Repeater (1979) - full transcript

(train rattling)

(horn honking)

(brakes squeaking)

- Any place, any time.

No, let's be accurate, a
modern place, a modern time.

Just an old disease with
a different set of spots.

Running sores, each person a running sore.

Burdened with untold wealth,

burdened with objects to measure time,

record time, fill time.

Objects of no substance, designed
only to distance feeling,



blurring the edges of thought,
the centers of experience.

They move too fast, they live too long.

They live so long.

A live full of trivia, the essence gone.

The questions absent.

The fears no longer haunt them.

There isn't a decent fear in their bodies.

Fat riches replaced by wet neuroses.

I cannot take part, I cannot believe.

Of this I am certain.

I watch, I take note, unsure
that it even holds my interest.

I cannot take part, none of us can.

It is all taking place without us,

and we are cast as objects to
fill the spaces in the action.



We are decorations in the grand design.

We're odd trimmings that could disappear

with a change of fashion.

It is hard to assimilate.

Sometimes it is necessary to
forget, to close our eyes,

go about our work, gossip the world away.

And in this avoidance, there is no pain.

The dulling does not hurt,
for it is merely that:

a dulling that robs the tastes,

blunting the very tools
that could perceive

the stagnation, the numbing.

I will not go down.

I have stepped out,
plunged into fresh water.

I have caused a splash,

a set of ripples that cannot be ignored.

I have made my move:
I have murdered a man.

I have murdered a man,
I have murdered a man.

- Pardon?

- I said, I have killed someone.

I have committed murder.

- Is this a confession?

- Yes.

- I don't think we have
a from for confessions.

I'll have to take a statement.

Are you prepared to make a statement?

- Yes.

- All right.

I haven't dealt with a confession before.

I'm new to all of this.

- Perhaps you should just arrest me.

- Oh, I need a charge for that.

- Murder.

- Yeah, well, you see,

a charge has to be endorsed
by the charging officer.

I have to be able to say that
a crime has been committed.

Except in very unusual cases,

there has to be a body
for a charge of murder.

- Can't you just arrest me

till one of your superiors arrives?

- Oh, I could do that if I was certain

that a crime had been committed, but,

usually, usually,

suspects are brought in here
by a policeman with evidence,

and I just formally charge them.

All this is back to front.

- I am your evidence.

Surely my confession--

- Yeah, yeah, well, I only
have your word for that.

You see, I have no proof

that you've even assaulted somebody.

- Do you mean to tell me
that because I have committed

a murder without being
discovered, you cannot arrest me,

but if I were to assault
someone in front of you,

then you could?

- Yeah, well, it sounds
silly, but I suppose it does.

(slap thwacking)

Okay, lady.

You have the right to remain silent.

You have the right to a lawyer.

If you don't have a lawyer of your own,

one will be provided for you.

- So, tell me all about it.

Well, let's hear what you have to say.

- He was a young man.

He was a brilliant young pianist.

He was injured in a road accident.

He was paralyzed down one side.

He had no further reason to live.

He couldn't kill himself.

He begged me.

I helped him.

I shot him.

(somber piano music)

- Well, let's get this straight.

He was a successful pianist.

He was involved in a car accident.

He was paralyzed down the left side.

He asked you to kill him.

And you shot him.

- It wasn't that simple.

He begged me.

he asked me to shoot him
when he least expected it.

He trusted me.

We had been very good friends.

We had been very happy.

- Go on.

- It was a normal evening.

I was changing after work.

I was going to make
supper, or so I told him.

Darling.

For God's sake, Jack,

it is terrible to eat
dinner quite so late.

I'll make you another
coffee while I'm changing.

Louise phoned today,
and I met her for lunch.

Jake was very annoyed with her,

because she went to a
cocktail party last night.

Fabulous day.

He was preoccupied.

I shot him from the doorway.

(gunshot banging)

(projector clacking)

(gunshot banging)

- Novel, very novel.

But where's the body?

- He has been buried.

- [Detective] But he's been buried.

- [Marie] There was an inquest.

He rifles through the cabinet.

He seizes the dossier.

He opens it.

He spreads it across the table.

His weight settles onto the chair.

He is dumbfounded.

- I'm dumbfounded.

He died from an asthmatic attack

precipitated by barbiturates.

Suicide.

- [Marie] And the wound?

- The wound, uh...

"The bullet entered the
body shortly after death.

"He was probably cleaning the gun."

Suicide, it was suicide.

- It's illegal to own a gun.

- Ma'am, we can't charge
the poor man with that.

After all, he is dead.

- But it was my gun, and I shot him.

- So, what proof have you got?

- My fingerprints.

- And mine, too.

- [Marie] The trajectory,

the angle that the
bullet entered the body.

- You can't tell anything from these.

You've been reading too many cheap novels.

Who'd just use this guff in court?

Maybe you've been watching
too many trashy movies.

- I know he did to
Mario murder, I know it.

It's got all the hallmarks,

a one-way ticket worth $200 in his pocket,

and $800 in his hand.

And what does that add up to?

I'll tell you, it adds up to $1,000

that Alfonso, Mario's arch enemy,

took out of his account the Tuesday before

in notes of small denominations.

That's what he said to
the girl in the bank,

notes of small denominations, untraceable.

It all fits.

Alfonso's got the motive and the money.

This guy, this guy has got the action.

Luck,

no gun,

no witnesses,

and a guy in there who
won't open his mouth

large enough to belch.

- He's got problems.

I got a broad in here
who's got some kinda idea

she's murdered a suicide.

Open and closed case.

But she says she has
documentation, proof.1

Six months after the burial?

You gotta be careful
with people like that.

They become professional confessors.

Every murder, every damn
suicide, she'll be in here.

"I did it, it was me."

Shit.

Listen, lady, I'll tell you about murder.

Right nextdoor, we got a guy who is known

to be a professional hitman, no question,

and he won't open his mouth,

and I gotta sit here and listen to you

tell me some cockamamie
story about a murder

you could not have committed,

and which I have absolutely no time for.

- There's a woman nextdoor
who's confessing to a suicide.

Now, how would you like me to ask you

to confess to a sin like that, huh?

How's about you open up on a
story that starts with $1,000,

and ends up with four bullets in Mario?

I want the truth.

- I've told you everything.

- Well, I'm not convinced.

- You'll never believe me.

- Look, I can make you
stay here until I'm ready.

- I'm not going to leave.

- Get off of my back.

- Look leave me alone, you
still don't have any proof.

- No concrete proof at all.

- These are facts.

- Facts, facts?

There are no facts in my world.

Clues, yeah, opinions, maybe,

but don't talk to me about facts.

There's no such thing.

- What will it take to convince you?

- There better be no holes in your alibi.

Look, Dieter, you know what this is?

It's a repeater.

Do you what they call
you down on the street?

It's funny, the call you The Repeater.

It's an interesting word,

containing the word "reaper"
and the word "reap."

- And "rat."

- And "pat,"

and "eater,"

and "ape."

- You know, you're crazy.

It's a gun.

Just call it a gun.

(hammer clicking)

I know my rights.

- Look, lady, this is all as thin as ice.

- Sooner or later, I'm
going to make you crack.

You don't seem to understand.

I want an admission from you.

- You don't understand,
I lied about my age,

I use a sunray lamp,
I wear elevator heels,

I use foreign coins in telephone boxes,

I never cry at weddings, and
I've never been to America.

Now you know all my secrets.

- It's not gonna stop here.

Just because I'm releasing you,

doesn't mean that you're
off the hook, no way.

I'm going to let up on this thing.

I know where to find you, now get out.

- Okay, well, just leave it with me, huh?

I won't drop the case, but don't call.

I've got your address.

(people chattering)

(woman speaking in foreign language)

- So, irrespective of
what you told the police,

did you kill him?

- Yes, and you?

- No, no, I'm telling you, honestly.

I won the money in a lottery.

I never got $1,000 for
a contract from anybody.

Geez, the police think that
we run pension schemes, too.

- But you have murdered before?

- Of course.

Lovers have paid for
their wives to be killed.

Wives asked for their
husbands' lovers to be killed.

Sometimes husbands ask for their
intimate ties to be broken.

Children need help to
become wealthy orphans.

And even servants save to send

their masters to an early grave.

(frogs croaking)

(people chattering)

(gunshots banging)

- [Marie] And when you
kill them, is there pain?

- [Dieter] There's blood.

There are palpitations, but pain?

It hurts me.

It always bruises my gun hand, my arm.

- [Marie] And does life go quickly?

- [Dieter] My life passes slowly.

I never see the bullets hit.

I see them alive, and
then, then I see them dead.

Really, I see nothing, just nothing.

People alive, people dead.

- [Marie] But their
lives, do they disappear,

or does the life drain
slowly from their bodies?

- [Dieter] Sometimes I come back

before the cops have found
the stiffs, even days later,

and though the body is dead,

the personality hovers in the room,

fills the air like a gas.

It's difficult to breathe
without the feeling

of being assaulted by the victim.

You see, the dead are
just like the living.

Some have charisma, even vitality.

Others have vacant, annulled states.

(telephone ringing)

- [Marie] The phone rang.

- Yeah?

Yeah, she's here.

It's for you, the detective.

- Yes?

I'll be there as soon as possible.

Thank you.

And how do you account for you?

- Me?

How do I account for me?

Well, I never had a mother
who read me fairy stories.

Instead, I had a father who
read long Russian novels.

- [Marie] Mine probably read Proust.

- Let me introduce our
forensic expert, Dr. Moreau.

If you care to sit down.

Well, let's go over it again.

Now, as we see it...

(gunshot banging)

(projector clacking)

- To a degree, madam, you are right.

It was not murder.

- [Detective] Suicide, Doc.

- Ah, I beg your pardon.

It was not suicide.

But,

to a degree, we were right.

It was not murder.

The level of barbiturates in the blood

would not kill a normal healthy man.

- [Marie] He was playing a part.

He treated me like a child.

- That he had about his person,

though still not enough to consider

that he made an irrevocable
attempt on his life.

However, it is certain

that it was the barbiturates
that killed him.

And we are of the scholarly opinion.

- [Marie] He referred to the notes.

He obviously had not seen the case before.

- Precipitated by his ill
health, his injured body.

In short, he accidentally overdosed.

To prove my point.

- [Marie] He constructed
convoluted sentences

that had the semblance of arguments.

But he had no premise.

His information was inaccurate.

His conclusions were facetious.

I couldn't believe that
he was a forensic expert.

To me, he was an actor.

He play it to the full.

His clothes, his overall appearances

was designed to give character,
authority to his words.

He had the right props.

He deliberated as if there was
an openness to his argument.

His words had been chosen for him.

He tried to make them his own.

- The mere puddle is simply the draining

of the punctured vessels.

The is the story.

- [Marie] He told me a story
as if it were a metaphor.

- [Doctor] Who, whilst filming Macbeth,

asked the props man to add
blood in the murder scene.

- [Marie] It was merely a tall tale.

- [Doctor] The man dabbed the bodies,

and Polanski asked him to add more.

After splashing the blood, he walked off,

only to be recalled by Polanski,

who told him to add still more.

"There still isn't enough," said Polanski,

to which the propman replied,

he'd been in the industry for years,

and had never, ever used so much blood.

Polanski took the bottles from him,

and doused the set with blood.

"That's ridiculous," said the set man,

to which Polanski said,

"I know how much to use.

"I've seen it."

- [Marie] He smiled as if we
were friends, perhaps equals.

His words told me that I was a threat.

He treated me like a fool.

I tried to stick close to his thinking.

His manner made it impossible.

They had conspired to form a narrative

with which no one could argue.

It favored neither my experience

nor the construction of the detective.

It seemed fair.

- You shot a person who
was very recently deceased.

(projector clacking)

- You satisfied?

- I can imagine your thoughts.

- [Marie] The decision
will serve my purpose.

- What purpose?

- [Marie] Insurance companies.

They won't pay out on suicides,
only on accidental deaths.

I'll benefit from your changed decision.

- Benefit?

- [Marie] Yes, and I
shall inherit a fortune.

He was heavily insured.

- So, you had a motive?

- [Marie] Not really.

Just an act with consequences.
- Senseless murder.

- You know, this could
screw it all up for me.

I still don't understand.

- After the accident, he wanted to die.

Not suicide.

A sudden death, so sudden
that he would not feel it,

and a death that would pay.

His legacy is entrusted to me,

and I am to give it to the
only woman that he ever loved.

It's ridiculously cruel.

He couldn't remember her face.

He could never conjure the
image; the memory eluded him.

But she haunted him.

- The color of her hair?

- Her hair, her eyes, blonde,
brunette, redhead, mouse,

he could never be certain.

The memory of feelings was overwhelming.

Details, hard fact, impossible to recall.

He could only remember intimacies.

Fragments are all I have to follow.

I must assemble a person

from the visions of a
frail and fading mind,

fragments that were torturous to recall.

Yet, the transience wrecked his body.

Fragments, brief incidents, each so tiny,

yet stronger than objects
he could hold in his hand.

Fragments as delicate as dust,

yet sturdier than the
ground upon which he moved.

He could never bring her name to his ears,

or even his tongue.

He could never reinvent
the look on his face.

All he held was a puzzle of fragments.

The way she closed a book,

the way she washed her breast,

the way she brushed the
dirt from her skirt,

the sound of her feet
across a marble floor,

her hands, her breath, her hands.

(car door slamming)

- This isn't cinema.

It doesn't move, it's two-dimensional.

There's no love, no hate,
no anger, no life, no death.

In a word, no emotion.

(sonorous piano music)

Excuse me.
- Yeah?

- What's going to happen to
these etched glass windows?

- Oh, them?

Oh, there's a lot of
people interested in them.

They're nice, aren't they?

- Beautiful.

- Did you know this
place when it was a bar?

- Yes, I did.

- Would you like a cuppa?

- Thank you.

- Was it one of your favorites, like?

- Yes, of course.

- Did a bit of courting here, did you?

- Something like that.

(man speaking faintly)

Thank you.

- This used to be my favorite
spot in the old days.

Cheers.

- What the bloody hell's
going on here then?

What the fuck's she doing here?

Look, just get on with it, will you?

- She's just looking at the window,

just looking at the glass.

- Half the population--
- That's all she's doing here.

- Well, half the population are interested

in those bloody windows.

- Thank you.

- Used to come here in
the old days, did you, eh?

Your favorite bar?

Did a bit of courting here, did you?

If a tenth of the buggers who said

that this was their local had had one,

just one drink in this place,

it would never have had to come down.

I'm sick of you sods and blooming glass.

Poncing up your houses, living
off other people's work.

You're like vultures on
every bloody demolition I do.

Well, I'll tell you who's
gonna get this glass.

That's right, no fucker.

So, I've got a contract to
fulfill: demolish and clear.

Pull the old bloody place down.

That's what it says, and
that's what I'm gonna do.

If you buggers really wanted
a memento of this place,

any single stone should do ya.

- You're absolutely right.

- [Foreman] You sodding cow!

- [Marie] Can I have a room, please?

- Her hands, her breasts.
- The way she closed a book.

- Her hands.
- The way she washed

her breast.
- Her breast.

Her hands, her breasts, her hands.

(somber piano music)

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

- Have you had your breakfast?

- No, not this morning,
I didn't have time.

I have an appointment.

Can you tell me how far it is to Paris?

- About 45 kilometer.

- Fine, oh, by the way,

I'd like the room for another evening.

- Oh, no problem, not problem at all.

- [Marie] I skipped
breakfast; I was in a hurry.

I booked the room for another night.

I go into the booth;
I went into the booth.

I press the button; I pressed the button.

Two manifestations of the same event.

It's like meeting identical twins.

I will go into the booth.

(man whistling)

Hello?

Yes.

I'm fine.

Everything's okay, and you?

They were bluffing.

Don't worry, they have
nothing to implicate you.

Listen, I have a job for you.

There's money involved, and
you could get away for a while.

Can you meet me for lunch?

I'll be at Cafe Saint Antoine.

One o'clock okay?

Bye.

- Hello, Marie.

- That's my twin.

I want you to kill her.

- [Dieter] How can you
do a thing like that?

- I can't, that's why I'm asking you.

I'll call you.

(man whistling)

(sonorous piano music)

- [Hotelier] Yes, all the room are empty.

- [Marie] Then I shall take the lot.

- [Hotelier] Are you sure?

- [Marie] Absolutely, it's ideal.

- [Hotelier] I will give you
a special rate, of course.

- [Marie] I will need an assistant.

Your daughter, is she bright?

- [Hotelier] As a button.

She will be fascinated.

She will love help making a film.

- Not the making, not yet.

This will be just a
preliminary investigation

whilst I plan a rough scenario.

The settings will be very important.

Room 82.

All right, Cindy, let's go
and try rooms 100 to 103.

This is room 100, slightly
larger than the others.

Decor quite nice.

One advantage, a large French window.

Take a Polaroid, Cindy.

(camera whirring)

The killer could enter
via the French windows.

This is room 102.

Again, rather small.

Would need extensive redecoration.

Although, the blood would show
up rather well on the carpet.

In its favor, a very
good few from the window,

allowing the murderer a very
high-powered rifle shot.

This is room 103.

Again, in need of redecoration,

although it's slightly
larger than the others.

I think we'll have a Polaroid, Cindy.

(camera whirring)

This is room 101, and this
is a little more like it.

The murderer could enter
from the fire escape.

The fire escape would
allow a long single take,

with the camera following the actor

up the fire escape and into the room,

watching the murder, and then
whilst the murderer escapes,

the camera could track into the corridor

to watch the ensuing commotion.

(people chattering)

(gunshots banging)

Cindy, we'll take a still of this.

(camera whirring)

I think we'll try a shot
out here, Cindy, okay?

Hi.

I'm fine.

Dieter, you remember that shooting

that you said you'd do for me?

Well, I found a great location.

It's the Angel Hotel.

There's a marvelous position
for a telephoto shot.

There is a great angle from the B472.

Tomorrow, the actress
will be here tomorrow.

I figure we'll be on the patio.

Late-afternoon lighting will be best.

She will be dressed in white.

I want her to stand out crisply.

No soft focus stuff, no retakes.

It has to be tomorrow afternoon.

Good.

- [Cindy] Will you be the
main actress, the star?

- No, no, no, this is
just for a screen test.

Cindy, will you read
something from here for me?

It will help us to make
up the main character.

- On the 3rd of January, 1850,

Fyodor Dostoevsky was
awakened in his prison cell

at six o'clock in the morning

to be told that he had
been sentenced to death

for his political offenses,
and was to be shot at once.

He and his fellow prisoners

were led out the Petropavlovsky Fortress,

and taken to the Semyonovsky Square,

where they found their
coffins laid out in a row.

They were stripped of their shirts,

and the first few were blindfolded

and tied to posts in
front of the firing squad.

At that moment, an officer came
galloping across the square

to announce that the
Czar had reprieved them.

They were taken back to the fortress,

several of them badly frostbitten,

and one of the three who had
been tied up had gone mad.

For years afterwards,

Dostoevsky said he used
to wake up in the night

remembering this scene.

The prisoners were told that
the execution had been staged

as a lesson not to be forgotten,

and that they had never
been sentenced to death,

but to Siberia.

Three days later,

the fetters were riveted on
Dostoevsky and two others,

and they left Petersburg for
the convict prison at Omsk.

One of them later said

that he then made up his
mind to kill himself,

"but Dostoevsky's gentle
and sympathetic voice,

"his sensitiveness, his
delicacy of feeling,

"his playful sallies,

"all this exercised a
tranquilizing influence on me,

"and I abandoned my desperate resolve."

Dostoevsky belonged to that
category of those being who,

while the bravest of males,

have much of the feminine nature.

- [Marie] That's all right,
Cindy, you can stop now.

- [Cindy] Won't it be
too dark to shoot now?

- Yes, Cindy I think you're
right, it is too dark.

Where is that cameraman?

Come on, let's go inside.

(sonorous piano music)

Where is he, where is he?

- [Anna] Who are you looking for?

I think you have the wrong address.

- He lives at 19--
- I think I have--

- Rue de Glacquini.
- the right address.

I think that you are Anna, and I think

you know who I'm looking for.
- Lives with his housekeeper.

- [Anna] Perhaps you think
we are both clairvoyant.

- The police gave me the address.

Now, come on, where is he?

- [Anna] Marie?

- Yes.

- [Anna] Has he let you down?

- Not quite.

Quite the opposite, in one way.

- Did you make a deal?

He had a lot of money, I noticed.

He's gone away.

For someone who's very curious,

you don't ask many questions.

He does let people down, you know.

He's let me down many
times, but I forgive him.

A relationship with a younger man,

if one wants to keep it...

Yes, I am his mistress.

Does that shock you?

- [Marie] I'm not shocked.

It was just unexpected.

I can't make sense of any of this.

- What you want to say is,

"What need has he of you?"

What you want to say
is, "You are too old."

What did you say to him?

I have a talent, you see,

that I don't look the part.

He looks the part, but
he hasn't the talent.

He couldn't hurt a fly.

He's never even seen a dead body,

even though he smells as
if he's steeped in blood.

Would you suspect me?

Would anyone suspect me?

- How did you get involved?

- How did I get involved?

One rarely asks.

How does anyone get involved in anything?

One merely decides,

oblivious of the chaos, drifts, accidents,

chance happenings that change
the course of your whole life.

One tries to work out
a philosophy, a view.

But then,

someone you love dies,

your house is flooded, you plan a holiday,

and the whole of Europe's
plunged into war.

It seems you meet the
people who really matter

quite by accident.

So, what can I tell you
that can possibly help,

that can make any sense?

Could I describe his past?

(gunshots banging)

(upbeat music)

(people chattering)

Could I describe the relationship?

How do people approach him?

(sonorous piano music)

- [Marie] How would he describe himself?

- Mm-hmm.

So, uh,

what can I tell you?

I was with this woman one
time, and she had this kid,

and the kid could only
eat some kind of, uh,

wholefood vegetarian stuff,

and so I had to, uh...

I didn't have to.

I got her one of those food
grinder things, you know?

And I stole it

because we didn't have any money.

And another time,

I got this book, it was a,

a medieval illuminated
manuscript, I think it was.

About 200 bucks, I don't know
what that is in your money.

That was...

And another time,

I dressed as a warehouseman,

you know, with the gray,

and took a TV,

because they don't take
any notice of you, see?

I mean, just another guy.

But it's all petty shit, it's not, um...

I mean, no big deal.

I used to shoot when I was a kid,

but I don't use a gun, for chrissakes.

I did cars, I did checks.

American Express is easy.

But for chrissakes, I'm
getting picked up here for, um,

anything that goes down, and, uh,

it's just not me.

What else?

I don't know, I hung
around with a lotta guys.

The reason being is not
because I'm a tough guy,

I hang around with a
criminal element, I guess.

I liked that,

and because

I'm kind of funny.

I mean, people laugh at me.

And that's the only reason.

It's not because I'm doing anything.

I gave it up.

No more, no more for me.

I had a bad experience with a kids' toy.

I'm not gonna tell you about that.

But that's why I never do it anymore.

I got busted for all kinds of things,

but not this, this stuff.

I'm getting picked up for everything.

I don't wanna...

I don't understand it.

That's all I'm gonna say to you.

I'm not telling any more.

- [Anna] I can merely
describe a sequence of events.

He came home with money.

- [Marie] She told me that he had money.

- [Anna] He asked nothing of me.

- [Marie] And that he
had asked nothing of her.

- [Anna] He packed a case.

- [Marie] She told me
that he packed a case.

I couldn't imagine him leaving.

- [Anna] I received a postcard.

(sonorous piano music)

(somber piano music)
(gunshots banging)