The Arrival of Joachim Stiller (1976) - full transcript
Why?
Why me?
Why did this incredible adventure
happen to me, Freek Groenevelt?
Until then, nothing and no one
had upset
my peaceful life as a bachelor.
I had a good job as
city editor with the newspaper
and wrote fairly successful novels.
I didn't have any enemies. I sincerely
wished my fellow humans all the best,
but I also wanted to protect
my inner self
from any kind of assault.
And I had done so very successfully.
Until the day that
Joachim Stiller appeared in my life.
That fateful morning I was on the tram,
absorbed in a new translation of Kafka.
Apart from the city news, I also did
the art page of The Scheldt Express.
And I was unaware of anything.
Tickets please.
Thank you.
Then something happened
that, at the time,
I paid little attention to.
STOP REQUESTED
Jezus Street.
Who asked to get off here?
Well? No one?
Right, that's enough! That's
the tenth time over a couple of stops.
Drive on, drive on.
- Some people!
I thought:
a tram stopping for nothing, there's
a story in that for the newspaper.
How was I to know that this unimportant
incident was the first in a series,
that would cause my belief in
the logical relationship between things
to be shaken forever?
When my article was published
the next day,
everything in the garden was lovely.
At least, that's what I thought.
Groenevelt,
why don't you write books anymore?
A tram stopping for nothing
would be great in a ghost story.
But not in a newspaper?
- No one was killed.
Too good for in the newspaper then?
- That's magic, it's not news.
Journalism is contemptible.
I'm going to start a new life.
OK, here you are.
There.
I had, indeed, started a new life.
But I only realise that now.
You can see they forecast nice
weather.
Mmmmn...
- Look at him looking.
When I was young,
I wasrt allowed to do anything.
Now I'm old and can do what I like,
I can't manage it anymore.
If only you knew... I can have
a serious conversation with you,
the others only want
to talk about football.
Or their wife, who is less and less
like the woman they married.
Bloody hell!
Now what?
Is the metro coming past here too?
If they carry on like this,
there'll be nothing left of Antwerp.
Believe me.
That's for sure.
There was something strange
about those lads.
But nothing you could immediately
put your finger on.
They were too pretty for their job.
Like extras from
some streamlined American film.
Their overalls were
too elegant, too new,
and there wasrt a spot of mud
anywhere.
Just look at
how they're all dressed up.
Young people today
spend all their money on clothes
and only drink water in the bars.
I might as well shut up shop.
No one comes in anymore.
In five minutes
it'll be a right mess out there
and not a single person will come past.
Believe me.
Can I have 3 rolls with steak tartare?
- Steak tartare?
The same as usual.
Maria!
Three steak tartare for Mr Groenevelt.
With plenty of filling.
I have to be at work
by quarter past one!
Drive on.
- Everywhere is blocked.
What's he doing?
Because of the road menders
the whole area looked very different.
Was it their ethereal beauty,
their angelic imperturbability,
in their awareness
of the uselessness of all gestures
in the face of eternity?
Whatever it was, those three proletarian
Apollos from the Belvedere
reminded me of when I was young.
But when I realised that,
the enchantment was broken.
And the street
looked as it usually did again.
Here they are.
There you are.
Bloody hell!
They did that quickly.
- What?
They didn't do anything.
Maybe they repaired something.
- When?
I don't know. I was reading my book.
They've hardly dug up the street
and they're filling it all in again.
That's not right, is it?
Who's going to pay for all that?
You, me, everyone.
You pay tax until it bows you down.
And why?
To keep a bunch of layabouts like that
in work.
They're a load of immigrants,
foreigners.
Outsiders. You don't even know
where they've come from.
Our own people can't find any work
and they are paid to do nothing,
just fill their time
with nonsense like that.
I ask you!
Just look at that!
A mess! A real mess!
And to think, last time
I voted for that Keldermans,
that old bloke from Public Works.
Well, he won't be getting my vote again.
At the next elections...
That.
You should write about that
in your newspaper.
And how they are wasting
people's money.
What are newspapers for
if the man in the street
can't have his say in them?
I had to admit,
the landlord wasrt entirely wrong.
Behind the solid forehead of
a 17th century chief archer
still lived the encouraging idea
that newspapers are there to complain
about stupidity and injustice.
And... I had my article for today.
HOOGSTRAAT
CITY SNIPPETS
BY FREEK GROENEVELT
Absurd.
- Criminal.
Don't exaggerate.
- Mr Keldermans, they insult you.
Not me personally.
- The Public Works Department then.
Insulting that is insulting you.
- What do you want me to do about it?
Deny it, sir. Deny it.
- Do you really think that...
Certainly. We must send a denial
to that Groenevelt immediately.
I've got so much work to do already.
What do you want me to do?
I've taken the liberty of
preparing a response.
Yes, but...
- Just sign here.
Yes, but...
- The mail goes at 5 o'clock, sir.
Is there anything else I can do?
- No, no, you can go.
What?
OFFICE OF THE ALDERMAN
FOR PUBLIC WORKS
So that story about the street,
you just made that up, I suppose?
No, I didn't.
That Keldermans is mad.
How can he deny it?
I saw them digging up the road.
Writers see all kinds of things,
but the authorities know.
Imagination versus reality.
- Hundreds of people stood watching.
No one was killed,
so it wasrt news!
I'll make it news. I'll go and see him.
- The Alderman for Public Works?
You think a man like that
will see you?
Susanne, can you get me City Hall?
I'd intended to
put this alderman in his place.
But as I walked across Grote Markt
to City Hall,
I suddenly felt less sure of myself.
The feeling of uneasiness,
that had come over me on the tram and in
the dug-up street, came over me again.
A feeling that
something wasrt quite right.
There I was, standing in front of
an imposing city hall.
As indecisive as Jozef K in The
Castle.
Was it a coincidence that
Brabo's fountain stopped spouting?
Or was it a sign?
The whole square suddenly seemed
silent and deserted.
But one thing was clear.
I shouldn't go in.
Andreas.
- Freek.
Did they convert you?
No, they sold me some incense.
Andreas, you're too good for this world.
- They're good kids.
Well, how's things?
What's up? Is something the matter?
I don't know. Strange things
have happened to me recently.
What kind of things?
- It's just an overactive imagination.
Is that a problem for a writer?
- No, but it is for a journalist.
So, the superstitions department
has been expanded again.
There's money to be made
from flying saucers.
No, that's just vulgarised popularization.
Have a look over there.
Sixteenth edition of
your Traveller In The Night.
That's my best book.
What's that?
Nothing, something I want to
put aside for a customer.
Show me.
- There's nothing interesting in it.
The Broken Fist, special edition.
Rotting art.
The best way of setting fire to
The Night Watch.
Henri de Braekeleer,
misunderstood pioneer of constructivism.
Do people still believe that drivel?
I've never sold a single copy.
What about that customer?
- Oh yes, him...
So that's it.
There is mould on Freek Groenevelt.
I said it was all nonsense. Give here.
- No.
Stinking piece of garbage.
Common journalist.
Hysterical sluts.
Standard-bearer for the declining
bourgeoisie, Freek Groenevelt.
Stop.
- Why?
I'm allowed to enjoy myself.
This man has expressed an opinion
about the work
of our comrade-in-arms Surinam,
who is exhibiting in the Compa gallery.
I don't remember writing about him.
- Stop it. Give here.
Just a minute. Listen.
What Groenevelt can't or won't see
is that Surinam attempts
to transcend reality,
to actually make the everyday experience
tangible.
And it's true too. Look.
Tangible, eh?
And you wanted to keep that from me?
Arert you ashamed?
I don't like them insulting you.
- I'm not in the least insulted.
It's not even signed.
- Usually it's schoolboys.
They prefer to remain anonymous.
And keep their address a secret too.
Here, Painters Street 2. Isn't that that
very modern gallery at the South Side?
You're not going there?
Maybe I can make my experience tangible,
if curiosity gets the better of me.
After all, I'm a journalist.
At least, that's what they say.
Next day, Joachim Stiller
took over my life for good.
We start by doing non-stop
the exercise from last week.
First, an exercise for the hips.
One, two, three, four.
Open and close...
That plant will recover, Mr Freek.
I think I heard the post.
God!
It's kind of that lady downstairs, isn't
it? Bringing the post upstairs everyday.
Eat your egg first.
Right, I'll be here at 11 tomorrow.
I've got to go to the medical insurance
office and you always have to wait ages.
Shall I bring a cauliflower with me
tomorrow?
There are some nice Belgian ones.
Are you going to get the meat yourself?
Or shall I get some lamb chops
from Janssens'?
Tomorrow is lamb day.
Hey! I've just...
Anything else?
I'll just empty it.
A TIME FOR REFLECTION
Mr Freek.
- Yes?
Can I ask you something?
- Go on.
It seems the world is coming to an end.
- Where did you hear that, Mrs Frans?
It said it on a flyer
that was in my sister's letterbox.
And whers it going to happen?
- In forty days.
Because of the comet.
I don't think I'll be there,
Mrs Frans.
Wort you? But...
See you tomorrow.
Don't let your coffee get cold.
No!
Dear Mr Groenevelt,
In The Scheldt Express
you published, on 14th July, an article
about the road repairs in High Street.
Thank you for paying attention to
this unimportant event.
This event heralds other phenomena,
that I won't mention yet.
If other events occur in the near future
that don't fit in with
generally accepted logic,
never doubt the reality of
what you see or hear.
Whatever happens,
I won't lose sight of you.
Yours sincerely,
Joachim Stiller.
Joachim Stiller.
What is all this?
Unimportant events.
Someone else who only thinks it's
interesting if someone has been killed.
I don't get it.
Ajoke by the guys from the paper?
No.
A maniac?
Written too neatly.
The ink has faded a bit.
No address, no date.
Date?
Damn, the envelope.
Have I gone totally crazy?
That stamp has been out of use
for more than forty years.
How come the post office accepted it?
Let's have a look at the postmark.
11th September
1919.
1919? I'm going mad.
This letter was posted
more than 20 years before I was born.
Mr Groenevelt, what a surprise.
Come in.
Sorry to disturb you so early,
Mrs Vandecasteele.
Don't be silly. I'm glad
you've finally come to see me.
And no need to be so formal.
It's Lily.
Your bathroom is here.
- How do you know?
I have my spies.
No, it's Mrs Frans.
She's secretly in love with you,
did you know that?
Hey...
You're dangerous, you are.
Because you take everything
so seriously. Go on, sit down.
I'm proud to have a famous writer
in my home.
You're my first.
- Famous...
Certainly.
- I've been forgotten.
Not by me. I've read all your books.
Honestly.
I never dared ask,
but now you're here, would you...?
Have you got something to write with?
Of course. A writer always does.
And no Mrs Vandecasteele.
Lily, with L Y.
For Lily, the charming Iris,
with affection and gratitude
from her neighbour upstairs.
That's nice.
Who is Iris?
Iris is a goddess.
A very beautiful goddess.
With wings of silver and shoes of gold.
And a scarf... like a rainbow.
And she delivered letters,
just like you.
Now look a bit happier, eh?
It's not because I'm wearing red
that I'm dangerous.
Would you like a drink?
- No, I only came to ask you something.
When you brought up the post this
morning, d'you remember this envelope?
What d'you think? I wanted to ask if I
can have the stamp, it looks very rare.
Do you collect stamps?
- Don't be daft.
My son, Fons.
- I don't want to damage this.
I understand.
It's such a lovely envelope.
Relax.
- I'm very relaxed.
I don't believe you.
You look like someone who can
only write about women and love.
D'you know my motto?
No.
- Love doesn't belong in your head,
love belongs in your body.
I'll do my best.
- Glad to hear it, famous writer.
One day we'll go out
for a meal together.
That'd be nice.
I know somewhere where
they won't recognise you.
Fine.
1919, very strange. You're right.
You often hear about letters
that take years to deliver.
Who could know in 1919
that in years to come an as yet unborn
Freek Groenevelt would live in Antwerp
and allude to an incident
that would happen 55 years later?
Nothing proves that
the letter itself was written in 1919.
That's what I want to know.
I'll ask an old friend of mine,
professor Schoenmakers, to find out.
With his equipment it's easy to
find out how old the letter really is.
D'you think so?
- Definitely.
Colijn.
Oh, hello Mr Kerels.
Yes, your son.
Joachim? Joachim what?
You only know the first name?
Yes.
Why didn't you say so?
That is Joachim Van Babylon
by Marnix Gijsen.
No, that's okay. You're welcome.
Bye, Mr Kerels.
What a coincidence, eh?
Two Joachims in one day.
It'll all be a coincidence.
Did you go to The Broken Fist,
by any chance?
THE BROKEN FIST GALLERY
ENTRANCE VIA PLAATSNIJDERSSTRAAT
What was waiting for me
in the gallery
shows that
I was no longer in control of my fate.
Yes?
- If I'm right...
If I'm right,
this magazine is published here.
Yes, that magazine is published here.
By the gallery's owner?
- You could put it like that.
Then I'd like to speak to him.
- He's in Paris.
When will he be back?
- No idea.
And the editor, Simone Marijnissen?
That's me.
- Oh.
Yes, Mr Groenevelt.
- You know me?
I've never read anything you've written,
if that's what you mean,
so don't worry.
So you didn't know who I was when
you published that article about me.
My compliments,
you and your friends...
Colleagues.
- Fine, colleagues then.
No one else will come now.
Shall we go upstairs, to my apartment?
You can have a whisky,
as a-pick-me-up.
I just wanted to know...
- You don't have to, I just thought,
Mr Groenevelt is angry
and wants to say unpleasant things.
Better to do so over a drink.
Don't get worked up about that article.
- I'm not.
Why did you come then?
- Maybe because I'm curious or I...
Oh.
- What oh?
You were going to say,
"Maybe because I knew you were there."
You're not going to talk like
some novel writer!
What's wrong with that?
- Oh...
You mean, love isn't in your head
but in your body.
You're very nice.
- So?
I didn't know a common journalist
with mould on him
could be nice too.
- There's something I must confess.
I don't think
you're in the least mouldy.
But I do think you're capable of using
common journalistic tricks,
Mr Joachim Stiller.
Whisky OK?
It was just a joke.
It's not a joke. Where did you get
the name Joachim Stiller from?
Do you know him?
- Of course.
I know you.
- Me?
Where did you get the idea from
that I'm Joachim Stiller?
Dear Miss Marijnissen,
Your friend Bert...
So you have got a friend.
...wants to publish a very
unpleasant article about Groenevelt.
I advise you to persuade your friend
not to carry out this pointless plan.
A very important event
awaits Freek Groenevelt.
He must not be confused. You won't
be sorry that you took my advice.
Joachim Stiller.
And you think I wrote this?
Be reasonable.
How could I know that your friend
would publish such a stupid article?
You're a journalist.
They always know everything.
It bloody well isn't me.
I didn't even know you existed.
When did this letter arrive?
Just before the first edition
was published.
I know because I had to pay
a surcharge for an invalid stamp.
A stamp like this?
Yes.
Have you still got the envelope?
No, but it's the same handwriting.
He wrote to me saying that
I shouldn't doubt the truth of...
new phenomena that would occur.
What kind of phenomena?
Maybe...
this.
Simone!
Simone!
- That's all I need!
Are you upstairs?
- Who's that?
Zijlstra.
- Zijlstra?
Here?
- Why are we closed already?
Freek. Well I never.
Well I never. How nice to see you.
Hello, Zijlstra. Hello.
- It's been a long time, Freek.
It's so nice to see you.
I've just got back from Paris.
You could've phoned...
- Didrt have the time.
What are you doing here?
Don't tell me you've become
a fan of avant-garde art.
Oh no, I get it.
You're here to see Simone.
Just like everyone else.
- Are you the owner?
Don't tell me you didn't know.
- No.
I also didn't know that
you try desperately to insult people.
Insult people?
Oh, that article in The Broken Fist.
No, that is Simone's department.
Dear Simone.
You can't refuse her anything.
- Are you... Are you and her...?
Simone and me?
Where did you get that idea from?
As if I'd have time for that.
Have you sold anything?
No, nothing.
- Doesrt matter.
So you were successful in Paris?
- What is successful?
Totally successful.
It's in the pocket.
Freek, lad,
you've no idea what I've discovered.
Something new. I've discovered
something totally new. A gold mine.
A gold mine?
- Yes, in the public urinals of Antwerp.
No, no, no.
I'm not interested in your urinals.
Don't give me that. You're coming.
- I don't want to.
Are you a journalist?
- No, I'm not!
Then you're coming
because you're interested in art.
Come on, Freek. Come on. Hurry up.
I'm not interested.
- Come on, Freek.
Is your painter there?
- You'll see.
If this is a joke, it's not funny.
- Ajoke...
Excuse me, sir.
- Mr Groenevelt. Nice weather, eh?
Hello, sir.
- Freek, stop struggling.
You'll see. It's breathtaking,
simply fantastic. Stop struggling.
It's simply...
You'll enjoy it.
Here it is.
- What?
Look. Take a look.
Use your eyes, blind man.
What d'you say? Isn't it fantastic?
Is that your discovery?
- It's the missing link
between the Lascaux cave paintings
and modern art.
Don't tell me
you're going to sell that graffiti?
Certainly am.
And for a lot of money.
Who on earth is interested in
the scribbles of some poor sex maniac?
A genius, you mean.
Here, judge for yourself.
That's disgusting.
- It's new.
It's new, that's what matters.
That's the only thing that makes money.
How many young artists
have I kept alive?
And they you?
- Less than you think.
They lived too well on what I gave them
because they never came up with
anything new.
Well, I've discovered something new,
by chance, intuitively,
or simply because I'm me,
on the courtyard wall of Den Engel.
That same afternoon I went to
all the bars, all the public urinals,
all the fences round waste ground, there
were drawings like that everywhere,
and I tried to trace him.
Up till now...
But I've already arranged
the sale of his masterpieces
in Paris, Geneva, New York.
An important market, New York.
And now you're going to dismantle those
toilet facilities and sell them in bits?
If I can find him,
that unknown genius...
You'll believe that yourself soon.
You haven't looked at it properly,
have you?
No, if I can find him,
even if it takes a year,
I'll shut him up somewhere
with some canvasses, brushes, paint...
I mean, I'll install him in a studio
and sign a contract, if necessary.
Provide him with some women too.
- No way.
You're mad. Provide sustenance for
someone who is sexually starved?
He'd start painting daisies.
Christ, Freek.
You've brought me luck.
There he is.
It's him. It's him.
- How do you know?
I can feel it. I can feel it. It's him.
Pay the bill for me, will you?
I've got to go after him.
Sir, sir! Wait!
Friend, my dear friend.
Don't be scared.
Yes, agreed.
Our Dear Lord has led me to you.
I won't hurt you.
That's right.
Even though I had to admit the adventure
with Zijlstra had enthralled me
and I had to acknowledge
the dark humour of what happened,
once again I had that uncomfortable
feeling that I couldn't put a name to.
Unless it was d?j? vu.
In some inexplicable way
the graffiti man had reminded me of
Joachim Stiller again.
I couldn't get him out of my head.
Tomorrow I would start
looking into it, sort it all out.
There had to be a logical
explanation.
Maybe that Stiller was some madman
who hung around in the city.
Maybe he lived in Antwerp,
had an address or a telephone.
A telephone.
Bloody hell.
Stichting, Stiff, Stijven, Stille Hulp,
Stilmant, Stilmant...
No Stiller in Antwerp.
Sometimes I wonder
if I'm not Joachim Stiller.
Ah, good morning, Mrs Frans.
Good morning, Mrs Vandecasteele.
The post was early today, I see.
There were only advertising leaflets.
- Right.
FOUND A SECLUDED RESTAURANT.
THIS EVENING? LILY
Hello, Mr Freek.
- Hello, Mrs Frans.
Not eating here this evening, then?
What d'you mean?
- Well, that actress...
An actress?
Lily.
- Oh, is it Lily?
I always say Mrs Vandecasteele.
But she's probably never been a Mrs.
When I say actress,
I mean in a manner of speaking.
I've put the water on already.
- That's kind of you.
And, as you know, I don't like gossip.
But that's the truth. Everyone knows.
I'm not lying.
She's never been
an actress on the stage,
but she can act.
The things she can make men believe...
But they are all very respectable men.
They are doctors, engineers,
record company directors, managers.
Last time
even a whole congregation of dentists.
They're always at
seminars and meetings...
When are you going to have
a boiler put in?
And all they do is hear about
teeth and gums all day long
and when they're away from home,
they get bored in the evening
and they get madam to come.
Apparently she can be a lot of fun.
But she isn't a whore.
No one in Antwerp
can accuse her of that.
She's... What do they call it?
She's a... a hostess.
Yes, a hostess.
Mrs Frans,
that's none of your business.
No, you're right.
It's none of my business.
Anyway, I don't like
talking about people behind their back.
She can do what she likes.
After all, she's not hurting anyone.
On the contrary.
But she's not your type.
Did I say something?
I couldn't stop thinking about
Joachim Stiller.
If he was one of those letter-writing
maniacs, he must've written before.
Maybe to the newspaper.
Which year do you want?
- The last two or three.
If it's not too heavy.
- It is too heavy.
Readers' letters are always
the heaviest files.
Looking for ghost stories
in the archives now?
Drop dead. Then there'll be
some news for the paper.
Do normal people ever write to us?
- Very rarely.
Why do we keep all this?
- Sometimes a madman wants to read them.
Have you ever seen one by
someone called Stiller?
Joachim Stiller.
- Freek, what do you think?
And the name doesn't
mean anything to you, either?
Joachim Stiller?
Joachim Stiller.
Never heard of him.
Hello?
Freek, it's for you. City Hall.
The alderman for Public Works.
Damn.
Yes? Mr Keldermans.
Yes, something came up.
Whenever you want.
This afternoon at 3 o'clock?
OK, Mr Keldermans.
Goodbye, Mr Keldermans.
Why didn't you go and see him
last time?
Oh, that... There was no point.
- And there is now?
Yes, maybe.
Yes, now it was won'th going.
I knew that the strange behaviour of
the alderman for Public Works
had something to do with the appearance
of Joachim Stiller in my life.
You're wrong, Mr Groenevelt.
This is the file of all my departments.
There hasn't been any work done
in High Street for four years.
Certainly not on the day you thought...
- I didn't think.
I saw it. And not only me.
Are you OK? Shall I call someone?
- No, don't do that.
It's a bit stuffy in here.
- Shall I open a window?
No, that just makes it worse.
It...
It's that thunder, that noise.
As if it's bomb exploding.
And it hurts.
It hurts so much.
Maybe I should come back another day?
- No, stay, please. Stay.
You must forgive me, Mr Groenevelt,
for sending that letter
to your newspaper.
Let me tell you something,
Mr Groenevelt.
But it mustrt go any further.
It's a secret.
Will you promise me?
- Yes.
Well, I think you're right about
that work in High Street.
In fact, I never doubted it.
What do you mean?
But High Street,
that is just one thing among many.
One link in a chain.
A conspiracy.
- Against you?
I don't know,
but things happen, Mr Groenevelt,
awful things.
No, absurd things.
No one seems to notice anything,
except me.
No one?
- Something...
Yes, somehow...
that doesn't add up.
Yes, Mr Keldermans, I know.
- You know, Mr Groenevelt?
God, that noise!
It isn't something you can know,
but I think I know what you mean.
No, no, no.
Forget what I said.
What must happen, will happen.
And it was no coincidence
that after my meeting with Mr Keldermans
I ended up at Andreas Colijrs.
Either fate or Joachim Stiller
had once again provided a surprise.
Look who's here.
Have you come as a friend
or to seek shelter?
Don't tell me, I can see.
I've just come from City Hall.
- Really?
From the alderman for Public Works.
- Keldermans?
Do you know him?
- Know him...
In my opinion the man is mad.
That nice man?
What has he done to you?
Well, maybe nothing. Maybe it's me.
Imagination still causing you problems?
- Yes, I think so.
Have you heard anything about
that letter from Stiller?
No, I'm expecting to hear from
professor Schoenmakers any day.
Anything there that's won'th reading?
I bought these on the off-chance
from an old lady.
As a favour to her, I suppose?
You never know with old junk. It can
hold surprises. This, for example.
This may be interesting,
even if the first pages are missing.
No title, no author.
Beginning of the 17th?
- More likely middle of the 16th.
But probably printed in Antwerp.
I'll find out from Wim in the library.
There may be an article in this
for the newspaper.
May I borrow it?
- Yes, as long as you return it.
Hey, that good-looking young lady there,
is she signalling to me or you?
Someone you know?
Vaguely.
That's enough of books for today.
You're coming with me.
But I...
- Don't say you didn't get my note.
Yes, I did.
- Well?
It's stopped raining.
That's lucky.
ULYSSES
BOOKS
They take things too far!
We have to wait a week
to discover the secret again.
Yes. Full of suspense.
What'll happen to them?
What do you think?
What'll happen to them?
- To who?
To Betty and Steven.
Betty and Steven?
- Honestly...
Everyone stays home to watch it, crying
in front of the TV, and you read a book.
What's it about?
- Us.
About what happens if we're not careful.
God, the environment again?
- Something like that. The Revelation.
The what?
Let's see.
And St. John spoke, "In those days
the people shall look for death
and they shall not find it."
So? What's he complaining about?
"The big star shall fall burning
from the sky
and the locusts shall have
teeth like lions." Really!
But, John did not tell
the entire truth,
because Niniv...
- Ninive.
Ninive shall be reduced to ashes,
the surface of the earth shall disappear
and Nothingness shall rule
for eternity.
So that's the kind of thing you enjoy.
All this shall occur when Uranus
is situated in the Mars quadrant
and Leo in the Neptune sextile.
Oh, it's a horoscope,
like in the newspaper.
I'm Virgo. And no comments!
What are you?
I don't know.
- Huh, what a writer!
You're probably Aquarius.
Someone who quietly walks away.
That reminds me. Tomorrow I'm off to
Knokke to see some people I know.
For a conference.
- For long?
Don't pretend you can't do without me.
Put that book away.
There.
You didn't feel like it, eh?
I noticed. I felt it in the restaurant.
Thinking about everything and everyone,
except me.
And in bed...
Well, well, well.
It's not your fault.
- I should hope not.
Or maybe it is my fault.
I'm not your type.
I've got my feet too much on the ground.
I think, you have to be able
to talk to women first.
In your case love is in your head.
Do you think so?
Yes.
- Freek!
Freek!
- Listen, it's for you.
Freek!
- Go and answer her.
What are you looking for?
- I can't go naked...
No one can see you.
Simone, it's you.
- I need to talk to you.
Now?
- Yes, it's urgent.
Freek!
- Yes, I... I'll just get dressed.
Come to De Muze.
- OK.
I'll wait for you.
- Alright.
What are you looking at all the time?
- I'm waiting for someone.
Who?
- Freek Groenevelt.
Him from the fascist newspaper?
Give it a rest, sweetheart.
- I'm not your sweetheart.
Yes, you are. Always have been.
Because we slept together?
Since the one time it happened,
I know you're a sweetheart.
Look at that fascist face.
My compliments.
Drop dead.
I'm glad you've come.
She doesn't care what she says to you.
- That's enough.
Shall we go somewhere else?
- OK, but why?
That guy there is Bert,
who wrote that article about you.
Your friend.
Should I be scared of your friends?
I'm too much of a coward to fight.
Let's find a seat.
Is your phone out of order?
- My phone?
You didn't answer and I stood outside
shouting for ages. Were you asleep?
Were you asleep?
- Yes.
A heavy sleeper.
I'm glad you got me out of bed,
but what's so urgent?
No!
As anticipated, the paths of you
and Freek Groenevelt have crossed.
The subsequent consequences were
not anticipated. Do not be afraid.
Let nothing take you by surprise.
Joachim Stiller.
I immediately tried to
find out about the sender.
And?
The telegram was sent
from a telephone box.
By you.
- You don't think I...
No, I don't think that.
I think the man used your name.
Then I know who it is.
That arsehole over there.
Your friend.
- Of course it's not.
He couldn't even
make something like that up.
And he's not my friend.
So what is there between you?
Is that important?
Yes.
Why?
Because I...
Because you...
- Because you quite like me.
Because I think
you're extremely beautiful.
That's not nice for the woman you were
in bed with when I was outside shouting.
Simone!
Simone, I'm off.
If you're not home in an hour,
you won't get be able to get in.
Come on, let's go.
Are you going too?
You're going with them.
Something's up.
I'm going with them
to sort a few things out.
Simone.
What, Freek?
- Will I see you again?
I want to.
Dominated by the impressive facade
of the Carolus-Borromeus church,
the enclosed Conscienceplein
looked like a Venetian piazza
when, next morning, I walked to
the municipal library in a good mood.
I'd decided to find out all I could
about Andreas Colijrs book.
My friend Wim Falckeniers, chief
librarian, would be able to help me.
This book just fell into my lap.
No title, no author.
No publisher.
- And you'd like to know all that?
Yes.
- Why?
Ajournalist's inquisitiveness.
- Right.
In fact, it intrigues me slightly.
You mean, you're very interested.
That doesn't surprise me,
a repressed mystic like yourself.
A freethinker fascinated by
this load of superstition.
The whole caboodle:
heresies, the scarlet whore,
Heavenly Jerusalem,
the Apocalypse.
We'll see what we can do.
Judging from the type page,
it was printed in
the workshops of Vorsterman around...
Mmmn, let's see.
Around 1561, shall we say.
You're amazing.
- Amazing.
Maybe I've got something else for you.
Sir.
Your book,
that's John from Patmos, isn't it?
More of a long commentary, madam.
- Miss. I'm Miss.
Miss Von Kipperfisch,
an astrology star.
Oh, Mr Falckeniers, a star.
The precision of her horoscopes
is incomparable.
There are astrological references
in your book too, aren't there?
Yes, in the last chapter.
- Really?
May I?
Thank you.
Thank you, thank you.
But...
That's an eschatology.
Sorry. I mean, the end of our world
predicted by the stars.
May I?
I won't take long. Thank you.
Yes, just a minute.
I've almost finished.
Please, one more minute.
One more minute. Please. Thank you.
Thank you very much.
Am I the genius of Flemish libraries
or...
did we just get lucky?
And printed in
the workshops of Vorsterman.
THE APOCALYPSE
THE VISION OF JOHN ON PATMOS
EXPLAINED BY THE MASTER
OF THEOLOGY AT AUGSBURG
JOACHIM STILLER
Freek! Freek, mate!
What's the matter?
Freek!
It's okay. I just suddenly felt dizzy.
- You gave me a scare.
There's nothing wrong with your heart?
- No, it's just stress.
There. I've finished.
The astrological elements
in your book
about the end of the world,
I've worked it all out.
The world will end,
take note, on 17th August
at 28 minutes past 4
in the afternoon.
But... But that's in a month's time!
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
That is the day of the comet!
I'd felt that fear, that animal fear,
once before.
Right at the end of the war,
when a V-bomb, in disconcerting silence
ripped a tram to shreds.
That memory had bubbled to the surface
as if Joachim Stiller were the key
that released it
from my subconscious.
And yet I continued to resist
the reality of his existence.
But he was there.
Strange intertwined events
that had pervaded my peaceful existence.
Come back! That's the seventh time
you've broken my window!
Bloody hell, damn kids!
Freek.
Simone. What are you doing here?
- I'm waiting for you.
It's very untidy,
but you know bachelors...
Something wrong, Freek?
- It's OK. I felt a bit sick earlier.
That never happens. Do you want a drink?
- A drink'll do you good.
Let me.
- No. Where is everything?
In the fridge.
Gin, vodka, whisky?
- Whisky.
Nice place you live in.
What a view!
Where are your glasses?
- Up there, on the left in the cupboard.
I'm glad you like it here.
- Drink in the fridge.
The best view in the city.
What more can I say?
Simone...
Why did you wait for me?
Because I wanted to, among other things.
- Why among other things?
Joachim Stiller.
- Has he written again?
This time he phoned.
- He didn't!
He did.
Early this morning.
I was still half asleep
when the phone went.
First I heard a woman. It sounded like
it was coming from a long way away.
You know,
from the other side of the world.
Then I was put through.
A hollow sound,
like in a large empty house.
There was music in the background
and a quiet voice that said that I...
A voice that said that
I was talking to Joachim Stiller.
I was so taken aback, or cross, that
I didn't really hear what he was saying.
The only thing I remember is that
he said
that I shouldn't have
left you alone last night.
God, the bastards!
- Freek.
It's a conspiracy. I'm sure of it.
It's one big machination,
I don't know why, to drive me mad.
It's everywhere, Simone,
on trams, in the street,
in the library, in City Hall.
No. No, I'm not seeing ghosts.
That letter, Keldermans in that room,
Colijrs book.
They're there.
It's everywhere.
It's creeping up on me from all sides.
It's getting closer and closer.
I'm scared. I'm scared.
Now they're dragging you
into the nightmare.
Come on, Freek.
You're not on your own anymore. Freek.
No, don't. For God's sake, it's him.
Don't, Simone!
Hello?
- Hello, Freek, is that you?
Hello, who's that?
- Is that Freek Groenevelt's flat?
Did you want to speak to him?
- Yes, no. I didn't understand.
I'll call him.
- Yes, put him on.
Hello, Groenevelt here.
- Hello. Have you got a secretary now?
Now isn't time for jokes.
- What joke?
I... Hello, Freek?
Hallo, are you still there?
Listen. You'll laugh at this.
That letter from Stiller,
it is 55 years old.
It isn't!
- It is. A mistake isn't possible.
They've checked it at least three times,
the paper, the ink, everything.
Has that put your mind at ease?
- Yes, thank you, Andreas. Thank you.
Hello? Hello? Are you still there? Have
you found out anything about that book?
Yes.
- Well?
They had another copy in the library.
16th century,
printed by Vorsterman and
written by one Joachim Stiller.
You're joking.
That's the same name as on the letter.
Strange, eh?
- You can say that again.
Did they know anything about Stiller?
- Hardly anything.
Only that the man lectured in theology
in Augsburg from 1552 to 1556,
that he was thrown out of
the university,
that he wandered round Westphalia and
the Low Countries as a street preacher.
They don't know when he was born
or when he died.
I'm not surprised.
The classic example of
the average 16th century heretic.
And you're not surprised that
someone from the 16th century
posts a letter in 1919 and I then...?
Come on, Freek.
There's more than one Stiller. I...
Hello? See you...
Come round, will you? Bye.
Damn!
Sir.
How much is this book?
EXTRAORDINARY JOURNEYS
JULES VERNE
Joachim Stiller was right.
I should've stayed with you last night.
But you had to see your colleagues.
- Yes.
I don't know what you mean by
'colleagues'.
Work. Work I started one time.
I'd known for ages I wanted to stop.
The gallery, Zijlstra, The Broken Fist.
Then you came in that day
and I knew for certain.
I should end it.
And that's what I did last night.
And now?
Now I'm here.
And now you're staying.
If you want me to stay, I'll stay.
I knew that my whole life
had been heading unavoidably
towards the perfection of this hour.
And for a moment I could believe
that Joachim Stiller,
who had so much to do with all of this,
was nothing but a ghost
born of my imagination.
Wiebrand Zijlstra,
the shrewd art dealer,
had meanwhile set his prot?g? to work
in a derelict factory.
Wiebrand Zijlstra here.
Yes, about the exhibition preview.
I've written six letters and phoned
twelve times. What?
No. Listen, darling. I never argue
and certainly not with the secretary
of the assistant private secretary.
I want the minister at my preview,
understand?
OK? Then ask him again.
And add:
Zijlstra sends his best wishes from
the copper mines of Katanga.
He won't refuse this time.
Back to work you! Quick!
I won't say it again.
My hands are itching.
What do you look like?
What do you look like? Eh?
Go on, get to work.
We're late as it is, damn you.
Now what?
Bloody hell!
Come on, Arlet, don't be scared.
- Scared? I'm not scared of anything.
Now tell me I never spoil you.
His name is Siegfried.
He's very sweet.
He's adorable and so distinguished.
Give me the dough now.
Plus 10% extra.
And, eh... the quicker the better.
He's got work to do.
Remember that.
Hey, steady on!
Come on, hurry up.
The exhibition opens in a week.
Get on with it, for Christ's sake.
Put that away. Get a move on.
SILENCE PLEASE
What... what...
What are you doing here?
- I'm doing my round, like every night.
It's very late.
Yes... I had a lot of work to do.
If you ask me, you should go to bed.
Thank you, Johan.
I still need to do some thinking.
Good night.
Good night, sir.
The bells.
It sounded so clear, so unreal.
For a moment I felt like a child,
holding my father's hand.
In front of us,
the expanse of the training ground.
Above us, the grey outlines of
dozens of hot air balloons
like monstrous, swollen, dead fish.
Can you hear them? The bells?
They sound much louder than just now.
Maybe the wind has changed direction
or we just didn't notice.
Just now.
That's not the bells.
The whole carillon is playing.
So late?
Twenty past one.
- Maybe something's wrong with it.
You need a carilloneur
to play a carillon like that.
Incredible.
The whole of Antwerp must be awake now.
It's like we're the only ones
who can hear it.
Look! All the houses are dark.
It's OK. Go back to sleep.
Can't you hear it?
No, I can't hear anything.
Go to sleep.
You're not using your ears.
Don't worry. He's very productive.
But be careful, Edelstein,
only release them gradually.
Gradually. We mustrt let
the Jews saturate the market.
Just a moment, Edelstein.
Will you shut up?
It's true.
You can't hear yourself think.
Where were we?
Oh yes, the Jews.
What's the time?
Twenty past one.
- Can't be. That's when it started.
It's stopped.
The moment the music died away,
a strange feeling of sadness
came over me
to do with
my earliest childhood memories again.
What's up, darling? Why are you crying?
- I'm scared, Freek.
Why?
- Of the music. Of him.
It was him. You were right.
He's everywhere, here with us too.
Like a shadow.
Groenevelt here.
This is Joachim Stiller.
- Right.
My name should not be a scourge for you.
One day, I will free you of all fear.
But your equilibrium not only depends on
me. You have to seek it inside yourself.
From now on I shall remain silent
until the day we meet.
Trust me. Nothing is irrevocable.
Hello? Hello?
Simone, darling, listen.
Whoever Joachim Stiller is,
whatever he is,
maybe he exists, maybe he doesn't,
or maybe we're both dreaming
the same dream,
but if it's a dream,
then it's a happy dream.
Mrs Frans, my cleaning lady,
who had no idea my life had changed,
came like she did every morning to do
the housework in my flat under the roof.
Phew, it's a long way up!
My back!
Oh dear.
IT'S ON ITS WAY!
Hello, Mr Freek! I've brought
the newspaper up with me.
Do you want to read it now?
- No, not now.
Is that your Mrs Frans?
- Yes.
It isn't a disaster.
What do you normally do?
I sort myself out.
Do you need anything?
- No, thank you, Mrs Frans.
Oh, I thought...
I'll bring you breakfast in bed.
You should take a look at the paper.
The comet will be here in a month.
What are you looking for?
- You've got to put something on.
Why?
- You can't...
This is how I am and how I'll stay.
We're together in a dream, aren't we?
We heard the carillon last night.
Not now. She'll hear us.
Not now, Simone.
Are you looking for this?
Not all people are bad.
Did you hear the bells last night?
Some publicity stunt, I suppose.
They've got a nerve. My sister, who
sleeps next to me, didn't hear a thing.
She normally hears everything.
And it was so...
Good morning, Mrs Frans.
Good morning, madam.
Shall I put it here?
You should have told me.
I'd have boiled two eggs.
An egg for madam.
I've so much to do. Get a new job. Move.
- Don't, Freek.
Shouldrt you do something?
I like people who go to their office
on time in the morning.
Home on time in the evening for tea.
- No, I know a quiet restaurant.
Where you always go with your actress.
- Simone, don't start.
Yes, girl, I know how these things go.
That's it, here.
It became an amazing time
for us both.
We didn't talk about Joachim Stiller
nor about the future.
Not that we feared the future.
Neither of us doubted
the durability of our feelings.
Whenever I could arrange it
with my work, I stayed home.
My bachelor attic had become cosier
since Simone had come to live there.
Or I wandered through the city with her,
which she didn't know well enough.
Everything seemed... normal again.
Nothing indicated that
my fear was still lying in wait
and would show its claws again
at the first opportunity.
What's the matter?
STILLER AND SON
PALACE OF MIRACLES
It's a coincidence, Freek.
Just a coincidence.
He said it was over. And now this.
- Come on, Freek. Let's go home.
No, I've had enough of
this absurd story. Let's go inside.
No, Freek.
- What can happen to us?
It's started. Hurry up. Jiberry and
his dogs have just started.
Excuse me, madam.
I'd like to talk to Mr Stiller.
Who?
- The owner.
My husband is the owner and
he's called Van Blankenberghe.
How come...?
- That's the name of our business.
Known at all the fairs in Europe
and beyond for 150 years.
How...
- 100 years ago
my husband's grandfather took over
the business from Mr Stiller and son.
Do you know what happened to
Stiller and son?
It's so long ago.
I did hear one of the Stillers,
the father, I think,
had a chamber of horrors and
the son a waxworks museum.
Are you from the police?
- No.
Are you going in or not?
- It's not won'th it anymore.
Why?
- I'd rather go home. Come on.
OK.
Two tickets please.
There was nothing miraculous
to be seen
and, inside, the name Stiller
lost its frightening sound.
But then the handcuff king appeared.
And now your applause for
the sensational attraction Harry Seldon.
The man who escapes from everything.
Harry Seldon, we may tell you, ladies
and gentlemen, is the illegitimate,
but full-blooded cousin of
the greatest boxer of all time,
Primo Carnera.
Come over specially from America,
Harry Seldon will, for you,
carry out his unparalleled experiment
once again.
An experiment that made
the country of unlimited opportunities
shake on its foundations.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen,
nothing is proof against Harry Seldon.
Harry Seldon will be out of this sack
within ten seconds.
When this experiment was carried out
in New York at minus 10 degrees
on the bottom of the Potomac river
he only needed two seconds more.
We ask for absolute silence,
because this experiment requires
the utmost concentration.
We remind you
that Harry Seldon will be
out of the sack in 10 seconds.
One,
two,
three,
four,
five,
six,
seven,
eight.
Hurrah!
- Hurrah!
Hurrah!
Unique in the world, no tricks,
no accomplices, no helpers.
There is no lock that Harry Seldon
cannot open, no door he cannot open,
there is no chain that can stop him.
He can get in and out of everything
and no one knows.
Look at the handcuffs, sir.
Will you confirm to the audience
that they are authentic?
It was a present from Nick Can'ter,
the famous detective.
Sir says yes.
Would you be so good and put them on me?
Right wrist.
Left wrist. There.
Now I'm sir's prisoner.
And sir is free.
But everything down here is a sham.
Maybe sir is the prisoner
and I'm the one who is free.
And now this kind lady is going to place
her soft and gentle hand
on my handcuffs. And...
There.
We thought it was all over
but it all started again at the fair.
If I were you,
I wouldn't worry about it.
It must interest you.
You're up to your ears in occult stuff.
Did you invite me to dinner
or to solve puzzles?
Also to meet the sweetest woman
in Antwerp.
But we already know each other.
You work on Zijlstra's magazine,
The Broken Fist, don't you?
Worked, thank goodness.
- Don't be too hard on it.
Without The Broken Fist
we'd never have met.
I now work
in the 20th Century Gallery.
Where are you going?
- I won't run away, darling.
She's adorable.
- Yes.
Yes, that carillon.
It could be a case of
collective hallucination.
Must be. I went to see
the carilloneur the next day
and he was astonished.
He was fast asleep in bed that night.
But how do you explain that
some people heard it and others didn't?
I don't know.
Still,
you're wrongly connecting that carillon
with Joachim Stiller.
I was thinking of other things
that night, not Joachim Stiller.
Come with me, come on.
- No.
Andreas, I've brought you some company.
I didn't want to come.
Simone had to make me.
I hardly had time
to put on something decent.
You don't mind, do you?
This is my contribution to the party.
I'll put it in the fridge.
Sit down, miss.
- Freek.
Yes, well, the supernatural.
But where does that start for you,
for Simone, for me, for you?
If you're going to start talking
about ghosts then I'm off.
Are you scared of ghosts?
- No, but talking about them is unlucky.
I assure you there are
some very friendly ghosts, miss.
Do you know one?
- I'll introduce him to you.
Can you cook?
I can only make burnt fried eggs.
- Vol-au-vents ? la Simone.
I bought the vol-au-vents.
Andreas, you'll like this.
- You're making a real mess.
Who to?
- Stiller?
Preferably not.
What are you doing?
That's lucky.
In any case, we don't have to
think of Joachim Stiller now,
but just enjoy our food.
That'll keep you busy.
Andreas, what do you think about
all those books and voices from nowhere?
Messages in a bottle
on the waves of time.
I'll show you something else.
Look at this, Andreas.
Yes, yes, I know, I know.
In the 16th century
there were thirteen in a dozen,
that all predicted
the end of the world.
But that doesn't mean that...
Oh... That's strange.
What's the matter?
Well, what's the matter is that...
that Joachim Stiller from the 16th
century knew about the existence
of Uranus and Neptune.
- So?
Uranus was only discovered in the 18th
century and Neptune in the 19th.
Didrt they exist before then?
You're not asleep.
- No.
You're thinking about the book.
- No.
About the book and Joachim Stiller.
- No.
Freek, there isn't anything...
anything to be afraid of.
I'm not afraid.
I just wonder how it's going to end.
I love you.
Simone, do you love me?
You know I do.
- I want you to say it.
I love you. There, now go to your paper
like a good boy and I'll go to work too.
I don't know what you're talking about.
- Earning money.
To live off.
- We are living.
You're very sweet.
The psychiatrists and, in their own way,
the confessors are right.
Cares or worries that you talk about,
are put into perspective,
become things we are able to understand.
The next morning everything had
assumed normal proportions again.
Mr Groenevelt, you made me jump.
It's not your normal day today, is it?
- No, I left my tobacco at home.
You don't usually do that.
These days more and more things
are happening that didn't used to.
Have you heard it too?
About the world?
Well, they say
the world is going to end today.
But as a shopkeeper
you hear all kinds of things.
In the end,
you don't know what to think.
Mrs Peeters, how can an intelligent
woman like you believe such rubbish?
I don't believe anything,
but I do think.
Today is the day of the comet.
Are you ready?
- Excuse me?
Listen to me.
I have a very important message.
Brother, wait. Don't go.
What do you want? Who are you?
- It is my task
to remind everyone that,
any day, death can call
like a thief in the night.
At the paper, the end of the world
attracted more attention than expected.
You can read about it in this evening's
edition. Of course there'll be one.
Yes.
You don't believe those absurd stories,
do you?
lt'll all be in our evening edition.
Yes, definitely.
Goodbye.
No, madam. Goodbye.
Yes, madam, yes.
No, goodbye, Mrs Janssens.
I hope the world soon ends,
so we're shot of these idiots.
The city is going crazy.
- That's in your line.
It's raining mysteries.
- Collective insanity has no secrets.
So you won't write an article about it.
- No way.
Then I've got something better for you,
a preview.
The Leonardo Da Vinci
of the public urinals.
My God, Zijlstra's crazy idea.
You can choose, Groenevelt:
the end of the world or
an exhibition where nothing will happen.
Damn.
SIEGFRIED
EXHIBITION
Unreliable yet calculating,
Zijlstra welcomed his guests
in the same factory where
he'd housed his prot?g?.
Is he really crazy?
- Is he really crazy?
He's totally insane.
Get back! Watch it!
What did I tell you?
You'll get a thump!
lmbecile.
Get back. And I won't say it again.
And if you do it again,
you'll get thumped.
He suggested that I came.
You can imagine,
he's very busy with the merger...
Thank you, Zijlstra,
that was very... eh... very different.
New, shall I say?
If I can wheedle some funds,
the department will buy
three or four works
for the new arts centre in Zelem.
If it gets too bad,
just say so and we'll leave.
I'm glad the whole of Antwerp
will know I'm your mistress.
I'm so glad.
I'm so glad you're here.
Simone, you look wonderful.
Can she have her hands back?
She may need them.
Sir's jealous!
I understand, I understand.
Simone, you little traitor. I had to
find an instant replacement for you.
Erika.
- Hello.
She's totally dedicated to me.
- Yes, until my studies are completed.
Right, I'll leave you to yourselves.
There's so much to see and admire.
Come on, you.
What? What did you say? Siegfried.
Yes, really, he's called Siegfried.
Of course, that's what you get
with that Wagner craze here.
Don't laugh.
Just write down what I say.
Excuse me. Right.
You can't hang that up in our lounge.
- You can if you have to.
If Aunt Jeanne comes,
we'll cover it up.
I shouldn't have brought you.
- Doesrt matter, darling. I don't mind.
It just makes me sad.
I just feel sorry for
the poor soul who did it.
Get back, you.
Mr Zijlstra, when do we...
- Oh yes, sir. Just a moment, sir.
Come with me.
Sit here and watch thingy here.
Edelstein, the Americans are here.
Come on, quickly.
It's disgusting. It's filthy.
It's obscene.
But Lolleke!
- Lolleke nothing.
They should forbid things like that.
- Hello. Something wrong?
Something's very wrong.
What on earth made you bring me here,
to look at these obscenities?
But Lily, it's art.
- Excuse me?
I know what art is.
I've got paintings at home.
Works of art.
I even had the Sunflowers.
I got rid of them,
they'd gone out of fashion.
But here, these cocks, these dicks,
these cunts, in full view,
is that art?
Then my big toe is art too.
Dr?, come on. We're leaving.
D?sir?,
do you know what it's made from?
Oak.
A strong lad like you needs that,
with a chest like yours.
You can have one.
Go on, take a piece.
I don't know.
- Is there something you'd prefer?
I know what you're thinking of.
A kiss.
- You wouldn't dare.
A plate of chicken or a kiss.
You can choose.
He almost murdered a whore...
a young girl.
Go on, back to your place!
Back to your stool! Bloody hell!
Stupid idiot.
Is that how you guard him?
I'll knock your teeth into your stomach,
if you're not careful!
Don't write that down.
Wonderful, isn't it? Wonderful.
- No.
Don't you like it? You can be honest.
You won't like it.
- Whether you do or don't like it,
the most important thing is that you
write about my gold mine in your paper.
What you're doing is disgusting,
Zijlstra.
Even if the poor wretch
were another Van Gogh,
the way you abuse him
is just abhorrent.
I've no sympathy with
the idiots you're swindling,
but I'm thinking of that piece of
human misery you're exhibiting here.
You always have to exaggerate,
eh artist?
Come on.
He's a bastard, Freek.
An evil spirit.
Tonight? Eight o'clock?
Girls!
Now.
Upstairs!
He got away.
I couldn't follow him.
There! There he is! There!
Bloody hell!
Not now, you silly cow!
He's broken his neck, the idiot!
The bastard!
Still... Still... Still...
Stiller.
Christ, he spoke!
Did you hear that?
- The sirens were making too much noise.
The comet! The comet!
He'll never paint again.
Now he's dead, his paintings
will be won'th ten times as much.
Put all the prices up immediately.
The world didn't come to an end,
but my breakdown definitely started
that evening.
It started somewhere
between my stomach and my lungs.
An oppressive feeling,
a deep-seated fear.
Visions from the past
and the obsessive thought of
Joachim Stiller.
My world was about to fall apart.
Things aren't OK, are they?
I don't know.
It's OK, darling. It's alright now.
Freek.
- No, no, I told you. I'm fine.
I'm fine.
- Don't lie. Are you in pain?
No, that exhibition, that bloody mess.
I feel it's my fault.
Try not to always feel that
everything is your fault.
It is my fault. I'm involved.
- You're not involved, darling.
Don't torment yourself.
- I was there.
It feels like a weight on my chest.
- Does your arm hurt?
Did you hear what he said as he died?
- Don't think about it, Freek.
He said, "Stiller." How come?
- He was in pain. The siren.
It wasrt because of the siren.
Stiller has come back into my life.
He's pressing down on me,
he weighs a ton.
I can't bear it any longer.
I'm suffocating.
I'm suffocating.
Freek, Freek, say something!
Lily!
He's dead.
- No, come on, help me.
It was Simone who took action.
She made the decision for me,
that I would see a psychiatrist.
Yes, a bit high, but not alarmingly so.
Your GP said that
there's nothing wrong physically.
And that fainting then?
- What is fainting, Mr Groenevelt?
The mind faints and the body follows.
Put your shirt back on.
An unexpected shock can be enough.
But Stiller isn't an unexpected shock.
He's been there for weeks.
For months. To be exact, for centuries
and he's tormenting me.
He's an obsession.
What is an obsession, Mr Groenevelt?
How should I know?
It's really troubling me.
It's suffocating me.
- People don't suffocate that easily.
You're probably suffering from stress.
And that's why I receive letters from
someone who knew me before I was born?
There are obsessions, Mr Groenevelt,
that live in the mind,
but there are also obsessions that
are conjured up externally.
You mean I conjured up Joachim Stiller?
It's possible. Everything is possible,
like people conjuring up the dead,
like some people conjure up an enemy,
like the last king of Babylon conjured up
the punishing hand on the wall.
Doctor, you're mad.
Of course I am, everyone is mad.
But what is mad, Mr Groenevelt?
- What are you going to do?
I want to try to help you.
A traditional analysis seems
superfluous
and would take too long.
Have you got any objections to
a chemicoanalysis?
I inject you with Pentothal and you tell
me everything that's bothering you.
Pentothal, that's truth serum.
- Yes, it's truth serum.
That seems a bit creepy.
- Do you want me to help you or not?
I don't have to do it.
- But will this help?
I don't know.
Are we going to do it or not?
Go on then.
Right.
Concentrate on one thing.
On one name, completely.
Joachim Stiller.
Say everything that
goes through your mind.
Joachim Stiller.
What does that name make you think of?
A book.
A book.
A book that I found
in Andreas Colijrs shop.
An old book.
A very old book.
That was falling apart.
It's a very old book.
It lay rotting in a cellar
for four hundred years.
It's disgusting. It smells of death.
It sticks to my hands. That smell.
That smell. It smells like that
in Andreas Colijrs shop.
The house is very dilapidated,
damp plaster, mould.
Dust... on all the books.
Books. Books.
School books.
School.
I have to learn my lessons, do my
homework. The others can play outside.
I'm not allowed to go out and play
with them. It's not fair.
Do your homework. Learn your lessons.
She's waiting for me. Outside.
She's seven years old
and her name is Simone.
Simone.
My light, my bread, my heaven.
I'm going to write a book.
I'll write all about it.
The most beautiful story in the world.
I... I... I hate that book.
I want to burn it.
No, I... I don't want to!
It's a message from Joachim Stiller.
Written in the 20th century,
published in the 16th century.
A message...
in a bottle on the waves of time.
That's what Andreas says. Andreas.
Albert. My friend from school.
Albert, Albert. For four years
Albert hasn't seen an orange.
We're not hungry, we aren't. Daddy
always brings something good with him.
A door. May I open it?
Stiller is powerful.
A giant monkey. He holds me
in his large hairy paws.
Above the city, very high.
He drops me. I'm falling.
No more air.
I'm suffocating.
I wouldn't harm a fly.
Daddy took me with him
to see the hot-air balloons.
Everyone is happy.
It's beautiful.
They're coming.
Daddy, Daddy, look out!
Daddy! Daddy!
Let my father go! Don't hurt him!
You're hurting my father!
Daddy!
Daddy!
Father, what does that mean?
Filthy blackshirt?
I haven't got time now.
I've got to go to school.
The broken glass
crunches under my shoes.
Bombs fell on the city all night long.
Everything smells of mould,
of decay, of death.
It's cold.
I mustrt miss my tram.
I've been late for school three times
since father has been gone.
There's my tram.
That little girl.
Where did I see her?
She smiles at me.
It's as if she's calling me.
I'm coming. Wait for me.
Let me go! Let me past!
My tram! My tram!
I fall over, I'm suffocating.
I'm suffocating.
He's pressing down on me,
he weighs a ton.
I can't breathe.
I can't... I can't...
I... can't... breathe.
That blood... isn't my blood.
It's the blood of the man
who fell on top of me.
Without him
I'd have died that day.
Maybe I'm living a postponed death.
Pieces of flesh everywhere.
Blood is running in the gutter.
And that smell.
That smell.
It's an American soldier.
His face...
He hasn't got a face anymore.
His wallet.
With a name on it.
I didn't steal it. I swear.
The siren, ambulances.
I'm really scared.
It smells of mould, of decay.
Of death.
They take him away.
They disappear with him.
The wallet!
The name, forgotten!
The wallet.
Sir, sir, you've forgotten the wallet!
Mr van Lampen?
The name on the wallet!
- No, don't!
The name on the wallet!
- I've forgotten.
You don't want to remember it.
- Not true. I'm not a thief.
The name!
- I'm not a thief! I'm not my father!
The name! The name!
- No, don't! No!
Daddy! Daddy! Don't!
- The name!
Major
Joachim
Stiller.
I can see the letters on the wallet
very clearly, doctor.
I can't see dead bodies.
But I can see the explosion.
And the box on the ears,
and the neighbour.
But that name, doctor...
According to the books, Mr Groenevelt,
you feel responsible
for the death of that officer
but you suppressed that event.
You couldn't help him,
you couldn't help your father,
two plus two makes four. And what
does four mean in my profession?
Correct, guilt. You know that too.
You must've read one of
the popular works on psychoanalysis.
But that name, doctor.
- Yes, that name.
So you don't know either?
- What is know, Mr Groenevelt?
Stiller starts where knowing stops.
Pardon?
- Stiller starts where knowing stops.
Exactly.
Does that help, Mr Groenevelt?
Maybe I have been helped.
Maybe there's been a breakthrough.
Maybe now everything will start
moving towards a fatal conclusion.
And maybe not.
Actually, nothing has changed.
I knew it wouldn't help.
Come on.
You look tired. Come and sit down.
A couple of letters
and then we'll go home.
Then I'll take a couple of weeks'
holiday and we'll go away somewhere.
Paris?
- Paris has become so boring.
London.
As long as we go away for a bit.
As long as we think of nothing
for a while.
Simone.
Freek Groenevelt, Simone Marijnissen.
Tonight Joachim Stiller
will be at Dam station at nine thirty.
He has expressed a desire
to meet you there.
He's expecting you.
Dam station is located
in a deserted part of the city.
I couldn't imagine Joachim Stiller,
whoever he was,
arriving here on a slow train.
In fact, I couldn't imagine anything.
And I'd reconciled myself
to getting more than we bargained for.
Freek! Madam!
- Who's that?
That's Keldermans,
the alderman for Public Works.
Hey! You two!
Nice to see you.
What a coincidence!
It's no coincidence.
- This is nice. Just like a congress.
We're early. Let's go in.
A strange man comes in and says,
"Stiller's arriving at Dam station
this evening, on the nine thirty train.
Don't wait on the platform,
wait in the bar across the road."
He came into my office
without announcing himself.
Meet here, nine thirty train.
Nine thirty.
There isn't a train at nine thirty.
They think they're in Central Station!
About one train a day stops here,
at 5 in the morning for the dockers.
You've got a long wait
for the nine thirty train.
Let's go, Dr?. We'll just make the film.
- We should stay.
You never know.
- You never know, eh?
Well, maybe Lily's right.
It's an absurd story.
Maybe we're the victims of
some madman who won't turn up.
No, no, he's not a madman.
He knows things no one can know.
At first, I thought it was a terror
campaign by my political opponents.
Then I wasrt sure.
I didn't trust anyone.
It was as if I were paranoid.
And now we'll see him.
I start shaking when I think
he may demand an explanation
for goodness knows what.
- You don't need to be scared.
You're sweet, Simone
Maybe my daughter
would have been like you.
She died just after liberation,
during the flying bombs.
On a tram.
She was seven years old.
Hey, in three minutes it's nine thirty.
Shouldrt you go and
look for your train?
It's him.
It was him.
It was him
who'd given his life for me that day
when the bomb fell on the tram.
We'd been scared unnecessarily.
This man wasrt an enemy,
he was a friend.
The bearer of a message that was so
important that he had no choice
but to prepare us for it slowly.
I'm Joachim Stiller...
I knew right from the very beginning
that Joachim Stiller
wasrt part of our world,
but that his appearance,
like a shooting star,
was meant to cross our life,
to then die out
like shooting stars usually do.
Hello?
Yes, commissioner.
Yes, true. We had arranged to meet him.
No, we don't know him.
He knows... knew us.
The post-mortem?
Do you think so?
OK, if you insist.
All of us, in three days' time.
THREE DAYS LATER
But... But...
But...
- Well, my friend, what's the matter?
But, sir...
- What?
He's not there!
He's not there.
- What do you mean? Not there?
He's not there.
He's not there.
How can he be gone?
Are you sure he was here?
- It was number 25, wasrt it?
I'm sorry.
I don't know what has happened.
He was here. I really don't know
what's happened. He's gone.
TWO YEARS LATER
Hi.
Nice weather today, isn't it?
- Wonderful.
Would you like to join us?
- That'd be nice.
Have you come far?
Have you got far to go?
Stay with us. Evening is falling
and the day is over.
You can come in our car. You'll be
a bit further along your way.
No, thank you.
Was that him?
That was him.
We now knew that
everything was over for good.
We also knew that,
thanks to Stiller's blood,
the white summer clouds,
like large sailing ships
with their sails unfurled,
safe in an ever bluer sky,
up above the world, on the edge
of an incomprehensible universe,
would continue
to float on high forever.
Why me?
Why did this incredible adventure
happen to me, Freek Groenevelt?
Until then, nothing and no one
had upset
my peaceful life as a bachelor.
I had a good job as
city editor with the newspaper
and wrote fairly successful novels.
I didn't have any enemies. I sincerely
wished my fellow humans all the best,
but I also wanted to protect
my inner self
from any kind of assault.
And I had done so very successfully.
Until the day that
Joachim Stiller appeared in my life.
That fateful morning I was on the tram,
absorbed in a new translation of Kafka.
Apart from the city news, I also did
the art page of The Scheldt Express.
And I was unaware of anything.
Tickets please.
Thank you.
Then something happened
that, at the time,
I paid little attention to.
STOP REQUESTED
Jezus Street.
Who asked to get off here?
Well? No one?
Right, that's enough! That's
the tenth time over a couple of stops.
Drive on, drive on.
- Some people!
I thought:
a tram stopping for nothing, there's
a story in that for the newspaper.
How was I to know that this unimportant
incident was the first in a series,
that would cause my belief in
the logical relationship between things
to be shaken forever?
When my article was published
the next day,
everything in the garden was lovely.
At least, that's what I thought.
Groenevelt,
why don't you write books anymore?
A tram stopping for nothing
would be great in a ghost story.
But not in a newspaper?
- No one was killed.
Too good for in the newspaper then?
- That's magic, it's not news.
Journalism is contemptible.
I'm going to start a new life.
OK, here you are.
There.
I had, indeed, started a new life.
But I only realise that now.
You can see they forecast nice
weather.
Mmmmn...
- Look at him looking.
When I was young,
I wasrt allowed to do anything.
Now I'm old and can do what I like,
I can't manage it anymore.
If only you knew... I can have
a serious conversation with you,
the others only want
to talk about football.
Or their wife, who is less and less
like the woman they married.
Bloody hell!
Now what?
Is the metro coming past here too?
If they carry on like this,
there'll be nothing left of Antwerp.
Believe me.
That's for sure.
There was something strange
about those lads.
But nothing you could immediately
put your finger on.
They were too pretty for their job.
Like extras from
some streamlined American film.
Their overalls were
too elegant, too new,
and there wasrt a spot of mud
anywhere.
Just look at
how they're all dressed up.
Young people today
spend all their money on clothes
and only drink water in the bars.
I might as well shut up shop.
No one comes in anymore.
In five minutes
it'll be a right mess out there
and not a single person will come past.
Believe me.
Can I have 3 rolls with steak tartare?
- Steak tartare?
The same as usual.
Maria!
Three steak tartare for Mr Groenevelt.
With plenty of filling.
I have to be at work
by quarter past one!
Drive on.
- Everywhere is blocked.
What's he doing?
Because of the road menders
the whole area looked very different.
Was it their ethereal beauty,
their angelic imperturbability,
in their awareness
of the uselessness of all gestures
in the face of eternity?
Whatever it was, those three proletarian
Apollos from the Belvedere
reminded me of when I was young.
But when I realised that,
the enchantment was broken.
And the street
looked as it usually did again.
Here they are.
There you are.
Bloody hell!
They did that quickly.
- What?
They didn't do anything.
Maybe they repaired something.
- When?
I don't know. I was reading my book.
They've hardly dug up the street
and they're filling it all in again.
That's not right, is it?
Who's going to pay for all that?
You, me, everyone.
You pay tax until it bows you down.
And why?
To keep a bunch of layabouts like that
in work.
They're a load of immigrants,
foreigners.
Outsiders. You don't even know
where they've come from.
Our own people can't find any work
and they are paid to do nothing,
just fill their time
with nonsense like that.
I ask you!
Just look at that!
A mess! A real mess!
And to think, last time
I voted for that Keldermans,
that old bloke from Public Works.
Well, he won't be getting my vote again.
At the next elections...
That.
You should write about that
in your newspaper.
And how they are wasting
people's money.
What are newspapers for
if the man in the street
can't have his say in them?
I had to admit,
the landlord wasrt entirely wrong.
Behind the solid forehead of
a 17th century chief archer
still lived the encouraging idea
that newspapers are there to complain
about stupidity and injustice.
And... I had my article for today.
HOOGSTRAAT
CITY SNIPPETS
BY FREEK GROENEVELT
Absurd.
- Criminal.
Don't exaggerate.
- Mr Keldermans, they insult you.
Not me personally.
- The Public Works Department then.
Insulting that is insulting you.
- What do you want me to do about it?
Deny it, sir. Deny it.
- Do you really think that...
Certainly. We must send a denial
to that Groenevelt immediately.
I've got so much work to do already.
What do you want me to do?
I've taken the liberty of
preparing a response.
Yes, but...
- Just sign here.
Yes, but...
- The mail goes at 5 o'clock, sir.
Is there anything else I can do?
- No, no, you can go.
What?
OFFICE OF THE ALDERMAN
FOR PUBLIC WORKS
So that story about the street,
you just made that up, I suppose?
No, I didn't.
That Keldermans is mad.
How can he deny it?
I saw them digging up the road.
Writers see all kinds of things,
but the authorities know.
Imagination versus reality.
- Hundreds of people stood watching.
No one was killed,
so it wasrt news!
I'll make it news. I'll go and see him.
- The Alderman for Public Works?
You think a man like that
will see you?
Susanne, can you get me City Hall?
I'd intended to
put this alderman in his place.
But as I walked across Grote Markt
to City Hall,
I suddenly felt less sure of myself.
The feeling of uneasiness,
that had come over me on the tram and in
the dug-up street, came over me again.
A feeling that
something wasrt quite right.
There I was, standing in front of
an imposing city hall.
As indecisive as Jozef K in The
Castle.
Was it a coincidence that
Brabo's fountain stopped spouting?
Or was it a sign?
The whole square suddenly seemed
silent and deserted.
But one thing was clear.
I shouldn't go in.
Andreas.
- Freek.
Did they convert you?
No, they sold me some incense.
Andreas, you're too good for this world.
- They're good kids.
Well, how's things?
What's up? Is something the matter?
I don't know. Strange things
have happened to me recently.
What kind of things?
- It's just an overactive imagination.
Is that a problem for a writer?
- No, but it is for a journalist.
So, the superstitions department
has been expanded again.
There's money to be made
from flying saucers.
No, that's just vulgarised popularization.
Have a look over there.
Sixteenth edition of
your Traveller In The Night.
That's my best book.
What's that?
Nothing, something I want to
put aside for a customer.
Show me.
- There's nothing interesting in it.
The Broken Fist, special edition.
Rotting art.
The best way of setting fire to
The Night Watch.
Henri de Braekeleer,
misunderstood pioneer of constructivism.
Do people still believe that drivel?
I've never sold a single copy.
What about that customer?
- Oh yes, him...
So that's it.
There is mould on Freek Groenevelt.
I said it was all nonsense. Give here.
- No.
Stinking piece of garbage.
Common journalist.
Hysterical sluts.
Standard-bearer for the declining
bourgeoisie, Freek Groenevelt.
Stop.
- Why?
I'm allowed to enjoy myself.
This man has expressed an opinion
about the work
of our comrade-in-arms Surinam,
who is exhibiting in the Compa gallery.
I don't remember writing about him.
- Stop it. Give here.
Just a minute. Listen.
What Groenevelt can't or won't see
is that Surinam attempts
to transcend reality,
to actually make the everyday experience
tangible.
And it's true too. Look.
Tangible, eh?
And you wanted to keep that from me?
Arert you ashamed?
I don't like them insulting you.
- I'm not in the least insulted.
It's not even signed.
- Usually it's schoolboys.
They prefer to remain anonymous.
And keep their address a secret too.
Here, Painters Street 2. Isn't that that
very modern gallery at the South Side?
You're not going there?
Maybe I can make my experience tangible,
if curiosity gets the better of me.
After all, I'm a journalist.
At least, that's what they say.
Next day, Joachim Stiller
took over my life for good.
We start by doing non-stop
the exercise from last week.
First, an exercise for the hips.
One, two, three, four.
Open and close...
That plant will recover, Mr Freek.
I think I heard the post.
God!
It's kind of that lady downstairs, isn't
it? Bringing the post upstairs everyday.
Eat your egg first.
Right, I'll be here at 11 tomorrow.
I've got to go to the medical insurance
office and you always have to wait ages.
Shall I bring a cauliflower with me
tomorrow?
There are some nice Belgian ones.
Are you going to get the meat yourself?
Or shall I get some lamb chops
from Janssens'?
Tomorrow is lamb day.
Hey! I've just...
Anything else?
I'll just empty it.
A TIME FOR REFLECTION
Mr Freek.
- Yes?
Can I ask you something?
- Go on.
It seems the world is coming to an end.
- Where did you hear that, Mrs Frans?
It said it on a flyer
that was in my sister's letterbox.
And whers it going to happen?
- In forty days.
Because of the comet.
I don't think I'll be there,
Mrs Frans.
Wort you? But...
See you tomorrow.
Don't let your coffee get cold.
No!
Dear Mr Groenevelt,
In The Scheldt Express
you published, on 14th July, an article
about the road repairs in High Street.
Thank you for paying attention to
this unimportant event.
This event heralds other phenomena,
that I won't mention yet.
If other events occur in the near future
that don't fit in with
generally accepted logic,
never doubt the reality of
what you see or hear.
Whatever happens,
I won't lose sight of you.
Yours sincerely,
Joachim Stiller.
Joachim Stiller.
What is all this?
Unimportant events.
Someone else who only thinks it's
interesting if someone has been killed.
I don't get it.
Ajoke by the guys from the paper?
No.
A maniac?
Written too neatly.
The ink has faded a bit.
No address, no date.
Date?
Damn, the envelope.
Have I gone totally crazy?
That stamp has been out of use
for more than forty years.
How come the post office accepted it?
Let's have a look at the postmark.
11th September
1919.
1919? I'm going mad.
This letter was posted
more than 20 years before I was born.
Mr Groenevelt, what a surprise.
Come in.
Sorry to disturb you so early,
Mrs Vandecasteele.
Don't be silly. I'm glad
you've finally come to see me.
And no need to be so formal.
It's Lily.
Your bathroom is here.
- How do you know?
I have my spies.
No, it's Mrs Frans.
She's secretly in love with you,
did you know that?
Hey...
You're dangerous, you are.
Because you take everything
so seriously. Go on, sit down.
I'm proud to have a famous writer
in my home.
You're my first.
- Famous...
Certainly.
- I've been forgotten.
Not by me. I've read all your books.
Honestly.
I never dared ask,
but now you're here, would you...?
Have you got something to write with?
Of course. A writer always does.
And no Mrs Vandecasteele.
Lily, with L Y.
For Lily, the charming Iris,
with affection and gratitude
from her neighbour upstairs.
That's nice.
Who is Iris?
Iris is a goddess.
A very beautiful goddess.
With wings of silver and shoes of gold.
And a scarf... like a rainbow.
And she delivered letters,
just like you.
Now look a bit happier, eh?
It's not because I'm wearing red
that I'm dangerous.
Would you like a drink?
- No, I only came to ask you something.
When you brought up the post this
morning, d'you remember this envelope?
What d'you think? I wanted to ask if I
can have the stamp, it looks very rare.
Do you collect stamps?
- Don't be daft.
My son, Fons.
- I don't want to damage this.
I understand.
It's such a lovely envelope.
Relax.
- I'm very relaxed.
I don't believe you.
You look like someone who can
only write about women and love.
D'you know my motto?
No.
- Love doesn't belong in your head,
love belongs in your body.
I'll do my best.
- Glad to hear it, famous writer.
One day we'll go out
for a meal together.
That'd be nice.
I know somewhere where
they won't recognise you.
Fine.
1919, very strange. You're right.
You often hear about letters
that take years to deliver.
Who could know in 1919
that in years to come an as yet unborn
Freek Groenevelt would live in Antwerp
and allude to an incident
that would happen 55 years later?
Nothing proves that
the letter itself was written in 1919.
That's what I want to know.
I'll ask an old friend of mine,
professor Schoenmakers, to find out.
With his equipment it's easy to
find out how old the letter really is.
D'you think so?
- Definitely.
Colijn.
Oh, hello Mr Kerels.
Yes, your son.
Joachim? Joachim what?
You only know the first name?
Yes.
Why didn't you say so?
That is Joachim Van Babylon
by Marnix Gijsen.
No, that's okay. You're welcome.
Bye, Mr Kerels.
What a coincidence, eh?
Two Joachims in one day.
It'll all be a coincidence.
Did you go to The Broken Fist,
by any chance?
THE BROKEN FIST GALLERY
ENTRANCE VIA PLAATSNIJDERSSTRAAT
What was waiting for me
in the gallery
shows that
I was no longer in control of my fate.
Yes?
- If I'm right...
If I'm right,
this magazine is published here.
Yes, that magazine is published here.
By the gallery's owner?
- You could put it like that.
Then I'd like to speak to him.
- He's in Paris.
When will he be back?
- No idea.
And the editor, Simone Marijnissen?
That's me.
- Oh.
Yes, Mr Groenevelt.
- You know me?
I've never read anything you've written,
if that's what you mean,
so don't worry.
So you didn't know who I was when
you published that article about me.
My compliments,
you and your friends...
Colleagues.
- Fine, colleagues then.
No one else will come now.
Shall we go upstairs, to my apartment?
You can have a whisky,
as a-pick-me-up.
I just wanted to know...
- You don't have to, I just thought,
Mr Groenevelt is angry
and wants to say unpleasant things.
Better to do so over a drink.
Don't get worked up about that article.
- I'm not.
Why did you come then?
- Maybe because I'm curious or I...
Oh.
- What oh?
You were going to say,
"Maybe because I knew you were there."
You're not going to talk like
some novel writer!
What's wrong with that?
- Oh...
You mean, love isn't in your head
but in your body.
You're very nice.
- So?
I didn't know a common journalist
with mould on him
could be nice too.
- There's something I must confess.
I don't think
you're in the least mouldy.
But I do think you're capable of using
common journalistic tricks,
Mr Joachim Stiller.
Whisky OK?
It was just a joke.
It's not a joke. Where did you get
the name Joachim Stiller from?
Do you know him?
- Of course.
I know you.
- Me?
Where did you get the idea from
that I'm Joachim Stiller?
Dear Miss Marijnissen,
Your friend Bert...
So you have got a friend.
...wants to publish a very
unpleasant article about Groenevelt.
I advise you to persuade your friend
not to carry out this pointless plan.
A very important event
awaits Freek Groenevelt.
He must not be confused. You won't
be sorry that you took my advice.
Joachim Stiller.
And you think I wrote this?
Be reasonable.
How could I know that your friend
would publish such a stupid article?
You're a journalist.
They always know everything.
It bloody well isn't me.
I didn't even know you existed.
When did this letter arrive?
Just before the first edition
was published.
I know because I had to pay
a surcharge for an invalid stamp.
A stamp like this?
Yes.
Have you still got the envelope?
No, but it's the same handwriting.
He wrote to me saying that
I shouldn't doubt the truth of...
new phenomena that would occur.
What kind of phenomena?
Maybe...
this.
Simone!
Simone!
- That's all I need!
Are you upstairs?
- Who's that?
Zijlstra.
- Zijlstra?
Here?
- Why are we closed already?
Freek. Well I never.
Well I never. How nice to see you.
Hello, Zijlstra. Hello.
- It's been a long time, Freek.
It's so nice to see you.
I've just got back from Paris.
You could've phoned...
- Didrt have the time.
What are you doing here?
Don't tell me you've become
a fan of avant-garde art.
Oh no, I get it.
You're here to see Simone.
Just like everyone else.
- Are you the owner?
Don't tell me you didn't know.
- No.
I also didn't know that
you try desperately to insult people.
Insult people?
Oh, that article in The Broken Fist.
No, that is Simone's department.
Dear Simone.
You can't refuse her anything.
- Are you... Are you and her...?
Simone and me?
Where did you get that idea from?
As if I'd have time for that.
Have you sold anything?
No, nothing.
- Doesrt matter.
So you were successful in Paris?
- What is successful?
Totally successful.
It's in the pocket.
Freek, lad,
you've no idea what I've discovered.
Something new. I've discovered
something totally new. A gold mine.
A gold mine?
- Yes, in the public urinals of Antwerp.
No, no, no.
I'm not interested in your urinals.
Don't give me that. You're coming.
- I don't want to.
Are you a journalist?
- No, I'm not!
Then you're coming
because you're interested in art.
Come on, Freek. Come on. Hurry up.
I'm not interested.
- Come on, Freek.
Is your painter there?
- You'll see.
If this is a joke, it's not funny.
- Ajoke...
Excuse me, sir.
- Mr Groenevelt. Nice weather, eh?
Hello, sir.
- Freek, stop struggling.
You'll see. It's breathtaking,
simply fantastic. Stop struggling.
It's simply...
You'll enjoy it.
Here it is.
- What?
Look. Take a look.
Use your eyes, blind man.
What d'you say? Isn't it fantastic?
Is that your discovery?
- It's the missing link
between the Lascaux cave paintings
and modern art.
Don't tell me
you're going to sell that graffiti?
Certainly am.
And for a lot of money.
Who on earth is interested in
the scribbles of some poor sex maniac?
A genius, you mean.
Here, judge for yourself.
That's disgusting.
- It's new.
It's new, that's what matters.
That's the only thing that makes money.
How many young artists
have I kept alive?
And they you?
- Less than you think.
They lived too well on what I gave them
because they never came up with
anything new.
Well, I've discovered something new,
by chance, intuitively,
or simply because I'm me,
on the courtyard wall of Den Engel.
That same afternoon I went to
all the bars, all the public urinals,
all the fences round waste ground, there
were drawings like that everywhere,
and I tried to trace him.
Up till now...
But I've already arranged
the sale of his masterpieces
in Paris, Geneva, New York.
An important market, New York.
And now you're going to dismantle those
toilet facilities and sell them in bits?
If I can find him,
that unknown genius...
You'll believe that yourself soon.
You haven't looked at it properly,
have you?
No, if I can find him,
even if it takes a year,
I'll shut him up somewhere
with some canvasses, brushes, paint...
I mean, I'll install him in a studio
and sign a contract, if necessary.
Provide him with some women too.
- No way.
You're mad. Provide sustenance for
someone who is sexually starved?
He'd start painting daisies.
Christ, Freek.
You've brought me luck.
There he is.
It's him. It's him.
- How do you know?
I can feel it. I can feel it. It's him.
Pay the bill for me, will you?
I've got to go after him.
Sir, sir! Wait!
Friend, my dear friend.
Don't be scared.
Yes, agreed.
Our Dear Lord has led me to you.
I won't hurt you.
That's right.
Even though I had to admit the adventure
with Zijlstra had enthralled me
and I had to acknowledge
the dark humour of what happened,
once again I had that uncomfortable
feeling that I couldn't put a name to.
Unless it was d?j? vu.
In some inexplicable way
the graffiti man had reminded me of
Joachim Stiller again.
I couldn't get him out of my head.
Tomorrow I would start
looking into it, sort it all out.
There had to be a logical
explanation.
Maybe that Stiller was some madman
who hung around in the city.
Maybe he lived in Antwerp,
had an address or a telephone.
A telephone.
Bloody hell.
Stichting, Stiff, Stijven, Stille Hulp,
Stilmant, Stilmant...
No Stiller in Antwerp.
Sometimes I wonder
if I'm not Joachim Stiller.
Ah, good morning, Mrs Frans.
Good morning, Mrs Vandecasteele.
The post was early today, I see.
There were only advertising leaflets.
- Right.
FOUND A SECLUDED RESTAURANT.
THIS EVENING? LILY
Hello, Mr Freek.
- Hello, Mrs Frans.
Not eating here this evening, then?
What d'you mean?
- Well, that actress...
An actress?
Lily.
- Oh, is it Lily?
I always say Mrs Vandecasteele.
But she's probably never been a Mrs.
When I say actress,
I mean in a manner of speaking.
I've put the water on already.
- That's kind of you.
And, as you know, I don't like gossip.
But that's the truth. Everyone knows.
I'm not lying.
She's never been
an actress on the stage,
but she can act.
The things she can make men believe...
But they are all very respectable men.
They are doctors, engineers,
record company directors, managers.
Last time
even a whole congregation of dentists.
They're always at
seminars and meetings...
When are you going to have
a boiler put in?
And all they do is hear about
teeth and gums all day long
and when they're away from home,
they get bored in the evening
and they get madam to come.
Apparently she can be a lot of fun.
But she isn't a whore.
No one in Antwerp
can accuse her of that.
She's... What do they call it?
She's a... a hostess.
Yes, a hostess.
Mrs Frans,
that's none of your business.
No, you're right.
It's none of my business.
Anyway, I don't like
talking about people behind their back.
She can do what she likes.
After all, she's not hurting anyone.
On the contrary.
But she's not your type.
Did I say something?
I couldn't stop thinking about
Joachim Stiller.
If he was one of those letter-writing
maniacs, he must've written before.
Maybe to the newspaper.
Which year do you want?
- The last two or three.
If it's not too heavy.
- It is too heavy.
Readers' letters are always
the heaviest files.
Looking for ghost stories
in the archives now?
Drop dead. Then there'll be
some news for the paper.
Do normal people ever write to us?
- Very rarely.
Why do we keep all this?
- Sometimes a madman wants to read them.
Have you ever seen one by
someone called Stiller?
Joachim Stiller.
- Freek, what do you think?
And the name doesn't
mean anything to you, either?
Joachim Stiller?
Joachim Stiller.
Never heard of him.
Hello?
Freek, it's for you. City Hall.
The alderman for Public Works.
Damn.
Yes? Mr Keldermans.
Yes, something came up.
Whenever you want.
This afternoon at 3 o'clock?
OK, Mr Keldermans.
Goodbye, Mr Keldermans.
Why didn't you go and see him
last time?
Oh, that... There was no point.
- And there is now?
Yes, maybe.
Yes, now it was won'th going.
I knew that the strange behaviour of
the alderman for Public Works
had something to do with the appearance
of Joachim Stiller in my life.
You're wrong, Mr Groenevelt.
This is the file of all my departments.
There hasn't been any work done
in High Street for four years.
Certainly not on the day you thought...
- I didn't think.
I saw it. And not only me.
Are you OK? Shall I call someone?
- No, don't do that.
It's a bit stuffy in here.
- Shall I open a window?
No, that just makes it worse.
It...
It's that thunder, that noise.
As if it's bomb exploding.
And it hurts.
It hurts so much.
Maybe I should come back another day?
- No, stay, please. Stay.
You must forgive me, Mr Groenevelt,
for sending that letter
to your newspaper.
Let me tell you something,
Mr Groenevelt.
But it mustrt go any further.
It's a secret.
Will you promise me?
- Yes.
Well, I think you're right about
that work in High Street.
In fact, I never doubted it.
What do you mean?
But High Street,
that is just one thing among many.
One link in a chain.
A conspiracy.
- Against you?
I don't know,
but things happen, Mr Groenevelt,
awful things.
No, absurd things.
No one seems to notice anything,
except me.
No one?
- Something...
Yes, somehow...
that doesn't add up.
Yes, Mr Keldermans, I know.
- You know, Mr Groenevelt?
God, that noise!
It isn't something you can know,
but I think I know what you mean.
No, no, no.
Forget what I said.
What must happen, will happen.
And it was no coincidence
that after my meeting with Mr Keldermans
I ended up at Andreas Colijrs.
Either fate or Joachim Stiller
had once again provided a surprise.
Look who's here.
Have you come as a friend
or to seek shelter?
Don't tell me, I can see.
I've just come from City Hall.
- Really?
From the alderman for Public Works.
- Keldermans?
Do you know him?
- Know him...
In my opinion the man is mad.
That nice man?
What has he done to you?
Well, maybe nothing. Maybe it's me.
Imagination still causing you problems?
- Yes, I think so.
Have you heard anything about
that letter from Stiller?
No, I'm expecting to hear from
professor Schoenmakers any day.
Anything there that's won'th reading?
I bought these on the off-chance
from an old lady.
As a favour to her, I suppose?
You never know with old junk. It can
hold surprises. This, for example.
This may be interesting,
even if the first pages are missing.
No title, no author.
Beginning of the 17th?
- More likely middle of the 16th.
But probably printed in Antwerp.
I'll find out from Wim in the library.
There may be an article in this
for the newspaper.
May I borrow it?
- Yes, as long as you return it.
Hey, that good-looking young lady there,
is she signalling to me or you?
Someone you know?
Vaguely.
That's enough of books for today.
You're coming with me.
But I...
- Don't say you didn't get my note.
Yes, I did.
- Well?
It's stopped raining.
That's lucky.
ULYSSES
BOOKS
They take things too far!
We have to wait a week
to discover the secret again.
Yes. Full of suspense.
What'll happen to them?
What do you think?
What'll happen to them?
- To who?
To Betty and Steven.
Betty and Steven?
- Honestly...
Everyone stays home to watch it, crying
in front of the TV, and you read a book.
What's it about?
- Us.
About what happens if we're not careful.
God, the environment again?
- Something like that. The Revelation.
The what?
Let's see.
And St. John spoke, "In those days
the people shall look for death
and they shall not find it."
So? What's he complaining about?
"The big star shall fall burning
from the sky
and the locusts shall have
teeth like lions." Really!
But, John did not tell
the entire truth,
because Niniv...
- Ninive.
Ninive shall be reduced to ashes,
the surface of the earth shall disappear
and Nothingness shall rule
for eternity.
So that's the kind of thing you enjoy.
All this shall occur when Uranus
is situated in the Mars quadrant
and Leo in the Neptune sextile.
Oh, it's a horoscope,
like in the newspaper.
I'm Virgo. And no comments!
What are you?
I don't know.
- Huh, what a writer!
You're probably Aquarius.
Someone who quietly walks away.
That reminds me. Tomorrow I'm off to
Knokke to see some people I know.
For a conference.
- For long?
Don't pretend you can't do without me.
Put that book away.
There.
You didn't feel like it, eh?
I noticed. I felt it in the restaurant.
Thinking about everything and everyone,
except me.
And in bed...
Well, well, well.
It's not your fault.
- I should hope not.
Or maybe it is my fault.
I'm not your type.
I've got my feet too much on the ground.
I think, you have to be able
to talk to women first.
In your case love is in your head.
Do you think so?
Yes.
- Freek!
Freek!
- Listen, it's for you.
Freek!
- Go and answer her.
What are you looking for?
- I can't go naked...
No one can see you.
Simone, it's you.
- I need to talk to you.
Now?
- Yes, it's urgent.
Freek!
- Yes, I... I'll just get dressed.
Come to De Muze.
- OK.
I'll wait for you.
- Alright.
What are you looking at all the time?
- I'm waiting for someone.
Who?
- Freek Groenevelt.
Him from the fascist newspaper?
Give it a rest, sweetheart.
- I'm not your sweetheart.
Yes, you are. Always have been.
Because we slept together?
Since the one time it happened,
I know you're a sweetheart.
Look at that fascist face.
My compliments.
Drop dead.
I'm glad you've come.
She doesn't care what she says to you.
- That's enough.
Shall we go somewhere else?
- OK, but why?
That guy there is Bert,
who wrote that article about you.
Your friend.
Should I be scared of your friends?
I'm too much of a coward to fight.
Let's find a seat.
Is your phone out of order?
- My phone?
You didn't answer and I stood outside
shouting for ages. Were you asleep?
Were you asleep?
- Yes.
A heavy sleeper.
I'm glad you got me out of bed,
but what's so urgent?
No!
As anticipated, the paths of you
and Freek Groenevelt have crossed.
The subsequent consequences were
not anticipated. Do not be afraid.
Let nothing take you by surprise.
Joachim Stiller.
I immediately tried to
find out about the sender.
And?
The telegram was sent
from a telephone box.
By you.
- You don't think I...
No, I don't think that.
I think the man used your name.
Then I know who it is.
That arsehole over there.
Your friend.
- Of course it's not.
He couldn't even
make something like that up.
And he's not my friend.
So what is there between you?
Is that important?
Yes.
Why?
Because I...
Because you...
- Because you quite like me.
Because I think
you're extremely beautiful.
That's not nice for the woman you were
in bed with when I was outside shouting.
Simone!
Simone, I'm off.
If you're not home in an hour,
you won't get be able to get in.
Come on, let's go.
Are you going too?
You're going with them.
Something's up.
I'm going with them
to sort a few things out.
Simone.
What, Freek?
- Will I see you again?
I want to.
Dominated by the impressive facade
of the Carolus-Borromeus church,
the enclosed Conscienceplein
looked like a Venetian piazza
when, next morning, I walked to
the municipal library in a good mood.
I'd decided to find out all I could
about Andreas Colijrs book.
My friend Wim Falckeniers, chief
librarian, would be able to help me.
This book just fell into my lap.
No title, no author.
No publisher.
- And you'd like to know all that?
Yes.
- Why?
Ajournalist's inquisitiveness.
- Right.
In fact, it intrigues me slightly.
You mean, you're very interested.
That doesn't surprise me,
a repressed mystic like yourself.
A freethinker fascinated by
this load of superstition.
The whole caboodle:
heresies, the scarlet whore,
Heavenly Jerusalem,
the Apocalypse.
We'll see what we can do.
Judging from the type page,
it was printed in
the workshops of Vorsterman around...
Mmmn, let's see.
Around 1561, shall we say.
You're amazing.
- Amazing.
Maybe I've got something else for you.
Sir.
Your book,
that's John from Patmos, isn't it?
More of a long commentary, madam.
- Miss. I'm Miss.
Miss Von Kipperfisch,
an astrology star.
Oh, Mr Falckeniers, a star.
The precision of her horoscopes
is incomparable.
There are astrological references
in your book too, aren't there?
Yes, in the last chapter.
- Really?
May I?
Thank you.
Thank you, thank you.
But...
That's an eschatology.
Sorry. I mean, the end of our world
predicted by the stars.
May I?
I won't take long. Thank you.
Yes, just a minute.
I've almost finished.
Please, one more minute.
One more minute. Please. Thank you.
Thank you very much.
Am I the genius of Flemish libraries
or...
did we just get lucky?
And printed in
the workshops of Vorsterman.
THE APOCALYPSE
THE VISION OF JOHN ON PATMOS
EXPLAINED BY THE MASTER
OF THEOLOGY AT AUGSBURG
JOACHIM STILLER
Freek! Freek, mate!
What's the matter?
Freek!
It's okay. I just suddenly felt dizzy.
- You gave me a scare.
There's nothing wrong with your heart?
- No, it's just stress.
There. I've finished.
The astrological elements
in your book
about the end of the world,
I've worked it all out.
The world will end,
take note, on 17th August
at 28 minutes past 4
in the afternoon.
But... But that's in a month's time!
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
That is the day of the comet!
I'd felt that fear, that animal fear,
once before.
Right at the end of the war,
when a V-bomb, in disconcerting silence
ripped a tram to shreds.
That memory had bubbled to the surface
as if Joachim Stiller were the key
that released it
from my subconscious.
And yet I continued to resist
the reality of his existence.
But he was there.
Strange intertwined events
that had pervaded my peaceful existence.
Come back! That's the seventh time
you've broken my window!
Bloody hell, damn kids!
Freek.
Simone. What are you doing here?
- I'm waiting for you.
It's very untidy,
but you know bachelors...
Something wrong, Freek?
- It's OK. I felt a bit sick earlier.
That never happens. Do you want a drink?
- A drink'll do you good.
Let me.
- No. Where is everything?
In the fridge.
Gin, vodka, whisky?
- Whisky.
Nice place you live in.
What a view!
Where are your glasses?
- Up there, on the left in the cupboard.
I'm glad you like it here.
- Drink in the fridge.
The best view in the city.
What more can I say?
Simone...
Why did you wait for me?
Because I wanted to, among other things.
- Why among other things?
Joachim Stiller.
- Has he written again?
This time he phoned.
- He didn't!
He did.
Early this morning.
I was still half asleep
when the phone went.
First I heard a woman. It sounded like
it was coming from a long way away.
You know,
from the other side of the world.
Then I was put through.
A hollow sound,
like in a large empty house.
There was music in the background
and a quiet voice that said that I...
A voice that said that
I was talking to Joachim Stiller.
I was so taken aback, or cross, that
I didn't really hear what he was saying.
The only thing I remember is that
he said
that I shouldn't have
left you alone last night.
God, the bastards!
- Freek.
It's a conspiracy. I'm sure of it.
It's one big machination,
I don't know why, to drive me mad.
It's everywhere, Simone,
on trams, in the street,
in the library, in City Hall.
No. No, I'm not seeing ghosts.
That letter, Keldermans in that room,
Colijrs book.
They're there.
It's everywhere.
It's creeping up on me from all sides.
It's getting closer and closer.
I'm scared. I'm scared.
Now they're dragging you
into the nightmare.
Come on, Freek.
You're not on your own anymore. Freek.
No, don't. For God's sake, it's him.
Don't, Simone!
Hello?
- Hello, Freek, is that you?
Hello, who's that?
- Is that Freek Groenevelt's flat?
Did you want to speak to him?
- Yes, no. I didn't understand.
I'll call him.
- Yes, put him on.
Hello, Groenevelt here.
- Hello. Have you got a secretary now?
Now isn't time for jokes.
- What joke?
I... Hello, Freek?
Hallo, are you still there?
Listen. You'll laugh at this.
That letter from Stiller,
it is 55 years old.
It isn't!
- It is. A mistake isn't possible.
They've checked it at least three times,
the paper, the ink, everything.
Has that put your mind at ease?
- Yes, thank you, Andreas. Thank you.
Hello? Hello? Are you still there? Have
you found out anything about that book?
Yes.
- Well?
They had another copy in the library.
16th century,
printed by Vorsterman and
written by one Joachim Stiller.
You're joking.
That's the same name as on the letter.
Strange, eh?
- You can say that again.
Did they know anything about Stiller?
- Hardly anything.
Only that the man lectured in theology
in Augsburg from 1552 to 1556,
that he was thrown out of
the university,
that he wandered round Westphalia and
the Low Countries as a street preacher.
They don't know when he was born
or when he died.
I'm not surprised.
The classic example of
the average 16th century heretic.
And you're not surprised that
someone from the 16th century
posts a letter in 1919 and I then...?
Come on, Freek.
There's more than one Stiller. I...
Hello? See you...
Come round, will you? Bye.
Damn!
Sir.
How much is this book?
EXTRAORDINARY JOURNEYS
JULES VERNE
Joachim Stiller was right.
I should've stayed with you last night.
But you had to see your colleagues.
- Yes.
I don't know what you mean by
'colleagues'.
Work. Work I started one time.
I'd known for ages I wanted to stop.
The gallery, Zijlstra, The Broken Fist.
Then you came in that day
and I knew for certain.
I should end it.
And that's what I did last night.
And now?
Now I'm here.
And now you're staying.
If you want me to stay, I'll stay.
I knew that my whole life
had been heading unavoidably
towards the perfection of this hour.
And for a moment I could believe
that Joachim Stiller,
who had so much to do with all of this,
was nothing but a ghost
born of my imagination.
Wiebrand Zijlstra,
the shrewd art dealer,
had meanwhile set his prot?g? to work
in a derelict factory.
Wiebrand Zijlstra here.
Yes, about the exhibition preview.
I've written six letters and phoned
twelve times. What?
No. Listen, darling. I never argue
and certainly not with the secretary
of the assistant private secretary.
I want the minister at my preview,
understand?
OK? Then ask him again.
And add:
Zijlstra sends his best wishes from
the copper mines of Katanga.
He won't refuse this time.
Back to work you! Quick!
I won't say it again.
My hands are itching.
What do you look like?
What do you look like? Eh?
Go on, get to work.
We're late as it is, damn you.
Now what?
Bloody hell!
Come on, Arlet, don't be scared.
- Scared? I'm not scared of anything.
Now tell me I never spoil you.
His name is Siegfried.
He's very sweet.
He's adorable and so distinguished.
Give me the dough now.
Plus 10% extra.
And, eh... the quicker the better.
He's got work to do.
Remember that.
Hey, steady on!
Come on, hurry up.
The exhibition opens in a week.
Get on with it, for Christ's sake.
Put that away. Get a move on.
SILENCE PLEASE
What... what...
What are you doing here?
- I'm doing my round, like every night.
It's very late.
Yes... I had a lot of work to do.
If you ask me, you should go to bed.
Thank you, Johan.
I still need to do some thinking.
Good night.
Good night, sir.
The bells.
It sounded so clear, so unreal.
For a moment I felt like a child,
holding my father's hand.
In front of us,
the expanse of the training ground.
Above us, the grey outlines of
dozens of hot air balloons
like monstrous, swollen, dead fish.
Can you hear them? The bells?
They sound much louder than just now.
Maybe the wind has changed direction
or we just didn't notice.
Just now.
That's not the bells.
The whole carillon is playing.
So late?
Twenty past one.
- Maybe something's wrong with it.
You need a carilloneur
to play a carillon like that.
Incredible.
The whole of Antwerp must be awake now.
It's like we're the only ones
who can hear it.
Look! All the houses are dark.
It's OK. Go back to sleep.
Can't you hear it?
No, I can't hear anything.
Go to sleep.
You're not using your ears.
Don't worry. He's very productive.
But be careful, Edelstein,
only release them gradually.
Gradually. We mustrt let
the Jews saturate the market.
Just a moment, Edelstein.
Will you shut up?
It's true.
You can't hear yourself think.
Where were we?
Oh yes, the Jews.
What's the time?
Twenty past one.
- Can't be. That's when it started.
It's stopped.
The moment the music died away,
a strange feeling of sadness
came over me
to do with
my earliest childhood memories again.
What's up, darling? Why are you crying?
- I'm scared, Freek.
Why?
- Of the music. Of him.
It was him. You were right.
He's everywhere, here with us too.
Like a shadow.
Groenevelt here.
This is Joachim Stiller.
- Right.
My name should not be a scourge for you.
One day, I will free you of all fear.
But your equilibrium not only depends on
me. You have to seek it inside yourself.
From now on I shall remain silent
until the day we meet.
Trust me. Nothing is irrevocable.
Hello? Hello?
Simone, darling, listen.
Whoever Joachim Stiller is,
whatever he is,
maybe he exists, maybe he doesn't,
or maybe we're both dreaming
the same dream,
but if it's a dream,
then it's a happy dream.
Mrs Frans, my cleaning lady,
who had no idea my life had changed,
came like she did every morning to do
the housework in my flat under the roof.
Phew, it's a long way up!
My back!
Oh dear.
IT'S ON ITS WAY!
Hello, Mr Freek! I've brought
the newspaper up with me.
Do you want to read it now?
- No, not now.
Is that your Mrs Frans?
- Yes.
It isn't a disaster.
What do you normally do?
I sort myself out.
Do you need anything?
- No, thank you, Mrs Frans.
Oh, I thought...
I'll bring you breakfast in bed.
You should take a look at the paper.
The comet will be here in a month.
What are you looking for?
- You've got to put something on.
Why?
- You can't...
This is how I am and how I'll stay.
We're together in a dream, aren't we?
We heard the carillon last night.
Not now. She'll hear us.
Not now, Simone.
Are you looking for this?
Not all people are bad.
Did you hear the bells last night?
Some publicity stunt, I suppose.
They've got a nerve. My sister, who
sleeps next to me, didn't hear a thing.
She normally hears everything.
And it was so...
Good morning, Mrs Frans.
Good morning, madam.
Shall I put it here?
You should have told me.
I'd have boiled two eggs.
An egg for madam.
I've so much to do. Get a new job. Move.
- Don't, Freek.
Shouldrt you do something?
I like people who go to their office
on time in the morning.
Home on time in the evening for tea.
- No, I know a quiet restaurant.
Where you always go with your actress.
- Simone, don't start.
Yes, girl, I know how these things go.
That's it, here.
It became an amazing time
for us both.
We didn't talk about Joachim Stiller
nor about the future.
Not that we feared the future.
Neither of us doubted
the durability of our feelings.
Whenever I could arrange it
with my work, I stayed home.
My bachelor attic had become cosier
since Simone had come to live there.
Or I wandered through the city with her,
which she didn't know well enough.
Everything seemed... normal again.
Nothing indicated that
my fear was still lying in wait
and would show its claws again
at the first opportunity.
What's the matter?
STILLER AND SON
PALACE OF MIRACLES
It's a coincidence, Freek.
Just a coincidence.
He said it was over. And now this.
- Come on, Freek. Let's go home.
No, I've had enough of
this absurd story. Let's go inside.
No, Freek.
- What can happen to us?
It's started. Hurry up. Jiberry and
his dogs have just started.
Excuse me, madam.
I'd like to talk to Mr Stiller.
Who?
- The owner.
My husband is the owner and
he's called Van Blankenberghe.
How come...?
- That's the name of our business.
Known at all the fairs in Europe
and beyond for 150 years.
How...
- 100 years ago
my husband's grandfather took over
the business from Mr Stiller and son.
Do you know what happened to
Stiller and son?
It's so long ago.
I did hear one of the Stillers,
the father, I think,
had a chamber of horrors and
the son a waxworks museum.
Are you from the police?
- No.
Are you going in or not?
- It's not won'th it anymore.
Why?
- I'd rather go home. Come on.
OK.
Two tickets please.
There was nothing miraculous
to be seen
and, inside, the name Stiller
lost its frightening sound.
But then the handcuff king appeared.
And now your applause for
the sensational attraction Harry Seldon.
The man who escapes from everything.
Harry Seldon, we may tell you, ladies
and gentlemen, is the illegitimate,
but full-blooded cousin of
the greatest boxer of all time,
Primo Carnera.
Come over specially from America,
Harry Seldon will, for you,
carry out his unparalleled experiment
once again.
An experiment that made
the country of unlimited opportunities
shake on its foundations.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen,
nothing is proof against Harry Seldon.
Harry Seldon will be out of this sack
within ten seconds.
When this experiment was carried out
in New York at minus 10 degrees
on the bottom of the Potomac river
he only needed two seconds more.
We ask for absolute silence,
because this experiment requires
the utmost concentration.
We remind you
that Harry Seldon will be
out of the sack in 10 seconds.
One,
two,
three,
four,
five,
six,
seven,
eight.
Hurrah!
- Hurrah!
Hurrah!
Unique in the world, no tricks,
no accomplices, no helpers.
There is no lock that Harry Seldon
cannot open, no door he cannot open,
there is no chain that can stop him.
He can get in and out of everything
and no one knows.
Look at the handcuffs, sir.
Will you confirm to the audience
that they are authentic?
It was a present from Nick Can'ter,
the famous detective.
Sir says yes.
Would you be so good and put them on me?
Right wrist.
Left wrist. There.
Now I'm sir's prisoner.
And sir is free.
But everything down here is a sham.
Maybe sir is the prisoner
and I'm the one who is free.
And now this kind lady is going to place
her soft and gentle hand
on my handcuffs. And...
There.
We thought it was all over
but it all started again at the fair.
If I were you,
I wouldn't worry about it.
It must interest you.
You're up to your ears in occult stuff.
Did you invite me to dinner
or to solve puzzles?
Also to meet the sweetest woman
in Antwerp.
But we already know each other.
You work on Zijlstra's magazine,
The Broken Fist, don't you?
Worked, thank goodness.
- Don't be too hard on it.
Without The Broken Fist
we'd never have met.
I now work
in the 20th Century Gallery.
Where are you going?
- I won't run away, darling.
She's adorable.
- Yes.
Yes, that carillon.
It could be a case of
collective hallucination.
Must be. I went to see
the carilloneur the next day
and he was astonished.
He was fast asleep in bed that night.
But how do you explain that
some people heard it and others didn't?
I don't know.
Still,
you're wrongly connecting that carillon
with Joachim Stiller.
I was thinking of other things
that night, not Joachim Stiller.
Come with me, come on.
- No.
Andreas, I've brought you some company.
I didn't want to come.
Simone had to make me.
I hardly had time
to put on something decent.
You don't mind, do you?
This is my contribution to the party.
I'll put it in the fridge.
Sit down, miss.
- Freek.
Yes, well, the supernatural.
But where does that start for you,
for Simone, for me, for you?
If you're going to start talking
about ghosts then I'm off.
Are you scared of ghosts?
- No, but talking about them is unlucky.
I assure you there are
some very friendly ghosts, miss.
Do you know one?
- I'll introduce him to you.
Can you cook?
I can only make burnt fried eggs.
- Vol-au-vents ? la Simone.
I bought the vol-au-vents.
Andreas, you'll like this.
- You're making a real mess.
Who to?
- Stiller?
Preferably not.
What are you doing?
That's lucky.
In any case, we don't have to
think of Joachim Stiller now,
but just enjoy our food.
That'll keep you busy.
Andreas, what do you think about
all those books and voices from nowhere?
Messages in a bottle
on the waves of time.
I'll show you something else.
Look at this, Andreas.
Yes, yes, I know, I know.
In the 16th century
there were thirteen in a dozen,
that all predicted
the end of the world.
But that doesn't mean that...
Oh... That's strange.
What's the matter?
Well, what's the matter is that...
that Joachim Stiller from the 16th
century knew about the existence
of Uranus and Neptune.
- So?
Uranus was only discovered in the 18th
century and Neptune in the 19th.
Didrt they exist before then?
You're not asleep.
- No.
You're thinking about the book.
- No.
About the book and Joachim Stiller.
- No.
Freek, there isn't anything...
anything to be afraid of.
I'm not afraid.
I just wonder how it's going to end.
I love you.
Simone, do you love me?
You know I do.
- I want you to say it.
I love you. There, now go to your paper
like a good boy and I'll go to work too.
I don't know what you're talking about.
- Earning money.
To live off.
- We are living.
You're very sweet.
The psychiatrists and, in their own way,
the confessors are right.
Cares or worries that you talk about,
are put into perspective,
become things we are able to understand.
The next morning everything had
assumed normal proportions again.
Mr Groenevelt, you made me jump.
It's not your normal day today, is it?
- No, I left my tobacco at home.
You don't usually do that.
These days more and more things
are happening that didn't used to.
Have you heard it too?
About the world?
Well, they say
the world is going to end today.
But as a shopkeeper
you hear all kinds of things.
In the end,
you don't know what to think.
Mrs Peeters, how can an intelligent
woman like you believe such rubbish?
I don't believe anything,
but I do think.
Today is the day of the comet.
Are you ready?
- Excuse me?
Listen to me.
I have a very important message.
Brother, wait. Don't go.
What do you want? Who are you?
- It is my task
to remind everyone that,
any day, death can call
like a thief in the night.
At the paper, the end of the world
attracted more attention than expected.
You can read about it in this evening's
edition. Of course there'll be one.
Yes.
You don't believe those absurd stories,
do you?
lt'll all be in our evening edition.
Yes, definitely.
Goodbye.
No, madam. Goodbye.
Yes, madam, yes.
No, goodbye, Mrs Janssens.
I hope the world soon ends,
so we're shot of these idiots.
The city is going crazy.
- That's in your line.
It's raining mysteries.
- Collective insanity has no secrets.
So you won't write an article about it.
- No way.
Then I've got something better for you,
a preview.
The Leonardo Da Vinci
of the public urinals.
My God, Zijlstra's crazy idea.
You can choose, Groenevelt:
the end of the world or
an exhibition where nothing will happen.
Damn.
SIEGFRIED
EXHIBITION
Unreliable yet calculating,
Zijlstra welcomed his guests
in the same factory where
he'd housed his prot?g?.
Is he really crazy?
- Is he really crazy?
He's totally insane.
Get back! Watch it!
What did I tell you?
You'll get a thump!
lmbecile.
Get back. And I won't say it again.
And if you do it again,
you'll get thumped.
He suggested that I came.
You can imagine,
he's very busy with the merger...
Thank you, Zijlstra,
that was very... eh... very different.
New, shall I say?
If I can wheedle some funds,
the department will buy
three or four works
for the new arts centre in Zelem.
If it gets too bad,
just say so and we'll leave.
I'm glad the whole of Antwerp
will know I'm your mistress.
I'm so glad.
I'm so glad you're here.
Simone, you look wonderful.
Can she have her hands back?
She may need them.
Sir's jealous!
I understand, I understand.
Simone, you little traitor. I had to
find an instant replacement for you.
Erika.
- Hello.
She's totally dedicated to me.
- Yes, until my studies are completed.
Right, I'll leave you to yourselves.
There's so much to see and admire.
Come on, you.
What? What did you say? Siegfried.
Yes, really, he's called Siegfried.
Of course, that's what you get
with that Wagner craze here.
Don't laugh.
Just write down what I say.
Excuse me. Right.
You can't hang that up in our lounge.
- You can if you have to.
If Aunt Jeanne comes,
we'll cover it up.
I shouldn't have brought you.
- Doesrt matter, darling. I don't mind.
It just makes me sad.
I just feel sorry for
the poor soul who did it.
Get back, you.
Mr Zijlstra, when do we...
- Oh yes, sir. Just a moment, sir.
Come with me.
Sit here and watch thingy here.
Edelstein, the Americans are here.
Come on, quickly.
It's disgusting. It's filthy.
It's obscene.
But Lolleke!
- Lolleke nothing.
They should forbid things like that.
- Hello. Something wrong?
Something's very wrong.
What on earth made you bring me here,
to look at these obscenities?
But Lily, it's art.
- Excuse me?
I know what art is.
I've got paintings at home.
Works of art.
I even had the Sunflowers.
I got rid of them,
they'd gone out of fashion.
But here, these cocks, these dicks,
these cunts, in full view,
is that art?
Then my big toe is art too.
Dr?, come on. We're leaving.
D?sir?,
do you know what it's made from?
Oak.
A strong lad like you needs that,
with a chest like yours.
You can have one.
Go on, take a piece.
I don't know.
- Is there something you'd prefer?
I know what you're thinking of.
A kiss.
- You wouldn't dare.
A plate of chicken or a kiss.
You can choose.
He almost murdered a whore...
a young girl.
Go on, back to your place!
Back to your stool! Bloody hell!
Stupid idiot.
Is that how you guard him?
I'll knock your teeth into your stomach,
if you're not careful!
Don't write that down.
Wonderful, isn't it? Wonderful.
- No.
Don't you like it? You can be honest.
You won't like it.
- Whether you do or don't like it,
the most important thing is that you
write about my gold mine in your paper.
What you're doing is disgusting,
Zijlstra.
Even if the poor wretch
were another Van Gogh,
the way you abuse him
is just abhorrent.
I've no sympathy with
the idiots you're swindling,
but I'm thinking of that piece of
human misery you're exhibiting here.
You always have to exaggerate,
eh artist?
Come on.
He's a bastard, Freek.
An evil spirit.
Tonight? Eight o'clock?
Girls!
Now.
Upstairs!
He got away.
I couldn't follow him.
There! There he is! There!
Bloody hell!
Not now, you silly cow!
He's broken his neck, the idiot!
The bastard!
Still... Still... Still...
Stiller.
Christ, he spoke!
Did you hear that?
- The sirens were making too much noise.
The comet! The comet!
He'll never paint again.
Now he's dead, his paintings
will be won'th ten times as much.
Put all the prices up immediately.
The world didn't come to an end,
but my breakdown definitely started
that evening.
It started somewhere
between my stomach and my lungs.
An oppressive feeling,
a deep-seated fear.
Visions from the past
and the obsessive thought of
Joachim Stiller.
My world was about to fall apart.
Things aren't OK, are they?
I don't know.
It's OK, darling. It's alright now.
Freek.
- No, no, I told you. I'm fine.
I'm fine.
- Don't lie. Are you in pain?
No, that exhibition, that bloody mess.
I feel it's my fault.
Try not to always feel that
everything is your fault.
It is my fault. I'm involved.
- You're not involved, darling.
Don't torment yourself.
- I was there.
It feels like a weight on my chest.
- Does your arm hurt?
Did you hear what he said as he died?
- Don't think about it, Freek.
He said, "Stiller." How come?
- He was in pain. The siren.
It wasrt because of the siren.
Stiller has come back into my life.
He's pressing down on me,
he weighs a ton.
I can't bear it any longer.
I'm suffocating.
I'm suffocating.
Freek, Freek, say something!
Lily!
He's dead.
- No, come on, help me.
It was Simone who took action.
She made the decision for me,
that I would see a psychiatrist.
Yes, a bit high, but not alarmingly so.
Your GP said that
there's nothing wrong physically.
And that fainting then?
- What is fainting, Mr Groenevelt?
The mind faints and the body follows.
Put your shirt back on.
An unexpected shock can be enough.
But Stiller isn't an unexpected shock.
He's been there for weeks.
For months. To be exact, for centuries
and he's tormenting me.
He's an obsession.
What is an obsession, Mr Groenevelt?
How should I know?
It's really troubling me.
It's suffocating me.
- People don't suffocate that easily.
You're probably suffering from stress.
And that's why I receive letters from
someone who knew me before I was born?
There are obsessions, Mr Groenevelt,
that live in the mind,
but there are also obsessions that
are conjured up externally.
You mean I conjured up Joachim Stiller?
It's possible. Everything is possible,
like people conjuring up the dead,
like some people conjure up an enemy,
like the last king of Babylon conjured up
the punishing hand on the wall.
Doctor, you're mad.
Of course I am, everyone is mad.
But what is mad, Mr Groenevelt?
- What are you going to do?
I want to try to help you.
A traditional analysis seems
superfluous
and would take too long.
Have you got any objections to
a chemicoanalysis?
I inject you with Pentothal and you tell
me everything that's bothering you.
Pentothal, that's truth serum.
- Yes, it's truth serum.
That seems a bit creepy.
- Do you want me to help you or not?
I don't have to do it.
- But will this help?
I don't know.
Are we going to do it or not?
Go on then.
Right.
Concentrate on one thing.
On one name, completely.
Joachim Stiller.
Say everything that
goes through your mind.
Joachim Stiller.
What does that name make you think of?
A book.
A book.
A book that I found
in Andreas Colijrs shop.
An old book.
A very old book.
That was falling apart.
It's a very old book.
It lay rotting in a cellar
for four hundred years.
It's disgusting. It smells of death.
It sticks to my hands. That smell.
That smell. It smells like that
in Andreas Colijrs shop.
The house is very dilapidated,
damp plaster, mould.
Dust... on all the books.
Books. Books.
School books.
School.
I have to learn my lessons, do my
homework. The others can play outside.
I'm not allowed to go out and play
with them. It's not fair.
Do your homework. Learn your lessons.
She's waiting for me. Outside.
She's seven years old
and her name is Simone.
Simone.
My light, my bread, my heaven.
I'm going to write a book.
I'll write all about it.
The most beautiful story in the world.
I... I... I hate that book.
I want to burn it.
No, I... I don't want to!
It's a message from Joachim Stiller.
Written in the 20th century,
published in the 16th century.
A message...
in a bottle on the waves of time.
That's what Andreas says. Andreas.
Albert. My friend from school.
Albert, Albert. For four years
Albert hasn't seen an orange.
We're not hungry, we aren't. Daddy
always brings something good with him.
A door. May I open it?
Stiller is powerful.
A giant monkey. He holds me
in his large hairy paws.
Above the city, very high.
He drops me. I'm falling.
No more air.
I'm suffocating.
I wouldn't harm a fly.
Daddy took me with him
to see the hot-air balloons.
Everyone is happy.
It's beautiful.
They're coming.
Daddy, Daddy, look out!
Daddy! Daddy!
Let my father go! Don't hurt him!
You're hurting my father!
Daddy!
Daddy!
Father, what does that mean?
Filthy blackshirt?
I haven't got time now.
I've got to go to school.
The broken glass
crunches under my shoes.
Bombs fell on the city all night long.
Everything smells of mould,
of decay, of death.
It's cold.
I mustrt miss my tram.
I've been late for school three times
since father has been gone.
There's my tram.
That little girl.
Where did I see her?
She smiles at me.
It's as if she's calling me.
I'm coming. Wait for me.
Let me go! Let me past!
My tram! My tram!
I fall over, I'm suffocating.
I'm suffocating.
He's pressing down on me,
he weighs a ton.
I can't breathe.
I can't... I can't...
I... can't... breathe.
That blood... isn't my blood.
It's the blood of the man
who fell on top of me.
Without him
I'd have died that day.
Maybe I'm living a postponed death.
Pieces of flesh everywhere.
Blood is running in the gutter.
And that smell.
That smell.
It's an American soldier.
His face...
He hasn't got a face anymore.
His wallet.
With a name on it.
I didn't steal it. I swear.
The siren, ambulances.
I'm really scared.
It smells of mould, of decay.
Of death.
They take him away.
They disappear with him.
The wallet!
The name, forgotten!
The wallet.
Sir, sir, you've forgotten the wallet!
Mr van Lampen?
The name on the wallet!
- No, don't!
The name on the wallet!
- I've forgotten.
You don't want to remember it.
- Not true. I'm not a thief.
The name!
- I'm not a thief! I'm not my father!
The name! The name!
- No, don't! No!
Daddy! Daddy! Don't!
- The name!
Major
Joachim
Stiller.
I can see the letters on the wallet
very clearly, doctor.
I can't see dead bodies.
But I can see the explosion.
And the box on the ears,
and the neighbour.
But that name, doctor...
According to the books, Mr Groenevelt,
you feel responsible
for the death of that officer
but you suppressed that event.
You couldn't help him,
you couldn't help your father,
two plus two makes four. And what
does four mean in my profession?
Correct, guilt. You know that too.
You must've read one of
the popular works on psychoanalysis.
But that name, doctor.
- Yes, that name.
So you don't know either?
- What is know, Mr Groenevelt?
Stiller starts where knowing stops.
Pardon?
- Stiller starts where knowing stops.
Exactly.
Does that help, Mr Groenevelt?
Maybe I have been helped.
Maybe there's been a breakthrough.
Maybe now everything will start
moving towards a fatal conclusion.
And maybe not.
Actually, nothing has changed.
I knew it wouldn't help.
Come on.
You look tired. Come and sit down.
A couple of letters
and then we'll go home.
Then I'll take a couple of weeks'
holiday and we'll go away somewhere.
Paris?
- Paris has become so boring.
London.
As long as we go away for a bit.
As long as we think of nothing
for a while.
Simone.
Freek Groenevelt, Simone Marijnissen.
Tonight Joachim Stiller
will be at Dam station at nine thirty.
He has expressed a desire
to meet you there.
He's expecting you.
Dam station is located
in a deserted part of the city.
I couldn't imagine Joachim Stiller,
whoever he was,
arriving here on a slow train.
In fact, I couldn't imagine anything.
And I'd reconciled myself
to getting more than we bargained for.
Freek! Madam!
- Who's that?
That's Keldermans,
the alderman for Public Works.
Hey! You two!
Nice to see you.
What a coincidence!
It's no coincidence.
- This is nice. Just like a congress.
We're early. Let's go in.
A strange man comes in and says,
"Stiller's arriving at Dam station
this evening, on the nine thirty train.
Don't wait on the platform,
wait in the bar across the road."
He came into my office
without announcing himself.
Meet here, nine thirty train.
Nine thirty.
There isn't a train at nine thirty.
They think they're in Central Station!
About one train a day stops here,
at 5 in the morning for the dockers.
You've got a long wait
for the nine thirty train.
Let's go, Dr?. We'll just make the film.
- We should stay.
You never know.
- You never know, eh?
Well, maybe Lily's right.
It's an absurd story.
Maybe we're the victims of
some madman who won't turn up.
No, no, he's not a madman.
He knows things no one can know.
At first, I thought it was a terror
campaign by my political opponents.
Then I wasrt sure.
I didn't trust anyone.
It was as if I were paranoid.
And now we'll see him.
I start shaking when I think
he may demand an explanation
for goodness knows what.
- You don't need to be scared.
You're sweet, Simone
Maybe my daughter
would have been like you.
She died just after liberation,
during the flying bombs.
On a tram.
She was seven years old.
Hey, in three minutes it's nine thirty.
Shouldrt you go and
look for your train?
It's him.
It was him.
It was him
who'd given his life for me that day
when the bomb fell on the tram.
We'd been scared unnecessarily.
This man wasrt an enemy,
he was a friend.
The bearer of a message that was so
important that he had no choice
but to prepare us for it slowly.
I'm Joachim Stiller...
I knew right from the very beginning
that Joachim Stiller
wasrt part of our world,
but that his appearance,
like a shooting star,
was meant to cross our life,
to then die out
like shooting stars usually do.
Hello?
Yes, commissioner.
Yes, true. We had arranged to meet him.
No, we don't know him.
He knows... knew us.
The post-mortem?
Do you think so?
OK, if you insist.
All of us, in three days' time.
THREE DAYS LATER
But... But...
But...
- Well, my friend, what's the matter?
But, sir...
- What?
He's not there!
He's not there.
- What do you mean? Not there?
He's not there.
He's not there.
How can he be gone?
Are you sure he was here?
- It was number 25, wasrt it?
I'm sorry.
I don't know what has happened.
He was here. I really don't know
what's happened. He's gone.
TWO YEARS LATER
Hi.
Nice weather today, isn't it?
- Wonderful.
Would you like to join us?
- That'd be nice.
Have you come far?
Have you got far to go?
Stay with us. Evening is falling
and the day is over.
You can come in our car. You'll be
a bit further along your way.
No, thank you.
Was that him?
That was him.
We now knew that
everything was over for good.
We also knew that,
thanks to Stiller's blood,
the white summer clouds,
like large sailing ships
with their sails unfurled,
safe in an ever bluer sky,
up above the world, on the edge
of an incomprehensible universe,
would continue
to float on high forever.