Original subtitles

Every seventh year is a Year of the Moon.

People whose lives are strongly influenced by their emotions

suffer more intensely from depressions in these years.

To a lesser degree, this is also true of years with 13 new moons.

When a Moon Year also has 13 new moons

inescapable personal tragedies may occur.

In the 20th century, this dangerous constellation occurs six times.

One of these is 1978;

before that, 1908, 1929, 1943 and 1957.

1992 will also be a year in which many people's lives are threatened.

Volker Spengler as Elvira Weisshaupt in

IN A YEAR WITH 13 MOONS

What's up here?

He's not a john. He's a woman, he says.

Stop it!

With the collaboration of

Men hover 'round me

like moths 'round a flame

And when they get burnt

good that no one knows my game

Rumpelstiltskin is my name

On the Volga's banks a soldier stands

Keeping watch for his fatherland

Standing on the battlements, looking down with pleasure on...

Elvira?

I didn't know you'd be here.

It's been six weeks

Six weeks! That's 42 days...

Or 1008 hours. I can count for myself.

Is that all that occurs to you?

No, of course not.

How stupid of me!

I'm so sorry.

I bet you mean my...

my outfit.

You're probably wondering...

why I'm...

You're drunk again.

Drunk?

No, darling. I'm not drunk.

On the contrary...

I'm just lonely.

Yes, I'm lonely, and I...

Stop screaming!

When you're in the wrong you always start screaming.

Me, in the wrong?

You, of all people, accuse me?

No, my friend,

I am not in the wrong.

You left me in the lurch.

I've been sitting here for weeks, till I felt quite claustrophobic,

staring at the phone...

till I could hardly see anymore, till my brain went numb.

No, the only thing I did wrong

was to yearn

for someone to caress me

and kiss me.

Caress you? Kiss you?

You have nothing but jam in your head.

Caress you? Don't make me laugh!

Look at yourself in the mirror!

Don't, Christoph!

Look at yourself in the mirror!

Christoph, please, please.

I'm scared.

What are you scared of?

Of you. Today, you're so...

You know what you're afraid of?

Your own ugly mug.

Look at yourself in the mirror!

I'm afraid...

Open your eyes.

Christoph, please...

Look at yourself, Elvira.

Look, or I'll smash your teeth in.

Look at yourself.

Do you see now why I don't come home anymore?

I see myself loving you.

So that's why you drink and get fatter and fatter

till your face revolts me

like a contagious disease, like leprosy.

I never wanted to hurt you.

Ugh! You're not even funny. You're just repulsive.

You're a fat, revolting, superfluous lump of meat.

And you know why?

Because you have no will of your own

no initiative, no brain. You've no imagination.

-You're not interested in anything. -That's not true.

I've always searched for something like a soul.

Something like you doesn't have a soul.

You're just a thing, an object

completely superfluous.

Nobody would notice if you ceased to exist.

Splat! And gone!

Somebody should step on you and squash you like a bug.

Christoph, stop it! Help! You're hurting me.

Stop screaming! Do you want the whole building to hear?

This is my apartment, Christoph,

and I can do what I like in it.

-So it's your apartment, is it? -Yes, my apartment.

Mine, mine, mine!

Okay, have it your way, Elvira.

It had to happen sooner or later.

God knows

rather sooner than later.

What's the matter?

Say something.

Nothing. I'm packing.

Packing?

But you've only just come home.

If this is your apartment, I can't have come home.

I must be at the wrong address.

Sorry.

You know I didn't mean it like that.

You know how I really feel.

That's the thanks I get for trying so hard all these years.

I just couldn't get it into my head you're not a real woman...

You said you loved me

and you knew about it long before you said that.

No one could know what would happen to you

that you'd become such a mess

that you'd turn out to be more than just a man

big and blubbery like a walrus

that your brain would grow emptier and emptier

and shrink to a spongy mass of nothing.

Don't talk like that, Christoph.

Not like that.

I'm so afraid you'll ruin everything

Everything.

Oh no, Elvira.

Stop kidding yourself!

There's nothing left to ruin.

It's been going on a long time.

I feel like throwing up when I touch you.

I feel so nauseated

I'd rather spend the weekend in an empty hotel

than come home to you.

You don't mean what you say.

Beat it! Let me finish packing!

Leave me alone! Once and for all!

-Go brush your teeth, for all I care. -You've been lonely in life, too.

-Now you behave as if... -Well?

Did I ever deny it?

Did I?

No. On the contrary.

But I didn't let myself go.

Of course not. You never had to.

I was always there for you.

Do you want me to spend my life groveling on my knees before you?

No one asked you to do that.

No, but you behave as if I had to pay off some huge debt.

My God, you're so unfair.

I never said anything like that. I never even thought it.

You don't think. You've nothing but jam in your head.

-You said that before. -I know, because it's true.

Jam.

It sticks your eyelids together.

It's rancid and it stinks.

It smells of putrefaction when you're around

of decay and death.

That's why

you need alcohol.

What have I done to you that you have to hurt me like this?

What have I done?

Is it because I was the one who helped you

recover your self-respect?

Think what you like.

Do what you like. I couldn't care less.

I'm leaving. Understand?

And this time for good.

Out of my way. I couldn't care less what becomes of you.

Christoph!

Leave me in peace!

Christoph, do what you like, anything.

But don't leave me!

Wait, Christoph!

Let's talk it over! Just one more time!

-See you Friday? -Okay.

What do you want?

Please don't go.

Out of my way, or I'll run you down!

Beat it!

Two coffees, two brandies, please.

What was that all about?

Because I put on men's clothes and went down to the river.

To the River Main, and?

I wanted to buy myself a boy. Is that so terrible?

It's not terrible at all, but...

Why did you wear men's clothes?

I'm not so ashamed to pay for it with men's clothes on

as I am when I wear women's clothes, as I have sometimes.

Maybe it's stupid. It's just a feeling I have.

When I pay for it as a woman I feel so terribly ashamed.

-You understand? -Sure, I understand.

It wasn't the first time I've done it in men's clothes,

but last night they beat me up.

Still, it's better than those stupid grins.

Last week I tried to get a job in my old trade.

-In men's clothes? -Naturally.

-What is your trade? -I used to be a slaughterer.

But hardly anyone knows that now.

Slaughtering real animals?

Yes, that's what I trained to do.

But they just laughed when I asked.

They looked at my boobs, made fun of me and kicked me out.

Nobody realizes how important it is for me to get a job again.

Doing something I was trained to do.

But slaughtering animals.

It's acting against life.

No it's not. It's life itself:

the steaming blood, and death.

That's what gives an animal's life meaning.

And the smell when they know they're going to die

and know that it's beautiful, and wait for it.

Solitary and beautiful.

When I was young I felt the same disgust as you.

Today I understand the world better.

Come on, I'll show you, Zora.

You'll smell it, see them die, hear their cries...

cries for deliverance.

I really wanted to be a goldsmith, but couldn't get an apprenticeship.

Only as a butcher. It was easier to find a place in a butcher shop.

In the end, I was satisfied. The butcher had a daughter of my age.

Her name was Irene. She finished school as I finished my training.

We wanted to live our own lives.

Her dad treated us like his property.

We liked each other a lot. You couldn't call it love, perhaps.

But we felt something for each other and got married.

Soon after, Irene had the baby.

Our little treasure, our Marie-Ann.

Irene's dad couldn't do anything then.

Irene stuck by me, even after I returned from Casablanca.

She never asked for a divorce, on account of the child

although she's a lot smarter than me. She became a teacher.

And her life is much more valuable than mine.

Christoph was an actor when I met him.

Seven years he was in the theater.

Usually actors move on to bigger and bigger cities.

But with him it was the opposite.

The towns became smaller and smaller.

In the end, nobody wanted him, and that made him sad.

He was so depressed he wanted to die when I found him.

I talked the hind leg off a donkey to help him.

The best thing was rehearsing roles with him.

I'd take one part and he the other. I would say:

And when our gaze lights on a monstrous deed

the soul stands still the while.

And Christoph would say:

So in the end, I face my banishment

disowned, exiled and but a beggar here.

With laurel they have crowned me

to lead me to an altar, like a sacrificial beast.

So, on the final day, they lured from me

my poem, which was my sole possession

gained it with flattery and held it fast.

Now my only wealth is in your hands

which was my commendation to the world:

all that remained to save me from starvation.

Now I perceive why I should celebrate:

that I may not perfect the song I write,

and that my name should not be spread abroad

that in their envy, my detractors find

a thousand faults, and I should be forgotten.

Hence I should yield myself to idleness

sparing myself and all my senses, too.

How willingly we do deceive ourselves

and honor the corrupt who honor us.

Then I'd say, I'll not abandon you in your distress.

And Christoph: Grant...

O grant me

for a moment the present back again!

And though a man be silenced by his pain

A God gave me the power to say

how much I suffer.

I took great pains, but in the end

he had to admit he didn't have what it takes.

At least

I helped him retain his chance of survival.

At first, he was as if paralyzed.

It went on for years, this grieving apathy

before he finally made up his mind

to be the way he'd learned a man should be:

active, decisive,

independent, apparently.

All that time he lived off me, and he wasn't ashamed of it.

That was important for me.

Believe me, Zora.

He wasn't the type to be a pimp

even though our money came from other men

with whom I slept.

At first he used to ask me about them.

How they were, what they said...

whether they were tender and loving

whether they had special wishes

what their bodies were like, especially their dicks.

Whether they were big, bigger than his.

That was strangely important.

As if the size of a cock were a problem for him.

But as time went by, his interest in this faded.

He found a new interest of a fundamental kind:

How to earn a living as a man.

Finally he decided to go into investment consulting,

a kind of poor man's stockbroker

selling shares in car washes and so on.

He changed his job a lot. Nothing was very reputable

but he earned enough money

for me not to have to work the game.

He wanted to provide for me.

I just gave him a start.

I bought the apartment and furnished it.

But I've been living off him the past few years.

He wants to make me happy that way.

I know he does.

Christoph.

Elvira! Can't you hear?

Why don't you open the door?

-Christoph? -It's me.

Irene.

I've been ringing like mad, but you didn't open.

-Have you been taking pills again? -Not at all.

I have such a headache.

-Too much to drink? -Hardly anything.

Now I remember.

This morning...Christoph.

He packed all his things and left.

For good, he said.

Don't worry, dear.

His books are still here.

That's right.

It's always the same prattle. Backwards and forwards.

And I fall for it every time. I get all upset

and he just laughs up his sleeve.

Aren't you teaching today?

School's over.

It's afternoon now.

-Really? -Yes.

What did you fight about this time?

About. Oh, you know...

It's always the same.

Nothing at all, really.

Really?

Don't you believe me?

Shouldn't I believe you?

-Why shouldn't you? -Why do you think?

I don't understand you, Irene.

-No? -No.

And why didn't you tell me...

about this interview you gave? -Why are you yelling at me?

Don't always change the subject.

I asked you a question.

-Why did... -Is the interview in the paper?

Show me.

Wonderful. Have you seen the picture?

A real photo of me in a real newspaper.

Why didn't you tell me about the interview, you idiot?

Why are you screaming at me?

I'm screaming because you're crazy

and have nothing in your head

but painting your face.

All people ever do is scream at me

and try to hurt me.

Erwin, have you read what you said?

-About Anton? -About Anton!

Why should I read it? I know what I know about him.

And it's the truth, so why shouldn't I say

it's the truth?

You can't tell people everything, even if it is the truth.

But...

Do you realize

how powerful Anton Saitz is now?

Have you any idea?

Are you really aware

of what you said about a man who has so much power?

Do you know what he'll do?

He'll crush you

like an insect.

-Swat you like an annoying little fly. -Nonsense, Irene!

It's not nonsense, Elvira.

That man's interfered enough in your life.

He's destroyed whatever he could.

-What do you mean? -What do I mean!

First, that jail term, and then

that trip to Casablanca.

That wasn't his fault.

Like hell it wasn't!

Okay...

but he'd never do me any harm.

Never.

All right.

Maybe he'll leave you in peace

but he'll find some way to take his revenge.

He has to.

And if he decides to take his revenge

by destroying your... our daughter?

Marie-Ann?

What does it have to do with her?

The man's not wicked, believe me.

Our child has suffered enough.

-She has a right to her own life. -It's all right, darling.

Don't cry.

Don't cry.

I'm scared, Erwin.

All day I was afraid for our girl.

And now this interview.

I'm so terribly scared.

You're trembling...

trembling as if you had a fever.

Are you sick?

I'm not sick, Erwin.

I'm just scared.

Okay

I'll see what I can do.

I'll go to him and ask him to forgive me.

Feel better now?

Much better.

Only if you really do it

and only if it helps.

-You want something? -I, er...

Keep staring at me and I'll carve you into little pieces.

Beat it, you stupid cow!

Baby dear, what are you doing? You should be in bed.

Irene woke me up.

Did he turn up?

Don't cry.

I'm not.

What's the matter, then?

I sat down here, and it just came over me.

Don't worry. You know what I do when I'm feeling down?

I go to Soul Frieda.

-Who's that? -Come on. I'll show you.

Do you like him?

That's one of the guys who beat me up last night.

I like him anyway.

Once I dreamed I was walking in a cemetery

and suddenly I noticed something strange.

The inscriptions on the graves were not like those I knew.

Usually you see ''Born 1918, died 1968''

or ''Born 1927, died 1975''

But the dates on these graves read: 1970-72, or 1965-66, or 1954-57.

No one here seemed to have been older than a couple of years.

Some were even younger. Some were just a few days old:

''February 18 to March 11'', or ''May 19 to June 5'',

others only a few hours.

While I'm trying to figure out why this cemetery is so strange

I suddenly see a very old man in front of me.

He's the gardener.

I ask him, how he became so old

when everyone else there died so young.

He laughs, shakes his head and says

''No. You're mistaken.''

''The dates are not the duration of people's lives''

''But the time they had a true friend.''

What a sad dream.

A very sad dream.

Yes, Zora, it's a very sad dream.

Maybe I didn't dream it after all.

Maybe I heard it or read it somewhere.

What does it matter?

-What's the weather like outside? -I beg your pardon.

What's the weather like?

Is it raining or is it not raining?

Is the sun shining or is the sun not shining?

I haven't been outside in months.

But believe me, you know nothing.

No one falls for the fairy tale

that there's a ''real life'' in a ''real world''

and that ''real life'' is more important than loving.

What does it matter? I know we don't really have a chance

whatever might have become of us if we'd had the chance.

-Oh, won't you sit down? -Why, I...?

You look so lost and unhappy standing there like that.

Maybe she really is unhappy.

Maybe she is.

Maybe she is unhappy.

She's very lonely.

Everybody's lonely. That's how it should be.

If you're sad, you have no time to think.

Elvira was a very beautiful woman

after she had her operation.

-Cancer? -No.

Not an illness.

She just had everything cut off down there.

That can't be the reason she's unhappy.

She was probably always a woman deep down inside.

No, she wasn't.

That's the trouble. She just did it

without any real reason

without any psychological motives.

I don't think she was even gay.

Am I right, baby?

You weren't gay when you went to Casablanca?

No, that's why it was so terrible at first.

I had to exist.

When men felt me up in the bars

where I was a hostess. What else could I have done?

I was alive, and I had to go on living.

I felt ashamed with every one of them.

And the trouble is, when they notice you're ashamed

they do it all the more

touching you up and so forth.

I like it when men feel me up.

They're so awkward when they try to be tender

that it's kind of nice, too.

Anyway all men are lovely.

Him and him and him.

And especially if they have a dick

that hasn't shrivelled up.

More and more men can't get it up anymore.

It's like an epidemic.

-Would you like a drink? -Yes, please.

It took quite a few years, and it cost me a great effort.

But I managed it

even if it was hard.

I had to learn how men smell, and not to think that they stank

and be nauseated by it.

What, in expressive terms, I regard as my body

if I can be aware of it in another form, is in fact my will.

Or, my body is the objectivization of my will.

Or, apart from it being a concept of my imagination

my body is merely my will.

One day I woke up with pains in my back.

I didn't worry about them

and the pains went away.

But they came back again, worse than before

and were even worse the next time.

One day I woke up and couldn't move.

I lay there paralyzed.

They said it was rheumatism

said they could do nothing about it

because it was all psychosomatic.

Maybe...

That was all.

Just now you were talking about having a chance.

If a person is paralyzed

suddenly, overnight

and not alone that

you can't just leave him lying there alone

before he's stopped breathing.

On the contrary, it's quite normal for people to stop breathing

without anyone noticing.

And hardly anyone gets the kind of chance I mean.

Take me. I spent eight years in a loony bin.

Eight years, ma'am

as a madman among madmen.

And what happened?

They straightened me out

so that I don't behave so oddly and frighten little kids.

But the one thing that might have helped...

Forget it.

Nothing doing.

''Sorry, we can't recommend psychoanalysis in your case...

''because you're an orphan, Mr. Miller.''

-Are you okay? -Yes.

But my greatest fear is that, one day, I'll find words...

to express my feelings. For when I do...

Is that her?

I don't know.

Can't you remember anything?

Let's go, Zora. I'm afraid.

Afraid?

-Of what? -Of...

That's just it.

I can't find words that make sense.

It's as if my head were full of clogged-up pipes.

Let's go, Zora. Let's get out of here.

Baby...

we came here specially.

It was your idea. You wanted to find out about your past.

Be sensible...

and have a tiny little bit of faith in yourself.

We all have to.

Maybe.

Not maybe. For sure.

Just look at the walls you were behind for 14 years.

It's a...

building with very thick walls, isn't it?

The nun over there...

Be careful!

Is that her?

Could be...

I'm not sure.

Then I'll go ask her.

Excuse me.

Are you Sister Gudrun?

Yes, I'm Sister Gudrun.

Can I help you?

No, not me.

But there's somebody outside

that you once knew.

He could do with some help maybe.

Please.

Elvira...

this is Sister Gudrun.

Hello, Sister Gudrun.

I'm...

I'm Erwin Weisshaupt.

Do you...remember me?

Erwin Weisshaupt?

I remember a boy by that name, yes.

I've ruined my life, Sister.

My own life.

Nobody ruins his own life.

It's the order man creates for himself that's his downfall.

And God?

God can't be that cruel.

Rather He doesn't exist.

Little Erwin.

I remember you.

I remember you very well.

I tried to give you my love.

You're unhappy?

Yes.

Elvira came to ask about her childhood.

She has no memories of it and misses them.

Do you really believe you need to remember it?

You really think so?

Yes, I do.

Maybe you're right.

Sometime during the last war

Anita Weisshaupt secretly gave birth to a son.

Shortly afterwards, she brought her baby here to the orphanage

and gave it for adoption.

The child was christened Erwin

and all the sisters loved him.

He was a quiet child

which they found agreeable, so they said he was a good boy.

Even in the worst days after the war

they made sure that the child always had enough to eat.

Rather too much than too little.

In return, the sisters expected him to love them.

Each one individually and each one most.

The child was, therefore, forced to learn to lie...

for he soon found out that, the more he told the nuns

what they wanted to hear, the better he was treated.

He mastered this system of rewarded lies so well

that no one noticed how the quiet child turned into a sad one.

Erwin was a gifted pupil at school.

Learning was no great effort for him.

But after 18 months

many things changed for him.

A couple who wanted

to adopt a child grew attached to him.

They invited him to their home

and occupied themselves with him.

It was like heaven on earth for him.

Then, after long deliberation

they applied to adopt Erwin.

They showed trust and patience for him

and love as well.

He was as quiet as ever.

But inwardly he was overjoyed.

There were no words to describe this feeling,

the trembling of a soul

about to fulfill a sacred yearning.

As a matter of form, his mother was asked to confirm her decision

to release Erwin for adoption.

I went to see Anita Weisshaupt.

The moment she opened the door

I saw a strange fear in her eyes.

And when I spoke of Erwin

her expression of fear intensified.

I realized she had managed

to forget her own child.

And I knew how terrible that must have been for her.

She drew me into a room and shut the door behind us.

The apartment rang with the cries of children.

Her husband had returned from captivity

though she had heard nothing from him in years.

In the meantime, she had had three more children by him.

But still he treated her badly

and she lived in fear of him.

She was trembling and pale

and a terrible thought occurred to me.

Had she been married to this man

when she gave birth to Erwin?

When I asked her, the look of terror in her eyes was so great

I thought her head would burst.

She clutched at her heart as she nodded ''yes''

sensing rather than knowing the true import of her answer

and the fundamental nature

of the lie she had been living.

It meant that Erwin

whoever his father may have been

had been born in wedlock and was a legitimate child

who could not be adopted without the husband's consent.

Anita took a deep breath

closed her eyes, shook her head

and said in a voice so painfully clear and final

that my heart sank.

No, she would not allow the child to be adopted

since she did not want her husband ever to know of its existence.

She actually used the words

''that child'' and ''my husband''.

There was nothing more one could do to help her.

From then on, the young couple stopped coming to see Erwin

and he was never invited to their home again.

He waited for weeks without ever asking why

probably fearing what the answer might be.

His yearning was so great

that hope lingered longer than reason would allow.

So long, in fact, that it began to smoulder in his head.

Erwin was seized by a fever

that no doctor could cure.

They said the child would die unless some miracle occurred.

Whatever it was, the miracle came about.

The fever vanished, as it had appeared, without apparent reason.

But the consuming fire continued to burn within him.

Erwin became a different person.

Nothing interested him anymore.

His whole being changed.

He began to steal things

things he could have had anyway.

And he became unaccountable

no longer predictable for the nuns.

And in the same unthinking way

as they had thought they loved him, they now began to fear the child.

In the end, they hated him.

For years, Erwin lived in a kind of hell

made worse by the fact that he was despised

for having learned to survive in this hell

and even savor its horrors.

Sister Mathilda! Sister Francisca!

You can help, too.

It's all right now. You may go.

Take him home

and make sure he does himself no harm.

And one fine summer evening

an old woman came to their cottage

carrying a heavy load of firewood.

And she asked the mother

whether her children could help her

carry the wood into the forest.

The mother said a prayer

for she didn't trust the old woman

and the children had always been forbidden to go into the woods.

So the old woman put a curse on the cottage

and its occupants.

Because I love you...

Sleep, baby.

Go on, Zora

and I'll fall asleep.

Please, please go on.

One day...

the parents went to market in the town.

Again they forbade the children

under threat of punishment, to go into the forest.

But as life will have it

no sooner had the parents disappeared over the horizon

when magic powers drew the children into the woods

powers that were stronger than any threat of punishment.

They came to a clearing

and there before them stood the old woman.

The children turned in fear

to flee from the old witch

but she cackled hideously

and uttered a magic spell

and the children froze in their tracks.

She cackled again

and transformed the little boy

into a mushroom

and his sister into a snail.

Soon night fell

and the children were afraid of what their parents would say.

Then the little girl, the snail

told her brother she was hungry.

And he, the mushroom

allowed her to eat of him.

So she bit a little piece

off the mushroom

and her brother cried,

''You've bitten off my right ear!''

His sister wept and had a guilty conscience.

But soon she was hungry again

and he let her eat a little more.

And he said,

''Sister, this time you bit off my left foot.''

Hands up, Christoph!

Cut it out, Elvira!

We've no time for games like that. We must go.

Come on!

How often have I tried to get you a job in movies?

But no, you're not interested. Do you know what you are?

You're a lard-ass!

How many women have I met since I've been with you?

I don't know why I stay with you.

Out of pity. What else?

You've clung to me like a leech for six years.

No initiative. No will of your own.

I'm wasting my life with you.

Gen. Augusto Pinochet

Commander-in-Chief of the military, and President of Chile...

since he rose to power in 1973.

Since then, Chile has been transformed, his supporters say

from a state of chaos to one of order and discipline.

-Don't you have a key? -If you lock it from the inside!

God! What's up here?

Tell me where you've come from... and on foot.

I told them to drop me at the railroad crossing.

I never know with you.

-At 5 o'clock in the morning. -Why not?

With the baker's daughter?

That's none of your business, Jean.

To interpret it as part of a childhood

that one can't regard as a childhood

in the normal sense.

There are quite different

I'm here to tell you it's all over between us.

You said so yourself before I left.

I know exactly what I'm doing.

-You know exactly? -Yes.

What are you waiting for then? Beat it!

Jean, that's enough, okay? I'm exhausted.

And I have to get up again.

Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind?

Every morning, the prisoners sang the national anthem.

''Beloved fatherland, you'll be either the grave of liberty

''or a refuge for the oppressed. ''

What are you standing around for?

-You can't keep doing this to me. -It's none of your business.

If you'd stayed up there, you wouldn't know what I was doing.

Do you really believe that? That's the least...

I'll leave when it suits me.

Why don't you go to sleep?

The light's on half the night up there.

Because I can't.

I'm scared alone.

When my parents divorced I was six.

I went to live with my mother, and I had to learn

to relate to one particular person.

Do you fear failing

in your private relationships?

What do you mean ''fear''? I'm always failing.

Less prominent supporters of Allende

became the victims of the newly formed secret police, the DINAH.

Often a simple arrest would end in death.

I want my freedom again.

I want...

I want to go out on Saturday and Sunday.

I don't want you visiting my parents anymore.

I hope, through my stories

to change myself, as far as it lies within my power.

But change is a strange thing.

We change ourselves much more slowly than we think.

Oh no! What do you want now?

You're always at my heels.

In December 1977, General Pinochet held a plebiscite.

The question addressed to Chileans was:

''Are you prepared, in view of international aggression against...

''the government of your fatherland...

''to support Gen. Pinochet in defending the honor of Chile?''

The government equated a ''no'' vote practically with high treason.

I don't want to see you anymore. Understand?

I'm fed up with you and your stupid movies.

Get out of my life!

Have I done anything to you?

What have you been doing to me for six years?

Because I love you.

I don't love you anymore. It's all over.

You mean nothing to me now.

I'm looking for the key. I'm going.

Because I love you.

What drives you to make so many pictures?

It must be a special kind of insanity.

Life seemed dreadful, but I still found myself interesting.

Now it's the other way round.

I know that life's wonderful, but that I'm excluded from it.

You were lucky. You were loved.

Françoise loved you.

I loved you.

Many more women will love you.

-You really loved me? -Oh yes.

In my private life, everything could change this evening.

I hope it may.

If nothing were to happen...

if I don't meet someone tonight or tomorrow or the day after...

everything will go on as it is.

I won't force myself to change it.

Nor would I force myself to keep it the same.

The general missed no opportunity

to express his contempt for parliamentary democracy:

''Chile needs neither politicians nor political parties.

''It needs Chileans, and a Chilean to lead them forward. ''