All language subtitles for The.Great.Beauty.2013.720p.BluRay.x264.[YTS.MX]-Spanish

Travel is useful. It exercises the imagination.
All the rest is disappointment and fatigue.

Our journey is entirely imaginary.
That is its strength.

It goes from life to death. People,
animals, cities, things - all are imagined.

It's a novel, just a fictitious narrative.
Littré says so, and he's never wrong.

Besides, anyone can do it.
You just have to close your eyes.

It's on the other side of life.”

Céline - Journey to the End of the Night

Fire!

You're a real pain in the ass.

Enough!

They even have cocktails
with cherries. Remember?

Hey, jerks!

I'll fuck you!

I'll fuck you!

Have you seen Ermanno?

- I'm gonna fuck you now, you hear?
- Get lost!

What the hell are you doing?

My phone's been stolen!

I'm starring in two TV dramas.

Fm Playing a pope in one,

and in the other a junkie
on the road to recovery.

Very impressive.

Any theater work?

I'm supposed to do
some Shakespeare with Pietro,

but it has to be
at least three hours long,

an ambitious project,

and no more small cities.

I'm trying to write a theater piece.
The concept is -

- What about you?
- I might give up acting.

In this shitty country there are
never any good female roles.

I'll work on my first novel,
a Proustian piece.

No kidding!
Proust's my favorite writer.

Along with Ammaniti.

What a coincidence.

Who's that woman?

You don't know? it's Lorena.

Who?

A former TV showgirl, now in full
physical and mental decline.

I've never seen her before.
But then, I've never had a TV.

Viola, I know that.

You remind me
at least once a day.

- What does she do now?
- Nothing.

Happy birthday, Jep!

Happy birthday, Rome!

Happy birthday, Jep!

La Colita!

To this question, as kids,

my friends always gave
the same answer:

pussy

Whereas I answered...

“the smell
of old people's houses.”

The question was...

“What do you really like
most in life?”

I was destined
to be a sensitive type.

I was destined
to become a writer.

I was destined to become

Jep Gambardella.

THE GREAT BEAUTY

You paid no attention
to me tonight.

Romano, don't start moaning.

We're not an item.

- Did you like that guy?
- I like everyone and no one.

And when it's no one,
it's my turn.

- Will you take me to the airport?
- Sure! What time do you leave?

In three hours.

Three hours?

Then maybe I better crash
on your sofa -

Go home.

I have to pack,
and I don't like people around.

- But I live so far away.
- See you at 8:00.

Good night.

Guys?

Guys?

Children!

Go on.

Catellani?

The best, of course.

I mean,
did Catellani the tailor

make your suit?

There was no doubt
as to Malagna's shady intentions.

The girl had to be rescued
immediately, at all costs.

Sir, you drank.

Just enough
to forget my birthday.

- You want herbal tea?
- Absolutely, chérie.

- I got you a present.
- How sweet.

A lucky charm from my country.

Good thing it's lucky,
'cause it's ugly as hell.

Keep it on your nightstand
and stop complaining.

Verily. And thanks.

Wake me at 3:00 p.m.,
you rascal.

Makes me laugh
when you call me that.

I don't love you!

Did you enjoy the performance?

Parts of it.

That violent head-butt
explains a lot.

Let's start at the beginning.
- Why not the end?

You know, Talia Concept
loves to provoke.

Don't bother. There are more
important things than provoking me.

And this referring to yourself
in the third person is unbearable.

What are you reading?

I don't need to read. I live on vibrations,
including extrasensory ones.

Setting the extrasensory aside
for a moment,

what do you mean
by “vibrations”?

How does one use

the crude vulgarity of words
to explain the poetry of vibrations?

Well, try.

I'm an artist.
I don't need to explain jack shit.

Then I'll write, “Lives on vibrations
but doesn't know what they are.”

I'm starting to dislike this interview.
I sense conflict in you.

- Conflict as a vibration?
- As a pain in the ass.

Let's discuss how my mother's
boyfriend abused me.

No! I want to know
what vibrations are.

They're my radar
for listening in on the world.

Your radar... meaning?

You're a pain in the ass.

We got off to a bad start.

Talia Concept wants to be interviewed
by your paper. it has lots of readers.

But you're biased.

Write about how she has sex
with her boyfriend 11 times a day.

He's a talented conceptual artist.

He covers basketballs in confetti.
It's sensational.

Talia Concept is talking about things
she doesn't understand.

All I've heard so far
is unpublishable fluff.

If you think I'll fall for
“I'm an artist, I don't need to explain,”

you're mistaken.

Our paper has
a very educated readership

that won't be taken for fools.
I work for them.

Then let me talk
about my eventful and difficult

but necessary journey
as an artist!

Necessary for whom?

For heaven's sake, ma'am,
what is a vibration?

- I don't know.
- You don't know.

You're an obsessive jerk!

I'll tell your editor to send me
a journalist of greater stature.

A word of advice:
When you speak with her,

go easy on the stature business.
She's a dwarf.

Jep, this interview is a hoot!

Maybe, but it's the last time
I interview someone

who head-butts walls.

- You find out her trick?
- Foam rubber.

Amateur theatrics never die.

You weren't offended
by the stature thing, right?

Don't be silly.
That's the funniest part.

I'm a dwarf.
Why not say so?

It's the first and last thing
everyone says about me.

You're a spectacular woman, Dadina.
You've had the career you deserve.

But you haven't, Jep.

Maybe I just don't have
much to say.

Bullshit. You're just lazy.

You never leave Rome.

Go to Giglio and do that report
on the Concordia

I've asked you to do 50 times.

Rice is always tastier reheated
than freshly cooked, eh?

The old is better than the new.

Plans tonight, chérie?

As the great De Blasi,
my predecessor, would say,

“Tonight I'm going to have
some nice soup and a good screw.”

Two things
that contradict each other.

That's what I'd always say,
and she'd reply, in a serious tone,

“No, Dadina, they don't,

because they're both hot.”

There's a decent-sized
publishing house in Ancona

that really wants a book
of interviews with you.

Another interview book?
They interview everyone in this country!

Can't you just hear them?
“As I always say”... to whom?

Let's forget it.

And honestly,
who'll buy a book called

Visions and Revisions:
Jep Gambardella's Galaxy?

It's a serious title!

And unfortunately, to be taken
seriously in this country,

you have to take
yourself seriously.

I only wrote one novel
40 years ago,

and no bookstore carries it.

Bullshit! The Human Apparatus
was a masterpiece!

It even won the -
What was it?

- The Bancarella prize.
- The friggin' Bancarella!

You're very kind, but let's drop it.
lt'd look too presumptuous.

No, we can't. You'll put me
in an awkward position.

I already agreed to it
and accepted an advance.

- How much?
- 1,500 euros.

Give it back.
I'll give you the 1,500.

By the way,
I spoke to the theater people.

They'll give you three nights,
but you pay for the lights.

Who cares about that!

Jep, this is great news.

Really great news.
Thanks.

Are you still up?

It's time for bed.

That's Viola Bartoli,
Bartoli's widow.

The guy who was killed,
the actual Bartoli.

She has a 150-foot yacht
that belonged to Himmler, the nazi.

You know what I call her?

- What?
- “Too Good to Poop.”

- I don't understand.
- Because she's persnickety.

Usually persnickety people
don't poop.

When I introduced Trumeau
to my family, my father said,

“Miss, before marrying my son,
have you ever seen him poop?”

- That's gross!
- Gross is all in your head.

My wife and I
are the only couple in love

right now in Italy.

Orietta, watch out for Lello.

I figured that out.

He's the world's greatest salesman.
He cons everyone.

He'll have you buying
his entire inventory in no time.

He's always flattering me.

The fact I express myself well
doesn't mean I'm always working.

- What do you do?
- I sell toys.

It's not some little
toy shop somewhere.

He sells wholesale worldwide,
even to the Chinese.

Who's that guy?

That's Sebastiano Paf,

perhaps ltaly's
greatest living poet.

He wrote the line...

“Up with life,
down with reminiscence.”

He's doing the Dukan diet
so that Dadina won't leave him.

Are they a couple?

- He thinks so, but -
- Like in high school.

Why doesn't he ever talk?

Because he listens.

- Stop sucking that shit up your nose!
- Fuck off.

Jep's found a theater for me.

Want to play the lead?
- I'm not acting anymore.

I'm a writer now.

Maybe...

maybe I'll direct a film.

Viola, darling.

Jep, please help me.
I'm worried about my son.

- What can I do?
- Why don't you talk to him?

You always say
you're best with strangers.

We're all best with strangers.

Is he seeing a therapist?
- Yes, but he wants to stop going.

Take him to a psychiatrist.

They don't waste time:
Ativan, Prozac, all that stuff.

“That stuff”
makes him feel worse.

Viola, relax.
The boy's always been a bit odd.

Listen, have you tried
Ahé's escarole pie?

It's the first time
that rascal's made it,

and it came out
better than my mom's.

Do me a favor
and try a piece.

You changed your hair color.

I've been feeling
Pirandello-esque lately.

Great jazz, no?
- Not really.

The Ethiopian jazz scene is
the only one I find interesting today.

I'm from Milan.

To be honest,
I find Romans...

unbearable.

The best people in Rome
are the tourists.

In all of Italy!

What are we famous for overseas?
Fashion and pizza.

A country of weavers and grocers.

How can someone who sells toys,
bringing joy to the world,

be such a pessimist and a defeatist?
You're so dark.

- Dark?
- Yes.

I heard Gisella Montanelli
went to loan sharks

to pay her hairdressing debts.

Jep says I'm dark.

Gisella's really sunk that low?

Rome is the only city
in the world

where Marxism's reached
its full potential.

You can't excel over others here
for more than a week.

You're immediately brought back
to the golden mean.

Rome is pure collectivism.

Pure collectivism.
Stefa', what utter nonsense!

You know that Flaubert wanted
to write a book about nothing?

Too bad he never met you.
It would have made a great book.

You're a misogynist.

Stop assuming it's all about you.
I'm not a misogynist. I'm a misanthrope.

Hear, hear!
With hatred, one must aim high.

You're a very dark man.

Lello!

Not stopping tonight?

Mama!
When I see you, I blush!

Andrea...

you're crazy.
- No, I'm not crazy!

I've got problems.

“As the lights flashed,
love sat down in the corner...

shy and distracted as it was.

That's why we could
tolerate life no longer.”

Good heavens,
no one's quoted me in decades!

I read your book as a teenager.
I never forgot the end.

Stop right there.

You're stroking my ego
most recklessly.

It's obvious you were deeply
in love when you wrote it.

Moravia made more or less
the same comment,

though he stated his case
a bit more elegantly.

I once saw Piazza Navona
covered in snow.

Really?
What was it like?

White.

This is where I stay in Rome.

Banished to the 'burbs, eh?

What do you do for work?

Me? I'm rich.

Nice work.

You didn't enjoy it.

I know I'm not very good.

Why do you say that?

Besides,
it's so sad to be good.

It can become
all about technique.

You didn't really seem
to be into it.

You're very beautiful, Orietta.

Very, very, very beautiful.

I take pictures of myself,
you know.

At all hours of the day,
to get to know myself.

With my phone and its timer.
- Interesting.

My Facebook friends say
I take great pictures.

I bet you're naked
in some of them.

- A few.
- I knew it.

Want to see them?

Sure.

I'll get my computer.

The most important thing
I discovered

a few days after turning 65

was that I can't waste any more time
doing things I don't want to do.

When I arrived in Rome

at the age of 26,

I fell fairly swiftly,

almost without realizing it,

into what might be called

“the whirlpool of high society."

But I didn't just want to be
part of high society.

Sacconi should be in charge.

Antonini's
a fucking pain in the ass!

I wanted to be
the king of high society.

And I succeeded.

I didn't want
to just go to parties.

I wanted the power
to make or break them.

Gambardella?

Forgive my showing up
like this without notice.

I'm Alfredo Marti.

Nice to meet you. I'm Jep.
But I live over here.

No, I don't want to bother you.

How can I help you?

I'm Elisa De Santis's husband.

Did you have children?

No.

I couldn't.

I could.

I could.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

She could have too.

Elisa died.

Yesterday.

Alfre', if I can help in any way.
you know where I live.

Don't leave me alone.
Please don't leave me alone.

We were married for 35 years,

but Elisa always loved you.

What are you talking about?

Elisa and I went out together
when we were kids.

In fact, I think she left me,
but it was so long ago I can't -

Yes, she left you.

On September 8th, 1970.

Exactly.

You're distraught now.
That's normal.

I'm not distraught.

Elisa only loved
one man in her life.

You.
- How can you say that?

I never saw Elisa again.
You two spent a lifetime together.

I found a diary of hers,
with a lock.

And I broke the lock off.

Alfredo, I write for a living.

Believe me...

when you write, you give life
to fantasies, imagination, lies.

I was just a good companion.

That's all she wrote about me.

Thirty-five years together...

and I'm mentioned in two lines
as a good companion.

Here.

What will you do now?

What I've always done.

I'll go on worshipping her.

What's he doing?

Stop!

Jep!

You did it!

- Have you seen my daughter?
- Your daughter? No.

Francesca.

Who are you?

Who am I?

I am -
- You're nobody.

Nobody?

But I-

Francesca,
where on earth are you?

I've been looking for you
for an hour.

- Are you sad, sir?
- No.

Sir feels strange.

I don't like.
I prefer Sir be sad.

Are you going to bed?
- Last night I went to bed at 10:30.

Now I don't know what to do.

Morning is
an unknown quantity to me.

Unknown.

Then Sir can help me
clean the house.

- Sir can't. Sir feels strange.
- Sir is a rascal.

“Is there a new nation
stirring within the city walls?

From the crevices of that soil
a feverish vapor ascends like smoke

and works like a magic philter
in the blood of certain men,

producing a form
of heroic madness

unlike any other.”

What do you think?
Friggin' powerful, right?

Why the hell adapt
D'Annunzio for the stage?

D'Annunzio's
always been paradigmatic -

You think these intellectual
acrobatics lend you dignity,

that others are better than you,
but you're wrong.

Try and write something
truly your own...

about a feeling, or sorrow.

You know, you've never
been to my place.

Your “place”?
You have a room in student housing.

You going out with that sourpuss
you're always with?

I wish.
I've tried 7,000 times

and never got a single kiss.

- She's a bitch.
- No, she's not.

She's complicated.

She's a bitch.
Trust me. You're too kind.

I can tell her type a mile off.
No need to even meet them.

- What are you doing?
- My morning exercise.

- That's exercise?
- Yes.

Have you ever counted
the women you've been with?

No, I'm terrible at math.

I've always been great at math.

But I know you've had six.
I introduced you to all of them.

Seven.

Seven?

When was number seven?
- Last summer.

A friend of my sister's,
when I visited back home.

She has a men's shop.

She's nice.

That means she's a dog.

What about you and Orietta?

- Who's Orietta?
- Who's Orietta?

She was at your place
the other night.

A real beauty.

At my age,
a beautiful woman isn't enough.

I might start writing again.

That's great news!

Did something happen?

Why?

If you want to write again
after all these years,

something happened.

Somethings always happening in Rome.
Nothing happened.

What are you looking at?

Come here.

They met at the university
ten days ago.

They've been kissing

nonstop for ten days.

This generation
of young people horrifies me.

The state supports them
for years,

but when they realize they have half
a brain, they're off to study or work

in America or London.

They have no civic vocation.

As a young girl, in the occupied Arts
Department, I oozed civic vocation.

- You oozed civic vocation?
- Yes, why?

- Come off it.
- What do you know?

You were loafing
around Naples with rich girls

and writing your only novelette.

I didn't realize history
was being made.

Novelette?

It was a masterpiece
of Italian literature.

Jep and civic vocation
never got along.

He was lazy,
civic vocation was hyperactive.

Romano, stop sucking up
to your idol. You're pathetic.

The Human Apparatus
was narrow-minded,

frivolous, and as pretentious
as its title, and Jep knows it.

That's why he stopped there.

Sorry, and what about you?

I tried changing things
through literature.

I wrote 11 socially engaged novels

and a book
on the official history of the Party.

Don't forget your contribution
to that reality show -

Girl Farm.

Television can be
a very formative experience.

And when I'm invited
somewhere, I go.

I get my hands dirty.
I try things.

I don't spend my life
being a snob.

Are you saying
a socially engaged writer

gets some sort of free pass
compared to a novelist

who deals with -
I don't know - feelings?

Of course she is!

The cause someone commits
their life to isn't secondary.

Like having a family,

sacrificing oneself day in and day out
to raise one's children.

Eusebio and I have four children.
We plan the future together.

I break my back to be
both mother and woman,

and at the end of the day I feel
I've done something important.

So those of us without children

should consider suicide?

- I don't mean you, of course.
- She means me.

Dadina, I admire you greatly.
You're a real badass.

Do you use “badass”
in your novels?

Yes, I do.

I try to be modern.

- Modernity is badass.
- De gustibus...

Such conviction!

I don't know whether to feel
jealous or appalled.

Yes, I have convictions.
I'm 53 -

- You'd never know it.
- Never.

I'm 53. I've suffered,
but I've bounced back

and learned a lot about life.

At last -
no further response.

I was drinking.

No response
because we're fond of you

and don't want
to embarrass you,

but all this boasting,

all this earnest showing off,
all this “me, me, me”...

and all these sweeping
condemnations

hide a certain fragility
and unease

and above all
a whole series of untruths.

We care about you,
and we know our own untruths,

and that's why, unlike you,

we end up talking
about inane nonsense,

because we have no intention
of facing our own pettiness.

What untruths?

Everything I said is true.
It's what I am, what I believe in.

Please, I consider myself a gentleman.
Don't take away that only certainty.

No, my friend. I want to hear it all:
What fragility? What untruths?

I'm a woman with balls.
Out with it.

“A woman with balls” would be
too much for any gentleman.

Very well. You asked for it.
In random order:

No one remembers your “civic vocation”
during your student days,

whereas many recall
another vocation of yours,

one that took place
in the university restrooms.

You wrote about the Party because
you were its leader's mistress.

And your 11 novels,

brought out by a small publisher
subsidized by the Party

and reviewed by minor,
Party-affiliated newspapers,

are insignificant.
Everyone says so.

I'm not saying
my novelette was any better.

I agree with you there.

As for your relationship
with Eusebio -

what relationship?
Eusebio loves Giordano.

Everyone knows that.
He has for years.

They eat together every day
at Arnaldo's, next to the coat rack,

like sweethearts under an oak tree.
But you and Eusebio keep pretending.

As for your dedication to your children
and all the sacrifices entailed...

you work all week in TV, you go out
every night, including Mondays,

when even popper dealers
don't venture out.

You're never with your children,

even on your long vacations.

Plus you have
a butler, a waiter...

a cook...

a chauffeur who drives
the kids to school...

and three babysitters.

So how and when exactly
do you make any sacrifices?

These are the untruths
and the fragility I mean.

Stefa',
mother and woman.

You're 53,
with a life in tatters,

like the rest of us.

So instead of lecturing us
and treating us with contempt,

you should look at us
with affection.

We're all on the brink
of despair.

We can only look each other in the face,
keep each other company,

kid each other a bit.

Don't you agree?

Son of a bitch!

Egidio!

You bastard!
I haven't seen you in 30 years!

- I gotta talk to you.
- Later. Can't you see I'm busy?

- Is this still your place?
- No, thank God, but I still manage it.

You made it big!
You're always in the gossip rags.

All the VIP parties.
A different girl every night.

But you never come here.

Get lost, will you?
We're having a serious talk.

- Are you married?
- Married, divorced.

- I've got a daughter, Ramona.
- Did you have to call her Ramona?

You artists are all the same.

I tell you I have a daughter,
and you moan about her name.

What's wrong with “Ramona”?

Nothing. It just sounds
a bit pretentious.

There she is now.

She makes me so mad.
I've told her a million times.

“You're too old for this.”

These hot young Polish girls
rule the scene now.

They're experts at turning tricks.

She's 42 and she wants to be
a sophisticated stripper.

But the world's no longer
sophisticated. Right, Jep?

Right.
Only you and I are.

That's right, goddamn it!

But she wants to keep
doing this for the money.

I don't know why she needs it,
what she does with it.

- Drugs?
- I wish. We'd have a common interest.

No, she doesn't even
drink beer.

I don't know
what she spends it on.

She's always broke.
Do I sound like a loser?

No, why?

I can hear myself talk.
I sound like a loser.

I'm nearly 70 and I have to work
till 6:00 a.m. every day.

I swapped cocaine
for heroin 15 years ago.

What an asshole!
A heroin junkie at 50!

Could I be more of a loser?

But I don't matter.

It's her I worry about.
I love her.

And I'm no loser there.
I'm a father.

And like all fathers, I'm worried.

What'll she do in a few years?

She can't be a stripper at 50!

Why don't you fix her up?
- Me?

Don't you have any rich friends

looking for a beautiful wife?

We could change her name.
That's no problem.

You'd be doing me a big favor.

- I'm a writer, not a pimp.
- Sorry, that was kinda crass.

Daddy's little girl!

This is my good friend,
Jep Gambardella.

You two get acquainted.
I need to use the bathroom.

I'll be right back.

- It's a pleasure. I'm Jep.
- Ramona.

If you want a girl, get a Pole.

Are you kidding?

Who said anything
about a girl? Not me.

I really am an old friend
of your father's.

- Dad has no friends.
- He used to.

When I came to Rome, I'd wait
for my friends to leave to come here.

Your father's a nice guy.
He taught me a lot.

For example,
that vodka is uncouth.

Dad knows
a lot of useless stuff.

He asked me
to find you a husband.

It's an obsession with him,
but I'm not looking for a husband.

You should.

Family's a beautiful thing.
- That's true.

But I'm not out out
for beautiful things.

What's wrong?

I feel old.

You're no spring chicken.

Madame Ardant.

One.

- How are you?
- Very well.

Just back from India.
I had the most amazing dysentery.

Come to my divorce party.
There'll be burlesque dancers on elephants.

Sure. What would
you like for a present?

Just one great wish:
an end to war in the Middle East.

- I'll do my best.
- Two.

Seven hundred euros.

Tell me, darling.

I was thinking
perhaps my mouth.

I'm soared. I've never
clone this before, Professor.

Don't call me “professor.”

Call me
“my friend” or “my love.”

We all need love.

What sign are you,
deeply intense lady?

- Aquarius.
- I knew it.

Want to go back 30 years, to when
it always rained in late August?

Done.
- That's 700.

Three.

- You've been to see Casagrande.
- No, I don't even know him.

You've betrayed me, darling.

We're on a journey
together here,

and you've interrupted it.

This is the last time.

Go on.

Bye then.

- Full price.
- Five.

1,200 euros.

- How's your mom?
- Fine, thanks.

- Seven.
- That's 700.

You look a bit swollen.

You're always in my heart.

Seven hundred.

- As handsome as ever.
- Ten.

- You're my pride and joy.
- Thanks.

Eleven.

Professor, I'm here
about my hyperhidrosis.

Where does this undesired
perspiration happen?

On my hands.

- Pray for me, Sister.
- You don't need my prayers.

You don't know
how much of my income

goes to the tax man.

Go on, Sister.

That's 700, Sister.

Fourteen.

- You spying on me?
- No, I was going to knock.

- When?
- When you were more relaxed.

- What brings you here?
- Nothing. Simple curiosity.

- I told you what I think.
- I have no hidden agenda.

You think every guy
who comes near you wants sex?

Couldn't they just want to talk,

driven by a simple
and harmless curiosity?

- That's never happened before.
- It has now.

Wouldn't armbands
be more comfortable?

Sure, but they irritate
my armpits.

You have plans for lunch?

I'm going to my mom's
with my dad.

Where's the dog?

What dog?

People buy houses like this
so they can have dogs.

I had a Labrador,

but nine years ago
he got fed up and left.

Labradors are dumb.

So are cooker spaniels.

Hi, Jep.

Hi, Antonello.

- You know Venditti?
- I know everyone.

It must be nice
knowing so many people.

It's a sure way to be unhappy.

Have people let you down?

I've let them down.

Andrea.
You here with your mom?

- She's parking.
- How are you?

Not well.

Proust says that death
may come to us this afternoon.

Proust is scary.

Not tomorrow, not in a year,
but this very afternoon.

It's already evening,
so it'd be tomorrow afternoon.

And Turgenev said,
“Death cast his gaze my way.”

Don't take
these writers so seriously.

Who should I take seriously then?

No one and nothing.
Except the menu, of course.

Things are too complicated
for one individual to understand.

Just because you don't understand
doesn't mean nobody can.

- Your reply?
- What can I say?

- Jep!
- Hello, Viola.

- Good evening.
- Viola.

Darling, why don't you
get us a table?

How did he seem to you?

He's better.
- Better.

He's much better.
I'm so happy.

Dinner on Thursday?
- Of course.

Thursday
I'm inexplicably free.

Did you hear
about Valentina Lemme?

She's dating
her personal trainer.

Really?
It doesn't show.

- I invited her anyway.
- Are you sure?

That woman's evil, like the devil.

Really? How can that be?

I see her at yoga
twice a week.

Anyway, you'll come?
- Of course.

- See you Thursday.
- Okay.

Good-bye.

Keep your eye on that table,

but don't let them
catch you watching.

Waiter?

Champagne, please.
Cristal.

You can't imagine
how much one learns

living amid a cluster
of religious institutions.

So that was your first time?

Yes. He didn't think
he'd been any good.

Too quick, he said.

So out of anger or to let off steam -
I'm not sure which -

he played with a soccer ball
like a madman for an hour.

What did you do?

I didn't enjoy
making love with him,

but watching him show off
like that was unforgettable.

He got really good.
He played on the national team.

Your dad said you spend
everything you earn. What on?

You can tell me.

Maybe one day I'll tell you.

But why didn't you ever write
another book?

Because I went out
too much at night.

Rome can really
waste your time.

It's distracting.
Writing takes focus and quiet.

That's not much of an answer.

You have peace and quiet here.
It's like being in the country.

I wrote in short spurts...

sprinter-style.

I told you
about my first time...

but you've told me nothing.
it's your turn now.

On an island one summer.

I was 18. She was 20.

At the lighthouse, at night.

I went to kiss her.
She turned her face away.

I was disappointed.

But then she turned
to look at me.

She brushed my lips.

She smelled of flowers.

I didn't move.

I couldn't have moved.

Then she took a step back

and said -

She stepped back...

and said...

I'm going home. it's late.

Want to go to a party with me
tomorrow night?

Outstanding!

Were you trying
to kill us all with anxiety?

You may not believe this,
but I love knife throwers.

A true likeness,
especially the hips.

A masterpiece, Geronimo.
It'll look great above the mantelpiece.

God bless you, Jep!

This is Ramona.

What a unique
and marvelous creature.

- Is he putting me on?
- Hard to say.

I meant it.

I'm just sorry
you missed Geronimo D.

We'll get over it.

Make yourselves at home.

- Who is that asshole?
- Lillo De Gregorio...

the greatest modern art collector
in this country of degenerates.

What's Jep's
floozy friend wearing?

I don't know.

Jep's becoming
a bit of a disappointment.

- Good evening, Countess.
- Hello. You're looking well.

I wish I could say
the same for the count.

Hello, ladies.

Are you crazy?
You're distracting my artist.

Dad, we're having fun.

Carmelina,
come do a little work.

Morn, I want to play here.

- Has this human being gone mad?
- We'll work this out.

- I'm staying here.
- You realize what you're saying?

Europe's greatest
gallery owners are outside.

If you show them what you can do,
ours will be a happy family.

I'm happy now,
and I want to be a vet.

Off to bed, you two.

See that?
My kids are going to bed.

Come on.

Then I'll go to bed too.
I'm a kid too.

She blushes and says,
“Forgive me.

I didn't realize
you loved me so much.

My ignorance is obscene.”

He looks at her
reassuringly and says,

“Let me plead for our love.”

How's that for the start
of the second act?

It's a pile of shit.

That little girl was crying.

What are you talking about?
That little girl earns millions.

Excuse me a moment.

Hi, Stefano.

Hi, Jep.

- Caterings gone downhill.
- Rome's gone downhill.

Straight downhill.

Do you have
your case with you?

- Always.
- You up for it?

See that?

Stefano has the keys

to the most beautiful
buildings in Rome.

- Is he a doorman?
- No.

He's not a doorman.

He's friends with princesses.

Ready?

Come with me.

Good evening, Princesses.

Good evening.

How come you have
all these keys?

Because...

I'm a trustworthy person.

You see that? It looked huge,
but it's actually tiny.

Stand still
while I take your picture.

That one was no good.
Smile.

You got it?

Now I do.

Many people think
that a funeral

is a random event,
with no rules.

That isn't true.

A funeral is the high-society event
par excellence.

You must never forget
that at a funeral...

you're appearing onstage.

Nice.

But I'd try
the other one on too.

You must wait patiently

until family members have
freed themselves from the throng.

Once you've made certain
your audience is seated,

only at that point may you
offer your condolences.

This way everyone will see you.

You take
the grieving relative's hands,

or you place your hands
on their arms.

You whisper something
in their ear,

a comforting phrase
uttered with authority.

For example...

“ln the days to come,

when a great emptiness
comes over you,

know that you can
always count on me.”

The public will wonder...

“What's Jep Gambardella saying?”

This is definitely
the right dress.

You're allowed to retire

to a corner by yourself,

as if to contemplate
your own grief.

But here too
great shrewdness is called for.

The spot chosen
must be isolated

yet clearly visible
to the public.

Furthermore,
a good performance

is devoid
of all extraneous elements.

Thus the fundamental rule:

One must never cry
at a funeral...

for one must never upstage
the family's sorrow.

That is forbidden...

because it's immoral.

Viola.

In the days to come,

when a great emptiness
comes over you...

know that you can always
count on me.

I now ask Andrea's friends
to come forward...

so that the coffin
may be carried outside.

Your back!

It was nice not making love.

It was nice loving each other.

I'd really forgotten
what loving someone was about.

I spend all my money
on medical treatments.

Your breakfast.

Get up. I'm taking you to see
a sea monster today.

Your breakfast.

Five more minutes.

You see the sea?

Where?

On the ceiling.

Yes, I see it.

Who'll look after you now?

I'm sorry about your daughter.
My condolences.

I've spent all my summers

making plans for September.

No longer.

Now I spend the summer

remembering plans I'd made
that faded away

due partly to laziness

and partly to carelessness.

What's wrong
with feeling nostalgic?

It's the only distraction left for those
who have no faith in the future.

Without rain...

August is coming to an end,

and September isn't yet here.

And I'm so ordinary.

But there's no need to worry.

It's all right. it's okay.

Thank you.

Jep!

What are you doing here?

Arturo.

Why are you here?

Can't you see?
I'm rehearsing my magic show.

This is tomorrow's special number:
the disappearing giraffe.

You can make
that giraffe disappear?

Of course I can.

Then make me disappear too.

Jep...

if I could really
make people disappear,

you think I'd still be here at my age
playing these circus games?

It's just a trick.

It's just a trick.

Romano, how did it go?

It went well.
They clapped.

I'm glad.

Why do you look so sad?
- I'm not sad.

What's with the giraffe?

For a magic show.
I'll come see your show tomorrow.

I'm not doing
the show tomorrow.

Why?
You said it went well.

I'm leaving.

I'm going back
to my home town for good.

I'm not even stopping by my place.
I'm leaving it all.

I've lived in this city
for 40 years.

And in the end I thought...

the only person
who deserved a good-bye

was you.

What do you mean,
you're leaving?

Roma'...
why are you leaving?

Rome has been
a real disappointment.

Bye,Jep-

See?

- Want some coffee?
- No, thanks. I won't take up your time.

I came to ask you something.

Go ahead.

Why did Elisa leave me?

I don't know.

Didn't she say anything
about it in her diary?

No, I don't think so.

Would you be offended
if I asked to read it?

No, I wouldn't be offended.

In fact, I'd understand
very well.

But I'm afraid I can't.
- Why not?

I threw it away
a few days after the funeral.

May I introduce my girlfriend?

Nice to meet you.
My name's Polina.

Like Polina in Dostoyevsky's
The Gambler.

What will you two do tonight?

Nothing.

Polina's going
to finish ironing.

Then we'll have
a glass of red wine,

watch a little TV,

and go to bed.

What about you?

I'll have quite a few drinks,

but not enough
to become a nuisance.

And then...

when you two are getting up,

I'll be going to bed.

What lovely people you are!

I love conga lines!

I'll fuck you!

“Who am I?”

That's how
one of Breton's novels began.

And of course in the book
there's no reply.

Did you hear about Viola?
- What?

She's donating everything
to the church.

She helps out at the parish
and is going to volunteer in Africa.

The conga lines
at our parties

are the best in Rome.

- The best?
- That's right.

Because
they don't go anywhere.

- How is it?
- Really great, Jep.

Come on, it's all gone.

Why did you leave me?

Please,
I want an explanation.

Go away! Get out!

You see all these people?

They can't do anything.

But there's something
I do well.

Something we do well.

How sweet!

For years people
have been asking why I don't write

another novel.

But look at these people.

This Wildlife.

This is my life...

and it's nothing.

Flaubert wanted to write a book
about nothing but failed,

so how am I supposed to?

It's good.
Thanks, rascal.

What inspired this exhibit?

Honestly,
the idea wasn't mine.

My father came up with it.

When I was born, he started
taking pictures of me every day.

One picture per day.

He never forgot,
not even once.

From the age of 14 on,
I kept it up.

I took pictures
of myself every day.

Have a look.

- Cardinal.
- Your Eminence.

Cardinal, when will
the saint arrive in Rome?

On Thursday, but please
don't call her the saint.

She is a saint,

but not technically.

Tell me something:
Who's that cardinal?

- That's Bellucci.
- Bellucci?

The one in line to be -
- Exactly.

The papal throne awaits him.

I met him at Giada Ricci's
carnival party.

It's said that as a young man
he was Europe's best exorcist.

- You pulling my leg?
- No.

I never joke about the devil.

I am very, very bored.

We're having
a very, very good time.

You cut up the duck

and brown it over a high flame
for 15 minutes.

At that point -

Cardinal, do you remember me?
Lello Cava.

We met
at Giada Ricci's party.

I was dressed as a hooker.

Come, everyone.
They're serving lunch.

I'd like you meet
my writer friend,

Jep Gambardella.
- A writer!

This country needs writers.

Actually I thought
it needed priests more.

Help...

- May I ask you a question?
- Of course, my dear man.

For some time now...

from a spiritual point of view -

- Shall we see the skunks later?
- Absolutely! I'll lead the way!

I know the grounds well.

Jep Gambardella,
king of socialites, you're losing it.

I've been losing it for 40 years.
It's a steady decline.

Tell me something, Stefa'.

Have we ever slept together?

Of course not.

That's a crying shame.

We have to rectify that.

Idiot!

Thank goodness.

There's something wonderful left
for us to enjoy together.

The future is
a marvelous thing, Stefa'.

To be honest, Catellani hasn't had
much worsted fabric in recent years.

In my opinion, Rebecchfs still
the best tailor in Rome.

- Who are you?
- A hard-working man

who, while you play
the artist,

and have fun with your friends,

keeps this country going.

I keep this country going,

but many people
don't yet understand that.

Imagine that, Dadina.

My neighbor was Giulio Moneta,
one of the world's

10 most-wanted men,

and I never realized it.

You've changed.
You're always thinking.

Maybe I should do
what Romano did.

I'm not fit for this life
or this city anymore.

No one's fit for shit, Jep.
Take it from the queen of misfits.

Everything around me is dying.

People who are younger
than me, things.

Right before my eyes,
and I -

And you're suffering,
and you don't understand.

How's the soup, Jeppino?

The soup's good.

Why did you call me Jeppino?
No one's called me that in ages.

Because every now and then,

a friend should help a friend feel
like he did as a child.

How can I make you feel
like a little girl?

No need for that.
I feel like that every day.

I've been blessed to see the world
from that perspective for 60 years.

You know of Sister Maria,
the African missionary,

the one they call the saint?

Sure, she's coming to Rome
to receive some honor.

Exactly. She's only granted
three interviews in all her life.

Yours will be memorable.
- Look how I did with Giulio Moneta!

This is different.

She studied in Italy as a girl
and speaks Italian.

She read your novel
back then and loved it.

She wants to meet you. I organized
a dinner at your house tomorrow.

Did I do well?
- Very well.

Tomorrow I'll have the honor
of dining with her.

- At the Holy Father's?
- No.

At Jep Gambardella's.

You see?
The pope even had

the cloistered nuns come.

Sisters, sisters, sisters!

Sisters, sisters.
Perfect.

The Red Cross nurses!

What robust women!

Handsome young men!

Very nice.

Let's go.

The saint's assistant called.

The saint would like Count and
Countess Odescalchi to come too.

They treated her like a sister
when she lived here.

- You know them?
- Of course, but they're not here.

The nobility are all in London,
at Philip's granddaughter's wedding.

Let's call the Colonnas of Reggie!

The nobility for hire?
They're dead.

Nonsense.
They're immortal.

The saint won't even notice.
It's been 70 years.

Count Colonna speaking.

Yes, we're available.

Ah, for tonight.

Our rate is 250 euros
per person for the evening,

plus the cost of a rental car.

What you suggest would be
a bit humiliating for us.

We're willing to be hired
as the Colonnas of Reggio.

But passing ourselves off
as the Odescalchis...

I don't know.

We were at war
for two centuries.

It feels immoral.

Cut at least
12 pieces of rabbit,

leaving aside
the kidneys, liver, and head.

Gently brown.

Don't forget thyme,
bay leaves, and rosemary.

Then add red wine,
Ligurian olives, and pine nuts.

And in one hour you have
Ligurian-style rabbit.

Sister Maria, what convent
are you staying at?

Actually,
we're at the Hassler Hotel

near the Spanish Steps,

but Sister Maria
finds it uncomfortable.

I've never heard the Hassler
called “uncomfortable.”

Oh, it's very comfortable...

but Sister Maria isn't used
to sleeping in a bed.

She sleeps on a cardboard pallet
on the floor.

Do you have any visits planned?

Sister Maria
will of course climb

the Scala Sancta
at St. John's on her knees.

Have you done that?
- I'd have liked to,

but I have a bad knee.

Orthopedic problems
are negligible

in the light of
the partial indulgence afforded

by the Scala Sancta.

That's true.

Now, another specialty
of mine is lamb with -

Does Sister Maria
still work with the sick?

Twenty-two hours a day,

every day-

She washes them, feeds them.
You ought to see her.

Despite her age,
she doesn't walk, she runs.

She's tired now,

but only because
she's not with her patients.

How old is she?

She'll be 104 in October.

- That's a lot.
- I thought she was much older.

Longevity, like everything else,

is no accident.

About Sister Maria's
interview with Jep -

Interview?

There must be
some misunderstanding.

Sister Maria hasn't granted
interviews since 1971,

after certain people
misunderstood

the reason
for her mission in Chad.

Of course, but considering
her admiration for Jep's work -

You told rne she enjoyed
The Human Apparatus.

She found it
beautiful and fierce...

like the world of men.

Great! There would be no risk
of any misunderstanding,

Sister Maria can review the text -

- No, I'm sorry.
- Don't insist.

I'm sorry if certain
false hopes were aroused,

but there's absolutely
no question of any interview.

Why do you do all the talking?

Why not let Sister Maria talk?

Ma'am...

I took a vow of poverty.

And you don't talk

about poverty.

You live it.

Such true and righteous
and powerful words!

Do you need anything,
ma'am?

- She needs the bathroom.
- It's on the left.

The change of diet
isn't good for her.

In Mali
Sister Maria only eats

1 1/2 ounces
of plant roots a day.

Me too sometimes,
in the evening, as a light meal,

I fix some splendid
bitter roots with lemon.

You scrape the roots clean
with a knife

and cut them
into small chunks -

Cardinal, remember
when we met at that wedding?

You were there too.

I felt the need to ask you

about matters
close to my heart

involving faith

and the depths of spirituality.

But then you got distracted.

You can ask me now.

- No, there's no point.
- Why?

I'd be very disappointed
to discover

you actually had no answers.

I'm just saying it's a possibility,

and I think -

Anyway- --

I apologize for earlier.

There is one question
I'd really like to ask you.

Are the rumors true?

That you were a truly great...

exorcist?

Sister Maria!

Sister Maria!

Saint.

Stop saying “saint”!
Her name is Sister Maria.

Sister Maria.

Where's that bitch hiding?

Sister Maria!

Come, Elisabetta.
Let's go to bed.

You go ahead.
I'm going upstairs for a moment.

Don't be too late.

In this room, in 1930,

Princess Antonietta gave birth
to her only daughter,

Elisabetta Colonna of Reggie.

The princess died
after giving birth.

Young Elisabetta,
in these opulent rooms,

led a happy
and carefree childhood.

But a few years later,

Prince Erminio's
financial hardships

forced him
to sell the property.

They're migrating west,

but now they're resting.

Did you know

that I know
the Christian names

of all of these birds?

Why...

did you never write
another book?

I was looking
for the great beauty...

but...

I never found it.

Do you know...

why...

I only eat roots?

No, why?

Because roots are important.

Now there's something
I want to show you.

This is how it always ends:

in death.

But first there was life...

hidden beneath
the blah, blah, blah.

Everything's settled
to the bottom

beneath all the hubbub
and noise.

The silence and the emotion...

the excitement and the fear...

the fleeting and sporadic
flashes of beauty...

amid the wretched squalor
and human misery -

all buried beneath
the awkward predicament

of existing in this world,
blah, blah, blah.

What lies beyond lies beyond.

That is not my concern.

Therefore...

let this novel begin.

After all...

it's just a trick.

Yes...

it's just a trick.

THE GREAT BEAUTY