Original subtitles

Inspired by Karen Blixen's life and letters with excerpts from The Dreamers

KENYA AUGUST 1931

Dear Mother.

Forgive me.

I can't go on.

I think I have been more happy here in Kenya -

- than befalls most people.

I have seen into the eyes of lions -

- and slept under the Southern Cross.

I have seen the grand plains burn -

- and with beautiful green grass after the rain.

A grand world of poetry has revealed itself to me out here ...

... and embraced me.

I have been the friend of Somalis, Kikuyu and Maasai -

- and I have flown over the Ngong Hills with my soulmate.

I have loved ...

... and felt loved.

To me, it is neither terrible nor sad -

- that I shall now disappear together with this world.

For Kenya appears to me to be -

- as much as my eyes, my feet or my heart ...

... a vital part of who I am.

I have fought to keep my footing. You know that.

I did everything in my power.

But to no avail.

The farm is lost.

The illness has worn me down.

And the death of Denys has left me bereft of hope.

I have no more to give.

When you read this letter, I have said my goodbyes.

Goodbye to the country that so generously welcomed me 17 years ago.

And goodbye to all of you back home whom I love dearly.

Thank you for your thoughts and caring, Mother.

But I can't come home.

I have nothing to come back to.

I wish to die here.

Bury me at the foot of the Ngong Hills.

Love Karen.

THE DREAMER

BECOMING KAREN BLIXEN

RUNGSTEDLUND SEPTEMBER 1931

1 MONTH LATER

They're here.

Welcome home.

- Hello, Mother. - It was good of you to get her home.

You should've seen her in Marseille when the ship arrived.

She looked more dead than alive.

I promised not to tell the others about her suicide attempt.

Of course not.

I have tea for you, my darling.

The rest of your things will be shipped from Mombasa tomorrow.

I'll see to it that they're placed in storage for now.

I'll telegraph Hugh Martin -

- about the money he owes you for the furniture.

You should eat something.

Have you ever considered -

- that it isn't man who gives up on life ...

... but life that gives up on man?

That is nonsense, Karen.

I don't know who I am anymore.

You're my sister.

And Elle's and Anders's.

The eldest since we lost Ea.

You're also the wisest and most talented person I know.

Tommy, it strikes me that all the things you say I am ...

... are things I was born as.

There she is.

Aunt Bess.

Karen.

- These are for you. - Thank you.

- Have a seat. - Thank you.

To think what Africa did to you, Karen.

They're beautiful. Are they from Folehave?

Indeed. My garden is bursting with marigolds at the moment.

Good morning, Bess.

Gerda, please put these in a vase.

- And Bess would probably like some tea. - Please.

You must admit -

- it's good that you were forced to come home -

- so that your mother can get back the roses in her sweet cheeks.

How are you?

Bess is looking forward to your walks in the park.

And our conversations. I really look forward to them.

Your siblings are always so busy.

Tommy with his family -

- and Elle with all their properties.

Daddy!

Who have we here?

This is the honorable Denys Finch Hatton.

We met in Nairobi and went on a hunt together.

- Denys, meet my wife, Karen. - How do you do, Baroness?

Skål.

- And welcome. - Thank you.

Dearest Karen.

- You look nice. - Please don't.

Yes, better than one might expect.

And you! You've bought an estate?

- Hello, Knud. - It's good to see you, Karen.

Elle, why don't you show Karen your new book?

- You wrote another one? - I brought you a copy.

- Introductions. - How impressive.

I wrote while the drapes went up at Sandbjerg.

There are 45 windows, so I had plenty of time.

- With Knud's publishing company? - Reitzels is not Knud's.

I'm chairman of the board, not part of editorial matters.

Dear children.

I take great joy in seeing you here every Sunday.

And I am eternally grateful for all the blessings we have.

And today we have been blessed with Karen's return.

Perhaps not under the circumstances you might have wished for -

- but we'll celebrate nonetheless. Welcome home, my dear girl.

- Welcome. - Welcome home.

Dinner's served.

It's raining bankruptcies and foreclosures.

Indeed. And if the deflation continues -

- no one will be inclined to invest. I don't know what we'll do then.

How about you, Jonna? How do you make ends meet?

We'd like to move out of the city, but we don't know what the future holds.

- We'll work it out. - And then there are all the unemployed.

Not to mention those forced to abandon their homes.

That was the hardest part of losing the farm.

All the people who were suddenly homeless.

There were two hundred Kikuyu families, over a thousand people.

And when I suddenly lost the land, they had nowhere to go.

They've taken all the land from the natives.

One could arrange a fundraiser for an orphanage.

There are so many orphans in Nairobi.

Elle...

You wanted to be a nurse when you were young.

We could travel there together.

Isn't that the sort of thing you leave to the missionaries?

The problem with Christian missions is they destroy the local culture.

The native language is banned.

- Well, English is the global language. - Yes. But it's not their language.

They can't do their traditional dances -

- but are more than welcome to learn the game of cricket.

Let's talk about it after dinner.

Your siblings and I have discussed your situation.

Naturally she should have an orphanage. Why not indeed.

Knud, won't you have some more?

It's delicious.

You may live here, as if it were yours.

And you will have no expenses.

Tommy will give you a monthly allowance -

- from his interest income.

But ... I cannot live here.

Where else would you live?

I thought you would support me in starting afresh.

You need to be realistic, Karen. All that talk about an orphanage ...

It was just an idea.

There are many other options.

I actually have a connection at Café Anglais.

Perhaps I can train there?

Paris? Karen, listen to yourself.

How much am I to live off each month?

We talked about 40 kroner.

- 40 kroner? - You live rent-free.

- Perhaps it's too soon to discuss this. - But 40 kroner?

How am I to start over on 40 kroner?

That would be like -

- Tommy going back to live at Rungsted Boarding School!

Tommy has his inheritance from Uncle -

- and an engineer vocation to fall back on.

And you have Knud and his fortune and your three properties.

But I have nothing from my failed marriage with Blix.

I have no income. No home.

And no education. I have nothing to show for all I learned in Africa.

But you've had so many experiences and lived a fantastic life, Karen.

Is that what you see me doing?

Living the rest of my life, dwelling on my memories?

- Of course not. - Mother and Tommy are trying to help.

Oh, so I should be grateful for Tommy's handouts?

I am seven years older than Tommy.

If I had been a boy, it would have been my inheritance.

Now you want me to be grateful for having to beg for pocket money?

- Everyone has lost money on your farm. - You just bought an estate.

Yes! Because Knud was the only one smart enough not to invest in your farm!

- Elle, stop. - Tommy had to give up on a house!

You never said.

- Mother had to sell land! - That was my choice.

Poor Aunt Bess may have to vacate Folehave!

Bess has lived there since she was 25! You and I played there as children!

Now she has to move because she invested everything in your farm!

That's enough.

Excuse me, I...

That was uncalled-for.

Don't mind Elle.

It's not your fault the farm went bankrupt. We know that.

I can't breathe.

We all want to help you.

But our finances cannot handle big changes right now.

I'm going out in the garden. I just need a second.

- Shall I join you? - No.

"A man ... a man ... a man.

A man can't fully live unless ... unless ...

.. he dies and ceases to care, ceases to care."

Lawrence.

- You're so good at this. - It's easy. I love Lawrence.

Your turn.

"Cold in the earth ...

... and the deep snow piled above thee.

Far, far removed.

Cold in the dreary grave."

Emily Brontë.

Remembrance.

I keep bringing these books with me, but I have nowhere to store them in Kenya.

Would you like me to host your library?

Could you?

Yes. I'd be delighted.

Then you can come and visit your books -

- all the time.

I should like that.

Denys.

Denys.

Aunt Karen?

They told me to find you ... before we sing.

There was no need to tell her about Folehave, Elle.

But it's true.

We agreed to wait till she was stronger.

- She can't stay in her fantasy world. - A bit of realism could be the cure.

- It's for her own good, Ingeborg. - She's broken. Don't forget that.

She's been in the hospital six times in Nairobi this year.

- Because of that old disease? - But Elle!

It's a tropical disease, and she also lost her farm and her best friend.

Yes, it's terrible, we know.

Perhaps she should be put in a sanatorium for a while.

Well, she's here now.

Just don't sell Rungstedlund to give her an orphanage.

- One could imagine that. - Enough.

Do you think I'm crazy?

You're not like the others.

No, I'm not.

Shall I tell you a secret?

Sometimes I dream the most horrid dreams.

Even when my dreams -

- are filled with horror and fear ...

... they still manage to excite me.

What I love about my dreams is -

- that the world takes shape around me with no action on my part.

Suddenly you're on a long flight of stone stairs.

And it leads to the Serengeti Plain.

Or a bird snatches you up ...

... and drops you in Lake Naivasha.

But in your dreams you don't have any say.

You don't in real life either.

You didn't have a say in your mother Ea dying.

Elle didn't have a say in being barren.

And I had no say in losing my farm.

Or in becoming ill.

Or in Denys burning to death.

Here they come.

- You found her. - How lovely that you two are so close.

So, let's sing.

The forest leaves are fading fast

And birdsong now is rarer

The swallow flees the stormy blast

The stork seeks climates fairer

Where fields once waved with golden corn

Fair ears to ripeness straining ...

Karen ...

Come with me.

Karen.

Denys ...

Denys.

Karen ... Come with me.

Karen?

Karen!

Karen?

Karen!

Oh, thank God.

There's so much we haven't talked about.

The night it happened -

- when your father took his own life.

Your father had been home Saturday and Sunday -

- and was returning to work in Parliament in Copenhagen.

But before he left -

- he'd been pacing the living room floor, talking loudly to himself.

So I lay awake all night.

The next morning I hurried to the train.

And on my way to the guest house I ran as fast as I could -

- and I felt my heart beating out of my chest.

When I arrived ...

... and saw the two police officers standing on the landing ...

... I knew what had happened.

When you lose someone who chooses to take their own life -

- someone you love ...

It's indescribable.

It's my greatest grief.

And my greatest defeat.

Perhaps I have inherited his demons.

It's as if I have nothing but ...

... pain ...

... and anxiety -

- and doubt inside.

Perhaps I'm cursed just like him.

You're not cursed, Karen, you're blessed.

You're blessed with so many fine gifts.

Your intellect.

Your talents.

You must find your joy of life again.

I suppose I do have the stories I started writing in Africa.

You write wonderfully.

They're just fragments. Beginnings that never came to anything.

We shall soon find a nice pastime for you, Karen.

What do you think, Karen?

I think I'll go to bed.

There.

One is almost afraid to ask, but ...

- What if I could make a living off it? - I've prayed for that, Karen.

Pray a little harder please, Mother. It must be something ... special.

I know it will be.

You can write here in Ewald's room.

But it's your office.

You can have it, a place to write and work.

A place that's all yours.

It's not Paris, but you'll just have to imagine that Rungsted lake is the Seine.

- Do you really mean it? - Yes, I really mean it.

On a full-moon night of 1863 -

- a dhow was on its way from Lamu to Zanzibar -

- following the coast about a mile out.

The night was bewildering in its deep silence and peace.

As if something had happened to the world.

As if the soul of it -

- had, by some magic, been turned upside down.

Apart from the crew and the prisoners onboard ...

... the boat carried three passengers.

One was the young Prince Said Ben Ahamed.

Said had been a prisoner in the north.

Now he was on a mission to take revenge upon his enemies.

The second passenger was a person of great fame.

The renowned storyteller Mira Jama himself.

The third was Lincoln Forsner, an Englishman -

- whom the natives on the coast called Tembu -

- which may mean either ivory or alcohol, as it pleases you.

He was chewing the dried leaves the locals call morungu -

- that keep you awake and in a pleasant mood.

Tell us a story, Mira Jama.

I have no more stories, Tembu.

I have become too familiar with life and death.

One doesn't strike me as much worse than the other.

Well, if you have no tale to tell tonight, Mira -

- I shall tell you one.

I shall tell you the story of a woman.

The woman who taught me to dream.

It all happened many years ago -

- when I was a young man.

Younger than Said, our beautiful ...

... vengeful friend.

My father -

- who was a man of great wealth and great faith -

- had encouraged me to travel the continent of Europe -

- before my eventual marriage to a noble lady.

After four months of travel my destiny brought me to Italy.

I happened to fall in love.

With a woman in a brothel. In Rome.

And I owe this woman -

- my understanding of the meanings of such words as tears, heart -

- longing and stars.

Words which you poets make such use of.

I felt -

- lifted and carried by life itself.

What was the name of this star-like woman?

Olalla.

Her name was Olalla.

Subtitles: Tina Goldberg Dansk Video Tekst