All language subtitles for Manderlay (2005)

It was in the year of 1933.

Grace and her father were heading
southward with their army of gangsters.

After leaving Dogville
they'd returned to Denver

only to find that the mice had been
truly playing while the cat was away

and new forces had taken over
their former possessions.

The result was
an unappealing retreat

that had brought them through the state of
Alabama in search of new hunting grounds.

No, they will not admit it,
but it's a fact.

Deep down, there isn't a woman alive
who doesn't nurture these fantasies.

Whether they involve harems, or

being hunted through the jungle
by torch-bearing natives.

However much they go on about
civilization and democracy sexy it ain't.

Grace and her father had resumed
their legendary discord

even as they
pulled out of Dogville.

Although Grace had been
applying the technique

of letting things go in one ear
and out the other for a long time

she was somewhat weary of
her unbearably overweening daddy

who believed any nagging woman
could be pacified

with the good old bouquet of carnations.

You wouldn't have had the guts to
talk like that if mother had been alive.

No, you're right my girl,
I would not.

We're going, boss...

Miss... Lady, can I talk to you?
Can I talk to you?

- Yes?
- They gonna whip him!

I knew they would.
He ain't stole nothin'.

They put that Rhenish wine from
Mam's bedside table in his cabin

just to give them
somethin' to whip him for.

One bottle, and it's a whippin'.
That's "Mam's Law"!

What are you talking about? Who?
Who are they going to whip?

- Timothy.
- Why?

That's how they do us slaves.

- Slaves?
- Yes, Ma'am.

Surely
you've hear of slaves.

That's what we is at Manderlay...
This godforsaken place.

That's how I got out.

When a whippin's in the offin'
they take out a section of the fence.

Listen, Grace, it's a local matter.
It's not for us to poke our noses in.

- Just because it's a local matter?
- It's not our responsibility.

You think the Negroes
wanted to leave Africa?

Wasn't it us who brought them here?
We've done them a great wrong.

It's our abuse
that's made them what they are.

Untie him!

Stop!

'Fraid not, lady. Slavery was
abolished seventy years ago.

If you won't obey that law of your own accord,
we'll compel you to do so.

Mam!
Help me get her inside.

Water for Mam!
Act quickly, Rose.

Spare me your hypocrisy,
you dumb old slave.

Get out. Leave us alone.

If you're looking for sympathy,
don't expect any from me.

Listen...

I'm very old and,
unfortunately, dying.

I should like
to ask you for a favor.

If it allows you to go on
exploiting these people like slaves

I'll have to say no,
no matter how "dying" you are.

Slavery is over now,
I can see that.

It had to come one day.

All right...

I'll probably refuse you,
but you might as well ask.

There's a book
under my mattress.

I should like you to retrieve it

and burn it for me.

- It would be best for everyone.
- I'm sure you think so.

But it's my view that anything is best served
by being brought out into the open.

I beg you.
One woman to another.

Woman to woman
makes no difference to me.

The sins of the past are sins I cannot
and do not wish to help you erase.

Now I must leave you. My father's
men have unlocked the gates

so now everybody
can come and go as they please.

Let everyone here know
that from now on

they can enjoy the same freedoms
as any other citizen of this country.

The Constitution
can be found at any courthouse.

Here's a tip
for when you sue the family...

There's a weighty written evidence
concealed in this very room.

She's dead!

The old devil...!

Oh, I'm sorry.
I didn't mean it, Missy.

No, no. If any of us
deserves an apology, it's not me.

I'm afraid...

There's nothing to be afraid of.
We've taken all the family's weapons.

No.

I'm afraid
of what will happen now.

I fear we ain't ready

for a completely new way of life.

At Manderlay,
we slaves took supper at seven.

When do people take supper
when they're free?

We don't know these things.

Free men eat when they're hungry.

Free women, as well.

Considering the times
and the situation,

Grace's words on meal times for free citizens
may have seemed a trifle over-spirited.

We shouldn't believe there lay
any contempt in these words

for the wretched
and starving people of America.

Grace rejoined the gangsters,

who had concluded their disarmament
of the plantation's powers-that-had-been

though their findings were meager
the shotgun and an old toy pistol.

All right, we can go.

No, let's just wait a moment.

What are you waiting for?

For them
to come and thank you?

Or for them to burn the place down
by the glow of the torchlight?

You are a bigot, Daddy!
You always have been.

We owe these people! We brought them here.
We abused them.

- We made them what they are!
- I admit I don't do deals with the Japs.

You can't trust them when there's
big money at stake. But a bigot...?

- Why don't they come out?
- That's exactly what you said last time.

- Last time?
- Remember when you were six?

You thought it was so sad that
your beloved Tweety was shut up in a cage.

And nobody could persuade
you not to let him out.

Tweety was a proud little bird.

Well, his dignified exit
didn't do Tweety a hell of a lot of good,

We found him the next morning
underneath your window.

- Frozen to death.
- I know.

He was an indoor bird.
He didn't have a chance.

What do you think
those Negroes in there are?

How many generations do you think
made their homes behind that fence?

I bet most of them have taken up employment
in their former jobs. Contracts and all.

Now they'll get a few dollars,
but they'll soon drink that up.

Maybe they'll borrow a bit more
from their employers

who have no doubt opened a store
full of colorful wares, just for them.

They won't be able to pay back the
money, and they'll be trapped again.

What you did
was all very noble, my girl but,

when push comes to shove,
you've just made things far worse.

Just as you did with Tweety.

So, all we can do
is hope there's no frost.

What you said
about contracts and loans...

- That's fraud.
- Fraud?

See, I've read

that free slaves are given a mule and
a plot of land to establish themselves.

Yep, that's true

but it turned out that the fellow
who owned the mule and the land

kept it all for himself.
So nothing really ever happened.

It may take them a while to gather
evidence against the plantation

for when the family goes on trial.

Trial?

Tater-pie,

There are times when you seem even
less with it than your dear mother.

No, I seem to have
underestimated 'em.

We've at least one man
with a genuine thirst for freedom

and he's gettin' out,
and he's in a hurry.

He's high-tailin' it, all right.
Yeah, it's Gramps.

- pardon me...
- Not a lot of dignity there.

He's scared out of his wits.

Would it be possible
to have a word with the young lady?

- Yes, yes...
- Don't mean to inconvenience you.

- That's exactly what you're doing.
- No, you're not.

This is a grave day for everyone.

I just thought we must
have seemed a bit ungrateful.

We should like to thank you properly
for what you've done.

It'll only take a moment.

- Yes, of course.
- Ten minutes. Then I'm going.

Not a second longer!

Grace was conducted through
the wretched living quarters

bestowed upon the slaves,
with their pitiful, leaky cabins.

Her actions would mean an absolute
enrichment of these people's lives.

There was no doubt about that

or was there?

Actually, Grace did not see
much of the glow she had hoped for

that could have convinced her

no one would end up
like her little, pale yellow canary.

These were human beings

but of the kind on whom pain
had been inflicted, Grace thought

as she was suddenly interrupted
by a strangely exotic accent...

When we were slaves

we were not required
to offer thanks for our supper

and for the water we drank
and the air we breathed.

Nobody needs to say thank you...

- But...
- But what?

You mean there's something
we ought to be thankful for?

I didn't mean "but",
I meant "and". And...

There's no reason to be grateful for
anything as natural as your freedom.

I'm the first
to apologize for everything

you and your people
have been subjected to.

Those gates should have been
unlocked years ago.

Only 70 years ago!

But before that, of course
they were completely justified.

No...

No, no, no.
You misunderstand me.

- What can I say?
- You needn't say nothing at all.

We've heard of your kind.

A society lady who spends her time
rescuing wretched niggers.

I should like to say thank you.

Missy done give her time
and effort to helpin' us.

Time I bet she could have spent
on all kinds of different things.

'Cause t'was perfect justice
when God made some of us slaves

and not others.

The nigra is violent by nature.

Oh, I know
it ain't popular to say so.

And it ain't
'cause of Burt that I say so.

No, Victoria
did not base her perception

only on her experience
of her husband

though God knows
it weighed heavily.

Burt was a useless eejit whose character
Victoria regrettably, so far in vain,

had done her best to improve
by hitting him on any given occasion

no matter how much
he threatened to take his life

by throwing himself
into Manderlay's deep well.

Grace looked at Wilhelm,
the old house slave, and understood:

He had not brought her here
for anybody to thank her.

He just wanted
her to see them all.

The unfortunate flock
he rightly feared

would have few chances
beyond the perimeter fence.

Living proof of the
devastating power of oppression.

Listen up...

It's all been put on paper.

We just needed
to check the wordin' first

bein' as these things
are legal and bindin'.

Bingo?

- What are these?
- They're the contracts, Ma'am.

The family has been so considerate
to offer us all employment.

Grace was not a lawyer

and unqualified to assess the contract
she that held in her hand.

But she feared that any judge in the county
would deem it fair and proper.

It appeared to Grace
that instead of "employee"

they might as well have
retained the old term, "slave".

A body would only sign it

if he or she was utterly
ignorant of life in a liberal society.

Or, if he or she
really had no choice.

Folks, I suppose that
you're in urgent need of cash.

- Mark?
- Cash?

I once knew this fella from a little township
nobody'd know the name of

so there ain't no grounds
to mention what it was called.

He had cash. Not piles of it.

We are prepared to lend you some money
as covered by this other paper.

And we can also set up
a store here, if you like.

After all,
it's a long way to town.

And if you buy enough
for all of us

I bet you liable
to get a real nice bulk discount

and the goods'll be cheaper
than in town.

Ain't that right, Miss Grace?

I have no idea.

- Please sign, everybody.
- What this be? What it is?

Here...

All right, let's go.

- No, turn it off.
- Damn it!

You said I didn't have the power
to help Tweety,

and you were right.

- I was a child then.
- So, what is it this time?

This time
I have the power to act.

You said so back in Dogville.

That your power would be mine, too.

And that I could use it
in my own way.

That power
was to carry on the family firm.

That I was open to new ideas.
The power you ask for now

will undoubtedly be applied
to something that's foolish at best...

Daddy, you promised.

You were a bastard to Mother but
when you promised her something, she got it.

Okay...

You've been given
what I promised you.

Maybe things haven't been split
right down the middle but

this is as far as
I'm prepared to go.

I want nothing to do
with your plans.

And you won't be able to get
in touch with me if you need me

to get you out of trouble,
because, fortunately, my dear

you'll have no idea where I am.

- Daddy, I'd like to take Joseph.
- No.

I need a lawyer
to sort out paperwork.

No... No. Never!

Never! I'd never let Joseph go.

He's the only man who can draw up a contract
so there's only one possible interpretation.

Though I haven't needed
that talent as of yet

I still might need it one day!

- I'll give you Viggo and Bruno for him.
- Never!

I've given you my best associates,
and you know it!

Daddy, I was meant to be given half.
If Mother had been alive...

Oh, damn it, Grace!

So, that very day
and into the early hours

Joseph employed the
celebrated unambiguous phrases

his previous employer had given
him so little opportunity to practice.

New contracts needed drawing up
and old ones needed nullifying.

All with the astonishing goodwill
that parties always evince

in the company of
rapid-firing machine pistols.

These are the deeds of gift.

Transfer the property to the
former slaves in joint ownership.

The last document is your contract
of employment, by this community,

Employment?

I... don't quite get
what you mean by that.

It'll be without pay

and the right of termination
is in the hands of the employer.

- But nevertheless...
- Manual labor.

For you and your family
and Mr Mays. Hard labor.

Say something, Bingo.

My father's back ain't so strong.

He climbed up to reach
the chandelier one Christmas Day

and he fell off the banister
and struck a table.

Well, that's what happens
when you've got chandeliers.

When I consider your understanding
of the worth of other human beings

has reached
the desirable stage

you and Mr Mays and your family
will be allowed to go.

- Go? And leave our home?
- Yes.

Even starting from scratch
your prospects will be a lot better

than your former laborers'
would have been.

With regards
to the presence of me and my men:

We'll only act
as your counselors.

The guns are merely a precaution
in case of any threats to the new community.

We intend to stay here but only
until the first harvest is home.

After which any of the new
shareholders who wishes to do so

may cash in his or her
deed of gift and receive a dividend.

Will you collect your deeds?
Mark...?

Nobody was enthusiastic or confident
about these legal formalities.

But Grace
could see beyond this.

And if she saw little else but fear
and disquiet in all these eyes

at least she saw gratitude
in one, single pair.

Namely,
in Wilhelm's mild, old gaze.

Burt!

Got a deed of gift here
that ain't been accepted.

Will Mr Burt approach and take
delivery of his deed of gift. Mr Burt.

Mr Burt?

Burt had actually prepared
his escape from his ferocious wife.

Despite her lack of faith
in his abilities

Burt had succeeded in meeting
a woman through the fence

and she had agreed
to help him to abscond.

And there he was, waiting at
the agreed place at the agreed time.

A helping hand,
the woman had said.

What a coincidence that
two women should come to the aid

of the Manderlay slaves
at the same time:

Grace, and Burt's "helping hand".

And the similarities between them
were also peculiar:

Young, beautiful, white.
In male company.

Actually, male company
in alarming numbers.

Where's the nigger?

Grace had moved
into the freed plantation

among its new shareholders.
She was there as a guard, no more.

But no one could stop her
from using this beautiful spring

to make her own observations
on the people of Manderlay.

Hoping to spot the burgeoning change
in character that freedom ought to bring.

But, unfortunately
she saw little of just that.

She saw Victoria
looking down the well

in hopes of a glimpse
of the body of Burt.

She saw Flora and Elizabeth
swooning for Timothy, as ever.

She saw the men
spending their time on card games

playing for tufts of cotton
under their leaking roof.

And she saw how everybody
ignored Mark, not knowing

he was never able to give
an intelligible answer to anything.

We called him Puddin' Head, but
his real name wasn't Puddin' Head.

Grace saw Victoria beating
her son for stealing a moldy cookie.

And she saw the unstoppable
hierarchy of the beatings.

Victoria beating Ed, Ed beating
Milton, and Milton beating Willie

who vented his frustration further
down the food chain, on Claire

who far too rarely managed
to make use of the window

that her loving father Jack had
installed as an emergency entrance.

Which also allowed her
to fall asleep every night

to her favorite view
of the twinkling stars.

Every noontide,
Grace witnessed with pity

how the former slaves
stood on the parade ground

with its mysterious numbers
beneath Mam's balcony

as if nothing
at Manderlay had changed.

However, one of them did not submit
to this too-soothing power of habit:

Timothy, of course.

In a flash, his exotic pride
almost took Grace's breath away.

This day Grace walked on past
the old Peach House

where the whites were put to work
on almost needless little repairs

on her way to the barn
housing her gangsters.

- So how's everyone doing?
- I'm afraid the men got nothing to do.

It's not good for the moral.

Your father
always came up with something.

I bet he did.
But it's patience that's required.

Not this much patience, Niels says.

His grandpa was a cotton grower.

He says the cotton
should have been sown ages ago.

- The soil doesn't look ready.
- Might be because nobody's plowed it.

- Maybe things are different here.
- No, ma'am, don't reckon so.

Well, if it should have been sown surely
the people here would be the first to know.

Grace didn't want to impose.

Her contact with the former slaves
had been limited to brief greetings.

But now it was time
for a talk with some meat to it.

Excuse me. Sir? Mark.
May I ask you something?

It's about planting the cotton.

I've been around for sowin' and harvestin'.
And birth and death.

Right.

So when should
the cotton be planted?

There's strict rules for that.

You can't mess around
with that sort of thing.

Manderlay's always been renowned
for the precision of its harvest.

The swallows always migrate
right afterwards.

They settle here for the night
on their way across the marshes.

But the planting?

It's a science, my dear lady,
and the weather plays a fearsome role.

Yes, yes. And when
will it be time this year?

Not too soon and not too late.

Yes, but when?

Should the cotton
have already been planted?

I'm not the sorta fella to pass on
information unless I'm damned sure.

Unless the facts of the matter
are one hundred percent.

In other words,
the facts need be beyond dispute.

Do you know when to plant?

- No.
- I'd better ask Wilhelm. Is he home?

This morning
he went to the bath house.

He'd gotten frayed
around the edges, as they say.

- It's a funny thing...
- I'm sorry. I'll go find him myself.

Excuse me, Wilhelm,
I've come about the fields.

The fields should have been plowed
and harrowed three weeks ago.

And the cotton planted 2 weeks ago.

Does everybody know that?

Oh, yes,
but I reckon they're thinkin'

somebody else
oughta go out into the fields first.

In the old days Overseer Mays
would've driven us out there.

Maybe it's because
nobody really trust you, Missy.

Yeah, but Wilhelm, they could
be doing something else instead.

Repairs to their homes...
They badly need it.

The cabins
have always been a sore spot.

But Mam said we ain't got
no materials to fix 'em up.

We'll need
what we make on the cotton.

How else will people
survive on their own?

Yeah,

if folks felt
they was given somethin'.

Something brought out by this,
these new times.

That made their lives better in a
convincing way.

Right here and now!

I don't know
what that might be, but...

- But we don't have time for that.
- We've been forced to sow late before.

The harvest might be improved
if we planted a bit late.

Even says that in Mam's Law.

- Mam's Law?
- Yes, Mam's Law.

It's all the rules
for running the plantation.

But we weren't allowed to read it.
It was just for Mam and the family.

Only for Mam and the family,
Grace thought.

Certainly no more.

And there on Mam's bed

skimming through the book, filled
with bizarre and vicious regulations

she came upon a page
that looked strangely familiar.

A table with numbers
from one to seven.

Somewhere Grace had seen
something similar, for sure.

Mam's Law revealed it all:

The Manderlay plantation
with its glamorous front mansion

and pitiful rear where the slaves

had been kept in an iron grip
by these very numbers.

They represented the psychological
division of the Manderlay slaves.

Sammy was a Group 5:
a Clownin' Nigger.

The formidable Victoria was of course
a Number 4: a Hittin' Nigger.

No wonder her husband Burt
had accepted "a helping hand"

even if it was
another color from his own.

Wilma and Mark
were Losin' Niggers.

Wilhelm was a 2: a Talkin' Nigger.
Flora was a Weepin' Nigger.

Et cetera. There were Pleasin' Niggers
and Crazy Niggers by the dozen.

The final category,
Number 1 : Proudy Niggers

consisted nowadays of Timothy,
who was of course not there.

And Elizabeth.

No... It said 7, not 1.

She was a Pleasin' Nigger,
also known as a chameleon.

A person who could transform herself into
exactly the type the beholder wanted to see.

This was how the slave system had
been kept alive so long at Manderlay:

Bondage,
even through psychology.

As Grace, in deep thought, gazed
across the fields of Manderlay

she recalled
another page in Mam's Law

dealing with the weeding of the paths
in the romantic "Old Lady's Garden".

The name of the band of woodland
that skirted the plantation.

Trees and tree trunks,
Grace thought.

So there were materials
at Manderlay, after all.

Excuse me...

May I ask you all something?

Isn't it true that somebody
who's even poor and colored

can still take the trouble
to maintain their home?

How dare you?

You think colored folks prefer holes
in their roof, and wallowing in mud?

Then all you need to do
is mend those holes.

But I told you. There ain't never been
those kind of materials at Manderlay.

No materials...?
That's not true.

When I'm in the fields
I see timber wherever I look.

Waiting to be turned into boards for a roof.

Or an extension or maybe a whole new cabin.

That be Mam's garden.
You can't cut that down.

And why can't we cut down
The Old Lady's Garden?

Have you spent that many happy hours
on your knees weeding her romantic paths?

That's true.
There's loads of timber.

We ain't seen it as anything
but The Old Lady's Garden.

I don't know what you think,
but to me it sounds like a splendid idea.

And at a stroke, these seated, reclining, resting
people had turned into people going full tilt.

Walking,
running, working people.

Without anyone having to threaten
them with "The Lady's Hand"

as Grace had been told
the great whip was called.

And Grace had won
a kind of victory.

A small beginning of something

that would one day erase all the negative,
inherited behavior patterns at Manderlay.

But the appetite for improving
the living quarters

unfortunately exceeded that
for preparing the fields.

A few of the former slaves had volunteered

and with the white family and Grace

they made up a sort of gang
to prepare the soil for the seeds.

Under the gaze of a hostile Timothy
with his mysterious white handkerchief.

- He wasn't born here?
- He's a Munsi.

It's a line of African royalty.
It's a very proud line.

He don't drink or gamble like the others be doin'
with their little tufts of cotton money.

T'was Mam's Law.
We weren't allowed no real money.

Grace knew about the clever system
of currency in Mam's Law.

Not real money that you
could use in the outside world.

The Munsi don't gamble 'cause
they don't believe in winnings.

They believe you have to be
humble to your crops

and only take
what's absolutely necessary.

I've never heard
of these Munsi before

but I believe
I once heard of the Mansi.

They different.
They was slaves of African kings.

They gamble...
They is true mischief, Timothy say.

So Timothy has prejudices,
as well.

- What?
- Oh, nothing. I was just thinking aloud.

- So you find company, Flora.
- No, no. I was on my way out, anyway.

Timothy?

Let me tell you one thing.

I know you don't like me.

And don't trust me.
And I can see why.

Although our ideals differ,
you have a pride within you

that I believe will one day be the
salvation of everybody at Manderlay.

Let me tell you one thing, too!

You got fine words, a posse
of gangsters, and your white skin.

Somethin' folks here seem to fall for,
but I ain't fooled.

You're not interested in us.
Not as human beings.

It's tough telling people apart
when they're from another race.

We whites have committed irreparable
crimes against an entire people.

Manderlay is a moral obligation,
because we made you.

Luckily, I'm just a nigger
who don't understand such words.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've come
here for the company of my girl

and that ain't nothin'
for you to see.

Black hides meetin'...

And if I were you, I'd leave now
before things get too nasty.

Grace regarded Timothy's hostility
as a challenge.

The very next day
she took a step to dispel his claim

that as a white she was incapable
of caring for blacks as individuals.

She'd had a chat with Venus
about her maladjusted son Jim.

Venus had revealed
that Jim's behavior

was merely that of
a budding, but frustrated, artist.

- Tell me, have you seen Venus?
- Nobody here wants your charity.

I have something for Jim.

I've had a good look
at his face since our chat

and you're right.
It does possess an artist's sensitivity.

- This is far too much...
- No, no, no!

Go on, call him.
This is for him.

Jim, come on out here
with me and Miss Grace, baby.

These are for you,
because we believe in you.

Now run along
and paint your fantastic pictures.

Never mind close-minded folks
who think they know

what art is meant to look like.
Give them hell from me, Jim!

Excuse me, but I ain't Jim.
I'm Jack.

That's Jim.

It is tricky. I've never
been able to tell them apart, either.

They're both colored
and they both got curly hair.

Why look any deeper than that?

To be honest, Grace had never been quite sure
which was Jim and which was Jack.

A blunder like that would, in her former life
merely have occasioned a little laughter.

In her life at Manderlay
it was... disastrous.

But like her father, she didn't take long to change
defeat into anger energy and a counterattack.

This is what has created
all this resistance.

Even you regard it
as almost sacred, don't you?

I must admit it's played
a right important part in my life.

That will be my next move.
They should be allowed to see it.

And understand
it can't do them any more harm.

I wouldn't advise it, Missy.

Presenting it to them would
be like showing a child the rod

with which it is to be beaten.

It must be made public
but we ain't all ripe for it.

All right.

We'll have to see about
ripening you, and quickly.

I'm not talking about the meetings
I've organized where hardly anybody came.

I mean teaching with a timetable.

Old-fashioned,
hands on schooling.

I've got something for you to do.
It even involves bossing people about.

At noon tomorrow I'm giving my first
lesson to all Manderlay's former slaves.

It'll be your job
to make sure they're there.

- No excuse for not showing up.
- And the family?

No, they're pretty well
teaching themselves.

- Are you listening to me?
- It's 'cause Niels just got a great hand

What?

Who are you?

My name is Doctor Hector.

Do excuse me a moment.
I'll have to pay my way out of this round.

I don't believe you possess
any cards of real significance.

You have a poker player's face.

You see
here my entire enterprise.

I've never gained access
to Manderlay before.

So when I drove by today
and saw the gates were open

I took it as a sign of new times.

- What exactly do you do?
- I entertain.

Party games, card games,
and the like.

Well, nowadays
mainly the latter.

You play for money.

But I do more than play.
I cheat.

And you don't object to revealing
this business secret of yours?

Oh, to some people,
but not to you.

If you and I establish the business
relationship I'm anticipating

you'll know
exactly what to expect.

And what can I expect?

Eighty percent.

You know all the problems that arose
when our beloved new deal was imposed in '65.

Plantation owners had plenty
of land, but nobody to work it.

So they contracted
with their former slaves.

But they didn't have the same hold
on the rascals as in the old days.

Of course they lent them money.

But quite a few of the nigras

actually saved up and paid off their debts.

So the plantation owners got worried.

- I bet they did!
- Oh, yeah.

That's where my idea came in.

I went to the plantations
with the full backing of the owners

to entertain their employees,
and they were sorely in need of diversion.

We just had a little game of cards.

If anyone was close to repaying his debt
I would take the shirt off their back.

And I am prepared to offer you
the very same service today, Ma'am.

You are not convinced.

Let me give you another token
of my profound loyalty.

I have here a letter from
a man by the name of Stanley.

He asked me to smuggle it out.

Perhaps you'd like to see it
before it's mailed.

Listen, Mr Hector...

Let me say I have never met a man
whom I have so instantly despised

so wholeheartedly, both for
his personality and his occupation.

So you're
turning down my offer?

I never want
to see you here again.

All right...

Well, I am disappointed.

I shall nevertheless bestow
upon you my thought for the day.

I indulge in word games.

I like to give my clients something
to laugh or think about when I leave.

The best technique for a card shark

is dealing from the bottom.

Look as if you're dealing
from the top of the deck

but instead you just take
the bottom card. One that you know.

Taking from the bottom
means something else in social terms.

But it is what I do.

I take from the bottom.

It won't be hard to find me
if you change your mind.

The letter was aimed at a Mr Miller one of
the truckers who picked up cotton from Manderlay

and the plantation's only
real contact with the outside world.

It was short and to the point:

We are being held prisoner by
gangsters and coloreds at Manderlay.

Inform the police and please come
to our aid with all due dispatch.

Indignation is a rare emotion for a gangster

but such a state was
what Grace's men experienced

while they herded the
colored people in for their lesson

as Grace had reported on Dr Hector's
trick of taking from the bottom.

It was hardly the sophisticated
ambiguity of the term

that had affected them
so dramatically.

Welcome to our lesson.

Yes, I call it a lesson,

as the term "meeting" seems to have scared
some people out of attending.

I was comin'... but I was late.

You hadn't made it
by the time we finished.

In the old days we heard the bell
from the old clock in the hall.

T'was easier to keep up with time,
but we never hear it no more.

Probably because
nobody winds it up.

But now for the topic
of this lesson: Working together.

Only four people from your wing
helped to prepare the fields

and only five helped to plant.

If I'd been
a shareholder in this enterprise

and had also been one of the five,
I would have felt cheated.

Democracy means
government by the people.

But, as it's not practical
for everyone to sit in Congress

a method by which people may
express their views is required.

This method is called a ballot.
All right?

So, let's try it out.

We should choose a problem.
Anything anyone can't decide on?

- If I may suggest a small matter...
- Please do.

I reckon the little broken rake is mine.
But Flora reckons it's hers.

It's my rake

That's an excellent suggestion.
It's a great example.

I assume you all know of this dispute
and feel able to have an opinion.

Who does the community think
owns the rake?

It could turn out to belong
to both parties equally.

That would correspond nicely
with the subject of this lesson:

Working together,
sharing together.

All right, so who thinks
it's Elizabeth's rake...?

Sammy?

I think...
I think it's Elizabeth's rake.

All right, all right!

Slowly the point of Grace's
discourse dawned on the majority.

Most thought the rake
was Elizabeth's

a few, that it was Flora's,
and nobody, that it could be shared.

I still remain... undecided whether the rake
is Elizabeth's or Flora's.

Right. So, not surprisingly,
neither party receives Mark's vote.

From now on the little broken rake
belongs to Elizabeth.

There are
winners and losers with balloting.

But the community has spoken.

Now Grace embarked on an explanation
of Flora's difficulties raking without a rake

and that joint ownership
could have its advantages.

To make sure everyone understood
the democratic principle

they carried out
another ballot at Jim's suggestion.

I wanna talk about Sammy be laughin' so loud
at his own jokes and they ain't funny.

I been tryin' to sleep and I can't get no sleep
'cause he laughs so loud.

Maybe there can be a time
when he can stop his jokes

and stop laughin',
so we can get some sleep.

Surely you can't vote
on a man's laughter.

I'm hearing it's at sundown.

That's what I'm hearing.
So let's do a vote.

All right, so that's settled.

That's democracy.

Finally Wilhelm proposed that
somebody should be responsible

for winding up the clock with
its small but penetrating chimes.

For mysterious reasons the fairly
passive artist Jim was appointed

despite the song and dance
his mother kicked up.

Grace ended by announcing
that the next day's topic would be:

Our anger
and how to communicate it.

Maybe someone would
at least tell me what the time is.

Ask Timothy.
He always know what time it is.

He tell by the sun.
He always do that.

Or you can ask Wilhelm.

He's so old, he's from
before the clock ever got here.

Wilhelm and Timothy each made
his suggestion as to what the time was.

And they were
astonishingly close.

Wilhelm thought it was 8 minutes to.
Timothy thought it was 5 minutes to.

Grace rejoiced quietly at this natural ability
they found so straightforward.

But rapidly 2 factions emerged.
One which insisted it was 8 minutes to

and the other would not
hear anything but 5 minutes to.

They were thus able to draw on the
day's learning and put it to the vote.

The result was 5 minutes to,
by a small majority. And so it was decided:

The official time at Manderlay
was five minutes to two.

Grace's first lesson
took place in relative good humor.

But the second one that unfortunately proved
unavoidable was severer in character.

Read!

Daily ration of food
for slaves from Category 7...

Oh. Oh, no. "1... is..."

Six ounces of solid food.

They've always been given that.
No matter how little was in the stores.

That's a lot less
than Category 7, for example.

Why should a "Proudy Nigger"
have less to eat than an "Eye-Pleasin"' one?

How can the way
your head seems to be arranged

have anything to do with
the amount people are given to eat?

I really don't know, either.
Not precisely. Do you, Mr Mays?

It could be
just to punish them for their pride.

No, I just did what it said.

It mattered a lot to my mother
that we followed these rules.

I know of many places where they
got quite a bit less than six ounces.

And where
they began to eat dirt.

It's a kind of custom coloreds have
when food's scarce 'round here.

But it was forbidden
under Mam's Law.

That's not
what we're discussing here.

Don't you see what an affront it is,
to divide people up like that?

Folks is different.

Oxen and rabbits
don't need equal shares, neither.

Both parties
would come down with bellyaches.

Stop it! I'm not at all satisfied
with what I've heard here today.

You're all speaking up
for this foolishness.

I'm going
to have to penalize you

because so little effort
has been made in these lessons.

Grace thought her idea of making
the whites make up their faces

which had seemed so just
in her flash of anger that afternoon

was perhaps a tad too much
in the wrong direction.

Even though as a child
Philomena would never have dreamt

of going to the toilet
without her black nanny.

Look at your Uncle Jim.

He's in the bathtub,
learning how to swim.

Can we clean our faces now?

Yes. Yes, of course.

Well...

Here comes the dust.

Then none of this
will matter anymore.

- What do you mean?
- There's gonna be a dust storm.

The plants
have only just begun to grow.

It couldn't be worse.

But Manderlay's fields have never
been harmed by a dust storm.

'Cause the windbreak
was still in place.

Grace was not inclined to go into the
meaning of these mysterious words.

Soon she'd convinced herself
they had no meaning at all

apart from spreading
disquiet and despondency.

The next day's lesson
on unleashing one's anger

met little understanding
from the assembly.

It was when
they wound up voting

and had decided
to use Wilma's potatoes for seed

as she was old
and didn't have to eat much

that they heard the wind.

The dust had come at this time for
as long as anybody could remember.

But every year from
time immemorial

it had spared the newly planted cotton
as the plantation had been cleverly shielded

by a narrow band of trees known in
common parlance as "The Old Lady's Garden".

In the midst of the almost biblical
darkness that fell on Manderlay

Grace knew that even hand in hand
with all the races of the world

no army of gangsters
could counter this:

Nature's extravagant
demonstration of power.

She could only watch as row upon row
of the seedlings she had welcomed

disappeared
beneath the devastating dust.

Nobody could do a thing.

But apparently it did not mean
that no one would try

for now Grace
discerned a rider out there.

He was riding like crazy.

Wherever he spotted
a pile of dust beginning to grow

he would break it up
with his horse's hooves.

Whether it would help at all
was hard to tell, but it was a battle

no matter how senseless
it might be. Heroic and dangerous.

Timothy...

Come back!

Come back...! Timothy!

- Timothy!
- Timothy's gonna be all right!

He knows these storms.

Miss Grace, you's head over heels for him.
You's a fool, Miss Grace.

- Where'd you find him?
- He was behind the house.

- Is he alive?
- I do believe I know what you askin'.

- But what does it mean, to be alive?
- It means, is he breathing?

Forget it.

Is he dead?

We colored folks can be awfully
hard to kill if we want it that way.

That very afternoon
Timothy was back on his feet

surveying the buildings
for damage caused by the storm.

The dust had struck
a devastating blow.

Hardest hit were the food stores in the dilapidated
Peach House which had lost its roof.

Almost all of their provisions
were now inedible.

On top of that, the pneumonia
brought by the dust was inevitable.

The dust had got in everywhere

particularly where no new boards
provided weatherproofing.

Namely through the cracked glass
in the window above Claire's bed.

Valuables, not to mention cash,
were non-existent at Manderlay

since the elegant clock on
the mantelpiece turned out to be

not Swiss, as Mam believed but a copy made
quite locally and worth practically nothing.

The Freed Enterprise
of Manderlay was bust.

Wilhelm and Grace
were therefore under no illusions

that anybody
would attend class this day.

But then, one by one, the
Manderlay flock began to appear.

I'm happy you're all here.

But I don't really
have a lecture for you today.

I'd just like to say

how badly I feel
about this hopeless situation.

But of course words
aren't much use to you.

No, Missy has learnt
that much, at least.

But as regards hopelessness, it is
something we do know a bit about.

There are a million plants
out there beneath the dust.

If we can save but 50 of them

perhaps we can grow a small quantity of
great quality and get a better price for it.

I reckon we should make a move.

That is how a great disaster turned
into a stroke of luck for Grace

and how the people, with a common
foe, the dust, as their excuse

suddenly found themselves working
together with their deadliest enemy

to achieve the common goal
as free, grown-up Americans.

Stanley and Bert
had sown the fields with sticks

so people could tell where
to uncover the tender seedlings.

While Flora, ever so childishly,
kept teasing Grace

for her supposed
romantic feelings towards Timothy.

Good night, old Wilma.

Good night, child.

We can talk for awhile
before we go to sleep.

No, thank you, Wilma.

I'm not weary enough
to go to bed yet. A little walk helps.

A walk when a body ain't sleepy
is a very good thing.

I do the same myself.

- Good night.
- Good night.

That everything seemed
as moving along on its own

could be nothing
but welcomed by Grace.

But her lack of an active part to play
had left her in a kind of vacuum

and allowed other things
inside her to claim attention.

Human things like instincts
and emotions.

An ominous sense of homelessness
and loneliness struck Grace.

Wandering about,

Grace suddenly found herself outside
the wooden rear of the bath house.

Without warning, the homelessness
transferred into a strange desire

to move up that rusty pipe
against the flow of dirty water

into where naked bodies
were being washed in cheap soap.

Black skin...

Male and black manhood.

What Grace had felt at the bath
house was undignified. Shameful.

Her mind was meant to be
devoted to policy at Manderlay.

A matter in which these thoughts
had no business whatsoever.

Grace had forced herself to sleep, to
rid her thoughts of those black bodies.

An achievement that was possible thanks
to the stubbornness in Grace's family.

But the cotton seedling in her
love-starved body did not give up.

It manifested itself as a dream.

Grace was in southern climes...

There were women in exotic
costumes and men in turbans.

Even in her sleep

she hated with a passion any idea of
allowing that her father might be right.

But it was a harem.

A group of black slaves appeared,
bearing a huge charger of dates.

In a twinkling Grace lay among
the dates trembling with pleasure

as a flock of Bedouin satisfied her
one by one with their noses.

And it was even more confusing
when Timothy appeared

and was both the slave
bearing wine, hands shaking

and the sheik himself,
whose authoritative hands

tested the size
of Grace's most intimate orifices.

- I must have overslept.
- I'm sorry. Claire's had another turn.

Yeah...

Yeah, she's running
a bad fever again.

- She had anything to eat?
- Pork chops and baked chicken.

She's taken a little oatmeal,
but it's hard to get into her.

She had lung trouble
last year when the dust come, too.

But there was
far more dust this year.

Honestly, you oughta go back home to
the clean air and larders full of food.

We're all in this together,
no matter how hard it gets.

And hard it will get.

I've seen what's left around here
though some folks are still filling their bellies.

Right...
We've got to talk about that.

Come on, it'll be all right, Rose.

I propose that we ration
what we have left

and spread
our provisions over a month

until we can harvest more
from the vegetable gardens.

And, as I hear there are
so very few beans and potatoes left

I think we should give them
to Rose, who needs them for Claire.

What's left will be shared out
equally among the rest of us.

Excuse me...

The rest of us?
That goes for us, too?

- Of course it does.
- Your father wouldn't have approved.

Joseph swears it couldn't be
called food at all. Legally speakin'.

Your father used to
let us obtain stuff.

Surely we could steal
something from somewhere.

But I suppose
that's no good, either, Miss Grace.

I'm afraid
you're one tough cookie.

Maybe I am.

Sadly, the most nourishing fare
the estate could provide

had not improved
Claire's condition much.

But she needed meat,
and Timothy knew it.

So now they'd have to do without
the old donkey on the treadmill.

It was not a good portent
of the level of morale

that the gangsters were trying to fix
the car from the ravages of the dust.

But luckily, Joseph, who was able to
interpret the most difficult of texts

had met his match
in the 1923 Ford owner's manual.

As time went by,

the scattered cotton plants grew side
by side with its denizens' hunger

now that the little donkey meat
that was left was reserved for Claire.

Grace found herself in the peculiar situation

of joining the women in what had been
completely forbidden under Mam's Law:

Namely, the southern tradition
of eating dirt.

Having given up
on the automobile manuals

Joseph had found
a quaint phrase in the agreement

he had originally made with Grace's father
regarding his employment.

The wording could be interpreted
to mean that certain circumstances

obliged an employee to obey
a higher authority than his boss.

The authority in this case
being his stomach.

The good news was that, though the drought
had been hard on the fields

Stanley and Timothy had invented
a weapon to deploy against it.

- Wait, wait...
- Watch out! It's coming...

But the best news of all was Claire

who had miraculously
gained so much strength

that she could empty
her plate of good food.

Always in the middle of the night
when everyone was asleep

but nobody was looking but even so...

If Grace had thought hunger would
stop her forbidden sensual fantasies

actually the opposite
was more the case.

Flora, what's goin' on
with the chickens?

Are they fighting?

You mean
the 4 whites after the black?

You want I should
open the door and have a peek?

No...

Mind you,
that little black hen real proud.

Wouldn't surprise me, them others took
the chance to give her the odd peck.

Now, don't you tease me, Flora.

- Goodnight, then.
- Goodnight.

Flora had teased Grace before
with the little black hen.

But they were hurting in there.
No doubt about it.

And to make everything far worse

that heat in her loins came back
in spite of the chicken's cry for help.

Or may even have been
intensified by it.

Devastated, humiliated and overcome
by fear for her sanity she fled.

In a fit of madness, or what
others would call horniness

she threw herself
onto her bed on her tummy

forgot about
shame and political correctness

and did what she had not done
since childhood

when she had not yet known
it was so infinitely wrong:

She pressed herself onto the knot
she had instinctively formed by bunching her quilt.

Whether it was pleasurable
or painful is hard to tell

but she kept at it.
It was beyond her control.

With no regard for the other women
or common decency in general

the pulsating explosions in her
nether regions took over her world.

Who knows how it would have concluded
had there not appeared at that very moment,

fortunately for Grace, a person shaking her back
to a state of self-defense.

Miss Grace!
You gotta come quick, Miss Grace!

She dead.

I took such care of her...

I fed her the good meat...

She'd been eatin'...

She dead...

Now she's dead!

- I said come on!
- She'd been eatin'...

No! She hadn't been eatin'...
This 'un had!

Y'gonna tell 'em, Wilma?

I was so hungry...

I get so dizzy...

And my legs hurt
when I'm hungry.

Our good friend and Claire's beloved Wilma been
visiting in the window while we slept.

She emptied Claire's plate every,
single night!

T'was easy as pie, since that window
could be opened from the outside.

I've eaten
so much dirt in my time...

My teeth can't take it no more.

She killed our little girl.

Jack... Jack, she was sick.

Miss Grace, Rose didn't worry much
about feeding her during the day

'cause she ate so much at night.

I want Wilma punished
for killin' my little girl!

I want this matter put to the vote.

I want Wilma punished
for killin' my little girl.

I want justice,
or I'll kill her myself right now!

Let me go...

Stop!

- We will talk about it tomorrow!
- They're killing my little girl!

Stop it!

And so the next evening
a gathering took place

under the magnificent, clear,
twinkling, starry sky of Manderlay.

Now we've heard 'em all,
Wilhelm.

Wilma showed no mercy
to our Claire

so no mercy oughta
be shown to her. She must die!

Jack...

Killing old Wilma
won't bring Claire back.

All we want is justice.

You've said so many times
that we're entitled to it!

I propose... that...

... she be banished from Manderlay
for stealing food in an emergency.

She probably won't survive
that anyway, as old as she is.

After all, we don't know if the food
made any difference in Claire's fate.

Wilma can't have known
whether it would kill her.

But she didn't care when it
came to risking somebody else's life.

That of our little girl!

All Wilma saw was a plate nobody
was touching. She was hungry.

What do you think
the rest of us was?

All of us here
ate what we'd agreed.

What do you think
little Claire was?

We're all hungry...
and that just makes it far, far worse!

I'd like to ask y'all

to vote
on Jack and Rose's motion.

All those who believe that Wilma
deserves to die, raise your hands.

Thank you.

Thank y'all.

Stop!

Grace?

I thought we were the ones
who made the decisions here.

That's what you always told us.
Or maybe it's only sometimes.

Of course not. It's always.

Then they's the decision
you're here to defend, ain't they?

So let me go across and do it.

No...

If anybody is going to do it,
it's going to be me.

It must not be
an act of vengeance.

That's alright by me.

As long as
she suffers as much as Claire.

That will be up to me.

I'll let you know when it's over.

Grace...

Be so kind as to tell me...

What they decide?

Am I gonna die?

No, Wilma,
you're not going to die.

What you mean?

I mean the ballot did not go Jack's way.
You're not gonna die.

They didn't think Claire would have
eaten the food on her plate, anyway.

And anyhow, she'd certainly have died
from pneumonia from the dust.

Did they really say that?

Yes... They really said that.

If you knew
how terrible the waitin' was...

- I'm just so weary.
- I know.

I know you are.

But now you can sleep easy.

Yes...

I can.

Lie down and get some sleep.

You are the daughter
I might have had.

- Lie down.
- Will you stay till I sleep?

I'll do that Wilma...

Here...

Lie down.

Wilma?

Harvest time finally did arrive and
the cotton went safe into the sacks.

Despite the fewer bushes,
the harvest was splendid.

It was as if
all the trials and tribulations

had made the cotton extra white
and the fibers extra strong.

And, even at current prices,
it would bring in a record sum.

Although nothing
was the way it had ever been

the harvest was as precise
as always at Manderlay.

The moment the last tuft of cotton
was in the sack, the swallows arrived

dropping from the skies
towards the marshes.

Everyone observed the sight in awe

and for a moment it was greater
than all the words and politics in the world.

The old gin was as ready as ever.
It had been for a week.

Greased, stripped down and reassembled
by Sammy who had teamed up with Niels.

They worked well in harness.

Niels had never found a joke funny
so Sammy, the Clownin' Nigger, had given up

trying to entertain him
with his somewhat weak material.

Miss Grace?

Edward!

I hardly recognized you.
You've certainly changed the way you dress.

Yes. Your father thought
it was time for a change.

He's on his way
into a new area of business.

- Is Daddy here?
- No, he sent me with a message.

He says he'll be by a week,
Monday, at eight in the evening.

He'll wait in the car outside the gates
for 15 minutes, not a second longer.

The way he did in Dogville, he says,
and the way he did with your mother.

- When he asked her to marry him.
- Something like that.

If you want to go, you better be there
'cause he says he'll just push on.

- I know, I get the message.
- All right, I'm on my way.

- Take care, Miss Grace.
- You, too, Edward.

Oh, Edward...

Just tell Dad that
new times have come to Manderlay.

Grace had no intention of going
with her father when he arrived.

She had her own life now
and it suited her just fine.

But she'd be at the gates, anyhow.

She just had to show him what she had achieved:
A new and better Manderlay.

It was examination day
for Stanley and the family.

Even though things
had been going well recently

when Stanley
partook of his beer

nobody'd be able to keep him
from revealing what'd happened on the plantation,

and thereby ruin it all.

Wilhelm had been skeptical about
letting the whites talk to the drivers.

But Grace had insisted.
She trusted them.

Oh, Sammy...!
Oh, Lord, Sam.

Eejit nigger!

Are you totally useless?

Sorry, Mr Mays.

I'm jokin'.

Stanley Mays
and the family passed.

That very evening Grace pronounced
them graduate Americans.

Although they were free to go,

they had elected to stay as there was talk of hiring
the family and Stanley permanently.

And before anybody knew it

the money was in the bank

from where it had been picked up
by proud Timothy on horseback.

Niels and Sammy had fixed the car
wisely without reference to the manual.

- Thank you for everything.
- Thank you.

- What are you gonna do now?
- I don't know.

You could always
go back to gangstering.

- Where's Mr Robinson?
- Down in the cabin, shakin' hands.

Grace was touched by Mr Robinson's
sudden social interest in the former slaves.

But it felt right when the car left.

It was time for Grace
to say goodbye to power.

Brave and strong,
thy men and women

better this, than corn and wine.

Make us worthy, God in Heaven

of this goodly land of Thine.

Hearts as open as our doorway

Iiberal hands and spirits free

Alabama, Alabama

we will aye be true to thee.

He's watching you.

- No, he's not.
- He's watching you.

No, he's not.

I reckon it have somethin' to do
with them gangsters leavin'.

See, honey, when you was boss,
he was visitin' your kingdom.

Now you're visitin' his.
I reckon he wants you now...

He should have some dinner.
I'm gonna go get him.

- You gonna go get him?
- Uh-huh.

- You gotta come get some dinner.
- Quiet, woman.

In Mam's bedroom Grace recalled
Flora's worrying, intimate details.

Sexual intercourse among the Munsi
was determined by ancient traditions.

It would not appeal to Grace,
Flora had said.

Not with Grace's modern ideas of
equality of people and the sexes.

But Grace seemed to have left her
progressive attitude at the table.

Now actually in the situation she had dreamed of
it was all more bizarre than erotic.

Anyway, Grace had decided
to hang on to this opinion.

Timothy, wake up!

Timothy's horse had escaped

when fires had been lit around the slave quarters
while Grace was asleep.

- What happened?
- I can't tell you.

You're gonna
have to ask somebody else.

- The gangsters took the money.
- What?

The gangsters took the money.

That's the answer. And I reckon
it's a pretty clear answer, too.

It certainly is very clear.

What makes you think so?

When the party ended

we all left the table to go
and take a look at the money.

Timothy had hid it
behind the red slope.

Timothy was meant to be keepin' an eye
on the place, but he wasn't there.

And the box had been pulled up.
It was empty.

One of the gangsters dug up the money
when he was pretendin' to say goodbye.

But he couldn't have done it alone.

Someone must have told him
where the box was.

And Sammy
refused to admit it was him

although he'd spent
a whole lot of time with Niels.

And then everybody
started yellin' and screamin'

and folks is angry
and no one's listenin'.

Stanley Mays and the family
got away, I believe.

Although Philomena and Bertie
got cut up real bad.

Elizabeth is dead, too,
although that was mostly by accident.

It was too soon
to send the guns away.

We weren't quite ready yet.

For once
Grace had nothing to say.

She could but reproach herself
for her joke to the gangsters

about resorting to their former
occupation if things got tight.

- Wilhelm, I can't rouse Timothy.
- No, I bet you can't.

He drank three bottles
of hooch before we ate.

The Munsi don't drink.

Well, maybe...
they do on special occasions.

Well, it certainly
is lively around here!

Didn't I tell you
I didn't want to see you here again?

Yes, but I haven't come to do a deal,
I've come to conclude one.

And in the hope, of course,
that you'll see I am an honest man.

I needn't have come back
to settle up at all.

This is your 80%...

Quite a tidy little sum, too,
as you can see.

It's the money from our harvest.

I expect so. It's that time of year.

See, I had a little game with
a young man who came to see me.

I knew he'd come from here, so...
I've made my humble return.

Don't you think you just might
have been wrong about me?

Who did you play
for all this money?

Well, it was a day ago now.
I'd have come sooner

but I pass this black car
with some gentlemen in dark coats.

They began to follow me
shouting that I was going to die.

That I was a con man
who dealt from the bottom.

What an accusation!

- It just took a while to get away.
- Who was it?

The nigra fellow arrived
on horsesback. What was his name...?

Timothy.

That was it!

- Timothy, yeah, that was his name.
- He's a Munsi.

They don't gamble.

Well, I know Munsi don't gamble.
I'm a bit of an expert in this field.

Hell of a time gettin' them to
the gamin' table.

He's no Munsi.

In fact, he's what I'd call
a splendid fella at the card table.

He just stayed bein' splendid,
no matter how much he lost.

- He told everyone he was a Munsi.
- Of course.

See, the girls
were wild about the tales he told.

All the Munsi tales.
The proud African, the royal line.

You know, all that old-fashioned morality.
And the accent, of course.

So, on account of that,
the girls was easy to bed.

I'm not even going
to avail myself of your gratitude.

That's just the kind of fella I am.
Hey, ho!

Now bless me if I can't
come up with a motto for today...

They say the Mansi
are better hung than the Munsi.

Or, the Munsi are so up-stuck.
But the Mansi, how they fuck!

Well, I'll be seein' you.
We can talk business another day.

Grace went to the last pages with
the personal details on the slaves at Manderlay.

Where was Timothy, now?
Yes, his name had a "1" beside it.

A Proudy Slave,
as she'd read earlier...

Or did it?

She looked more closely
at the hand-written number.

She compared it to the "7"
next to Elizabeth's name.

The Pleasin' Nigger
of the chameleon type.

Expert in changing character
to whatever was opportune

and what would titillate
and enthrall the other person.

And then Grace could see it...

Timothy's number was not a "1",
but a "7".

She had only wanted
to read it as a "1 ".

There was even a note
beside Timothy's name:

Caution. Diabolically clever.

Grace had called a final meeting
for everybody at Manderlay.

For that evening, she had decided
to leave the place forever.

- With her father when he arrived.
- Oh, you're all here.

I persuaded the community
to assemble extraordinarily...

for two ballots.

They can scarcely have
anything to do with me anymore.

- Don't be too certain of that.
- Well, I am certain.

I've come to say goodbye.

If you've had 2 ballots today,
that coincides with the 2 presents I brought.

Farewell presents, if you like.

The first... is this.

It's the money from our harvest.

Actually it's 80% of it. A card shark
kept the other 20% as commission.

He scammed the money off somebody
from Manderlay in a game of cards.

- So the gangsters didn't take it?
- No. No, they didn't.

And I won't prolong the tension.

It was the treasurer who did it.

The man charged with
looking after the money.

He was overcome
by his eagerness to play.

Probably because
he isn't a Munsi at all...

... but a Mansi.

However unimportant
that may sound.

Which brings me
to my second present.

This one. Painful to you or not,
it has to come out.

In this book which I still regard as the most
abominable document ever written

Timothy is listed
as a Pleasin' Nigger.

A person who can change
his appearance, as he has done.

- Let me find the page...
- It's on page 104.

How do you know?
I thought no slave had ever seen this book.

How do you know
what's on page 104 of Mam's Law?

Cause I wrote it.

It's all in my meticulous hand.

Mam and I were very young
when the war suddenly ended

and this new statute terrified us.

Terrified you?

We tried to imagine what kind of
world were these slave let out into.

Were they ready for it?

Or more correctly...

Was it ready for them?

Legislators made promises,
but we didn't believe them.

It was then that Mam
urged me to commit to paper

the way I thought
things should be done here

if everyone stayed on
at Manderlay.

But it's a
prolongation of slavery.

You might call it that.
You also might call it the lesser of two evils.

But did the others know
that you wrote this book?

Groups 2, 3 and 5...
always knew.

A few members of the other groups
were better off not knowing.

But everyone knows now.

I wrote Mam's Law
for the good of everyone.

For the good of everyone.

For the good of everyone?

How dare you?

It's a recipe for oppression
and humiliation.

From start to finish.

I think you've been reading it
through the wrong spectacles

Miss Grace, if I may
take the liberty of saying so.

Then Wilhelm initiated Grace

into the humane qualities
of the lesser of two evils.

Mam's Law. How it
guaranteed food and shelter

and allowed anybody
to complain about their masters

instead of blaming themselves
for the life of no hope

that they would surely
have to lead in the outside world.

How the noonday parade
was a blessing

since the parade ground was
the only place with shade in the heat.

How the numbered groups were
determined by behavior patterns

human beings resort to in order to
survive in an oppressive community

so that life could be
made easier for each of them.

Since a Proudy Nigger (not that
Manderlay had seen many, if any)

survives by perceiving himself
as proud and could be helped

by this system to believe
he was more persecuted

and punished than the others.

Since a Clowinin' Nigger
would benefit from the laughter

that Mam's Law
demanded of its master

just as any other groups
benefited from similar obligations.

How cash was forbidden

so gambling was done
with cotton money

to prevent ruination and misery
for the families. Et cetera, et cetera.

Until Grace's head
felt fair ready to explode.

Damn it, Wilhelm,
they're not free!

- That's what matters!
- I call that a philosophical argument.

Which neatly brings me
to the two ballots I just mentioned.

Was Mam's Law still relevant?

We agreed that unfortunately it was
as relevant now as it ever was.

America was not ready to welcome us
Negroes as equals 70 years ago,

and it still ain't.

And the way things are goin', it
won't be in a 100 years from now.

So we agreed we'd like to take
one step backwards at Manderlay

and re-impose the old law.

Excuse me, but I'm going.

As for your going, I'd better tell you
about the second of our ballots.

As you know,
sadly, we lost Mam.

And unfortunately we've good
and well frightened off her descendants.

In short: We lack a Mam.

- No!
- You received every single vote.

Never.

With all your idealism

I think you could enjoy being the guardian
for a kind of menagerie of creatures

who have no chance in the wild.

Just as you thought the notion of
community would be good for us.

You were so sure, you permitted
yourself to use force to convince us.

I'd be sorry
if we had to do likewise.

What do you mean?
Do you intend to keep me prisoner?

Only until you understand the way
you wanted us to understand.

The gate has been repaired
and is closed.

The fences are in good shape,
but they ain't particularly high.

Those fences... Come on!

Two men with a rusty shotgun
and a toy pistol.

How dumb
do you really think we are?

Too dumb to build a ladder
if we'd really wanted to get away?

Grace had spent a great deal
of time on this meeting

which, to her, didn't seem
to be getting anywhere.

Her father and his car
would be at the gate at eight.

That was in half an hour.
She had no ladder.

And she was on her own
and guarded by many.

Just how was she
to get out of Manderlay?

When was a section
of the fence always down?

Grace would have to
change her tactics rapidly

if she was
to make the rendezvous.

All right.
I'll do as you want.

Not from my heart.
You couldn't expect that.

But as my only option.
And you needn't be scared.

I'll obey your beloved law.

So we'd better start by dealing
with the present matter:

Timothy. A slave from Group 7 has committed
a theft that almost ruined us all.

As Mam's Law does not prescribe
any punishment for stealing money

I shall have to be creative.

What was it you said, Flora? About
planting a bottle of Rhenish wine?

I believe there's a bottle of Rhenish
wine under Timothy's saddle...

Don't you?

So that's what I seen
when I went there yesterday...

If it wasn't
a bottle of Rhenish wine!

There was still ten minutes

until her punctual father would arrive to wait
his 15 minutes and not a second longer.

Just enough time
for a verbal farewell salute.

Timothy, you can stop
being proud and silent.

Cry... and shout

and beg for mercy...

... Iike the Mansi you are.

The Mansi
who you despise so much.

It's that hatred Timothy and the rest of you
bear towards yourselves

that you'll never make me accept!

You are a cheat
of the lowest the lowest kind...

And Wilhelm and all of you who follow him
are merely traitors to your race.

I hope one day your fellow Negroes uncover
your betrayal and punish you for it!

You make me sick!

I'm sure you're quite right,
Miss Grace.

Most likely it's impossible
to revile us niggers enough.

But what I don't get is,
why it makes you so angry?

What do you mean?

Aren't you forgetting something?

You made us!

Probably the only thing that could
have stopped the lady with the whip

was the cheerful tinkle that
announced her father�s presence.

She needed his support now.

Manderlay, too, really was a place
the world would be better off without.

Grace recognized her father's
handwriting. "Dear Girl," it said.

Dear Girl. So you tricked
your father yet again.

I waited the fifteen minutes first,
but I am too kind-hearted.

So I popped over to the fence
and peeked inside to check that you were okay.

To my great surprise it really looked
as if you had a good grip on things, for once.

I'm proud of you, my girl.
I hope we meet up some day

so you can tell me what you
meant by 'new times at Manderlay'.

Love,
Your dumb old Dad.

Ballots could be unrivaled

but determining the time
by public debate was rarely feasible.

That was quite apparent.

Grace had but a few seconds to choose in which
direction to flee from her swarthy pursuers

who as her father had teasingly predicted,
were carrying torches.

Grace was in a hurry and did not
notice Burt, the former fugitive

with a liberal attitude toward race
who never did make it far.

Grace was angry.

Manderlay had fossilized in a picture
of this country that was too negative.

America was a many-faceted place,
no doubt about it.

But "not ready"
to accept black people?

You really could not say that.

America had proffered its hand,
discreetly perhaps

but if anybody refused
to see a helping hand

he really only had himself to blame.