Original subtitles

DAY ONE

[person giggles]

[rotary phone dialing]

[in Danish] Hi. This is Niels.

Did I wake you up?

I just thought I'd let you know it's all on the disk.

I thought I'd start making a printout.

Oh, about 4:00.

Uh-huh.

Yeah, I'll do that.

Yeah.

Yes. I'll start right now.

THE COP AND THE WHORE A SCREENPL

[Cæcilia] A what? A "screenpl"!

Listen, you know what?

It just stopped dead.

I think you ought to come over here.

Take me to Store Kongensgade.

If you keep driving like this, you'll soon owe me money.

[Cæcilia] Arizona?

What did you say? I can barely hear you.

[laughs] Yes.

No, no. Don't worry about it.

When are you coming home?

Okay. I'll make dinner on Saturday.

Right. Great.

No, no.

I'll make something special.

It's for you, Lars.

Lars just came in. I'll hand you over to him.

See you on Saturday.

It's Claes in Arizona.

Is this the film consultant?

How nice.

We just finished it. We're making a printout now.

We assume you're going to pick it up on Saturday.

No problem finishing it on schedule.

Oh, about 200 pages.

215, 216 pages.

We'll probably cut it down a bit.

Yeah, we'll probably do that.

Compress it a little.

Just a few cuts.

Anything can happen.

Have a good trip,

and we'll see you...

on Saturday.

Great, Claes. Niels sends his regards.

Great. Goodbye.

I checked the disk.

There's nothing left.

Not much for him to pick up.

Damn!

- [Niels] What's Claes doing over there? - [Lars] He bought a windbreaker.

Another one.

He's got a windbreaker fetish.

THE COP & THE WHORE

How the hell did we start this story?

Was the whore in from...

Was she in the opening?

I really can't remember how it started.

I vaguely remember the ending.

The middle of the film is foggy.

But the beginning...

Actually...

I didn't much like The Cop & the Whore.

It had its good moments.

Name one.

I'd like it

if we...

wrote something more dynamic.

[narrator] A fateful coincidence

can often be so sinister and fantastic in character

that one is tempted

to draw apparently logical

but actually unfounded conclusions.

During the course of five days,

the manuscript of Epidemic

was created and written down

in and around this apartment.

That an actual epidemic was approaching during these five days,

and that its awful outbreak would coincide with the completion of the script,

was one of these coincidences.

[feet stepping]

[person] "Fathers left their children.

Wives left husbands.

Brother left brother.

For the disease attacked both through breathing and sight.

And thus they died,

and no one could be induced to bury them at any price.

Family members dragged their dead to open graves

without benefit of clergy, eulogy or tolling of bells.

Throughout Siena, mass graves were filled with victims.

I, Agnolo di Tura, called 'the Fat One,'

buried my five children with my own hands.

Some were covered with such a thin layer of dirt

that dogs dug them up and devoured the bodies."

Ah.

This describes the atmosphere.

Normally, there were funeral processions

for the wealthy,

and there were tolling bells, and the priest said Mass.

Now, such a ceremony was forbidden in many places, as were bells,

for the constant tolling

would cause even greater anguish

and perhaps greater sickness.

For purely religious reasons,

as a form of protection against evil spirits,

a cross was marked on the door to guard those inside.

Later, a cross came to mean

the house was infected.

Thus, people were warned off.

The Great Plague of 1348 saw harsher methods employed.

When the first victims were found outside Milan,

Archbishop Bernabò Visconti ordered

all plague-infected houses to be sealed up with bricks

with the family inside.

Uh-huh. Ah.

Thus, Milan escaped the plague.

Three families were sealed in to die of plague and hunger.

So Milan had no plague because it isolated itself [clears throat]

from other plague-ridden cities?

Yes, but it was hit that much harder when the next plague came.

Uh-huh. [chuckles]

CERTIFICATE OF DEATH E. MESMER, PHYSICIAN

The archives stored here under these arches

are Denmark's memory.

Let's see if we can find you something interesting.

The walls are probably not what you'd expect to find.

That's saltpeter coming out of the walls.

It comes from the wall itself...

probably because the ground is so damp.

In the old days, before we understood the problem,

some of the staff were afraid to come down here,

especially in the dark,

because of the strange sounds, pops,

when the saltpeter cracked off more plaster.

It's a kind of wall disease.

[plaster cracking]

[person, in English] Look at me when I'm talking to you, Dr. Mesmer.

Swine.

Apostate.

Traitor.

Renegade.

Creep.

Quisling.

I hold here your application, Dr. Mesmer.

You have applied for permission to terminate your research...

here at the hospital.

I understand that you wish to undertake

a medical practice in the infected areas

outside the city, knowing full well

that the Academy of Doctors has decided

that no treatment can be given for this disease.

Damn it, Mesmer, I could never give you permission

to leave for those areas.

It's quite impossible.

You know that well.

I beseech you for the very last time

to reconsider your attitude, Mesmer.

Dr. Mesmer is ashamed of being a doctor, I would say.

Let's call him an idealist.

The disease doesn't frighten Dr. Mesmer.

But which medicament lies hidden in his doctor's bag?

What has he in mind to prescribe?

- Aspirin. - And rest.

You haven't a chance, Mesmer.

You wouldn't be able to stay alive out there for one single day.

The air is infected.

And the soil.

And the water.

Early one morning, you leave the protective walls of our city.

Your courage has brought you this far, Dr. Mesmer...

and the world lies open.

But the closer you get to the infected areas,

it seems as if the elements turn against you.

It may start with a light cough.

But quickly, and without mercy,

the respiratory organs are disabled by the infected air.

The bacteria in the soil

penetrates the skin and the flesh by the mere contact.

And the water you drink

will you destroy you from inside.

Let me make you an offer, Dr. Mesmer.

As you probably know,

I am chairman of the crisis commission,

which was established in the early days of the epidemic

as advisers to the government.

Confidentially, I can tell you

that the government has just decided to resign,

partly due to the acuteness of the situation,

partly in acknowledgment of its own mismanagement.

In short, His Majesty has requested

that I form a provisional government.

This envelope, Dr. Mesmer,

contains the cabinet list which will be presented

to His Majesty this very afternoon.

This list features exclusively names

attached to this faculty

All members with incontestable medical qualifications.

This list also includes your name, Dr. M.

"Prime minister, Professor Ulrich, neurology.

Minister of foreign affairs, Dr. Oswald, obstetrics.

Minister of finance, Professor Gallt, gynecology.

Minister of justice, Dr. Horst, orthopedics.

Minister of interior, Professor Rosenberg, surgery.

Minister of transport, Dr. Janis, urology.

Minister of agriculture and fisheries, Dr. Magnus, psychiatry.

Minister of education, Professor Stingnik, anesthetics.

Minister of ecclesiastical affairs, Dr. Lindeman, pathology."

As you may have noticed, Mesmer,

I have, among others, omitted the ministry of cultural affairs,

which gives me an opportunity to offer you an appointment

as minister without portfolio.

You underestimate the danger of this disease, Dr. Mesmer.

Would you please call in Dr. Magnus?

I know epidemiology is your field, Dr. Mesmer.

I take it, therefore, that you have come across the mysterious phenomenon

commonly known as "king rat."

A bundle of three or four rats

who have had their tails so helplessly entangled

that consequentially they all starve to death.

In the Great Plague years,

the finding of king rats always gave warning of the coming of the disease.

Just before the black death in London in 1348,

a king rat was found which consisted of no less than five rats.

If you please, Dr. Mesmer,

this discovery was made in the cellar under the university

on the night between Friday and Saturday.

Seven rats.

Dr. Mesmer,

if you leave these premises to carry out your plans,

it is my duty to inform you

that by such action you will excommunicate yourself from the doctor syndicate.

From this moment on, you will be numbered amongst the patients.

Haven't you heard about the fortification around the city?

They have walled the doors and windows in the outskirts of the city.

You won't be able to overcome these obstacles.

[in Danish] I bought a goose to pickle...

DAY TWO "THE LINE"

...and then I'll boil it and bake it.

I also bought some truffles.

I don't know how I'll use them just yet.

I've also got a fish I'll cure.

All for Saturday's dinner.

[typewriter keys clacking]

Niels.

I understand you've settled on bubonic plague.

Nice boil.

"And no matter how hard and firm the boil might seem,

it could rupture unexpectedly, to the victim's surprise,

and spill forth a two-colored pus.

It was startling that the colors didn't mix,

but came out together,

by God's will,

without compounding into a third color."

Seems to me I've seen that in a tube of toothpaste.

I don't know if you can still get it. It was called Signal.

It was just like ordinary white toothpaste,

but there were thin red stripes in it too.

So you got a two-colored stripe when you squeezed the tube.

You mean that boils function on the same principle?

Yeah. Why not?

[narrator] The weather report for the second day of screenwriting

promised northeasterly winds

and the first frost of winter.

Many blamed the weather

for the wave of neck aches that came.

Others thought they had symptoms of influenza.

Headaches were nothing new for the authors.

They often came in the wake of ideas.

One detail I'd like to include is that after leaving the city —

which should burn behind him.

I really think it ought to.

After he leaves the city,

that's when the disease first starts to spread,

because he brings it with him in his doctor's bag.

Okay. Let's start.

Shall we call it "In the City"?

- Or perhaps just "City"? - "In Town." Yeah.

"In Town." Very good.

And about here, I think we ought to have

"Fortification."

That will be hard to read.

"Fortification."

And here we'll work our way out to the countryside.

What else is there?

Oh, yeah. About here, about two-thirds of the way — here.

Here we need some drama.

Please write "Drama" over there.

It's just that

that's when the audience will think about leaving.

- [laughing] So we've got to — - Put in some drama.

And this is — Right here, "Wag."

"Wag tann."

- If you don't mind. - No. What's it mean?

Well, this bacteria, which is moving closer,

which we refer to constantly,

ought to be accompanied

by strains of Wagner.

The overture to Tannhäuser.

In the beginning, he's an idealist.

So if we write "Ideal" in the beginning, not a bad idea.

Right. We write "Ideal."

We also ought to write "Revelation" here.

Maybe just "Rev."

So basically this boils down to the young idealist

who leaves the fortified city,

which is sealed because of suspicion of disease

somewhere nearby.

And we can use the painted crosses we talked about,

and people are imagining illnesses.

But the first real victim of the disease

ought to be the farsighted nurse.

Don't you think?

Clearly,

the doctor is somehow spreading the disease.

Without him and his idealism...

- There's no disease. - ...there would be no problem.

An arrow. Revelation leads to some religious ending.

Isn't it about time we had a small beer?

I think we could manage a beer.

A film ought to be like a pebble in your shoe.

Cheers.

Krüff is here.

Ask him what kind of wine we should drink on Saturday.

He knows a lot about wine.

[clears throat]

Some people can't drink wine without a candle on the table.

Some people can't live without a candle

when they drink good wine.

I'm one of them.

It should have been decanted so it could breathe.

[Niels] The bouquet is great.

Yes. Very fine, indeed.

- It's also very precise. - Yes.

It's...

from Marquis d'Angerville.

Probably a Clos des Ducs.

There are snails on it.

It's leaking.

Usually it's difficult to pour from a bottle like this.

Well, not this time, it seems.

But it's hard to see where the sediment is sitting.

[Niels] Now, if one chose this one

as the red wine for the main course...

One's better off than if one chose it as a white wine.

Yes, of course.

It would have to be a great deal older for that.

Superb wine.

- It's a shame that some was wasted. - [Niels] You've got a point.

Well, if we start with a white wine and then have this,

which white wine would you recommend?

Oh, I suppose...

there are two choices, either a Puligny-Montrachet

or a Meursault

or a Meursault Santenots,

because d'Angerville also makes

a Meursault Santenots.

So everything's kept in the family, so to speak.

[Niels] This Volnay Clos des Ducs

is better than it looks.

I'm very interested in epidemic diseases.

Wasn't there a plague

that attacked grapevines in France

a few hundred years ago?

[Krüff] In certain cases,

an Auslese can be attacked

by noble rot.

The widow...

The widow of Dr. Thanisch —

She was once married to a doctor.

He grew great wines.

[Niels] I was once told

by a waiter at Lasserre in Paris —

Um, he told me that...

there had been a plague of some kind in Bordeaux.

Not the labels on the bottles, as it were,

but the grapes on the vine.

It wasn't really a plague.

It was a kind of vine pest.

Phylloxera.

I think it was called Phylloxera vastatrix.

[Krüff] But it devastated French wine production for years, right?

[Niels] Yes. Phylloxera is the pest of all pests in that regard.

It also did...

some good.

Among other things, talented winegrowers...

DAY THREE "GERMANY"

What are you doing?

We're taking a trip to Germany.

I thought you'd be writing.

[Lars] One,

two,

three,

four,

five,

six,

seven, eight,

nine, ten.

[typewriter keys clacking]

We're driving through some of the worst areas in Europe.

Or perhaps the most interesting.

All Europe's industry is here

in big splotches on the map.

We'll drive through Dortmund and Essen,

Duisburg,

Krefeld,

Krefeld,

Neuss,

Düsseldorf.

We'll also be going through Remscheid,

Solingen,

Leverkusen,

Leverkusen.

That's the headquarters of Bayer Chemical.

And from there, we'll continue to Cologne.

Our friend Mesmer is on his way out

to disease-ravaged Europe.

I think it's about time for him...

to meet somebody.

I think I'd like to suggest...

that our friend here...

[turn signal clicking]

meet a theologian.

We've discussed

the length of various educations.

The fact that...

study for specific occupations has become very short

in a society where one can plan only a few hours ahead,

because the disease spreads at record speed.

Let's suppose that this theologian got an education...

that took, say, an hour and a half.

That gives us a chance

to poke fun at religion.

And the educational system too.

That way we can get

a little humor into this tragedy.

[clears throat]

[singing] There's a place for us

Something else.

During the plague, people died in a matter of hours

and were buried quickly.

In the rush, some people were buried alive.

It might be a good idea

if Mesmer's girlfriend, the nurse,

met this fate.

That would fit in with Mesmer's mission.

[whimpering]

[narrator] On the third day, the bacteria was incubated in the soil.

The city could be divided into zones by degree of infection.

Modern transportation helped spread the bacteria quickly.

In just a few hours, the germs reached new parts of the globe.

Niels.

"Signal Plus.

Effective prevention.

Clinically proven."

Thanks.

[clears throat]

Now we'll reveal everything.

The secret.

It's quite firm.

I'll make...

an incision here.

[Niels] Tough tube, huh?

I'll cut down like this.

Very tough indeed. Maybe that's part of the secret.

We open it up here, and we can now see

that there are no stripes inside.

The white stuff is down here,

and the red is up here.

And how do they combine?

It looks like a nozzle.

There's a nozzle in which the white stuff pulls

the red stuff along with it out through the opening.

Yeah.

- And that's the story of Signal. - Plus.

[doorbell chimes]

- [in English] Hello, Niels. - Hello, Udo.

Hello, Lars. Come in.

Cheers.

So what are you doing in Cologne?

Well, uh, we are writing a script.

Here?

No, we are just, um, just here for a short time.

But how are you, Udo?

My mother just died.

Oh, I'm sorry.

She told me things she never told me before.

What things? What did she tell you?

About the hospital the day I was born.

She told me

there was this Luftangriff and she —

In the evening, she was in hospital

and in the evening the Krankenschwester were collecting all the babies

back to a different room,

which my mother could see from her room, uh, through a glass wall.

And then she told me she saw a brick wall coming down

and the nurse wanted to protect all the babies and jumped over it.

And her Haube fell down and it was all, kind of, blood spraying,

you know, out of her brain, her head, coming out.

And so my mother was completely

left in this corner, no way of getting out.

So she could, uh — She was thinking, she told me.

And then she made, with her hands, she scratched a hole in the wall

and she succeeded, finally.

And then she waved and people helped her to get out.

And then she got out and she told me

that she was pressing me very strong to her,

[sighs] and then, um, she was--

because the hospital, called Lindenburg,

it's very near the Richard-Wagner-Strasse.

So she was just — She wanted to go away and everything was, uh, burning

because of this — it was, uh,

it was the second, uh, second English Luftangriff

of Cologne and they're using,

as an experiment they tried the first time of using phosphor bombs.

So she was — I mean, everything was burning

and she was just getting away from all this,

and she found herself, all of a sudden, at this —

I don't know. You know the Aachner Weiher?

It's, um, it's at the end of Richard-Wagner-Strasse.

[Niels] Yeah, I know the Richard-Wagner-Strasse.

And if you go right to the end, there's a water place

and she got close to this

and she told me then that she saw — she heard first the noises.

And then she saw, I mean, screamings. And she saw —

She saw a lot of people and they were all under the water

because the only thing which they were instinctively doing

was going under the water because of this phosphor,

because it was burning, obviously, on the skin or something,

and they went down just to get their, you know, their head out to breathe.

And then,

[clears throat] my mother told me a terrible thing.

That she saw, you know, one, like, you know, one hand

was, uh, sticking out of —

of the water, and she said it was kind of, because she was very close,

so she could see the hand and it was kind of, you know,

only flesh because all the skin was burned off already.

And-and she didn't tell me.

She didn't tell me all, uh, all my life.

Just she waited to tell me just before she dies.

To tell me the story.

[crying]

Here we are. This is the Aachner Weiher.

And, of course, all these houses over there,

they were all, uh, burning, and also with this side.

And,

well, you cannot see it from here very well.

Let's go over there. You can see it better.

Well, this is the place where there were

hundreds and hundreds of people were standing in the water.

All these people screaming in this lake.

They were not Nazis. My mother was not a Nazi.

[in Danish] I think I know what to call the disease.

[car honks]

[priest, in English] I'm still not quite used to being a priest.

You know, in half a day you're a dentist.

It takes a whole day to become an airline pilot.

And in two you're a priest.

I studied for two days.

They gave me this book

and told me I was a priest.

I opened the book.

It was goddamn Latin.

I told them, "This book is goddamn Latin."

They told me I was a Catholic priest.

What the hell?

[Mesmer] A week ago, some 20 people

tried to flee the DIN disease by going to sea.

They built an artificial island with a couple of houses on it,

a few fields for crops,

everything they needed.

But you know, the island wasn't really constructed to overcome stone.

Yesterday, I was told someone found a fragment of the wreck.

Wouldn't you call this a good opportunity to perform a ritual?

This looks like the place.

This is it. Over there.

It's all right here.

The ceremony will begin.

Ah.

[speaking Latin]

Amen.

I'll begin now.

[chanting in Latin]

[gasping]

[knocks on glass]

[rolls down window]

- [in Danish] Good evening. - Your passport, please.

Thank you.

DAY FOUR "THE HOSPITAL"

Where's Niels?

Um, he's at the hospital.

Did he forget to tell you?

But I don't think —

I don't think he'll be long.

He made the appointment ages ago.

- Um... - What's the matter with him?

Don't ask me.

- You don't know what's wrong? - No, I'm afraid I don't.

- Is it his head or his legs? - I think it's his head.

[knocks]

[narrator] Things were still quiet at the hospital the fourth day.

The daily routine was still functioning smoothly.

Nothing was yet amiss.

What's the matter?

I had some small growths that were itching and getting bigger.

I've had them for some time.

They had to be removed.

It had to be today. I'd forgotten completely.

I'm not very happy about getting sliced open.

I fainted when I saw the scalpel.

He cut deep. He really did.

Well, if you feel up to writing something...

Okay.

I've certainly got the time.

- And the inspiration. - Oh, yes.

Thanks.

I told Palle

we were writing a horror story.

He said you were welcome to go down and visit him.

He's down in Pathology,

if you're interested.

It's a nice offer.

Are you squeamish about dissections?

Don't you want to?

[sighs]

I'm not sure about this.

I think it'd be very interesting,

but unfortunately, I can't go.

I just can't do it, Niels.

It's not for me. No!

[Niels] Take the elevator to the basement.

There's a train.

Get on and ask for Pathology.

A gown,

a cap

and a mask.

It's in there to the left.

Apparently there haven't been any symptoms,

nor are bodily functions impaired.

We only recently noticed

glandular tissue changes,

primarily in young people.

The first was the day before yesterday. Yesterday we had 12.

We've also had a few more cases today

with these tissue changes.

We call it "granula."

I think I'll examine the lymph nodes

in the groin, or here,

in back of the sternocleido.

If we have another case here, we ought to find something.

We don't usually do autopsies wearing mask and gloves,

but this is a new phenomenon.

Its nature is unknown, so we have to take precautions.

[metal tools clinking together]

I'll make an incision here.

Thank you. Hold here.

Take a look at this.

Two nodules the size of a pea.

Maybe a bit smaller.

These are the largest we've found up until now.

See? It's quite soft.

There you are.

[in English] They tell me the idiot doctor set the city on fire.

How about that, Mesmer?

Caused quite a panic, they say.

When the first believed DIN victims

were found within the city limits.

So the doctor set the infected areas on fire.

They know so little about fire.

It started spreading, Mesmer.

They tell me the fire jumped from the cathedral

to the university.

And from the university

to the museum...

which the idiot doctors

took over for administrative purposes.

Now, Ulrich and the boys have fled to the library.

It's silly, Mesmer.

To close the city and start playing with fire.

I guess the library's on fire too.

[panting]

What the hell?

All a nigger needs are loose shoes,

tight pussies and a warm place to shit.

[screaming]

DAY FIVE — "THE DINNER" (THE GIRLS FROM ATLANTIC CITY)

[narrator, in Danish] The authors had done what they could on the last day.

They had invented an incurable disease,

described its spread,

and based their work on the suffering of others.

The pages were filled.

I saw a movie, The King of Marvin Gardens.

It took place in Atlantic City.

Seems to be an exciting place.

And so I thought I would —

I'd get someone to write a book for me.

I'd like to see Atlantic City, but I can't afford the trip.

I don't really want to go.

But I'd like to know something about it

through knowledge by description.

Descriptions from others who lived there

or something like that.

I wanted to write about America in a way similar to Kafka.

His uncle supplied information about it.

But I'd do it by letter.

And then —

So I chose a limited area like Atlantic City,

found the names of the local papers, and wrote to them.

I pretended to be about 16 years old in my letters,

and I got appropriate answers...

mostly from 13- to 16-year-old girls,

who wrote lots of letters.

Really a lot of girls.

About 70 of them.

I answered them all using teenage handwriting.

I had to take copies of my letters.

[in English] "I was very happy to receive your letter. Thanks a lot."

I better start telling a little about myself.

[in Danish] Then I asked her,

[in English] "I would also like to hear about

what kind of sweets or candies you've got in USA."

[in Danish] And I got a detailed description of a Hershey bar.

But you had to stop writing at one point, didn't you?

Yeah. It got to the point where I couldn't continue.

It was too much after they'd described their carpet 17 times.

[clears throat]

[in English] "Dear, Niels. How has everything been with you?

I really missed receiving a letter from you,

and I thought the reason might be

that either my letters to you or your letter to me never arrived.

I sure hope that's the reason

because I want to continue corresponding with you.

I hope there wasn't some kind of problem in your family

which made you not write me back.

I have quite a lot to tell you, and I hope I receive a letter from you very shortly.

Your friend, Lisa."

[in Danish] I didn't write to her long. She was slower than the others.

In her first letter, she wrote she was coming to Copenhagen

in about two weeks.

She found my telephone number and called.

I met her at her hotel.

She was traveling through Europe with her aunt.

She was 14, but looked like she was at least 25.

She had a little black mustache, you know?

And I had to sit there and [clears his throat]

they asked as if I was 16,

so I had to act like a 16-year-old —

tell them about my school, homework and all that.

It was a little embarrassing.

It wasn't much fun. We sat in the lobby...

on this hotel furniture,

right next to the guy who gives out the keys.

We talked, and the aunt watched us like a hawk the whole time.

I styled my hair to look a little younger. [laughing]

But it really got to be too much, so I said to them,

[in English] Well, I dare say I must be getting home.

I have some homework to do. [laughs]

This is a recording of my voice.

I just thought I'd like to talk to you for a while.

I'm listening to the radio up in my room.

It might be a little loud. Hold on.

I'll turn it down a little.

I really like writing to you

because it gives me something to do and something to look forward to.

I don't know.

It's just nice learning about people who are different than you

because when you're born someplace and you live there all your life,

you don't get exposed to a lot of different kinds of people,

a lot of different places.

So the only way you really can is either going there,

or having them come here and talk to you, or writing back and forth.

And since I don't think my father's gonna let me come over there in the near future,

I'll have to settle for writing letters.

But one day, when I'm in Europe, I'll look you up. How does that sound?

And then you can see what I really look like,

'cause those pictures aren't very good at all.

You don't look like what I thought you'd look like.

No, you do not look like what I thought you look like.

Let me see. How did I picture you?

Oh, first of all, you look older than you are.

How old are you?

I don't remember. I sent you that article where it told.

Oh, well. You look older than that. You look —

You look about 20 to 2 1.

Are you goddamn talking to me?

What else? Oh. I don't know.

- You talking to me? - I didn't think you just looked like that.

- I don't know what you look like. - You talking...

Oh, well. Anyway, here I am here, sitting on the floor.

Uh-oh, my mother's calling me. Hold on.

Asking me whether I'd done something, which I did.

I'm such a good girl. I never do anything wrong.

And if you want, you can tape right back on this one.

Send this one back to me. You don't have to keep this.

You can erase right over my voice. Not gonna be worth anything.

[doorbell chimes]

[in Danish] Hi, Claes. Come in.

- Thanks. - We're sitting in there.

- Can I take your windbreaker? - No, thanks. I'll keep it on.

We'll start with a champagne,

a blanc de blancs from Salon.

- Cured coalfish. - What did you say?

- Cured coalfish! - Sounds great.

Cheers, and welcome home.

- Cheers. - Thanks.

Cheers.

Oh, yeah.

Mmm.

Terrific, huh?

[coughs]

You know, it's not a script in the traditional sense.

This is the written result of a year and a half's work?

Yeah.

Twelve pages?

Well, consider it as —

as a technical description of the film's plotline.

Mm-hmm.

The film's skeleton?

We thought we'd present the film

in a less traditional manner.

We've planned a surprise.

What kind of surprise?

We've invited some people over

who can help us put the script in its right perspective.

Well, okay. I'm not against it.

Just let me say, we've invested a lot of money in this,

and I've invested a lot of trust in you guys,

and there's the board of directors

who run the film industry

in this little country.

Their rule is,

you've got to have a script

of at least 150 pages.

How is it?

I think it's great.

There's nothing better than fresh truffles.

Their scent can fill a home.

Yeah. It's tasty.

I love truffles.

But they have to be fresh.

There are different kinds.

Some sinners put them in cans.

Then they're inedible.

That's an exaggeration!

They lose their taste.

True.

Well...

let me tell you something about the film Epidemic.

Or rather, let me explain the ending.

Our hero Mesmer has —

After having traveled around in this infected environment,

he's entrenched in this underground cave.

Niels thinks he should make a mosaic down there.

But that's a detail.

But after everyone else around him has died,

he hides in this cave so he won't fall ill

but discovers that he's the disease carrier.

And so he breaks out of this cave

by crawling along this long, steep passage and comes up,

kneels and thanks God for the life which once had been.

He crawls in a cave, comes out and thanks God?

Yeah.

It's pathetic at best.

I had expected there to be a little more action in it.

You know, the classic tragedy

where all the main characters finally fall down dead.

"Oh, I'm dying." You know?

People die, but it just doesn't happen on screen.

You'd like a bloodbath?

A 12-page manuscript and that ending...

I'm worried.

I'd expected something else.

Well, in films,

particularly Danish films —

and that's what fate has forced me to work with —

there are lots of stories

where people don't die when they should,

or fewer people die than ought to.

And there's fewer screams and less blood than there ought to be.

Where things ebb away, right?

As if an evening fog rolled in, and everything disappeared.

We're waiting for our guests.

Why didn't you tell me?

It was a surprise.

Well, in The Plague, Camus writes about a bookkeeper,

a great artist who tried to write a book and for decades had written

the same lines about a horse which comes down a boulevard.

[doorbell chimes]

He never got any further.

I think you should get that.

[doorbell chimes]

This is Gitte and Svend Hamann.

This is Lars, Claes from the film institute,

and Susanne.

If you'd sit here...

- And if you'd sit here... - Thanks.

Would you like some coffee?

No, thanks.

May we start?

Gitte, just relax and listen.

Would you all be very quiet? It must be quiet when we start.

No talk and no movements, okay?

Gitte, relax and look at me.

Just relax. You're closing your eyes.

Closing your eyes.

You hear everything I'm saying to you.

Concentrate on my voice.

You hear everything I'm saying to you.

You think about sleeping.

Just think about sleeping.

You slump in the chair. You slump down. You slump in the chair. You slump down.

Your head is getting heavy.

You sleep. You sleep.

You sleep deeper and deeper. You are sleeping.

You sleep deeper and deeper.

You're sleeping deeper and deeper.

You feel fine. You relax.

All unpleasant noise disappears.

All unpleasant noise disappears.

You hear all I say to you

but not what I say to others.

You hear only what I say to you.

Now you are in a deep sleep.

Now you are in a deep sleep.

Now listen to me and concentrate.

You have read the words.

Enter the film.

Enter Epidemic.

I'm walking down the street.

What do you see?

There are... people.

They — They look terrible.

They —

They —

They're screaming.

They're screaming loudly.

They — They cry out.

What are they crying out?

They scream...

for God, I think.

They cry for help.

They're afraid.

And there are rats.

Rats with tails.

Such long tails.

Longer than their bodies.

Everyone walks alone.

No one wants to talk.

They're scared of each other.

Scared of infection and death.

They're in terrible pain.

It — It hurts me.

On some of the houses,

large crosses are painted.

Because...

there is illness,

and there may be

dead people in there.

Go in the house.

She's covered with boils.

She's lying there, staring.

The children begin to whine softly.

They're so terribly frightened.

Are there other sick people in the house?

The husband jumps up.

He starts to remove the children's clothes.

They — They look even worse.

They're almost black.

There are people across the street...

who — who are sick.

The carriage —

He's throwing people around.

Twenty, 30, ten. I can't count.

Just throwing them down.

There are holes everywhere with lots of...

children.

Human bodies...

They're dying in the streets.

They lie everywhere and — and die.

[silently sobbing]

[car honks]

[crying continues aloud]

[in English] We all fall down.

We all fall down.

[in Danish] What?

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow!

[screaming]

Relax! You are leaving the film.

You relax completely. Relax. Relax completely.

You leave the film. You leave Epidemic.

You leave the film. You leave Epidemic.

[crying fades away]