All language subtitles for Fatherland.1986.OAR.1080p.BluRay.x264-GAZER

Herr Drittemann, you've built your
reputation on criticism of the GDR.

Why won't you talk about it?

Let's say I don't feel like it.

I've no interest in talking about it.

Do you expect political
restrictions in the West?

I'm ready for anything.

Would you return to the GDR,
if you were given permission?

I'd like a visa to visit my
family, my son in particular.

Would you like to go back for good?

That's out of the question right now.

Why did you choose music as a
way to express your opposition?

I don't think I chose music.

Besides, I believe
that music is opposition.

I'd like to repeat a question
you still haven't answered clearly.

Why exactly have you come over
here? That hasn't been made clear.

I've already said that I was
looking for somewhere I could work.

They wouldn't let me
work in my own country.

Mr Drittemann, we're accustomed

to seeing people in the West
who are rather happy to be here.

You don't seem to be happy.

What's the problem? What's the hang-up?

Er... I'm not unhappy.

I'm not happy, and I'm not unhappy.

I'm only here.

Where did you learn your English?

Oh, I learned English at
the... at my mother's knee.

She's a teacher.

I understand that your mother is, er...

a very well-respected senior
Party member in East Germany.

How does she feel about your coming here?

It's only private.

My question is prompted

by the striking similarity
between your life and your father's.

Both musicians.

Both political dissidents.

Are you in contact with your father?

No.

Can you talk about your wife?

You've left a wife and
son behind in the GDR.

They must feel rather
vulnerable now that you've gone.

I don't think so.

My wife has remarried. She's living
under different circumstances now.

East Berlin 1968

Herr Drittemann, you are charged
with activities against the state,

and of fences against
the laws of the GDR.

What can we plead in your defence?

Nothing.

- You did write "Freedom for Prague"?
- I did.

- Then you must plead guilty.
- I don't need a trial, then.

I can't defend you if
you won't play along.

Believe me, you've got problems.

It's the people that brought me
here who have problems, not me.

That's exactly what I would expect
Jacob Drittemann's son to say,

But you can't turn
back the wheel of time.

What's that got to do with my father?

Besides, I want to make the
wheel turn forwards, not backwards.

You face up to eighteen
months' imprisonment.

I could appeal for less, but
you'd have to plead guilty.

Forget it!

We could try and settle out of court.

I could persuade the
authorities to drop all the charges.

- But under certain conditions.
- Such as?

Providing you plead guilty.

In that case, you'd lose your
citizenship and be sent abroad.

Of course, it would be a one-way visa.

Listen, this is my country.

My friends and my work are here.

So no deal.

You can tell them that.

That's up to you.

Actually Existing Socialism

♪ In the South or in the North

♪ Nowhere were you satisfied

♪ Search, soul, search!

♪ Search on, but you
won't find anything anywhere

♪ Luck will always turn its back on you

♪ Curse, soul, curse!

♪ On a train

♪ You lean out of a window

♪ You believe in ghosts

♪ Search, soul, search!

♪ Search on behind the curtains

♪ That's where malicious faces lurk

♪ Curse, soul, curse! ♪

East Berlin 1985

Frank.

I'm going to look in on Thomas.

Mm-hmm.

Better take him some cake.

- When are you off tomorrow?
- About ten, I think.

I need your guardian
angels out of the way early,

I've got a job on.

Can you make it nine?

- I'll try.
- Yes, do try.

Thomas, are you awake?

I've brought you some cake.

Do you understand now?

Mm-hmm.

Look, I don't want to leave.

- Do you understand?
- Mmm.

They won't let me work here.

Why not?

All the dads I know are working.

But not all dads are songwriters, and
the people in charge don't like my songs.

They don't like what I sing about.

I'll come back the moment I get a visa.

How long will that take? A week?

It'll take a bit longer than that.

Be a good boy at school, and with Marita.

Mmm.

Goodbye, son.

It's good.

Take care, Dad.

You too.

- Klaus?
- Yes?

I have something for you.

It's lined, best leather.

It'll keep you warm in the
West. A going-away present.

Thanks. I'll look like a Stasi.

You could never look like
a cop. So nine is all right?

What's the deal?

I've cornered a market in second-hand
leather gear that I buy cheap.

I've got a contact in the
West. It's a real money-spinner.

♪ Als ich wie ein Vogel war

♪ Der am Abend sang

♪ Riefen alle Leute nur ♪ Sonnenuntergang

♪ Alle Vögel sind schon da

♪ Keiner das rief... ♪

May I trouble you for a light?

- If we have any matches.
- I don't.

- Give him your cigarette.
- Thank you.

If it helps, I'll be with my
stepfather at the factory till ten.

Then at my mother's,
you know the address.

Then the visa office, and that's it.

- It's been nice being followed by you.
- Don't push it.

"This machine does the work of 40 men."

"I bet it never does the Central
Committee out of a job, though."

Come upstairs, you two.
I want a word with you.

- Me, too?
- Yes, both of you.

- Is anything wrong?
- Just use your eyes.

- Have you seen your mother yet?
- No, not yet.

- What time are you leaving?
- Don't worry. there's still time.

- Do you think the boys were the artists?
- I suspect so.

We'll see...

Yes?

- Is that your handiwork?
- Sorry. I couldn't resist it.

Uh-huh. Uh-huh.

Do anything like that again and I'll
drive my boot so far up your arse,

people'll think we're a married couple.

Now clear off!

- We didn't expect anyone to notice.
- You're still here?

-Sorry. chief -Get out!

They're worse than you were.

Why didn't you shop them? You
could be held responsible for it.

Because only those two
can work the bloody machine.

We've an order to meet, and
they're no good behind bars.

I know my socialist duty, boy.

And don't you forget yours
when you get to the West.

Will you please try past tense, "to be"?

"I was. I wasn't.
Wasn't I?" Please try it.

- Sit down.
- How long have you got?

Long enough.

- You've said goodbye to your stepfather?
- Yes, I have.

You'll be missed here,
but it's your own choice.

- If you say so.
- What would you say?

First a kick in the behind,
then I'm shown the door.

- Some choice.
- No-one says you have to go.

Logic says I must.

You put personal problems
before the struggles of the people.

What else can I do?

As one of the people, I'm not
allowed to sing about their problems.

Don't be so naïve. You
left them no other choice.

I spoke to Comrade Steppat
earlier. He's going to ring back.

He says it was a close
decision to withhold a return visa.

Mother...

You have admirers on the committee.

Steppat says that if you behave,
then maybe in six months, or a year,

you could get your licence
back and start performing again.

This country made you.

You were born and raised here.

You owe what you are to your country.

These are your people,

and you spit in their faces.

- I don't want to discuss it.
- Perhaps not.

But life is rarely what we want, Klaus.

What is it all about, then?

"Socialism must live in the people."

In you, me, Honecker, Gorbachev.

- "Or it lives nowhere."
- Marx, Grundrisse.

That's completely out of context.

Why do you think they have
this label for their socialism?

"Actual," they call it.

I want true socialism,
not their "actual" brand.

What should I do? Become
one of their court minstrels?

You remember Martov?

"When a singer goes in for flattery.
It makes him an enemy to the song."

He's right.

I don't want to sing for the four state
policemen who come to my concerts.

- Don't be stupid.
- I've seen them.

You can't fool the people with
lies and rosy pictures of life.

They know what life is about.

You say I spit in their faces.

I'd be doing just that if I sang
lies, and they'd spit right back.

And rightly so.

If they're my people, why
am I forbidden to sing to them?

Tell Steppat that if Jacob
Drittemann's son has to keep silent,

he'd sooner be silent
where it matters less.

Yes?

That was Steppat.

He wanted you. I said you'd left.

I'll be off, then.

Are you in touch with your father?

Of course not.

But you'll try to find him?

I might.

When your father fled the
country. He left some things behind.

I thought it safer to
keep them in the West.

They're yours now.

They'll help you understand your father.

- I don't understand.
- Never mind, one day you will.

I must get back to my pupil.

Any messages in case I find him?

And my sister?

"It is true, it is not true."

"It is false, it is not false."

"It is false, it is not true."

"I understand. I do not understand."

"It is clear, it is not clear."

"It is fast, it is slow."

"It is good, it is not good."

"It is bad, it is not bad."

"It is good, it is not bad."

"It is hot..."

- Herr Drittemann?
- Yes. You're Lucy Bernstein?

That's right, from Taube Records.

- Welcome.
- Thank you.

What does he want?

It's all right, Uwe's with the company.

It's for the launch.

Come on...

Could we just do a picture
with the Wall in back?

- Yes, yes. Here?
- Yes, it's good here.

Great Freedom Street

May I have a light?

You're welcome.

Do you gamble?

No. What do you mean?

- Do we go left or right?
- Left.

I bet that, if we turn right,
the car behind will turn right.

It must be even money, Fifty-fifty?

No, it's a certainty.

We have a word for this in the West.

Yeah?

Paranoia.

Hmm.

We call it by its real name.

And what's that?

Surveillance.

Partly cloudy skies today,

in the Berlin area weather forecast.

The high today, 46 Fahrenheit,
eight degrees Celsius.

The mark exchange rate
today, two marks, 63 pfennig.

Weather and currencies
courtesy of AFN Radio,

the Truman Plaza
Community Banking Facility,

and the German National Weather Service.

Did you know that the Club
Silverwings Airband Contest

has opened new horizons
in the world of entertainment?

No! What's an airband?

There's another contest
on Thursday October 31st.

- But what's an airband?
- That's Halloween, you know.

So put on your costume, and come on out.

You can even call in
at Berlin Military 5597.

Okay, I'll be there.

Hot hits in stereo,

24 hours a day on 88
FM, the best in Berlin!

Ah, Peep Show.

Peep show. That's where men pay money

to look at women's bodies.

Yes, I heard something about it.

That's a way.

You speak English?

A little bit.

Come on in. Are you thirsty?

There's some beer in the
fridge. Have anything you like.

Hello?

Great, great, great.
Thank you for calling back.

Okay, yeah, this is what we need you for.

Um...

It's called Rock Pop in Concert.
It's the biggest TV. show here.

It has a ten million circulation,

and we've got to get her face
and her entire act on the TV.

Yeah. Yeah.

Shoot, that's gonna be too late.

She's gonna be dead over
there before she gets over here.

Okay, Oh, right now.

Okay, Okay,

Would you?

You know, instead of the 25 figure, okay?

Okay, Well, wait a minute...

Okay, could you push the figure
up from 25,000 up to 30,000?

And then we'll work down from there.

"I'm afraid that they're gonna
say "Well, we'll give you...

"ner-ner-ner-ner-ner." You know?

I know it is, but let's
start at thirty thou.

Okay, fantastic. Thank
you for calling me back.

When do you think you're
gonna get back with me... to me?

Good talkin' to you. Bye-bye.

These are just a couple of
ideas we've come up with.

We'd like anything...
that you have to suggest.

This is some of the fan mail we've got
since the Nicaragua song was published.

And, er... did you get
through the contract?

- I looked.
- Mm-hmm.

Er... the chief here is anxious
to announce the signing

at the press conference,
if that's at all possible.

Why not?

You have got about $20,000
in royalties worldwide,

but I don't think you're gonna have
to worry much about money once, er...

Taube has you on its books,
and the tour's been agreed to.

And, er... the welcome party.
Do you know Rainer Schiff?

He's agreed to be the host.

No, I never met him.

He's been quite successful
since he came West.

What had happened to Taube?

- Herr Taube?
- We bought him out, two years ago.

That was head office
in New York on, um...

Oh, God, I'm sorry. I
think I've made a mistake.

- Do you want me to start all over?
- No, no.

I understood,

but it wasn't clear
how it applied to myself.

Now it is.

Look, okay, the point is...

Everyone here thinks that you...

are a very important talent,

and American World is prepared
to back their judgement all the way.

And that's how all of
this applies to you, okay?

Okay, good. Look, I'll be right back.

I've left my number by the
phone there, if you need anything.

I'll be in most of the evening.

Everyone is free to be
proud, Mr Drittemann.

I'm not sure anybody
has the right to be stupid.

Miss Bernstein?

Did you find out
anything about my father?

No, I'm afraid not. Um...

But we did manage to
locate a French journalist,

who might be able to help you.

I've left some of her
work here on the table.

Thank you.

They told me you might be difficult.

Me?

The contract is important.

The rest is pretty well up to you.

"Long live..."

"Long live actually existing..."

"Long live actually existing capitalism."

I'll be right around the
corner if you need anything.

- Thank you.
- Don't mention it.

"To whom it may concern."

"I, Rosa Drittemann, certify"

"that the enclosed items belong to
my ex-husband, Jacob Drittemann."

"6 October 1953."

Yeah?

Herr Drittemann, I have Herr
Braun of Taube Records on the line.

Hello, Braun speaking. I just
wanted to see you're all right.

I hope everything's being
done to make you welcome.

Everything's fine, thanks.

Excellent. I'll see you on
Thursday at your welcoming party.

If you need anything, don't hesitate.

Did you know the Minister for
Culture will be at the press conference?

Hennig? No, I didn't.

He indicated he'd like to be there.

What's he got to do with my music?

It won't be a problem. He'll
shake your hand and be off.

Fine.

Good. One last question
about the contract I've drawn up.

Have you looked at it? Is there
anything you'd like to discuss?

I've looked at it.

- Right, I'll see you Thursday.
- Yeah.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.

What about the interrogator?

Can you tell me something
about the interrogator?

He asked me a lot of
questions. I said it already.

How old was he?

Between thirty and sixty.

What did he look like?
Was he tall? Was he short?

He looked... a liftle bit angry, I think.

If English is giving you
problems, we can speak German.

No, don't think so.

English is not a problem.

You haven't really answered my questions.

I know nothing in either
German or English,

or even in American.

Well, let's see...

Your sister defected to the
West four years ago. Is that right?

That's what I heard.

And was that the last
time you spoke with her?

About a year, she rang to complain

about men over in the West.

She said...

their problem was, they couldn't decide

whether they were pigs,

or a bunch of tulips.

I think we should meet
again, Mr Driftemann.

How about next Tuesday? Same time.

- Tuesday fine.
- Thank you.

Are you in touch with your father at all?

Why do you ask?

No reason, Mr Drittemann.

Excuse me, aren't you Rainer Schiff?

In person.

Could I have your autograph, please?

- Thank you.
- Don't mention it.

I once considered myself a decent poet.

A five-minute, badly lit part in
a Herzog film cured me of that.

The West needs fewer tools of repression.

It gets great results just by
using its powers of seduction.

We're still not free.

- That's my cab?
- Yeah.

Good. Lucy...

Think Connecticut in the
autumn. I'm crazy about the idea.

- Thank you so much for doing this.
- It was a pleasure for me.

See you Thursday, and don't worry.

They'll have you home as
soon as you earn real money,

Remember, compared to foreign
exchange, ideology is worthless.

Harvard has offered him a
visiting professorship for the fall.

Oh, really?

Okay, that's it until tonight.

Like any of these?

Uwe says he's waiting
for the first smile.

Have you heard any news of your father?

My French woman arrives tomorrow.

I've arranged for her
to be at Schiff's party.

I think the CIA likes me.

They want to see me again.

I was really surprised to find
I'd already applied for a visa.

Well, like I told you, A&W is
ready to back you all the way.

Why make things difficult?

- What time's Braun?
- Eight.

Okay.

Okay.

I'd like to get some, er... photographs
of you by the Wall sometime,

if that's okay with you.

I don't think so.

♪ The day is over, twilight beckons

♪ The waitress brings beer
as if everything is still as it was

♪ Talking to myself is much too loud

♪ Tonight I'll take the
River Spree as my bride

♪ What more do you want, son?

♪ Rain falls on the Tauentzien

♪ The bus goes down to Leninplatz

♪ "Can I have your tickets, please?"

♪ All the way to the end of the line

♪ A daily morning marathon

♪ Where do they all come from?

♪ The night is over, the morning pales

♪ And nobody knows anything at all

♪ How long ago is it now?

♪ Where yesterday the wall stood

♪ A couple walk, hand in hand

♪ What more do you want, son? ♪

"Klaus Drittemann moves to West Berlin"

Good evening.

- Herr Drittemann?
- That's me.

Emma de Baen.

Come in.

Do you speak any German?

Yes, but I prefer not to.

- Food as well?
- Yes, thank you.

I was really starving.

Thank you.

Welcome.

What about...

Jacob Drittemann?

I think I've found him.

Yes?

Your father gave his last public concert

in 1971.

Made his last recording
the same year in Israel.

There seems to have
been a health problem.

Heart, perhaps. It's vague.

In 1972, he visited America.

New York in February,
Washington in March.

After that, nothing. Gone.
No-one knows where.

Can you give me a light, please?

Thank you.

There's a man in Cambridge,
England, calling himself James Dryden,

to whom Philips International
send half-yearly royalty payments,

poste restante.

Jacob Drittemann made
two recordings with Philips,

no-one receives any payments for that.

There's more, but you
have the bones of it.

I think James Dryden is your father.

Dryden...

Tokyo, '59.

Edinburgh, '71.

When did you last see him?

1953. 20th June.

I was six.

Okay.

I'll stay here the
night, if that's all right.

There's a couch.

- Thank you.
- Quite comfortable. I'll show you.

There's no address.

It's not quite sure where
he's living as James Dryden.

He can just have a bank
account under that name.

But, if you want him
found, I'll have to go there.

And, since he's living incognito,
it might help if you came too.

To break the ice.

Where's the bathroom?

Come through. Let me show you.

I'll leave you a number
where you can get me.

I'll be here till... When's
the press conference?

- Thursday.
- Okay, I'll be here till then.

What tells you he's
my father, this Dryden?

My nose. It's my work.

That's what I do.

Excuse me.

- How is everything?
- Fine, thank you.

Hi. How are you? Good to see you.

How are you doing? Having a good time?

Not bad, is it?

- You met with the French woman?
- Yeah.

She rang me up. She said she
won't be coming to the party tonight.

It's not her... It's not her scene.

How did you get hold of her?

Well, she called us, actually. It was
just after we announced that, um...

you had gotten your exit visa,

and she said that she wanted to
do a story on you and your dad.

- How are you doing?
- Hi.

- Hail Caesar!
- Ah!

Have you met your latest protégé yet?

This is Herr Drittemann, Herr Braun.

Ladies and gentlemen, I
am delighted to announce

that Herr Drittemann has received
his West German passport today.

May he live in freedom among us.

Thank you. The CIA
wasn't so sure I'd get it.

The CIA doesn't run everything here.

- And the American visa?
- That will take a bit longer.

Rainer, have you shown
Renata your new tape?

She doesn't realise what a
great video director you are.

I wouldn't talk too much about it.

You'd better keep quiet until
you've reached a stronger position.

What about your contract?

Can we agree on it before
the press conference?

Are you a lawyer, Herr Braun?

I trained as one, yes.

As my lawyer, what would you
advise me to do with the contract?

I would say sign it.

You couldn't get a better deal.

Taube Records is the only
progressive music label left in Germany.

EMI would eat you alive.

How many more reasons do you need?

Sorry, I may be a bit naïve,

but being a commodity isn't
something which comes naturally to me.

I've only read about it.

"A historical phenomenon
widespread under capitalism."

I've always considered it
irrelevant, and probably it'll remain so.

Before I can analyse your plans for
my "exploitation" in the music business,

I need to find out whether I
am able to live and work here.

Whether I have anything to say here.

♪ Imagination

♪ Could make a man of you ♪ Imagination

♪ Could make me love
you too ♪ Imagination

♪ Is all I want from you

♪ And she blamed excesses
on the 'merican dream

♪ So seldom witnessed, never seen

♪ Hah, hah, hah, hah, hah ♪ Imagination

♪ Could make a man of you ♪ Imagination

♪ Could make me love
you too ♪ Imagination

♪ ls all I want from you... ♪

Thank you. Yes?

Fantastic.

♪ I'm guilty

♪ Baby, I'm guilty ♪

♪ And I'll be guilty ♪ For the rest

♪ Of my life

♪ How come I never do

♪ What I'm supposed to do?

♪ How come nothin' that I try to do

♪ Ever turns out right?

- ♪ You know ♪
- You know,

- How it is with me, baby.
- ♪ You know how it is with me

- ♪ You know ♪
- You know,

- I just can't stand myself.
- ♪ I just can't stand myself ♪

It'd take a whole lot
of medicine, darling...

♪ It takes a whole lot of medicine ♪

For me to pretend that I'm somebody else.

♪ For me to pretend
that I'm somebody else ♪

- You damn Fascist!
- English still!

You ready?

Ladies and gentlemen, Taube Records

welcomes you to this press conference.

Herr Drittemann has been
in the West for just 100 hours.

I'm sure you'll have many questions.

We're also expecting the
Minister of Culture, Herr Hennig.

Herr Drittemann, aren't you afraid

of becoming just as unwanted in
the West as you are in the East?

Not at the moment.

You've left a wife and son behind.

Will that make life difficult for them?

No, my former wife has remarried.

She has a new family now.

They lead their own lives. They
can't be held responsible for anything.

They're not in any danger.

What can you say positive about the GDR?

Repeat it, please.

What can you say positive about the GDR?

Is there anything that's worthwhile?

There would be a lot,

but I don't speak about my country.

A question: do you see your
presence here in the West

as a protest against
cultural control in the GDR?

I have no intention of
saying any such thing.

Nor was it my intention
to protest against anything.

Wasn't coming here a political decision?

My decision is related solely to my work.

May I ask, are you in
contact with your father?

I'm not!

I asked about your father,

because I was struck by the
similarity between your lives.

You're both musicians.

You're both political dissidents.

Both of you criticised your
country's political system.

And you were both forced to
leave your country for the West.

I never knew that was hereditary.

On the contrary.

I think, and I'm sure you agree,

that it has to do with
the political system.

I'm not here to talk about my country.

I've already said what I wanted to say.

There's nothing more I wish to add.

My readers would like to hear
Minister Hennig's comments.

Since he is here now,
perhaps he can say a few words.

First, let me apologise
for arriving late,

and for having to leave early.

But I didn't want to miss the
opportunity of welcoming Herr Drittemann.

Herr Drittemann is an
artist raised in the GDR.

To us it means first and
foremost that he is a German...

whose destiny reflects the
tragedy of our divided country.

Over there he is known
as a famous critic.

And I'm sure that he'll go
on writing his songs here.

And that some of us may not
agree with his lyrics, myself included.

But, speaking as a man who has
fought for cultural freedom all his life,

here, he will be allowed to do this.

He will be free to speak his mind
without fear of the consequences.

Indeed, it often seems the more
critical you are, the more you earn.

So I'm not all that worried about
Herr Drittemann's future with us.

I therefore wish him
and his music all the best.

May he live in peace
and freedom among us.

Minister Hennig!

Thank you for greeting me as a German.

And not as if I were a Turk
or, worse, a Tamil immigrant.

However, what you say
about freedom makes me laugh.

I've seen your repressive tolerance
on TV and even had a taste of it myself.

I know one can't speak freely
here, because it won't be published.

What use is your work if it's not
going to be published or recorded?

What use is your freedom if
you're not allowed to work?

Maybe I was restricted in the East,
but they also applauded my criticism.

How about the prohibitions in your
country or the two million "unemployed"?

And the Bitburg affair, when you
honoured graves of former Nazis?

That also touches on freedom and
on coming to grips with your past.

So I consider you,

and the state you represent here,

as successors of fascist Germany.

That has nothing to do with freedom.

Herr Drittemann, I wish
you free life here, with us.

Enjoy your freedom, and
sleep safely in your bed.

I'm not taken in by you, Herr Hennig.

We were surprised,

but I... you know, I
don't think Herr Braun,

and I speak for Braun on
this, too. I don't think, er...

it's gonna have any long-lasting effects.

There was no harm done. I
think everyone was rather...

You know, the adrenaline got
a-flowing with that argument, and, um...

We're... We're happy. I think
he handled himself beautifully,

and very cleverly.

His whole time over there
he spent mistrusting the press,

and he's got to have time here to learn

that the press over here
is a totally different animal,

and that it can be
our friend if you use it,

and we use you and you use us,

and it's like one big happy
family, but that's gonna take time.

I think what it did is, it just
emphasised the fact that he's

a fiery, a passionate artist.

And, er... he...

that's... that's what we bought.

That's what we... that's why we need him.

That's why we want him. He's...
He's... He's got this passion,

and he's not afraid to use it. He's
got an enormous amount of courage,

and he's gonna use it over here.

Mm-hmm. Right now, I
have to get off the phone,

but I'll get back to you, okay?

Thank you. Thank you.

Okay, bye. Bye-bye,
honey. Bye. Yeah, bye.

Okay, I think we're winning.

On the whole, they seem
to have liked your style.

But it's a close thing.

Okay.

Herr Braun will see you
in his office in five minutes.

He needs to know about
the contract today. Now.

Yes or no. All right?

Okay.

Okay...

Stalinism is not Socialism.
Capitalism is not Freedom.

"Searching for peace and freedom. Stop."

"Maybe gig in Amsterdam. Stop."

"Signed contract on way. Stop."

"Drittemann."

"Berlin, 20 July 1953."

"Rosa, by the time you
read this, I'll be in the West."

"Whatever you think or imagine
you know to be the case about me,"

"I promise you none of it was planned."

"Since Spain, and before perhaps, I
have been driven by haphazardness,"

"and a sort of terrible innocence."

"I do not so much do
as find myself doing."

"To the charge of innocence
I must plead guilty."

"Venial enough, you would think."

"Yet here I am, dishonoured in your
eyes and separated from my children."

"No doubt I'll survive it all."

"But, for what purpose, I
cannot at the moment imagine."

♪ I'm singing my blues for a man

♪ Who could tell a tale or two

♪ About how red the
hatred was near Madrid

♪ In the hills of Castile

♪ And if you want to
know if this man was a hero

♪ Then ask the stones on the street

♪ In Guadalajara

♪ I'm singing my blues for a man

♪ Who could tell a tale or two

♪ About how red hope was in those ruins

♪ Where now new buildings stand

♪ About his homeland
where he made no ground

♪ And left with no goodbye

♪ If you don't know where
to go, you know how I feel

♪ And my blues ♪

♪ He left his homeland
where he made no ground

♪ Without a word of goodbye

♪ If you don't know where
to go, you know how I feel

♪ And my blues ♪

People actually get on the aircraft.

Climb in the aircraft. Look
at all the instruments inside.

Plus, all the kids do enjoy
getting next to the aircraft,

and going up on the aircraft,
and having the pilots walk around.

It's exciting.

All right, my guest this
morning is Captain Willis,

talking about that big Open
Day coming up this weekend.

We do have a caller on the line
now, line one. Your name, please?

My name is, er... Mavis Middleton.

Good morning, Mavis. It's nice
to have you on the programme.

Er... your question,
please, to Captain Willis.

Well, you know, the
friendly side is very nice,

but what about the real purpose,

like the cruise missiles
coming to Molesworth?

Well, Mavis, I'm sorry. Obviously,
the question is not being directed

in the way that we are talking
this morning about the Open Day.

Mavis Nicholson on the
line there, on line one today.

Erm... the Americans, much
associated with music, of course.

What's your own particular favourites?

Anything by Crystal Gayle or Pat Boone.

Okay, that wasn't a cue for a song,

but here is Pat Boone
and 'Friendly Persuasion'.

Good afternoon, madam. Could
you turn your engine off, please?

- Where are you going to?
- I'm going to Cambridge.

You're going to Cambridge, are you?

Could I have a look at
your driving licence, please?

Have you got it with you?

Do you have your hire forms? Thank you.

Dunlop!

- Check on that, please.
- Right-o, sir.

- Okay, do you have your passport?
- Yes, here it is.

Thank you.

Let's see to him. See what he wants.

- Okay, then. What's the problem, then?
- What were we stopped for?

We just wanna see where you're
going. Where are you going?

We're going to the
power station over there.

What are you going to
the power station for?

- Peaceful picketing.
- Peaceful picketing.

- A peaceful picket?
- Yeah.

We're going to demonstrate there.

- Piss off, we're picketing.
- You're not demonstrating,

'cause you're not going.

- Who says so?
- I'm saying so, and that's it.

And who are you?

Are you saying we can't travel
this country? I can't go up?

No, you can't.

I booked an accommodation
for a newly-wed couple.

I hope it's a double.

- Can you leave the coffee, please?
- Oh, sorry.

- Thank you.
- Thank you.

...et le téléphone est le 0223...

678... 71.

Je crois que tout
c'est bien passé si bon.

Il est avec moi.

On commence demain, etje
vais resterai ici une semaine.

Hmm, the water is freezing.

I'm afraid I'll catch a cold.

Is he in the phone book?

No, he's not in the book.

And what... what about the post office?

Did you find it?

The landlady told me it's not very far.

Good.

So tomorrow we begin.

Yes, tomorrow we begin.

Poste restante for Cambridge, please.

Er... you'll find it'll be quicker
and cheaper to take it yourself.

It's only a couple of
miles down the road.

- How much?
- Four pounds twenty.

We'll do two-hours watches.
Any longer and we'll be noticed.

I think this is a mistake!

- Show me.
- Mm-hmm.

You look like a little boy.

Where were you trained?

Trained?

Maybe it's all a mistake.

Hi.

I'm looking for a pen,
to leave you a note.

- There's a pen.
- Oh, that's dead. Doesn't write anymore.

The package is gone. Someone came for it.

- Who came?
- A woman. I followed her with the car.

It's just outside the town.

Come, I'll take you.

I think there's time.

Sit down, please.

Can you show me where it is?

Sure.

The Post is here.

It's here.

Hm-mmm.

Can you give me the address?

Mmm.

Mill House, 70 Station Road.

I sense something wrong. Bad.

I think you should
better go back to Paris.

Your work is done.

Fine.

You're the boss.

- Am I?
- What do you mean?

Suddenly, it occurs to me...

a man doesn't hide

if he doesn't fear discovery.

Dryden. Drittemann. It's all one.

Political folk are never safe

this side of the grave.

So, you think I'm
working for some... what?

Some intelligence service?

You knew he needed finding

before I knew it myself.

And you even knew where he is.

You needed me only to confirm it.

No deal.

Why do you carry a
copy of the Brown Book?

Are you a Fascist?

Va te faire foutre!

What, then?

Yes, I'll tell you.

In 1942, in Holland,

my mother, who was sixteen,

and thirteen members of family,

were taken by Nazis, and
sent to the death camps.

Her father and mother,
grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins,

all died, except for her.

She was nineteen when
Ravensbrück was liberated.

She weighed 25 kilos.

It was another five years
before she could stand upright

and face the world again.

And what she found was
that most of those responsible,

the Nazis, were back
in high office again.

Judges, administrators,
businessmen, teachers,

as though nothing had happened.

Indeed, nothing had happened to them.

So...

she decided to do something about it.

To bring them to justice.

I work for her.

Jacob Drittemann was... was Communist.

Fought in the Spanish Civil War.

Worked seven years

for the Akademie der Künste in the DDR.

Fought against Stalinism
every day of his life,

while Stalin lived.

Left in protest at the brutal repression

of the workers' uprising by military,

and lives on, to this day,

in the hearts of the
socialist opposition there.

What can any of this
have to do with my father?

I'll show you.

There's two years' work here.

Between Spain and America,

your father spent some months in Holland,

fighting with the Dutch underground.

- Did you know?
- No.

In the town of Gouda.

I found it in an archive.

About a dozen German
comrades took that route.

One of them led a whole
detachment of Resistance workers,

twenty-eight men, and twelve women,

to their deaths in a Nazi ambush.

Your father may have known the traitor.

I have to ask him.

So, do I go home?

All right.

But I see him alone.

Of course.

Poor bastard.

I don't want him to be my father.

Are you ill?

Oh, no. Nothing.

Dreams.

You're discovering the West
has no use for innocence either.

Excuse me, Comrade Drittemann.

My name is James Dryden.

What do you want with me?

I believe these are yours.

- You speak English?
- I do.

Sit, won't you?

I prefer English.

The cheese was clever.

I have been... expecting you, I suppose.

Most of my life.

They say, in these parts,

"the men born to be hanged"

"need not fear drowning."

That's...

how it has been for me.

I count my life in days, now.

I listen each morning

for my last blackbird.

Not living... is no longer a problem.

But I will die here.

Nowhere else.

It's the only choice left to me.

So, is Rosa dead?

Or did she finally decide to confess all,

and go in her grave

with a clean Party card?

It doesn't matter.

In a way, she had no choice.

Handing me over...

would have meant putting
herself under suspicion.

To save herself, and the children,

she had to save me, too.

It was something I
have always counted on.

Met her in Spain.

You know?

Rosa. Red, red Rosa,

in the full, obscene
bloom of her innocence.

"Wading through slaughter"

"like Stalin's daughter."

I quote myself. An opener.

I was a child, a child, too.

Nineteen, twenty.

Seeking the ancient battleground between

right and wrong.

But I glimpsed what she would never see.

The hand of the puppet-master

controlling the dance.

Why should this interest you?

You are a functionary,

a thing of the state,

in your ridiculous coat.

May I go in my house?

Come with me.

This is England.

Things must be done properly.

This is what I do now. I don't know why.

I've seen these faces all my life.

In Hitler's Germany,

in Stalin's Spain,

in Roosevelt's America,

in Ulbricht's Democratic Republic,

and now here.

It's a face of innocence.

"There is only power."

"Those who have it, know it."

"Those who don't, must learn it."

"The ones who are ruled" carry others.

"The ones who rule"

"are carried by others."

Meng-Tse, 600 BC.

It's the first law of humankind.

The innocent think there is a choice,

and stop at nothing to prove it.

Do you choose to be here now?

You serve your masters.

Did I choose to return to my country,

after the war, as an agent
of American Intelligence?

We both learned the second law.

"Any life is better than no life."

Later still, you'll learn the third law.

"It's all one."

"Life is nothing."

Will you kill me?

No.

Somebody will.

I expected Americans.

The Americans have always

had problems...

acknowledging their
debt to the Third Reich.

They wanted me disposed of.

Years back.

But I found out, slipped the noose.

Here, I imagine,

they have been content to let me lie low,

and die with their secrets.

But you are Stasi, without question.

Forty years,

and still the same SS
hand-me-downs for uniform.

Am I still an Opposition hero back there?

You have to live in England to learn

the true nature of irony.

But you know the second law.

So you're no fool.

Who sent you to Holland?

- Holland?
- After Spain. Before America.

With the Dutch Resistance.

Forty comrades led to their
deaths in the town of Gouda.

Gouda?

Yes.

The Gestapo.

Forty, was it? Hmm.

In Spain, we killed thousands.

But Fascists. You
killed Fascists in Spain.

Comrades, comrade.

Brothers in arms.

Anarchists, Syndicalists, Trotskyists,

peasants, workers...

Stalin's orders.

"Liquidate the enemy within."

"Secure the leading role of the Party."

The dream died...

in Spain.

At the fall of Madrid,

I was handed to the Gestapo,

and the choice was clear.

Work for the Third Reich,

or see my family, in Leipzig, destroyed.

I worked for the Gestapo.

When Holland fell,

the Reich sold me to America.

"It is true. It is not true."

"It is false. It is not false."

Did your wife know?

Rosa went to Russia.

To practise her innocence.

Suck on filth.

Rosa found her own way to be guilty.

Are my children alive and well?

Rosa fought at Stalingrad.

There's a difference.

Your children are well.

Who are you?

Why are you here?

"We pay the price."

The last law.

Guilty!

You knew.

Yes.

Okay.

Did you know everything?

I knew the bones.

I knew your father did a
deal with the Nazis in Madrid.

I knew he did their work in Holland.

I knew the Americans lifted him in '45,

knowing him as a Nazi collaborator,

and sent him back to Berlin a year later.

I knew he had been
their thing ever since.

Did you know why he did a
deal with the Nazis in Madrid?

No.

Did you care? Do you care?

I don't know.

I know it doesn't make a difference.

I had imagined...

we were friends, or comrades, somehow.

What will you do with him?

Speak with him.

To find what I can.

- And that's all?
- No.

I'll try and bring him to justice.

He's a mad old man, rotted away.

We have to begin somewhere.

What about you?

Here.

Thanks.

Okay.

I'll drive you out there tomorrow.

All right.

You have no reason to trust me.

Don't I?

Even though I mean you well.

There's a telephone call for Mr Dittyman.

Could it possibly be you?

Thank you.

You register as Mr De Baen,

And now it seems you're Mr Dittyman.

It's just not good enough.

Oh, never mind, madam.

Klaus Drittemann.

Hi, it's Lucy. Look,
I'm glad I found you.

Do you have a minute? We have to talk.

Ah, Lucy. Go ahead.

Okay, the Munich
organisers have come back

with a bigger and a better offer.

Another three thousand dollars.

You interested?

What's Munich?

It's a pop festival.

The thing is, it clashes
with the Amsterdam date,

which I will remind you is
for travel and accommodation.

No fee, no television fee, nothing.

No, I prefer Amsterdam. Fix Amsterdam.

Okay.

How did you know where to find me?

Oh, God, look, is this more paranoia,

or a serious question?

Klaus, I rang the French girl's editor
in Paris, she gave me the number.

Do you want me to come to Amsterdam?

Bye, Lucy.

Bad news?

It was the record company,
about a concert in Amsterdam.

So? What's the problem?

They knew I was here.

And you think I told them?

I don't know.

You made a phone call
the day we arrived here.

I called my mother.

She has to know where I am.

And she's been after this
man for almost fifteen years.

Nobody else.

Did you ask them how they found out?

You should have spoken with him today.

What?

They know.

We've found him now.

Tomorrow might be too late.

The body of a Cambridge man

was found hanging
from a beam this morning

by his fourteen-year-old daughter.

The girl, Anne Dryden, found her
father, James Dry. den, a retired artist,

in the kitchen of their family
home on the outskirts of the city.

According to Mrs
Elizabeth Dryden, his wife,

the dead man had been suffering
from depression for some time,

and foul play is not suspected.

Local weather in a
moment, stay with us...

He told me...

He told me he was
going to be disposed of.

I don't understand.

Killed.

Okay, I'll leave you here.

You go on with this?

Yes, I think so.

Somebody should do it.

If you come to Paris,
come and see my mother.

What's she like?

What do you mean?

She's like you?

Me? Not at all. She's very serious.

- Goodbye.
- Bye.

♪ I'm singing my blues for a man

♪ Who could tell a tale or two

♪ How red hope was in those ruins

♪ Where now new buildings stand

♪ He left his country
where he made no ground

♪ Without a word of goodbye

♪ If you don't know where
to go, you know how I feel

♪ And my blues

♪ I'm singing my blues in red

♪ For someone who can't hear me

♪ Singing like a child

♪ Lonely in the dark

♪ I'm singing the blues in red

♪ For someone who can't hear me

♪ Singing like a child

♪ Lonely in the dark

♪ I'm singing the blues in red

♪ I'm singing the blues for a man

♪ Who could tell a tale or two

♪ About how red fear can be

♪ Just before you go to the dogs

♪ I'm singing the blues in red

♪ For someone who can't hear me

♪ Singing like a child

♪ Lonely in the dark

♪ I'm singing the blues in red ♪

SUBTITLES BY POWERHOUSE FILMS LTD