Original subtitles

There are some who can drink and there are some

who can't and even shouldn't drink.

I belong to the ones who can drink.

Well, yes. It means they can control it.

It means, I control it.

Sometimes she falls down, outside she's spread

Neither speaks nor is quiet - maybe she can't.

Her blood has reached

The blue-coloured sight

Once-a-year hybrid, a woman-of-a-bird.

Why are you laughing?

It's ok. You know

I would colour it here and there

and break it a bit, though.

I love you, but I didn't plan that.

And what did you plan?

I was going to check the praised skills.

And then...?

Then I was going to fire you.

You are speaking my language.

No, you are speaking mine.

So, who is speaking?

Us.

They aren't here.

You should have made spare ones for me. You would have yours.

Apocalypse.

No, after the apocalypse there wouldn't be anything to tidy up.

They're here! I couldn't find them for I put them in their right place.

I love you no matter where you put the keys.

Was or wasn't the apple which fell on Isaac Newton's head a trifle?

A cosmic trifle.

There are no other trifles, only the cosmic ones.

You're thinking about trifles all the time.

Objects are attacking you.

That's good. Would you say that?

Maybe.

- Do you remember about dinner? - Yes, I do.

Continuous thinking about trifles distracts everyday inquiries,

and it distracts them in a ruinous way if one inquires with complete sentences.

I, for instance, inquire with complete sentences.

I cling to life desperately thanks to thinking in complete sentences.

- Is it a kind of literary training? - No.

Although I think that for literature

thinking in complete sentences is of prime significance.

But the differences between you and your protagonists are very small.

They speak your language.

But the subtleties between me and myself are small, too.

Maybe it's even the other way round.

Maybe it's the drunkard who is the narrator,

and Jerzy is looking for premortal love in vain.

Every time I tell you I've stopped drinking,

I don't drink, or that I've sobered up for good

and regained my feeling of time,

you can feel free and not believe me.

Whether I speak sober or drunk,

I am, in my speaking, elusive even for myself.

I'm elusive in my drinking, too.

When I say I don't drink, for sure it is not true.

But when I say I drink, I may be lying through my teeth.

I'm the prince of elusiveness.

Horrified, I think about the moment when last paragraphs, sentences,

fragments of sentences will decay in my head

and about illegible manuscripts, spectres and phantoms that will be left there. The end.

A heroic-comic choice between dementia and death isn't funny for me at all.

A shocking story about addiction and attempts to break oneself of it

as well as a story about love that changes everything, now in bookshops.

Such a success has to be celebrated.

Thank you.

So, how long have you know each other, Jerzy? Jurek?

It's Jerzy. Almost a month.

Almost a month and you already want to get married?

Yes.

I'm moving out from the dorm.

Let's drink, the glass is soaking up.

- You are older than her. - Mum!

Yes, I am older.

This is to Jerzy. A successful writer.

I don't drink. I'm an alcoholic.

So, how did you two meet?

At the cash dispenser.

Are you ok?

Tell them.

I was lying there, sloshed,

someone took a photo of me,

the flesh blinded me and I saw an angel.

It's absolutely out of the question because I almost don't drink at all.

Sometimes, at special occasions - a toast,

a bottle... a glass of beer for dinner.

Help!

Do you want to drink yourself to death?

I don't confirm it. I don't deny it.

I don't want to drink myself to death. Not now, anyway.

To tell you the truth,

I would like to drink myself to death after a long and happy life.

If somebody drinks as much as you do,

they don't live a long and happy life.

And can anyone live a long and happy life without drinking?

Can you hear me? What the fuck are you doing anyway?

Why didn't you come here? Yeah.

And where the fuck were you on Sunday? What do you think, I...?!

You have to drain the water from the aquarium to the bucket

and then clean the sponge here in order not to kill the nitrifying bacteria.

These are our fish.

Ok.

...stop drinking for another person

for there may be crisis of love and what then?

You have to do it for yourself because, fuck, you have to have it in yourself.

You have to find motivation.

It's ok, both of you are drinking and then disappointment comes because

fuck, you took the vows and it was supposed to be good...

Fucking thank you.

Fuck, you have to do it for yourself

for there are fucking different phases of love.

That's true.

I'm a merited classic,

and those who are here for the first time aren't debutants either.

They are proficient authors.

The real debutants, those who, right now, are opening their first bottle

haven't the slightest idea that, one day, they may become classics, too.

Waldek. An alcoholic.

I'm a truck driver.

"D' you sleep well at night,

Are you afraid of death

Has the turner been killed..."

I worked for a company sending trucks full of fruits to the East.

It was a profitable job.

Listen, guys, I had the same.

- Fuck, when was it made? - In seventy-seven.

Clever guy, isn't he?

I've got it. Another shot?

I had to drink vodka with loaders, warehousemen...

And! One, two and...

...and fruit buyers.

My boss added the money that I spent on booze

needed to pave my ways to clients to my salary.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..."

We'll talk at home.

He was a good man although he didn't drink at all,

therefore I'm really sorry for...

...what I did.

...what I did.

I came to the storehouse totally drunk,

I wanted to see the boss and to thank him for being such a great man...

Sorry!

And what did the boss do?

- He brought me here. - What's the conclusion of the story?

That I'm powerless over alcohol,

that alcohol drives my life,

that this is the end with drinking...

- Who's next? - Maybe me.

I'm Borys. I'm an alcoholic.

The situation took place abroad, at a banquet after the festival.

My film was awarded and it was a good reason to have a drink.

I was the star of the evening and I had to drink with everybody.

- Where is toilet? - To the right.

- Congratulations! - Thank you.

It was fantastic!

I don't remeber when, for the first time...

Smile...!

...I felt like taking a piss.

Fuck, next time have to switch the fucking ball pen on.

- Let's dance. - Of course.

Fuck, I need to take a piss.

John Silvergold would like to see you very much.

- That's means right now, now. - Are you serious?

I am deadly serious.

Silvergold is one of the most powerful producers in Hollywood.

If I wanted to see him, I would have to wait for the appointment

for a year without any guarantee that it would happen.

There is terror in your film which gradually transforms into horror

and this horror shifts into even greater terror,

in order to reach, in the final scene, the dimension of absurd...

Awesome!

...the screen is emanating with such freezing temperatures

that even the prosecutor cannot function without alcohol.

The character is stunningly played by... erm... what's his name...

Unbelievable.

Calculate how much you spent daily on alcohol.

Multiply it by 365 days in a year.

The result multiply by all your drunk years.

Add money spent on taxis, rounds you bought, courts, divorces, and alimony.

Add all costs of drunken pranks, drunk-tanks, penalties, fines and court cases.

Add money spent on damages, treatments, detoxes, and drying-outs.

Add all the things you lost or gave away...

The director 1.3 in his breath.

- What's up? - Drunk.

Fuck it. What are the procedures now?

You're fucking out, go and pack yourself.

Call Katarzyna.

- What's going on? - Well... sloshed.

- Let's go. - Fuck it!

- You owe me 100 zloties. - He who sits at the end, laughs at the end.

Get up scums.

A dirk.

It was too easy. Dirks are also worn by officers of the navy.

He asked once a devil or a Pi�czuk.

What?

He asked once a devil or a Pi�czuk.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labours and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

Drinking away all the washing machines of the world

inevitably leads to negligence of temporality.

In writing, negligence of temporality leads to graphomania.

I was robbed and it started.

What started?

Drinking started.

One started drinking.

One drank?! Edek, who drank? One drank, he drank?

One would totally slosh himself. One couldn't come to grips with this devil.

For example, with the neighbour. How much I drank.

One drank with the neighbour on and on.

Start from the beginning once again, but instead of "one" say "l".

Instead of "devil" - "alcohol". Instead of "on and on" - "every day".

The work in the steelworks used to start at 6 a.m.

I woke up in the darkness and realised I'd be late if I didn't get up.

I had a beer in the off-licence on my way to the bus stop.

I was a bit surprised that the shop was open. Then they opened at 7.00 a.m.

I asked one fellow about the time, and he told me it was 6 o'clock.

But 6:00 in the morning or 6:00 in the evening?

6.00 at noon.

"6 at noon" he said.

My name is Joanna and I'm an alcoholic.

I haven't come here because I'm bad,

but because I'm ill and I need to be treated.

The night I want to talk about,

a stranger... some strangers appeared, but vodka is vodka.

The time was passing by very quickly and there was even a game...

It's not important.

The train to Odessa - 60 roubles.

In Istanbul we sell crystal glass and buy jeans,

and in Syria - two and a half dollars for a Rolex.

Fuck.

- Who's he? - I don't know.

The elbow next to the bone and a hole in the glass roof.

Just like in a cartoon. And this is what happened.

He fell out of the window.

We were having fun, so nobody noticed anything.

He managed to fix himself up and, despite all the fractures,

came back to the party by himself...

In Istanbul...

In Istanbul...

In Istanbul...

...that was the power booze gave us then.

...we sell crystal glasses... and buy jeans...

He sobered up in the morning... and then he felt pain.

...and in Syria... in Syria two and a half dollars for a Rolex.

The mouth must contradict the drink that has just went down the throat.

The world must contradict addiction.

Come in.

How are things?

As usual.

- And how are things at home? - As usual, too.

My name is El�bieta and I'm an alcoholic.

I was shy as a child.

My father used to motivate me to study.

"�"?! I'm asking: is this how you write "�"?!

Is this how you write "�", you moron?

Beautiful. See what you've done?

My future husband studied pharmacy with me.

He did everything to be close to me.

Where do you commute from?

During the second or the third classes

he said he got to love my narcotic reticence.

And the liqueur...

mint-flavoured,

which he prepared on the chemist's spirits based on the old recipe,

was a speciality which won over my father's favour.

Come, have a taste!

The colour sucks.

The first glass in my life.

My shyness vanished, the fear of nobody knows what disappeared.

I said "yes".

Before we made love for the first time, during the night duty,

I had a glass of liqueur, too.

Later, every time we had sex I had a glass of liqueur before.

After a year I had a glass of liqueur also when we didn't make love.

After two years I drank a glass of liqueur any time I could.

After three years, my husband stopped making liqueur,

but I didn't care anymore, because at that time,

I already preferred to drink spirits.

While drinking this chemist's spirits I gave birth to his four daughters.

Probably, all of them got married quite well.

There's nobody in the front, guys!

What the fuck are you doing!?

What's going on here?!

Check the time!

- It's quiet hours! - Right. To your rooms!

Mietek!

But it went on for it went in and then out. Lato

Seventy-third minute. Domarski.

Domarski stroke it, but the goal was scored by Lato.

- True, Domarski stroke it... - Jerzy...

- Lato's assist and Domarski strikes. - Jerzy, you have a guest.

Do you remember me?

I saw you at the cash dispenser.

You were wearing a yellow dress.

I have been cut off from the world for fifty-eight days.

I haven't had any life problems.

"I'll take my own life today...

Eight...

Let's have a drink..."

Quiet hours in ten minutes.

What, you're so big and can't blow properly?

- Typical pre-leaving stress. - Anybody asked you?

Once again.

You will leave this place in a few days pumped up with vitamins,

soothing substances and magnesium deficiency levelled off.

You will leave this place on your own

because we have given you a new lease of live,

I don't even know which time in a row.

And where, the fuck, will you direct your unerring steps?

Do I have to ask you about that?

No. This time it will be different.

Mickiewicz's Lithuanian.

- Good bye. - Good bye.

Bye.

...and moved from the lake

to the river for the fish didn't take the hook there.

They threw away the equipment and fell asleep.

They woke up at around 4 a.m. and it occurred that a car drove down the river.

Fuck.

When drunk, they mixed directions and threw the fishing rods on the road.

48 zlotys, please.

Having fortified myself heavily, really heavily,

I began storing all my belongings on the roof of the shed

which I could reach with my hand,

first my briefcase

then one bottle after another.

Jurek, one zloty, please...

One litre of Premium, a herbal vodka and four beers.

To the touch, the auricle of my ear felt fresh, rough, cool, and juicy as a leaf.

Doctor Swobodziczka.

Doctor Swobodziczka drank horribly and insanely.

In my hometown one can still hear stories about plagues he held back,

horrible diseases he chased away, faultless diagnoses he made.

He could clearly hear the rat's face of the disease hidden in the maze.

Next one.

His hands would shake when he was filling in the prescriptions but

he would prescribe only...

Quiet!

... what was necessary.

Hospital.

The fire of the addiction was burning down

everything apart from his skills.

I used to be ill with everything.

Breathe.

I was continuously breathing in the smell of medicine and alcohol.

Don't breathe.

Breathe.

Get dressed.

- Cough again. - He doesn't have a cough.

He doesn't, but I do. I don't have the foggiest idea why.

He will have a cough in two days.

The cough will come in two days, and in seven it will be gone.

- Juru�, how old are you? - He's nine.

Nine. So it's high time you made your choices, some typing.

Tell me, which ones do you prefer?

The Protestants or the Catholics?

The Catholics.

- Get under the duvet. - It's a good choice.

One more?

Shit. I haven't taken my wallet and... I live nearby, so...

Good bye.

...and they drank 0,7 of vodka and moved from the lake...

There is no philosophy of drinking, there is only the technique of drinking.

Generally, the sense of human existence

is reduced to strenuous efforts to lift one's spirits.

Ideology, for example, may serve this purpose, the same with

religion, technical progress and material goods.

Drinking may serve this purpose, too,

and more precisely - the technique of drinking that is skilfully manipulated.

In other words, it is about lifting one's bad mood up

with proper technique of drinking.

And what if one's mood is so bad that no technique of drinking helps?

Or the technique of drinking becomes chaotic

and worsens one's mood instead of lifting it up?

I don't have such problems.

Happy birthday to you...

Kolumb is dying.

How are you feeling?

Perfect. A moment of weakness. I'm ok.

And how do you think? Where is this weakness from?

What would you connect it with?

I have no idea. Maybe overwork?

Exhaustion? I've recently had so much work.

And don't you think that your condition might be connected with,

let's say, the fact that you abuse alcohol?

Absolutely not. It's out of the question.

I almost don't drink at all.

Sometimes, at special occasions, a toast, a glass of good wine for dinner.

I see.

Staying in the hospital and your bad disposition aren't,

in any way, connected with alcohol.

Although, indeed I can remember

that during last celebration I had one glass too much.

One glass too much!

He admitted to it! One glass too much!

The discovery of America! Christopher Columbus!

And if I did it?

If I poured all the alcohol bought in the all-night shop down the sink?

What results would I achieve?

You would have to take off this warm and comfortable tracksuit...

The tracksuit was puked, pissed and shitted all over.

It doesn't matter.

You'd have to get dressed and put on your shoes again.

And go to the shop or take a taxi to get there.

...those... bought... with my own...

And it would be even worse.

Because of the fury at myself and surrounding hypocrisy...

I brought you some chicken.

- What? - My mom makes great chicken.

...I would buy twice as much booze.

One litre of Premium and a herbal vodka...

You would take a lift and go to the tenth floor...

There are only four.

Playing a game of multiplying possible yet totally

contradictory events takes eternity.

That's why one has to face the truth,

and pouring vodka down the sink is not the truth...

...drinking is the truth.

...drinking is the truth.

My heavenly father and my drunken father and the drunken father of my drunken father

and all my drunken great-grandfathers as well as all unrelated to me fatalists

who have seen and who know where the Mighty Angel constellation lies,

everybody who was born and died in its navy-golden glow, be hailed.

Shit...

Well...

Right...

OK. The amount you offered plus 20 zlotys.

And one more thing. Money today, the horse tomorrow.

I trust you.

Your honour is well-known around here.

Easy.

See you tomorrow.

Tomorrow in the morning.

My grandfather, old Kubica, drinks and doesn't know what to do.

He chases away thoughts about debts and his pawned farm.

He wards off thoughts about the horse he's sold

and the Galician buyer he will have to kill in the morning.

My name is Jerzy and I'm an alcoholic.

I've squandered away a whole lot of money in my life.

I've spent a fortune on booze.

What?

What?

I've never squandered away money saved up for fixing the washing machine...

I'm making this confession not with proud in my heart but with abasement.

The fact that I've never squandered away money saved up

for fixing the washing machine is because...

I've never allocated any money for fixing the washing machine.

There is no powerlessness in your story.

You're supposed to talk about yourself, not about washing machines.

About how alcohol disturbed you in your life.

You think you control everything and everybody together with drinking.

If you are so smart, get out of the ward.

We're wasting our time.

Jerzy, you're incurable.

Nobody is...

especially the healthy ones.

I appreciate your sense of humour and intelligence,

but you Jerzy, you don't bode well.

You have no will to improve.

Wait. Did you hear that?

Get her, fuck, out of here!

Piss off!

What the fuck! What's happened!? What's going on!?

- Fuck happened! - Quiet!

- What's the problem? - Fucking copy's the problem!

- She fucking stole my profile! - Fucking stole? I'll fucking kill you...

It happened on 21 December, 1985.

I woke up in the middle of the night.

I had a terrible hangover. I was sweating and trembling all over.

I didn't have a penny.

I knew my husband, who was sleeping in another room,

had money.

I found 50 zlotys.

I felt much better.

But, unexpectedly, I came up with the idea

that I might want some more stock for the rest of the night.

What do you want?

This characteristic courage woke up in me, and with no precautions,

or even with certain bravado, switching on the light in the hall,

I boldly entered the flat and took a bottle of raspberry juice from the cupboard.

I took it under consideration that I might be soundly asleep and I wanted my husband,

in case he woke up earlier in the morning and found a bottle next to my bed,

to think it was sheer juice.

In the mor...

in the morning my husband noticed neither the bottle

nor the fact that I had to go out to the all-night shop,

- but he... fucking... noticed... - Calm down.

...that he didn't have 50 zlotys,

which he started to, loudy, complain about.

How much did she take from you?

50 zlotys.

Clean it.

I got dressed, packed and this is how my ramble around the country started,

a ramble which was

a fucking gigantic drunken binge.

I'm very sorry I was robbed of my life and that,

- fuck, I'm going to hear my story... - Calm down or I'll throw you out!

...from this bitch and I don't know if I'm going to take it.

- I was fucking robbed and... - Calm down!

...when I hear someone reading about my life, I get fucking mad!

I'll throw you out! Read it.

It happened in mid-November 1997.

I woke up at 3 o'clock in the morning and I was in a horrible state.

The hangover was terrible because I had been drinking all day before.

I had absolutely no money.

I was living with my sister and her husband

and I had a feeling that my brother-in-law had money,

for he always had money because he didn't drink at all.

I didn't know what bank-note I took

and I was afraid its value would be too low,

but when it occurred that I was lucky and took 100 zlotys,

I was very happy at the beginning because I had more than I needed,

but then I was afraid because it was possible that my brother-in-law

would notice the absence of such an amount.

My quandaries vanished soon.

A champagne.

Two quarters and a coke. Half a litre.

I was aiming at having exactly half of the bottle full

and I did it.

In the morning, it occurred that my brother-in-law didn't notice

the lack of the 100 zloty bank-note

but my sister started a fight for no reason.

Jesus!

Fuck!

Get the fuck out of here!

- Get out of here! - What?!

Without saying a word, I got packed and left...

Enough! Fucking enough! Get the fuck out of here!

...this unfriendly home.

Get the fuck out of here!

I was calm.

I had about 40 zlotys left and a quarter-litre at the bottom of my bag.

Shame on you!

I don't know where my ramble led me to.

I don't know how long my drunken binge lasted.

I don't even know how I ended up here.

Anyway, now I want to stop drinking very much.

Anybody would like to say something?

Copying other people's works is evil, however it is not ultimate evil.

Bullshit. In 1985 it was impossible to buy a bottle of vodka for 50 zlotys.

Sure? So what the fuck did I buy it for?

Half a litre cost 103 zlotys. Wary�ski needed 3 zlotys more to smile.

I'm sorry but in 1985 there were no all-night shops.

Alcohol could be bought in a booze den.

I'd like to draw your attention to the nonsense of copying each other's works.

Well, the dispute is settled in favour of Joanna.

The session is finished, and I want to see you in my office in an hour.

What is this?

Everybody has to write about how it was when they were still drinking.

A method to stop drinking.

First you write and then you read.

A diary of emotions.

Everybody can fucking speak, but there is nobody to write it down.

And you're a writer, ain't you?

One of the points of the therapy. Everybody has to do it.

The thing is, I don't remember Christmas carols

and additionally I noticed that I defecated in my wardrobe a day before.

I'm not interested.

Take the whole pack.

Take the pen, too.

I write only with a ball pen because I get pissed off about blots.

Does it have to be about taking a dump?

No, it doesn't.

So about puke, maybe?

I remember I threw up with pepper vodka during Gierek's times,

with ration-card vodka during Solidarity, during martial law with moonshine,

and in Wa��sa and Kwa�niewski's times with herbal vodka.

I wanted it to be political.

My drinking was an attempt to escape reality,

mostly hopelessness... hopelessness of everyday life.

To escape lack of freedom and first of all pessimism.

The worse it was during the period

of the People's Republic of Poland, the more one drank.

We can argue whether such mass consumption of alcohol

constituted a way of deliberately inducing the society to drink

or maybe a cultural element of our Sa... Sarmatian customs.

The fact is that one could do nothing without a bottle of vodka.

I didn't come here because I am...

In my days one studied not to learn anything but to avoid the army.

One wouldn't attend any classes at all.

I was the secretary of their minds.

I shaped their languages so that they would acquire

this necessary thus authentic roughness of style.

If those modes of expression mattered for anyone

and if they influenced anyone...

...I was this person. It wasn't them, it was me.

What story?

I've killed a man.

Waldek! Waldek!

But did he really killed him with a telephone or you invented it?

I don't know. I don't remember. One shot.

What for? We've agreed.

100g of methylated spirits, Balsam of Canaan.

Having fortified myself heavily,

really heavily...

Let's talk about world drunken literature. Nabokov.

Damn dark inquisitiveness and finessed use of ice-cold form

ideally predestined him to write a fictional study of addiction.

Unfortunately, rumours about the writer's alcoholism proved to be false.

And Erofeev?

The prominent shock worker Alexey Stakhanov, would go to the toilet

for number one twice a day and for number two once in two days.

And when he was drunk...

... he would go for number one four times a day and not even once for number two.

To the touch, the auricle of my ear felt fresh, rough, cool, and juicy as a leaf.

Calculate how many times per year the prominent shock worker Aleksei Stakhanov

would go to the toilet for number one and how many times for number two,

considering that he was drunk three hundred and twelve days a year.

So, how many?

How do you spell "vanished"?

My shyness vanished...

- Shall we have a word? - Later.

Get the fuck out of here.

Aleksei Stakhanov.

When he was drunk he would go four times a day for number one,

and not even once for number two.

Calculate how many times he would go for number one and how many for number two.

I don't know.

Will you marry me?

Do we know each other that well?

Better than that.

If you drink when you're awake and when you're asleep,

you probably don't know what it is like to be awake.

Having fortified myself heavily, really heavily,

I began storing all my belongings on the roof of the shed...

Almost everybody feels like it, but they don't know it.

300 g of "Sadko" shampoo, 70 g of dandruff

treatment, 20g of athlete's foot remedy.

If you drink when you're awake and when you're asleep...

So, I spent all night...

Every night I drank half a liter of whiskey and twelve beers.

Till dawn I was smoking cheap cigars, pounding on the typewriter,

drinking, and listening to the classical music on the radio.

My goal was ten...

Oh, it's open. Can you hear me? The door is open.

The train was late, you might have come for me.

Jerzy! Jerzy! Can you hear me?

Where's your phone?

Is anybody here? Your neighbour reported you flooded her.

I've entered because the door is open.

O shit! Come on, mate!

Delirium!

Take it away! Take it away!

Take it away! Take it away!

Just a sec. Just a sec. Calm down. There, there...

There's no... There's no... There's no...

Everything's fine. Don't be afraid. There. There.

Aleksei Stakhanov.

When he was drunk he would go four times a day for number one,

and not even once for number two.

Calculate how many times...

Well?

OK. Wait, wait... I must say something.

Yes, but...

Wait, wait... I must say something. Fuck, wait!

- Listen to me! - I'm listening.

And I need... I also need attention. I need you to tell me...

Jurek, you have left the keys in the door again.

Excuse me, I'm in. You've ordered alcohol.

Oh, fuck...

And you can see flocks of white-winged washing machines

gliding over watery heaven like squadrons of papal helicopters.

You understand you were given more than others...

This time it'll be different.

No, doctor. This time it'll be different.

Get the fuck out of here.

Everybody get the fuck out of here!

Are there any moments when you don't drink?

No. I think I don't drink when...

200 g of Zhiguli beer...

If I had been sober then, I wouldn't have seen you at the cash dispenser.

I wouldn't have thought you were beautiful and wise.

It wouldn't have crossed my mind

that you are the greatest love of my life.

...that you are the greatest love of my life.

Such fiery passions that wind up at the alco ward aren't worth a shit.

If I had met you twenty years ago, I wouldn't drink at all.

Twenty years ago I was, something like, seven.

- I drink because I'm shy. - I drink because I'm afraid.

I drink, because it's warm, I drink because it's cold.

I drink because I'm sad. I drink when I'm happy.

I have been drinking since the Pole became the Pope.

I drink because I like it.

When Poland was winning and I was drinking when Poland was losing.

To soothe my nerves. When I listen to Mozart.

I drink when I read Leibnitz.

Because of sexual ecstasy and because of sexual hunger.

I'm too ordinary, I need some frenzy.

I drink because everybody drinks.

When we were winning and when we were beaten.

Because my fianc� drinks.

Because I'm pissed off... my boss pisses me off.

I drink because of nostalgia. And because of excessive fulfilment.

She fucking even made those chickens for him.

I drink while I'm drinking the first glass

and I drink while I'm drinking the last one,

and then I drink even more for I've never drunk the last glass.

I'm kindly asking when she'll be back.

And when did she leave?

Can I leave a... Hello.

Hello!

Do you drink during the intervals in writing or do you write

during the intervals in drinking?

Did you forbid her to come here?

It'll fucking burn down.

Closer.

My eagles.

You know what I wish you.

Stop drinking.

Soup is the most important.

Three kinds of soup were served in my home:

borsch with ravioli, mushroom soup and fish soup.

God is born and night is shaken...

What, don't you have sugar for your husband at home?

You're turning our home into an inn.

- Swine. - Fuck it.

God is born and night is shaken,

He, the Heaven's King, lies naked.

The living World knows brightness darkened

He, the Limitless, takes limits.

Born disdained yet worship given,

Mortal yet the Lord Eternal,

Now indeed the Word made flesh,

Has come on Earth to dwell among us.

Born disdained yet worship given,

Mortal yet the Lord Eternal,

...and he asks me whether it is 6 in the morning or in the afternoon.

And I tell him it's 6 at noon.

Born disdained yet worship given,

Mortal yet the Lord Eternal...

Now indeed the Word made flesh,

Has come on Earth to dwell among us.

I also start from doing the washing.

It means from letting in some air and doing the washing.

And then you have to do the vacuuming.

And change the curtains.

Get rid of the bottles.

Tidy up all the nooks and look for any remaining traces of abasement.

Fuck, what a mess. Has your mother seen it?

Everybody has the right to a little celebration after hard work.

Thirsty, we cover it, drink it and lose consciousness...

...which we regain where? If you remember?

Here, at the alco ward.

And have they eaten a Black man here...

And are you afraid of death

Fuck, open the door.

Open the door. I want to tell you one thing.

There is no other trifle but the cosmic one.

What the fuck are you looking at?

Fuck. Fucking scum.

Hi.

Do you check it with a computer? Fuck it.

- What are the procedures now? - Shoelaces.

Humankind shouldn't feel threatened in its principles.

I know you.

You live in the back of the off-licence shop.

Yes. It's me.

I'm the measure of your decline.

I grieve at my fate, too.

Don't force yourself to drink.

Force yourself to non-force.

The effort is far less than you think.

- The thing is... - Are you coming in?

- Hi. - Hi.

How are you?

As usual. Have you got a cigarette?

- How are you? - As usual, too.

Thanks. See you.

- Hello. May I? - Sure.

Thank you.

- 32zlotys. - I don't have it.

Can you give me a cigarette?

Why did he escape if one can leave this place?

- I don't know. - Bring me his documents.

- Excuse me. - Wait.

I came up with the idea not to drink.

Really? How long? A month? A year?

I came up with the idea not to drink at all.

I don't have to tell you where you'll wind up

because you are already there.

We had it in our store. Your coat is in the cloakroom.

Thank you.

My name is Jerzy. I'm an alcoholic.

I'm powerless over vodka.

I've lost control over my life.

God, give me cheerfulness,

to be able to accept what I cannot change,

courage to change what I can change

and wisdom to know one from another.

You have to find out when and where your natural instincts got warped.

You have to realise the disasters it caused not only to you,

but also to your closest ones.

Nevertheless, even the most conscientious, honest evaluation of yourselves

will not be enough if you do it in solitude.

In order to learn anything about yourselves,

in order to help yourselves you have to come out.

You have to want to accept help from outside.

How? By an honest conversation with everybody here.

What's there for me? I don't fucking know.

I thought that if I succeeded,

she might leave the keys wherever she would like to.

Jurek!

I'm a bit worried, but you know.

You'll do it neither now nor tomorrow, but in a year or two.

Jurek, and if something special happened?

Like what?

Say, she won't come back to you.

Who are you talking to?

You'll start drinking then.

Well, Jerzy?

You are leaving this place again.

You will leave this place on your own

because we have given you a new lease of live,

I don't even know which time in a row. Do you remember which time?

Jerzy, I have a question for you.

When you leave this place...

This time it will be different.

This time it will be different.

Take care.

She hasn't come to pick you up, has she?

What about Cracovia?

They're playing today.

- Who with? - I don't know. Legia?

Which place are they on?

Where are we going to?

Good question.