All language subtitles for The Spoils of Babylon s01e03 Kicking the Habit.eng

And they had these enormous
thungsten lights

pouring down heat
on the whole cast

for hours upon hours until

I believe one of the extras
dropped dead.

It was more than a disast--
Hello,

I'm Eric Jonrosh,

author of many best-selling novels

including The Spoils of Babylon,

which I have adapted
for tonight's teleplay.

Murder, and addiction,
and carnal desire

are the ingredients
for this spectacular episode.

I controlled every aspect
of the production,

sometimes violently so.

I demanded perfection
on myself,

and so to the cast.

I shot roughly
six lines of dialog a day

from hundreds of angles,
and many, many takes.

The cast staged a revolt,
at one point, but

I was prepared for this

for I knew to carry a gun.

I would not allow the film
to be shut down,

although I did take
a two-month hiatus

while I found out
where my head was at.

When I returned, I shot
much of tonight's episode

based in part
on my experimentation

with hallucinogens.

The particular drug I used
was an early synthetic drug

Called hamelply-biphorphine

developed by the good folks
at Astrazeneca.

What?
So now I can't say that?

Your--your viewers?

Who are your viewers?
Who's watching this garbage?

What is going on?

Not only here,
but generally speaking.

I'm especially proud
of the acting

in tonight's installment.

I hope you will agree.

"I hope you will agree."

That doesn't seem right
at all.

I hope-- why am I hoping
that they will--

Previously on
The Spoils of Babylon...

(gunshots and a scream)

My name is Devon Morehouse.

My story is an epic one.

It's been so long
since you kissed me.

Don't you want to?
What does it mean?

It means war, Cynthia.

I'm joining up.

Morehouse to squadron leader,

I'm taking enemy fire.

(screams)
It's Devon.

Something's wrong.

(speaks Japanese)

It's unlikely any man
could survive that kind

Of burning destruction.

Welcome home, son.

I want to introduce you

to the new Mrs. Devon Morehouse,

Lady Anne York.

It looks like a carburetor.

It runs on steam.

I get 200 miles a gallon
with this.

No one must know about this
until we are ready.

Devon will be mine.

And not as my brother,

but as my lover.

This is my life.
Or what remains of it.

(dramatic music)

Sync & corrections by dwigt
www.addic7ed.com

My return home after the war was

one of the happiest times
of my life.

Lady Anne gave birth
to a beautiful baby girl,

Marianne Abigail Morehouse.

She brought such joy
and light into our lives.

It seemed happiness
was finally mine.

(baby babbles)

Oh, there you are.

Have you been hiding from me?

Thank you so much
for your hospitality.

Oh, yes, of course.

You are too nice.

I feel like
we are getting closer now.

Oh, well,
you're always welcome.

I know it was a bit awkward
in the beginning,

But now look at us.

I took the liberty
of building a fire.

I don't mean
to be a burden.

Oh.
I don't mind.

You can build a fire
any time you want.

I was just feeling
a tad cold.

Well, I would hate
for you to be cold at all.

In any event,
Devon should be home soon.

He can warm me
with his love-making.

-Did you really think
that you could get away with it?

Did you really think
you could come into this house

And take the only person
that I love?

What on earth are you doing?

You're putting your hand
in the fire.

Please... Put on your
3D glasses now!

What are you doing
with that fire?

It's coming right at me.

(screams)

(glass shattering)

(continued screaming)

My face is melting!

(screaming)

She's dead.
Lost.

Everything is lost.
She's gone.

- Devon.
- Oh, Cynthia, Lady Anne.

My love, she's gone.

I-I saved the child.

How can I go on?

I tried to tell her
not to start a fire.

I told her.
She must have done it anyway.

It makes no sense.

Um, see,
fires are very dangerous.

Not to be blunt,
but it makes total sense,

scientifically, I mean.

I'm all alone now.

You have me.

I still love you.

Oh, she was my world.

(whispers)
No.

This head, this inanimate,
yet beautiful thing,

I shall carry it forth
like a badge of woe,

a constant reminder of a world
without hope,

- without love.
- But I love you.

Without a dream!

I am lost now,
maybe forever.

Cynthia, you keep the child.

- What?
- You raise her.

I shall have only this head.

No, why don't
we raise her together?

- Together we can.
- No.

I must wander the Earth,

My head and I.

- No.
- This compass father gave me,

I will no longer need it.

But if you're wandering
the world,

isn't that
when you need a compass?

Isn't that kind of the point
of the compass?

- It is for the child.
- Devon, you can't leave...

with that head.

You're gonna walk around
with that?

It's still smoking.

Devon.
Devon!

I will not be left!

I will not be left!

(screams)

(typing)

(telephone ringing)

Cynthia, we need
a decision.

Will there be a merger?

There will be no merger.

Morehouse Conglomerated
will be going at it alone.

But, Cynthia, really,
with your father's illness

getting worse and Devon off
running around the country,

you can't possibly
run this company alone.

Be reasonable, Cynthia.
You're a woman.

It's too much
for a woman to handle.

You just don't have
a head for figures.

Gentlemen,
the subject is closed.

I have been running
this business since the end

of the war,
and I will continue to run it

until Devon returns.

Or is found dead.

Let's face it.
The war has been good to us.

I believe the military
will be expanding

their need for oil.

Nonsense.

The war is over.
More than likely,

there will be a massive
scale-down of our armed forces.

Well, I have it
on some authority

there will be
a massive buildup.

What authority?
Your woman's intuition?

(laughter)

Gentlemen,
this meeting is adjourned.

Cynthia,
be careful here.

Cyrus, you're a dear old
friend of the family.

Tell me I'm doing
the right thing.

Have you consulted
with your father?

Father is very ill.

He's been babbling on and on
about some invention

he thinks is his gift
to mankind.

He's been calling out
for Devon.

- Where is Devon?

- He hasn't been seen
in over a year.

Oh, I've looked for him.

I've looked for him everywhere.

They say that, when men return
from the war,

they become lost.

search for something.

I wish I could find him.

I hit the road
with only my thumb

and a beat-up
Olivetti typewriter.

I didn't know
what I was looking for--

God, love,
death, kicks.

I knew I needed to go
and never stop going.

My head bent
to the railroad Earth.

I wandered forth
into the electric negro dawn.

cold water flats
and boxcars booming

through cities.

Cleveland, Davenport, Denver,
and the sound of mad jazz

piercing through back alleys
and flophouses.

New adventures and miles
between desire and hope.

Desire and hope spread out
like one long ribbon

across the land,
engines into the madness.

Charlie Parker
with his doo doo tu roo.

Miles and Dizz.

Old Al Bevins
cracked his skull

on the Wabash El
in cold downtown Chicago.

Quivering like a madman,
laughing under the noise

and the clang of
all that American music.

Fixing and shooting
in gloom shadows,

like innocent angels
in supication.

Wither and hither I went,

like a nomad lost on the desert
of no self.

A mooning dynamo
slipping through the fog.

Always, "Hey, man, go,"

And "Where's it at?"

And too often the search
for love in loveless love dens

where loveless girls
not even acquainted with love

or Buddha
or Karl Marx or Hume

leave love behind
for kicks and commerce.

One night the sad, old Moon
hung over the Golden Gate Bridge

like Dick Powell
in some Hollywood musical.

I was out in the dark bay mist,
down in Sausalito

on big Jim Lardner's boat,

Dexter Gordon wailing
on the radio.

When Moon-faced Dick Powell
opened up to me

and asked me if I knew
who I was,

really knew
the essential soul within.

Dick Powell,

I'll always see
your pictures for that.

(screaming
and gunfire)

(thumping)

(child crying)

(siren wailing)

(knocking at door)

(people shouting)

(jazz music)

(snoring)

- Devon.
- Go away.

- Devon.
- Go away.

Devon, it's Cynthia.

Oh.
Oh, hey, sis.

Hey, you're right on time.

Want to watch me shoot up?

Oh, Devon, what's wrong
with you?

Why haven't you written?

I've been busy.
I got a habit now.

It takes up a lot of time.

Devon, come home.

Will you make yourself useful

and hand me
that spoon over there?

That spoon?

Yeah.
(sniffs)

- Oh, yeah.
- I have to tell you something.

You got
to make it quick, sis.

It's father.
He's dying.

- Dying?
- Yes.

And he needs you.

And he loves you very much.

He wanted me to give you
this compass

so you had it again.

Oh.

I do love him.

And I need you too, Devon.

Oh, Cynthia, I've got
a monkey on my back,

and I can't shake it.

We can beat it together.

Together.
I can help you.

It won't be pretty.

What can I do?

Just-- Just be here.

for me and...

And what?

Lock the door.

Oh, I'm scared, sister.

(funky rock music)

(somber saxophone music)

Well, I told you
that wasn't going to be easy.

But now you can come home.

Everything's settled.

Oh, Devon, I've been running
the business so well.

We're very rich.

Oh, I'm afraid.

It's okay.

You've done it.
You've kicked it.

I kicked heroin.

I can't kick you.

You don't have to.

You are my sister.

We are lovers.

Oh.

Ohh!

(jazz music)

(both panting)

Now was that wrong?

If that was wrong,
then I always want to be wrong.

Never leave again.

No, I shall never leave again.

I'm gonna go get us
some wine.

But I'm an addict.

It could lead
to heroin all over again.

- It'll be fine.
- Okay.

Are you sure
that's a good idea?

(traffic sounds)

What is true happiness?

After a lifetime
of missing it,

I had finally found it
in Cynthia, my own sister.

Our love was forbidden
by men,

but sanctioned by the angels.

We deserved our share of love,
but

could we keep it?

Stop here, Devon.

I want to talk
to you about something.

Oh, anything, father.

I'm dying, Devon.

(chuckles)
Not so fast, old man.

We still have big plans.

Nah, I'm dying.

We don't have any time
for plans.

I'm dying.

(laughs)
You stop it.

- You kidder.
- It's not a joke.

- I'm dying for sure.
- Yeah, well, we're all dying.

No, seriously,
I am dying.

- Yeah, me too.
- No, it's not a joke.

- I'm dying.
- I'm serious-- I'm seriously

- joking with you.
- I am telling you

- that I'm dying.
- (laughs)

I love how you keep going.

Ow.
Sh...

(clears throat)

Seymour Lutz.

The man who was working
on the carburetor?

He's very close.

You must not tell anyone.

His invention
will change everything.

The oil companies,

my company,

will be ruined.

But it'll be good
for the world.

Only you and I know, Devon.

Wow, that's
pretty expository.

But, yes, of course.

Of course, it will--
it will be a legacy

you can be proud of.

You are the legacy
I am most proud of, son.

Father, Cynthia--

You can't let her
run the company.

Devon, she's unethical.

And as crazy as a dog
underneath a tire.

Well, we are in love.

What?

We're in love.

I'm in love with my s--
I mean, Cynthia.

- And she's in love with me.
- I forbid it.

We love each other.

It is not gonna happen.

That's what "I forbid it" means.

But, father,
we're in love.

(shouts)

Father.
- I forbid it.

(continued thwacking
and shouting)

I forbid it.

No.

Stop.

(grunts)

Father!
- Forbid it!

(shouting)

(coughs)

Hey, are you okay?

Mama.

Pop?
Papa?

(exclaims)

Father.

Papa?

No!

(continues crying out)

How could he?
How could he deny us our love?

Cynthia, he knew.

He always knew,
and he knew it was wrong.

Wrong?
Howsoever?

Love that hearts hath honed
hear no objections.

Coarse is that knot that binds
and twists limbs

from aspiring heavenward.

If such limbs
be thusly inspired,

then not any adjudication

can forestall their lofty zeal,
it is true.

But no such innocent bliss

Is here
on our shared ground.

Not true. Not true.
Never speak it.

The ground was green
when first we ambled conjoined.

Our ground
was never so green.

It has marred our souls

like sneal worms
in a hooper's frowl.

To compare our love thusly
is a pauper's accounting.

And to declare otherhow
is vainglorious folly.

'tis not folly to flower
in God's full sunshine.

Devon, I love you.

And I you.

Then please forsake
all arguments

and let Nature decide
what is fair.

Oh, you're so right,
but this is so wrong.

No, Devon.

I must...
make... my leave

of you.

(mouthing)
Devon.

There it is.
Another ending.

Fear not.
There is more to come

Next time--
more story,

More music,
more gaiety and color.

For isn't that what moves us?

The excitement of life,

The thrill
of being bitten

By a snake.

Isn't there something
in the mystery

Of many particles
forever dancing

In the chaos
of our vision?

You don't even know
what I'm talking about,

so shut your mouth.

How old are you?

What?
22?

It's not even an age.
Stop lying to me.

I've no intention
of continuing on.

No, I don't.

I'm through for the day.

I..., for one,
have read my contract.

Sync & corrections by dwigt
www.addic7ed.com

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