All language subtitles for Steppenwolf.1974.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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"The day went by, just as days go by."

"I killed it in accordance with my
primitive and withdrawn way of life."

"I worked for an hour
or two, I had pains..."

"took some opium, and lay
in a hot bath for two hours."

"Was glad when the pains
consented to disappear."

"All in all, it wasn't
exactly a day of rapture."

"Perhaps the time has come to follow
the example of Adalbert Stifler."

"A fatal accident while shaving."

"The pain stops."

"I am content."

"Contentment that
fills me with loathing."

"In desperation I escape
into other regions..."

"if possible, on the
road to pleasure..."

"or if that cannot be,
on the road to pain."

"A wild longing seethes
in me to smash and burn..."

"to destroy..."

"pull down idols,
seduce little girls..."

"dynamite the established
order, who cares what."

"Herr" Haller.

- Are you all right?
- Oh, yes, yes.

I'm sorry if I startled you.

I didn't hear you coming up.

My thoughts "were..."

wool gathering.

Are you sure you're all right?

- May I help you upstairs?
- No, no, no, there's no need.

Sit down a moment, if
you can spare the time.

It is not my custom to sit on the
stairs at other people's doors.

Yes, quite so.

Now you've embarrassed me.

Let me explain.

I've taken quite a fancy to
this little "vestibule..."

polished, scoured, "glittering..."

like your aunt's below.

I always have to take a
deep breath when I go by.

It reeks of "peace..."

and tranquility.

I've always sought
places like this to live.

You see, I need it, don't you see?

But you are ill.

Nonsense.

Only a shabby old "Steppenwolf..."

creeping up the stairs
of other people's houses.

Pains I have "sometimes..."

as elderly people do.

"Elderly" is a little bit exaggerated.

You can't be 50 yet.

No, you're right, more's the pity.

But not long to wait, either.

Wait, you, hey.

Let me see your sign.

What is this evening
entertainment? Where is it?

Not for everybody.

Now, what do you have here? I
want to buy something from you.

"There once was a man called
Harry, who went on two legs..."

"wore clothes, and was a human being."

"Nevertheless he really
was a wolf of the steppes."

"In his childhood he was
wild and disobedient..."

"and disorderly."

"And those that brought him up declared a
war of extinction against the beast in him."

"And precisely this had given him
the idea he really was a beast..."

"with only a thin veneer of the human."

"If Harry had a beautiful thought
or felt a fine and noble emotion..."

"the wolf laughed with bitter scorn."

"He knew well enough what suited him."

"But when Harry behaved as a wolf,
the human part of him lay in ambush..."

"called him "brute" and "beast,"
and spoiled all pleasure..."

"in his simple and healthy
and wild Wolf's being."

"It cannot be denied that he
was generally very unhappy."

"And he could make others unhappy, too."

"For he always brought his
own dual and divided nature..."

"into the destinies of others."

"Nevertheless he was
secretly and persistently..."

"attracted to the bourgeois world..."

"dressed respectably,
had money in the bank..."

"and supported poor relations."

"He was capable of loving
the political criminal..."

"or intellectual seducer."

"But as for theft, murder, or rape..."

"he would not have known
how to deplore them..."

"otherwise than in a
thoroughly bourgeois manner."

"Now, what we call the bourgeois as
a principle of human existence..."

"is nothing less than
a search for balance."

"It is in the middle of the road
that the bourgeois seeks to walk."

"Always ready to compromise between
right and wrong, good and evil."

"He will never surrender either
to the martyrdom of the spirit..."

"or to the martyrdom of the flesh."

"The vital force of the bourgeoisie
resides in its outsiders."

"Artists and intellectuals
like Harry..."

"who develop far beyond the level
possible to the bourgeois..."

"Knowing the bliss of meditation no less than
the gloomy joys of hatred and self-loathing."

"He is nevertheless captive
to the bourgeoisie..."

"and cannot escape it."

"Unless, if suffering has made his
spirit tough and elastic enough..."

"he finds a way of reconciliation
and an escape into humor."

"The outsider has two
souls, two beings..."

"God and the devil, in him..."

"and these men for whom
life has no repose..."

"live in their rare
moments of happiness..."

"with such strength and
indescribable beauty..."

"the spray of their
momentary ecstasy..."

"is flung so high over the
wide sea of suffering..."

"that the light of it touches
others with its enchantment."

"But only the strongest of them..."

"force their way through the
atmosphere of the bourgeois world..."

"to reach the cosmic."

"There never was a man with a deeper and
more passionate craving for independence..."

"than Harry."

"He never sold himself for money
or an easy life, or to women..."

"or to those in power..."

"and had thrown away a hundred
times his advantage in happiness..."

"in order to safeguard his liberty."

"But in the midst of his freedom,
Harry suddenly realized..."

"that his freedom was a death..."

"and that he stood alone."

"Finally, at the age
of 47 or thereabouts..."

"a happy but not harmless
idea came to him..."

"from which he often
derived some amusement."

"He appointed his 50th
birthday as the day..."

"on which he might take
leave of this world."

"Let happen to him what might."

"He could bear any suffering..."

"saying to his pain..."

""Only wait two years..."

""and I am your master.""

"And with this, he cherished
the thought of the morning..."

"of his 50th birthday."

"Suicide, unhappy Steppenwolf..."

"will not serve your purpose."

"All this is well known to you."

"You are aware of the
wisdom of the immortals."

"You are aware of the
Magie Theater of the self."

"That mirror in which you have
such a bitter need to look..."

"but from which you shrink
in such deathly fear."

No show tonight?

Well, I only meant, at the theater.

Try the Black Eagle, friend.

If it's a show you "want..."

I'm sorry.

I'm afraid I mistook you "for..."

I'm sorry.

My dear "Herr" Haller.

You've been here all this time
without once coming to see us.

Not at all, "I..."

arrived only a few days ago.

I'm sorry to hear that.

And "I..." I've "been..."

Ah, here you are, "mon cher."

I've just been reading about this
despicable namesake of "yours..."

this Haller.

- Who's that? A writer?
- A writer?

Dear me, no, a "scribbler..."

- a wretched
scribbler. - Uh-huh.

A publicist, a rotten "patriot..."

and a sneak.

Here, just look for yourself.

It's even spelled the
same way, isn't it?

Rather.

He seems to feel that we were
responsible for the war. Imagine.

Oh.

Shall we go in, please?

Yes.

A funny thing happened to me today.

Really?

Yes.

Just after we parted at
the library, by the way.

I haven't been able to
stop thinking about it.

Well, I was climbing
the last steps "up..."

towards Martinsgasse.

When suddenly a "little..."

procession came rattling by.
A funeral procession.

Oh, my dear.

Come, come, come! "Seigneur."

No.

I only "mean..."

I'm sorry.

I'm praying for a hero
to be born among us.

Miraculous births not excluded.

To filter the minutest "detail..."

the contours of the very
archetype within "us..."

apocalypse is our only hope.

I see.

I hope that Goethe didn't
really look like this.

This conceited air of "nobility..."

the great man ogling the
distinguished company.

His venerable pomposity
is bad "enough..."

but to portray him like this...

Oh, no! My God.

My dear, you're not ill?

You'll have to take your
coffee alone, gentleman.

I have to retire.

She was hurt, you know.

Goethe is her dearest possession.

Nobody takes our cultural heritage
more seriously than my Hildegard.

- I'm sorry.
- Even if you were "right..."

you needn't have been so outspoken.

Well, it's a vice of
mine to speak my mind.

As friend Goethe did, too. At
least, in his better moments.

I sincerely beg your
wife's pardon and your own.

Please tell her I'm a schizophrenic.

If you will permit me,
I will take my leave.

"But..." But your coffee, and our talk.

I am so looking forward to
our discussion of "Mithras..."

and Krishna and the others.

Unfortunately, my interest
in Krishna has "vanished..."

along with my passion
for learned discussions.

Further, I have been lying.

I have not been in town for a
few days only, but for months.

However, I am no longer
fit for decent society.

I am nearly always in bad "temper..."

afflicted with gout,
and usually quite drunk.

Lastly, you grievously
insulted me earlier.

That rotten patriot named, oddly enough,
Haller, stands before you unregenerate.

In fact, it would be
better for the "world..."

if the few of us who are still capable
of thought stood for "reason..."

- and the love of "peace..."
- Hold it, "mon cher..."

... instead of driving
obsessively toward a new war.

"Good night."

"I can't go on."

"The wolf howling at my heel."

"I know what he wants,
an end to our suffering."

"So let this evil day be our last."

"But I want to live. Run, Harry, run."

"But where?"

"Away, anywhere."

"It's all the same in the end."

Go ahead and pick one, sir.

It all comes to the same
thing in the "end..."

don't it?

That's what I always say.

It's all the same in the end.

"Must go home."

"Try to remain still..."

"before despair."

"Go home."

"Take up the razor..."

"Lay it down again."

"Let cowardice once again
triumph over despair."

"For another hour..."

"another day."

"No matter how many times
I lay the razor clown..."

"I shall take it up again..."

"and again..."

"until..."

"finally..."

Hello.

Don't tell me my nose is shiny again.

That's better.

Hard night?

Where am I?

Where else could you be at this hour?

I've no idea.

The Black Eagle.

"If it's a show you want..."

Don't panic.

I'll look after you.

What's the matter with you,
anyway? Lost your way home?

"No..." Yes.

I can't go home.

Stay here if you like.

What's this?

You could do it here, if you liked.

Oh, for heaven's sake, it's only a joke.

Get cleaned up a little is all I meant.

Look at yourself.

You're enough to give
a poor girl the willies.

At least wipe your glasses.

You can't see a thing.

Now, what shall we drink?

Bourgogne?

Where did you get "that..." That razor?

Do you always fetch a razor
along in your bag like that?

Usually.

Why?

Oh, look, it's a long,
complicated, very twisted story.

I'll tell you some day.

A friend left it at my place.

- You've got lots of friends, I suppose.
- Yes. Don't you?

No.

Oh my, you are a sad case.

I'll bet it's a long time
since you had to obey anyone.

Is that what I need?

Obedience is like sex. Nothing like it
if you have been without it too long.

You'll follow my orders.

I will?

Do you have any choice?

No.

Good. We're off to a swell start.

We've wiped your glasses,
had a bite to eat.

Let's clean your boots
and go dance a shimmy.

Oh, I don't know how to dance.

- Oh, how "triste."
- I never learned.

Well, you see, I really am hopeless.

Perhaps you'd better go home
and hang yourself after all.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Doesn't anyone look after you?

A wife, a sweetheart?

I'm divorced.

A sweetheart, yes, but
she doesn't live here.

And we don't get along very well anyway.

Well, you are difficult.

- Nobody can stand you.
- Just don't scold me.

I know I am impossible,
I'm hopeless, I'm helpless.

What's this?

The world's saddest song, played
on the world's smallest violin.

You've got a nerve saying you've
tasted life to the "bottom..."

and found nothing in it.

You haven't even tried
the easy, fun part yet.

All I can say is I'm certainly
glad I'm not your "maman."

Gee, Harry, I'm "sorry..."

I've got to flee. I have a date.

- With whom?
- Never you mind.

- A friend.
- Listen, I "thought..."

I thought you were going
to stay here with me.

Oh, then you should have asked me to.

But I am asking you now.

Too late.

All right, tomorrow, then.

Uh-huh. Maybe.

But wait. Listen.

Well, tell me your name at least.

Oh, now you ask. What
a dreadful man you are.

You'll have to guess it.

Margaret.

Molly.

Madeleine.

That's for next time.

Tuesday for dinner
at the Old Franciscan.

I know, it's probably not
elegant enough for "you..."

but I am fond of it.

It makes me dream of St. Francis.

- You're religious?
- No. Not really anymore.

But you know, when I see one
of those stupid, "lying..."

silly pictures of St.
Francis people "have..."

I really get peeved.

But then I think how disappointed
St. Francis must "be..."

when he looks into my heart and
sees the image I have of him.

I'm only human, anyway,
and I try to be merciful.

Since you can't go
home, sleep here tonight.

And take this, too.

You don't have to use it, you know.

"Tu comprends?"

So long, then.

And enjoy your dreams.

His Excellency will see you now.

Would you mind just telling "Herr" Goethe that
I'm only a journalist come for an interview?

Never mind about the other stuff.

What other stuff?

You young people-

Oh, "Herr" Goethe. I mean,
of course, Your Excellency.

Don't care a fig for
us old folks, do you?

But we do, Your Excellency.

We just think you're a
little bit too "vain..."

or pompous, or not
forthright enough, that's it.

Will you be so kind as to explain?

Well, for "example..."

well, you clearly "recognized..."

the utter hopelessness
of the human condition.

- I did?
- "Yes..."

Faith, "optimism..."

the illusion that our spiritual strivings
mean something, that they endure.

I imagine you don't much care
for Mozarts "Magie Flute?"

How dare you, sir.

It preaches optimism and faith.

Yes, but Mozart didn't live to be 82.

He sang his divine melodies and died.

With no pretensions to the
enduring and the "orderly..."

and to exalted dignity like yours.

What a stuffy view of Mozart.

You should have been a
schoolmaster, my dear.

That's not fair.

You see his perfected "being..."

as a supreme and special "gift..."

that cost him nothing.

Aren't you forgetting his "patience..."

under the last extremes
of "loneliness..."

his surrender, his suffering?

Now who's thinking bourgeois, honey?

Do you know the black bottom?

Certainly not. I never had time.

Oh, no wonder you're so grouchy.

If you're going to take time seriously.

There is no time in "eternity..."

Only a "moment..."

just time for a joke.

Orchids.

Oh, Harry, you are an idiot.

I'm sorry if you don't like them.

It's not that.

I suppose orchids were the
only flowers expensive enough.

Well, anyway, thank you ever
so much, but never again, okay?

I won't take gifts from you.

- I'm sorry. I only meant...
- I know what you meant.

"Listen..."

I live on men, true,
but I won't live on you.

Ever.

Don't you look swell today.

Now that we've managed to
get you down from the gallows.

Do you like it?

Well, it needs a bit of "style..."

a bit of flash, you "know..."

but I like it. It's a start.

- Have you carried out my orders yet?
- What orders?

You mean you haven't
learned the foxtrot yet?

Oh, I've only had two days.

You could learn it in an hour.

The black bottom in two.

The tango takes longer,
but you don't need it.

"It's as easy as thinking
and a lot easier to learn."

We'll take this one.

We could have bought it three
hours ago and fours shops "back..."

since it was the first one we looked at.

Then we wouldn't have had
the fun of shopping for it.

- Thank you.
- Thank you.

Bye-bye.

Now you know the entire
scandalous truth about "me..."

and I don't even know your name.

But you do. Look.

No. Yes, you do remind me of someone.

Someone a long time ago. Is "it..."

No, not Rosa Kreisler.

She had dark hair.

Who was Rosa Kreisler?

My first love.

We were 14.

Mind you, she didn't even know about it.

I never had the courage to speak to her.

- Not a word?
- No.

Oh, Harry, how sad.

She was probably crazy about you.

Anyway, not Rosa.

- Now tell me.
- Guess.

- I can't.
- You can.

Hermann.

Hermann.

Hermine.

There, you see, that
wasn't so hard, was it?

But how did "you..."

do that to me?

- Don't forget what you promised.
- What?

You'll obey all my orders.

Yes.

Most of them will be fun.

And easy enough.

But in the end, as you call "it..."

you will have to fulfill
my last wish as well.

Yes. What will that be?

Cross your heart and hope to die?

Do it.

Cross my heart and hope to die.

Yes, I need you right now,
because I am desperate.

You will have to throw me
into the water before I swim.

The water will bring
me back to life again.

But I need you, too.

Not now, "later..."

when you have fallen in love with me.

I need you for something very
important and very beautiful.

It will be my last command.

What must I do then?

Kill me.

Well, you can't say I didn't warn you.

I'm sorry.

Who's this?

Erica.

- Isn't she pretty.
- Yes.

My poor, angry love.

And this one?

Now it's your turn to guess.

Well, it's Hermann, of course.

Who was he, anyway?

My only friend at the
seminary, which we both hated.

He only lasted six months there.

That was all he could take of
maths, New Testament "Greek..."

and ice in the washbowls.

We both agreed that they didn't
really want to educate anyone there.

All they wanted, in fact, "was..."

a lot of obedient corporals
and sergeants for the state.

Then one day he went over the
wall, and I didn't see him since.

And?

Oh, he worked as an apprentice
in a clock "factory..."

and as an assistant in
a Tùbingen bookstore.

He published a promising
book of "poems..."

and shot himself in the head.

I suppose you admire that.

At least he saved himself the
pains and horrors of the Great War.

Not to mention quite a few others.

Yes, I admired him. I adored him.

I don't suppose a day has
gone by since "then..."

that I didn't somehow think of him.

- You're not going, are you?
- I must.

We'll go dancing at the
Balances Hotel tomorrow.

Oh, listen, I cannot dance.

Oh, cabbage.

No, one needs talents to "dance..."

like gaiety, "innocence..."

frivolity, elasticity, talents
I've never had and never will.

Don't be so cocksure.

"Remember..."

you're under orders.

What makes you so cocksure
I'll obey your orders?

Well, don't just sit
there, go and dance.

- But I don't know anyone.
- Ask anybody.

Nobody here pretty enough for you?

Of course.

How "about..."

I can't. she'll think
I'm a dirty old man.

- You are a big baby.
- Why, she'll laugh.

Poor Harry, nasty girl
might laugh at him.

Come on, take a chance for once.

I can't.

Go.

May I have a dance?

As a matter of fact,
I'm engaged for this one.

Oh, I'm sorry.

But my beau seems to have
got stranded at the bar.

So let's go.

I'm just learning.

Doesn't matter, just relax a little.

Hello there.

Pablo, my friend Harry.

"- Enchanté.
- Enchanté."

Cigarette? No?

You'll be sorry.

- He is rich?
- No.

- But he's very beautiful.
- Yes. Very beautiful.

Jimmy was around
yesterday looking for you.

Hello, Harry. Do you like music?

Yes. Well, yes and no.

I mean, I never thought I would be
able to enjoy this kind of music.

What kind of music?

Well, jazz, I suppose.
It is jazz, isn't it?

If you want to call it names.

Well, I mean, it is very different
from our symphonic tradition, isn't it?

I guess, I guess. All right.

How do you know I'm not
in love with you already?

Oh, you like me, I can see that.

Because I broke through your isolation.

You're grateful to me.

But you're not in love with me yet.

Maybe that's the same thing.

Which shows how little
you know about it.

No, I mean to make you
fall in love with me.

Why?

Because it's my calling
and my "nature..."

to make men fall in love with me.

- Bravo!
- Bravo!

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Thank you. Thank you.

Very well.

She is lovely, isn't she?

Why don't you make love to her?

Do what?

Don't be such a prude.

No one's asking you to marry her.

You don't have to take
all love that seriously.

I say it's high "time..."

you slept with a pretty dolly
again, "Herr" Steppenwolf.

Believe me, I've no such aspiration.

"- Ciao," Alfredo.
Bye. - Thank you.

Let's grab a bite to eat somewhere.

After, we're playing
at the City Bar again.

All night?

Why not?

Well, I'm a little tired.

I can fix that.

Oh, pardon me, sir.

I wonder if you'd be so
kind, just for a moment.

- Pablo can fix you anything.
- Anything?

Anything you like.

It's good.

You can't always get what you want,
but you can always get what you need.

Well, what are we waiting for?

Let's go.

Now we're off to the "Kunsthalle," then.

Hey!

"Home at last, weighed down
by sadness and despair."

"When I think of tomorrow's
appointment at the Cecil Bar..."

"I think with bitterness not only
of myself, but of Hermine, too."

"For all her kind intentions,
she should have let me perish..."

"instead of sweeping me
into this frivolity..."

"where I shall never be
anything but an alien..."

"and where the best in me
is demoralized and lowered."

Hello, you.

Shh.

- How the hell did you get...
- Shh.

Tell me, is "Pablo..."

Is he one of your lovers, too?

- Jealous?
- No.

He always seems so sleepy.

He can be waked up.

Uh-huh.

So, what are you doing
with an old man like me?

You're not in competition, you know.

Oh.

I love "you..."

because you're shy and "tender..."

and because I can see in your "eyes..."

that you are pleased
that I am 01:02:48,827
With another, it might
be exactly the opposite.

I'd be thrilled if he used me
and didn't care a fig for me.

But a life without
love, I couldn't bear it.

Maria, I love you.

You know, Pablo said I
must treat you "nicely..."

because you are so very unhappy.

How did he come to this
extraordinary conclusion?

He said, "Look at his eyes.
He doesn't know how to laugh."

"Herr" Harry, come for
a spin in my motorcar.

Pablo, hello.

What I want to ask you for,
champ, is a loan of 20 "francs..."

and you can have Maria
again tonight, if you want.

Barter for a woman is counted among us
as the last degradation, "Herr" Pablo.

I have not heard your proposal.

Where on earth did you get this car?

Look, don't sleep with Maria if
you want to invent "troubles..."

but loan me the money anyway, okay?

It's for little Augustino with
the violin, you know. He's sick.

You should have said so.

But you still didn't
answer about the car.

Oh, I borrowed it, you know.

- Who from?
- I don't know.

Good Lord, why did you have to
borrow such a highly visible car?

Listen, this car has "deux
cent soixante chevaux."

They may see you, but
they'll never catch me.

- Oh, for Christ's sake.
- Hello.

Harry, quick. Quick, quick, quick.

Hey.

Halt!

Tell me, "Pablo..."

why is it that you don't
care to discuss music with me?

Oh, you know, you know
more about it than me.

I just play.

It's all the same to me.

But it isn't all the same, is it?

You can't put Mozart on
the same level "with..."

the latest foxtrot,
or whatever, can you?

I don't put nothing on any level at all.

I just play whatever comes to me.

Pablo.

Tell me, Pablo. What is it
you want out of life, hmm?

Out of music?

"Je ne sais pas, moi."

A laugh, a "giggle..."

kick the gong around now and "then..."

"beaucoup de poule."

I see. A hedonist.

Sticks and stones will break my bones.

Your turn now.

What is it you want?

Light.

There is a light within.

You need only step out of
your own shadows to see it.

We could all go to bed
together, if you want.

No.

No, thanks.

We're all friends.

If he doesn't want "to..."

Pity. He's so moral.

Nothing to be done.

All the "same..."

it would have been so
beautiful, so very beautiful.

I think I have to lie down.

Why is it that you aren't
already the wife of a "king..."

or a revolutionary,
or some sort of genius?

I have been a courtesan
of fairly good taste.

That's what life has allowed me.

- Did you ever demand more?
- Always.

- What?
- Eternity.

Where did you hope to find that?

In a special "kingdom..."

on the other side of appearances.

The kingdom of God, if you're
pious, but it doesn't matter.

Whatever you call it, it's
where we belong, our home.

Oh, "Harry..."

so much dirt and humbug we
have to slog "through..."

in order to get "home..."

and no guide but our homesickness.

And now, me, I am off.

So, friends and lovers,
have a divine "evening..."

and I'll see you at the ball.

Please.

- Please.
- Sorry.

Harry.

Have you seen Hermine?

I've been searching all
night. It's hopeless.

Can you at least tell me
what her costume is like?

Just look for yourself. You'll find her.

So what the devil is
that supposed to mean?

Now, now, now. Don't lose your
sense of humor, not tonight.

Lost your number? Take mine.

Hey, dance with me.

I can't.

- I'm on my way to hell.
- Come on.

Maria.

Hermine is waiting for me in hell.

I know, my darling. Run along.

And farewell, Harry. I
won't forget you. Ever.

Farewell.

Hermine.

So, you've found me at last.

Is this the way you mean to
make me fall in love with you?

You are even ready to go
through hell to find me?

Is there any other way?

"You dreamed of escape."

"You have a longing to
forsake this world..."

"to penetrate to a world beyond time."

"You know this other world exists."

"I can give you nothing that
isn't already within you."

"All I can give you is the chance."

Brother Harry, I invite you
to a little entertainment.

For madmen only, and one price only.

Your mind. Are you ready?

And now I'll show you
our little Magie Theater.

As many doors as you like.

And behind each door, exactly
what you are looking for.

But the price of "admission..."

will be a trifling little suicide.

You don't mind, do you?

To conquer time and "reality..."

you must extinguish these
superfluous "reflections..."

you call your personality.

All it takes is a hearty laugh.

Excellent, Harry.

"Excellent, Harry."

"You'll laugh like the immortals yet."

"Penetrate to a world beyond time."

"It's all an illusion, the
Magie Theater, not reality."

"... nothing that isn't
already within you."

Pablo!

Hermine!

"You have a longing
to forsake this world."

"I can give you nothing that
isn't already within you."

"...chance. The impulse."

"I help you make your movie..."

"As many doors as you like."

"And behind..."

"Mutant transformation into
any animal or plant you please."

The Great Automobile Hunt.

"Transformation from time into space."

"Compendium of art."

Oh.

Gustav! Good Lord!

Fancy meeting you here.
What are you doing?

I'm a professor of theology, Harry.

Got that son of a bitch that time.

- What's going on?
- It's war.

At long last, the war
against the machine.

Come on.

So it's just what you have
been waiting for, Harry.

- What?
- War against the machine.

Don't listen to him.

You are obliged to stem the
rising tide of "anarchy..."

fomented by effete "intellectuals..."

who cynically reject the "blessings..."

of order, work and private property.

What's that got to do
with machines, then?

Technology is the most sublime
creation of the human "mind..."

that will eventually set man free.

What do you think?

Six off one, a half
a dozen off the other.

Villains. Traitors. After
all we've done for you.

Come on. Get out. Come on.

Out. Go!

I think you ought to "know..."

I don't consider this very
patriotic of you fellows.

Look.

Here, help me with this stuff.

We want to be ready
for them when they come.

To think that I used to be a pacifist.

Where does this bloodlust come
from? I'm sure it's not rational.

Of course it isn't.
It's pure childishness.

That's war, childishness
on a gigantic scale.

Yes.

We must not always reduce the
irrational to the "rational..."

as do the Americans,
and the Bolsheviks, too.

They are both
extraordinarily "rational..."

and they both produce a frightful
oppression and impoverishment of life.

You are a lulu, Harry.
You talk just like a book.

But we'll bag no cars with philosophy.

All hands to battle stations.

Bravo! Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!

I am Attorney-General Loering.

Why did you fire upon us?

For exceeding the speed limit.

We were only doing the normal speed.

What was normal yesterday
is no longer normal today.

Any speed a motorcar
travels is too great.

And now, will you be so kind as to get
out, as your motorcar will be destroyed.

I prefer to be destroyed with it.

As you like.

God knows as public "prosecutor..."

you've murdered your share
of poor devils in your day.

It was my duty.

A conception obviously unknown to you.

What duty?

I belonged to the state,
I served as a "soldier..."

I killed on orders and paid
taxes to buy more "armaments..."

until I couldn't get up in the
morning without throwing up.

You bore me.

Be so kind as to get on with your job.

My dear, are you skilled with firearms?

You could teach me.

I imagine you'll be wanting lunch soon.

Have you got a court
plaster for my finger?

It's bleeding like anything.

- Whatever is to become of us?
- Don't know.

But my friend Harry knows.
He's fond of pretty girls.

He'll look after you. Come on.

If you had some cucumbers, I could
make some smashing sandwiches.

Ah.

"...Wherever you like..."

"and behind each door..."

"You have a longing to forsake this world,
to penetrate to a world beyond time."

"Downfall of the west, moderate
prices, never surpassed."

"Delightful suicide,
laugh yourself to bits."

"..."Great Automobile "Hunt..."

"These Kamasutra... Instructions..."

"As many doors as you like."

Pablo?

- Who are you?
- I'm not anybody.

I'm a chess player.
Do you want "instruction..."

in building up your personality?

- Yes, please.
- May I see your pieces, please?

Pieces?

Of your personality. I can't
play without the pieces.

Which one is you?

Wrong.

You are the whole game.

But all these personalities in
one man, that's schizophrenia.

It don't matter, honey.

Watch.

What is it called, this game?

Life. Your life.

Complicate it or
enrich it as you please.

Your soul has fallen to bits and pieces.

Good. Rearrange them to suit yourself.

Harry!

What on earth are you doing in there?

My goodness, you've
gone and hurt yourself.

Yes.

Poor, dear Harry.

I've always wondered what
became of you. All these years.

You haven't changed a bit, Rosa.

The last time I saw you here,
that spring "afternoon..."

you wouldn't even speak.

I meant to. I wanted to.

But I was afraid. I was only 15.

My heart trembled so.

Did it? Really?

I cried myself to sleep that night.

And then I began to forget.

Never quite, though, you know.

But you never knew me.

Listen, Rosa, I could
have destroyed you.

You see, sometimes "I’m..."

There are terrible compulsions,
urges that come over me.

You might have let me
take the risk myself.

"I used to dream that I
was having your child."

"You never asked. You never listened."

"I hoped you would be
different from the others."

Hermine!

Hermine!

"So long, then, and enjoy your dreams."

"Doesn't matter. Just relax a bit."

Hermine!

Hermine.

"But I need you, too."

"Don't forget what you promised."

"...For something very
important and very beautiful."

"But in the end, as you call it..."

"you will have to fulfill
my last wish as well."

"Kill me."

Mozart.

You see? It goes all right
without the saxophone.

Though, to be sure, I shouldn't
want to tread on the "toes..."

of that famous instrument.

- Where are we?
- In the last act.

Liberello is on his knees.

There's a lot in it that's
very human, "certainly..."

but you can hear the
other world in it, "too..."

- the laughter, hmm?
- Plentitude. Power.

It's the last great music ever written.

Don't strain yourself.

You are a musician?

I've retired myself, but I do like
to drop in from time to "time..."

to see how the business is getting on.

Look, there is Brahms,
striving for redemption.

He'll be at it for quite a time yet.

And Wagner. What are they in for?

Thick orchestration. No
personal failing, you understand.

- It was a fault of the time.
- But they can't help it.

They couldn't help Adam
eating the apple, "either..."

but they have to pay for it.

But it's frightful.

Oh, life always is.

We can't help it, but we
are responsible anyway.

One is born, and at once, one is guilty.

Where is your fine
religious education, anyway?

So you mean I'll be called to
account for all those books I wrote?

"- Herr" Mozart?
- Shh.

Munich's coming through.
It's a symphony by Friedemann Bach.

What are you doing? Listen to it.

This infernal machine murders music.

Belt up and listen, my friend.

Listen past the wireless to the music.

It's just like life.

You must see through the
appearance to the reality beneath.

Anyway, it little becomes you
to be a critic of "radio..."

or of life, either.

Learn to listen first.

Learn what is to be taken
seriously and to laugh at the rest.

I think I'm beginning to understand.

You are a great joker, Harry, huh?

What's this mess, now?

You couldn't think of
anything better to "do..."

with this enchanting
young lady than this?

I expect you are now
looking for a "way..."

to evade the consequences
of this dreary butchery.

You don't understand, "Herr" Mozart.

I want to pay. I want to pay
and pay again for what I've done.

I want to lay my head under the axe.

What a pathetic cringe you are, Harry.

But you'll learn humor yet.

Gallows humor.

All humor is gallows humor.

- Ready, my friend?
- I'm ready.

"Gentlemen..."

there stands before
you Harry "Haller..."

accused and found guilty of the
willful misuse of our Magie Theater.

Haller has not alone insulted
the majesty of "art..."

in that he "confounded..."

our beautiful picture gallery
with so called "reality..."

and stabbed to death the reflection of
a girl with the reflection of a knife.

He has, in addition, displayed the
intention to use our "theater..."

as a mechanism of "suicide..."

and shown himself devoid of humor.

Therefore, we condemn "Haller..."

to eternal "life..."

and suspend for 12 hours his
permission to enter our theater.

You really botched it, Harry.

You lost your sense of humor.

All that messy business with
the knife, and your ugly reality.

"Je pensais que vous auriez
mieux joué le jeux que ca."

Pablo, I'm beginning to understand.
I understand you. And Goethe.

I've still got all the
pieces in my pocket.

If I only had another chance.

As many as you like.

This is not the end, you
know. Only a beginning.

Where do I have to go from here?

The way of innocence leads on, not back.

Not back to the world of the "child..."

but even further into sin.

Ever deeper into human life.

The penalty, also, of being
laughed out of "court..."

may not be remitted.

Gentlemen, all "together..."

one, two, three.