Original subtitles

Present

a film by

FROM SUBWAY WITH LOVE

"The Truth: Free In Every Bottle"

Starring

"Soft Shags Rub You Right"

"Eternally Refreshing"

I can't stop thinking about you.

About your hands, always cold, about your pale skin,

the golden down on your neck, that scar on your right knee,

about how you hold your skirt when getting out of a car,

about how you squint when you take a shower.

How you sleep, how you breathe, how you live.

- Hello, is Sandra here? - Yes, she's expecting you.

Your mother's here too.

- You look great. - It's Emilka's golden hands.

- Hi, Laura. - Hi, Sandra. it's like straw today.

I'd like it cut, and those red highlights.

- You know... - Streaked.

- Did you read it? - What?

The love letter on the subway posted like an advertisement.

- Yeah. - I saw it yesterday; very touching.

I saw it too, this morning.

- What do you think? - Sheer exhibitionism.

Emotional blackmail.

And narcissistic self-pity.

I think it's beautiful... a love letter.

No one's ever written me one.

See you later, ladles.

So that's my mother, Jana. She is a bit nuts.

She works freelance translating French and English.

When she was young she dated two Czechs.

Since then she hates Czech men.

She hates Czech men, Czech trains, and plastic bags.

She loves foreigners, airports, and brand-name luggage.

As soon as she gets to the airport she starts thinking in English.

However, with a Czech passport.

Written by

based on his novel

first assistant director

How many bags?

Good... Well...

Gate B-6...

Art director

Sound

Music

Edited by

Director of photography

Executive producer

Co-produced by

Produced by

Czech men completely disappoint my mother.

All of them.

Directed by

Mom's first Czech was nicknamed Pa�out.

It was allegedly a great love, but Pa�out was always broke.

He dressed terribly and was a selfish lover.

I was great!

They split up for good when Pa�out came to the theater

dressed in sneakers and a ski sweater.

That same night my mom met my dad.

Unlike Pa�out, he wore a nice suit

and carried himself well in public.

He invited her for a glass of white wine at intermission.

He held his glass by the stem

and spoke in a subdued and cultivated voice.

Mom mistakenly believed it was his true nature.

When in the spring of 1983

she saw through his ruse it was too late.

She'd gotten pregnant by a Czech Philistine just like Pa�out.

He never had any money, he refused to wash dishes,

and he blew his nose into the sink.

The place he found us to live

was an ugly prefab apartment in Prague.

By the way, we still live there.

And this is our neighbor, Mr. Zemla. He's been in love with my mom for ages.

- Hello. - Hello.

L�d'a, get in here.

I know you're smoking!

- See you. - Bye.

My dad was always working, so he ate on the run.

Salami, headcheese and onions, sandwiches, pickled herring.

My mom couldn't stand it.

Hadn't she told him 100 times it was unhealthy?

If he ate fruits and vegetables, fish, and whole grains,

he wouldn't get cancer at age 32,

and leave her a widow and me half-orphaned at age 12.

Finally, he could have spared her

that horrid experience with the tattooed mortuary workers.

Mom hated dad for his cancer. But she also loved him.

A terrible combination she always said.

To top it off, he died on Christmas Eve.

We haven't celebrated Christmas since then.

This is my one living grandmother.

She lost it when my father died.

I'm 23, but she still asks me the same thing every visit:

Laura,

do you have a boyfriend yet?

Didn't I tell you?

He's not exactly a boy.

His name's Oliver.

Ol-i-ver.

And this is Jeff.

My first guy.

We met at the language school my mom sent me to after graduation.

It made her nervous that I was still a virgin at 18,

and that I couldn't speak English. I took French in high school;

mom said it was the language of poets and diplomats.

But she also insisted on English.

Hey, what does 'turtle' mean?

How can I know what I eat if I don't know what I am?

- I don't know the word. - I'm fat and I lie on the beach.

By the second lesson I was in love with Jeff.

When we all spoke Czech he got cute and confused

and began looking around with his pretty green eyes.

I decided to show him to Ingrid,

a friend with more experience in this area.

- Nice butt. - Isn't it?

He's cute so he's got experience.

Tell him it's your first time; I'm sure he'll be considerate.

I think you'll like it.

And he's American so he'll use a condom.

My god, tell him to cut his nails!

That's my best friend Ingrid.

She's convinced she looks like Uma Thurman.

She is afraid that most guys just think of her

as a relatively easy way to screw a 'Hollywood actress.'

She met the last guy at a Prague bar.

They talked the whole evening,

about Forman's films, modern furniture, kids...

Then he took her home and stuck it in her ass.

Right in her ass. He didn't even turn on the stereo.

Didn't turn on the stereo...

After similar experiences, she signed up for kickboxing.

Castrate them.

Every last one!

A week later, she was sitting in a cafe wearing a tank top,

making eyes at a guy at the next table.

Of course she slept with him the same day,

fell in love, and suggested that he move in.

Then she went to a hip store and bought him an orange chair.

The guy of course got scared. So he broke up, moved out,

and started saying that Ingrid was nuts.

My first love affair was completely traditional.

We made eye contact more and more often.

I just wanted to say that I am experienced,

a little.

I think I know how to be considerate.

I feel so strongly for you.

And of course I'll use a condom.

I even cut my nails.

Jeff wasn't Czech and my mom really liked that.

Cheers.

It made me want someone she'd approve of less.

I really succeeded with Rickie.

And this is Rickie, also my ex.

- He was two years younger... - What?

... and sold cellphones.

He liked to judge people by their phones.

Like this... or like this.

What an idiot!

Look at that piece of crap.

But he was a good guy, and reliable.

It touched me how he thought about the future.

Hey, what about this one?

A studio condo with kitchenette, 400 square feet,

direct from the owner...

- Guess how much? - No idea.

85O grand. That's insane.

Can you belleve it?

Walt...

Let me do it.

I loved him most when he was silent.

It's really squishy in there.

And this was my latest...

Oliver.

- Oliver? - The one who writes those letters in the subway?

He's writing to you?

- God, sorry... - We met last year

In the Tatra mountains.

I first saw him in the hotel cafeteria.

- Nothing much, eh? - He's my type.

- Isn't he too old? - And bald?

A hot car but the payments are a bitch.

1O cylinders, seven-speed manual transmission...

2.75 million?

Fourth generation of car...

And where to find the money?

It is really fast...

Of course, the chassis...

... telescopic shock absorber...

... acceleration...

... lamellar clutch...

... comfortable, leather interlor...

I would never sell enough phones to buy it.

Is it worth it or not? Tell me, is it or isn't it?

It isn't.

Well, bon appetit.

I got some cool stuff at the store, though maybe it's stolen.

But business is business and that's how we afford vacation.

Coming, youngsters?

No, thanks, we'll wait.

No, we won't.

- Hi. - Good afternoon.

If these Slovak's serve their 'halu�ky' again

I'll start up a Czech resistance movement.

- Want to join? - Sure, I'll be vice-chairman.

Sweet dreams, vacationers.

Later.

- Bye. - Goodbye.

What do these goddamn fanatics think?

Sleep! it's only seven.

How can I?

Morning.

Morning!

I see the bells woke you too.

And they say: Love thy neighbor.

I work in advertising, I know they need to attract people.

But why not choose a more humane form of advertising?

Mallbox flyers, billboards, commercials,

hot air balloons in the shape of God's eye...

But to start ringing the bells at 7 AM?

So you work in advertising?

- Doing what? - I'm a 'creative artist.'

Creative artist?

- He must be educated. - Yeah.

- So you think up slogans? - Yeah.

- Have I heard any? - I wouldn't be surprised.

Tell me some.

'Soft shags rub you right.'

'The truth: Free in every bottle.'

Alright, we're leaving... I have to walk my dog.

Hey, wait!

Can I go with you? Can I?

- Are you here alone? - Not really: Billboard is with me.

I can't imagine going on vacation alone.

Two weeks alone in a hotel room.

I'd cry myself to sleep with the lights on,

and used-up phone cards would be scattered everywhere.

In the end a person is always alone.

It helps to start getting used to it.

Why are you here alone?

I split up with my girlfriend.

I cancelled her reservation two days before coming. No regrets.

For only a 7,000 crown cancellation fee

I got 14 days of fabulous freedom...

... self-recrimination,

and solitude.

Right, Billboard?

He always talked like that...

- So sophisticated. - Sophie who?

Then I didn't see him for three days.

Not in the hotel or at his spot by the bar.

- Let's go. - I think I'll go by myself. - I'm going then.

See you!

But I felt that he was near, that we'd see each other again.

I knew it! I knew he'd gone to another pub.

Well? What happened then?

Where the hell have you been?

I asked you where you've been.

The truth, or a socially acceptable answer?

The truth, of course.

I've been trying to avoid you.

In Slovak I can say 'branch' and 'potter'...

And 'beetle'... Stop interrupting!

- And 'blueberry'! - Listen, you blueberry...

- And I know 'fog.' - Quit rambling.

- I gotta go bleed my berry. - And 'I kiss you.'

I know all that.

Order me another shot.

Evening.

- Do you have a pen? - Here you go. - Thanks.

- Thanks. - Hi. - Hi.

What are you doing tomorrow night at eleven?

Why? Want to invite me for a threesome?

Call me at this number.

I was wasted; It happens sometimes...

Maybe even to you.

Hey, he's coming back.

Cheers.

These are the offices of Well Balanced Woman where I work.

Oliver would say it's a teen-zine for 4O-year-olds.

Could I at least ask a couple questions over the phone?

That's so kind of you...

Shall we start?

Okay, the first question is...

this is our boss, on the phone with singer Lucie B�l�.

... if you've had your breasts enlarged.

You'd rather not answer? Okay, the second question...

this is our graphic designer Milan.

He has bad taste in clothes

and replaced a girlfriend with a graphic software.

Okay, something completely different: Do you get depressed?

No? That's too bad...

for our magazine, you know what I mean...

Hello?

Bitch.

"Well Balanced Woman"

Hanka, guess what?

I've got a dinner date.

But not with Rickie, with someone new...

- Hey there, back from vacation? - Hi, Mr. Zemla...

You look tanned and rested.

L�d'a, what are you staring at out there?

Go jump in a lake.

When does your mom get back from America?

She's leaving about now,

so tomorrow maybe.

Is she getting married? What's his name again?

L�d'a, I know you're smoking!

Steven.

The date's set for October.

- Steven... - L�d'a, come inside!

See you later, Laura.

Goodbye.

Like always, I freeze up as soon as it gets serious.

I've always been petrified of venereal disease.

I sit drinking wine with a handsome and intelligent man,

candlelight reflecting in his eyes,

and all I can think of is a yeasty discharge,

AIDS, and staphylococcal.

Who was that girl anyway that didn't go to the mountains?

- Kind of a... - I hope you used a condom.

... mirage.

One of those girls who get lost in the show biz world

until their once-bright light begins to fade.

Well, that puts me at ease.

She was hoping you'd teach her 'the way,' right?

Actually, she thought that if she slept with me in August

I'd take her to the launch of the latest Avon perfume in September,

where she'd meet Robbie Williams or Jan Sv�r�k.

Here we go with dark blue ribs...

God, I'm playing the usual games again!

Bon apetit!

Games?

Yeah, games.

I tell you some amusing story,

then we anxiously avoid the slightest reference to Rickie.

All so that we can ignore

the air of unfaithfulness enveloping us.

I'm sick of playing games.

I won't inconspicuously try to get you drunk,

or touch you accidentally under the table,

or misuse your momentary weakness...

Then at the right moment nonchalantly wave for a taxi,

and at home gently maneuver you into bed.

So...

If you really want to get involved

with a moody, 4O-year-old alcoholic,

go ahead.

But do so fully aware of exactly what you're doing.

Oh, no, we won't blame wine or a taxi.

Let's admit that if I flag down a taxi

it will take us to my bed.

Shall we?

I don't function without my toothbrush, clean pantles,

perfume, makeup remover, contacts, and Femigel.

To my bed.

- To your bed? - Yep.

But even an honest approach to sex can have its problems.

Speaking the bold truth didn't liberate me enough to say,

"Go wash your glans. I'll be in bed."

What's the meaning of this? I want to see some ID.

They're my talismans.

Was I dreaming or were you really kissing that thing?

It brings me luck.

And you kiss those objects every night?

So you're addicted, and pretty heavily by the looks of it.

You're ripe for rehab. A methadone-type program:

You'll start by kissing some formless stuffed thing...

- What? - But nothing with eyes!

The next step would be kissing damask pillowcases.

Do that and the battle's half over.

You kissed this marsupial more passionately!

- Where're you going? - Sorry, I have to pee.

One of the prostate's small sexual inconveniences.

Laura?

Rickie?

Kids, I'm home.

Pa�out?

Jana?

What are you doing here... Pa�out?

Me? What are you doing here?

Pa�out? this is Oliver, mom.

Mom?

Mom?

Pa�out?

Why are you staring at me? What's playing anyway?

I hope it's a comedy!

What's wrong?

- He's that Pa�out? - Yep, that's him.

My mom's ex, the one I told you about.

Get out of the children's room right now!

Get out of my apartment right now!

Out!

There... My coat...

Bye.

I'll call you!

Impossible... Pa�out.

She stole her mother's old lover!

Oliver is Pa�out! first mother, then daughter!

Ingrid solves her emotional problems through kickboxing.

But what about me? They both say they don't know what to think.

'They,' get it?

It just so happens that Oliver slept with my mother years ago.

But oddly neither Oliver nor my mom cares what I think about it.

Come on, it was 2O years ago; that sperm is long dry by now.

Hi, Rickie. I'm... at Ingrid's.

No, not today. Tomorrow, okay?

Today I'm... going to dinner with my mom.

Her birthday? God, Rickie, that's not for two months.

Okay... Love you too.

- What'd he want? - To know what to buy my mom for her birthday.

He said they got in some snazzy new cellphone covers.

- I feel like a slut. - Oh, please, why should you?

They cheat on us too, don't fool yourself.

Belleve me, they cheat on us so often

that a lifetime isn't enough to pay them back.

So tell me about America. How's Steven?

- Steven! - What? - He's an idiot.

- And I am too, for not noticing earlier. - Why?

- He loves guns. - What? - He's pro death penalty.

He's anti abortion, etc.

- So the wedding... - Is off!

I'd never marry anyone who voted for Bush!

I'm sorry, mom, really.

And then I come home and find Pa�out in the bathroom.

I love him, mom.

- Congratulations. - Can't you understand that?

Not considering what I know.

It's been 2O years. People change.

He's not the same person anymore.

Good day, ladles.

Mom, allow me to introduce my boyfriend Oliver.

Oliver, this is my mom.

Hi, Jana.

May I?

- Hi. - Hi.

- Hi, Pa�out. - Hi.

What?

Are you expecting me to say: "Pleased to meet you"?

I'd like to say something.

I love you... both.

Well, that's great. That changes everything.

What can I get you?

- Got any Valium? - Mom!

Sorry.

Dry vermouth as an aperitif and a menu.

I'll have vermouth as well, make it a double.

And for your daughter?

Excuse me, please.

Dry vermouth as an aperitif. And for your daughter?

Please, excuse me...

That jerk!

Pa�out...

You're screwing my daughter.

Well...

What'll it be?

What do you want for din-din, children?

Hello, Mr. Zemla.

- Looks like wash day. - Hello.

Hello?

Hi, Rickie...

Hi.

Mom, Rickie's here.

Come on up.

I'll take it.

Thank you.

L�d'a! Where are you? I can't find my pills.

Sorry... I have to go.

Bye...

Hi, girls!

Hi... No...

I'll call you later? Bye.

- Was that Ingrid? - No, it wasn't.

I'll make coffee. Who'd like some?

- Who was it? - I'll have some.

What a dumb game...

So who was it?

Laura?

Hi, darling...

I can't wait to see you.

- Oliver. - Oliver?

- The guy we met on vacation? - Yeah.

Why did he call?

And how'd he get your number?

- I gave it to him. - You gave it to him?

But why?

I love him, Rickie.

But... he's...

... old...

Old and...

It's not my fault.

I'm really sorry. Have some coffee.

But... how come?

And I've been secretly saving for an apartment for two years.

What?

You're secretly saving for an apartment?

Yeah...

Like an idiot.

I'm a junior saver.

A junior saver...

- Laura? - Yes? - Who is that?

- That's Oliver, grandma. - Oliver? - Oliver.

"Four horses in the yard..."

My mother really hates All Souls' Day

so she completely ignores it.

She says she doesn't need a holiday to remind her

that her grandpa, grandma, mom, dad, and even husband are dead.

Indeed, she celebrates all year long.

- Laura? - Yes? - Do you have a boyfriend yet?

Today is the climax of the Best Bereaved contest.

Thank you... Thank you...

Hi, dad.

this is Oliver. Actually, it's Pa�out.

I'm sure mom told you about him.

- I have some good news. - I never get enough of that.

Who is this man, Laura? He looks homeless.

That's Oliver, grandma.

My mom's inviting us for Thanksgiving.

You're telling me you celebrate Thanksgiving?

That Puritan-Indian holiday?

Would we celebrate the Chinese New Year if she dated a Chinese man?

Hey, there's Marie!

Or Ramadan. Why not celebrate Ramadan?

Impossible! Not drink even one shot for a whole month.

My mom and I think of it as a substitute Christmas.

I can understand that... Actually, I can't.

Still, I'd be happy if you came.

You can carve the turkey.

No way!

- To Belgrade! - Stop it!

- And wear a suit. - You're joking. Forget it.

Do it for me.

Why do I have to ride in such a dirty heap on All Saints' Day?

- The family drives me crazy. - What a grumpy man!

In 16O7 a group of about 100 English religious fanatics,

called separatists, fled to Holland

to escape persecution by James I and the Anglican church.

From there they set sail in 162O for America

where they established the Plymouth colony.

They suffered hunger and disease.

The wine's in the fridge; can you serve it?

In spring 1621 the colonists met an Indian named Squanto.

He taught them to plant corn,

and in the fall they had a great harvest.

To celebrate, they held a harvest festival with the local Indians.

It was later named Thanksgiving.

Instructive.

I just hope everyone realizes how stupid this all is.

Did you wash your hands, Pa�out?

Enjoy the meal.

this is Oliver's best friend Hubert.

Well, hello! I was hoping you wouldn't come.

I had to interrupt my enjoyment of the opera Prince igor

by Alexander Porfirevich Borodin.

Oliver thinks he's well-read, intelligent, and entertaining.

And he wrote it with whom?

With Glazunov, of course.

- What's this, for god's sake? - this, for god's sake, is a flower.

For your wife. They're Gerberas and they belong in a vase.

The colored part goes up.

Purely by the way, this is my friend Ingrid.

- Ingrid. - Hubert. - And I'm Laura.

I think he's an intellectual snob and a jerk.

You're dating a Laura? Did I invite a Laura for a visit?

It's too much like Emmanuelle or Sabrina.

You forgot that I'm a romantic?

So I invited home pulp fiction?

You think your friend might offer us a seat and a drink?

And find a vase for the poor flowers?

Of course, Hubie loves flowers.

Laura, aren't you a bit nervous for a well-balanced woman?

You seem somehow unsatisfied.

Are you lacking something?

I'd really like to know what a well-balanced woman might lack.

Consideration, for starters.

Basic human courtesy. Exactly what I'm lacking from you.

How about a sprout salad to chase away the winter gloom?

We had that for breakfast, right?

Or an aromatic herb bath guaranteed to soothe away stress?

That's what you write about, isn't it?

Fine.

Where's the bathroom?

Enough: I've slept with you almost every other day for two months.

I'm even surviving a visit to your horrid friend Hubert.

And you haven't invited me to the launch of one Avon perfume.

I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth it.

As you wish. The holidays are coming

and I'll take you to so many company partles...

- Yeah? - ... that you'll beg me for mercy.

One's enough to start.

What are you doing?

What... are you doing?

- I dug out a corn. - You pig!

- What do you say? - Horrible.

- Is it always like this? - Sometimes it is even worse.

Hi, how are you?

- What'll you have? - I'm set. Who's that?

Miss Silver over there.

- Well? - My mirage.

Really? The one who cancelled?

- The one who cancelled the Tatra trip? - That's the one.

He was kissing his ex.

I saw it with my own eyes.

- Is that all? - What do you mean 'all'?

Hey, aren't you overreacting?

What? Overreacting? Don't you get it?

I saw him stick his tongue down her throat.

Don't you remember whose throat

you stuck your tongue down on your last vacation with Rickie?

Yeah... but it was already over with Rickie.

Hubert says it's scientifically proven that men are unfaithful

even if they're happy. It's in their genes.

Screw Hubert, and screw their genes.

- Those are just bullshit excuses. - No, they aren't.

Hubert says it's scientifically proven

that there have been over 1,200 societies in human history.

More than 1,000 of them were polygamous. Understand?

Hubert's just a hung-up jerk!

Hi there, Laura.

I must say that you don't seem very well-balanced today as well.

- Kiss my ass, Hubert. - Bye.

Come over sometime for another bath.

Oliver is Pa�out!

Girl, you've got to eat.

this one's blueberry.

Or muesli light?

What an idea: Not eating because of a guy.

Men are such selfish bastards.

Dellvery for Laura.

Thanks.

Are you Laura?

For you.

Thanks.

Oh, sorry.

What did you get?

Three vouchers for a week's vacation in the Canary islands.

At Christmas.

It was from him, right? From Oliver.

Yeah.

Have you gone crazy, Pa�out?

75,000 crowns? I realize you're buying an indulgence, but...

75,000 for one illegal kiss?

Was it more than that?

Come on...

Gran Canaria is so beautiful.

My brother and his wife went there.

this is where you'll be staying.

And I'll stare at you from this balcony.

Oh, wow, Pa�out!

Cheap gestures are just your style.

True, but I'm good at them.

Yeah, you are.

Look at him!

That German guy wants to pick you up.

A different kind of Christmas.

Not a bad slogan, eh? I'll sell it to someone next year.

Laura!

- Merry Christmas. - We don't say that, Oliver. - I forgot.

How about... to love?

- Okay, to love. - Cheers. - Cheers.

To love.

Sign this for the Zemlas... So, what's he like?

Pretty nice. He's fun.

What's his name?

- Hans. - His job? - Architect.

And he was born in Hamburg.

- He's no former East German. - Am I so audacious then?

Why is the regime under which a man grew up

so important to a new relationship?

Because men who grew up under socialism lack 2 important things:

Style and self-confidence.

Pa�out, I think maybe you know something about that.

And get this:

He's been a widower for five years!

- Hallelujah! - What a coincidence. He's ideal.

We'll see, we'll see...

The ideal man is a dangerous myth. It's a virus...

attacking women's rationality, if there is such a thing.

- You're in love. - Maybe... - Maybe?

Maybe I'll stay for an extra week.

How do you say 'weapon' in German?

- Waffen. - Is Jana...

- Do you like weapons, Hans? - No...

No? Do you like beer fests?

How do you say abortion?

Hans...

- Abortion? - Shut up...

News from home: Grandma slipped and broke her hip.

She no longer cares if I have a boyfriend.

- Mrs. Zemlov� has cancer. - L�d'a...

She goes for radiation and her hair's fallen out.

Ingrid is really in love with Hubert.

She bought him a chair and she says she's happy.

Milan's in love with me, apparently for a couple years.

Well-balanced woman #1 is being beaten by her husband.

Rickie took his saving and flew to Thailand for New Year's.

He wrote me a sweet text message:

There are tons of whores here but you're still the biggest.

Welcome home!

Laura! Dammit, Laura!

- Hi, darling. - Hi.

Listen, I've got nothing against all your hair conditioners,

hair repairers, Aloe Vera extracts...

But only on the assumption that on the edge of my tub

I get at least four inches

to set a glass of wine and a bowl of olives.

My god, a messy pig with a neat freak streak.

- The worst combo. - At least four inches, please.

That's right.

Hi, Ingrid, it's me. Wanna see what love looks like?

Come on over.

Sometimes I understand lesbians.

Are you nuts?

- Sorry. - Good evening.

- Hi, mom. - Hi darling.

- Is something wrong? - No.

He's an idiot.

- Co? - He hates Poles.

- Cheers. - Cheers. - Excuse me, excuse me!

Get lost! My god!

I hate Poles.

Then you're a...

- fascist? - What?

Last week you said you were marrying him.

I won't marry someone who hates Poles.

Right...

- Do you like Poles? - I love Poles.

I love Poles and I hate Bush and weapons.

And will you marry me sometime?

- You just asked him straight out? - Yeah, just like that.

- Yeah. - Yeah? - Yeah.

Yeah!

He said yes!

You're not happy?

But within a year things started going badly.

Paradoxically, in the same place we met: The Tatra mountains.

- Can I tell you something, Oliver? - Sure.

Sometimes... Sometimes I'm embarrassed by the way you dress.

Really.

You should know that casual elegance and negligence

are different things.

Fine. Any other faults you'd care to enumerate?

Yes.

You should quit drinking. We both know it.

Fine, and I'll use this moment of honesty

to tell you something:

- You've gained weight. - What?

Not much, just five or six pounds but it doesn't look good.

You're the fat one, Pa�out! Ouch!

Normally we'd patch it up within three days.

But normally a parachutist doesn't float down from the sky.

- No! - Yeah.

And to top it off, this apparition: James Bond in the Tatras.

Who is it?

- The head of an ad agency. - Really?

Morning. Hi, Oliver.

- How are the Tatras treating you? - Good. Am I interrupting?

Not at all. Our relationship is going as expected:

Quite naturally, the first blush of love is fading,

so she now sees me with different eyes than at first.

Cut it out!

- Like a drink? - No, thanks. Drinking and sports don't mix.

Good man!

- I always wanted to try that. - No problem.

No problem.

- Hi. I came to make up. - How was it?

Wonderful!

I bet you were strapped so closely together you could hardly breathe.

You could feel all his muscles and hear the beating of his heart.

Don't be ridiculous. I came to make up, not fight.

But am I wrong?

- You're turning red. - Leave me alone.

And tonight he'll invite us for a drink, maybe even dinner.

I'll wear my hopelessly un-modern jacket, while he'll don

an original, brand-name ski outfit with matching underwear.

With my prostate trouble, soon or later I'll have to use the toilet.

That'll give you plenty of time

to write down your number for him on a napkin.

- I refuse to listen to this. - And I refuse to watch. See ya!

- There was no dinner. - But the next day you went parachuting again.

I love him. He's wonderful.

And he's got style.

Bullshit. You just liked parachuting.

Just admit you like his clothes and his laughably expensive car.

No, I love him.

He's so cute and gentle.

And he recites me Apollinaire in French while parachuting!

Sure, and some guys wax poetic about their kids.

- Yeah, but why doesn't he call? - Why, you ask?

Because he's a stupid self-centered man.

Bon apetit!

So you gave him your number?

He doesn't seem to be calling and that can mean only one thing:

You already slept with him.

So what?

Men can fool around but women can't? Huh?

You can cheat but I can't?

Exactly.

It's a successful model proven by hundreds of generations.

So don't fucking try to change it!

For this snooty jerk I'm risking my relationship with Oliver.

If he'd only call.

The parachutist...

Hi...

Fine, bye.

That was Oliver. I'm supposed to send someone for my stuff.

The worst are the cheapskates.

The kind who make you pay for your own movie ticket.

One guy I lived with used the same piece of floss all month.

- Yuck! - He really did.

- No way! - He'd rinse it and stick it in a plastic bag.

- Men are such pigs. - They are!

Mainly Czechs.

They're capable of peeing in the sink. That's a fact.

- Or of spitting on the street. - They're selfish bastards

and the worst is Hubert.

Oh, please...

Why not find a married man, you goose?

Tell me something.

Why do I arouse so little love in men?

Why? Why?

I don't know.

I actually have started dating a married man.

- He's a dietician. - You sleep with him?

Every Tuesday.

He plays squash Tuesdays. That's his only chance.

- You bring him here? - Yeah.

So you sleep with him and then he plays squash?

No, for god's sake, squash is just an excuse.

But he brings his outfit along.

His shoes and racket, too.

He even makes them wet.

Wet?

- What do you mean wet? - With water.

With the spray bottle.

So his wife won't get suspicious. But that's not all...

He puts salt in the water.

What for?

To make it more realistic.

Isn't today Tuesday?

Oh, hello, Mr. Zemla...

She died this afternoon.

Goodbye.

That bastard! He didn't even call!

I am just another trophy.

I wish it was him who lied there!

- "When your partner leaves" - I am ready to accept the fact

that our relationship is over.

I'm willing to accept my sorrow.

I'm willing to accept my loneliness.

- Did you say something? - No.

Sorry, but I need some privacy.

Feeling rage and hatred is a necessary phase

on the path to liberation.

If you cannot express rage

you merely prolong the liberation process.

You must vent your rage at your partner!

That asshole, asshole!

Sorry...

But that asshole never called me.

I'd love to give you advice...

you know I love you,

but look at my life.

How can I give anyone advice?

Run! And imagine that with every step

you are grinding your detested ex-partner's head into the ground.

Run to a deserted place and scream out all your rage.

You asshole, Oliver, you asshole!

Oliver? Did I say Oliver?

- You said Oliver. We all heard it. - We did.

Dear Laura, the only thing I had left were memories.

I think you should read the letter in the subway to the end.

Only a guy who's really in love could write it.

Writing like this sounds stupid,

like one of those American hits we used to laugh at.

But suddenly those clich�s sound to me so true.

Yeah, I guess so...

One bleak December evening I got an idea.

To rent those ad spaces in the subway and start writing you.

Love letters instead of stupid ads for carpet or life insurance.

I often thought about the moment you'd first see my ads.

I imagined you coming curiously closer,

reading without understanding, wrinkling up your nose slightly,

till that beloved wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows.

I remember every bit of nonsense.

That Sunday morning when you awoke so joyful

and decided to make us pancakes.

I love you. Come back to me! Oliver.

The production meeting is in room 2, but you're late.

And the demo...

A shot of the heroine, and the closing line

that sounds now:

Triamax tampons keep you on the go.

Oliver?

this is unbelievable!

But beautiful.

- Good evening. - Good evening, Mr. Zemla.

- Merry Christmas. - Thank you.

Come on in...

Mom says climacteric changes have made her hopelessly sentimental.

She's even willing to celebrate Christmas again.

I've always been sentimental.

I am so sorry!

On Christmas Eve the right people should be together.

Don't worry.

For example, my hairdresser Sandra and our graphic artist Milan.

I just love happy endings.

Directed by

Written by

Produced by

Co-produced by

Executive producer

Director of photography

Edited by

Art director

Music

Singing by

Sound

Costume designer

Makeup

FROM SUBWAY WITH LOVE

For Patrik