All language subtitles for Alfred.Hitchcock.Presents.S02E05.None.Are.So.Blind.1080p.PCOK.WEBRip.AAC.2.0.H.265.-EDGE2020_track3_[eng]

Good evening.

The entertainment industry
is always crying
for new faces.

I've decided to give them one.

Not that there's anything
wrong with the old one.

In fact, I think
it's rather good.

Well, it could
have been worse.
What if I had cracked?

See, here's the one.

I've always wanted
to be someone else.

That won't do.

I look like
a near-sighted hearth rug.

By an odd coincidence,

we have a story about a man

who decided to be someone
other than himself.

And by an equally
odd coincidence,

it is rehearsed
and ready to start.

Here it is.

SEYMOUR: I suppose
you could say it began
that Easter Sunday.

I was spending the weekend
at my Aunt Muriel's house
in Norwich, Connecticut.

A place I was forced to spend
many weekends.

Not that I found my aunt's
company particularly
congenial, far from it.

But the food was fair
and even she
didn't have the effrontery

to charge me for my visits.

Not that she wasn't capable
of doing even that.

As a matter of fact,

nothing my aunt did
would be too surprising.

But that weekend,
she went too far.

Even for a person
as good-natured as myself.

Can't you see my problem?

The shop is
a veritable gold mine.

But when you work
with objets d'art,
you have to begin slowly.

I don't think we'd better
discuss the antique shop
anymore, Seymour.

I simply cannot let you have
any more money.

Well, I know it's true.
I wasn't cut out
to be a businessman,

but the shop is different.

Now, it might interest you
to know...

I'll tell you what
it would interest me to know.

Just what you think you are
cut out for, Seymour.

You don't understand.

I should have lived
in the Renaissance.

Or some other period

when refinement and culture
and taste

really meant something.

I doubt if there was ever
a period in history

when men could enjoy
those things without money.

Well, if it comes to that...

If dear Papa hadn't left
all the money to you
instead of to me,

I would have money.

Your father was a
very sensible man, Seymour.

He felt he must force you
to make your own way
for a while.

He thought it might put
some sense into your head
about money.

It's a pity Father didn't
have any understanding
of what I'm really like.

Oh, you're wrong, Seymour.

Really you are.

Perception and sensitivity
don't seem to run
on your side of the family.

He couldn't help it
any more than you can.

Ordinarily I'm a fairly
good-natured person, Seymour,

but I find it impossible
to spend any time with you
and remain that way.

Is it possible

that you're suffering
from a feeling of guilt?

You mean guilt
about the money? No.

I'm only grateful
you live in the city

and aren't around
to embarrass me
all the time.

Why should I embarrass anyone?

Oh, Seymour...

Your affectations.

Don't you see how people
around here laugh at you
all the time?

What people?

I never see them, much less
care what they think.

The only way I could
possibly survive

in this so-called
civilization

is not to see
anything unpleasant.

Just to pretend

it doesn't exist.

Oh, I give up.

Don't tell me you're running
out of good advice.

No. Out of patience.

I thought that was something
that you and Father had
an inexhaustible supply of.

No one could have
enough patience to put up
with you, Seymour.

Because of all the vain,
silly, egotistical,
unattractive...

Unattractive?

Of course, everyone has
a right to his own opinion,

but unfortunately
you're in the minority.

I'm going upstairs.

Seymour.

Do you realize
that when you're in a room
with a person,

you not only get into
a position where you can
admire yourself in a mirror,

but where the person
with you can only see
what you call your best angle?

It is my best angle.

Oh, stop it.

I never heard such nonsense
in my life.

Good heavens.
This sort of thing
is bad enough in a woman,

but in a man, it's...

Well, it's embarrassing.

At your age, do you think
it's wise to get yourself
upset like that?

It might not be good
for your health.

Don't worry about my health,
Seymour.

Though I have no doubt
you've given
a good deal of thought to it.

Oh, why shouldn't I
be concerned?

After all, you are my aunt.

Don't waste your time worrying
about my health, Seymour.

I know you can't wait
to get your hands
on the money.

My dear Aunt Muriel,
that is almost
a vulgar remark.

A little vulgarity
in your nature would be
a very healthy thing.

That's beside the point
at the moment.

Oh, there's never been
any secret of the fact

that the money is yours
when I die.

But I wouldn't waste my time
if I were you, Seymour,
waiting for it.

It may take a long time.

You might just as well
make up your mind.

If you want any more money,
you've got to go to work.

What about my shop?

Your shop is just an excuse
not to work.

I'll thank you not to
make derogatory remarks
about that shop, Aunt Muriel.

Will you or will you not
give me that money?

No. Not one cent.

Not one cent of the money
do you get while I'm alive.

SEYMOUR: I didn't answer her.
I simply smiled.

Obviously, there would
have been no point

in prolonging the discussion
with her any further.

For while I had no intention
of descending to her level

and bickering about anything
as sordid as money,

it was at that moment
I made up my mind.

Now, there was no alternative.

(CLOCK CHIMING)
I would simply have to
murder my aunt.

I moved slowly,

discarding plan after plan
as unworthy,

until one day
when I was eating,

certainly not enjoying
my meager lunch,

it happened.

It was a wallet.

A wallet obviously dropped
by someone else.

My first thought was
it might contain money.

Shocking comment
on the position
my aunt had placed me in.

However, it contained
only a driver's license.

But after
my first disappointment,

I realized suddenly

that fate had placed
the solution in my hands.

As I looked down
at the license,

the whole plan came to me.

Complete and perfect
in every detail.

LIZA: Seymour, why on earth
did you drag me down here

in the middle
of the afternoon?

And why are you
closing the shop at this hour?

A: I want to talk to you.

B: I don't wish
to be disturbed.

If you mean by a customer,
I don't think
there's much danger.

If I wasn't in such
a good humor today,

I might be a little annoyed
by your attitude.

I'm terrified.

I'm also getting
extremely impatient.

What's so special
about this afternoon?

Don't tell me your aunt
had the decency to die.

Not quite.

(CLOCK CHIMING)

Let me ask you something,
Liza.

Have you ever been presented

with a large complex idea,

complete down
to the last detail?

I wouldn't know.
Ideas aren't my specialty.

Like leisurely unwrapping
a large Christmas parcel

full of the most
wonderful surprises.

I've almost forgotten
what that's like.

I've been going with you
for so long now, Seymour.

That's unworthy
of you, Liza.

You've always known that
even if things are a little
tight now, as soon as...

As soon as your aunt dies,
it will all be different.

The only trouble is
by the time she does,
if she ever does,

we'll both be so old
it won't matter.

I never worry about age.

I have the kind
of bone structure that lasts.

Well, I haven't.

I want my share
of the cake now.

That's right. You don't have
that kind of bone structure.

For your information,
I've about decided not to sit
around here any longer

admiring your bone structure.

There's no point in both of us
doing the same thing.

There's an edge
to your voice, Liza, that
means you want to quarrel.

You know how
I abhor quarreling.

Then suppose you stop
talking in circles and tell me
what this is all about.

Let me ask you
one more question.

What, in your opinion,

is the most important thing
in the world?

Money.
I'm serious.

All right. I'll play.

What is the most
important thing?

It's not money.

It's not taste or personality,

or distinctive features.

It's a passport.

A what?
A passport.

An official document.

A social security card.
A driver's license.

In other words,
an identification.

Because it is only
by an official identification

that we really exist.

I don't get it.
Sit down.

Liza, do you know
what that is?

A driver's license.

Correct. A California
driver's license in the name
of Antonio Bertani.

I found it quite by accident
at lunchtime.

Pity it wasn't a $100 bill.

It's worth a great deal
more than that.

With this license,
I can create a person.

A person who will do exactly

what I require of him.

Would it interest you
to know that I have no idea
what you're talking about?

How can you be so stupid?

My dear Liza,

don't you understand
that with this license,

anybody can become
Mr. Bertani?

He can buy a car
and register it in his name.

He can rent a house
in some little town,
let's say, in New Jersey...

Now, wait a minute.

I want to be sure
I've got this all straight.

You're going to hire someone
to impersonate this Bertani.

Bertani.

My dear Liza, it is not
a question of impersonation.

I shall create

a fictitious person
by the name of Bertani,

who will do anything
I want him to do,

including the all-important
last act.

My aunt's demise.

And who, if I may be so bold,
is going to play the part?

I am.

You?

SEYMOUR: Me.

Liza, why are you laughing?

I can't help it.
It's too funny.

I fail to see any humor
in this situation whatsoever.

I don't doubt it, Seymour.

Humor was never
your strong point.

Honestly,
I can't take it seriously.

I can't do anything but laugh.

As a matter of fact,
at this moment,

I can't think of anyone
in the world who's safer
than your aunt.

SEYMOUR: I had no intention
of allowing her attitude
to stop me.

The only effect it had

is that I made a mental note
that at my convenience,

Liza, too, would have to go.

Meanwhile, I wasted no time
putting my plan in operation.

I purchased those items
necessary for my disguise.

The actual creation
of the goodSeñor Bertani

was extremely simple.

I had only to use
my purchases skillfully.

I was no longer
Seymour Johnston,

but Antonio Bertani.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

Mr. Bertani?
Yes?

I'm your neighbor, Mrs...
What do you want?

I'm soliciting funds
for our new church organ...

I don't give
to any churches.

Oh, I'm sorry.
And what's more, I don't
like to be bothered.

You can tell that
to your friends.

Well, really...
And don't let
that happen again.

SEYMOUR: I had no doubt
as to how she would
describeSeñor Bertani

when the police
finally traced him there.

I made the same impression
on other neighbors

during the weekends I spent in
that ghastly little apartment
during the summer.

Then with this last purchase
in Bertani's name,

I was ready.

The plan was complete
but for the final act.

The murder of my aunt.

I was full of satisfaction
as I arrived on the grounds
of my aunt's estate

in the car I had purchased
in the good Bertani's name.

Or should I perhaps
call him the bad Bertani?

There's something
very satisfying

about drawing to the end

of an extremely complicated
and delicate operation.

I hid the car in the bushes
a short distance
from the house.

And since my plan
called for it to be found
there by the police,

I made certain the wheels
were deeply embedded
in the soft earth.

Then I walked
the rest of the way
to the house.

The evening went as usual

with an endless lecture
of my failings.

In a way, I was glad of this,

for it reaffirmed
the rightness of what she was
forcing me to do.

What are you looking at me
like that for, Seymour?

I was just thinking how nice
you look this evening.

I see.

You sound unconvinced.

I am.

As a matter of fact,
everything you've done
this evening

has been very unconvincing.

(PIANO PLAYING)
You've been more peculiar
than usual.

And here, I thought I'd been
particularly charming.

You have been trying to be.

Trying?

Yes.

You're the most
exasperating woman
I've ever known.

I don't know
why I put up with you.

It's the other way around,
isn't it?

This is my house, Seymour.

I am the one
putting up with you.

Yes, it is your house.
Temporarily.

Yes, temporarily.

Oh, it's silly of me
to play this game with you.

What game?

I know perfectly well
what's wrong with you tonight.

I don't know
what you're talking about.

Don't you think I know
that it was you who sent me
that silly letter?

Letter? What letter?

The letter
threatening my life,

unless I pay $10,000
by the first of the month

to some man by the name of
Antonio Bertani.

No one else in the world
would think of anything
so childish.

My dear Aunt Muriel,

if you've received a letter
threatening your life,

don't you think
you ought to go
to the police about it?

The police?

Of course.

If your life is in danger,
shouldn't the police
know about it?

So that's what you wanted.

You wanted me to take it
to the police.

(MURIEL LAUGHING)
Well, no, I didn't...

Oh, Seymour,
it isn't possible.

Don't tell me
you were planning to kill me

and then have it blamed
on some fictitious character
that you invented.

You find that amusing?

Oh, it's wrong of me
to laugh, I know.

It's so silly and childish
and typical of you.

What have you done
with the letter?

What have you done
with it?

I put it in the wastepaper
basket. What else
would I do with it?

Now, what are you doing?

Shut the desk drawer.

This has gone far enough.

That's right. So it has.

You're right.
I did send that letter.

And I did want you
to turn it in to the police.

But it'll be just as well
if they find it
in that drawer.

It will serve as a motive.

You don't have to worry
about paying up
by the first of the month.

Don't worry.
You won't be overdue.

Now put that thing down,
Seymour,
you might hurt yourself.

Dear Aunt Muriel,

always so concerned
with other people's welfare.

(GUN FIRING)

What was that noise?

I don't know, sir.
That's what I came
to find out.

It sounded like a shot.

Well, that's impossible.
It must have been
a car backfiring.

Perhaps we better look.

Good heavens.

Oh, sir.

Poor Mrs. Drummond.

How could
such a thing happen?

(GASPS)
There's a man out there.

Don't worry. I'll get him.

SEYMOUR:
It all worked beautifully
just as I had planned.

But then, of course,
if you're intelligent
to plan well,

it always works out.

I started the motor
even though I knew the car

was deeply embedded
in the soft ground.

And then as I left the gun
in the car,

my work was done.

I had nothing else to do
but return to the house,

call the police
and act the part
of the bereaved nephew.

I'm so ashamed, Inspector.
I mean, to think
I had so little courage.

You mean you could
have caught him?

Well, I don't know about that.
I heard a sound at the gate
and I...

Well, frankly,
I was frightened. You see,
I remembered he had a gun.

I was simply afraid.

What happened then?

Well, I waited at the gate
for a while

and then I heard a car
start up back in the woods.

I went toward it,
not very fast, I'm afraid.

Well, did you get a look
at the car as it came out?

It didn't come out.

What do you mean it didn't?
It's not still there?

Well, yes. I heard someone
starting the...

Never mind.
Tell me the rest on the way.
Come on.

SEYMOUR: When we returned
to the house, the detective
found the letter in the desk

and seemed dissatisfied
not only with it,
but also with everything.

He was that kind of person.

An unnaturally suspicious,
pleasureless soul

who depressed me
even to talk to.

However,
although it wasn't necessary,

I decided it would be
a nice touch to win him.

Didn't your aunt ever
tell you she was receiving
this sort of thing?

Why, never.
I don't understand it.

We were so close.

She never had
any secrets from me.

Well, as far as that goes,
I knew your aunt pretty well
myself.

I would have thought
she'd told me.

That's so strange.

Why should anybody
want to blackmail Aunt Muriel?

I mean,
she had nothing to hide.

Well, I imagine
we'll find the answer to that

when we've traced the car
and the gun.

SEYMOUR: Well, I imagine
that won't be too difficult
for you.

I suppose
you're very experienced
at that kind of thing.

It's my job.

Oh, good morning, Inspector.

Have you found out anything?

We've traced the car,
Mr. Johnston.

Then, you've traced
the murderer?

Have you arrested him?

Well, not yet. But I think
we're pretty close.

Of course, he wasn't at home
when we paid him a visit.

His name was Bertani.

Have you ever heard
that name, Mr. Johnston?

Bertani? Bertani.

Isn't that the name of the man
who wrote my aunt that letter
threatening her life?

I wondered if you'd remember.

In any case, we found that
he lived over in New Jersey.

The people there thought
that he was hiding out.

Well, he certainly won't go
back there. Didn't they give
you a description of him?

Oh, yes, we got a description.
A very complete description.

Well, then, you shouldn't
have any difficulty
in picking him up.

We don't expect to.

Why are you staring at me?

Because I can't believe it.

I'm looking right at you
and I can't believe it.

Mr. Johnston.

I think I told you
that your aunt and I
were very good friends.

She used to talk to me
a good deal about you.

I wouldn't pay
any attention to anything
she might have said.

Tell me.

Why is it that when
you're talking to someone,

you always keep
your right profile
turned away?

I wasn't aware of it.
I didn't...

Just a minute.

I remember that
once she told me that
when anything annoyed you,

you simply pretended
that it wasn't there.

She said you were able
to do it

so that you never really saw
anything you didn't want
to see.

Well, what's so dreadful
about that?

There's nothing dreadful
about it.

It's just a little difficult
when you want
to disguise yourself

and you've managed
to convince yourself
that something isn't there.

So you don't bother
to disguise that.

Particularly something
as conspicuous

as that birthmark of yours.

Poor Seymour.

It couldn't have happened
to a more deserving person.

I've decided not
to be someone else after all.

If I won't be myself,
who will?

However, allow me to indulge
my exhibitionist tendencies

with this quick-change
demonstration.

The Alfred Hitchcock of today.

The Alfred Hitchcock
of 30 years ago.

The secret of this
transformation
is rather simple.

I just removed my wallet.

And now,
I shall remove myself.

But soon, I shall return
with another story.