Nostalgia (1983) - full transcript
The Russian poet Andrei Gorchakov, accompanied by guide and translator Eugenia, is traveling through Italy researching the life of an 18th-century Russian composer. In an ancient spa town, he meets the lunatic Domenico, who years earlier had imprisoned his own family in his house for seven years to save them from the evils of the world. Seeing some deep truth in Domenico's act, Andrei becomes drawn to him. In a series of dreams, the poet's nostalgia for his homeland and his longing for his wife, his ambivalent feelings for Eugenia and Italy, and his sense of kinship with Domenico become intertwined.
Thank God, we arrived.
Speak Italian.
Sorry. We've arrived.
I stopped far away
so we could go for a walk.
It's a marvelous painting.
I cried the first time I saw it.
This light reminds me of the autumn
in Moscow in Neskuchny Garden.
- Come on.
- I don't want to.
I'll go ahead and wait for you inside.
I don't want to.
I already told you.
I am fed up with all your beauties.
I don't want to take it alone anymore.
All this beauty of yours...
I can't take it anymore.
That's it.
Do you want a baby too?
Or are you asking God to spare you?
I'm here just to have a look.
Unfortunately,
if there are any casual onlookers
who aren't supplicants,
then nothing happens.
What is supposed to happen?
Whatever you like,
whatever you need most.
But you should
at least kneel down.
- I can't.
- Look at them.
They're used to it.
- They have faith.
- Probably.
Can I ask you something?
Why do you think...
it's only the women
who pray so much?
- You're asking me?
- You see so many women here.
I'm only the sacristan.
I don't know these things.
But you must wonder
why women are more devout than men.
You should know better than I.
Because I'm a woman?
No, I've never understood
these things.
I'm a simple man.
But I think...
a woman is meant
to have children...
to raise them...
with patience...
and self-sacrifice.
That's all she's meant for?
- I don't know.
- Thank you.
You've been a great help.
You asked what I thought.
I know... you want to be happy.
There are more important things.
Wait.
Mother of all mothers,
who knows the pain of being a mother.
Mother of all mothers,
who knows the joy of being a mother.
Mother of all children,
who knows the joy of having a child.
Mother of all children,
who knows the pain of not having a child.
Mother who understands all,
help your daughter to become a mother.
I just don't understand you.
You go on and on
about the Madonna of Childbirth.
We drove halfway
across Italy in the fog.
And you didn't even
go in there to see her.
What are you reading?
Arseny Tarkovsky's poems.
- In Russian?
- No, it's a translation.
Quite a good one.
- Throw it away.
- Why?
The translator's
a Very good poet.
Poetry is untranslatable,
like the whole of art.
You may be right
that poetry is untranslatable.
But music?
Music for example...
What is it?
What do you mean?
It's a Russian song.
You're right, but how could
we have got to know Tolstoy, Pushkin...
and so understand Russia?
You don't understand
anything about Russia.
Nor you Italy then.
If Dante, Petrarch
and Machiavelli are useless.
Sure.
It's impossible for us poor devils.
How can we get
to know each other?
By abolishing the frontiers.
Which?
Between states.
Good morning.
You know a maid in Milan
set fire to the house?
- Which house?
- Her employers' house.
- Why?
- She was homesick.
She missed her home
and family down South.
So she burned the thing
that stopped her going back.
Why did your musician, Sosnovsky,
go back to Russia
if he knew he'd be a slave again?
Why won't you confide in me?
I don't understand.
Read this.
You'll understand.
What is it?
The letter from
the Bologna Conservatory?
I wanted to ask you,
was Sosnovsky successful
when he returned to Russia?
Was he happy?
He started drinking and then...
- He committed suicide?
- Exactly.
Here I am!
I'm sorry, l was asleep.
- Do you have any identification?
- Yes.
Here it is.
I'll go and get the keys.
Those aren't
the other hotel keys, I hope?
No, they're to my house.
Here's your key.
This way. Please.
It's our best room.
Good night, Andrei.
Come with me.
Your room is upstairs.
It's nice here.
It's still night,
but the countryside's pretty too.
There's the river,
the mushrooms.
People keep coming back,
they often fall in love here.
- You and your boyfriend will like it.
- He's not my boyfriend.
Go on, he's sad
because he's in love.
No, I think his mind's
on other things.
THE HOLY BIBLE
- Did you knock?
- I hadn't yet.
Shall I ask to call Moscow?
You haven't talked
to your wife for two days.
No, thanks.
One, two, three. Go!
Andrei.
Andrei, get up!
We'll be eating in half an hour.
I'll be downstairs.
It's lovely here.
- St. Catherine used to come too.
- I'm coming.
Excuse me, Miss.
What does this Russian do?
- He's a poet.
- Is he writing about Italy?
He's writing the biography
of a Russian musician.
- Zoe!
- And how come he is here?
This musician studied in Bologna
and came to these baths.
- When?
- At the end of the 1,700s.
- Was it Tchaikovsky?
- No, his name was Sosnovsky.
- Wait.
- Didn't he marry a local woman?
No, he was in love
with a Russian slave and died for her.
What's the hurry?
- Does your poet like Italy?
- Too much so.
But... I don't know.
General, what's this strange music
we keep hearing day in and day out?
Wonderful music.
Beats Verdi anytime.
Hands off Verdi.
This is Chinese stuff.
A different civilization
with no sentimental wails.
Voice of God, of nature.
Pretend they're not there.
Just go on your way.
It's gotten into my mouth.
Move slowly.
- What does it taste like?
- It's a liquid sulfur.
- So it's good for the skin.
- Disgusting!
I'm fine.
I'm falling asleep.
In the '60s a drowned body
was found here.
Don't talk about it,
otherwise l get scared.
In the war I've seen
thousands of dead soldiers.
Now listen,
it's never too late to learn
whatever happens,
don't interfere.
Have you heard their talk,
what they're interested in?
You've got to be different.
You know why they're
in the water?
They want to live forever.
Look who's here!
Look at them!
My cigar's gone out.
Hand me the lighter, please?
General!
Why do they make fun of him?
A few years ago, he shut himself up
in the house with his family
to wait for the end of the world.
They stayed in for seven years.
A religious fit, they say.
Nonsense.
It was jealousy.
He was always jealous of his wife.
Later she ran off
with the children to Genoa.
Jealous my foot, he's nuts.
It's obvious.
That's not it,
he was just scared.
- Scared of what?
- Everything.
You're wrong,
he's a man of great faith.
And how, he kept his family
locked up for seven years.
I was there
when they broke down the door.
His kid shot out like a rat
and he chased after him.
We thought he wanted to kill him.
What faith!
Here's the Russian poet.
Miss, I don't smoke,
but could l have a cigarette?
Of course,
as you don't smoke.
- It's gone out.
- So it has.
Thank you.
Never forget what he said to her.
He who?
And her?
Saint Catherine!
So what did God say
to St. Catherine?
"You are she who is not,
but I am he who is."
Did you hear that?
Bravo, Domenico!
Did he speak
to St. Catherine himself?
Be careful.
He's not stupid.
Of course not.
Domenico has a degree.
In what?
I don't understand "Faith."
What is it?
Your Italian isn't so good, uh?
It was better
when you first came.
What does "faith" mean?
In Russian it's "vera."
Why do they say he's mad?
He's not mad.
He has faith.
There are lots of these lunatics
at large in Italy.
Asylums have been closed down
but the families won't have them.
And many must withdraw from others.
We don't know what madness is.
They're troublesome,
inconvenient
we refuse to understand them.
They're alone.
But they're certainly
closer to the truth.
He has another fixation now.
What?
He gets into the pool with
a lighted candle. Nobody knows why.
Everyone's afraid he wants
to drown himself
so they throw him out
and save him.
I don't believe it.
Ask them.
Can we ask him
to have lunch with us?
- When?
- Now.
Now, you don't know
what time it is.
- What time is it?
- It's 7:00 in the morning.
In the morning?
Does that man
with the wet shoes come often?
- Who? Domenico?
- Yes.
So this is what it's all about.
It depends. Sometimes he does,
sometimes he doesn't.
- Where does he live?
- Up above Bagno Vignoni.
In the square,
near the church.
What's so funny?
Andrei!
- Stop.
- Why?
You're prettier...
in this light.
Redhead, redhead.
You think so?
I'm beginning to understand.
What?
Why do you think he locked up
his family for seven years?
How should I know?
There he is.
- Good-bye.
- Thank you.
- Good morning.
- Good morning.
Good morning.
I've brought a famous
Russian writer.
My life is normal,
there's nothing interesting about it.
It's true, but we hear
you had a lovely experience.
I read about it too,
in the papers.
Tell him about it.
It's not worth it.
Maybe not, but this gentleman
has come from Moscow.
For me?
He's come a long way.
- What did he say?
- He doesn't feel like talking.
- Let's go.
- What?
Try again,
it's very important.
Excuse me?
- Stop for a minute.
- Go!
Look at that!
Where are you going?
What's wrong?
Have you offended him?
You've offended me!
He's crazy.
It's not up to me whether he talks or not.
I'm sorry, but I'm going.
If you care so much, try.
You know a bit of Italian.
If you don't like the way I work,
say so.
But believe me,
not only am I a good translator,
but I even improve
on the original.
I'm going back to Rome.
Our trip's over.
All right.
Excuse me.
I think I know why you do that.
What?
The bicycle?
Before, with your family.
I'm tired.
Where are you?
Come in!
Did you hear that?
It's Beethoven.
One drop plus one drop
makes a bigger drop, not two.
- May I?
- Smoke.
When I don't know what to say
I ask for a cigarette too.
But I never learned to smoke.
It's too hard.
You have to learn to not smoke,
to do important things.
Such as?
Some wine?
We need bigger ideas.
What?
I was selfish before.
I wanted to save my family.
Everyone must be saved,
the whole world.
How?
It's simple.
You see the candle?
All right.
Why do you say "all right"?
Wait...
You're confusing me.
You need to cross the water
with the lighted candle.
- Which water?
- The hot water.
St. Catherine's pool,
by the hotel,
the steaming water.
All right, when?
Now...
I can't do it.
I don't want...
When I light the candle
and get into the water,
they pull me out.
They kick me out.
And they shout,
"You're crazy!"
Get it?
- All right.
- All right?
It's all wrong!
Help me.
- Help me.
- All right, but...
Of course.
Where's the Russian
who's going to Bagno Vignoni?
The taxi's here.
It's late.
I must go.
Thank you.
Why me, of all people?
- You've children?
- Two, a girl and a boy.
And your wife?
Is she pretty?
You know the Madonna
of Childbirth?
By Piero della Francesca.
She's like that but all black.
Go with the candle.
We're planning
something big in Rome.
Zoe!
Where are you?
Zoe, answer me!
Zoe, you know I'm scared
of being alone.
I know what you're thinking,
but that's enough now.
It's wrong to keep thinking
the same thing.
What do you want?
Dad.
Is this the end of the world?
Good morning.
Are we going?
Stand back!
They're letting them out!
I knew they were in there.
I used to listen in secret.
The water had run out in my bathroom.
I hope you won't kill me.
- I thought you'd left.
- No, I'm still here.
- Good.
- You don't look pleased.
Look.
Look what he gave me.
- Who?
- Domenico!
Why are you afraid
of everything?
Full of complexes.
You're not free.
You all seem to want freedom,
you talk about freedom...
but when you get it
you don't know what to do with it...
or what it is.
That's enough, that's enough.
I know! It must be this country,
the air one breathes here.
Because in Moscow
I met some wonderful men.
What are you all after?
These? Here!
But not you.
You're a kind of saint.
You're interested in Madonnas.
No! You're different.
One "intellectual" tried
to keep me locked up.
Can't I ever meet the right man?
I don't mean you,
you're the worst.
But I swear I'll find
my kind of man.
And I have,
he's waiting for me in Rome.
You dress badly too.
And you're boring.
Do you know what a boring man is?
I'll tell you.
You're the kind I'd sleep with
rather than explain why l don't feel like it.
What are you saying, Eugenia?
Don't you see?
I found myself
in a most embarrassing position.
I've had enough!
I can't take any more!
I'd like to sleep for 10 days
and wipe you out.
Maybe there's nothing to wipe out
because you don't exist.
It's my problem.
I know why I like idiots.
I mean...
Men with no charm, because...
I might look young,
but I know all about charm.
Go, go, please.
You know...
when I met you,
that same night...
I dreamt that a soft worm
with lots of legs...
fell on my head.
It stung me.
It was poisonous.
I kept shaking my head
until it fell off.
I tried to squash it...
before it reached the wardrobe
but it was no good, because...
because I kept just missing it.
I just couldn't... squash it.
Since that night...
I keep touching my hair.
Thank God there's been
nothing between us!
Just the thought makes me sick!
She's insane.
Run back to your wife!
Though you nearly betrayed her!
You're a pig, like everyone else.
Even worse...
Anything else?
Hypocrite!
We're going to listen
to some music.
- What's going on?
- Nothing, nothing.
Oh, God!
Now the General and his Chinese music!
But you won't drive me away!
Dear Pyotr Nikolayevich,
I've been in Italy 2 years,
very important ones,
both for my profession as a musician
and for my everyday life.
Last night I had a bad dream,
I had to stage an opera
in the theater of My Lord the Count.
The first act was set
in a park full of statues,
but they were naked men painted
in white, forced to stand motionless.
And I was a statue too.
I knew I would be
harshly punished if I moved
because our lord and master
was watching us.
I could feel the cold rising
from my marble pedestal...
as the autumn leaves settled
on my upraised arm.
Yet I stood still.
But when, exhausted,
I sensed I could resist no longer,
I awoke.
I was afraid.
For I knew it had been no dream,
but my reality.
I could try not to return to Russia,
but the thought kills me.
Because I would die
if I never again saw my homeland...
the birches,
the air of my childhood...
An affectionate greeting
from your abandoned friend,
Pavel Sosnovsky.
Maria.
Andrei!
As a child I fell ill
from hunger and fear.
I tear shreds of skin
from my lips.
In my memory I lick traces of salt,
of freshness.
And still I walk.
I sit on a doorstep,
looking for warmth.
I stagger deliriously
as to the piper's tune.
I was hot, I opened my collar
and I lay down.
The trumpets sounded.
A light pierced my eyelids.
High above the pavement mother flies,
beckons with her hand...
and flies away.
Now beneath the apple trees,
I dream of a white hospital.
As a child I fell ill.
I must go and see Dad.
I have a jacket in the wardrobe.
It's been there three years.
I'll wear it again
when I'm home in Moscow.
I never go anywhere,
I never see anyone.
What are you doing here?
Don't be afraid.
Don't be afraid of me.
It's I who should be afraid of you.
You could shoot me.
You know,
everyone shoots in Italy.
And there are too many
Italian shoes.
Dreadful!
Everyone buys them.
Why?
These are 10 years old.
It's not important.
All right.
You know the great love stories,
the classics. No kissing.
No kissing.
Nothing at all.
Very pure.
Hence great.
Feelings unspoken
are unforgettable.
Here it's like in Russia.
I don't know why.
You know...
I don't speak Italian well.
Here's a story.
A man saves another
who was sinking into a slimy pond...
thereby risking his own life.
Now they are both lying
on the edge of the pond
out of breath,
exhausted.
The rescued man says,
"Idiot.
Why did you do that?
I live in there!"
I live in there.
He took great offense.
- What's your name?
- Angela.
Angela, good girl.
Are you happy?
About what?
About life.
About life, yes.
Good girl.
Sight grows dim,
my strength is two occult,
adamantine darts.
Hearing weavers for my father's house
breathes distant thunder.
The tissues of hard muscles weaken
like hoary oxen at the plow
and no longer when night falls
do two wings gleam behind me.
During the party,
like a candle I wasted away.
Gather up at dawn my melted wax
and read in it whom to mourn,
what to be proud of.
How, by donating
the last portion of joy
to die lightly and in the shelter
of a makeshift roof
to light up posthumously,
like a word.
Why must I think of this?
I have enough worries.
My God, why did I do it?
They're my children, my family,
my own flesh and blood.
How could I?
Years without seeing the sun,
fearing the light of day.
Why?
Why this tragedy?
Lord, do you see how he's asking?
Say something to him.
But what would happen
if He heard my voice?
Let Him feel your presence.
I always do,
but He's not aware of it.
I'll bring the car around
in 10 minutes.
Mr. Gorchakov,
phone call for you.
- For me?
- Yes.
Please, wait a minute.
- In the lobby.
- Thank you.
Hello?
It's Eugenia.
- How are you?
- Fine.
- Guess why I called?
- Maybe because...
No, no...
Your Domenico is here,
the lunatic from Bagno Vignoni.
Sorry, I know he's not mad.
It was so you'd understand.
He's here in Rome
for a demonstration.
They do weird things.
He's been making speeches
for three days.
Like Fidel Castro.
- Come and say good-bye to him.
- I'm leaving.
- When?
- Immediately.
Domenico asked me about you.
He keeps asking if you've done
what you were supposed to do.
Of course.
I'll tell him right away,
he's been waiting for this news.
Thank you.
I'm glad we could say good-bye.
I'm leaving too, you know?
I'm going away with Vittorio.
We haven't decided yet,
but we'll probably go to India.
Vittorio's my man,
he's interested in spiritual issues.
He's from a distinguished family
in Orvieto.
Good, Eugenia,
I wish you all the best.
Same to you.
Say hello to Moscow for me.
How's your health?
How's your heart?
I don't know,
I've reached the limit.
I'm bored.
I want to go home.
Good-bye, Vittorio.
I'm going to buy some cigarettes.
I want to change my ticket.
I'm leaving in two days' time.
- What's happened?
- Nothing.
Can you drive me
to Bagno Vignoni?
- When?
- Now.
- Yes, but we'll have to advise —
- Right.
- I wait, right?
- Right.
I had a feeling
you wouldn't leave today.
What ancestor speaks in me?
I can't live simultaneously
in my head and in my body.
That's why I can't be
just one person.
I'm capable of feeling an infinite number
of things at the same time.
There are no great masters left.
That's the real evil of our time.
The heart's path is covered
in shadow.
We must listen to the voices
that seem useless.
In brains full
of long sewage pipes
of school wall,
tarmac and welfare papers
the buzzing of insects
must enter.
We must fill the eyes
and ears of all of us
with things that are
the beginning of a great dream.
Someone must shout that
we'll build the pyramids.
It doesn't matter if we don't.
We must fuel that wish...
and stretch the corners of the soul,
like an endless sheet.
If you want the world to go forward...
we must hold hands...
We must mix the so-called healthy
with the so-called sick.
You healthy ones!
What does your health mean?
The eyes of all mankind
are looking at the pit
into which we are plunging.
Freedom is useless
if you don't have the courage
to look us in the eye,
to eat, drink,
and sleep with us.
It's the so-called healthy
who have brought the world
to the verge of ruin.
Man, listen!
In you, water,
fire and then ashes.
WE'RE NOT CRAZY
WE'RE SERIOUS
And the bones in the ashes.
The bones and the ashes.
Wait for me in the car.
Hello.
Where am I when I'm not
in reality or in my imagination?
Here's my new pact with the world:
it must be sunny at night
and snowy in August.
Great things end,
small things endure.
Society must become united again,
instead of so disjointed.
Just look at nature
and you'll see that life is simple.
We must go back
to where we were,
to the point
where you took the wrong turn.
We must go back
to the main foundations of life...
without dirtying the water.
What kind of world is this,
if a madman tells you...
you must be ashamed
of yourselves!
Music now.
- Music!
- Music!
I forgot this.
Oh, mother!
The air is that light thing...
that moves around your head
and becomes clearer
when you laugh.
The music doesn't work!
TOMORROW IS THE END
OF THE WORLD
To the memory of my mother.
Speak Italian.
Sorry. We've arrived.
I stopped far away
so we could go for a walk.
It's a marvelous painting.
I cried the first time I saw it.
This light reminds me of the autumn
in Moscow in Neskuchny Garden.
- Come on.
- I don't want to.
I'll go ahead and wait for you inside.
I don't want to.
I already told you.
I am fed up with all your beauties.
I don't want to take it alone anymore.
All this beauty of yours...
I can't take it anymore.
That's it.
Do you want a baby too?
Or are you asking God to spare you?
I'm here just to have a look.
Unfortunately,
if there are any casual onlookers
who aren't supplicants,
then nothing happens.
What is supposed to happen?
Whatever you like,
whatever you need most.
But you should
at least kneel down.
- I can't.
- Look at them.
They're used to it.
- They have faith.
- Probably.
Can I ask you something?
Why do you think...
it's only the women
who pray so much?
- You're asking me?
- You see so many women here.
I'm only the sacristan.
I don't know these things.
But you must wonder
why women are more devout than men.
You should know better than I.
Because I'm a woman?
No, I've never understood
these things.
I'm a simple man.
But I think...
a woman is meant
to have children...
to raise them...
with patience...
and self-sacrifice.
That's all she's meant for?
- I don't know.
- Thank you.
You've been a great help.
You asked what I thought.
I know... you want to be happy.
There are more important things.
Wait.
Mother of all mothers,
who knows the pain of being a mother.
Mother of all mothers,
who knows the joy of being a mother.
Mother of all children,
who knows the joy of having a child.
Mother of all children,
who knows the pain of not having a child.
Mother who understands all,
help your daughter to become a mother.
I just don't understand you.
You go on and on
about the Madonna of Childbirth.
We drove halfway
across Italy in the fog.
And you didn't even
go in there to see her.
What are you reading?
Arseny Tarkovsky's poems.
- In Russian?
- No, it's a translation.
Quite a good one.
- Throw it away.
- Why?
The translator's
a Very good poet.
Poetry is untranslatable,
like the whole of art.
You may be right
that poetry is untranslatable.
But music?
Music for example...
What is it?
What do you mean?
It's a Russian song.
You're right, but how could
we have got to know Tolstoy, Pushkin...
and so understand Russia?
You don't understand
anything about Russia.
Nor you Italy then.
If Dante, Petrarch
and Machiavelli are useless.
Sure.
It's impossible for us poor devils.
How can we get
to know each other?
By abolishing the frontiers.
Which?
Between states.
Good morning.
You know a maid in Milan
set fire to the house?
- Which house?
- Her employers' house.
- Why?
- She was homesick.
She missed her home
and family down South.
So she burned the thing
that stopped her going back.
Why did your musician, Sosnovsky,
go back to Russia
if he knew he'd be a slave again?
Why won't you confide in me?
I don't understand.
Read this.
You'll understand.
What is it?
The letter from
the Bologna Conservatory?
I wanted to ask you,
was Sosnovsky successful
when he returned to Russia?
Was he happy?
He started drinking and then...
- He committed suicide?
- Exactly.
Here I am!
I'm sorry, l was asleep.
- Do you have any identification?
- Yes.
Here it is.
I'll go and get the keys.
Those aren't
the other hotel keys, I hope?
No, they're to my house.
Here's your key.
This way. Please.
It's our best room.
Good night, Andrei.
Come with me.
Your room is upstairs.
It's nice here.
It's still night,
but the countryside's pretty too.
There's the river,
the mushrooms.
People keep coming back,
they often fall in love here.
- You and your boyfriend will like it.
- He's not my boyfriend.
Go on, he's sad
because he's in love.
No, I think his mind's
on other things.
THE HOLY BIBLE
- Did you knock?
- I hadn't yet.
Shall I ask to call Moscow?
You haven't talked
to your wife for two days.
No, thanks.
One, two, three. Go!
Andrei.
Andrei, get up!
We'll be eating in half an hour.
I'll be downstairs.
It's lovely here.
- St. Catherine used to come too.
- I'm coming.
Excuse me, Miss.
What does this Russian do?
- He's a poet.
- Is he writing about Italy?
He's writing the biography
of a Russian musician.
- Zoe!
- And how come he is here?
This musician studied in Bologna
and came to these baths.
- When?
- At the end of the 1,700s.
- Was it Tchaikovsky?
- No, his name was Sosnovsky.
- Wait.
- Didn't he marry a local woman?
No, he was in love
with a Russian slave and died for her.
What's the hurry?
- Does your poet like Italy?
- Too much so.
But... I don't know.
General, what's this strange music
we keep hearing day in and day out?
Wonderful music.
Beats Verdi anytime.
Hands off Verdi.
This is Chinese stuff.
A different civilization
with no sentimental wails.
Voice of God, of nature.
Pretend they're not there.
Just go on your way.
It's gotten into my mouth.
Move slowly.
- What does it taste like?
- It's a liquid sulfur.
- So it's good for the skin.
- Disgusting!
I'm fine.
I'm falling asleep.
In the '60s a drowned body
was found here.
Don't talk about it,
otherwise l get scared.
In the war I've seen
thousands of dead soldiers.
Now listen,
it's never too late to learn
whatever happens,
don't interfere.
Have you heard their talk,
what they're interested in?
You've got to be different.
You know why they're
in the water?
They want to live forever.
Look who's here!
Look at them!
My cigar's gone out.
Hand me the lighter, please?
General!
Why do they make fun of him?
A few years ago, he shut himself up
in the house with his family
to wait for the end of the world.
They stayed in for seven years.
A religious fit, they say.
Nonsense.
It was jealousy.
He was always jealous of his wife.
Later she ran off
with the children to Genoa.
Jealous my foot, he's nuts.
It's obvious.
That's not it,
he was just scared.
- Scared of what?
- Everything.
You're wrong,
he's a man of great faith.
And how, he kept his family
locked up for seven years.
I was there
when they broke down the door.
His kid shot out like a rat
and he chased after him.
We thought he wanted to kill him.
What faith!
Here's the Russian poet.
Miss, I don't smoke,
but could l have a cigarette?
Of course,
as you don't smoke.
- It's gone out.
- So it has.
Thank you.
Never forget what he said to her.
He who?
And her?
Saint Catherine!
So what did God say
to St. Catherine?
"You are she who is not,
but I am he who is."
Did you hear that?
Bravo, Domenico!
Did he speak
to St. Catherine himself?
Be careful.
He's not stupid.
Of course not.
Domenico has a degree.
In what?
I don't understand "Faith."
What is it?
Your Italian isn't so good, uh?
It was better
when you first came.
What does "faith" mean?
In Russian it's "vera."
Why do they say he's mad?
He's not mad.
He has faith.
There are lots of these lunatics
at large in Italy.
Asylums have been closed down
but the families won't have them.
And many must withdraw from others.
We don't know what madness is.
They're troublesome,
inconvenient
we refuse to understand them.
They're alone.
But they're certainly
closer to the truth.
He has another fixation now.
What?
He gets into the pool with
a lighted candle. Nobody knows why.
Everyone's afraid he wants
to drown himself
so they throw him out
and save him.
I don't believe it.
Ask them.
Can we ask him
to have lunch with us?
- When?
- Now.
Now, you don't know
what time it is.
- What time is it?
- It's 7:00 in the morning.
In the morning?
Does that man
with the wet shoes come often?
- Who? Domenico?
- Yes.
So this is what it's all about.
It depends. Sometimes he does,
sometimes he doesn't.
- Where does he live?
- Up above Bagno Vignoni.
In the square,
near the church.
What's so funny?
Andrei!
- Stop.
- Why?
You're prettier...
in this light.
Redhead, redhead.
You think so?
I'm beginning to understand.
What?
Why do you think he locked up
his family for seven years?
How should I know?
There he is.
- Good-bye.
- Thank you.
- Good morning.
- Good morning.
Good morning.
I've brought a famous
Russian writer.
My life is normal,
there's nothing interesting about it.
It's true, but we hear
you had a lovely experience.
I read about it too,
in the papers.
Tell him about it.
It's not worth it.
Maybe not, but this gentleman
has come from Moscow.
For me?
He's come a long way.
- What did he say?
- He doesn't feel like talking.
- Let's go.
- What?
Try again,
it's very important.
Excuse me?
- Stop for a minute.
- Go!
Look at that!
Where are you going?
What's wrong?
Have you offended him?
You've offended me!
He's crazy.
It's not up to me whether he talks or not.
I'm sorry, but I'm going.
If you care so much, try.
You know a bit of Italian.
If you don't like the way I work,
say so.
But believe me,
not only am I a good translator,
but I even improve
on the original.
I'm going back to Rome.
Our trip's over.
All right.
Excuse me.
I think I know why you do that.
What?
The bicycle?
Before, with your family.
I'm tired.
Where are you?
Come in!
Did you hear that?
It's Beethoven.
One drop plus one drop
makes a bigger drop, not two.
- May I?
- Smoke.
When I don't know what to say
I ask for a cigarette too.
But I never learned to smoke.
It's too hard.
You have to learn to not smoke,
to do important things.
Such as?
Some wine?
We need bigger ideas.
What?
I was selfish before.
I wanted to save my family.
Everyone must be saved,
the whole world.
How?
It's simple.
You see the candle?
All right.
Why do you say "all right"?
Wait...
You're confusing me.
You need to cross the water
with the lighted candle.
- Which water?
- The hot water.
St. Catherine's pool,
by the hotel,
the steaming water.
All right, when?
Now...
I can't do it.
I don't want...
When I light the candle
and get into the water,
they pull me out.
They kick me out.
And they shout,
"You're crazy!"
Get it?
- All right.
- All right?
It's all wrong!
Help me.
- Help me.
- All right, but...
Of course.
Where's the Russian
who's going to Bagno Vignoni?
The taxi's here.
It's late.
I must go.
Thank you.
Why me, of all people?
- You've children?
- Two, a girl and a boy.
And your wife?
Is she pretty?
You know the Madonna
of Childbirth?
By Piero della Francesca.
She's like that but all black.
Go with the candle.
We're planning
something big in Rome.
Zoe!
Where are you?
Zoe, answer me!
Zoe, you know I'm scared
of being alone.
I know what you're thinking,
but that's enough now.
It's wrong to keep thinking
the same thing.
What do you want?
Dad.
Is this the end of the world?
Good morning.
Are we going?
Stand back!
They're letting them out!
I knew they were in there.
I used to listen in secret.
The water had run out in my bathroom.
I hope you won't kill me.
- I thought you'd left.
- No, I'm still here.
- Good.
- You don't look pleased.
Look.
Look what he gave me.
- Who?
- Domenico!
Why are you afraid
of everything?
Full of complexes.
You're not free.
You all seem to want freedom,
you talk about freedom...
but when you get it
you don't know what to do with it...
or what it is.
That's enough, that's enough.
I know! It must be this country,
the air one breathes here.
Because in Moscow
I met some wonderful men.
What are you all after?
These? Here!
But not you.
You're a kind of saint.
You're interested in Madonnas.
No! You're different.
One "intellectual" tried
to keep me locked up.
Can't I ever meet the right man?
I don't mean you,
you're the worst.
But I swear I'll find
my kind of man.
And I have,
he's waiting for me in Rome.
You dress badly too.
And you're boring.
Do you know what a boring man is?
I'll tell you.
You're the kind I'd sleep with
rather than explain why l don't feel like it.
What are you saying, Eugenia?
Don't you see?
I found myself
in a most embarrassing position.
I've had enough!
I can't take any more!
I'd like to sleep for 10 days
and wipe you out.
Maybe there's nothing to wipe out
because you don't exist.
It's my problem.
I know why I like idiots.
I mean...
Men with no charm, because...
I might look young,
but I know all about charm.
Go, go, please.
You know...
when I met you,
that same night...
I dreamt that a soft worm
with lots of legs...
fell on my head.
It stung me.
It was poisonous.
I kept shaking my head
until it fell off.
I tried to squash it...
before it reached the wardrobe
but it was no good, because...
because I kept just missing it.
I just couldn't... squash it.
Since that night...
I keep touching my hair.
Thank God there's been
nothing between us!
Just the thought makes me sick!
She's insane.
Run back to your wife!
Though you nearly betrayed her!
You're a pig, like everyone else.
Even worse...
Anything else?
Hypocrite!
We're going to listen
to some music.
- What's going on?
- Nothing, nothing.
Oh, God!
Now the General and his Chinese music!
But you won't drive me away!
Dear Pyotr Nikolayevich,
I've been in Italy 2 years,
very important ones,
both for my profession as a musician
and for my everyday life.
Last night I had a bad dream,
I had to stage an opera
in the theater of My Lord the Count.
The first act was set
in a park full of statues,
but they were naked men painted
in white, forced to stand motionless.
And I was a statue too.
I knew I would be
harshly punished if I moved
because our lord and master
was watching us.
I could feel the cold rising
from my marble pedestal...
as the autumn leaves settled
on my upraised arm.
Yet I stood still.
But when, exhausted,
I sensed I could resist no longer,
I awoke.
I was afraid.
For I knew it had been no dream,
but my reality.
I could try not to return to Russia,
but the thought kills me.
Because I would die
if I never again saw my homeland...
the birches,
the air of my childhood...
An affectionate greeting
from your abandoned friend,
Pavel Sosnovsky.
Maria.
Andrei!
As a child I fell ill
from hunger and fear.
I tear shreds of skin
from my lips.
In my memory I lick traces of salt,
of freshness.
And still I walk.
I sit on a doorstep,
looking for warmth.
I stagger deliriously
as to the piper's tune.
I was hot, I opened my collar
and I lay down.
The trumpets sounded.
A light pierced my eyelids.
High above the pavement mother flies,
beckons with her hand...
and flies away.
Now beneath the apple trees,
I dream of a white hospital.
As a child I fell ill.
I must go and see Dad.
I have a jacket in the wardrobe.
It's been there three years.
I'll wear it again
when I'm home in Moscow.
I never go anywhere,
I never see anyone.
What are you doing here?
Don't be afraid.
Don't be afraid of me.
It's I who should be afraid of you.
You could shoot me.
You know,
everyone shoots in Italy.
And there are too many
Italian shoes.
Dreadful!
Everyone buys them.
Why?
These are 10 years old.
It's not important.
All right.
You know the great love stories,
the classics. No kissing.
No kissing.
Nothing at all.
Very pure.
Hence great.
Feelings unspoken
are unforgettable.
Here it's like in Russia.
I don't know why.
You know...
I don't speak Italian well.
Here's a story.
A man saves another
who was sinking into a slimy pond...
thereby risking his own life.
Now they are both lying
on the edge of the pond
out of breath,
exhausted.
The rescued man says,
"Idiot.
Why did you do that?
I live in there!"
I live in there.
He took great offense.
- What's your name?
- Angela.
Angela, good girl.
Are you happy?
About what?
About life.
About life, yes.
Good girl.
Sight grows dim,
my strength is two occult,
adamantine darts.
Hearing weavers for my father's house
breathes distant thunder.
The tissues of hard muscles weaken
like hoary oxen at the plow
and no longer when night falls
do two wings gleam behind me.
During the party,
like a candle I wasted away.
Gather up at dawn my melted wax
and read in it whom to mourn,
what to be proud of.
How, by donating
the last portion of joy
to die lightly and in the shelter
of a makeshift roof
to light up posthumously,
like a word.
Why must I think of this?
I have enough worries.
My God, why did I do it?
They're my children, my family,
my own flesh and blood.
How could I?
Years without seeing the sun,
fearing the light of day.
Why?
Why this tragedy?
Lord, do you see how he's asking?
Say something to him.
But what would happen
if He heard my voice?
Let Him feel your presence.
I always do,
but He's not aware of it.
I'll bring the car around
in 10 minutes.
Mr. Gorchakov,
phone call for you.
- For me?
- Yes.
Please, wait a minute.
- In the lobby.
- Thank you.
Hello?
It's Eugenia.
- How are you?
- Fine.
- Guess why I called?
- Maybe because...
No, no...
Your Domenico is here,
the lunatic from Bagno Vignoni.
Sorry, I know he's not mad.
It was so you'd understand.
He's here in Rome
for a demonstration.
They do weird things.
He's been making speeches
for three days.
Like Fidel Castro.
- Come and say good-bye to him.
- I'm leaving.
- When?
- Immediately.
Domenico asked me about you.
He keeps asking if you've done
what you were supposed to do.
Of course.
I'll tell him right away,
he's been waiting for this news.
Thank you.
I'm glad we could say good-bye.
I'm leaving too, you know?
I'm going away with Vittorio.
We haven't decided yet,
but we'll probably go to India.
Vittorio's my man,
he's interested in spiritual issues.
He's from a distinguished family
in Orvieto.
Good, Eugenia,
I wish you all the best.
Same to you.
Say hello to Moscow for me.
How's your health?
How's your heart?
I don't know,
I've reached the limit.
I'm bored.
I want to go home.
Good-bye, Vittorio.
I'm going to buy some cigarettes.
I want to change my ticket.
I'm leaving in two days' time.
- What's happened?
- Nothing.
Can you drive me
to Bagno Vignoni?
- When?
- Now.
- Yes, but we'll have to advise —
- Right.
- I wait, right?
- Right.
I had a feeling
you wouldn't leave today.
What ancestor speaks in me?
I can't live simultaneously
in my head and in my body.
That's why I can't be
just one person.
I'm capable of feeling an infinite number
of things at the same time.
There are no great masters left.
That's the real evil of our time.
The heart's path is covered
in shadow.
We must listen to the voices
that seem useless.
In brains full
of long sewage pipes
of school wall,
tarmac and welfare papers
the buzzing of insects
must enter.
We must fill the eyes
and ears of all of us
with things that are
the beginning of a great dream.
Someone must shout that
we'll build the pyramids.
It doesn't matter if we don't.
We must fuel that wish...
and stretch the corners of the soul,
like an endless sheet.
If you want the world to go forward...
we must hold hands...
We must mix the so-called healthy
with the so-called sick.
You healthy ones!
What does your health mean?
The eyes of all mankind
are looking at the pit
into which we are plunging.
Freedom is useless
if you don't have the courage
to look us in the eye,
to eat, drink,
and sleep with us.
It's the so-called healthy
who have brought the world
to the verge of ruin.
Man, listen!
In you, water,
fire and then ashes.
WE'RE NOT CRAZY
WE'RE SERIOUS
And the bones in the ashes.
The bones and the ashes.
Wait for me in the car.
Hello.
Where am I when I'm not
in reality or in my imagination?
Here's my new pact with the world:
it must be sunny at night
and snowy in August.
Great things end,
small things endure.
Society must become united again,
instead of so disjointed.
Just look at nature
and you'll see that life is simple.
We must go back
to where we were,
to the point
where you took the wrong turn.
We must go back
to the main foundations of life...
without dirtying the water.
What kind of world is this,
if a madman tells you...
you must be ashamed
of yourselves!
Music now.
- Music!
- Music!
I forgot this.
Oh, mother!
The air is that light thing...
that moves around your head
and becomes clearer
when you laugh.
The music doesn't work!
TOMORROW IS THE END
OF THE WORLD
To the memory of my mother.