All language subtitles for kafka.2024.s01e01.subbed.480p.web.x264.rmteam

The life of the Jewish
insurance official,

factory owner
and writer from Prague,

Dr Franz Kafka,
lasted 40 years and 11 months.

He died of laryngeal tuberculosis
in a sanatorium near Vienna.

He visited Berlin,
Munich, Zurich, Paris,

Milan, Venice, Verona,
Vienna and Budapest.

He saw the ocean
a total of three times:

the North Sea, the Baltic Sea
and the Italian Adriatic.

Dr Franz Kafka
remained unmarried.

He had love affairs
with six women that we know of,

most of them very brief.

He also had intimate contact
with an unknown number of prostitutes.

His literary work consists
of 350 pages of completed texts,

as well as ten times
as many fragments, letters and diaries.

When he died, the instructions he left
for his friend Max Brod...

The final thing he requested
Max Brod to do...

You have to destroy everything.
Nothing must remain.

Did you actually carry out
his instructions?

No, we have to 'start elsewhere.

Max, you'll have to
use the second suitcase.

- We don't have any others.
- It's full. You know what's in it.

- Yes, but our things...
- The train won't wait.

1939. Dr Franz Kafka
has been dead for 15 years.

- Sorry.
- Sorry.

This is the last train
from Prague to Poland.

- Seats 33 and 35.
- Max, wait. Max.

These are our seats.
Please vacate our seats.

No need to get upset, Mr Brod!

- You know me?
- I've read your book on Tycho Brahe.

- What do you think will happen?
- Nothing will happen.

President Hacha is with Hitler.

While they're negotiating,
nothing can happen.

From your lips to God's ears.

Half a lifetime earlier,

the well-known writer
and his not-so-well-known friend

are travelling to Italy.

Shall we write a novel together,
about our trip?

I'm not sure.

To be a writer,
you have to write!

I do write.

- So write more!
- Then it won't be good.

It'll be good enough.

Good enough?

Good enough...

- What the hell's going on?
- Nothing, Elsa.

At the last station, they told me
the Germans have taken Olomouc!

- You're meshuga! Sit down.
- You'll see, you schmuck!

Why are you spreading rumours,
you ganef?

- Max, did you hear that?
- I told you, Hacha is with Hitler.

Nothing will happen
for a few days.

Why would he invade
while he's negotiating?

- Max, think about what Hitler...
- Elsa, I know what I'm talking about.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.

I couldn't sleep last night.

Being in a strange room
isn't good for me.

You were snoring.
I tried to wake you up.

- I sleep very deeply.
- I noticed. Enviable.

I'm awakened by every breeze.

Since I had
trouble sleeping, Max,

and since one always
works..best at night...

- I work best in the afternoon.
- No, it has to be night.

And even the night
isn't-night enough. Anyway...

Yes?

Since I couldn't sleep?
I worked on our novel.

- Franz, that's great.
- No, it's very bad.

- It didn't, go well?
- Unfortunately, not at all.

- Must you do that every morning?
- You've seen me do it

Yes, but do you have to?

I showed you the Muller brochure.
Those who don't Muller-get sick.

- S@ do those who Muller.
- Yes, that’s true.

Those who Muller get sick too.

Maybe we should write
travel guides instead of the novel.

- We'll write both.
- At the same time?

Of course! The more you write,
the easier it gets.

- I'm worried Jitka may be pregnant.

You just said you're so relieved
that she can't have children.

- Thpt's the other one.
- Luzia?

No, no.

So you’re not worried
about Luzia getting pregnant?

No, I am. I couldn't imagine
anything worse.

Maybe you should be
less sociable.

I'm just in love
with all of them.

I don’t understand how you manage.
You rarely need a woman.

When you do pick one up in a wine bar,
you actually take her out.

Everyone sees you,
and you don't mind.

You talk to her as if she was...
As if it wasn't embarrassing.

Why not, Max?
I talk to you too.

What's that look for?

Do you really have to
chew for that long?

Horace Fletcher says you should chew
40 times before you swallow.

- That way the digestive process...
- I know.

You've already explained,
but it's so exhausting watching you.

Now you sound like my father.

I can't watch him.
The way that boy eats... I can't!

Calm down, Hermann.
It's just the way Franz is.

If that's how he likes it, Dad...

I can't watch him!
He looks like a rabbit!

I can't stand it.

Don't serve so slowly, you cow,
everything's getting cold!

Don't worry,
my father doesn't mean it that way.

Of course I mean it!

Sir, look!

Did you see that man just now?
He had a gold tooth.

- So?
- Nothing.

I just thought that a gold tooth is
really useful for describing someone,

however vague the rest
of the impression.

You just write "gold tooth"
and there he is.

Every single window

is painted
with the recurring colour of a dress.

- Of a dress?
- Ochre marine, for example.

Streets like this make
your legs come apart.

Why the legs?

Our guidebook should
include a chapter on shoes.

Avoid wear and tear
on your shoes,

otherwise it gets costly.

Go away!

Hi, gorgeous.

You have to feel sorry
for a dog like that.

- Why?
- No one respects him and...

Thank you.

Yes?

We need to escape our offices.

Me from the insurance institute,
you from the post office.

- The real way out is by rope.
- Are we tightrope walkers?

No, it's stretched
just above the ground.

More a tripwire
than a tightrope.

Listening to you, you'd think
there's no hope at all sometimes.

No, there is hope.
An infinite amount, but...

- But?
- Not for us.

Yes, he's difficult
to understand.

He demands a lot
and gives almost nothing in return.

Sometimes, Max Brod,
the famous writer, is exhausted.

Sometimes, he feels as if
he should give up on his friend.

- But...
- Nonsense!

You might as well admit it
to yourself, Max.

Sometimes you're so close...

I don't know you, sir,
and I have nothing to...

Ostrava!

Max, can you hear me?

Max! Max?

Passports.

I told you!

I told you.

Passports.

- Have the Germans invaded?
- What do you think?

Things will be different here
from now on.

Great days are beginning
for us German Czechs.

- Is the train allowed through?
- We'll see.

Do you have anything to declare?

Open the suitcase.

- What's that?
- Nothing.

"Nothing"?

A friend's manuscripts.
He bequeathed them to me.

He bequeathed you his scribbles?

Are they valuable?

- They are to me.
- I mean financially.

He asked me to burn them.
That's how valuable they are.

Max!

But instead
you're taking them with you?

You're leaving the country,
with a suitcase full of scribbles?

What can I say, Inspector?
He was my best friend.

"And now I leapt,
as if it were not the first time,

onto the shoulders
of my acquaintance..."

"And by digging my fists
into his back,

"I urged him into a trot.

"But as he continued
to stomp reluctantly

"and sometimes even stopped,

"I jabbed him in the belly
several times with my boots,

"in order to liven him up.

"It had the desired effect, and
we proceeded with good speed ever deeper

"into a vast
but as yet unfinished region,

in which it was evening."

- "Unfinished region"?
- Yes.

Are you sure?
Yes.

That's ridiculous.
"Unfinished region"!

Wasn't he right in the head,
your best friend?

I don't understand it,
but it's good.

What do you think, Max?

I think...

What, Max?
What do you think?

It's the best thing
I've ever heard.

You're right
it really is worthless.

Like I said.

- So will the train be allowed through?
- You can cross this border.

This border crossing was
just for you.

Now that you've crossed it,
it'll be closed.

Excuse me?

I said you were lucky.

- This is the last train.
- The last one?

The border will be shut.

Take them away.

Denial of the will is the exit

through which we can recognise
the same suffering in everything.

They met on 23 October 1902.

If we had to determine the day

when the century's
literature changed forever,

then it'd probably be

the day Franz Kafka met the man who
would save his work from destruction.

On 23 October 1902,
Kafka wasn't yet a doctor,

nor a writer.

His fellow student Max,
a year younger than him,

had just given a lecture
on Schopenhauer.

Schopenhauer says the will isn’t only
the fundamental fact of the world,

but also the principle
of individuation.

No, we have to start elsewhere.

There’s something
you need to know about Max.

His spinal curvature.
We have to start with that.

The fact that he was actually condemned
to a life as a hunchback,

to an existence on the margins
as a disabled person,

as a cripple, forgive the word,
that's what they said in those days.

- But his mother wouldn't have it.
- Max, come!

He was swathed in parental love
like a prince in his purple robe.

Slow down, Max.
A little more feeling.

He was given piano lessons.
He was gifted.

He consequently became
a writer and philosopher,

and also a virtuoso
and music theorist,

among other things.

Above all he was passionate,
warm-hearted,

easily inspired,
not terribly profound,

and, all in all, let's be honest,
we have to be honest...

His ambition was somewhat
greater than his talent. -

But he was. ambitious!

- Dr Schnitzler?
- Yes, how can I help?

- The great writer?
- Probably. My brother isn't here.

My name's Brod.

Sorry to disturb you, but this is
part of a novel I've written.

What?

If you could read it,
I'd consider it the greatest honour.

Who was that?

When Max went to university,
he joined the debating society

and immediately,
that is on 23 October 1902,

that great date that changed
the history of literature forever,

gave his first lecture.

Nietzsche's criticism of Schopenhauer
is unacceptable!

It's based on vanity
and competitiveness.

Nietzsche is a swindler!

Questions later please!

Forgive me, Mr Brod,
you're not really claiming

that Nietzsche's criticism
of Schopenhauer

stems solely from base motives?

That no philosophical considerations
whatsoever entered into it?

That's exactly what I'm claiming,
and I'll prove it!

If there's only the will,

why does it cast itself
in worldly form?

Why isn't it just the will?

Schopenhauer says
the will must recognise itself,

or it would have
nothing to want.

- But it's blind.
- Not so blind that it can't want.

That night, the two of them walked
back and forth, back and forth.

Max accompanied Franz to his flat,
then Franz accompanied Max to his flat,

then Max accompanied Franz
to his flat again.

That night
neither of them would sleep.

And since then, like it or not,

there is no Brod without Kafka,
and no Kafka without Brod.

And what later became known
to posterity as the "Prague Circle"

was basically nothing other
than Max Brod's three best friends.

The insurance clerk Kafka,
the blind piano teacher Baum,

and the editor Weltsch.

- I don't see anything.
- Yes, right there.

In reality, posterity never actually
called them the Prague Circle.

You know who called them that?

The only one who did,
in his book The Prague Circle?

I did! So what? The Prague Circle,
that was us, what's the problem?

And so here's the Prague Circle,

celebrating as 1910
becomes 1911.

The world is stable,
war is a thing of the past,

progress is inevitable.

And Halley's comet is
resplendent in the sky.

There's nothing there.

Maybe it's good
if it doesn't show.

Astronomers say
it could graze the Earth.

- 1911 is an ominous date.
- Any date is ominous.

Do you see anything, Baum?

- Nothing.
- Baum doesn't see anything either.

- Of course Baum doesn’t see anything.
- What are you implying?

What am I implying?
Baum is blind.

That's not nice, Brod.

A little more sensitivity would
do you good sometimes, Max.

But he knows he's blind.
It's not as if I called him ugly.

Did you hear that?

Brod, what did Baum ever
do to you?

Now he's calling me ugly.

Still nothing.

We came all the way up here
for this stupid old comet.

- I was sweating.
- Why did you even come?

- For the comet of course!
- But it's not coming.

I'll write
a strongly-worded article.

- A bad review about the comet?
- I don't mince words.

- They won't know what hit them.
- Who?

I bet they'll blame the Jews.

Shall we get going?

Yes, it's not coming today.

But the Prague Circle doesn't
just look for comets.

It also makes regular excursions
to the brothel.

Cheers.

I'll just say it, brothels were
commonplace at that time.

Almost all young men went there,

and many poor young women
worked there in order not to starve.

Surely you can manage
something more original, Weltsch,

than just "cheers'"?

I'm not a poet. In fact,
I'm the only one here who isn't a poet,

therefore I can say
whatever I want.

I welcome every platitude.
Every threadbare thought is my friend.

Thank you, Mitzi!

But the true poet here,
the heavenly high schooler,

does he have nothing to present?

- I think she means you, Werfel.
- I always have something to present!

There must be some benefit
of poets coming here.

- We want to hear something too.
- Fine.

The friends
who converse with me.

So oft discontented,

now in joyous radiance.

They wander my fine countenance.

Arm in arm,

ennobled souls.

Alas, my face that dignity
can't hold.

And earnestness and equanimity
will not suffice.

Because a thousand smiles
in renewed flights.

Upon its heavens
eternally unfold.

I am a procession
on a sunlit square.

A summer's festival
with women and bazaars.

My eye breaks
from too much illumination.

Upon the grass,
I shall sit down.

And ride with the earth
into the evening far.

Oh, earth, evening, happiness...

To be in the world!

Bravo.

That was lovely, Franz.

Especially all the sunlit
squares and stuff.

It's good, isn't it?
It took me a while.

That was wonderful.

Enough poetry now, friends.

There's a time for words,
and a time for silence.

Every day,
I walk past the brothel

as though it were
the house of a beloved.

You say nice things too,
but they don't rhyme.

Rhyme is the shore
upon which they're landing.

Where two thoughts reach
an understanding.

That's beautiful.
And it rhymes too.

If it didn't rhyme,
it'd be wrong.

Did you write that?

Unfortunately not.
If it were mine, it wouldn't rhyme.

When I put sentences together,

the rhyme disappears
and hides in a corner.

Then let's go
and find it, Franz.

The great thing about these>girls
is that they don't get pregnant.

Really?

I mean, if they do,
it's not my problem.

While Jitka has given me
another fright.

For 10 days, she was unsure.

How did you do with the girl?
You haven't told me.

Look, that gentleman's
killing himself.

Look.

No, really.

Now they're getting him out.
Why are they doing that?

He should be left in peace
if he really wants to kill himself.

Franz, help me! Franz!

Let me through. We need to
give him artificial respiration.

- You didn't even try to help!
- You didn't even try to look.

The way his features jumped
at the exact moment...

He confronted the extreme.

- Then he needs help.
- He needs us to look him in the eye.

- That's not human.
- But we're writers, Max.

So?

Our eyes are more important
than our hands.

At the decisive moment,
it's important we see,

see everything,
outside, inside, day, night.

You know I work differently.

You need it.

The-darkness,
the stepping back, the cold gaze.

But my poems, my novels,
aren't they good enough,

without keeping
my distance from everything?

Yes, good enough.
Indeed they are.

There are twelve of my books
on your shelf.

Twelve!

The suicide attempt
upset us both.

I didn't do
all that at half strength.

- Twelve books.
- Of course not.

I exaggerated again.
You know I like to exaggerate.

Twelve.

- Are you completely out of your mind?
- Good morning, Franz.

"It's a sign of the cultural heights
German literature has reached

"that our writers grace
diverse aspects of existence

"with their art and their cruelty.

"Heinrich Mann, Wedekind,
Meyrink, Franz Kafka,

and several others belong
to this sacred group." Max!

- What?
- I haven't published anything.

- Mann, Wedekind, Meyrink, Kafka?

- Why would you write that?
- Because it's true.

- People are going to read this!
- I hope so.

- They'll wonder who Kafka is.
- Let them.

- Tihen they'll want to buy my books.
- Possibly.

And the bookseller will
tell them there aren't any.

You'll have to fix that.

His constant enthusiasm
was unbearable,

but it was also irresistible.

Mr.Brod, we're thrilled to be
publishing your novel here in Leipzig.

But one novel isn't enough.
I have so much more.

More? You've written
a second novel?

- Just what we need.
- Hear him out.

I've written many novels,
but also...

This was written
by my friend Felix Weltsch.

A philosophical work
of extraordinary power.

This is by Otto Stoessel,
a promising author.

He also wrote this.

This is by Werfel.
You know him.

We call him
the heavenly high schooler.

For a young unknown author,
you certainly bring a lot of baggage.

I bring treasures.

This is by a certain Oskar Baum,
a friend of mine.

He writes about being blind.

- Really? He writes about being blind.
- Exciting.

Would you just listen?

What the world is like for someone who
never sees how people move through it.

It's overwhelming,
you have to publish it.

Of course we have to check it first,
but it's interesting.

And then there's..

Kafka.

What's his name? "Haffa"?

- KafKa.
- Kafka.

Franz Kafka.

He just may. be
the greatest writer in the world.

Nothing but the-best, right?

So what did you bring by
this greatest writer in the world?

Nothing.

- Nothing?
- No.

- There isn't anything yet.
- But you said...

Mr Brod, are you feeling unwell?

I said that where's written -
something, finished something,

finally finished something,

it'll be a credit
to your publishing house, Mr Rowohlt,

it'll be something that people
will never stop reading, I promise.

And yes, it sounds ridiculous,
it sounds utterly absurd and overblown.

But wasn't he right?

- And who is this great "Haffa"?
- Yes, who is this wondrous man?

Is he still at school too?

He works for
the National Insurance Institute.

How exciting.

Well, you've piqued
our curiosity.

You're good at that, Mr Brod,
piquing curiosity.

Speak for yourself, Wolff.
I can control my curiosity.

I know that you're good at that,
Rowohlt.

Not as good as you are
at spending money.

He doesn't like to travel
and he doesn't get much holiday.

But I'll do my best
to lure him here to Leipzig.

In the meantime, you have to
get Werfel here and Baum...

And..

I completely forgot.

Here's someone else.
His name's Haas.

He writes extraordinary things.

He was like a literary agent
who didn't get a percentage.

Dear Dr Brod,

we're very pleased
to be able to speak to you

on the occasion of your visit
to the Marbach Literary Archives.

The pleasure's all mine.

Dr Brod, you're a well-known
author in your own right,

but even more well-known,
of course,

as a friend
of the world famous Franz Kafka.

Dr Brod, let me begin by asking

whether it isn't often a disadvantage
for you to write about Kafka.

To analyse his work,
to reflect on him.

Don't you often wish
you hadn't been his friend at all,

because that would've
afforded you a more objective view.

Do I think...?

It'd never be advantageous
not to have been Kafka's friend.

There have been accusations

that you altered his diaries.

When anyone was offended,
I cut the passage."

You cut parts
of Kafka's diaries?

Things that
don't concern anyone.

You just went and decided
that on your own?

You know, Mr...

For you it's a book,
but for us it was our life.

If someone said something...

Or if he..

For example, judged someone's
work using words that...

Then it's none
of the public's business.

You mean, when he spoke
about your work, for example?

We both held each other
in the highest possible regard.

There are supposedly passages
in the diaries...

- Show me.
- I can't.

That's my point.

If I cut anything,
I did so for good reason.

Like the business
with Pachinger.

It's a real honour
to have you here, gentlemen.

I'm always happy to show
things to connoisseurs.

The evening progressed.

The pregnant female body

is preferable
to all other women.

- You don't say.
- I speak from experience.

The best to screw, you mean?

- Better than all the others.
- Tell us more, Mr Pachinger.

These are mine. I don't mean
the pictures, I mean the women.

I had them all.

- All of them?
- Thousands.

Look.

Carnival in Munich.

Over 6,000 women go
there unaccompanied,

- just to...
- To copulate.

Precisely, Dr Kafka, precisely!

And then if you have another one,
I'll tell you, and another...

I can just picture it, Mr Pachinger.
The way you tell it.

I can really picture you slowly stuffing
your big member into women.

- Do you want to see more pictures?
- Absolutely.

Of course I cut that. People shouldn't
know about such an evening.

I think I did the right thing
under the circumstances, as an editor.

As the executor
carrying out his final wishes.

So did you actually carry out
his instructions?

Every notebook,

every story.

Especially
the novel manuscripts.

You have to destroy everything.

Nothing must remain.

I never promised him.
He knew how I felt about his work.

The fact he asked me shows
that he didn't want it destroyed.

- He knew exactly what I'd do.
- The diaries too?

You could've published his work,

but the most personal,
the most intimate, the diaries...

Did he really secretly want
the public to see them, Dr Brod?

A writer of his stature..

Every one of his words is...

- Every word...
- That's not the question, Mr Brod.

The public might want to see it,
but should they be allowed to?

He trusted you.

So you're accusing me
of cutting a few sentences

and at the same time criticising me
for not burning it all?

When someone mentions
the name Max Brod today...

Let's be honest,

it's always
in connection with Kafka.

Your own novels,
all of your writing...

They're not in competition.
People read my-writing too.

But they're not available.

I'm as much at peace
with my work as a writer

as I am with the response
it’s generated.

What do you want from me?

I didn't expect to be subjected
to such questioning.

You mean the kind of questioning
where someone asks questions?

Why are you here, Franz?

I wanted to visit you.

You used to do that a lot.

- You look sad.
- I write book after book.

I correspond with Einstein
and Thomas Mann and Freud.

They discuss me
in Berlin and Vienna.

I keep thinking the next book means
I can finally leave the post office,

leave this room.

I keep thinking it must be time.

And I keep writing and another book
comes out, and again nothing happens.

And I wonder, will I ever leave
the post office?

- You'll leave the post office, Max.
- Are you sure, Franz?

I'm not so sure anymore.
Why am I not getting anywhere?

Please don't say it's because I write
things that are good enough again.

- Some things aren't good enough.

You'll leave the post office.
I promise you.

How can you be so sure?

We all leave the post office
in the end.

Where are you going?

I'm leaving the post office.

Took his work with me into exile,
on the last train.

They closed the border straight after.
If I'd waited a day longer...

But you didn't just take
his work abroad,

you also published it.

You edited it,
you commented on it,

you showed the world your opinion
of what Kafka was like.

You made him a saint, a prophet,
an interpreter of the truth.

He was all those things,
and more.

And you didn't tolerate
any disagreement.

But you never really explained

what gives you
the authority to do all that.

Forgive me, Dr Brod,
but I'm citing the opinion of others.

An author who himself was
never first-rate,

a man with no literary training,

an individual who is in no way
qualified for this task.

Why do we never get
the great Franz Kafka without you?

Why were you always there?
Why are you always in the picture?

Why is there no Kafka
without Brod?

The third class cars are
always at the very back.

- You have to get on at the front.
- Why?

One of the connecting doors
could be blocked.

That isn't your fault and you can travel
first class on a third class ticket.

We really need to write
Travel on the Cheap.

We'll earn so much money we won't have
to travel on the cheap anymore.

Attention, please!

The train to Prague
is leaving in a couple of minutes!

I'm jealous. Tomorrow I'm back at work
while you're at the sanatorium.

- Yes, but it's a nude sanatorium.
- Nude?

Not what you think. Quite the opposite.
Very sober medical business.

I can't say
I'm looking forward to it.

You'd rather be in the office?

Naked it is then.

Let me repeat the question, Dr Brod.
What gives you the right?

Why are you,
of all people, entitled

to constantly make apodictic
statements about him?

He was...

He was my best friend.