll bring it to Matera myself.

I hope so.

END OF PART THREE

PART FOUR

Quarter to 12
and still no Don Trajella.

Maybe he's sick.

Sure.

Drunk on Christmas Eve!

Go look for him.

Hurry, Don Trajella!

Everyone's waiting for you!

- I'm coming.
- Let's go!

Come on, Don Trajella, hurry up!

Brothers and sisters...

Dear brothers and sisters...

What's he saying?

He's drunk.

Brothers and sisters...

I had come here as your pastor

to speak to my flock

on this holy day.

I had prepared a beautiful sermon.

Allow me to say,
in all humility.

I'd written it down so I could read it,

since my memory is weak.

I put it in my pocket,
but now I can't find it.

I've lost it and...

I can't remember anything.

What should I do?

What can I say to you, the faithful,

waiting to hear my words?

Poor me.

Words fail me.

This is scandalous!

A sacrilege in the house of God!

Dear Jesus, this is the reward
for my sins.

Help me!

Deliver me from this error.

Now we'll see what happens.

It's a miracle!

A miracle!

Jesus heard my prayers!

Here we are.

These are the words of one of you.

A son of this town.

The best and most faithful
of my lambs.

Sacrilege!
Drunk in church on Christmas Eve!

Wait! Wait!

"Christmas is drawing near,

and my thoughts fly to Gagliano,

and all my friends

and fellow citizens,

who I can picture gathered
in our humble church,

to hear the Holy Mass."

"Here we fight to bring
our sacred religion

to these infidels.

We fight to convert these pagans
to the true faith.

And bring to them

peace and eternal bliss."

I can't accept

the reasons he gives in this letter.

That we're fighting to
bring our religion to those people.

- The Abyssinians are Christians!
- They're black!

They believe in God!

There's little difference

between our religion and theirs.

Yes...

We're fighting because
we want more land to farm.

Because we need it.

In any case, I would like Christmas
to be a day of peace and serenity...

for all,

even our enemies.

Enough! You've gone too far!
Let's go!

Subversive talk in church
is intolerable!

But...

We must examine our consciences.

We must ask ourselves
if we have done our duty,

and listened with a pure heart

to the word of God.

But you are evil.

You're sinners.

You never come to church.

You never say your prayers.

You sing dirty songs.

You curse.

You don't baptize your children.

You never go to confession.

You never receive communion.

You have no respect

for God's servants.

You do not render unto God

the things that are God's.

This is why you have no peace.

Pax in terra,

hominibus male voluntatis.

You don't know Latin.

What does it mean?

It means that this day,

on Christmas Eve,

you should have given your pastor
a kid goat,

according to custom.

But you didn't...

because you don't believe.

You have no good will.

So you will not receive
God's blessing.

Think about it.

Think.

And bring your pastor that goat.

Pay the debts you owe him
on his land since last year.

If you want the Lord

to be merciful,

and put His hand on your heads,

and peace in your hearts.

But most of all, if you want
peace to return to the world

and an end to this war,
which fills us with fear,

for the fate of your loved ones,

and for the fate of
our beloved country.

Go back to Gaglianello!

I'm not letting you back
in Gagliano, ever!

Pretty black Abyssinian girl

the awaited hour is near...

Come in, it's open.

Come in.

Sit down for a minute.

I'm in a hurry.
My brother's very ill.

We live in Pantano.

I have a horse for you outside.

But Matera sent orders
that I can't practice.

Go to one of the local doctors.

I've got no choice.

Only you can save him.

Wait a moment.

Let's go to the mayor.

Matera's orders are absolute.

No room for doubt.

Have a seat.

Coffee?

First, let's solve this problem.

Matera doesn't know
what a blessing you are.

They believe anonymous letters.

With time, they'll change their minds.

We have no time.

My brother's dying.

So what's your decision?

I can't take this responsibility.

I have too many enemies.

If word gets out, I'll lose my job.

Go to one of the local doctors.

- But they're good for nothing.
- He's right.

Uncle's too old.
And forget about the other one.

And in this weather, with no roads,
they won't go.

I see.

I'll go look for him.

Don Carlo, I'll take responsibility.

I have a statement
from the other doctors,

- saying they're ill.
- Alright. I'm coming.

Does he need the hospital?

It's advanced peritonitis.

Taking him to Matera...

would be useless.
He wouldn't make it.

I'll give him a shot
to ease the pain.

Here...

Boil the syringe.

The Body of Christ.

Amen.

What brings you here?

A man died in Pantano tonight.

I couldn't do anything for him.

They don't even call me for the dead.

I'll ring the bell for him.

See where they've sent me?

I'm exiled, like you.

Who took my place?
Have you met him?

Don't forget to come visit me.

I'm counting on it.

I'll give you back your book.

Keep it. As a memento.

Now I must ring the bell.

Don Carlo's a good man!

A good man!
Everyone knows!

He's the only one who helps us!

A good doctor.
The others are quacks!

Luigi, what are you afraid of?

Send in the Carabinieri!
That'll get rid of them!

Nothing could be done to save him.

You're just saying that
to keep the peace.

I'm not.

He couldn't be saved.

What if it happens again,

but the person can be saved?
What then?

We're ready to sign a petition!
We want you as doctor!

Well, that you can do.

Now...

Go tell the people in the piazza.

Tell them what you've decided,
and make them go home.

Otherwise, the carabinieri
will start shooting.

This is definitely something
that can be done.

He's a good man who was helping us!

Go home...

The doctor says
everyone's got to go home.

Calm down.

Go home, or the carabinieri
will come and start shooting.

I'll take care of it.

Make way for me!

That one's me,
and the other is Gibilisco.

Ignore them.

Stop everything!

You can't treat the sick!
Rome doesn't authorize it!

They're your doctors.

Be gone!

Scoundrels, I'll make you pay!

I promise!

Now I'll show you

how to do an operation.

Here's the heart!

The operation was a success!

Who played me?

I did.

What part did you play?

You did what?

What?

I played the sick man.

What should I do with this stuff?

Throw it in the Bersagliere's ditch!

Time to take your medicine.

Just a spoonful, for your aunt.

Come on, just a drop.

Do it for Papa.

I wouldn't think of it.

The law is the same for everyone.

Including the mayor's daughter.

Is that what you want me to say?

Alright.

Another spoonful.

- Just a little.
- I don't want it.

- Good for you.
- One for me.

- One for you.
- What does he say?

"The law is the same for everyone."

Tell him he has to come!

I'm the authority here!

So I'm above the law!

Go!

Did you take your medicine?

Good girl. My Annuccia.

I'll see his daughter
only if I can treat the whole town.

Tell him.

I'll tell him.

First my daughter, then we'll see!

Cosimino!

Tell him it's alright.

He can treat her and anyone else.

Alright.

Bravo, Don Carlo!

- What happened?
- The bells are ringing!

Hear the bells in town?
What's happening?

Black Shirts...

of the Revolution!

Men and women of Italy!

Italians...

and friends of Italy...

beyond the mountains
and beyond the seas!

Listen!

Marshal Badoglio...

sends us this telegram...

Today...

May 5th...

at 4 pm...

at the head
of our victorious troops...

I entered Addis Ababa!

I announce...

to the Italian people...

and to the world...

that the war is over!

Officers of the armed forces
of the State...

in Africa and in Italy...

Black Shirts and all Italians...

We Italians...

have created with our blood an empire!

We shall make it fertile
with the sweat of our brows!

And we shall defend it against anyone
with our army!

Ricci, Antonio.

Pardoned.

You're free.

Madonia, Carmela...

Free, finally.

Lo Russo, Vincenzo...

Rossini, Mario.

Good luck.

Good luck, professor.

Levi, Carlo.

Even Don Carlo, see?

- Sign here.
- It's over.

- Congratulations, good luck.
- I'm very happy for you.

So suddenly...

Is it over?

And those two?
No amnesty?

They're communists.
Do I have to explain?

Go home now. It's raining.

Have a safe trip and come back.

Goodbye, Rocco.

- Travel safe.
- Go home, it's raining.

Carmelino, goodbye.
Take him home. He'll get wet.

Who knows what I was expecting
from this city,

this world,

its interests, activities, hopes.

It doesn't touch me at all.

And it won't, if you continue like this.

You're going about it all wrong.

Isolating yourself,
not seeing your friends. Why?

They're constantly looking for you.

You all need to sit down and talk.

I know.

But something's changed.

Nothing I can do about it.

The language they use is so...

Maybe because now I hear them
with a peasant's ear.

Peasants aren't the only people
in the world.

What do we mean by "peasants"?

I use it for anyone who

does things,

loves it, and wants nothing more.

Everyone who produces.

Are factory workers peasants, too?

Of course.

And the others?

The others?

Remember Gagliano's mayor,
Don Luigi?

The others are like him, little Luigis.

The petty bourgeoisie
in all its variations,

species, sub-species.

Even our government
is structured like Luigi.

Then there are too many Luigis.

- They'll always be around.
- No.

They have a slim majority.

About 51 percent.

Because every little Luigi

needs someone who produces to survive,

to feed on and exploit.

So they're careful
to have enough peasants.

What are you?

An intellectual, progressive.

Not a little Luigi, at least for now.

Gramsci's a peasant.

Gobetti, Rossi, and Salvemini
are peasants.

See what I'm saying?

And women?

Real women, not phonies.
So are they.

Sometimes I think women, by nature,

are more "peasant" than men.

So am I a peasant?

Of course.

Apparently,

15 years of Fascism has made us
forget the Southern Question.

I disagree.

People discuss it.

But with the usual Southern pessimism
and sense of victimhood.

After all,
the problem is economic, technical.

Land reclamation, irrigation,
public works, industrialization,

schools, hospitals.
We know what needs to be done.

All good things.

But they don't solve the problem.

Domestic colonization of the South
might make a slight difference but...

it would turn the South into a colony.

Let's be honest.

The South is a dead weight,

with its traditional servitude
to the Bourbon kings.

It can't be fixed with a magic wand.

It'll take a gradual change,

through top-down measures...

With a plan.

And of course, more democracy.

Especially with more democracy.

Fascism made the situation worse,

deepening the servitude of the South.

In order to free the South
from its servitude,

we need to free all Italy of Fascism.

But...

In a petty bourgeois country like Italy,

the lower classes, urban and rural,
are infected by this ideology,

and it's likely,

unfortunately,

that the post-Fascist governments

even the most extreme and
supposedly revolutionary

will enact a slow revolution

with acts of violence

and re-create
the same petty bourgeois ideology,

perpetuating,

and maybe worsening,
with new names and new flags,

the eternal Fascism of Italy.

Without a peasant revolution,
Italy will never have a true revolution,

and vice versa.

You forget that the Southern Question

is a perfect example
of capitalist oppression

that will be resolved by
the dictatorship of the proletariat.

They're unconscious worshipers of a State

that transcends
the individual and the population,

tyrannical and paternalistic.

Dictatorship or democracy,

it is always unitary,

centralized and remote.

Very remote.

Making it impossible
for politicians and peasants

to understand and be understood.

What do you think?

I think...

The State is not what you think.

It's the main obstacle
to getting things done.

The State can't solve
the Southern Question

because what we call
the "Southern Problem"

is nothing more
than the "State Problem."

Between any type of State

and the peasants,
there will always be an abyss...

that can be closed

if we create a type of State
that also belongs to the peasants.

As long as Rome rules over Matera,
Matera will be lawless and despairing,

while Rome will be despairing

and tyrannical.

When you speak of States, dear Carlo,

you act like they're all the same,
fascist, liberal, communist.

There's a big difference.

So why are so many of us in jail?
Not to mention your own exile?

Which is why we have to re-think

the very basis

of our idea of the State...

And our concept of the individual
at its basis.

The abstract, legal notion
of the individual

has to be replaced by a new concept
expressing a living reality.

The individual is not
a closed-off entity.

The individual is a link,

a meeting place of many relationships.

For both to exist, the individual
and the State must coincide.

This political reversal

is the only way

to break the vicious cycle

of Fascism and anti-Fascism.

That's anarchy.

How can your utopia become a reality?

We each have to regain our autonomy.

But one moment.

The autonomy of the rural world

can't exist without
the autonomy of the factory,

of the school, the city,

of every form of social life.

These are the things I feel I've learned

in a year of life underground.