All language subtitles for Interview.With.The.Vampire.S01E07.1080p.AMZN.WEBRip.DDP5.1.X264-NTb

So...

question.

Can an immortal meet
mortality?

Technically, yes.

How?

Several ways.

Starvation.

Deny the body the blood.

Conversely, drink
the blood of the dead.

He told me as much
my first night reborn.

Then, there's fire.

Consume the body with fire
and it can house no spirit.

Decapitation.

He confided that to me
one blood-drunken night

in Baton Rouge.

Theoretically,
it can be done.

But could it be done
by us to him?

Could the children murder
the father?

He was stronger than us,
quicker than us,

in possession
of ancient powers

that had been passed on
to his progeny

only in a diminished form.

Add to the toxic air
a new ever-present paranoia,

and now, you are with us.

We were compelled
to sleep

in the same chamber
together again.

He would have it
no other way.

We would spend our hours enduring,

with little pretense
of getting along,

locked together in hatred.

He would have it
no other way.

Our only opportunity to plot
would be telepathically.

And Claudia, for reasons
she would not yet divulge,

used our advantage sparingly.

Knowledge
is the ocean's edge.

I mean, to think it could
somehow be gathered

by a mere 20 volumes.

But make no mistake,
Claudia was plotting,

quiet in her deer blind.

A relic before it's even gone
to the print shop.

Aww...

There's three of us
you must provide for tonight.

I've had my fill.

Louis's never honored
the blood as he should.

Blame the teacher,
not the student.

Lestat de Lioncourt.

179 years
in the Savage Garden.

148 years the blood-drinker,
the bringer of death...

...the deer
come up the trail.

Another approaches.

It's you.

Oh!

Are you
the new postman?

I'm sorry.
I'm sorry!

Come to deliver letters
of salvation?

I did-- I did not mean
to disturb.

This is a private house,
and we find it disturbing

when things are abandoned
on our doorstep.

You misunderstand.

I-I'm an admirer.
I-I've come seeking help.

Hmm.

Well, you came
to the wrong house.

They say that Satan lives
in this house.

But I say it different.

I say angels--
angels live at 1132.

Does anyone know
you came here?

No.
No one, I swear.

I-I live alone,
over on Ursuline.

I'm your neighbor.

Well, send Saint Peter
our regards.

"Dear sirs and madam..."

Cancer of the blood.

"What is your secret?
Can it be shared?

I have the means to pay you.
I'm dyin'.

The medications aren't taking
and my--"

Enough!

Two in one night.

Dolls, Bibles, letters become
torches and pitchforks.

We have to leave
this place.

We have to leave
New Orleans.

Clean up the mess
and come to coffin.

We have plans to make.

There were plans to make,

but the architect
of those plans was--

Claudia.
Right.

Cold, calculating,
on mission.

I-I interrupted.

Uh...
S-Sorry.

I-I got caught up in it.

You were saying?

You already have
your plan, don't you?

I have a plan,
and it's gonna take both of us.

Maybe start by telling me
the plan?

You share a coffin
with him.

I don't talk in my sleep.

You share a heart
with him.

I can cut it off.

No, Louis.
You can't.

You spend an hour
alone with him

and you're breathing
in sync together.

The plan only works
if he's distracted.

I can pretend.

I used to see this woman, Lily,
just to keep appearances.

I can--
He'll know.

It'll only work
if you give in.

Give him all your heart,
and I'll do the rest.

I can't do that.

I'll lose myself in him.

Leave a little shelf
inside there for me.

I'll jump back in and pull you
out before I kill him.

Can you do that
for us, Louis?

Louis?

Yeah, I can do it.

It's best to travel light,
I think.

Reduce our valuables
to a few trunks each.

What about Greece?

Cradle of
Western Civilization.

Sun worshipers,
hot springs.

Those who must be kept.

What was that?

Nothing.

Uh, if I know Italians,
they'll be in Santorini

with their guns out
by the end of the year.

No, we must follow the geese
to Buenos Aires.

Bach.
Always back to Bach.

Bach is beyond you.

Yes, the music
of the master race is...

not made for these
mongrel ears.

You irritate me.
Your very presence irritates me.

I came to make peace with you,
Uncle Les.

Mm.

Sister, daughter, infant death,
you must think me an idiot.

Could you two
please just--

Hmm.

I've a present
for you, Lestat.

An idea. Hmm.

An idea of yours?

It must be
a small gift, then.

A weak man slips a letter
under his door,

and the glorious
vampire Lestat

runs like a rat
to his hole.

It's not fear, but wisdom
that guides our departure.

It's heroic that we've lasted
as long as we have.

Agreed, but...

shouldn't we leave
on our own terms?

Shouldn't we mock the city
like we mock our victims?

You have something in mind, obviously.

Do nothing different,

settle our affairs,
prepare to leave,

but on our last night,
throw a party.

We're pariahs, sister.

No one's comin' to a party
thrown by freaks.

Precisely.

It's in the dying man's
letter.

They want to know
our secret.

They think we've got
the fountain of youth in here.

They don't know
they're the fountain.

An amusing...

but needful idea.

I guess you're right.

It was just a thought.

The page, Louis.
The page.

In the five years
since Adolf Hitler took command

over a people reduced to despair

by World War defeat
and its aftermath...

They may be nasty
little beasts,

but they do have
excellent tailoring.

Well-dressed
tyrants.

Where have I seen
- that before?
- Hmm...

Well, this idea of yours,

what kind of a party
did you imagine?

A ball.

A lavish,
decadent ball.

- To what end?
- Shh!

We invite the most beautiful,
the most gluttonous,

seduce a choice few
for a feast to remember.

Hmm.

Shh!

Buenos Aires,
as fast as we can.

...and its demigod,
Adolf Hitler.

Man #1: Happy New Year!

Keep pushing this party,
he's gonna be on to you.

I want him suspicious.

I welcome it.

You're gonna try to kill him
at this party?

There's no "trying."

Mardi Gras is early
this year.

February 6th.

Say it's ridiculous.

That's not how it works.

They plan Mardi Gras balls
a year out,

sometimes
years in advance.

Everyone in costume,
everyone drinking,

chaos in the streets
for an easy escape.

It's not worth
the risk.

Told you.

Although, if we starved
ourselves for a night

or several nights prior...

...the hunger would be transcendent.

A meal fit for a king.

Woman in Street: It's over!
I'm through with you!

Man in Street:
Come on, baby!

Come here.

- Whoo!
- Fine!

You want the mister
or the missus?

For a king.

We're gettin' out, Tom.

Out of New Orleans?

But you just got here.

Uh, seeing as it's been 17 years
since we've spoken,

what makes you think
I give a corn-peppered shit?

We'd like to engage
your services, Mr. Anderson.

We wanna throw
a Mardi Gras ball.

Pay our respects to society
before moving on.

Hmm.

Mm. Where to start?

Uh, one, I'm not in
the party-planning business.

Two, it's January.

You're a little bit
behind the gun.

And three...

This is me and your two-tone
daddies circa 1910.

But can you tell me,
little girl,

what's wrong
with this picture?

You didn't have that funny X
on your face back then.

Hmm.

I mean, this is
all good and...

sufficiently creepy.

What do you want?

I want...

to be Raj.

King of Mardi Gras.

Him?

We know you're on
the committee.

The Committee of Raj is a secret
and sacred group of citizens...

...bound by honor
and tradition.

Get us a price,
get back to us.

These things are planned
years in advance.

Louis, you're a native.

You've expanded
your export business,

shipping coffins
from port back to Europe?

Shipping and manufacturing.

Double dip.

Good margin,
product in high demand.

You lost one of your ships recently.

Took a torpedo in the rear
from one of the Fritz's U-boats.

Would you like a new one?

Wait, just one question
before I attempt

your no doubt humiliating
and reputation-destroying ask.

Where do you meet the Devil,

and what are the terms
of the agreement?

The Krewe of Raj
had been three years

in planning
their Mardi Gras theme,

and they abandoned it
within a week

once the Parisian law firm
of Roget and Albert

had transatlantically
wired their bribes.

From the Marais
to the Mississippi,

money flooded the town.

Unavailable vendors
became available.

And the gossip that followed
broke through the levees.

The weird brothers
and their doll-like sister

were coming out.

And the paper ticket
to the event

was a brick of gold
for the insatiably curious.

I've chartered us
a plane to Havana.

Three cabins on the SS Dundee
from Havana to Rio,

and two sleeper cars from Rio
to La Reina del Plata.

We'll sell what we no longer
want to Max Simon,

and we'll leave the rest
to the auction house.

We'll need trunks
that'll fit our coffins.

Make sure they have
locks that--

Locks that trigger
from the inside.

It was a masterful month
of preparation.

You aimed at the navel,
seduced the seducer.

By the time we began
our fasting,

Lestat would have told you
the entire endeavor

had been his idea
to begin with.

When is it?

Yeah.

Yes.

We'll go without the blood for
three nights preceding the ball.

At the ball, Louis and I will
be following your leering eye.

Maybe pluck one or two
for ourselves.

We'll ask them if they wanna
be young forever.

And if they say yes, we'll
pin them with one of these.

Hmm.
Amaranth.

Perfection.

We'll invite them
to our home,

we will lock the doors,
shutter the windows, and...

And let the flesh
instruct the mind.

Let the flesh
instruct the mind.

So, fire?
Behead the bastard?

She wouldn't tell me
at the time,

as I was slipping back
into old feelings,

as she said I would.

Laudanum and arsenic.

But I would know
soon enough.

Thank you.

Poison the bait
was the game.

Make it appear as if
the flesh was drunk

when, in fact, his victim's
veins were swollen

with a paralyzing brew
of laudanum and arsenic.

Claudia could
taste her freedom,

suffered the hunger
with a cold joy,

matched only by the sun-hot ego
of the vampire king.

And here comes
the Krewe of Raj!

All hail to the Realm of Raj!

Is that a baby?

The ball that followed
was an assault of the senses,

an extravagant
waste of money.

And while Lestat's poor taste
on the float

drove away most every member
of the Raj Committee,

there was plenty of bait
to choose from.

The blood was everywhere.

The veins and arteries
of a few hundred hearts

ringing out
like air raid sirens,

drowning out the rhythm section
of the hired band.

I followed Claudia's lead
as best I could,

scouting the rooms
for varietals of death.

Would you like to know
the secret of immortality?

Well, of course,
my dear.

Who wouldn't?

Good seeing you out of uniform,
Chief Bardin.

I think you've mistaken me--Pardon me.

I saw your mask
in the bathroom.

I won't deny,
won't confirm.

You are a man
who appreciates power.

Tell me more,
Mr. du Lac.

Woman #1:
You have been missed

in the Lower Garden,
Mr. Lioncourt.

Woman #2: We heard you'd been
ill all these years.

Pardon me, madams,
is there a history between us?

Uh, the Women's
Opera Society.

Prytania Street?

Well, it has been
over a decade.

Of course. Yes.

You don't appear ill.

Rumors, envy.

Oh.

Now, which one of you did
I pull under the stairs

during that dull lecture
on Don Giovanni?

That would be me.

And that was my late husband
giving the lecture.

And did he talk himself
to death?

Oh.

Your Majesty, I'd like
to introduce you

to the MacPhail brothers,
Matthew and his brother Mark.

Well...

And where are
Luke and John?

Is there rosemary
in your garden?

Uh, yeah...
just below the porch.

Our mother planted a whole
bushel this past summer.

Did she?

The king finds himself
suddenly famished.

Would you excuse me?

A cascade of feelings
came over me

as I watched him
sponge up the adoration.

I wanted him dead.

I wanted him all to myself.

The fasting was a mistake.

I wasn't thinking clearly.

Something was off.

You miserable dog.

What about a dog?

What dog?

You just said something
about a dog.

I said no such thing.

Tom Anderson:
I see you, Louis du Lac.

There's another one.

You're just hungry, Louis.

You heard what I said just now,
didn't you?

It's the dome.

The architect that built
this place made the US Capitol.

Mm-hmm.

He made it so you could hear
the sniping

and whatnot
across the way.

Calls it
a "whispering gallery."

Course...

how you heard me
over the band... pfft!

It's got to be
one of those tricks

that you and your fag
pederast satanic trio

got in your pocket.

It's a hell of a party!

Do you know the secret
to immortality?

Never get married.

That's a good joke.

And now that you
have your boat...

...don't you want more?

The king's hair
has betrayed the king.

Hmm.

Was that a witticism
from the Duke of Gloom himself?

Hunger's got me
light-headed.

I'm going to miss
this place.

There's not an inch of this city
that wasn't built

from the fierce wilderness
that surrounds it.

Hurricanes, floods, fevers.

The damp climate
on every painted sign,

every stone facade.

High windows,

through which enameled bits
of civilization glitter.

Silhouettes emerging,
wandering out to catch

a silent flash
of lightning.

The silky warmth
of summer rain.

Desperately alive...

...and desperately fragile.

The hunger has me too,
it seems.

The boutonnieres
have all been given out.

We're ready when you are.

A last dance
before the feast.

I'd like that.

I'd like that very much.

So much would be written about
that grim night in New Orleans,

but not a single mention
of our last hour at Latrobe's,

as if the only crime
unfit to print

took place
on that dance floor.

It was my sole duty
to distract Lestat,

but in his mirrored eyes,

the distraction reflected
back onto me.

And in the dead center
of the whispering gallery,

I lost the thread
to my plotting

and fell once more into
the well with no bottom.

I was his, and he was mine.

May I finish this dance?

If he'll have you, sister.

We shouldn't do this.

Too late.
I've done it already.

When? Who?

Just now.
One of the twins.

He'll be dead on his feet
in an hour.

Ah!
Wake up!

In the 14th century,

in the third arrondissement
of Paris,

on the Rue de Montmorency,
there lived a seller of books,

who found, in an otherwise
regretful purchase

at a private library,
a twenty-page manuscript

written in a text
he could not decipher.

So, he traveled to Spain
to have it translated.

And on his way...

...he met a Jewish
converso who told him

he was in possession of the Book
of Abramelin the Mage.

We're all pretty drunk here, Lestat.

The bookseller dedicated
the rest of his life

to reproducing the alchemy
within that book,

and one in particular sits
before you all now.

That's what's in
the punch bowl?

Amrit Ras, Chasma-i-Kausar,

the Philosopher's Stone,

the elixir of life.

I drank it
as a young man...

...and I recently passed
its powers to my friends here.

Claudia, born 1903.

I drank the water
in 1917.

I'm 36 years old.

Louis de Pointe Du Lac,
born in 1878.

I drank of the water
in 1910.

I am 61 years old now.

Lestat de Lioncourt,
born 1760.

I drank the waters
in 1794.

180 years old...

this coming November.

Give me that ladle!

- Pfft!
- Ah!

The bucket's got
a hole in it.

It's empty!

Not for long, Tom.

No, stay back!

Let's go! Let's go!

It's locked!

We gotta go!

- Go to the stairs!
- No!

Please...
I don't wanna die.

- No, no, no!
- Get up! Get up! Get up!

No, no, no, no, no!

Help! Someone help!

No. You don't have to do this.
Please, don't do this.

- Shh, shh, shh.
- You don't have to...
No, please.

- No, no, no, no, no!
- No, get up!

Oh, dear.

You broke up the pair.

I know you wanted them both,
but Louis couldn't resist.

I'm sorry, my love.

I saved one of 'em
for you.

Huh.

Did you?

How generous of you.

Mm.

Ah.

Quite drunk, this one.

Rosemary...

...and something else.

What is it, my love?

I-I think it's the gin.

I wasn't talking to you.

Laudanum.

Arsenic.

She was at the ball tonight.

Like one of those girls
on the telephone switchboard...

...eavesdropping in on things
that she shouldn't.

"Too late.
I've done it already."

"When? Who?"

"Just now.
One of the twins.

He'll be dead on his feet
in an hour."

She should never have
been made, Louis.

Look what she did to us.

She's corrupted everything.

Antoinette will be much more
agreeable to our life together.

Lestat...

...you must think me
an idiot.

"She was at the ball
tonight."

Not just the ball.

Laudanum and arsenic.

You're gonna try
to kill him at this party?

There's no "trying."

I have a plan,
and it's gonna take both of us.

The train's leavin'
in an hour.

Get off that bench.

You shoulda let that train go,
Uncle Les.

How? Who?

He who called you...

"him."Him?

Always the petty slights
with you, Uncle Les.

Have your goodbye.

Louis.

Louis!

Louis.

We are joined by a cord,
by a cord that you cannot see,

but it is real.

It is real.

I have loved you...

...with all myself.

I'm happy it was you...

here with me...

The blood poured out of him

as it might never pour
from a human being...

...all the blood he had
filled himself with.

He lay now on his back,

his eyes staring wildly
at the ceiling,

the irises dancing
from side to side.

"Mets-moi dans mon cercueil,
Louis, Louis."

"Put me in my coffin,
Louis, Louis."

His irises rolled
to the top of his head.

The whites of his eyes
went dim.

This horror
that had been Lestat...

...I stared
helplessly at it.

The thing lay still.

There was no point
in lingering.

The house on Rue Royale
would soon become the focus

of all too many questions.

For the very last time
in New Orleans,

we followed our training

and cleaned up the evidence
of our most elaborate kill.

Well, almost.

We need to burn him.

I've killed so many,
j-just...

no one I...

I don't know if I can.

Just load him in...

like he's one of them.

It was as if we'd expected
Lestat to disappear

in a puff of smoke,
or get sucked back into hell.

So, what did you do
with it?

We wrapped him
in a carpet.

We threw him in a trunk,

and left him out
with the garbage.

We got in our car
and drove away,

headed straight
for the port.

The boat for Havana?

Another boat.

A merchant vessel,

newly christened
and headed for Europe.

The boat you bought Anderson,

a shipload of coffins
for cargo.

Plenty of cover
for a couple of stowaways,

ready to begin the adventure
of our lives.

Well...

isn't that neat and tidy?

There was a ship.
We did get on it.

Yeah, I read that,
the first 50 pages.

Not exactly the, uh,

adventure-of-our-lives
feeling I'm feeling.

It was
a traumatic escape.

Yeah, but she didn't
say that explicitly.

I mean, maybe in some of
the pages that got torn out.

Well, not torn out, exactly.

More like with a ruler.

But, um...
there's a feeling

that she hated your guts
there for a while.

Why is that?

I was haunted by
my brother's death,

by the abandonment
of my sister,

by the murder of Lestat,
I--

Murder?
What murder?

It was an act of mercy.

You didn't kill Lestat.

You spared him,
out of some fucked-up idea

you had about love.

Love?

I bled him like a pig and waited
for the death rattle.

You were shot point-blank
by an alderman.

You were dropped a thousand feet
and survived.

You torched Antoinette
just to make sure.

Where does the trash go,
Louis?

You take the trash down
to the street

and some guys show up
in a truck

and they throw it
in the back,

and then, they drive it

out to the middle
of nowhere, right?

No.

They take the trash
to the dump.

And having lived two blocks
away from the dump

just outside of Fishkill,
New York, with my first wife,

I can state, with authority,
what else you'll find there.

Rats.

Big fuckin' rats, the size
of Kevin Durant's sneakers.

Enough blood in them
to bring back the dead.

Especially one in a trunk
with locks on the inside.

You knew it, Louis.

You had to.

The biggest rat-eater
of them all.

This session is over.

How many days in
the Islamic year?

How many names are there
for Allah?

355, and 99.

Why does a 200-pound bouncer
pass out after he sucks him off,

and you, a wet T-shirt away
from 130, doesn't even blink?

I couldn't burn him.

But Claudia could.

No, she couldn't.

She stuck a pen
in his neck.

She recorded his last words
in his own blood.

The girl did not have
a fuckin' problem

tossing him
on the grill, okay?

The sun's comin' up.
No.

We have to burn him. No.

It's the only way
we'll know!

No!

I said no!

Was it raining,
Louis?

She couldn't burn him.

You cursed her
into the darkness.

You chose Lestat over her,
time and time again.

You don't need
a memoir, Louis.

You need a hundred sessions
of EMDR.

You know, the shit they put
soldiers through

when they see one
of their platoon buddies

get blown up
in front of them?

You've only heard
half the story.

Stop.

144 years of life,

and you're still
Louis the Pimp,

paying a whore to sit in a room
and talk with you.

'Cause why?
You got some story

you wanna tell the whole world
about yourself?

When you hear it,
you'll be ashamed,

ashamed of what you say
to him now.

Please stop, Rashid.

Ten million dollars.
That's my whore number.

Career's been over
for years.

Legacy?

That's for board members
and assholes in loafers.

My daughters aren't even
speaking to me anymore,

so at least I can
leave them some cash.

But an honest reckoning?
No.

This is the same shit
that happened in San Francisco.

Not exactly.

How is it
any different, Louis?

This time,
I won't save your life.

Louis can sometimes
act out.

I protect him from himself,
always have.

Stopped him that night
in San Francisco.

You were there.

You don't remember,
do you?

No, I don't remember.

What was that you said
about memory?

"A monster," was it?

But I saw you standing
in the sun.

As we age, the sun
loses its power over us.

What's a mediocre star
to a 514-year-old vampire?

Daniel Malloy...

...I'd like you to meet

the vampire Armand.

The love of my life.