All language subtitles for Blutsauger (Bloodsuckers, a marxist vampire comedy) - Julian Radlmaier 2021 sub eng

Today we're going to discuss
chapter eight.

It deals with the working day.
Have you read it?

I didn't have time.

The others?

Good.

Now for the first paragraph.

Marx reviews the basics

of selling labor-power.

Can anyone explain?

Excuse me.
There's something I don't understand.

But it's about paragraph five.

Can't it wait?

It's pretty urgent.

Okay, read the passage out loud.

Marx writes...
I'll start a bit earlier.

"The capitalist has bought
the labor-power at its day-rate.

"He has acquired the right
to make the laborer

"work for him during one day.

"But what is a working day?

"The capitalist has his own views

"on the limit
of the working day.

"As a capitalist,
he is only personi-

"capital personified.

"But capital has
one single life impulse:

"to absorb the greatest possible amount
of surplus-value.

"Capital is dead labor that,
vampire-like..."

And this is the point.

"...that, vampire-like, only lives

"by sucking living labor,

"and lives the more,
the more labor it sucks."

I'll skip down a bit.

Here it says,

"The prolongation of the working day
into the night

"only slightly quenches

"the vampire thirst
for the living blood of labor."

And then, in the footnotes it says:

"In fact, the vampire will not
let go as long as there's a muscle,

"a nerve, a drop of blood
to be exploited."

Interesting passage.
What didn't you understand?

Is the capitalist really a vampire?

I mean our vampire. The real one.

Who flies around at night.

Is it Miss Flambow-Jansen?

Bruno, it's just a comparison.

Schnösl is right.

The capitalist acts
like a vampire

in the sense that he "sucks"
labor-power from the laborer

to produce surplus-value.

It's only meant metaphorically.

To describe this structure

he uses an image,
albeit an unfortunate one.

But Marx explicitly says
that the capitalist sucks blood.

BLOODSUCKERS

On a Tuesday in August, 1928...

Excuse me, Miss Octavia,

but wouldn't it be advisable
to turn back?

- Stop calling me "Miss".
- As you wish.

Give that gentlemen my card.

But what if it's him?

Enough of that peasant gossip!

And who will hold your parasol?

Tell the gentleman to come at once.

I shall inform him.

1. A GUEST FROM
THE CLASSLESS SOCIETY

Miss, will you find time to look
at the Oklahoma Investment offer?

I could send
an overseas telegram tomorrow.

Will you please stop
calling me "Miss"!

I'm sorry.
I'm not accustomed to it yet.

He surely fled
from the Communist camps in Siberia.

What do you think?

He has yet to broach the topic.

Do you think a baron would entrust
such confidences to a simple employee?

That would indeed be a contradiction.

Baron Kobersky!

I'm overjoyed
that you've come to pay me a visit.

But how did you find your way?

You even brought champagne.

Oh, you shouldn't have!

I had a premonition,
and went hunting for you.

Your vegetarianism is to blame.

They think you're walking lettuce.

You'll have to overlook
my assistant's lack of dexterity.

But I'm still too much the daughter
of a Protestant industrialist

to feel comfortable hiring staff
at aristocratic quantities.

You're used to a different standard
from St. Petersburg, I imagine?

Actually, we don't have
servants anymore.

What do you mean?

Because of the Revolution.

How silly of me!

I only know revolutions
from newspapers.

But tell me, Baron.
I'm so terribly curious.

Are pretty daughters of industrialists
being guillotined in public?

Like the court ladies
in Paris once were?

Not exactly.

Where are my manners?

I'm surely stirring up
unpleasant memories.

No.

For one, St. Petersburg
is now called Leningrad.

Leningrad?

See, Jakob?
That's how it is now!

Strangle me in my sleep,
and they may name the town after you.

But all jokes aside,

I guess many abominations
are being committed in that Lenin...

I shudder to speak
that hideous word.

Leningrad.

It almost sounds poetic
when you say it in that beautiful voice.

Over there, you'd have to share this
house with seven lumberjack families.

Appalling!

But why lumberjacks?

Just an example.

You're a true man of letters, Baron.
A regular Count Tolstoy!

I can see them,
those grim axe-wielders,

chopping down my conservatory.

Although I must admit how thrilling
contemporary Russian painting is.

See that one?

Now tell me,

what is your personal opinion
of these Communists?

I hate them.

With what passion you suddenly speak!

Do you like the model?

It's a design for a new house.

I'm suffocating
in this imperial doll house.

There's not even a telephone.

But the house is very beautiful.

You certainly are a man
from centuries past, Baron.

I bet you still send love letters
by homing pigeon.

Are you very shocked by my
somewhat American manners?

Sharing your table with a servant
is indeed a bit unusual.

But Jakob isn't a servant!

He's my personal assistant!

I even told him to stop calling me "Miss".
What do you say to that?

- You're nearly a Bolshevik.
- On the contrary.

You just don't understand
our democracy.

But that's enough of politics.

Tell me about your passions.

I like to collect mushrooms.

Mushrooms?

I'm nearly in love with you, Baron.

I forbid you to stay at a hotel.

Don't misunderstand me, but...

The guest room is ready.

It's a fait accompli.

Stop resisting fate and...

offer me a glass
of your champagne instead.

Trouble sleeping, Baron?

It's the sea air.
You have to get used to it.

I was just looking
for something to read.

Jakob, why didn't you put anything
to read on the Baron's nightstand?

You are a strange baron, though.
You don't know how to eat snails,

nor can you tell a champagne flute
from a Martini glass.

He's not a vampire.

I can see his reflection.

Simpleton!

Now tell me

who you really are and what you're
doing in my office by candlelight.

And don't you dare bore me.

My name is
Anton Inokentovich Petushkin.

But they call me Lyovochka.

Cut! Ten minute break!

I was given the nickname
by the film director Eisenstein.

Listen, Sergei,
we could film the apple trees.

Apples?
Nonsense!

Let's film the lions.

Thank you.

Give me that flag.

What do you think of Eisenstein?

I prefer working with Vertov.

Why is this flag lying around?

Sorry, comrade cameraman.

And what about Pudovkin?

I'd rather work with Kuleshov.

Dovzhenko?

He's great!

Damn!

Lyovochka, you idiot!
You're a stain on OCTOBER!

Lyovochka is the diminutive of Leon.

In Eisenstein's film OCTOBER

I played the hero of the Revolution

Leon Trotsky.

Eighty minutes until sundown.

Fog.

Fog.

Fog!

Excuse me, comrade director.

The fog machine is on strike.

Sabotage!

Quiet on the set!

Places, everybody.

One, two,

blow!

It was the best time of my life.

Hi, Lyovochka.

Hi, Lyovochka.

Hi, kids.

- How's it going?
- Great.

I was a person of great respect

and moved
in the highest social circles.

He went through this door
right in front of my bi-colored eyes.

Shortly before the premier
a rumor circulated

that Stalin himself
had come to the studio

to visit Eisenstein
in the editing room.

I was as proud as an engineer.

After the premier,
I was going to propose to Yevka.

During the premier I discovered

there was no trace of me
in the final version of OCTOBER.

I didn't know that Trotsky had fallen
into disfavor with Stalin

and had to be cut out
of the film completely.

Naturally, Yevka could no longer
afford to be acquainted with me.

And things got hard in general.

Hide, it's Lyovochka!

No one would hire me anymore.

And my landlady claimed

that the political police
had already asked about me.

I'd say he's the Baron of Lies.

And he didn't even mention
his attempt at attempted robbery.

I'd like to try my luck in Hollywood.

But the proof of my acting skills
has been destroyed.

I have nothing to show.

I've saved nearly enough
to book passage on a ship.

But I still need money
for film footage.

I have to shoot some scenes to show
the studio bosses how talented I am.

So for a few film clips

you sneak around my house
like a chicken thief?

I'll give you the money.

But now it's time for bed.

Good morning.

What are you doing?

The algae ash contains iodine.

I'm making an ointment out of it.

It's good for bites of all kinds.

Bites?

Come on, you Chink,

give us the ointment.

But of course, gentlemen.

It costs 30 cents. Here.

Goodbye.

Why did they spit on your algae?

They're workers
from the cosmetics factory.

Seems I'm ruining the price
of the factory's ointment.

And that has an effect on their pay.

Then why do they buy from you?

Because at the end of the month

the factory ointment
is still too expensive for them.

I walked by that factory yesterday.
Who owns it?

The director is Dr. Humburg,

the mayor.

But he's not
the majority shareholder.

That's the beautiful
Miss Octavia Flambow-Jansen.

Come in, sir.

Discover our wide selection of products.

Thanks. Not today.

Come in, gentlemen.

Discover our wide selection of products.

CHARITY BALL
FOR CHINESE FLEA VICTIMS

Hey, you!

Are you done with that paper?

I only smoke the best.

Do ships for America sail from here?

Yes, from here to Oslo

and then on to New York.

You can buy tickets from me.

I'll give you a special price.
Real cheap.

How much is a third-class ticket?

You lack all class consciousness,
you dandy.

I have second class tickets
for the price of fifth.

450 marks.
But the ship leaves in two weeks.

Little Klaus thanks you.

But you have an exit permit, right?

Exit permit?

Lots of people want
to hightail it out of here,

but for once,

the cops have the jump
on innocent folks like us.

You need a stamp,
or you won't make it very far.

Miss Octavia!

Miss Octavia, it's late.

Idiot!

Nebuchadnezzar!

Stop picking on poor Jakob!

Moron!

Is the farmer's fat turkey
still in love with you?

It's peculiar.

In real life so unremarkable

but with an almost magnetic effect
on poultry.

Moron!

"Brussels, August 7.

"On the cash market,
electricity stocks,

"metallurgical
and textiles securities,

"and 'produits chimiques'
were stable.

"Bank shares
of colonial goods were erratic.

"Stocks in the coal sector
and transport companies were strong.

"On the futures market,
Canadian had a poor showing..."

Is our fake baron awake already?

Our guest has pretty ice-blue eyes.
You have to give him that.

If I may, doesn't Miss think...

Sorry, don't you think

it might be somewhat unwise
to shelter a film artist?

Don't be so small-minded.
He's a very charming man.

And yet, his drawbacks include

a false identity
and an attempted robbery.

In addition, he himself admitted
to being a foreigner.

You just lack literary education.

So you can't understand people
and the hidden workings of the heart.

I just don't get it.

I just don't get it.

Where were you registered until now?

In Moscow.
I'm just passing through.

Well, that doesn't help much.

Do you at least have a clearance
certificate from a German tax office?

No.

"No", he says!

You're a tough nut to crack.

What now?
What if you're trying to evade taxes?

Ever thought about that?

I'm just passing through.

- Not on my watch!
- On my watch? No way!

I bought a ticket.

That's your own personal affair.

Hammer and sickle, eh?

Actually, this is a case
only Mayor Humburg can decide.

My hands are tied.

When can I talk to him?

Listen here!

That good man has no time
for such trifles.

- Dr. Humburg?
- No!

Get on, Baron.
We're going to the beach.

Officer!

Would you take his suitcase
to my house?

It would be a big help.

Of course, Miss Octavia.

We're always glad to help,
wherever I can.

May I?

That's nice of you.

Get on, Baron.

The beach is melancholic in summer,
don't you think?

Melancholic?

I'm reading a book.

A woman comes out of the water,

and she's just a dot at first.

Then she comes closer
and you look in her eyes.

But she doesn't get any clearer.

You imagine whole worlds
she could contain,

and you're nearly in love already.

Then you think
maybe there's nothing there.

A black hole.

But as an artist,
you surely know better than I.

An actor must be able to read
people's souls as clearly as his own.

Eisenstein, the director,
didn't like a psychological approach.

He always said things like,

"Look how the tsar's crown glitters."

That's the historical
materialist approach.

That's just what I mean.
Things sparkle mysteriously at first.

But in the end
they're as hollow as turnips.

Turnips aren't hollow.

My God, your historical materialism
is a real plague!

You're sitting on a beach
with a romantic young woman

and you can't think
of anything better to do

than irritate me
with your botanical sophistry?

Fresh French fries!

But perhaps it's precisely that
prosaic nature that intrigues me?

On the other hand,
you're a true adventurer.

I just can't figure you out.

Don't you feel a little melancholic
when you look out at the waves?

And then these morons
drown your most melancholic melancholy

in their French fry oil.

Although one almost envies
their carefree nature.

Workers have cares too.

Sure, they get upset
when the milk goes sour.

Yet their world is the assembly line.

They never look past their own noses.

They know how to use their hands,

but the big picture...

Pardon my proletarian language,
but they don't give a shit about it.

But I'm talking nonsense.

And I didn't even smoke anything today.

Shall we go to the water?

Damn it!

I can't stand the sight of blood.

She thinks you're my husband, Baron.

My motorcycle!

Well, Baron,
we'll have to go home on foot.

You should notify the police.

Let's not let such a trifle
ruin the mood.

I was going to buy a new one anyway.

Let's take those bikes.

What a beautiful forest.

The problem is
it grows so slowly.

I may sell it.

The forest is yours?

A third of it.

We're experimenting in the lab
with synthetic wood, but...

Now I'm the one being prosaic.

Tell me a bit about yourself.
I know so little about you.

Such as...
How did you become an actor?

That would necessitate
a long story.

And where did you learn
to speak so peculiarly?

"That would necessitate..."
No one talks like that.

Isn't it impolite

to indulge in shameless sleepwalking
with a lady present?

I was a thief once too.

In the spring of 1925
I moved to Moscow

because working on the kolkhoz
was too strenuous for me.

But it was not easy to find
a dignified occupation there either.

For the Revolution had forgotten
to abolish wage labor.

So I looked for other ways
to make money.

One day I saw a student
in Gorky Park

lost in a book.

Next to her was a German compass.

It would bring a good price
on the black market,

as there was a shortage
of compasses back then.

When I passed by the bench
an hour later

the student was still there,
crying bitterly.

The sight stung my heart.

What's wrong, comrade?

A thief stole my compass.

And tomorrow I have a hydraulics exam.

I was very ashamed.
And she was very pretty.

Fortunately,
a magpie crowed just then.

Don't worry.

That naughty bird probably pilfered
your compass.

A bird?

Sure. Don't you read fairy tales?

The magpie takes
everything that glitters to its nest.

Do you mind if I take a look?

Yevka's real name was Helene,
and she was German.

Out of enthusiasm for the Revolution,
she had come to Moscow to study.

At night she'd read me Karl Marx
in the original

and I learned her language.

"The labor necessitated
for the production of the cotton,

"the raw material of the yarn,

"is part of the labor necessitated
to produce yarn,

"and is therefore contained
in the yarn.

"The same applies to the labor

"necessitated to produce
the spindle..."

Hey love birds, other comrades
are trying to get some sleep!

Now I've become a little jealous
of your pretty Yevka.

And I still don't know
how you became an artist.

As I said, that would necessitate

a long story.

Good evening.

Jakob!

When you're done,
please make up the rooms.

And don't forget to give
our sleepless Baron a book.

Certainly.

Have you read Proust, Baron?

Maybe not.

The book is on my ottoman, Jakob.

It's spelled P-R-O-U-S-T.

As you wish, Miss Octavia.

I forbid him to use "Miss", to raise
our collaboration to an American level,

but the gentleman refuses.

Let him have his way.

But you won't insist
on calling me "Miss", will you?

Call me Lyovochka.

Back to your story, Lyovochka.

If we'd been clever, we both
could've lived on Yevka's scholarship.

But unfortunately it turned out
that she really loved workers.

Above all, factory workers.

The work was tedious and poorly paid,

but I had developed a technique

for pulling rotten teeth
using the punch press.

It gave me extra income.

And that enabled me
to give Yevka romantic gifts.

Thank you.

But the work wore me out.

I grew irritable,
and Yevka and I fought frequently.

Until one day the director Eisenstein
visited the factory.

Would this be a good film location,
comrade director?

As fate would have it,
Eisenstein was suffering

from a terrible toothache that day.

You remind me of someone...

That's how I discovered
the most beautiful thing in life:

the long breaks between shooting.

While the set is being changed for hours

there is nothing to do

and you can just let
your thoughts wander.

I finally felt like a human being.

A wonderful story.

You're like a character
from a novel.

And I understand you completely.
What's sillier than work?

Life has to be full
of leisure and love.

Of poetry and adventure.
Otherwise it isn't worth a damn.

You must promise to come as Trotsky
to my charity ball next week.

I would really love to help you
with your film clips.

Is there a script?

No, a few scenes would suffice...

Maybe you'll find something
in the novel Jakob puts in your room.

Do you ever smoke hashish?

Would you think me silly
if I recited a poem?

But it's a bit old-fashioned.

It would be very nice.

But don't laugh.

Overflowing heavens
Of squandered stars

Flame brilliantly above your troubles

Instead of into your pillows
Weep up toward them

There, at the already weeping,
At the ending visage,

Slowly thinning out, ravishing
Worldspace begins.

Who will interrupt,
Once you've forced your way there,

The current?

Octavia?

What are you doing there
in the dark?

Weren't you staying at the Excelsior?

Why is there still
no telephone out here?

Hans! Franz! Bring the suitcases in.

It's outrageous.
The room was booked for tomorrow!

Everyone knows
I only arrive on Wednesdays!

I'll have to put up with you
for a night.

Won't you introduce the gentleman?

Oh yes, may I introduce
Baron Kobersky from St. Petersburg?

My aunt, Erkentrud Flambow.

Baron Kobersky.

It's a pleasure.

My sister married
a Count Wolperdinger.

- Do you know him?
- I'm afraid not.

An important dynasty in this country.

My brother-in-law's uncle was
a close advisor to the Kaiser.

"For a long time
I used to go to bed early.

"Sometimes, when I put out my candle,
my eyes would close so fast

"that I had not even time to say,
'I'm going to sleep.'"

2. DIARY OF A
PERSONAL ASSISTANT

For a long time I thought

you had to be rich
to have success with women.

Well, not with all women.
I did kiss Rosa from the factory once,

but she's poor herself,
and it was dull.

With Miss Octavia, however,
my heart quivers

even when I serve
her eggs in the morning.

I may lack literary education,

but writers themselves
also seem to lack all education.

In that French book,
a child simply writes everything

that occurs to its child's mind.

Yet Miss Octavia thinks
the book is fascinating.

So I'm also going to write down
everything I've seen and thought.

So far I've thought little.

Or differently.

Because I'm often tired,
especially after a flea has bit me.

But the child in the book
is also tired.

It's a lot about beds
and how people lie in them.

And yet the book is very dear
to Miss Octavia.

The men she wants to kiss
get it placed on their nightstand.

When you're tired,
you only need to write it down.

Then you're no longer a simpleton
but a man of letters.

Hi, Rosa.

Nice to see you.
Where are you going?

- To get some eggs from our tenant.
- Your tenant?

So you've gotten Miss Flambow-Jansen
to marry you?

Very funny. I meant it figuratively.

Don't be angry.

I just worked the night shift.
I'm tired.

I'm also tired,
but I'm still polite.

Look.

Chinese fleas.

Some people say
they're vampire bites.

The newspaper said
vampires were just a myth

to cover up for bad hygiene.

Are you kidding me?

No offense,

I'm affected as well.

So high society practices
bad hygiene as well?

You turn my words inside out
like an umbrella.

You're just in love
with Flambow-Jansen.

I've had enough.

My feelings for Miss Flambow-Jansen
are purely professional.

Then why do you like
being exploited by her?

She doesn't exploit me.

Miss Octavia is a wonderful person.

Capitalism exploits all workers.

Maybe.

But I'm from a bourgeois family.

My father was a
secondary customs assistant.

I learned that reading Marx.

In the past, people only worked
enough each day

until they produced enough value
for that day.

With machines, that value
is produced in just two hours,

but we must keep working anyway,

which creates surplus value.

And that's what makes
the capitalists rich.

I don't produce anything.

And certainly no surplus value.

Want to come to the beach later?

Today is the big Socialist swim meet.

We could get some ice cream.

Another time.
I'm very busy professionally right now.

I'll tell you what you are.
A brain-dead servant.

Leave me in peace.

You just lack literary education.

So you don't understand people
and the hidden workings of the heart.

Tell me, Jakob, seeing that you enjoy

such a good relationship
with Miss Flambow-Jansen,

might she perhaps consider

exercising some patience with my rent?

It's the global market...

My hens shit out
one egg after another

but you can't live on that anymore.

Then there's that Chinaman
who has ruined everyone's appetite.

Could you put in a good word for me?

I'll see what I can do.

...a Polack, of course.

And unemployed to boot.

You've already stolen
West Prussia.

Now Poznan and Upper Silesia.

Will your bloodlust never be sated?

But tell Miss Octavia not to worry.

The criminal will not escape
the punishment he deserves.

She'll be pleased.

You can take the motorcycle too.

Okay, it's just...

I don't have a driver's license.

Do you want to block traffic?

I've noticed

that thoughts and events
often don't fit together.

On the way home,

I pondered the telephone
we'd be getting soon

and that there'd be no more pleasant
strolls to the telegraph office,

nor cigarettes on the way.

They'd be replaced by urgent calls,

so there'd be less nice things
and more dumb ones.

Until there'd be
no time left for thinking at all.

Help!

Help!

I wondered
what all the running was about,

also in terms of
what I would write in my diary.

So I went to see, whereas in the past
I would have just wondered.

She's still breathing.

It was close.

What's wrong with her?

When very thirsty vampires

attack very delicate women,
it can be life-threatening.

Make sure you take good care
of dear Miss Octavia!

Stealing a bicycle from one
of our best customer's sons...

Is it the newest practical joke,

or did I miss something?

I just borrowed it.

Enough of that!
If the Baron found out...

He was there.

But his aristocratic soul
didn't suspect a thing.

You need a man like that.

Stop bothering me.

I beg your pardon, Miss Octavia,
but you must get to safety.

Calm down, Jakob.
What has upset you so?

Rosa, a worker
was lying in the field half-dead.

It was the vampire.

His bites usually just make you tired,

but they can be deadly.

What is this horror story?

Chinese fleas, Mrs. Flambow.
A plague of the uneducated classes.

Due to bad hygiene.

But common folk tend
to suspect the supernatural.

No flea can bite like that.
It must have been a vampire!

But Jakob, vampires only exist
in movies. Maybe it was a fox.

Or a crime of passion.
That's no rarity in the proletariat.

Still, we should take
the young man's concerns seriously.

These fleas can indeed be dangerous
to those with weak constitutions.

The victim had clear bite marks,
I presume? On her neck perhaps?

Yes. Very clear.

Chinese fleas, no doubt.

What can be done?

A bourgeois lifestyle
is usually protection enough.

What do you mean?

Jakob, please go wash your hands.

I always wash my hands, yet...

Gross!
Do you have these Jewish fleas too?

Goodness, no! But the workers
think the fleas are an invention.

Jakob, I've studied
this phenomenon closely.

Do you doubt science?

Of course not.

You should wash your hands
if you had contact with the victim.

Certainly. Thank you.

Do you believe in vampires, Baron?

Such stories were also told
under the tsar.

Dr. Humburg's explanation
was certainly sound.

The whole vampire thing
must be humbug.

Octavia looked at me scornfully,
as if I were an imbecile.

Now I'll have to prove my indispensability
by being even more diligent.

The biggest threat to the German soul
is doubtless unemployment insurance.

Simple, uneducated people

naturally tend to frivolity
and neglect of duty.

The Good Lord created
a clever antidote to that:

hunger.

But when the natural compulsion
to work is lessened

since true hunger
hardly exists anymore, then...

My God!
What a clumsy servant you have!

Stop calling him a servant.
He's my personal assistant.

You know, Baron,
Dr. Humburg recommended

that I always hire two servants.

It creates a competitive atmosphere
and thus a lasting motivation.

What do you say?

You're right.

And it works. Hans and Franz
fit together like cogs in a machine.

Do you really think a baron cares
how you run your household, Auntie?

She's a good girl, actually.

She speaks three languages,
is an excellent pianist, and,

despite occasionally shooting off
her mouth, she is always dutiful.

The product of my modest upbringing,
as you can guess.

Of course.

And don't people owe everything
to their upbringing, Baron?

I agree in full.

You see, Octavia? The Baron and I
understand one another.

And yet in affairs of the heart,
the personal assistant

is at times a step ahead,

since he knows
what my rival doesn't,

namely if her aunt likes something,
Miss Octavia stops liking it.

As an aristocrat, you can't share
my aunt's bourgeois values?

- Well...
- Pay no heed to her insolence.

It's her solitary heart speaking.

It's high time she got married.

My dear aunt, I wanted to tell you
some important news.

I've decided to move to Cairo.

To Cairo?
What are you going to do in Cairo?

I'm going to work as a waitress.

As a waitress? For the Negroes?

Jakob will accompany me.

Perhaps we'll even marry?

Idiot!

Nebucha...

Nebuchadnezzar!

What are you doing up there?

Imbecile!

You imbecile!

Get Nebuchadnezzar down right now!

It's just... I'm apt
to experience vertigo.

Don't worry. I'll save the bird.

A baron in the trees? No!

Hans! Franz! Get that animal down!

I'll take care of it.

But be careful, please!

My hopes of marriage
were dashed.

- Here's your bird.
- Oh, thank you.

Jakob, will you take him
to the house?

Who could that be at this hour?

Imagine you wanted a painting
by Renoir in the proper size.

Or a ton of monazite sand
from Brazil.

You wonder, "Who should I call?"

And someone says, "Try Bonin."

And indeed, it turns out he knows
just the man in Rio de Janeiro.

Yes, I like to think

that I know everyone
you can even think of.

- You're exaggerating.
- Try Auntie. He's telling the truth.

Okay, then...

Do you know
Otto von Wolperdingen?

Naturally.
Of ancient Hessian nobility.

Until 1917 he had coffee plantations
in German East Africa.

He sold them for a profit
before the war ended

and then bought shares in
a diamond mine in the Belgian Congo.

He lives with your sister Dörte
in Rüsselsheim.

You see?

Amazing!

It is indeed impressive.

The Baron did not know him.

You're not familiar
with the German nobility?

Certainly, but...

I met your brother-in-law

while working for Mussolini
on Bora Bora.

What a wonderful coincidence.

Well, forgive the expression,

but that old jackass
almost ruined the entire mission.

Don't you always say
that everyone over 40 should be shot?

With the exception of your dear aunt
and our Dr. Humburg, of course.

In such cases, physical attraction
is usually decisive.

Does she feel any for me at all?

The Baron has nice eyes
and an exotic hairstyle.

Bonin embodies all the erotic virtues
of the German race.

Am I simply too ugly for her?

But ugly people tend to settle
with other ugly people,

whereas I only like Octavia,

so I can hardly be ugly.

You know, Bonin,
I'm a doctor of pharmacy.

There are astounding parallels

between the symmetrical structure
of a word play

and the protein shell
of a virus genome.

Kant himself considered
the possibility

that a race's sense of humor
is related to its gut flora.

Mmm, won't you give us a sample?

You mentioned Rüsselsheim.

It calls to mind an erotic epigram

that was, listen for the alliteration,
the spring spa splash.

A woman got a telegram:
"My husband's back from Amsterdam!"

Said her stud from Rüsselsheim:
"I pulled my dick out just in time."

Dr. Humburg!

You have to see it on paper to...

Where were we?

Bora Bora.
Aren't they Negroes too?

A sub-species.

Phenotypically,
they're especially pleasing.

The women in particular
are stunning.

You don't say.

They should be in movies.

Bonin, did I tell you
that I'm going to be in a movie soon?

A movie?

A movie?

The Baron is an artist and a filmmaker.

I'm producing it.

Well, well! What's it about?

A vampire story
with a romantic element.

I'll be playing the lead. The Baron
will be the hero and my lover.

The Baron?

That must be a joke!

Um... no.

A vampire movie? Excellent!

A vampire movie?
Isn't that a bit vulgar?

In support of your aunt,

I might note that Hegel
completely omits film in his aesthetics.

How horribly reactionary you all are!

And when will the filming
of your masterpiece begin, Baron?

- Uh...
- In one or two days.

- In two days?
- You bet!

Jakob, you should have gone to town
to cable Berlin for the material!

- How late is it?
- It's 3:30.

The office closes in a hour.

Go with him, Baron,

so that the imbecile gets it right.

I don't like one bit that the Baron
is going to play her lover.

On the other hand,
filming might provide an opportunity

to show off my literary talent.

Then again, she called
me an imbecile twice today.

But don't they say
that dumb fucks good?

Where did that idiot
with the parachute come from?

We met him this winter on a ski trip.

Of course, I'm not sure if that saying
is known in educated circles

and thus if she would be able
to apply it to me.

Plus, one must strip naked
to make love.

But how could I

since I'm covered with,
if not vampire bites,

then certainly flea bites?

Do you believe in vampires?

No.

Wouldn't the vampire be
the more interesting role for you?

The lover could also be played...

by me, for example.

You're the cameraman.

I see.

Then who will play the vampire?

Why not Mr. Bonin?

I'm sure Miss Octavia
would love him to bite her neck.

Cut!

What are you doing, Octavia?

- Isn't it silly for him to bite my foot?
- I think it's nice.

Can't he give me the classic neck bite?
It'd be more realistic.

And scarier too, right?

There's literary justification
for it, too.

I'll do it however you want.

- Wouldn't it be unpleasant...
- Oh, please.

- But...
- You're not jealous, are you?

We'll do one in the neck.

Cut.

"Samuel's brow is noble and pure,

"his eyes glitter
like two drops of coffee,

"his nose is teasing and scoffing,

"his chin square and despotic,

"his hair pretentiously Raphaelesque."

Look!

Move over.

Where'd you find that?

How are we supposed to cut it?

With this.

May I?

Is there more wine?

Here.

What's our next scene?

A spooky melon burial, maybe?

I'd rather do a vampire taking a nap.

The film artists are having a party!

Bonin!

We're taking a break. Sit down.

When's it over?

I'd like to watch some filming.

The light is very nice right now.
We should do the final scene.

Oh, yeah!

Wasn't it slated for tomorrow?

What kind of cameraman are you?

It's the light that matters,
not your silly schedule.

Wouldn't it be more elegant

to leave this scene
to the audience's imagination?

Camera.

And action.

Another time from over there.

Don't we have enough?

Oh, Jakob,

you don't know what love is.

But I know what it is,
because I love Octavia.

When we kissed

she felt something too.

Of course she has moral doubts
about me since I'm a proletarian.

But when she sees the movie

she'll still want to marry me.

Our life will be nothing
but love and leisure.

I'll even give up acting.

Soon there will be talking pictures,
and there will be lines to memorize.

I won't mind if you
stay on as her assistant.

But you couldn't just walk into
her bedroom in the morning.

For she won't be alone
in there anymore.

I think this is a good spot.

Dear Diary,

I've written everything down
and become a man of letters.

I've lived the life of a film artist
and spoken freely in high company.

And yet she kisses him,
and still ignores me out of sheer habit.

But now that I'm a writer

a return to my old existence
seems intolerable,

whereas I used to be content

just to fluff her pillows on Sundays.

They say he has
17 slant-eyed children.

Still no one stops him
doing his illicit work,

ruining my pharmacy,

without batting a slanted eye.

It's your fault too, butterball.

You weren't even invited
to the charity ball.

Hey, isn't that...

Miss Flambow-Jansen's assistant!

What's he doing in the rocks?

Very strange.

Perhaps you could approach him
about an invitation?

I can't just wake him up!

Butterball!

Excuse me, sir...

3. WRONG LIFE
CANNOT BE LIVED RIGHTLY

Baron! Baron!

Please excuse the interruption.

It's just that we heard
about the tragedy with Mr. Jakob.

And to honor Mr. Jakob's memory

we slaughtered our turkey Karla

who loved him so much.

To remember him by.

Thank you.

Bravo, princess!

Very elegant!

That'll be hard to beat.

Be quiet and give me a ball.

Sorry, you hit the last one
into the bushes.

Don't you have a caddie to fetch it?

Alas, my assistant Jakob died.

And I haven't seen Lyovochka
since this morning.

That strange, taciturn Russian?
Who is he anyway?

Octavia now has
a proletarian pet.

It's all the rage.

You should also get yourself
a singing miner

or a poet baker.

Sure! Where do I find one?

You're just a bigmouth.

Lyovochka risked his life for art.

Indeed, your aunt was very angry
about the whole movie thing.

But it was you
she wanted to kill.

Stalin himself wanted to hang him.

Was he such a bad actor?

For political reasons.

How boring.

Considering the poor quality
of Soviet gallows

a game of golf with you,
dear Octavia,

poses a greater threat
to life and limb.

Earlier you almost knocked out
one of poor Dr. Humburg's eyes.

But let's toast already.

I'm going to look for Lyovochka.

Am I interrupting?

Of course not.

What are you doing?

Making my special recipe.
It's a surprise.

These potatoes are very interesting.

We don't have potatoes like these.

They're incredibly long and thin.

More like carrots.

Look how thick the peel is.

The interesting question is

how much boiling they necessitate.

Excuse me, please.

Bon appétit!

This stew is delicious!

Poor Jakob didn't just die
like a vegetarian.

He cooked like one too.

Biologically speaking,

mushrooms are closer
to animals than vegetables.

According to his own rules...

he shouldn't have eaten it.

How nice. My assistant is gone,
and you're amusing yourselves.

And the poor Baron has debased
himself in the kitchen for me.

I find it utterly shameful

what you've agreed to do
out of friendship for my niece.

Dr. Humburg,

let's finally toast the purchase
of your first block of shares.

It is a great honor for me.

To paraphrase our great poet Geibel,

If you count each drop of sweat

No blessings of fortune
will you get

What was the name
of your wife's rich uncle?

- Rüdiger.
- Well, then. To Uncle Rüdiger.

I regret I must return
to a disagreeable topic.

I mentioned the displeasure

our focus on exports
is causing in the workforce...

It's such a nice evening.

Isn't there a more interesting topic
than the factory?

Lyovochka could tell us

a tale from Revolutionary Russia.

The Revolution has taken
its toll on him.

Rationalization has
intensified processes

for which we can't always
offer adequate incentive,

which may result in the
forming of a workers' council.

Excuse me?

In itself it's no cause for panic.

Most of the workers are
moderate Social Democrats, but...

there seem to also be
scattered extremists who reject

our democratic economic system
on principle.

Communists or fascists?

Communists, I fear.

A Russian cookbook was found.

It began circulating
as a birthday present.

The dedication contains
verses by Mayakovsky.

This is irksome.

At least you can talk to fascists.

Can they be shot?

A well-tempered cruelty
to restore order?

- Right before the elections?
- I'm tired of this.

A lady from Dresden

must spend her old age
in the grasp of Jews and Frenchmen,

and you democrats are waving
flags of peace?

I had to fire Hans. Imagine it!

That rascal stole my hairpin.

Strange. You know
I dreamt about Hans recently?

It was very strange.

His eyeball was dripping
like a runny egg.

But we couldn't find a spoon.

Feel free to make a suggestion for once.

Want to end up like him?

Maybe you could give
a lecture in the factory.

What?

Tell them a bit

what Communism is like
from the victim's perspective.

A fantastic idea!

But will the proletarian mob
listen to a baron?

He can say
he's a persecuted writer.

I have the title:
"They Even Took My Fountain Pen."

He could go on a lecture tour!

Although I really did lose
my fountain pen.

You don't say!

The first time's a bit strange,

but you'll get the hang of it.

I have a little stage fright.

It seems capital is a burden, too.

A delight, Humburg. It's a delight.

Soon you won't be able
to get enough of it.

Can I ask you a question?

Before I bought my block of shares,
did you drink mine too?

Go on now, you old ninny!

"Rosa was lying in the field
half-dead. It was the vampire...

"It can be life-threatening
for delicate young women

"(like Miss Octavia)."

Help!

Help!

Help!

Help!

What happened?

The pharmacist and his friends
were playing a practical joke.

But they seem to have forgotten me.

What are you doing with that?
A new movie?

Do you believe in vampires?

Real vampires?

I'd rather not.

- I saw him.
- You?

This morning. In my room.

I have to find him
so he doesn't harm Octavia.

Hello, my dear film artists.

Why do you still have
that stake, Baron?

We're looking for the real vampire.

Really? And I thought
the Baron was one himself.

- Me?
- Yes. Because of your title.

Yet the mere sight of your potato nose
should have told me

that you're nothing more
than a court jester.

I'm done talking to you.

Why so sensitive, my dear Baron?

God almighty!

Look out, Baron!

Where did we leave off?

But Marx explicitly says
that the capitalist sucks blood.

But we already discussed
that Marx is not interested

in denouncing individual capitalists.

Instead, he polemically identifies

the unfettered form
of capitalist production

in its pure, abstract state.

Without democratic regulations,
so to speak.

But there is a ruling class
that Marx wants to abolish.

Oh, man! You're always bothering us
with your dumb questions.

Shut up already.

You know what?
I'm sick of this bozo brigade.

Speak of the devil.

Really, Bonin!

Drinking blood
that doesn't belong to you!

I'm sorry.
I should have asked permission.

I was so exhausted this morning.

It was so loud last night
in the hotel.

Then I saw your actor lying here,

and since my father's stocks make
me a future Flambow shareholder...

Relax!
That's what thirst does to you.

They say Socialism would liberate
us from it.

I wonder what it would be like.

But you don't want to trade after all.

The blood would just flow
into some field.

That's no good either.

Better not to think of it.

And yet I'm embarrassed.

Shall we forget it
over coffee at the Excelsior?

Let's have a drink here instead.

Too bad he has
that moldy cabbage taste, right?

You're an idiot.

But you know...

I'm glad I saw you. I...

wanted to tell you something.

You're moving to his kolkhoz?

Stop. I really like him.

He's just somewhat... awkward.

Is he a good kisser at least?

But I wanted to talk to you too.

Really?

Since arriving, I haven't been able
to find the right moment.

And in your bed.
I can't think clearly.

You go first.

I've long wished to have
a serious talk with you.

Ever since that time in St. Moritz
I've hoped that...

the liking we have for one another
might develop into something more.

Some of your statements
have led me to speculate

that you might also be open to that.

So I wanted to talk to you
before leaving for Budapest.

Because I thought
you might want to come with me.

Oh, Bonin, you've read my mind.

You show up, and I feel dizzy.

And then you're gone again,
before we've had a chance to talk.

Instead I search for secret signs
in your words, gestures, and glances.

Then I ponder and hesitate.

Yet it could be so easy.

Speak freely.
Tell me what's in your heart.

I'll come to the point.

A few days ago I was called
by an old business partner, Heideck.

He told me a Hungarian scientist
had developed a new technology

for radio transmission of moving images,

a kind of tele-vision.

A ways off, but you can see

the possibilities
for military and advertising.

The patent royalties
are accordingly expensive.

And since I lack liquidity
at the moment

and since my father
simply refuses to die

I thought of you.

That is, I thought of us.

Brainless leftists!

Can I be of assistance?

We've come to arrest the vampire.

Miss Flambow-Jansen
is the bloodsucker!

Octavia?

I understand your surprise.

But her behavior
has long been suspicious.

She didn't even invite the pharmacist
and his wife to the charity ball.

It's for vampires only.

Nonsense.

True.

Dönitz is a petty bourgeois.

But Schnösl the worker
saw everything.

Like what?

Her sucking your blood.

Why didn't I see it?

You were unconscious.

He dreamt it up.
Where's he hiding anyway?

He's in shock.

He can barely speak.

And you believe him?

Where are you from anyway?

He's a foreigner!

And a baron to boot!

Maybe you're in cahoots with her.

You really think
she sucks your blood,

and two days later
she puts on a charity ball?

Where's the sense in that?

He has a point.

Plus, the young lady gives us work.

Whereas a vampire
only thinks about itself.

Without her there'd be no
pharmacy student summer camp.

Plus,

our young lady
caught a chill from yearning

and has been in bed for two days.

Poor thing!

I know all about yearning.

Bourgeois chatter.

But our comrade gave his word!

A "comrade"?

To his discredit,
Schnösl belongs to a Marx reading group.

Karl Marx?

A Marx-critical Marx reading group.

Enough. Schnösl saw it.

You were lying in the sand.
She was next to you.

Did he see her bite him?

The facts speak for themselves.

Even if it's just a bad metaphor,
she still exploits us.

Let's grab her
and take the factory.

Life belongs to us!

Hurrah!

Don't mix things up.

Political opinions
belong in the ballot box.

No, no, no. Hold on a second.

I usually don't believe
anything Schnösl says.

And that goes double for dames.

Nevertheless, I'd like to say:

Let's go.

Hold

Your proletarian hands

Tight on the world's throat!

Property owners
will be "de-propertied" today.

Excuse me?

That's out of the question.

A Socialist society
will develop organically,

once we have established

an unbroken international
telephone network.

Maybe we should ask Moscow
for advice.

- Damn Russians!
- Right again.

While we're debating,
the vampire keeps on sucking.

Let's get her, then we'll see!

And how did he manage
to observe a dangerous vampire

that no one else has ever seen?

An invisible hand
pulled him to the scene.

An invisible hand?

It sounds strange

but that's what happened.

At least that's what Schnösl told us.

He was drunk.

I know how much aspirin
that red rascal buys.

Octavia is innocent.

I'm on the real vampire's trail.

Explain.

I've set a trap.

Give me a couple days, and I'll
bring you the real bloodsucker.

So the young lady
has time to escape?

Midnight tomorrow.

The vampire better be on the table,
or else...

Tomorrow is the charity ball.

Midnight tomorrow.

There you are.

Know what the worst thing
in the world is?

That no one knows
how to love anymore.

That's not true.

It is! All relationships are based
on calculation and self-interest.

Even you only tolerate me
because I'm funding your movie.

The movie doesn't matter.

Leave me alone.

Finish the joint.
I'm going to bed.

I'm just dropping off your costume.

Where have you been?

Let's have a drink.

What a stupid, shitty party!

We have to get drunk.

Why are you carrying
the movie around?

We'll send it to UFA.

Or I'll come with you to Hollywood.

I can't stand it here anymore.

When does the next ship leave?

But I wanted to introduce you
to someone.

My dear Princess Sherbatskaya,

may I introduce you to a compatriot
and a good friend?

The exile Leon Trotsky.

Princess?

What's wrong?

Princess?

It was just a joke.

Good evening, Lyovochka.

I hope I didn't frighten you.

What's it like to be dead?

You see things clearer
when you're not so caught up in life.

But... may I walk with you a bit?

Of course.

What are you doing with the film?

I have to save Octavia.

Let her go.

Never!

I don't want to offend you

but class relations
will keep you apart.

That's why I'll marry her.

But she won't marry you.

At best, you'll stay her jester.

Fine.

You're already polishing her floors.

That's temporary.

Listen, you blind garden chair!

Octavia is the vampire.

You're just jealous.

Then I ask you,

why was she the only one not bitten?

And why does she love garlic mousse
and sun-bathing?

What about her sensitivity?

Her literary taste?

Her individualism?

Her longing for love?

And what if she's a vampire anyway?

I'll never get closer
to a life worth living.

I'm going to save her.

Wait! Do you remember the year 1917?

No!

Before the Revolution
you lived in a poor village.

You were poor too.

The best fields belonged
to the large landowner Tolstoy.

To live, you had to toil
in his fields as a day laborer.

Do you remember the forest?

The best mushrooms grew there
in late summer.

But the men
of the forest's private owner

kept a close watch
on his private mushrooms.

You'd been living in a
rat-infested debtors' prison for a year

when you were released
to paint the forest owner's fence.

Revolution!

Revolution!

Do you remember how you felt
when the paperboy showed up?

In a frenzy of enthusiasm
you went to the city.

Only you forgot
to bring something to eat.

And you had no money, of course.

And since you'd smoked
a week's ration of tobacco on the way

you were a bit dizzy.

Are you hungry, comrade?

Long live the Revolution!

All cauliflowers now belong
to everyone.

So my cauliflower is your cauliflower.

Remember the hope

that man's exploitation of man
would finally come to an end?

That hope was bullshit.

Why not learn from past mistakes
and try again?

Kiss my ass!

The Chinaman!

Please tell Miss Flambow-Jansen
we're sorry.

We're ashamed
to have suspected a compatriot.

We must have been
suffering from sunstroke.

Or from Marxism.

We know what we have to do now.

We are the people.

Hurrah!

But comrades, think a minute!

That was just some shabby movie.

We don't tolerate pessimists.

But...

Come on, let's go get the Chink!

Three Chinamen with a double bass

Sitting on the corner
Chatting face to face

A policeman came and gave them chase

Three Chinamen with a double bass