All language subtitles for The Monster of Florence 1986 uncut.eng

A man - a unique case in the history of
criminology - whose madness has generated

sixteen incomprehensible
and atrocious murders.

A homicidal maniac, who is still at large,
who was described by the press as...

The monster of Florence.

"8 SEBTEMBER 1985"

Please move back.

- At what distance?
- 9 meters and 70 cm.

- How many?
- Six in the tent and three outside.

- Can we move them?
- Not yet.

- Can we take away the corpses?
- No. Unfortunately we have to wait.

Excuse me.

Try over there. See if
you can take some pictures.

Okay. Let's go boys.

Easy, easy.

Lift it up, easy.

Hey you! You can't take any pictures.

Stop it. No photos.

- So?
- Well, yes. I took a couple.

Go immediately to develop them and then
take them to the editorial office.

Excuse me.

Julia you'd better return to the
paper and start working on your piece.

I'll stay here and wait
for the district attorney.

Julia did you hear me?

- Yes. - Everything OK?
- Sure.

- Here.
- Thanks.

- Bye.
- Bye.

After all, it was impossible
to act any differently.

I know.

And maybe we shouldn't
have divulged so much.

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

- I said enough.
- We've been waiting for 8 hours.

- Keep them away. - Please move back.
- Keep them away.

- Gentlemen, please.
- We're only doing our jobs.

Good morning. Please,
this way. I'll make us way.

Let us pass please, let us pass.

Hello Anna. I'll be there at
the latest in half an hour.

Yes, we'll make it on time.

The title? You come up with it.

Okay.

Okay, bye'

You're a journalist right?

Yes.

I knew it.

What? Excuse me?

I'm saying that I was expecting
that sooner or later...

...he would arrive in these parts.

It's disgusting.

Yes.

Yes. The gun is always the
same. Baretta caliber 22.

The shells have already been examined.

- Take them to headquarters.
- Right sir.

- Have them moved away.
- Nurses!

The young man must
have been rather robust,

as he managed to get out of the tent and
attempt an escape with 5 bullets in him.

But he was hunted down
and striked repeatedly.

It's the first time he uses the blade to
kill. Usually he mutilates the woman's body.

He had to do it. He run out of bullets
and the young man was still alive.

But his escape ended here.

He killed him with a terrible
strike at the carotid.

Then, before leaving, he tried to
hide the corpse near the refuse.

Have him carried away.

It's all repeated with mathematical
and surprising precision.

A man and a woman while
they're making love.

The same gun, the same
shells, the same knife.

The removal of the pubis
and the breast of the woman.

That same person, every year, at
summer, on a moonless night.

We've been anticipating it.

But every time we're
always more powerless.

- Goodnight.
- Goodnight.

Andreas! Andreas, are you In?

Andreas?

Andreas! No, it's not here.

No, you got the wrong number.

When did you come back?

- More than two hours ago.
- Two hours?

I've been asleep for that long?

Where have you been? It's two
days that I've been looking for you.

First give me a kiss.

You were at San Casciano?

Yes.

And it was terrible.

It seemed even worse
than the previous times.

The bloodstained tent, the white bars

and the smell of death everywhere.

By now, after four years that
I've been following this story

I'm beginning to recognise it.

It's an acrid smell.

Nauseating.

Surely it's not that important
of an achievement for a journalist.

Don't you agree?

But why are you like that?

I asked you why you're
like that. You're strange.

It's nothing.

I'm just tired.

You can't work?

N... O... No.

How is it possible? All that
happened isn't enough for you?

That beast has killed again,
just like you imagined it.

I had a strange feeling today,
over there at the woods.

I had the impression that I was
witnessing something I was familiar with.

Something that... you had
already described to me.

Something you had already
predicted with your imagination.

Did you read the other newspapers?

- No.
- You should read them.

After what happened, you have a very good
reason to continue writing your book.

Maybe it would be better
if I hadn't started it.

But you can't throw away
all your work just like that.

Why not? You think that everything
I've written so far is enough?

No, it's not Julia and I don't like it.

I'm the first to not believe in it.

A book on a maniac killer.

Who could be interested in such a book?

I know you well enough to be
sure that you won't give up.

You mustn't think that
your book is useless.

I'm going to take a
shower. I'm exhausted.

Would you like me to sleep here tonight?

Yes.

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

My daughter also died this way.

Terrible, isn't it?

Yes. It's terrible.

She was out with her boyfriend.

We had dined together.

She was wearing a white
blouse she had just bought.

It suited her so nicely.

He was also a nice young man.

They were about to get married.

They had already found a house.

We were all so happy.

They didn't use to go out very often.

But that night...

That night...

Do you think they'll apprehend him?

I don't know.

I don't believe they will, anymore.

I have imagined that moment many times.

Now I'm left with only hate.

But it's so...

...tiring.

- No it's late. We'll wake the child up.
- Just one more minute, come on.

No, take me back to the house.

A woman, cheated
on husband, the lovers.

Maybe the answer to all the questions
lies in that first killing.

In 1968.

"We will continue to
transmit until it's possible..."

"Meanwhile we have
the duty to reiterate"

"undisclosed, have
arrived in our country"

"our best weapon is
the passive resistance"

"stay at your posts"

"in a few hours the radio station will
be occupied, but the Czechoslovakian

must try to convince the
intruders of the absurdity..."

More.

What are you doing now?

I'm going to the kitchen.

"At this moment I'm not in a
position to give any explanations..."

"on what is occurring..."

Coffee is ready. Just start the gas.

"I'm addressing you with all
the responsibility that..."

"I'm asking you fervently to
maintain the utmost caution"

"the absolute calm."

When is he leaving?

He's leaving when he's leaving.

And the child?

It's late. Let him sleep where he
is. Tomorrow I'll go and get him.

"A violent shoot out had started"

"the occupation army was
shooting at the crowd."

Damn that coffee.

" It was then that a bullet
hit me in the head..."

- Already leaving?
- Yes, it's late.

It's late...

It's always late when it suits you.

Come on, calm down.

Calm down.

- See you the clay after tomorrow?
- Yes.

The day after tomorrow.

Here. I've brought you some coffee.

Room service, huh? Just
like in Grand Hotel.

What's this, has he suddenly become
jealous?

- Or is it that he likes watching?
- Cut it out.

This coffee is really good.

40, 41, 42, 43, 44,
45,46, 47, 48, 49, 100!

And now Gigirino puts
the ball in the centre.

The referee blows his whistle...

Goal!

What are you doing here? Get inside,
go on, look how dirty you are.

- Mommy, someone wanted to take my ball.
- Who was it?

That one there.

No one wanted to take your ball.

- Go and play inside.
- OK. Bye. - Bye.

I told you not to come here anymore.

Well, what's wrong? Why are
you looking at me like that?

I wanted to see you. I
needed to talk to you.

What about? What is it so important?

Let's take a walk, you want to?

No. I'm busy.

You know you're a strange character?

Don't you like the girls your own age?

They won't do what you want them to.
And you're thinking of doing it with me?

What are you looking for?

You only want to be with me because
of what people say about me.

- It's not like that, it's not true.
- You think that I don't know?

That I don't know what the people of
this disgusting place say about me?

But I don't give a damn.

What do they know about my life?

And what do you know about it?

- Forget about me.
- Please wait, just for a moment.

I need to talk to you. Wait.

Don't show your face
around here anymore.

A crime of passion.

A spurned lover.

Or simply a suitor.

Hello?

You know that your wife is with another
man?

They'll be leaving the cinema soon.

How is it possible that you keep
swallowing all this humiliation?

All this suffering she makes you go
through?

Don't you care about your
and your child's honour?

If you lack the courage I can give
you a hand. I have a letter for you.

It's under the doormat. Read it.

Don't be an Asshole.

Hey, look who's here.

Give me a light.

Those morons.

It's the changing of the guard.

- Why don't they mind their own business?
- Don't mind them. - Stupid peasants.

Mommy I'm sleepy, I want to go home.

You're right darling, but first we'll
go for a nice ride on that nice car.

Get in.

Has he fallen asleep?

Yes. He's sleeping.

You're gorgeous. I'm crazy about you.

Keep it down or you'll wake the boy.

- Let's trade places. You come on top.
- Yes, yes.

- I want to see you again. You're a great woman. I like you.
- You really mean that?

- Yes love.
- You really like me? - Yes.

- Come on, don't pull my leg.
- No, I like you, don't you believe me?

- I believe you. We'll wake up the child.
- Just one more minute, come on.

It's late. Take me home.

Perhaps he lacked the courage.

And someone else fired the gun.

- We'll wake up the child.
- Just one more minute, come on.

It's late. Take me home.

Who else was there that night?

Mommy!

Easy.

Easy. Take it easy.

Mommy.

Who else was at the scene of the crime?

Someone who witnessed the murders
and picked up the gun you say.

Exactly. Someone who
was there only to watch.

A simple voyeur.

Unless you think that the
one we call the monster

was also responsible for that first crime?

But there are only a few clues, that
tie the other murders to that of '68.

In '68 a husband accused of murdering his wife, her
lover was imprisoned, then later on he was absolved.

The case has remained
apparently unresolved.

But let's return to my assumptions.

The man who picked up the gun,
who saw every detail of the crime

who even heard the cries of the child

felt such a violent emotion that caused a
long forgotten trauma to resurface in him.

It's an interesting hypothesis.

But not totally convincing.

Is that what you're thinking?

No, it's a rather realistic one.

Although this story seems
more imaginary than real.

You Mr Ackerman are a writer. You have the privilege
of not being a policeman, or a magistrate.

And your imagination can surpass the
limits of the scientific investigation.

After all, captain Nemo's Nautilus,
came before the submarines.

I'm not Jules Vern.

And even imagination has it's limits.

Yes, because imagination always leads to
the conception of uncommon characters.

And this character, despite everything is so instinctive,
that in 18 years he never aroused any suspicion.

Normality is his hideout.

And yet there are many who know him.

And maybe some of them know the truth.

And they remain silent.

And we're not looking
for the proverbial needle

but for a thread of hay in a haystack.

Here are the names of 40,000 people from
30 to 50 years of age that live alone.

And also those of the 14,000
owners of the Baretta 22.

And that's only a small part
of the hundreds of the magnetic

tapes in which everything
regarding the murders is incised.

We've cataloged thousands of license
plates of cars, followed every lead,

sifted every piece of evidence.

A very thorough work as you can see.

That soon will help us capture him.

- When?
- That I cannot tell you yet. For the moment I've shown you how.

I think that by now, after all these years,
that man has become weary of his role.

Like an actor who recites for
a long time the same tragedy.

He knows that the only contact he
can have with society, is with Justice

that's after him. And let's not
forget that he's also a nymphomaniac.

- And undoubtedly driven by vanity.
- You think that in the end he'll give himself away?

No. I don't think so.

I, on the contrary, am convinced of it.

You'll see Mr Ackerman. Sooner or later it
will be him who's going to be looking for us.

Excuse me mister Ackerman. There's someone
outside who wants to speak to you.

- Excuse me a moment.
- Sure.

There's no one here.

I can't understand,
sir, it's very strange.

He was here a moment ago.

- Who was it?
- Someone that didn't have the courtesy to wait.

- Magnificent performance.
- Certainly, but let's get going.

Excuse me.

- Sorry. Hi Julia - Hi.
- Hi Andreas.

- Shall we dine together?
- Of course we'll dine together.

...to make Enrico jealous. The more jealous,
the better. And then I want to tell

you a secret: I was asleep
during almost the whole opera!

We knew we'd find you
here. I was looking for you

the whole evening but I
wasn't able get a hold of you.

What do you mean? Didn't you send the
usher to call Andreas a few minutes ago?

No, how could I? I didn't even know
which box you were in.

Let's go.

A friend of mine is convinced
that the monster is her doctor.

- And she still visits him?
- Of course not, she's scared shitless!

Oh, the crepes, I adore them
and here they make them delicious.

Right, you come here often huh?

- Whenever I'm invited, should I refuse them?
- Oh no, I never said that.

You know Andreas, he's
always leaving me by myself.

- What about you Julia?
- If I go to the restaurant often?

Almost never unfortunately.

Enrico... Thank you. Enrico knows
better than anyone that with all

the workload at the paper we often
have to skip lunch and dinner.

I wish I didn't have to
follow that story anymore.

But why? Who knows how many
strange things you've seen.

- It must be exciting.
- You get used to everything.

And after a while, even the sight of
blood stops making an impression on you.

I'm always shocked by it.

Me too Linda, don't listen to him.

At least you never get bored. Unlike Andreas
who's really bored right now, isn't that so?

No, not at all.

Andreas' mind is elsewhere tonight. I noticed
it as soon as I saw him at the theatre.

According to you what's
he hiding from us Julia?

Nothing. It's just that he started
working on his book again, full time.

Isn't that so Andreas?

And that means that he's working
even when he's out with his friends.

Yes, Julia's right. I can't think of
anything else than what I'm working on.

I can't help it. It's stronger than me.

- I hope you'll forgive me.
- Of course we will.

We know how you writers are.
Deep down you're all the same.

- Every situation is a source of inspiration to you.
- Naturally, because Andreas is an artist.

- Why, what would I be?
- You're just a playboy

who's preying on the tourist girls who're
visiting Florence to see the Gioconda.

How many times do I have to tell you
that the Gioconda is in Paris?

How stupid! And to think that I went
to Paris just to see that painting!

- And you learned nothing.
- What vulgar people.

Andreas, what's going on?

Nothing. Nothing.

What's wrong? Can't sleep?

No. I can't.

Is that how you're picturing him?

- Maybe. I don't know.
- It's strange.

He looks a bit like you.

His forehead.

You can't help but think of this, right?

Yes, that's right.

I can't.

I'm trying to construct a character

but he's like a shadow
that appears and disappears

even if at times I think that
I'm seeing him everywhere.

And yet he's an everyday person

with a life that on the
surface appears normal.

A murderer is hidden deep
in the heart of everyone.

But why does one become a monster?

What is the tangle of repressed emotions
that urges in him the desire to kill?

And to carry out these horrible
mutilations on his victims' bodies?

Why is it that he can't help it?

That's what I want to understand.

- But all you got is a phantom.
- I know.

And I want to get to know it better.

That's my job, isn't it?

It's late.

You go to bed. I'll stay here
and play with my phantoms.

Okay, I'll leave you to your work.

- Goodnight.
- Goodnight.

If you're hitting dead centre with the girls like you
do with the targets there will be none left for us.

- You're good.
- I told you to wait at the bar.

- There was no one there. I was bored.
- Tell me something, now you like William Tell?

- Mind your own business.
- Shithead.

Want to go out with me tonight?
A friend of mine is having a party.

No, I don't like parties.

If you like we could go out just
the two of us.-Okay, let's do that.

- Now let's go.
- Finally. I don't like this place.

- What time shall we meet?
- I'll pick you up at eight, OK?

There's lipstick smeared
all over your face.

Let me clean it up.

Brr, it's very cold.

- Don't you feel cold?
- No, why?

You're strong, huh?

Yes, kiss me.

What's wrong?

Nothing.

I like you very much, you know?

- Me too.
- Who knows how many other girls you've had.

Anyone I know?

Want to untie it?

Yes, untie it.

Untie it, come on.

Yes, I love it.

Yes, slow down.

My hair.

- Wait just a moment.
- No, don't wear it in a bun.

- Leave your hair as it is.
- Why? It's a nuisance.

What are you doing?

So you think that the desire to kill,
Turned him into a mad murderer

could have been born out of the
realization of his sexual impotence?

No. Not only from that Julia.

That wouldn't be enough.

- It would be too simple.
- Yes, exactly.

It's always the most distant things...

- that help us see clearly in the present.
- Yes I know.

But for the moment he's just a young man
who hits bulls eye at target practice.

Yeah and who also can't
get it up with girls.

Yes, and that's where I've stopped.

Come on, you can dig deeper.

So, let's see.

A morbid relationship

behind the walls of an ordinary house.

A house that perhaps in the
past had seen better clays.

My character, a young man

with smoldered resentments inside him, repressed
vices disguised as a moral strictness.

Someone close to him knows
his most intimate secrets

and protects him, but also dominates
him to the point of suffocation.

An uncontrollable sentience of
death slowly matures inside him.

You're always staying inside.

How would you manage without me?

Have you seen again that blonde
girl you told me about?

Yes, I see her sometimes.

And you're still going out with her?

Not anymore.

Better that way.

But you mustn't withdraw into
yourself and brood about it.

It's useless you know.

- You know, I was thinking about what I told you the other clay.
- What mother?

About leaving this place.

I'm sick of this place and its people.

What People?

The people around here.

They talk. They always talk too much.

And this house is a hole.
I can't stand it anymore.

There's no more room left for anything.
We even had to cram the piano In a corner.

My hands are out of practice.

And I don't feel like
playing the piano anymore.

How many times do I have to tell you not to
make that noise with your mouth when you eat?

- You're not hungry anymore?
- No.

You're always so restless.

If there's something troubling you
why don't you tell me about it?

You used to tell me everything.

But for a long time now I
don't know anything about you.

Where you're going...

What you're doing...

You must tell me everything.

Anything-

You must never lie to me.

You must never hide anything from me.

- Hi. - Hi.
- You just arrived here?

It's like a mortuary.
Everybody's disappeared.

Dancing my foot!

Everyone has deserted this place.

Wanna dance?

No thanks.

Allright.

As you wish.

- I like you very much.
- Me too.

Slow down.

A morbid relationship

behind the walls of an ordinary house.

A house that perhaps in the
past had seen better clays.

It's always the most distant things
that help us see clearly in the present.

What is it Mommy? Let me see.

Wait, I'm almost finished.

Just a little moment.
Wait till I spread them.

And then we'll count them together.

Here, look. Look, look,
look, here they are!

- But why have you crumpled them up?
- They are ugly.

Ugly? Come on.

- Let Mommy take you to bed.
- I want the light on. - All right.

We'll do as you want. We'll leave it on.

But when are you going to learn
that people sleep in the dark?

There's nothing to be afraid
of, don't you know that?

Now sleep.

- All right? Goodnight.
- Stay a while longer.

No. Sleep now.

- Goodnight Mommy.
- Goodnight darling.

Goodnight daddy.

This is for you.

You're very beautiful.

I'll do everything you want me to.

Everything-

I'll be right back. Wait for me here.

Come. Listen how nice
Mommy plays the piano.

Later we'll play together
that Christmas song.

The one I taught you.

Open! Open the door!

- Why are you doing this?
- Come on, open the door!

Please darling, open the door.

- Open the door! Let us out immediately!
- Mommy is asking you, please open the door.

Come on then, I told
you to open the door.

Let us out!

Leave it to me.

Darling open the door.

Open! Open the door! Let us out.

Darling why do you want
to leave us locked in here?

You're a writer and have the privilege
of not being a policeman or a magistrate.

- You think they'll apprehend him?
- I don't know.

I don't think they will anymore.

I have imagined that moment many times.

I refused to call "monster" a human being,
although the press and the public conscience

have been using the term since it all
begun.

But in the long years
spent in hunting this criminal...

...unique among the many
horrors that this world offers...

...I realised that it came naturally
to me calling him this way.

"Murderer" fails to define him.

"Maniac" seems extenuating.

"Serial killer" appears grotesque.

An oversimplification.

Yes, he's a monster.

Because every crime he committed was
premeditated with detailed ability.

Because he has committed atrocities
that words fail to describe.

For which no extenuating
circumstance can be invoked.

Because of him, a long
list of young people's names

has been erased from life's pages

at the moment in which life was
opening up in front of them

full of hope and promises.

Serene families, solid
in their affection

have been devastated
by the suffering that

his homicidal hand has inflicted
with aberrant cruelty.

A man like you and me
has sowed death and dismay

upon a humanity already
saturated with pain and grief.

Now that man who until yesterday was
an anonymous citizen above suspicion...

...who, entrenched in his grey existence,
had managed to hide his terrible secret...

...is here, in front of other human beings.

After years during which
I had also been among

the powerless witnesses of the
unexplained, absurd murders,

today in this courtroom, as a
representative of the prosecution

my duty in front of the evidence
of the facts may seem easy.

But it's not.

And my conclusions are
nothing more than questions.

Is it sufficient that
I ask for a sentence

and that I obtain it, for this
case to be considered closed?

And what sentence can satisfy the demand
for justice of the victims' parents?

Of the offended youth,
of the horrified people?

It's a difficult duty.

Almost impossible, the duty of someone
who, like us,

has been summoned in this courtroom to
render justice

and who must try to understand the human
mystery that lies behind those bars.

What sort of justice would
it be the justice that

condemns without trying
to understand that man

who belongs to a species
none other than our own?

A man with his memories,

his sentiments,

a past,

a childhood with innocent games,

with morbid affection,

perhaps with great grief.

That man will not escape his sentence.

It's just.

It's just that it should be this way.

But after having used
every instrument of the law,

after having classified him and included
him in the categories of our penal code,

perhaps then, just for a moment
we should remove our judge's gown

and look into the
inscrutable depth of his heart

to try and understand
the cause of his madness.

I know there's nothing extenuating
about the evil that's rooted inside him.

But I also know that we will
have truly served justice

only when we will have understood why

an ordinary man became
the monster of Florence.

When will it happen?

- Here sir.
- Thank you.

- Good morning. A bitter please.
- Right away sir.

Here you are sir.

Thank you.

- Where is the telephone?
- In the small room at the back.

- Here.
- Thanks.

Excuse me.

What is it sir?

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing, I'm sorry.