All language subtitles for Teorema.1968

Your boss has given away
his factory to you workers,

What do you think of this gesture?

Is the real hero of this whole thing
still your boss?

Well, sure!

Hasn't he then stripped you of
the possibilities of a future revolution?

- Could be,
- Is your boss' action an isolated case

or part of a general trend of today?

Part of a general trend, I think,

Taking this action as a symbol
of the new course of power,

it may very well be the first
contribution to the transformation

of all mankind into a middle class,

I don't think the middle class

will manage to accomplish this

Well, this seems to be the idea,
though not an original one,

Even if it gives away its factories,

whatever the middle class does
is wrong, right?

I don't want to answer...

But the middle class
is radically changing its situation,

I mean, if the middle class ends up
identifying itself with mankind,

it will no longer have
a class struggle to overcome

with the help of the army,
the state

or the church,

Then it's bound to lose because
it would lose its normal allies,

It will have to face the new issues

of its new state of affairs.

Absolutely...

Can you respond to these questions?

Can you respond to these questions?

Thus, God led the people

through the desert,,,

Pietro, why don't you
put on some music?

ARRIVING TOMORROW

Well, are you okay now?

Come, come, it was nothing.

Great,
Thank you,

Darlings!

Hello! Welcome,
How are you all?

- Hello,
- Hello, my dear,

- Hello,
- Thank you,

I'm sorry that this place
is not an ideal accommodation,

No, it's fine,

It's been a real invasion,

This was my room as a child,

Good night.

Good night.

I'm sorry,
I'm so sorry!

I'm sorry,

Look, look, here, Look!

Look, look here!

Lucia!

- Lucia!
- I'm here,

Come, come,

I'm sorry,

I'm sorry,

Pietro!

Pietro!

Your friends are calling you,

You're a real player.

Ah! Finally,

- These are my friends,
- Hello,

Hello,

Lucia, Lucia!

But what time is it?

I don't know,
What does it matter?

But it's 6:00, It's 6!

STORIES AND NOVELS

It's about a sick man like me,

"But even in this most unpleasant
situation, Ivan Ilych found comfort,

Gerasim would always come in
to do the cleaning,

He was a clean, fresh
peasant lad,"

Thank you,

What's that you're reading?

"He belonged to his own life
and the turn of goodness

would have taken
longer to recreate than a star,

The loved one who came without
my ever hoping he would,

has not come back
and never will again,"

I like to drive fast,

Now I'll show you how to drive.

Sure, I'm not a young man anymore,

You're not Gerasim,

You're not easy to face up to,

There are two reasons

why I feel obliged
to talk to you,

First of all,

there's my personal
sense of morals,

and then,

there's a confused
feeling inside me

that, perhaps...

could be cleared
only by talking about it.

You seduced me, God,

and I let myself be seduced,

You have taken me by force,

and you have prevailed,

I have become a laughingstock

every day,

Yes, I heard the many slanders,

terror on all sides,

"You denounce him
and then we'll denounce him."

All my friends kept a close watch
on my fall,

"Maybe hey! let himself be seduced

and we'll reap our vengeance on him",

Angelino,

Angelino,

What? What'd you say?

Hey, you can talk!

Hey, that's really good!

Good-bye, Emilia,

I must leave,

Tomorrow,

I don't recognize myself anymore,

What made me like the others
has been destroyed,

I was like everybody else
with flaws,

perhaps of my own
and of my world,

You've made me different,

taking me out of
the natural order of things,

While you were near me,
I did not realize it.

But I understand it now
that you're leaving,

And the awareness of losing you

has become the awareness
of my being different,

What will become of me from now on?

The future will be like living
with a self

that has nothing to do with me,

Will I have to reach the bottom
of this difference

that you've shown me,

that is my real and anguished nature?

But even if I don't want to?

Won't all this put me
against everyone

and against everything?

I realize now
that I've never had...

a real interest

in anything.

I don't mean in important things,

but even in small, natural things,

like my husband's work,

my son's studies,

or Odetta's cultish family life,

I...nothing,

I can't understand how
I managed to live in such emptiness,

and yet I did,

If there was something,
a certain instinctive love of life,

it would wither

like a garden
that no one walks through,

Actually, that void was filled

with false or base values,

a horrible heap of wrong ideas,

Now I see it.

You have filled my life
with a total, real interest,

So, by leaving,

you're not destroying
anything that was in me before,

except the reputation
of a chaste bourgeois housewife,

Who cares?

But what you, yourself,

have given me instead,

the love with which
you filled my empty life,

by leaving,

you destroy it all,

I've become a normal girl
because of you,

You've given me
the right solution for my life,

Before I did not know men,

I was even afraid of them

I only loved my father,

But now, by leaving me,

you're letting me plunge to even
further back to where I was before,

Is this what you wanted?

Now the pain of losing you

will cause a relapse
far more dangerous

than the sickness I had
inside me

before the brief healing you caused.

Before I didn't see that sickness,
but now I do,

Through the love you gave me,

I have become aware
of my sickness,

And now, how can I replace you?

But maybe there is someone who can?

I don't think I can live anymore,

You certainly came here to destroy,

The destruction you caused in me

couldn't have been more complete,

You've simply destroyed
the idea I've always had of myself,

Now I can't see anything

that would give me back
my identity,

What would you propose?

Such a scandal is like a civil death...

a total loss of myself,

But how can a man who is used
to the idea of order,

of the future,

and of possession,
do this?

Leave it, I'll carry it.

No, I'll carry it.

Let's carry it together, okay?

Hello, Emilia,

I-Ii, Emilia,

Emilia,

Do you have a tape measure?

Yes, certainly, miss,

Miss, dinner is served,

Miss...

Miss Odetta...

There's nothing I can do,
It's outside my field,

I'm sorry,

Miss Odetta,

Miss Odetta,
Miss Odetta, come on,

Miss Odetta, please,

Open your hand,
Come on, Miss Odetta,

Open your hand, miss,

Miss Odetta,

Oh, what fine work!

I'm a real jerk!

Emilia, it's ready,

- Are you hungry?
- No, I won't eat,

Come on, eat,
It's good,

You must eat something,

No, no, I won't,

But why?

Why won't you eat, Emilia?

It's good, you know,

But why?

Just tell us what
you'd like to eat, Speak,

Emilia, come on,

One must try to come up with new,
unrecognizable techniques

that won't resemble any previous ones

so, as to avoid silly ridicule,

One should build one's own world

that would allow no comparisons

and for which there would be
no previous measures of judgment

which must be new,
like the technique,

No one must realize that
the author is worthless,

that he's an abnormal,
inferior type,

that, like a worm writhes
and slithers to keep alive,

No one must ever
catch him being naive,

Everything must appear perfect,

based on rules that are unknown,

and, therefore, not judgeable,

Like a crazy man, yes.

Like a crazy man,

Glass on glass,

because I'm unable
to correct anything.

And no one must realize this

A brush stroke on one pane

corrects without spoiling

the one painted before

on another glass pane,

But nobody

must believe
it's the expedience

of an incapable,

of an impotent!

Not at all,

It must seem like
a firm decision,

resolute, high
and almost domineering!

No one must know that a stroke
comes out well by chance,

by chance and trembling,

That as soon as a brush stroke
comes out well, as if by miracle,

it must be protected right away

and sheltered as in a shrine,

But no one must notice...

that the artist is a poor,
trembling idiot,

a half-ass,
who lives by chance and risk,

dishonored like a child

and has reduced his life
to the silly melancholy

of one who lives degraded
by the impression

of something lost forever,

Blue reminds me of him

But blue alone is clearly not enough,

Blue is just a part,

Who can grant me the right
of making such a mutilation?

Which ideologies are sufficient
to justify it?

Weren't my first insignificant
attempts at portraits better?

But look,

Look there, what she's turned into
by eating nothing but nettles,

Oh, Lord, what a shame,

I don't smoke, sorry,

Which way back to Milan?

Turn left, then straight ahead
all the way,

What would happen if...

if I decided
to strip myself of everything

and give my factory
to the workers?

Let's go,

Don't be afraid,

I didn't come here to die,
but to cry,

and mine are not tears of pain,

No, they'll be a spring,

but not a spring of pain,

Go now, go away,

THE END