All language subtitles for Between.Revolutions.2023.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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The river and the moon
are splitting me in two

And the night is like blood
flowing from my mouth.

We used to be one, we used to be one

I never knew cliffs could be so wild.

Falling like in a dream of sickles,
There is the moon

And the river splitting me in two,
I say it again

We used to be one,

We used to be one.

Dear Zahra,

How are you?

Did you arrive well?

It's hard to realise we won't be
classmates in the final year.

Bucharest will be
different without you here.

After you left, I stayed there,
on the bright sidewalk.

When I turned to leave,
my skin was too tight

and the tree next to me
had withered in the scorching sun.

Its shadow had grown thin.

I stayed there long enough
to see you fly above me.

I know which way the plane went.

It went East.

When will you be back?

Dear Maria,

I arrived safely home, in Tehran.

The first thing I felt was emptiness.

The emptiness of not being with you.

I wish you were here,
so I could show you my favourite places.

I wish I could tell you
I will return soon, but I don't know yet.

Something important is happening here.

Something I want to be part of.

People are not afraid anymore.

They feel the time has come for change.

I work side by side
with my father, writing manifestos.

I write down his ideas
and we hand them out to people.

Each day we try to use fewer words,

to write clearer messages.

United, we will defeat the Shah.

United, we will defeat imperialism.

My dear,

Now most of my memories include you.

I have brought you into all of them,

even my old ones.

I feel like the voice in my head
has always spoken with you.

I went to the seaside
for a few days, with my sister Anca.

I sat on the beach,
I looked into the distance

and I imagined you.

Over a sea and some mountains.

In the streets of Tehran.

Among people.

Happy and confident
of the changes in your country.

But please be careful,

don't put yourself in danger.

I would like you to come back,
after all of this.

And to go to the seaside with you.

To jump into the water.

This time I won't be afraid to jump.
I will hold your hand.

Between Revolutions

Down with the Shah!

Glory to Islam!

Allahu akbar!

Workers, peasants and the oppressed

will be united
to exterminate exploitation.

The day Khomeini urges me to holy war,

The whole world's armies
will not stand against me.

[The Shah has fled.]

When the noise is so loud
that you can't hear your own voice,

but you know you do have a voice.

When you are needed there.

When the street has become
a symbol of something else.

When thousands are marching in the street,

and you are one of them,

and it is a force of nature.

From some point on, the people
engulf the geography of the city,

their feet carve out a new road
to lead them further.

This gives you power.

My father is very confident.

He speaks with people in the streets.

He tells them we need
a fair, solidary society.

He is so happy
we're living this together.

We don't want to start
any ideological debate,

despite the many scientific arguments

and logical reasons
supporting our beliefs.

Our ideology is not a matter
of today or yesterday,

nor does it
belong to this society.

It is the outcome
of man's evolutionary process.

My dearest Zahra,

I am happy for your enthusiasm.

I know your energy can move mountains,
I've always admired you for it.

Here I only found
a short article in a newspaper.

It said the Shah had fled
and Imam Khomeini had returned to Iran.

I don't know who he is, but his photo
looked stern and frowning to me.

How is the mood there,
how are you and your family?

Meanwhile, I graduated and
was assigned to a village clinic.

Far away from my parents in Bucharest,
in an unfriendly place.

I asked to be transferred
back to Bucharest.

But they didn't approve my request.

I would like to be
in control of my own destiny.

The women we are seeing on screen

are only a few of those
we constantly see around us,

of the millions of women
in Romania and around the globe.

This year, which is dedicated to them,
they do the same as always:

they give birth, live happily,

work, feel intensely,

think,

suffer, and hope.

These are only a few of them.

I build brick by brick
up to my ankle,

To my waist,
to my breasts.

My body becomes
twofold inside the wall.

My blood flows into the bricks
through my palms

Then flows back
burning into my temples.

My hair has a heady smell of mortar.

My bricks are close together
like blades of grass.

I yearn for the supreme intimacy,
when, strangely,

The wall will start burning like me.

Last night I thought I saw them again.

Those men in black coats.

The ones who followed us
when we were in university.

They were in a car,
near my apartment.

As I was walking, I looked
towards the car and our eyes met.

I froze suddenly.

I picked up the pace
to get away from their eyes.

I read what you wrote
and I shuddered.

I hope you are safe now.

Please, be careful.

Write back as soon as you can.

People here are already
talking about an Islamic Republic,

and that scares me.

The ones who came to power
have started the crackdown.

They are after
intellectuals, leftists,

people who wanted
something else, like my father.

They are just like
those men in black coats.

Last week, they shut down
my father's organisation.

They consider it illegal.

But we still have hope.

The fight is not yet lost.

Zahra, my dear, I am so sorry.

Why are good people always pushed aside?

The ones who give us hope.

Those who fight and
sacrifice themselves for others.

Remember when you told me
this would be a new beginning?

"The Shah is overthrown!"

"Dictatorship is over!"

You dreamed of a fair society.

You told me
about Mossadeq, about hope.

Isn't this the revolution you dreamed of?

Freedom is our culture!

Silence is our disgrace!

I don't think
the revolution was in vain.

I saw so much hope,

so much joy on people's faces.

We all thought it was a new beginning.

Better, more dignified.

I try not to think of the worst,
to remain optimistic.

Down with the conservatives!

Down with the conservatives!

Down with women not wearing the hijab!

Glory to those wearing the hijab!

I voted for the Islamic Republic,

hoping that I will enjoy

the same rights as a Muslim man,

so that I can serve my country.

Meanwhile, as I work in the law field,

I hope to be able to pursue my activities.

I haven't voted yet.

I'd love to, but I have no idea
about what the Islamic Republic involves.

Unlike my wife, I intend to take part
and vote for the Islamic Republic.

In my small night there is fear of ruin

Listen, do you hear
the howl of the darkness?

I, like a stranger,
look at this good fortune,

Addicted to my own despair.

Listen, do you hear
the howl of darkness?

My dear,

it's been three years
since graduation, imagine!

I felt captive at the clinic.

I was finally transferred
back home, to Bucharest.

It wasn't easy getting the transfer.

Now I work in a big hospital.

But I quickly realised
this place isn't much better.

Everywhere, you have to obey the rules.

To do as they say.

I was glad to be near my parents,
but now I feel constrained.

My father was told by
the Secret Police about our letters.

He forbade me
to write to you again.

He insists that
I get married and start a family.

We all come to
that 12 o'clock in our lives,

when the clock hands are one,

with the women and the men we love.

The loveliest newlyweds
are always the young ones.

Their purpose on earth is,

at the greatest hour
of their biological destiny,

to create new life from their life,
new love from their love.

I am afraid of all the eyes around me.

Of all the suspicious gazes.

I'm afraid of the innuendos.

I'm afraid of words.

Forgive me for not writing in so long.

My father disappeared one month ago.

We've searched for him
everywhere, asked everyone.

We were told
it's best to stop searching.

I can't stop looking for him.

Sometimes I see him in the street.

I run, I touch him,
and he turns around.

But it's not him.

My father,
who was my revolution.

The one who taught me hope.

The power to imagine the future.

Now I can't imagine
anything anymore.

Zahra!

I cannot imagine
what you are going through.

I'm so angry that
I'm not allowed to visit you.

To be close to you again.

I will write to you whenever I can,
no matter what happens.

Even if words disappear,

even if someone
erases them by force.

I don't care.

I'll be your shield
and nothing evil will touch you.

Let us be one,
let's fight together.

Like that time,
when you stayed by my side.

When we had to whisper
so no one could hear us.

Back then, when we were followed.

When everything between us
had to stay between us.

But it didn't,

because they know everything.

Everything we write,

everything we speak,

everything we think.

The river and the moon
are splitting me in two.

And the night is like blood
flowing from my mouth.

We used to be one, we used to be one.

I never knew cliffs could be so wild.

Back then, my dear.

When I was afraid for us.

When you told me not to leave.
Not to leave you.

But I didn't listen to you.

Even my memories have grown tangled

since my father disappeared.

Their lines are all blurry.

Time is wearing thin.

No one has thought of love,

no one has thought of triumphs,

no one has thought of anything.

Five years have passed since
the start of the war with Iraq.

It has turned our lives upside down.

My oldest nephew
has joined the military.

He's only 15.

If he dies, we'll become
the family of a martyr.

I am not a mother, so in my family
my voice is not heard.

I cannot talk with anyone
about this child's sacrifice.

But I would do anything to stop him.

To stop this war.

My sisters are
more dedicated than anyone.

Their shoulders bear
the staggering weight of the revolution.

After all, they are
the messengers of Hussain.

Messengers of the blood of their children,

husbands and brothers who became martyrs.

And the grenades they cast forth
with their fragile hands

seem to be the same grenades
that their brethren launch

against enemy tanks.

Indeed, the strength in their arms

is due to the healing
blood in their veins.

That is why they are sent to war.

They are sent to avenge

and to take back what
rightfully belongs to this land.

To avenge the injustice

that turned our garden into
barren, ruin-studded ground.

My dear,

I stand by the window
and look far away.

The sky is dark and low,
like something is about to happen.

We are waiting.

We try to convince ourselves
the cold is just a state of mind,

controllable by willpower.

But it doesn't work anymore.

Romania is not the place
you used to know.

It's gloomier, darker.

A lot has changed in these 10 years.

Just as we have changed.

My only joy are the letters from you.

I will reply, although
I've been forbidden to.

I married Marius,
a hospital colleague.

I couldn't keep fighting my parents.

I felt cornered.

I had to do it.

I think about you often.

Sometimes I wear the earrings
you gave me when you left.

I look in the mirror and imagine
you getting closer to me.

Our reflections become one.

In the Name of God.

Of God we are
and to Him we return.

The exalted soul of the leader

of muslims and freedom-loving people,

Imam Khomeini
has ascended to Heaven.

My house was broken into.

My things were scattered everywhere.

Turned upside down.

My beloved books, my family albums,

my diary,

the letters from you.

I knew they were not burglars.

Because I am continuing my father's work.

Because I still believe
in what he believed.

I saw my whole life
pulled out of drawers.

I breathed a sigh of relief
that I was not home when it happened

and that I'm still alive.

I try not to question all that happened
since my return from Romania.

This is of utmost importance,
not questioning anything.

Believing in myself.

As I was a few years ago.

Down with Ceaușescu!

[Friendship]

The army stands with us!

When thousands are marching in the street

and you are one of them,

and this is a force of nature.

I remembered your stories about Iran.

That energy in the streets.

The hope that your voice is heard.

Among the thousands of others.

At the hospital,
there were many wounded.

I felt I was truly on the front line.

Marius wasn't with me,
he stayed home.

I felt alone.

Things are happening so fast,

I don't have time
to think about them.

We are supposedly free now.

But I know from you
that victories can be confiscated.

Dear Zahra,

I hope you are well.

I kept waiting for your letters.

I have a feeling
something bad has happened to you.

But I hope I am wrong.

We were so happy
about the fall of the regime.

We felt free.

But it's been a year,

and our money is becoming worthless.

We can't afford anything anymore.

We've lost our bearings.

We fear for our jobs.

My parents are in constant panic.

They've just retired.

They barely manage.

At least Marius is doing something.

He left the hospital and
opened a small business.

He sells tobacco and sweets
that be brings from Turkey.

I've been thinking about us lately.

I quite hesitated to ask you...

All this time I thought
you left for your revolution.

But maybe there were other reasons.

Maybe you chose the safer path.

Maybe you thought
you'd protect me by leaving.

I wish we could stand face to face.

Look at each other,
talk to each other.

Tell each other all these things.

I wish we could start all over again.

I can't remember your voice.

I look at our photos.

We were always so close to each other

that I found it easy
to cut out our silhouettes.

I want to zoom into them,
because they are fading.

When do people start
to fade away from paper?

We are fading together.

When I imagine you talking to me,

I'm not even sure
it's your voice I'm hearing.

Sometimes I think it's my own,

just myself in my head,

and that frightens me.

Where are you now?

Please, at least tell me you are well.