Het leven is vurrukkulluk (2018) - full transcript

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This story unfolds on a Sunday,

on an unexpectedly sultry Sunday
at the end of spring.

At the bleak end of my adolescence,
because we didn't rush into adulthood.

Why should we?

The precise course of events
is no longer very clear to me.

Possibly because my head wasn't
very clear at the time, but we'll see.

When I was still a lad...

This is me: Boelie.

I really don't get it, Boelie.

Oh yes, he's the boy next door.

When I was still a lad,
I wrote a poem about the silver white of...



- The silver white of what?
- The birch trunk.

You sound like an 1880s poet, Boelie.

Goddammit!

A toke?

- Look at him standing there!
- Mum.

With that whore!

So I'm a nobody?!

Boelie.

"Boelie." Who'd pick a name like that?

Take her inside!

Who'd pick parents like that?
I did, because I'm the writer.

This is Panda.

At this point I didn't yet know her.

Rashid!



And this is Mees, my best friend.

Mees was into music.

I was into lyrics.

This is old crap
from when I wrote in English.

At least he could earn his living
on Saturday nights.

Mees was born to be happy.

I'm starting to get a little bored.

- So sing a different tune.
- That affair of ours,

- before your Ernst-
- Jan finds out. What a fuss.

He'll have a hangover tomorrow.

And so will I. I'll drink to that.

He has to arrange things,

so we'll meet up later tomorrow
and take the night train to Paris.

We're going to liberate Algeria.

LIFE

I could shoot someone, if I have to.

There is a war going on there, get it?

IS

Oh yes. This is Steffie, his roommate.

But she's a girl
so he's certainly done it with her.

I broke up with Etta.
You know, I did it for you.

I told you.

And this is her...

Ramón.

The great artist.

WONDERFUL

And this was the title of the book:

Life Is Wonderful.

Mees?

You.

Why aren't you in bed?

Ramón is back.

Why aren't you in bed?

My mum was dragged off
by the police.

Again?

I broke up.

Were you going steady?

She threw a whisky glass
at my father's head from the balcony.

At least, that was her intention.

But it just missed
the head of the acting mayor.

He was talking to him at the time.

Boelie.

Well?

Do we have any plans?

Let's do...

What did he say?

He said, "Let's do something great."

What were you thinking of?

Who are you?

Just anyone,

an orphan girl sawn in half.

One half each?

Life is wonderful.

Won-der-ful.

And what do you call great?

I have a rough idea.

- What did he say?
- Nothing. Ignore him.

Pretty girls have ugly friends too, eh?

I don't have any friends.

Let's live in the country
and make babies?

Babies are a bother.

Boelie is a thinker.

He's even a great thinker.

They come closer and kiss.

Not for love, but for the sublime moments
and the sentiment they can't miss.

Nijhoff.

Mees!

Well, still alive?

Do I know you?

Won't you introduce us?

I'm with him.

- Where've you been? What are you up to?
- Busy.

Busy with my music.

The conservatoire called.
They haven't seen you for weeks.

Where do you eat and sleep?

At my place.

With your mother? In her condition?

How is she, by the way? Bad?

I say, we should go.

Come to the matinee later.

We're doing Mahler's "5th"
with a new young conductor.

Haitink is a nobody,
but certainly with potential.

- We have a hangover.
- What did you say?

A hangover!

But the "5th" is your favourite!

Mees!

I feel like a shower.

At your place?

That's a little complicated right now.

Because of Steffie.

Steffie?

They don't do sex.

How boring.

Steffie has got Ramón.

And who has got you?

No one has me.

Hello.

Mees, we have an appointment.

- What?
- About the musical.

So you have an idea for the musical?

Right. Cancel it. Much better.

I'm going to Paris tonight,
on the night train.

We'll stay there a while to support
the independence movement.

He's a freedom fighter, you see.

Or we'll take the boat later.

The boat?

- To?
- Algeria.

And who...

are "we"?

Just ignore him.

He'll give up on his own.

Just like dogs who bark at cyclists.

I need eggs and bacon.

Let's go to his place.

Your mother isn't there.
Arrested for being drunk.

She threw a whisky glass
at the PM's head.

The acting mayor, asshole.

- What did he say?
- Oh, nothing. Never mind.

- Futilities will bring you down, Boelie.
- I need a pee.

Trying to impress her
with my tragic life?

So what's your name?

Panda.

Panda.

Do come in.

What a mess here.

Crusty roll with to-ma-to,
mozz-a-rella, tap-en-ade...

And?

- What do you think?
- About the musical?

I mean about her.

I need some shade.

Is there a shower?

No, this is a public lavatory.

Tea?!

You seem to love reading.

Recently, only the Book.

The Bible?

Kees the Boy.

That means nothing to me.

Really reading is getting too difficult.

At a distance, I can, but...

Never heard of reading glasses?

Ah, child...

I can dream the story.

Panda. Panda...

Very sweet, eh? But lethal.

- Mr Dreverhaven.
- Thanks again.

So you do see that.

Boelie, it's time you got deflowered.

Now is your chance.

And I suppose you'll hold my hand?

You're welcome to it.

- Anyway, she's taking the night train to...
- Algeria.

You believe that?

"He swallowed, swallowed hard
at all the misunderstood melancholy,

which he had fought back all afternoon."

"It returned now
because of her gentle words."

"Which could no longer make him angry."

Beautiful.

It's for you.

Oh, wait!

THEO THIJSSEN
KEES THE BOY

Rosa Overbeek.

Who's the appointment with?

- It's an interview with Ernst-
- Jan.

- Ernst-
- Jan? Oh no. That's the last thing I need.

Yes, yes! Come on.

What did I tell you?

- She looks angry.
- They call that sexy.

Turn round and walk away.

I thought she'd flushed herself away.

I got held up.

Who by?

My old aunt. Happy now?

- Your old aunt?
- Yes, Madam Pipi.

Madam Pipi.

- The lavatory attendant.
- Aha, I see.

- The prince is potty.
- Stop it. She's very well-read.

Then she's slid down the social ladder.

- Have you heard of Kees the Boy?
- Of course.

- Theo Thijssen.
- Of course.

She says it's about her.

Mees!
Mees, this is great for our musical!

Rosa Overbeek is a lavatory lady
in a public convenience.

- Who?
- Madam Pipi!

It's about the sad fall of a rich girl.

That's not commercial.
It should be rags to riches.

- It's a musical, Boelie!
- But let's go riches to rags.

Let's end with a dark,
spectacular show tune.

With singing toilet bowls and the rhythmic
clatter of seats, lids and doors.

Let me think.

A promising girl...

"From promising girl
to lavatory attendant."

Lavatory attendant? Lavatory attendant.

From promising girl to lavatory attendant

"When we need to pee, we come to you."

When we need to pee, we come to you
You're so pretty!

No, "pretty" is ugly.
"You're a flower. Goodness me."

You're a flower, goodness me

- Madam Pipi
- Poopoo.

You're a flower

You're a flower
At the public convenience

But here it comes. Rosa has been
waiting all her life for her great...

Let's go?

We're going to Boelie's place, nearby.

Is that with parents and things?
I don't fancy that.

His father ran off with a girl
and his mother's in jail.

Great, then I can have a shower at last.

Hey, hey! You remind me of someone.

The music is that way.

- The music?
- In the bandstand.

- Tonight. The concert.
- Just ignore him.

- We hate music.
- But it's free.

We hate free.

- It's for everyone.
- We hate everyone.

- Little rich kids.
- Yes, so we hate poor people.

You remind me of someone dear to me.

- You have such a big mouth.
- What's all this?!

- Silly bitch.
- Zombie.

Are you coming?

Come.

Why don't you like music?

Not even Mahler?

- Mahler?
- Mahler. Gustav Mahler.

You said, "We're taking the night train."

I just mean my true love and me.

What's the matter?

Sometimes I'm not part of
what happens around me.

As if I have been dumped
in the wrong space.

- And then I feel...
- Misplaced.

In an ultimate unreality.

- Did you have to?
- What?

- You're the knight in shining armour.
- Yes. So I gave you an opportunity.

Just go ahead.
I'll go and do the interview.

If it's so important,
it's better if you do it alone.

- I mean, you're the ideas man.
- I'm not stupid, Mees.

No, that's why.

And Boelie, the door's open.

Mum?!

He's got a real interview
about our musical

for the TV.

Musical?

Yes, I know.
That's why we're using pseudonyms.

A real house!

And real parents.

Mees!

It's impossible not to love music.

You may find it difficult
because it can move you.

Or make your bowels move.

While you don't know why.
Good music always does something,

whether you want it or not.

- During one of my songs...
- Our songs.

The whole piano bar got wrecked.
Really debauched!

- Because you sang so beautifully?
- No.

Because the music evoked something.

And the lyrics didn't?

Music is abstraction.

- Sometimes it's the notes you don't play.
- Quote.

They're just as important
as the notes you do.

- Unquote. Miles Davis.
- Jesus, man!

- I'd like to be a wealthy alcoholic.
- My mother can tell you exactly how.

Basking all day with a cocktail beside
a very blue swimming pool. On the Riviera.

But never swimming.

Waited on, hand and foot,

by the man who scoops drowned
insects from the pool, bare-chested,

wearing trunks a size too small.

- Que dites-vous?
- Wearing trunks a size too small.

I heard, but he's a Frenchman.
Je ne comprend pas, Boelie.

I only half understand him and that is
so tiresome I'll have an affair with...

Your brother?

Mees, that's great for our musical.
Incest!

- She doesn't like musicals.
- Except this one.

The girl who shares a bed
with her brother.

Every night you snuggle up to him

to mourn for your dead parents together.

And in his eyes, you see your father.

And in your eyes, he sees his mother.

It's all very straightforward and tender.

"With my brother,
together on the Cote d'Azur.

Indiscrete love, oh so impure."

And when you've spent
the whole inheritance,

then you'll be forced...

to live in Brittany.

In a village where no one lives

and no one will ever live,
because it's always autumn there

and pitch black.

"We'll climb a rock
and stand there in the rain."

We have to commit suicide
or go insane.

We listen to the senseless roar
of the waves.

"And gaze into the depths,
buried in our graves."

Mees, our musical
isn't about ordinary love.

That's just so boring.

- It's for TV, Boelie.
- We don't care about money.

- We have to dare.
- It has to be simple and quick.

What you think, Panda?

I don't care as long as
I don't have to watch it.

You go and be romantic in your attic,
but remember it's for common people.

I'm leaving.

"Sweetheart."

That's what she said.

"You're a darling...

a sweetheart."

Then she gave me a kiss.

A quick peck on the cheek.

And that's as far as I got.

Then I was sent out into the world alone.

I didn't have any future with that...

silly bitch.

My Rosa.

And I'm stuck with this too.

This strange walk.

"The swimmer's walk."

The swimmer's walk...

That's how babies should be made.

By law.

Were we making babies?

Twelve years old in 1900...

now about 75.

World War I, Interbellum, Spanish flu...

the Great Crash...

Kristallnacht, WW II...

Korea...

I've had more attractive men.

That's nice to hear.

But you have sweet eyes.

- You think they're pretty?
- Yes.

English hills by moonlight.

Nonsense.

- Poetry.
- I hate poetry.

Come!

- Ernst-
- Jan!

Boelie!

I don't have much time.

- Excuse me, can I have three...
- I'll be right with you.

A musical.

For?

- A theatre producer, whatever?
- For TV.

- Broadcaster? AVRO TV?
- Mees knows.

- And where is he?
- What paper are you writing for?

- Boelie, what's it about?
- -Christ, Ernst- - Jan, relax.

- Holland-
- Belgium starts at 2 p.m.

- But take your time.
- Strange camera, Wim.

Polaroid.

It's new.

Telephone for Mr Mulisch.

Telephone for Mr Mulisch.

You already know?

What?

What your musical's about.

God Almighty, service is slow here.
Watch the waiter.

Boelie, You have to give me something.
Motivation, who knows.

Sometimes a subject takes you by the arm.

My musical embroiders forth
on the life of Kees Bakels

after his Maker...

sends him out into the world unfinished.

Wim! Go and order three beers
from him. Dammit.

Interesting, interesting.

It's the Eve of War.

War? Viewers don't want war, Boelie.
They want progress, soccer and sex.

I don't have time, Boelie.

- World War I.
- No way. The Dutch weren't even involved.

But Kees was.

It's an epic tale that starts
where the book stops.

After saying farewell to his sweetheart
Rosa. So I start at World War I.

Then, via the Interbellum, Spanish flu,
or vice versa,

via the crisis and the whole works, WWII,

via the colonial war in the Dutch
East Indies and the war in Korea,

he reaches the present.

Your bubble.

Bubble?

Like when you're on a trip.

LSD or something.

Yes. No. Or...

I don't know, I never did it.

He's a very important figure
in the liberation.

- Who? Where was it again?
- Algeria.

Last week we spent three days
in a hotel bed.

- You and... What's his name?
- Rashid.

While outside, spies were everywhere.

Did he have time for that?
What's he doing in Holland, anyway?

Raising money for the struggle.

Yes, sure.

Is there any fucking?
Or falling in love?

The whole story is one long quest
by Kees Bakels for his Rosa.

And very important: the swimmer's walk.

- The swimmer's walk.
- Choreography.

Between the trenches, past the front line,

through snow storms, in sweltering heat.

Can you follow it?

Wim, I'm really starting to feel parched.

- Listen, Boelie. You have to help me.
- But I haven't finished yet.

I think Etta has a lover.

I had an Icelandic chick
and now I think she's out for revenge.

I can't sleep.

I may be wrong. Maybe she doesn't know.
You can find out. She trusts you.

Please come home with me? Take her
to one side, in the garden. Have a chat.

You don't care about the match.

- This was the interview?
- Yes, no... I have what I need.

Wim!?

As long as it looks good.

Come on, let's take a photo.

That's nice.

- One more.
- Say cheese.

Nice.

And relax.

What shall we do?

Nothing. I'm leaving.
I'm meeting him at eleven.

This evening. We have all afternoon.

And half the evening.

Is he in love with you?

Of course!

What's the score?

It's 0-0.

No! Dammit!

She's outside.

Go on then.

Do my shoulders, please?

Yes! No!

Not on the straps.

How's your mother, Boelie?

Lower your head.

There's a chance I'll end up like her.

At least she still has money.

This is just one drab monstrosity

of days.

Except...

today, maybe?

What are you looking at?

Oh, nothing.

Zip me up?

I can't let the future of Algeria
depend on my selfish...

bourgeois need to keep you here
for me alone.

But I could live with that.

Bye.

It was nice.

Have a good trip.

Yes! 1-0!

Boelie! Within 30 minutes, 1-0!

Things are going great!

Really nice! Dammit! What did I say?

- No way!
- That shouting and idiotic excitement.

He's just so coarse.

This is bad for my heart.

Once it almost left me with a broken jaw.

From what?

His first French kiss.

I should have ended it all back then.

But because my parents objected,
I married him.

But how are you, Boelie?

How's work going? Do you call it work?

Have you seen Mees today?

Yes.

And?

Why do you ask?

Oh, nothing.

Come on, entertain me.

Try something.

Look! Since the war, at last
someone has made love here!

Mees.

You don't have to be ashamed.

I cleaned your nappies once.

You shaped up quite nicely.

When it comes to Boelie, we'll have to...

wait and see.

Striking.

Striking what, who?

A little older, but just as haughty.

"Darling, sweetheart," I heard you say.
Did you cry too?

You pushed, I let go and...

you fled without looking back.

I nearly finished it.

You're not wearing a brassiere.

No.

My boyfriend is a freedom fighter.

Oh.

Freedom is beautiful.

We all want to be free.

- Don't we?
- Yes.

Hey, Mees. I played Chopin too.

Chopin, Beethoven, Rachmane...
Rachmaninoff.

The whole bunch of them.

But that was all long ago.

I gave it all up.

For what? For what? For...

For my little darling, of course.

Oh, my little boy.

And then I drink an occasional glass.

In my own home, of course, because...

I don't get invited
to other people's parties any more.

And then all because
of your ex-husband and his...

Goddammit!

Respectable as you are, you get thrown
in a police cell for the night.

"Don't fall, ' he said shyly,
holding her without realising.

Did she cry? She pushed, he let go."

"And I fled, without looking back."

Then three more paragraphs and
it's finished? That's no way to end it.

Not if you start on the last page.

And here you are, in this stuffy cellar,
forever knitting him a scarf.

Now you cut me to the quick.

Why on earth should you wait
so long for someone?

I'm a child of my time.

Then it was very common
to make a sacrifice.

Being happy wasn't
the natural course of things.

And you talk about freedom?

It would never have been such a good book
if we'd found each other at once.

Why don't we give our own party?!
That'll teach them.

We'll give a party to celebrate that we...

that we love him.

Like the one last week?

Really?

You love him too, don't you?

He's very sensitive, you know, Mees.

You have to be very careful with him.

Are you? Do you promise me that?

They stamp him into the ground.

I really feel like a party.

- You too? Will you do the music?
- Yes, I'll do the music. I will.

That'll teach them, those snobs next door!

With their networking!

I have to go.

Bye.

Sometimes a subject takes you by the arm.

My musical embroiders forth
on the life of Kees Bakels.

Who?

After he is sent into the world
unfinished by his Maker.

I start with World War I.

That's no fun, Boelie.

Boukje?

Boukje, your Sunday best.

Are you coming?
We're leaving in a minute.

What a dream house, don't you think?

The overview, the order.

Sometimes I sit here all on my own

to be purified by the bad taste.

Come.

When the clock strikes three...

he slams his Bible shut...

puts his sermon in his bag and says...

it's time to go to church
for the Sunday afternoon service.

Then they go by foot.

Anja, can you get her ready?

Etta?

Our social circles are so quasi, Boelie.

Everything is so thought out.

- -Look at all Ernst- - Jan's affairs.
- Really?

First he had a Guatemalan...

then an Icelandic...

and all those arty-farty types.

But, I am also...

- What?
- A poet.

No, you're not.

You're just sweet.

Boukje!

Boukje?

What are you doing here? We have to go.
We can't keep the people waiting.

Hold my hand?

Oh, thank goodness.

- Will you come with me?
- No. I have to go.

- To kill time on your own?
- No.

Ramón?

Rashid.

What are you scared of?

Boukje!

Boukje, where...

Boukje, what are you up to? Come on.

We're going to sing. Come on.
There's a service.

Let's do something?

Yes, sure.

You're the youngest girl
I ever slept with.

Then beware,
the juvenile squad is looking for me.

I ran away from a girls' home
for hopeless cases.

I hit one of the nuns
and then took a train without a ticket.

Then you're the most hopeless case
I ever slept with.

And?

Fortunately you're not yet as adept.

- -As Ernst- - Jan.
- Do me a favour.

Or Mees?

No, you're much softer.

Will you tell him we...

I don't mind if you do.

- It's incredible.
- What?

It's incredible that I, still a lad,

wrote a poem
about the silver white of the birch trunk.

I don't actually remember
sleeping with you.

That's the polite way to say it.

- The silver white of the birch trunk...
- Yes, Boelie?

And around me,

the great intoxication of liberation.

That's what I mean by quasi-artistic.
It seems to be a virus.

We had sex, that's all.

Put your clothes on.

- Hey, Mees.
- Can we go in?

Do keep quiet.

It's beautiful.

The most beautiful is still to come.

Never clap between the parts.

- And?
- And what?

Crap!

And?

We took a stroll.

And?

She has a lover.

You have a red chin, Boelie.

Mum?!

Mum?

I thought we had cocktail sticks here.

What are you doing?

Look.

Take a look.

They look just like those, right?

Why are you doing this?

Didn't Mees tell you?
We're giving a party.

We're giving a party
to celebrate our love for you.

- And with snacks this time to?
- Darling,

I'm going to be here for you more.

As mother but also as mentor.

What is that, there?

How did that get so red and chapped?

The same look as your father!

The way he looked away
when he came home.

And then straight into the bathroom.

I knew what was going on then.

Mum...

you're sick.

You have to get some help.

What's her name?

Who?

And you didn't use a condom?!

It's the beginning of the end!

Now you can clap.

SUNDAY MATINEE
MAHLER - SYMPHONY NO. 5

"The water had turned into whisky."

It was all booze and fucking.

The whole of Europe
was one huge mattress.

"The sky was the ceiling
in a third-rate hotel."

Listen.

"It was all booze and fucking."

The whole of Europe
was one huge mattress.

"The sky was the ceiling
in a third-rate hotel."

How did the interview go?

Interview...

Where is Panda?

Was it fun?

Are you in love?

No, of course not.

- Because she already has someone?
- Who? Rashid?

I mean... Ramón.

- No, Rashid.
- Yes, Ramón.

Isn't it lovely?

Big bands...

Those were wild days.

The years of the legendary
Casablanca Club on Zeedijk.

And the Cotton Club.

I played with Nedly Elstak, and with...

Silly bitch.

Okay. Stay there.

Stay there!

Come with me.

"Many people hadn't heard
of Kees Bakels, it seems."

Or recognised him.
We're going outside.

- I never go out.
- Exactly. Come on.

Wait.

I'd just turn up at the date tonight
instead of Ramón.

I have a different plan.

That's him.

Bakels.

Kees.

Overbeek. Rosa.

Rosa?

Kees?

I thought this up.

Okay. I'll leave you.

- What were you doing?
- Killing time.

Would you wait your whole life for me?

My whole life?

Make a sacrifice?

I'll give you a farewell party.
Before I take you to the station. Okay?

And where is that party?

At your place, of course.
Your mother's idea.

Let's see... Ramón...

Steffie, of course,
Flip, I don't know...

You only have to stamp on the grounds
to get a party, with booze, hash, LSD.

It's because we're so generous,
to everyone we love.

- But also to the twots...
- Twats.

Jerks and charlatans.

I shall never be middle-range.

You mean middle-class.

- A house can be middle-range.
- She means bourgeois.

Stop it, the two of you.

With your freedom fighter on the sofa.

With a bowl of pretzels.

The order, the overview,
the catharsis of tastelessness.

For you, everything goes smoothly.
You'll make it.

Your bed's made up.
I saw your parents.

A necessary evil, indeed.

You have no parents?

I didn't get them.

Then you don't exist.

While I really did kiss you.

Mees. She's asleep.

Let's keep things that way for now.

I'll open a can of girls for you.
You're my friend.

We share everything, right?
I'm in love, so you can be too.

I'm already in love.

- What?
- He's already in love, he said.

You?

Surely not with Panda?
That's not convenient.

With Etta.

You with Etta, me with Etta.

- Did you sleep with her?
- You sex, me sex.

Put me down!

Mees. Have you slept with her?

A century ago. It wasn't much fun.

- What did you say?
- No, it was great.

It was?

So Etta is for me tonight.

- Is that advisable?
- Yes.

- -With Ernst- - Jan on your neck?
- No. We'll get him drunk.

He's going to leave me.

So this is a farewell party tonight?

And I'll be left all on my own?

Come with me.

Hello, I'm Panda.

- Boelie?
- Yes?

- Were you really still a virgin?
- No.

Steffie, darling? Of course
Ramón is welcome. Most welcome.

- Are you in love?
- We can celebrate his return.

I think I am.

- I left some hash with you.
- After one time?

- Yes, that's fine.
- Is that weird?

Etta, this is Mees.
Listen, we're giving a party...

Yes, he told me.

Just now. What a...

What a surprise.

No. I'm happy for Boelie
to enjoy your revenge on me.

He's my best friend.

Yes, now.

No, there won't only be arty-farty types.

You're on kissing terms with Mees?

- Only today.
- I'd keep it that way.

You know, Mees has a few
wrapped around each finger.

In that sense,
he's just like my ex-husband.

He hasn't got me. Look.

Cocktail sticks! Great.

You see? I have everything in the house.

It just doesn't get used.

- You want some more?
- No.

I'm not such a drinker.

Here it is. Stop!

Sieve!

- Hang on.
- I think I'll have a glass.

A sip won't hurt.

- Hey, Mees. Everything fine, man?
- Yes, with you?

Where is Ramón?

He always comes later.

- Etta, I...
- Hi.

- You have anything to smoke?
- Sure.

- Ernst-
- Jan.

Poetry...

is an act of denial.

Denial? What of?

Of pure observation.

It's romantic escapism.

And football isn't?

You should shut your mouth for once,
Boelie. You with your "musical"!

I say! You're a guest here.

But I'm not bitter.

No.

Even though I may be washed up...

I live life to the full.

Look, listen!

Isn't it a great party?

They're covered in coffee grounds.
Is that bad?

No.

- Sausage?
- Please.

I think your mother's amazing.

Amazing, indeed.

Sausage?

They're dirty.

That's why.

I think I'll head for the station.

- That's why we need to start a movement.
- Ramón.

You can't start a movement. It emerges.

Ramón!

Steffie?

Ramón is more into the primal movement,
aren't you, Ramón?

Now at least you can see he's charlatan.

Your freedom fighter is an asshole.

You fell for it. That happens
to the best of country girls.

This is the big city, darling.

I want to make love to you.

No, thanks.

Yes, look at the wall.
Very graceful. Beautiful.

Pina colada.

Boelie, is there no ordinary booze here?!

Could you play with the glass?

Come on. Come here.

Sit down.

Wim, here's your snapshot.

Isn't it lovely?

Beer in the kitchen?

Etta, I love you.

Etta!

I love you.

This afternoon,
but I didn't yet know at the time.

You're so... beautiful.

So sexy.

And so organised. I love you.

- We have to make a clean break.
- No, we don't.

- I'll tell Ernst- - Jan that I love you.
He thinks you have a lover.

- I have a lover.
- Who's that?

- You, isn't it?
- Oh yes.

God, I love you so much.

Guys, guys...

This is Michel
and he's going to jump off the balcony.

He's done it quite often at parties.
You're in for a real surprise. Come.

- Ouch, Boelie! You bit my lip!
- Sweetheart.

Dammit, he bit my lip!

Guys!

Are you okay?

I can't see.

He's going to do it.
He's going to do it!

Guys...

He's going to do it.

Now!

Mum!

Life is wonderful.

Wow.

- It's just a pity that no one saw.
- They did. I saw it.

Boelie!

- Go ahead.
- Boelie!

Have you seen Panda?

- Have you seen Panda?
- Have I seen a panda?

She was just here.

Oh yes, she was beautiful.

Have you seen Mees?

Mees?!

Mees.

"They come closer and kiss."

Not for love,

"but for the sublime moments
and the sentiment they can't miss."

The sound of trumpets.

"I will go."

"If you call, I will go."

"With profound joy
and the sound of trumpets."

I really thought she was it.

- Panda?
- Yeah.

Man, you're such a novice.

We never saw Panda again.

But she was unforgettable.

"My work."

- My work
- My work

- "My food." - - - My food

"My hands."

I will leave them behind

My work

My food

My hands

Happiness more intense
than I ever felt before

flooded through me and
reconciled me to almost everything.

My work

My food

My hands
I will leave them behind

My work

My food My hands

If you call, I will go

I will go.
Oh, I'll be delighted to go.

With profound joy
and the sound of trumpets.

I will go. If you call, I will go.

My work, my food and my hands.
I will leave them behind.

If you call, I will go.

If you call in the morning,
afternoon, evening,

in my dreams, in my waking hours.
If you call, I will go.

I will go, even if they break my legs.
Even if I'm crippled.

Angels will then tie wings
to my carriage. I will go.