All language subtitles for Scenes.from.a.Marriage.E04.INTERNAL.1080p.BluRay.x264-DEPTH_track3_eng

SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE

Johan and Marianne have lived together
happily for ten years.

They have settled conflicts
on the best of terms,

suppressing any hostility
or menacing truths.

One evening, Johan turns up unexpectedly
at the summer cottage

where Marianne and the girls are staying.

He curtly tells his wife

that he has fallen in love
with another woman, Paula,

and that they plan
to leave for Paris the next morning

and stay for at least eight months.

He claims to want
a clean break with the past

and is brutally honest in his approach.

Utterly unprepared for this,
Marianne is devastated.

After a night of emotional upheaval,
they pack Johan's bags.

When he is about to leave,
Marianne starts to plead with him,

but Johan leaves anyway.

After he has left,
she calls a family friend

and asks him to speak to Johan.

She finds out that several people
in their circle

knew all about Johan's affair with Paula.

This news comes as an additional shock.

THE VALE OF TEARS

Please come in.

You look nice.
That's a pretty blouse.

You think so?

I bought it a few weeks ago,
but I'm afraid it's too girlish for me.

You look great.

Take your coat off. Standing here
in the hall makes me nervous.

I feel nervous too.

I haven't been able
to get much done today.

It's silly, but it's been more
than six months since I've seen you.

- How come you suddenly —
- Paula's in London for a week.

- Would you like a drink?
- Yes, please. I'd love a whiskey.

Straight. It settles the stomach.
Calms you down.

- You like whiskey nowadays?
- Yes, imagine that.

Cheers.

Aunt Berit's looking after the girls,
to everyone's mutual delight.

They're going to the theater,
and then to the country tomorrow.

That's convenient.

I mean, it might have been
awkward seeing the kids.

- How are they doing?
- Don't ask just to be polite.

But please don't forget
their birthdays again.

I bought them presents from you,
but they weren't fooled.

Couldn't you take them
out to dinner or to the movies?

It's awful the way you never
get in touch with them.

- They hardly ever mention you anymore.
- That's understandable.

Can't Paula let you see us
without starting a fight?

If you're going to start with that,
I'd better leave.

You've said yourself
that she's insanely jealous.

What am I supposed to do?

Are you such a coward
that you can't stand up to her?

Yes.

I'm sorry.

That's all right.

I know you find the situation absurd,

but scolding won't do any good.

- Would you like some more whiskey?
- Yes, please.

How are things, Johan?

Pretty much as usual.

And you?

I can't complain, I guess.
Could be worse.

It was silly of me to suggest this.

We can't seem to talk
without hurting each other.

I have an excellent suggestion:
Let's have dinner.

We're probably both starving
and that's why we're so touchy.

That's an excellent suggestion.

You look funny in that haircut...

and you've put on some weight.

You really turn me on.

- What should we do about that?
- We'll see after dinner.

Have a seat.

New china?

I inherited it.

Sweet old Aunt Elsa died six months ago,
and she left me a few things.

She thought
I was so domestically inclined.

Most of the stuff is useless,
but the china is nice.

I made stew,

and there's cheese and wine
for dessert.

I didn't have time
to whip up anything fancy.

- But you usually like my cooking.
- It sure smells delicious.

Have you heard that
Martin's getting married again?

I ran into them in town,

and they were so embarrassed
about not having called me.

I almost felt sorry for them.

His new girlfriend is a bit dim, but rich.

I hear her father's company
went bankrupt a while back.

So Martin's messed up again.

Isn't he one of your closest friends?

Not exactly. Why do you ask?

You sounded so smug.

A wise man once said

that the misfortune of a friend
is not entirely unpleasant.

Cheers, Marianne.

- This wine is nice.
- It's nothing special.

Just an inexpensive claret,
but it's good.

I don't mind telling you
things are going pretty well for me.

I've been offered a chair
at Cleveland University for three years.

Really?

It's a great opportunity.
Both financially and career-wise.

That's where things
are happening in my field.

And I'll be glad to emigrate.
There's nothing to keep me here.

I'm fed up with
this academic backwater.

And I have no desire to go on
being fleeced by the tax man.

So I'll be leaving this spring,
if all goes well.

Congratulations.

And now for the unspoken question:

"Are you taking Paula with you?"

And the answer is no.

Call it running away, if you like.

I've had it.

Paula's been good for me.
She's taught me things about myself.

But there's a limit.

To be honest, I'm pretty tired of her.

I suppose you think
it's disloyal of me to bad-mouth her.

But she forfeited my loyalty long ago.

I'm fed up with her.

Her emotional fits,
her tirades and tears,

followed by making up again
and endearments.

I'll tell you this, Marianne.

The best thing about Paula
was that she taught me how to fight.

Even hitting her wasn't out of bounds.

You wouldn't believe me
if I told you everything.

Sometimes it was like
some grotesque play

in which I was both actor and audience.

Our fights would last for days on end

until we collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

The food is terrific.

Here I am, going on about myself.
But I'm in such a good mood.

Then perhaps we could discuss our divorce?

If you're going abroad,
we might as well get the ball rolling.

- What do you think?
- As you like.

I'd like us to file for divorce.

You never know.
I might want to remarry.

And things would be complicated
if you're in the States.

You have someone in mind?

Maybe I do.

Come on, tell me more.
It'll keep me from rattling on.

Would you like some more?

No, thanks. And stop being evasive.

How are things?

Judging by your appearance

and your attitude,
they must be pretty good.

I'm curious. Do you have a lover?

I'll get the coffee.
You do want coffee, right?

Yes, please.

You've rearranged the furniture.

Do you mind?

Of course not.

I've moved into your study.

Where are my things?

In storage.

I'm paying for it.

I decided I was entitled to a study,

so I bought new furniture
and put up new curtains.

I also put up my own pictures,
the ones you never liked.

Was that tactless?

Should I have waited
until the divorce was final?

Or observed a year of mourning?

I also changed the phone listing.
It's in my name now.

- That's good.
- You sound bitter.

- No, you did the right thing.
- Thank you.

I was tired of working
at the writing desk in the bedroom.

It was uncomfortable.

But in the old days, all that mattered
was that you had a study.

Come take a look.

I've gotten rid of the double bed.

Why?

I felt lost,
all alone in such a big bed.

So this room has a more chaste air now.

Where do you keep your lover?

For the time being,
it's better for us to meet at his place.

- You mean because of the girls?
- No, silly.

- They want me to remarry.
- I'll be damned.

- Would you like something to drink?
- No, thanks.

This is a decent place to live in.

You live out of town, right?

We live in a crowded concrete hutch
on the tenth floor.

With a view of another concrete hutch.

Drunken 13-year-olds lurk
in the downstairs entrance to mug people.

The building is falling apart,
and it's so drafty that our curtains flutter.

For two weeks
I had to fetch water from a hydrant,

and the toilets didn't work.

People avoid the subway station
after 8:00 p.m.

And in the middle of the complex lies

what some demented architect
called the "piazza."

I find it rather interesting.

It's the way I picture hell.

I didn't know you believed in hell.

Paula actually likes the place.

She says it fits in with her picture
of the world. It's familiar.

I don't really care where I live.

To me, every domicile
is only temporary.

- Security must come from within.
- Does yours?

I didn't feel that way
as long as I lived here.

Material things were so important.
We became dependent on rituals.

I don't know what you mean.

Our sense of security
was anchored in externals.

Our possessions,
our cottage in the country,

our friends, our incomes,
our food, our parents, holidays.

I'll describe my take on security.

The way I see it...

loneliness is absolute.

Anything else is an illusion.

Never expect anything but trouble.

If something nice happens,
all the better.

Just don't imagine
you can do away with loneliness.

A sense of togetherness can be created
in, say, religion, politics, love, art.

But loneliness is still all-encompassing.

The treacherous part is that
every once in a while you're struck

by an illusion of togetherness.

Just remember that it is an illusion.

That makes it easier
when everything returns to normal.

You have to face the fact
that loneliness reigns supreme.

It puts an end to your moaning.

Then you feel safe and secure.

And you learn to accept how pointless
it all is with a certain satisfaction.

I don't mean you should be resigned.
You should carry on as best you can,

if only because it's better
to do your best than to give up.

I wish I were as certain as you.

It's all talk.

You find yourself expressing thoughts
to fend off the emptiness inside.

It's funny, come to think of it.

Has it ever struck you that emptiness hurts?

You'd think it would make you dizzy,
or queasy in spirit.

But this void inside me is physically painful.

It stings like a burn.

Or like when you were little
and you'd been crying,

and the whole inside of your body ached.

At times, Paula's tremendous
political commitment astonishes me.

She's so sincere,

and so very involved within her group.

Her conviction answers her questions
and fills the void inside her.

I wish I could live the way she does.

I really mean that, without any sarcasm.

Why are you sneering?

Do you think I'm talking rubbish?

So do I... but who cares?

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

It seems so theoretical.
I don't know why.

I rarely talk about such huge matters.

I guess I move on another plane.

A superior plane, I suppose?

A special plane reserved for women
with a privileged emotional life,

and a happier, more down-to-earth
approach to the mysteries of life.

Perhaps.

Paula gives herself airs like that.

Particularly when she's read
the latest Women's Lib gospel.

Sounds like you're disappointed.

That's just your imagination.

You should know
I think about you all the time.

Wondering if you're all right,
or if you're afraid or lonely.

Every day, several times a day,

I wonder what I did
to cause the breach between us.

I know it's a childish way of thinking,
but there you are.

What did I do wrong?

Why not ask a psychiatrist?

I see one several times a week.

Sometimes we meet in private.

Is he your lover?

We did have sex a few times,
but it was no good.

So we stopped that

and devoted ourselves
to my soul instead.

What have you learned?

Nothing.

Basically, I'm learning to talk.

And I threw your things out of the study
and moved mine in.

It left me feeling guilty,
but awfully bold.

Well, it led to something, then.

What an enormous yawn.

Sorry. It's the wine.

And I haven't slept well.
I've been so tense.

If you'd like to go, feel free.

Don't make a big deal out of it.

You can take a nap if you like.
I'll wake you in an hour.

So much fuss about a yawn.

I don't want to sleep.
I want to hear about your inner quest.

That's much more interesting,
I promise you.

There's not much to tell.

Though something funny did strike me,

but I haven't told my therapist yet.

That sounds exciting.

My therapist told me to jot down
everything that pops into my head.

No matter how irrelevant.

Thoughts, memories, dreams.

I haven't written much so far.
I'm not used to writing.

It generally turns out stilted
and kind of silly.

Why don't you read me
what you wrote last night?

I'd really like to hear it.

Would you really like to hear it?
Are you sure?

I'll just go get my notebook.

I wrote for hours on end, you know.

I was up until 3:00,

so I looked like the dickens
this morning.

It figures that would happen
the night before I see you.

You look so pretty.

So terribly pretty, Marianne.

No compliments, please.
Take an interest in my soul instead.

Go sit down.

Go sit down.

Don't.

No. Please.

Let me read to you instead.

One good thing
needn't exclude the other.

I've been thinking about this all this time.

About having sex with you.

I've been longing for you.

But after you leave,

I'd be left with my longing,
and I don't want that.

Don't you realize I'm in love with you?

Sometimes I hate you for what you did to me.

Sometimes I don't think of you for hours,
and it's heaven.

I have everything I could want.
I have my friends, even lovers.

There's the kids and my job
that I enjoy and am good at.

Yet I'm bound to you.

I don't know why.

Maybe I'm a masochist,

or the kind of woman
who can only ever love one man.

I don't know.

It's so hard, Johan.

I don't want to live with anyone but you.

Other men bore me.

I'm not trying to make you feel guilty,

or blackmail you emotionally.

I'm just telling you how I feel.

That's why I can't bear you kissing me

and making love to me.

I can't explain it any other way.

Because you'll walk away,

and I'll be left longing for you.

I've sort of enjoyed having you at a distance.

So let's keep our hands to ourselves.

You'll just leave me devastated.

I'm still in love with you.

Why say that when it isn't true?

Don't you think I've longed for you?

I have. We were good together.

We were friends. We had fun.

If we feel like having sex,
why shouldn't we?

It only shows we still long for each other.

Why have all these reservations?

Why worry about tomorrow?

No, Johan.

Johan, I don't want to.

I want you to stop it!

I don't want to pine
and weep and long for you.

Please understand.
This is really how it is.

It's no good. If you're going to persist,
you might as well leave.

I don't want to sleep with you.
Please try to understand.

I'm trying to understand, but I can't.

Look, I'll just sit here.

I'll sit here and you can read to me.

Then I'll go home and call Paula
and say I've been to the theater.

May I have some more coffee?

I feel terribly foolish.

I just want to hide somewhere and cry.

Well...

if you like, I could leave now.

We could have dinner tomorrow.

Perhaps that would be better.

No, stay after all.

I'm busy tomorrow.

- Hi there.
- Hi.

I really, really like you.

And I'm acting like a child.

Everything's all right.

The situation's under control.

We've pulled through the crisis.

I can barely read my own writing.

The beginning isn't important.

"Yesterday I was seized by a reckless gaiety.

For the first time this year,
I felt a zest for life,

eager to know
what the day might bring."

And so on.

Right.

Here it is.

"Suddenly I turned and looked
at an old school picture

from back when I was 10.

I seemed to detect something
that had eluded me up to then.

To my surprise I must admit

that I don't know who I am.

I haven't the vaguest idea.

I've always done as I was told.

As far as I can remember

I've been obedient,

well-adjusted,

almost meek.

I did assert myself once or twice as a girl,

but Mother punished
any lapses from convention

with exemplary severity.

My entire upbringing,
and that of my sisters,

was aimed at making us agreeable.

I was ugly and awkward,

a fact I was constantly reminded of.

I later realized
that if I kept my thoughts to myself

and was ingratiating and predictable,

my behavior yielded rewards.

The most momentous deception
began at puberty.

All my thoughts, feelings and actions
revolved around sex.

But this I never told my parents.

Or anyone at all, for that matter.

Being deceitful and secretive

became second nature to me.

My father wanted me to follow in his footsteps
and become a lawyer.

I dropped hints
that I wanted to be an actress,

or do something else
in the world of theater.

But they laughed at me.

Since then I go on pretending,

faking my relationships with others,

with men,

always putting on an act

in a desperate attempt to please.

I've never considered what I want,

but only,

'What does he want me to want?'

It's not unselfishness,
as I used to believe.

It's sheer cowardice.

Even worse,

it stems from my being
ignorant of who I am.

I've never led a dramatic life.

I have no gift for that sort of thing.

But for the first time
I feel excited by the prospect

of finding out exactly
what I want to do in life.

In the snug world Johan and I lived in,

taking everything for granted,

there is an implied cruelty and brutality

that frightens me more and more
when I think back on it.

The trappings of security
come at a high price:

the constant erosion of your personality.

It's so easy right at the outset

to thwart a small child's
cautious attempts to assert itself.

In my case, it was performed
with injections of a poison

that is 100% effective.

Guilt.

At first, it was directed
towards my mother.

Later, towards others.

And finally, towards Jesus and God.

In a flash I see what kind of person
I would have been

had I never allowed myself
to be brainwashed.

And I wonder whether I'm hopelessly lost,

whether the potential for joy

that was innate in me is dead,

or whether it merely lies dormant
and can be awakened.

I wonder what kind of wife and woman
I would have become

if I'd been able to use my resources
as they were intended.

Would Johan and I ever have
gotten married in that case?

I'm sure we would have,
because if I analyze it honestly,

we were genuinely in love
in a devoted and passionate way.

Our mistake was that we never
broke free from our families

to create something worthwhile
on our own terms."

You weren't going to call me tonight.

You have no reason to be jealous,
I assure you.

What? I sound funny?

No, I just don't want to wake Johan.

No, he's sitting.

Sitting in the living room,
sleeping like a little child.

My conversation bored him.

No, you shouldn't come over.
Don't be silly, David.

We can have dinner
and see a movie tomorrow.

Doesn't that sound good?

Call me tomorrow morning as usual.

Of course I sound strange.

I can't very well coo sweet nothings.
Johan might be awake.

Precisely. I'll go wake my beau
and send him packing.

You can call me back in an hour.

Isn't that a fine idea?

Bye for now.

No, he hasn't even tried to kiss me.

I promise, the evening
was hardly passionate.

Oh, darn, I fell asleep.

And your words were so interesting too.

Forgive me.

Could you go on?
That is, if I haven't offended you?

I think you should go home
and get some sleep.

I'm not offended. Really.

Yeah, I guess I should go.

Please keep in touch,

if only for the children's sake.

Of course.

You're always welcome here.

If only Paula wasn't so jealous.

But I guess she feels justified.
It's hard on her too.

When will you know about the US?

In a month or so.

Let me know how it goes.

I'll call or write.

We need to decide about the divorce.

- Do you want to marry again?
- I don't know.

I'd rather wait.

What do you think?

I'm not sure what I think.

You will stay tonight, won't you?

Yes, I'll stay.

How do you feel?

Frightened.

How about mustering up some courage?

Some courage?

You know...

we don't have to have sex.

We could just hold hands.

- And sleep.
- It's nice being close to you.

I've got your favorite pajamas in there.

You're very pretty.

I'm fat.

No one could tell you've had two kids.

Don't look at me.
It makes me self-conscious.

Hi there.

Never mind the phone.
It's not important.

It might be your lover.
What could he want at this hour?

- Does he know I'm here?
- Sure.

Damn, he's persistent.

I better pick up.

Hello.

I can't talk right now.

Yes, Johan is still here.

We've gone to bed,
if you really want to know.

So I can imagine.
What do you expect me to say?

Yes, I'm sorry, it's true.

I don't know.

I'd appreciate it
if you didn't call me again.

Ever again.

Try to behave like an adult, for once.

Yes, it is a shame,
but I really don't want to talk right now.

So long, David. Take care.

Your lover, I gather.

My former lover.

You didn't have to say I was here.

Maybe I should
have invited him to join us?

Are you in love with him?

Sometimes you ask
such goddamn silly questions.

Sorry.

Shall we talk about my love life?

Are you angry with me?

I'm not angry,
but I'm on the verge of tears.

The trouble with me
is that I can't get angry.

I wish that for once in my life
I could really lose my temper,

as I sometimes feel I have every right to.

I think it would change my life.

But that's not the point.

You spoke earlier about loneliness.

That bit about being strong on your own.

I don't believe in your gospel of isolation.

I think it's a sign of weakness.

What's wrong, Marianne?

It's so humiliating.

What's humiliating?

I think about you...

and I think about myself
and about the future.

I can't see how
you're going to cope without me.

Sometimes I think in desperation,
"I must look after Johan.

He's my responsibility.

It's up to me to make sure he's all right.

That's the only way
my life will be worthwhile."

I don't believe
people are strong all on their own.

You have to have
someone's hand to hold.

Johan.

I think we're making a mistake.
We ought to work on our relationship.

Our relationship is
our greatest opportunity here in life.

We're wasting our chance.

You can't go away
for several years without me.

You won't make it.

You'll be so frightened
and unsure of yourself without me.

Forgive me for crying.
I don't mean to.

What is it? Can't you sleep?

Not a chance.

I feel miserable.
I'd better go home. Forgive me.

- That's Paula's handwriting.
- She wrote to me.

- What's she up to now?
- She sent this before she left.

You should read it.

Read it here.

"Dear Marianne, I suspect
you're surprised to get a letter from me.

I assure you there's
no ulterior motive behind this letter.

I took this job in London
to get away for a week

and thereby break a vicious cycle
of jealousy and suspicion.

I know Johan will contact you
the minute I've gone.

I only have myself to blame,

as I've kept him
from seeing you and the children.

If only it were possible
to put things right."

Isn't that typical of Paula.

She wants us to be friends.

She can't stand this hostility.

How touching — particularly
the fact that you believe her.

"Johan is the gentlest, kindest,

most affectionate person I've ever met.

He has no self-confidence at all,

though he tries to put up
a brave and cheerful front."

You can say anything about anyone.
It always fits in some respect.

This was the fourth episode
of Scenes From A Marriage.

It was called "The Vale Of Tears."

And while you look at this footage from Fårö,
I'll give you the credits.

Liv Ullman and Erland Josephson
were the actors.

Sven Nyqvist and his assistant
Lars Karlsson manned the cameras.

Wardrobe, Inger Pehrsson.
Props, Gunilla Hagberg.

Makeup supervisor, Cecilia Drott.

Audio and mix, Owe Svensson
and his assistant Arne Carlsson.

Editing, Siv Lundgren.
Script supervisor, Ulla Stattin.

Other contributors were
Anders Bergkvist, Stefan Gustafsson,

Lars Hagberg, Adolf Karlström,

Kent Nyström, Bo-Erik Olsson
and Siri Werkelin.

Lars-Owe Carlberg
was the production supervisor,

and the lab was Film Teknik.

Nils Melander designed the lighting effects
on Eastman Color film.

The series was produced on Fårö
by Cinematograph.

The year is 1973.