All language subtitles for blood.of.the.beasts.1949.internal.bdrip.x264-manic

BLOOD OF THE BEASTS

Narration Written by
JEAN PAINLEVÉ

Narrated by
GEORGES HUBERT and NICOLE LADMIRAL

Written and Directed by
GEORGES FRANJU

AT THE GATES OF PARIS

On the outskirts of Paris,
the vacant lots where poor children play

are scattered with unique relics
of riches past.

Displayed and offered for the delight

of curio seekers,
poets and strolling lovers

here, on the edge of city life,
amid trucks and trains.

At Porte de Vanves
is the Vaugiraud slaughterhouse.

Despite the taurine statues,

the municipal slaughterhouse
specializes in the slaughter of horses.

IN HONOR OF EMILE DECROIX
PROPONENT OF HORSE MEAT

The tools used vary
according to the animal:

the rush, or reed...

the poleax...

the captive-bolt pistol,
whose impact kills the animal instantly.

After being bled, the horse is hoisted up
to complete the draining of blood.

It is then lowered for flaying.

Compressed air is pumped under the skin
to make the task easier.

The feet are detached and removed.

The hooves will become fertilizer,

and the bones will be made
into bone black

or ladies' toiletries.

The delicate task of flaying
with a razor-sharp lancet

is not without danger.

While flaying a horse,
Ernest Bruyet severed his femoral artery.

His right leg had to be amputated.

This black horse was slaughtered
by Alfred Macquart,

a holder of the prestigious
“Best Worker in France” diploma.

Auguste Macquart, his grandfather,

was a founding father of meatpacking
at the turn of the last century.

On the outskirts of Paris,

the Ourcq canal
and the Wheels of Fortune.

Porte de Pantin,
the La Villette market.

The slaughterhouse is linked
to the market by a bridge

to transfer the cattle.

In the deafening din of pneumatic hoists,

the slaughterers and scalders work

in the gray steam rising
from the blood of the beasts.

Maurice Griselle,
former French boxing champion.

André Brunier, one of the best
poleaxers in the Villette.

Inserting the reed
into the medullary canal

pierces and destroys the spinal cord,
suppressing the animal's reflexes.

The pressing completes
the draining of the blood,

most of which is collected
in containers.

Gutters catch the overflow.

Disembowelment is performed
while the hoist is raised.

The fatty scraps
will be collected by nuns.

Henri Fournel can split an ox
while the clock strikes noon.

To keep veal meat white,
decapitation is used to drain all blood.

The dead animal still twitches,
but they're only involuntary reflexes.

The heads are stamped
to identify and count the cattle.

This isn't a chapel to St. John the Baptist,
patron saint of butchers,

nor to his gentle lamb.

It's the auction block
of the slaughterhouse.

The sheep are led by the “traitor”.

He knows the way,
and his life will be spared.

The others follow obediently, bleating

like condemned men who sing
yet know their song to be useless.

To be skinned, the sheep are “punched.”

Years of this difficult task can lead
to a cyst on the worker's wrist.

“I shall strike you without anger
and without hate, like a butcher, ”

wrote Baudelaire.

Without anger, without hate,

with the simple cheerfulness of killers
who whistle or sing as they slit throats,

for they must earn
their own daily bread and that of others

with the wages of a difficult
and often dangerous profession.

The sea we see dancing

Along the bright bays

The silvery glints of the sea

Reflections changing in the rain

The sea

In the summer sky

The clouds like fleecy sheep

Seem angels on high

The sea

Shepherdess of infinite blue

See

By the pond
The tall, damp reeds

See

The white birds
The rusting houses

The sea

The day is ending.

In the pen, the sheep, still agitated,
will fall asleep in the silence.

They won't hear the gates
of their prison closing,

nor the Paris-Villette train,

which sets off after nightfall
for the countryside

to gather tomorrow's victims.