All language subtitles for L.Amica.Geniale.S03E04.Guerra.Fredda.iTALiAN.1080p.WEB.H264-MeM.GP

Provided by explosiveskull
https://twitter.com/kaboomskull

Before leaving the city for good,

I decided to go and see Mrs. Galiani.
I called her.

She was unsurprised and invited me
over for the following morning, adding:

"Why don't you bring your friend?"

That request annoyed me,
I hoped Lila would decline it.

- You sure I should come?
- She invited you too.

Instead she pulled a long face
and said: "All right, I'll go with you."

It's you.

- We're here to see your mother.
- She's not here.

She'll be back later.

Come in here, if you like.

She's in her underpants.

What are you doing here?

What are you doing here?

We have an appointment
with Mrs. Galiani.

- Have you recovered?
- Enough.

I'm glad.

She's only just recovered.

We taught the sausage factory a lesson.

They paid her everything they owed her.

Yes...

You hear that?
Miss Greco taught Soccavo a lesson.

No, not me.

No, not her, God Almighty did.

I only tried to help Lila.

That means that in factories,
on worksites,

whenever the workers are in peril
we'll call Elena Greco.

She'll call her friends,
guardian angels in high places

and solve everything!

After your article, what did they solve?

What's changed? Nothing.

It's all gone back to how it was
and those who spoke up are in trouble.

My brother was beaten up by fascists.

The doctor?

Yes, the doctor, my brother.

Those who keep quiet
get money on the side.

- The fuck d'you think you'd solve?
- You don't abandon your comrades.

You don't win in there with pamphlets
or fighting fascists.

- Then how?
- Mobilizing the bosses' children.

Not giving a fuck about others!

Cut it out, that's not what happened.

- Be quiet.
- Drop it, they're right.

Hello.

I'm sorry, I'm running late,
let's go in there.

Let me know when you have visitors.

Hello.

I can't bear rudeness.

Please, sit here.

I wanted to drop in before to say hello.

I'm sorry I haven't been in touch,
I've been swamped.

The book...

I'm about to get married.

Congratulations!

Are you getting married in church?
You having a large reception?

No, no reception,
we're having a civil ceremony.

- How did you get married?
- In church.

- Are you a believer?
- No, but that's what you did.

One shouldn't do things
only because others do them.

We do it all the time.

- Are you going to Elena's wedding?
- She hasn't invited me.

It's not true.

- She's ashamed of me.
- What are you saying?

We haven't even invited my siblings.

I wanted to give you this.

Thank you, I already have it.

What does your husband do?

He holds the Latin
Literature chair at Florence.

So, he's older than you?

No, he's 27, he's just very bright.

What's his name?

Pietro Airota.

Is he related to Guido Airota?

Yes, he's his son.

A good marriage.

We love each other.

Have you begun writing your new book?

- I'm thinking about it.
- I know you contribute to L'Unità.

A few things.

I don't write for that paper
of bureaucrats anymore.

I heard you did remarkable things
at the factory.

- I didn't do anything.
- It's not true.

I only lost my job.

Nadia told me that these are
the things that you said.

- Water under the bridge.
- No, it isn't.

They're important things, well done.

- Shall I write an inscription anyway?
- Of course.

To Mrs. Galiani or...

Mrs. Galiani.

What awful people.

Did you see
how the old bird treated you?

She can't bear that
you write books and articles,

or that you're about to marry well.

She especially can't bear the idea

that she raised Nadia to be the best
and she's with a bricklayer.

And she acts like a slut in front of her.

You're wrong to care, screw 'em.

You shouldn't have given her the book,

you shouldn't have asked her
if she wanted an inscription.

These are people
who need their ass kicked.

Your flaw is that you're too good.

When you speak to someone
who's studied

you listen as if only they have a brain
and it's not the case.

Have fun, you can.
Get married, have a great honeymoon.

You worried about me too much.
Write another novel.

You know I expect amazing things.

I'd helped her every way I could,

but she took sides with Pasquale
and Nadia who criticized me.

Mrs. Galiani praised her
to humiliate me

and now she made
the humiliation explicit,

rubbing salt into the wound,

making it impossible
for me to ignore it.

I suddenly wished the cardiologist
had been wrong,

that she really was ill and dying.

After that,
we didn't see each other for years.

- Anyway, it's illegal.
- Don't exaggerate.

It's sold in pharmacies, you just need
a prescription and to be married.

They sell medication
to regulate the cycle,

it's not a contraceptive pill.

You know perfectly well it does both.

If a medication serves
to obtain a certain result,

you can't use it to obtain another.

Medications are poison,
you don't use them willy-nilly.

They can be very harmful. Let's go.

- I want to take that pill.
- Can we go?

- Must we be late today of all days?
- Did you hear me?

We're about to get married,
focus on that.

- You get married to have kids.
- Can I write another book first?

You can write a book
while you're expecting.

It can be done. Can we go now?

Article 147: marriage requires
both husband and wife

to maintain, instruct
and educate their offspring,

keeping in mind the abilities

and aspirations of their children.

Signor Pietro Airota,

do you take Elena Greco
to be your wife?

I do.

Signora Elena Greco, do you take
Pietro Airota to be your husband?

I do.

Further to your affirmative reply,

by the power invested in me
by the City of Florence,

I pronounce you legally married.

You may exchange rings.

Signora Greco, my compliments,
your book is very good.

Thank you.

Pietro's ascetic vocation
and my tendency to show

I no longer belonged
to my mother's world,

convinced us to get married,

greet our relatives and leave
without celebrating.

But our plans
were secretly overturned by Adele.

Marcella has invited us
to her house for a toast.

You told me
you weren't having a reception.

I didn't know anything about it.

Tell them.

This is one of my mother's
improvisations,

they're unpredictable.

- But it'll be quick?
- Yes.

Pietro had nothing to do with it,
it was Marcella's idea.

I knew nothing about it,
you might have told us first.

Isn't it lovely here?

I'm embarrassed.
Button up your jacket.

But it's a proper party!

It's a surprise!

She's beautiful! How did you
convince her to marry you?

Thank you, Marcella!

Please, go in.

Professor Antonioni!
He's my literature professor.

- Marcella.
- Immacolata.

- Greco, my pleasure.
- Please, come in.

May I?

- What a beautiful house!
- Thank you.

It's an old family house.

Come, I'll introduce you.

Vittorio, Immacolata,
a drop of champagne?

No, my head is already spinning.

If our son-in-law wants to celebrate,
let's have a glass.

All right then.

- What is it?
- Bubbles.

- How does it go?
- May you live to be a hundred.

May you live to be a hundred.
I touch wood.

Shall we leave together?

Signor Vittorio, all right.

- Elena Greco in Airota.
- It's a pleasure, Bruno Santini.

My pleasure.

- Norbert Leutshig.
- My pleasure.

Marcella, you have introduced her
to these two rascals.

Yes!

You don't know
who's standing before you.

Come, Elena.

Let's go in, I'll introduce you to her.

- Where do you teach?
- No, Elena doesn't teach, she writes.

She has just published a novel
and she contributes to L'Unità.

Do you write about literature?

No, I wrote articles about conditions
for women in factories.

Thank goodness, the new generations
are pulling their heads out!

I read a very interesting essay
in Worker's World

about the state of democracy in Italy.

It's a very serious text,
with a lot of information.

Who wrote it?

A young professor
of Economic Geography,

Saranno, I think.

Sarratore!

- Giovanni Sarratore.
- Of course, we know him.

Nino is a childhood friend, he's
at the State University in Milan now.

Adele, we were talking
about Nino Sarratore.

Of course, we know him too.

But I've come to take
our Elena away from you.

Adele took me
from one group to the next

and I forgot about my father and mother
and about Pietro too.

I wanted to tell you that
you have written a marvelous book.

Thank you.

In Italy women don't write like that.

Let's not exaggerate.

I'm not exaggerating, because you are...

essential, you don't follow
the cult of fine words,

of sentiment...

you're pure energy.

Are you writing something else?

- I've made a few notes.
- Are you going to write later or...

Don't listen to this hack poet!

Hi, Elena, it's a pleasure to meet you.

My name's Mario Gioia and
I'm a fish out of water in this context.

I'm an engineer, you're all people
of letters, I'll keep to myself.

- But I wanted to meet you.
- Weren't you busy?

I'm really embarrassed
but I haven't read your book.

I'm sorry,
but I've read all your articles.

He hasn't read anything.

I really have read them

and you're good, seriously.

Thank you.

In fact, let's make a deal,
you're the witness.

You've got to get busy,
continue along this path.

The next time I open L'Unità...

When do you open L'Unità?

Don't be such a prick!

I want to find you there because
you're a breath of oxygen.

It's true, you are
a breath of fresh air...

At first, it was much better
than I'd hoped,

I liked it more than I ever had,
but I didn't understand.

Antonio, I remembered,
just touching him was enough.

Franco held out, but not much.

Pietro confused me.
He kept going, he seemed to suffer.

He suffered, I suffered too.

I'm convinced
I fell pregnant that very night.

What are you doing?

I have to finish some work for tomorrow.

But you were asleep.

Go back to bed, I'll be right there.

Pregnancy absorbed me,
it was something all mine,

I was almost glad
I no longer spoke with Lila.

Then, against my intentions,
one day I called her.

Lenù, at last!

- Are you mad at me?
- No, why would I be?

You didn't tell me anything.

Your mother's put up notices,

even the stones know you're pregnant.

I've only been sure for a little while.

- Weren't you taking the pill?
- I decided I wouldn't.

The book?

I'll see.

You have to do the best you can.

I take the pill.

So it's going well with Enzo?

Well enough, but I don't ever want
to get pregnant again.

Too much pain,
the body doesn't like changing shape.

Someone else's life
clinging to you in your belly

and when it comes out
it keeps you on a leash.

It's like you fabricated
your own torment.

If you need me, let me know.

You helped me,

now I want to help you.

Lila wanted me to be like her,
but it wasn't like that.

Contrary to what she had told me

the period of the pregnancy
was beautiful.

I saw myself as part
of an unstoppable force,

I considered myself invulnerable.

No one could hurt me or my baby,

we two were the only lasting reality.

Squeeze my hand.

Little puffs!

Good girl, one more and we're there.

I can see the head.

Very good! Push!

Come in, it's out!

Keep it up!

Here she is!

It's a girl.

A beautiful baby girl.

She was a beautiful baby
and full of energy.

I felt, in the moment I gave birth

such an overwhelming physical pleasure

that to date, I can't find any
other pleasure that comes close.

- Has she eaten?
- Yes.

- How are you today?
- I'm fine.

Our darling!

She's so beautiful!

I brought you a little something.

I'll open it.

It's a notebook.

If you want to start writing...

Thank you.

I got the checked one, how you like it.

- I'll put it here.
- Yes, put it in there.

So you don't lose the habit.

Thank you.

Adele...

How do you feel
calling her after your mother?

She's born, she's a girl.

What's her name?

Adele.

- Don't you like it?
- It's an old lady's name.

My mother-in-law says so too.

- How was it?
- It was a beautiful experience.

What was?

The pregnancy, the birth.

Adele is beautiful, she's very good.

Everyone talks themselves into a life
that suits them best.

Speak soon.

Now you have to take care of her.

- Why are you so on edge?
- I can't take anymore, I'm exhausted.

Maybe the baby can feel it.

Are you saying it's my fault
that she won't sleep?

I'm saying maybe you unsettle her.

- Calm down and close the door.
- No, I won't calm down.

I don't want to be calm.

Seeing as I'm not able to,
you get her to eat, you put her to sleep.

I've had it!

Lila's a witch,
she has a terrifying power.

She casts spells,
kills the babies in her belly.

That bitch, your friend,
has cast a spell on you.

Only you haven't realized it yet.

You mustn't ever see her
or speak to her again.

Garlic, whitebait,
this spell can't operate.

Eye, evil eye, and in your eye.

Shoo, owl of misfortune!

I began to limp,
it really frightened me.

I went to see a specialist.

He said that everything was in order,
just a little sciatica.

He asked me affably
why I was so worried.

I lied, I said I didn't know.

Actually, I knew very well.

I'd feared all my childhood

that my mother's gait
would catch up with me,

and now I thought
it had settled in my body

and that I would limp forever like her.

You could ask your mother
to come and help you.

With her in the house it would be
impossible for me to write.

- If you like I can call my mother.
- It's the same.

I need to focus, to study.

And your friend Lila?

You helped her, will she do it for you?

How does Lila come into it?

We'll follow Adele's advice,
we'll find help here in Florence.

No, I'd rather not.

I don't want slaves in my house.

So you think I should be the slave?

I wash and iron your clothes,
I cook for you.

I clean your house, I raise your child.

And you? You write.

You see people, you go to the university,
take care of your career.

You're exactly the same
as every other man.

You don't want a wife,
you want a faithful housemaid.

And then no one ever invites us
to a party, a concert.

Not even your father's friends
invite us anymore.

You know what?

I'm fucking fed up.

Months passed as did the superstitions.

The baby and I made it,

her nights grew more tranquil
and so did mine.

Pietro agreed that
we hire a live-in helper

and after a year and a half,
here I am in front of a typewriter.

Signora? I'll take the baby out.

If you get hungry
I've left something in the kitchen.

All right, thank you.

Say goodbye to Mamma.

Let's go, Mamma has to work.

Shall we go out?

Despite Clelia's help,
I didn't make any progress.

I wanted to write something fitting,
something great,

but I couldn't find anything
that went past ten lifeless pages.

I struggled to admit it,
but Lila was still my model,

with her stubborn unreasonableness.

Even though I was far away from her,
in every sense,

I wanted to say and do what I imagined
she would have said and done

if she'd had the resources I had,

if she hadn't self-isolated
in the neighborhood.

It's a form of sadism to think
of getting the same results

from people who have had
different opportunities.

- Who says so?
- You evaluate the students too harshly.

You have to be demanding
or you won't change the world.

That's not the point.

My colleagues indulge
the most arrogant students.

Let me speak!

And they're merciless with the weakest.

They're not weaker,
they're afraid of change.

The ones you call aggressive
are trying to change the world

and maybe they're even workers.

- Do you have student workers?
- You're unbearable.

I agree with Pietro,
a good professor must be cordial,

but also demanding.

A student has the tools
to fill in the gaps from the past...

You're more an engineer
than an assistant.

I care a great deal about my students.

- Mariarosa too!
- So I see.

I'm off, I have
an important article to finish.

So be indulgent, but not too much!

I'll see you later.

Good night.

No, thanks.

It's not like we have
anything urgent to do.

Let's sit on the sofa.

We'll have one last smoke,
I'm starting to feel like fucking.

Professor Airota!

Do you need to use these obscene terms
to make revolution?

Is that how it works?
What do you say, Elena?

I come from a neighborhood where
these words have always circulated.

We've never found
an alternative to obscenity.

I haven't read you in L'Unità lately.
Aren't you writing anymore?

It's difficult to focus,

writing in the kitchen with the baby
is complicated.

But you're very good, you mustn't stop.

Isn't there a study, a space?

Yes, but only Pietro uses it,
he's always holed up in there.

If you want, my studio
is not very far from here.

I'm almost always by myself, you could
come and write as much as you want.

Really.

I don't know...

How's your sense of direction?

I get lost everywhere.

I'll explain where it is.

This is Florence

and this line is the Arno embankment

and as you know,
this is Piazza Santa Croce.

- My studio is there, do you know it?
- I know Piazza Santa Croce.

Perfect, then you know
how to get there, number 19.

Come and write whenever you want.

Is it the studio where you draw?

More than draw, I erase, but yes.

Shall we go?

Shall we go?

Let's go.

Elena, I'll be expecting you.

Let's go, Casanova.

Elena?

I'll see you out.

Will you give us our jackets?

I couldn't wait for them to leave.

Come.

- No, I don't want to.
- Come on.

Wait.

- Put this on.
- All right.

Is there a problem?

- Are you angry with me?
- No, Pietro.

I adore your intelligence,

your education.

Dede's wonderful
but I don't want another child.

I want a more active life,
I feel isolated.

I didn't study all my life

to end up stuck
in the role of wife and mother.

I need to go out, to see people,

I can't stay shut away in here
all the time.

I'm dying in here.

The condoms dulled his sensitivity
even more

and he needed even longer
to reach orgasm

than he generally did.

I came out of it satisfied
but nevertheless sore,

bored even.

An anxious desire to transgress
was taking hold of me,

I wanted to break free
as I felt the world was doing.

I wanted to leave behind, just once,
everything in my life,

what I had learned,
what I had written,

what I was trying to write,
the baby I had brought into the world.

Marriage was a prison.

Lila, who was brave,
had fled from it

at the risk of her own life.

I've brought you another eraser.

Shall we take the jacket off?
It's not cold.

The scarf too?

Come.

I can't do this.

- Hi, Lenù.
- How are you? And Gennaro?

At school he's one of the best.

- Enzo?
- He's well too.

He's really good at his new job.

Now he earns 150,000 lire a month

and they hired me too, I'm making 80.

You get it? We're rich.

I'm glad it's good with Enzo
and things are going well.

Not everything's going well.

They killed Dario, you know?
Remember him?

The unionist.

Who killed him?

No one knows anything yet, but
I'm convinced it was the fascists.

They're everywhere, like a black hood
over the neighborhood.

The fascists attack comrades
with metal pipes.

Pasquale was beaten up twice,
they broke his teeth.

Gino attacked Enzo outside his house.

- Holy Mother.
- Nothing ever changes here.

This shit didn't just start now,
you know when it did?

Remember when Don Achille, fascist
and loan shark, was stabbed to death?

Then as now,
justice chose the simplest path.

Think about it.

Who truly benefitted from that death?

Who ended up controlling
moneylending?

Think about it.

Who began lending money?

Who got rich?

Manuela Solara?
You're saying she killed Don Achille?

You think it's not possible
only because she's a woman?

Between his jaw and his collarbone...

A stab wound.

The copper of the pot was so shiny

that the blood looked like an ink stain
with a black line dripping from it.

- How do you know all this?
- I don't know.

I open the pail and pull out the words.

It was a woman, Lenù.

- Have you spoken to your mamma?
- Not recently, no. Why?

It's been a month since
I sent her the book.

How come you sent it to my mother
and not to me?

If you'd wanted to read it
there was a copy in the living room.

You can call her.

Maybe she hasn't finished it.

Knowing her, I think she has.
If I were you I'd call her.

Papa's going to work, kiss.
You're beautiful.

- Goodbye, professor.
- Call me Pietro.

I can't.

- So do you know if she's read it?
- I don't know, Elena.

I don't know anything.
I'll see you later.

Let's go.

Hello.

- You look beautiful.
- Thank you.

- Sorry I'm late.
- Not at all.

Why didn't you come to us?
Dede would've been so happy.

Another time,
today I wanted to talk to you.

Too much work,
today I can't be a grandma.

How's that little beast of a son of mine?

Fine.

What can I get you?

- Tea for me.
- For me too.

So, have you read it?

Yes.

You didn't like it.

No, the truth is that I didn't like it.

Why?

The protagonist is unlikable.

The writing is mannered, it's chaotic.

Maybe you wanted to be modern,
but the result is messy.

It wasn't easy.

I wrote the first novel
without awareness,

with this one I tried a new way
of writing, blurred,

even chaotic.

I really threw myself into it,
I worked...

Thank you.

- May I?
- Go.

I worked, but then I realized
what I wanted to say.

I blended Florence with Naples,

I worked on distant voices,

on how I struggled to get out
of the neighborhood, my origins.

Your first novel was new,
but this is old.

It's so pretentious...

that the words seem empty.

I understand what you wanted to do,

but it's not enough.

And the ending is so coarse,
it's an insult to your intelligence.

Maybe the others
at the publishers will like it.

Send it to them.

But I'm more than certain

that they'll deem it unpublishable.

- Have you given it to Pietro?
- Yes, but he hasn't read it.

Maybe he could give some advice.

I doubt it.

Do you want something?

No.

Am I disturbing you?

- Did you read it?
- I read it.

Well?

It's good.

- Good, how?
- It makes you want to read it.

You're not being truthful,
you don't speak superficially like that.

I don't know how to read anymore,
I warned you.

You do one type of work, I do another.

You've studied, you know
how books should be.

I need you and you don't care!

I helped you, now you have to help me.

You shouldn't write these things, Lenù.

That's not who you are.

Nothing of what I read resembles you.

It's a bad book.

The one before it was bad too.

Why did you make me
say these things?

I should have kept them to myself.

I want you to do better.

Who am I if you're not any good?

Good and bad things that happen
aren't enough to write a book.

Without imagination,
they're not even good,

they just seem fake.

I'm sorry I'm crying like an idiot,

I'm really sorry.

I've got to go now,

I have to put Dede to bed.

Yeah, take care.

That night we conceived Elsa,
our second daughter.

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https://twitter.com/kaboomskull