All language subtitles for Lord.of.the.Ants.2022.ITALIAN.1080p_EngCP

LOOSELY BASED ON EVENTS
OCCURRED IN lTALY IN THE SIXTIES.

Damn ants, gross.

- Quiet, he'll hear you.
- Who?

Can't you see who's over there?

Braibanti, the myrmecologist.

What does that mean?

He studies the life of ants.

He's an expert.

We're leaving in ten minutes.

"On my palm I offered you

a paper boat.

I'd picked it up like a lifeboat

under the soles of boys

pursued by the pre-established order.

You caressed it with a wing,

like a birthday gift.

You looked at me to understand

and there was an immediate exchange,

simple, bright,

like our expectations."

Beautiful.

I wrote it for you.

I wrote one too.

"I thought it was guilt,

it was only courage.

Where infinite is written, I delete it

and I write life.

I thought it was night,

it was only striving.

Where love is written, I delete it

and I write you."

Let's turn in, it's late.

Is it bad verse?

- Who wrote this poem?
- I did.

Then I'll tell another one
I wrote yesterday.

I remember it well, it goes like this:

"From the top ofyonder antique tower

O lonely sparrow, wandering hast gone."

- You wrote that, did you?
- Yes, you like it?

- It's beautiful.
- "O'er the valleys strays the harmony."

A masterpiece.

LORD OF THE ANTS

Aldo!

Help!

- Shame on you!
- Pederast.

IN ROME, WINTER 1965

This wasn't the sum we agreed on.

Single rooms have their costs.

You don't want him to end up
in the ward with the others.

He has to feel like he's at home.

Out.

Calm down, I'm here.

Everything's all right.

- What will you do to me?
- We want to make you well.

- But I'm not sick.
- Of course not.

You're like all the other boys.

Do as I say
and you'll soon be out of here.

Where's Aldo?

He's on his way.

Really?

Aldo's the only one who cares about me,

my mother and my brother don't,

they tricked me.

Never mind them, now I'll help you.

Thank you.

But don't tell my mother

that Aldo's coming here.

- She hates him.
- Don't worry.

- It's our secret.
- Do you promise?

I promise.

Thank you.

What are those machines for?

Never mind.

You'll be asleep soon
and you won't feel anything.

Stay calm.

How are you?

The doctors say you're behaving well,

I have faith in the treatment
they're giving you.

But medicine isn't enough,
you need to eat.

We bring you delicious things
and you don't touch them.

The others aren't so lucky.

Look at me.

You know how I suffer
when you act like this.

The worst is over,

everything will be like
it was before, actually, better.

The priest asked everyone
to remember you in the orations.

But you need to pray every day like I do.

Remember the one you said
when you were small?

Angel of God, my guardian dear,
to whom God's love commits me here,

ever this day be at my side
to light and guide.

Amen.

Come closer.

Come closer.

Hurry up, I got things to do.

Hurry up, let's make it quick.

Come on.

You really don't wanna do nothin'?

You still gotta pay me.

What do you take me for?

Save your charity for church.

Pay me already,
or this is gonna end badly.

IN EMILIA, SPRING 1959

I brought your book back.

I didn't even get halfway through,
it got on my nerves.

After "The Time of lndifference" I didn't
expect this gratuitous skepticism.

What's so funny?

Skepticism...

One has to know how to read books.

"Contempt" is a novel
with a strong point ofview,

about the disintegration of illusions.

I shouldn't have given it to you,
you don't have the tools,

you can't understand it!

You don't want to admit
you can be wrong.

What are you doing here?

Good morning.

I found this one,

it had wings, but it must
have lost them on the way here.

It's a Messor structor.

It's excellent it lost its wings.

The foundation of an empire.

She is precisely what was missing,

you can't imagine what a gift this is.

- Who are you?
- He's Ettore, my brother.

- You didn't tell me you had a brother.
- There was no need.

Let's go, Ettore.

We have to place this treasure
in the most important room.

Are you a student?

- Let's say I study medicine.
- Why "let's say"?

- It's what my mother wanted.
- What would you like to do?

I like drawing, painting.

Why don't you do it?

One should never follow parents' ideas.

They brought us into the world,
that should suffice, right?

Come.

Look how beautiful they are.

Don't they suffer behind this glass?

No, they need to be close together,

even in a boundless countryside, always.

You know why?

If an ant is left alone,
it loses its way home.

He lent me a book
on Piero della Francesca.

And you?

Nothing.

I'm not in the mood to read.

Why didn't you tell me you came here?

I would have come too,
it's a neat place.

Braibanti seems nice,

easygoing.

Aldo's no good for you,

he's only interested
in throwing you into a crisis

whether he says you're right or wrong.

You're too touchy.

I'm not touchy.

Anyway, it's done now,
he won't leave you in peace.

Especially after you gave him that ant...

You've searched
for heaps of ants for him,

this one just appeared in front of me.

How was I to know it was the queen?

Don't you go back there,
it's your first and last time.

Where's the harm in it?

This way we can do something together.

We're brothers.

"Virgin mother,

daughter of thy Son,

humble and high
beyond all other creatures,

the limit fixed of the eternal counsel.

Lady, thou art so great
and so prevailing,

that he who wishes grace,
nor runs to thee,

his aspirations without wings would fly."

Good job.

Bravo.

Enjoy your children,
this is the best age,

then they grow up.

Remember all the poems
Dad taught you?

I never had the patience.

Whereas your sister does nothing else,

she teaches him one a week
as if they were girls.

- What do you know?
- Forget it.

No reading at the table!

What's all this ruckus?

Enough!

Don't ruin the book,
it's Professor Braibanti's.

That one lends books,
but with other intentions.

They used to have
those like him interned.

And they were right.

Who are you talking about,
Susanna's son?

None other,

the police found him in the countryside

doing... never mind.

Is the cake good?

It's insanely good.

I made it myself.

The female, the queen,

always mates with many males

and keeps their sperm all her life.

After she has mated
she loses her wings,

she digs a hole in the ground

and fertilizes the eggs
with the sperm she has collected.

Do you know what I like about ants?

What?

The thing about the social stomach.

Is it true an ant has two stomachs?

One for itself
and one for whoever's hungry?

It's true, how do you know that?

It's a really good metaphor.

Ants put the collective good

before self-interest.

It's true, they share everything
and never betray each other.

I brought you this book.

I'd like you to read it.

I bookmarked a verse
that made me think of you.

"Water.

Water everywhere,

nor any drop to drink."

It's about a shipwreck,
about someone lost at sea.

It's about many things,

in our case, about dissatisfaction,

about being in the middle of the ocean
and dying of thirst anyway,

of not being happy
with what we see around us.

So we're doomed to die of thirst?

You're not, as long as I'm here.

Thank you.

I am the wind

I am the fury that passes
And that carries with it

That calls you in the night
And has no peace

I am love that feels no pity

I am the wind

If I caress you, you mustn't trust me

- Who was at the Tower today?
- I met Carla.

She'll perform Aldo's writings
at the show.

And Aldo? What did you talk about?

He told me that loving

is the greatest cruelty.

It's one of his signature mottos,
he said it to me too.

What does it mean?

It means that one day you'll suffer.

Salutigerulus fatuus coprea.

T'ien hsia.

Chieh wei wo ta.

Listen to me.

Or not.

From the top.

Du bist mein Leben.

Du bist mein Leben.

Enough.

That's enough.

What is this?

What's this ham theater?

The text shouldn't be performed!

It has to be demolished on stage!

I'm not interested in the yarn,
the little tale,

I'm interested in the pieces,
the shards that cut!

That wound!

And that goes for everyone.

Du bist...

mein Leben.

What does it mean, Carla?

What does it mean?

Speak!

You are my life.

Do you think anyone
needs to understand it?

Yes or no?

Yes or no?

- No.
- So why do you emphasize it?

Don't signal the meaning!

We couldn't care less
about the meaning.

Meanings are meant
for dictionaries, not theater.

Pick up from where you left off.

Take it from the last verse.

You, give me a cigarette.

Yes, you.

Come on, liven it up.

Come on.

A naked word terrifies you.

Blood frightens you.

The blood you let
your idiotic killers spill.

Break up the words, not just the phrase.

The syllables...
from one side to the other, gush!

And yet it is ve-ry sim-ple.

Eve-ry-thing is blood.

E-ven the sea.

And the mad-ness
of your weak and mock-ing god.

God!

Do you understand this word?
God! Everything!

Say it twice!

Also the mad-ness of
your weak and mock-ing God... God!

Go backwards.

You keep moving. Always moving.

Professor Braibanti,

we've come so far to arrive where?

To a dead spot.

We were supposed to hear words
that only meant their sound,

but now I understand that
this game also has meaning.

We speak to God
about lunacy and weakness.

What a sad place to land: blasphemy.

Are you the author of the text?

You're simply proving your enemies right,

those who say you're only a dirty person

who wants to make others dirty!

You should see yourself.

Go look at yourself.

Look at yourself in the mirror.

Look at yourself!

We're seeking beauty here.

Look at what you turn into
when you're angry.

Look at yourself.

Sorry, but it's my first time dancing.

I'm not dancing either.

That drawing you did of me is lovely,
will you give it to me?

No...

I'll do another one for you,
I need to improve.

Not enjoying the party?

I want to apologize,
I behaved like an idiot.

That's happening to you
too often lately.

Maybe this place isn't for you anymore.

I'm cold.

Put my jacket on.

- We're going home!
- Why?

- I said we're going.
- No, I'm staying.

- Did he ask you to stay?
- I want to stay.

You're coming home with me.

Wait!

Yourjacket.

The sterile intellectual
who can't get a word published.

And us like morons
hanging on his every word.

I don't want to see him anymore,
and you'll do the same.

You hear me?

Is that clear?

Don't order me around.

Imbecile.

How dare you!

Don't speak to me like that!

You're the imbecile,
you don't understand a thing!

You think you're working with him
for your talent?

That's his tactic,

he tells you
you're the best, the most intelligent

and he spins his web around you.

That's fine with me.

It's real and abstract at the same time.

It resembles the things you draw.

I just draw what comes to me,

I don't copy great artists when I draw.

It's not about copying,

you're so young, you still have
so much time to be original.

In the beginning it's important
to have reference points,

you also need...

mentors.

Nietzsche is very clear about this:

at first the spirit loves
to carry weights.

It's like a camel
walking wearily in the desert.

In this desert,
the camel turns into a lion.

It wants to gain freedom
and becomes its master's enemy

and it refuses to obey, always saying no.

No, no, no...

That's not all.

In this, Nietzsche really is brilliant.

There's still one metamorphosis to go,

the lion must become a boy.

A child who plays, plays...

who always picks up his game
from the start, always says yes,

happily, in a saintly manner.

He doesn't oppose anymore like
the lion, he says yes continuously

and continuously, feverishly, he creates.

Choosing his mentor
is an artist's first act of freedom.

And anyway, a pupil
can always kill his mentor.

Should I draw like this?

It's what came to mind
looking at the things you do,

you have to find your own path.

I've decided I don't like it.

Never seen a mentor killed so quickly.

Why did he stay out all night?

Doing what?

And you didn't say anything to him?

Not only did you take him there
but you left him there with that one?

What kind of question is that?
I don't know.

You'll go there right now
and bring him home.

I'm not bringing anybody home,
he's an adult.

If you're worried, go there
with your husband.

Am I right, Dad?

Don't get changed, we're
having lunch at your aunt's today.

I'll be right back.

Do you still pray, Susanna?

You're right to do it.

There's only one person
you have to commend to God:

your son, for all
the wicked things he does.

Curb your language,
madam, we're in a church.

Aren't you ashamed
ofwhat everyone says?

I don't listen to spitefulness, to envy.

You should do the same.

You know, Susanna,
what the worst thing is for a mother?

To be deceived.

Ettore did that,

he told me he was going to university

and instead he was spending days
on end with Professor Braibanti.

What sin do a mentor
and a disciple commit?

- Jesus Christ himself...
- Don't blaspheme.

And keep your son away from mine.

A shirt.

Two shirts.

And a sweater.

Don't take books on the train,
they're heavy.

I'll post them to you,
one package at a time.

But you'll need one for the trip,
you pick.

- Primo Levi.
- I'll put it here.

Will you wear the jacket?

What's wrong?

I'm leaving you on your own.

No, it's only right.

You need to leave this place,

I didn't raise you to stay here.

Come on.

What are you doing with the bicycle?
Are you crazy?

IN ROME, SPRING 1964

This is the best room, I used to sleep
here with my husband.

Tell me if you want a double bed

or if you prefer two singles.

It's a pity to split it in half.

Where's the harm, an uncle
and his nephew sleeping together?

Entrance, front door, room.

Thank you, ma'am.

You're the spitting image of each other.

I didn't know
there was a pyramid in Rome.

It's the easiest thing to draw.

When we say beautiful,
what do we mean?

If not that which is intense, deep?

An artwork is the manifestation
of the subjective truth of an artist,

of his deepest truth.

Looking at your drawing
I must recognize your hand,

that it's a drawing
only you could do in this way.

Let's make a plan to see the things
in Rome that must be seen.

These are grotesques,

they're reproductions of the frescoes
of the Roman domus.

They were fashionable during
the Renaissance.

- What are they doing?
- Come.

Look who's here! Miss Braibanti!

What are you doing in Rome,
you old tart?

Accompanying my pupil.

You're really not coming to my birthday?

Of course I am, I wanted to surprise you.

- It's tomorrow, right?
- No, dear, tonight.

And you're obliged to attend.

You've already brought the gift.

But I don't know if I like it,

a bit young for my taste.

What a pleasure to see you, darling.

Look what torture for a cover.

Here I am.

Who's that?

It's Vanni Castellani, a musician.

Isn't he a painter?

A multifaceted talent.

What an odd sort.

He's my best friend.

- He missed this one.
- You blow it out.

- Did you make a wish?
- No, shall I do it now?

It's not valid now.

Pity, it was a good one.

Then it's still valid.

Can we leave?

We just got here.

Okay, let me say goodbye
to the birthday boy.

Wait here.

- What do I do with this?
- Don't eat it all.

Are you an actor?

You're very photogenic.

If I photograph you,
doors will fly open to you.

I've set aside a cyanide capsule,

do you think it'll be enough?

What are you saying?

I can't handle dying, I'm scared.

Angry too, about how
those who hate me will take it.

And you don't think about
those who love you?

Have you ever reread
something you've written

that you thought was good

and you discover it's shit.

Well, it happens.

It's happening to me too often though.

This morning I had to burn
a year's work.

Half the world venerates you.

It's the other half I want to like me.

Stop drinking, it's not good for you.

You haven't drunk anything, I bet.

Boys don't like drunks.

Where did you leave your student?

He's tired, he wants to leave.

I came to say goodbye.

Say it, then.

Give me a kiss too, if you want.

Actually no, save it for later.

- What's his cock like?
- Come on...

- I don't know.
- Why? Don't you touch it?

- Bye.
- Haven't even given him a blowjob?

Please.

Lucky you, you're in love.

What am I saying?

I'm living an ideal love story,

a rich lady indulges all my whims.

She likes women and I like men...

A perfect couple.

Braibanti, hasn't your Tower fallen yet?

It's still standing.

All the better,
you need your little reign

where you say what's right and wrong
and you're the absolute sovereign.

Luckily, in the real word things
are different.

Luckily.

Do you remember the poems
I sent you last year?

Vaguely.

You wrote me a poisonous letter,

I remember one phrase:
banality in rococo sauce.

It was true.

Garzanti is publishing them next month.

Congratulations.

Are you looking for your little friend?

Rome took him.

Why did you leave?

You could have waited for me!

At least let me know! Don't do it again!

Ever!

Where are you going?

Come here!

I shouldn't have
dragged you there tonight.

I'm sorry.

I wasn't expecting it.

What?

That an artist like him
surrounds himselfwith people like that.

What harm do they do?

Why all that excess?

In their gestures, their voices...

They're like caricatures.

When it's just them
they lose their inhibitions.

Homosexuals, I mean.

They feel free from the judgment
of so-called normal people.

So they can exaggerate,

go over the top.

Who knows how many times
I've done it myself.

I've never seen you like that.

I'm not like them,

but I'm also like them.

Madam.

Today's a good day,
I have a letter from your son.

"Dearest Mama,

I'm writing to you full of emotion
at the news I've just received.

My latest play,

which I worked hard on as you know,

has won an important playwriting prize.

It's a cash prize

and I have the certainty
that it will be staged soon,

almost definitely
in a beautiful theater in Trastevere,

a lively neighborhood
that lifts the spirits,

full ofyoung people and art lovers.

Now it will be a question of..."

FAGGOT'S HOUSE

PHILOSOPHER IN COURT
FOR MORAL SUBJUGATION

Sorry, but this is
like fifth grade stuff.

I had to rewrite it from start to finish.

Yes, no doubt,
he has excellent knowledge.

Except for syntax.

Remember how Grieco
used to chew us out?

"You were born
on Saint Anacoluthon's Day!"

Yes, but we don't need
more women in the newsroom.

The two we have are more than enough,

and they know how to do the job.

Still here?

It's yours.

I do muggings, theft, accidents...

Franchi's still in Crimea, we don't know
when he'll be back, go.

If you weren't involved
I would have already said no.

He might need help,
but let's not go overboard.

"Article 603.

Whoever submits a person
to their own power,

to reduce them to a state of subjection

is punished
with 5 to 15 years in prison.

The penalty is extended to 20 years

if the victim has a physical,
mental or sensory disability."

This is the crime of plagio.

Ever heard of it?

In fact, it's the first time
they've applied it.

- How do you know?
- I have a friend who's a lawyer.

Yes?

A friend or a boyfriend?

- That's my business.
- Of course.

Do you know this Braibanti personally?

Me?

- Wasn't he at the Festa dell'Unità?
- Yes.

- The anteater.
- Myrmecologist.

Same thing.

Do you think he deserves jail?

As I see it, jail should only be

for those I say.

Or nobody should go there at all.

Open cells and everyone free.

I hope you don't write these things.

Maybe I don't even think them.

- Is he a homosexual?
- Who?

Braibanti.

- That's his business.
- Is it a crime?

You have the penal code
right there, look it up.

Be serious, is it a crime?

Look it up.

It's not a crime because the word
doesn't even appear in this book.

And you know why?

Mussolini reasoned this way:

if I condemn the faggots,
I admit that they exist in Italy.

Something which is impossible,

because in Italy we're all males,
for pity's sake.

IN ROME, SUMMER 1968

All rise, the court is in session.

We shall begin the trial against Aldo
Braibanti for the crime of plagio.

Remove your hat.

Why?

Respect for the court.

Let's see if it deserves it.

Will the defendant Aldo Braibanti
take the stand.

Does the prosecution
wish to ask the first question?

Thank, Your Honor.

Will you tell us, Mr. Braibanti,

what educational activities
were carried out at the Tower,

which you set up as a cultural center?

Answer, Mr. Braibanti.

Your Honor, perhaps the professor
does not care for the question,

in which case I apologize
and gladly move on.

Mr. Braibanti, how was
your teaching different

from that you conducted in schools?

Is it true you took advantage sexually

of Manrico Cordani
and Ettore Tagliaferri?

Objection, Your Honor.

The prosecution is using language
not worthy of this courtroom.

Sustained.

Reformulate the question.

Mr. Braibanti, what was the nature

of your relationship with Manrico Cordani
and Ettore Tagliaferri?

Braibanti remained silent,

this says it all.

The trial could finish today,

before it even starts.

The defense hasn't been heard yet.

I don't think it has anything to say.

I have overwhelming evidence
against the defendant

and irrefutable testimony.

So, you think you've already won?

We're sure of it.

It's a trial that has to be held,

that will show the evil,

that will save young men.

Madam.

- Forgive me.
- What do you want?

I was wondering if you need anything,
if you need help.

I don't need anything, thank you.

Maybe you're not familiar with Rome,
where do you need to go?

That's my business.

I'll gladly escort you.

I don't need anyone.

It's me!

- Pardon me.
- Good morning.

I'm Silvio, nice to meet you.

- I work with your cousin.
- The lawyer, right?

You know me.

Graziella's told you about me.

She told me you're Calabrian,
you play volleyball,

that you're a comrade.

Correct.

All correct.

- What are you doing here?
- Didn't you hear me?

No.

Is the hearing over already?

This is Silvio.

We've introduced ourselves.

- Shall we eat together?
- Lfyou'll have me.

It's hotter with the windows open.

I'll go get dressed.

- Sit down, don't stand.
- Thank you.

Where are you from? Cosenza?

No, Catanzaro.

- Have you ever been there?
- No.

If you come, you'll be my honored guest.

Thank you, but don't be so formal.

- It's out of respect.
- Speak casually.

You write for I'Unità.

I'm sorry about the trouble you had.

Meaning?

The story about the ant guy.

Why is it trouble?

Who's interested in these things?

As I see it, inverts have two paths,

either they get treatment
or they kill themselves.

Right.

Right.

So very right!

What happened?

- Why did he leave?
- Maybe he forgot something.

Ennio!

I've had only one thought:

to have him cured.

I took him to many specialists
to get that demon out of his head.

That person gave him
dangerous books to read.

One doctor said

books less than 100 years old
are bad for young people.

Many other boys
have been ruined by that person.

Some months ago, I spoke
to Miss Claudia Brabaschi,

a friend of hers told her

that all the accusations
against him are true,

because her son was also
a victim of his trickery.

Poor thing, he was beside himself,

he wanted to jump under a train.

That person gave him
a glass ofwhiskey,

then...

he had his way with him.

But I never doubted my Ettore.

But then in 1959 he met him too,

so I said let's send him to Padre Pio.

If only I'd insisted.

Our other son Riccardo,
who was a Communist,

went to Padre Pio three years ago
and came back cured.

Don't make me go on, Your Honor,

I don't feel well.

He was the master, the dominant figure,

and he enjoyed overturning
even the most sacred beliefs.

Just to give you an example,

he talked a lot about incest,

but as if it were something
acceptable and doable.

Undoubtedly, Greek tragedies
also speak about it,

but they treat it as an atrocious fate.

There was no confutation in him,

he limited himself to exalting
every possible abomination.

One evening Braibanti flew into a fury

because I had a small dog in my arms.

He hated animals, except for ants.

He hated women too,

he said their brains weighed
150 grams less than men's.

When he got angry like that,

to calm him,

I had to... submit to him.

He'd lie down next to me

and satiate his desires.

I didn't have the strength to rebel,

I was afraid.

But one night, as I was returning home,

after having been abused by him,

I heard a bell ring.

It was the church bell,

the priest had it ring all night
because it was Holy Week.

The week when Our Lord rises again

to save us from our sins.

That sound woke me from the torpor
I had slipped into.

I felt a sense of freedom,

so I turned back

and called out to Braibanti
outside his house.

He came out, I punched him
from one sidewalk to the other.

I spat on him, if I could have,
I would have killed him.

You mentioned abuse
at the hand of Braibanti.

As painful as it is,

I'm obliged to ask you to explain better

the nature of these,
let's call them, attentions.

There was talk of sex every day,

I still remember the first time
he touched...

my intimate parts.

I asked him what he was doing
and he said he was playing.

I was used to taking everything
he did and so I let him do it.

What did you let him do?

Your Honor,

may I continue to speak
behind closed doors?

I have terrible things to say.

The witness' request is granted.

We're not leaving!

Will those not involved in the
proceedings please leave the room.

We have a right to know.

It's not fair!

Sorry, what's so funny?
Are you happy?

Who are you?

Never mind who I am.

- You're not understanding a thing.
- How dare you!

Listen, those people with their bells,
the Church, Padre Pio

and all those things
that make you laugh, will win the trial.

You don't know
the strategies of a lawyer.

Goodbye.

- I've been waiting for half an hour.
- I apologize.

- Do you come here often?
- Never.

A delegation's come from Moscow
and we have to give them a big welcome.

Did you bring your article?

No. It's already being printed.

How dare you!

What happened today in court
was strong stuff

and if I'd let you read it, you would
have deleted even the commas.

When have I ever censored you?

The piece on the mother
was perfect, a tear-jerker.

But you always edit out
the word "homosexual".

I can't write PCl, I have to say
the "great workers' party".

As if nobody knows Braibanti
was a core party member.

I can lay my hands
on everyone's articles,

you don't dictate
the paper's editorial line.

Do you read
what the others write or not?

I'll give you two examples, look.

"From Marxism-Leninism
to Marxism-pederastism."

That's what they write.

"Pocket-edition anti-Christ."

Look at this one.

"Braibanti, back-door Communism."

That's the level.

You think it's funny? I don't.

I thought only fascists
laughed at that sort of thing.

Now beat it, anyway
I'll call the paper and block your piece.

What?

What do you mean?

- Are you kidding me?
- Calm down.

Calm down?

Thank you, ma'am, I'm sorry...

- You speak Russian!
- Yes.

What happened? Is he a criminal?

No...

- They arrested a comrade.
- So we have to help him!

That's what we're trying to do.

What's he accused of?

Loving a boy.

How horrible!

Wait.

You speak Russian?
Then stay for dinner with us.

I'm not suitably dressed, I'm sorry.

Bon appétit.

Do I know you?

No, my name's Ennio Scribani,

I'm a reporter for I'Unità.

Scribani?

The one who wrote
the article about my mother.

Exactly.

Prose worthy of De Amicis.

I'll take that as a compliment.

What do you want, an interview?

It's not appropriate.

I haven't come as a journalist,

I'm here, if I can use
a strong word, as a friend.

Why aren't you defending yourself?

Because there's nothing
to defend myselffrom.

Some days I look at you in court

and I see you with your back
turned to the judges.

And I try to put myself in your place.

It's difficult to lower yourself
to the level of your accusers,

but this trial
is truly a mirror of our country,

in its most backward, narrow-minded
and criminal aspect.

That's why you must fight.

They draw strength from their codes,

from crimes invented for their own ends.

You have to deflate this arrogance,
don't be arrogant yourself.

If it had been a pretty female student
instead of a male,

what would your accusers do?

They'd give you a big pat on the back,

they'd pay you compliments,
what a macho man!

They even pull out the crime of plagio

to hide something
that's still frightening.

You have a great opportunity:

tell them to their faces
that loving a man isn't dirty,

that it's as beautiful as loving a woman,

that homosexuality
has nothing to do with the courts.

Or not?

Thank you,

thank you for the lesson.

But do you think I need it?

I don't want to give you any lessons.

Don't explain these things to me,
write them in your paper.

It's your job, isn't it?

- That's what I'm trying to do.
- Keep doing it.

I'll be grateful.

I only ask one thing,

don't get my mother involved.

And you, don't enjoy
this silence too much.

Mr. Braibanti, your lawyer has told us

that today you are willing
to be interrogated.

Please take the stand.

You study the life of ants. Why?

Studying the life of ants

has made me question
the social life of men.

In your writings you have spoken
about cosmic religion.

Can you tell me what...?

They're Einstein's words, not mine.

Well, what are your thoughts?

Like Einstein,
I respect the universe, in all its forms.

From a political standpoint,
regarding the state,

my thinking is Marxist,

inspired by the modern currents.

And your notion offamily?

Family is a deep blood tie

and as such it will always survive,

even after the dissolution of the state.

If that is your opinion,

why didn't you try
to convince Ettore Tagliaferri

to heal the rift with his parents?

I did try to convince him
not to cut ties,

but the response was negative.

Ettore moved away from his family
of his own free will.

Is it true you followed
and watched your friend

even when he went

to satisfy his physiological needs?

I firmly deny this other magic tale.

And yet it's not a magic tale
it's written in the records.

But let us proceed.

Tell us what the nature of your relations
with Ettore Tagliaferri was.

What are you referring to?

You understand perfectly well.

I'm trying not to use language
that is too crude.

Between Ettore and I there were
rather rare sexual relations

and in no case did I
exercise persuasion over him.

It was always a mutual emotion.

You're lying.

All the testimony goes against
your statements.

Obviously twisted testimony.

Testimony from respectable people.

I don't know what you mean
by "respectable people".

What I say also has value,

but it seems
it is not recognized by this court.

Mr. Braibanti, do you realize
you are offending the court?

I don't know, I don't know anything
about your procedures.

I only know one thing,

Socrates, the wisest of the Athenians,

accepted his sentence

because he believed that the laws

should always be respected,

in all cases,

I don't.

I know that your laws are unjust

and they frighten me.

If during this trial
I have turned away,

it has been to avoid seeing your faces.

And do not look at me,

those who fight against monsters

must be careful

not to become monsters themselves.

If you look into the abyss for too long,

the abyss will look into you.

I do not contest
the philosopher's refusal of morality,

I contest the boundless pride of the man,

who in one of his books

defined justice as grotesque.

Braibanti is a being without charity,

only brain, only sex.

Man is created free by God,

but Braibanti
has trampled on others' rights

to assert his own.

His aim was to take possession not only

of the bodies of other men,
but of their souls as well.

To humiliate them he recounted
relations he'd had with a negro.

And negroes are a race
we all know about!

Braibanti is a failure
as an intellectual,

his books don't sell,

his ideas do not circulate,

at fifty he has only reaped
physical and moral poverty.

He wants to even the score,

he has a thirst for revenge,
for domination, for possession.

There is no behavior
more reprehensible, more execrable

than that directed at annulling
the personality of another.

It is equivalent to a crime
that is not committed with a gunshot,

because it lasts a lifetime.

Braibanti is
the most despicable of killers

because he fired at consciences
out of selfishness,

and out of the need
to feel filthily alive.

This is why I ask

the defendant be sentenced
to 14 years' imprisonment.

One year less than the sentence laid
down in Article 603 of the penal code,

a sentence that is
in all similar to that for murder.

A list of names a kilometer long,

people with clout,
who forge public opinion,

I spent weeks calling them all
on the phone, one by one.

Lots of promises,
then they all disappeared.

No one, almost no one,

has bothered to come here in person.

Those who came to testify in court

seemed uneasy,
as if they were ashamed.

The freedom of
a defenseless intellectual is at stake.

And Braibanti is that twice over,

defenseless because he has
not achieved the height of glory,

defenseless because he is homosexual.

This especially scares those
who hide their identity

like it's a burden too shameful
to show in the light of day.

Our anger is for those who hide,

for those who keep themselves safe

and who don't think that one day
this infamy could happen to them.

Fourteen years' imprisonment,

it's absurd.

The prosecution's case

is built on discrimination...

That time at your house I upset you.

I'm sorry,

I didn't mean to.

But certain things really disgust me,

I can't help it.

You've got it in for me
because I'm from the South.

- I don't have it in for you.
- I'll make you change your mind.

- I'm serious about your cousin.
- Is that so?

- Serious.
- Good.

You're ruining that poor girl,

you're putting certain words
in her mouth.

These things aren't suitable for women.

No one's forcing you
to stay here and listen,

if you don't like it, go for a walk.

Of course.

Protest about Vietnam!

Not about an invert!

Your Honor, this is the medical
certificate from the hospital

where the witness is in treatment.

State your full name.

Ettore Tagliaferri.

Are you unwell?

Do you think you can speak?

Son, open up your heart

to a serene and familiar interview.

But... that's not possible.

Can you speak into the microphone?

Proceed, counselor.

Ettore, can you tell the court

what the nature of your relationship
with Aldo Braibanti was?

Aldo...

has been

the most important person of my life.

When he talked to me about...

literature, philosophy,

art,

I felt uplifted

from the mediocrity
that surrounded me.

I learned things

that no one had ever taught me,

let alone my mother and father.

What was the reason for the rift
with your parents?

Did Professor Braibanti play a role
in this dispute?

It was entirely my own choice,

I wanted to cut

all ties with my family.

Now I understand

that I should have been more reasonable

in the way I dealt with them.

But not in essence.

What did Braibanti say

about your attitude of protest
against your parents?

He spoke about it

with simplicity,

he said

that I should find in myself

the reasons for this conflict.

And that polemic gestures

served no point.

For me Aldo has always been

a human support.

Human support...

which, going by the testimony,
destroyed a family unit,

led to psychiatric examinations
and consultations

and procured your hospitalization
that is still ongoing.

Are we talking about
the same situation, Ettore?

I don't understand the question.

Yes, you do.

I'd like you to tell us
without beating about the bush,

what type of relationship
you had with the professor.

I... don't know what relationship
you're talking about.

But all the experiences

Aldo and I had

together,

were something...

instinctive,

something desired, not imposed.

The relationship
between you and Braibanti

had culture as its aim?

Speak frankly,
did Braibanti ever force you

to have sexual relations against nature?

Unnatural relations don't exist,

rather natural relations arise

from mutual emotions.

I...

accepted the sexual relations

also because I was fascinated
by how cultured he was.

Who initiated these relations?

They came about spontaneously,

between the two of us.

Your Honor, the witness
is contradicting himself.

To the experts he stated
that Braibanti forced him.

The things I said in the hospital

came out because of the constrictions

I was subjected to.

They don't contain a grain of truth.

And what is your truth?

That this trial is absurd,

that there is no guilty party,

because there is no crime.

Your Honor.

Many of you, before this trial,
might have wondered

what the crime of plagio consists of,

that is, what does
the accused concretely do

to bring harm to another.

Well, we have here in front of us

unequivocal proof ofwhat it is,

ofwhat it means
to be morally subjugated.

Ettore Tagliaferri did all he could

to deny the guilt of the one
who enslaved him.

Guilt demonstrated by the testimonies
of dozens of people,

and yet he says nothing happened,

in fact, he claims that Braibanti
was nothing but good to him.

But not even a mother

would speak such words
of absolution for her son.

This boy has spoken out offear,

because he still suffers
from the brainwashing

that Braibanti subjected him to.

Well, your honors,
this is being morally subjugated.

This is plagio.

It's the best piece you've ever written.

I didn't have to force myself much.

But they listened to you,

a lot of people are coming.

No way, a newspaper
doesn't stir up anything.

They wrap fish in it the next day.

Not with the fish again.

You wrote "by Jove",

who says "by Jove" anymore?

I do.

And then there's
the workers' party again...

The "great workers' party"...

That goes automatically now.

I brought you a croissant, eat it.

No, thanks.

- Eat, we're going to be here all night.
- I don't feel like it.

Is it a good sign they're taking so long?

I always wondered what happens
in the judges' chambers.

Do they argue?

They beat each other up.

Ennio Scribani?

- Yes.
- Follow me.

- What's happened?
- Just follow me.

Oh God, now they're arresting me.

Thank you for coming.

I needed to see a friendly face.

Of course.

How are you?

Ettore...

It's him they're hurting.

Can you get this letter to him?

- Yes.
- Into his hands, please.

I don't trust anyone anymore,
not even my lawyers.

But maybe it's my fault,

I never sought out
a real contact with them.

- Besides, I have a bad temper.
- Me too.

That's why we understand each other.

Shame, shame on this state!

They break my heart.

Thank goodness, they're there, right?

Otherwise everything would be useless.

Plagio, shameful crime of the state!

All rise, the court is in session.

In the name of the Italian people,
in accordance with article 603,

the court finds Aldo Braibanti
guilty of the crime...

- Shame!
- Fascists!

Allowing generic
mitigating circumstances,

the defendant is sentenced
to nine years' imprisonment,

as well as the payment of court costs.

Shame!

Fascists!

Shame on you!

Thank you.

Be strong.

Put it away now, hide it.

It's my fault.

You told the truth.

I made things worse.

Anyway, it's not over,
there's the appeal.

I don't want to set foot
in this place ever again.

I'm better off in hospital.

Let's do this,

I'll leave you my number and address,
for anything at all.

If you want to write to Aldo.

- We have to go.
- Where?

Somewhere safe.

Come.

Come.

Where are you taking me?

To someone who cares about you.

You're the only one who doesn't give up.

I evidently have nothing better to do.

How are you, better?

They've finally allowed me
to keep a case in my cell.

Now there are inmates
who go looking for ants.

Why do you want to defend yourself
at the appeal, without lawyers?

There's no need
for a defense, write that.

Be that as it may, lawyers are needed.

They help you to avoid traps
you don't see.

In fact, here I am.

The mood's changed,

you have many people on your side now.

I think that the appeals,

the cries of protest,

all these things go against me.

Unintentionally,

the voices in my favor
are the traps I fall into.

Of course, the mood is changing,

but the people are changing,

not those in power.

It's pointless to persist.

Of all people, you're talking like this,
you who fought the fascists?

The fascists were real,

they tortured, deported, killed.

It was all real,

this seems like a farce to me.

Thank you for everything you do for me,

but I don't want to be a martyr,

neither a monster nor a martyr.

Cut.

This term "to fathom", would
your concierge understand it?

That's enough.

- I haven't finished it yet.
- It's not needed anymore.

What?

The comment on the appeal is already
being printed, an excellent piece.

I can't wait to read it.

Actually, I can already imagine it now,
word for word.

Ours is a party paper,

we educate, we dictate the rules,

we can't become
a defense organ for a pervert.

He's a comrade
who's suffering an injustice.

In our profession
detachment is a good thing,

it makes us more lucid.

You're getting too heated,

in your pieces you don't just talk
about the accused, the trial,

but you put other things in,

almost as if it were personal.

What do you mean?

I was wrong to give this assignment
to someone like you.

If that's the problem
I can leave right now.

No one's keeping you.

IN ROME, FALL 1969

THE DAY OF THE APPEAL JUDGEMENT

You disappeared.

I couldn't find you anymore,

I called the hospitals, the police.

- Really?
- I thought there'd been an accident.

I was worried sick.

Sorry.

What's wrong?

Nothing.

Where have you been all this time?
Where did you sleep?

Will you leave me alone?

What's wrong?

Am I hot?

- Have you eaten?
- Yes.

Not much, I'm not very hungry.

Let's go home.

What day is it?

- Tuesday.
- The date, I mean.

12th, 13th, I don't remember.

When was the judgment?

Tomorrow.

It's tomorrow?

- How do you think it's going?
- Well.

It has to go well.

It just has to.

Do you know why?

I know everything.

Let's go home.

You have a fever.

- Shall we go to court together?
- Yes.

I'll take you.

Will you help me up?

Go ahead, we'll wait here.

For the headstone.

Are you married?

So young.

Because of the baby,

we had to.

But we love each other.

Do I know him?

No, he's not from around here.

Sit down.

Have you seen Ettore at all?

No one knows, not even my husband,

but I go to him every day.

I clean his house, I bring him food.

But I hardly ever see him.

And his family?

They left him on his own
after he got out of hospital.

Is he working?

He does what he can.

They messed him up here,

in his head.

Shall we go find him?

No, I have
my guardian angels downstairs,

they have to obey orders.

Do you still dance?

I heard about your mother.

They gave me permission to see her
when it was too late.

She went without knowing you were free.

And you?

How are you?

I wanted to be a painter,

somehow I'm doing it.

And you?

Can you write in prison?

But I could be confined
inside a walnut shell

and feel I'm the king of infinite space.

"Hamlet"?

I still write a bit.

The usual difficult things?

That no one understands except you.

Every so often I look at the ground,

under the trees
to see if they're still there.

The ants?

How are they?

They're locked up like me,
but they don't complain.

I wanted to apologize to you,

I never answered your letter.

I've already forgiven you.

"All this seemed like a magic tale

and the magic tale seemed to be over,

then suddenly

I understood,

I had become you.

I would never project you into a world
that doesn't exist anymore

because they... they...

they...

they destroyed it."

You've become a real poet.

You wrote that...

a long time ago.

Now it's yours.

Aldo Braibanti was released
from prison after two years.

The remainder of his sentence was
commuted for his partisan contribution.

He lived in Rome and died in his land.

Aldo and Ettore never met again.

LORD OF THE ANTS

translation Susan Adler

subtitles edited by Elvira de Majo
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