Gentlemen & Gangsters (2016): Season 1, Episode 2 - Kapitel II - full transcript
CHAPTER III
EUROPE, CRUMBLING FRAGMENTS
If anyone had asked
where he was heading, he'd say Paris.
Just to have something to say.
But he might as well
have said, "Out." "Off."
Or "Away."
Copenhagen was first.
A tall guy. He often plays in shades.
- Bill from Stockholm? No, in Hamburg.
- I see.
- Bear Quartet? Have they played here?
- Afraid not. It was cancelled.
Shall I take your coat?
What? Oh, thanks.
One beer.
You must be rich.
What? Do you want a cigarette?
Yes, please.
- I'm Tove.
- Hi. Henry.
- Are you Swedish?
- Yes. Or I was.
- What?
- I'm a deserter.
From the Swedish armed forces.
Are you the right one?
They're never wrong.
- Are you the right one?
- Yes. Of course.
Want a drink?
A beer for this lady.
Can I take your picture?
Thanks.
Am I the right one?
Henry didn't quite see why Tove
thought he was the right one.
He'd been content
with being her lover.
Are you in a hurry to go to Paris,
or will you stay a while?
I'm used to being thrown out.
Ever been to Jutland?
I think you'll like it.
- This is Fredrik and Dine.
- Hello.
- Welcome.
- This is Henry.
Tove hung out with a gang of Quakers.
I hardly knew what that meant,
but I liked their style.
Well, this is where we live.
Please.
What's up?
He tried to live as if
Maud and Sterner had never existed.
It worked well for a while.
He was happy there.
- Cheers! To Henry!
- Cheers!
Thanks. Cheers, then!
Welcome to the family.
Are you enjoying it here?
I hope you're careful
with those piano fingers.
- Your fingers.
- Piano.
- What were we supposed to do?
- But we can't just take it!
- Not deny others their freedom.
- His old one wouldn't get him far.
Maybe that's what you want?
That he should stay here. Eh?
Sorry, I can't say anything.
But I haven't asked any questions.
I feel so stupid.
Oh? Why's that?
I'm in love with you.
They say it's a work-related injury.
Work-related?
What kind of work
would that be, then?
You'll find out.
I want to know what's going on.
Okay.
Get a chair.
You're wanted.
You could use some help,
and if you help us,
we'll help you.
Here. Brand new.
What do you want me to do?
Take a suitcase to Berlin,
with forged passports for people
on the other side of the wall.
We can't force you to do it,
only ask you.
Guten Tag. Ihre Fahrkarten
und den Ausweis, bitte.
It'll mean a lot to many people
if you say yes.
And you'd make some money.
Ihre Fahrkarte, bitte. Danke.
They needed new faces all the time.
People with a lot of beliefs,
or people with no beliefs at all.
The emotions stirred up
were simply "work-related injuries".
"Hodie mihi cras tibi."
"For me today, for you tomorrow".
The instructions were simple:
get into the Eastern Sector...
via Checkpoint Charlie.
After getting confirmation in a smoky
and greasy bar with a billiard table.
A beer, please.
Hey, do you want to play?
His name was Franz.
He looked like a war veteran,
but was too young to be one.
He'd won
the Berlin Bowling Championships.
They'd been touring Holland
ten years earlier
when a man had come in
and machine-gunned people down.
Franz's arm had been shot to a pulp.
When the attacker reloaded, Franz
killed him with a metal bowling pin.
I've still got the pin at home.
Playing like that one-armed, I'd hate
to think how you played with two.
- What the hell do you mean?
- You're a wicked player.
With amazing precision.
It was meant as a compliment,
but it went down the wrong way.
As exactly the opposite.
Stop it, Franz!
Please.
I'm so sorry.
Verena was staying locally.
She was gathering information
about missing people.
Just like Verner, Leo's weird friend.
Excuse me,
but the lady who was sitting...
I'm sorry?
The redhead.
Hello?
Mr. Yard?
Whoever they were, they were pros.
But unreliable.
I waited calmly for two days.
Nothing happened.
I waited for a week.
Nothing happened.
I waited until
I started to get fed up.
Excuse me, I'm looking for
an English woman called Verena.
Room 46, at the top.
Verena.
The letter had been
sent from Stockholm.
As if anyone there
knew where to find me.
"Beat a retreat, Peter.
Everything's gone to pieces."
"When you see Verena's picture
in Kurf?rstendamm 108
the time has come to leave.
You're brave.
Burn this letter.
W.S."
PLASTIC SURGERY
Henry could have been a victim, too.
But he was lucky.
Maud had saved him.
BEFORE AFTER
They dug tunnels like these
in Berlin, too.
Those who never got their passports.
What happened?
Well, people got caught.
Some went underground.
Others disappeared.
I could hide from Sweden,
but not from Wilhelm Sterner.
He's not only evil,
if that's what you thought.
Watch out.
We're getting close.
Hi there.
I hope you're fine, wherever you are.
You must find it so petty,
the stuff we do down here.
Or up here, whichever way it is.
And it is, it's petty and trivial.
But what else can we do?
Stick with it.
It's our only chance.
We get nowhere.
We find nothing.
But we give thanks for nothing.
For everything passes,
and nothing remains.
And Earth is a cold place.
Can I be of any assistance?
I was just overhearing.
You sound like a real vicar.
It was so beautiful it made me weep.
Cigarette?
Her name was Kerstin B?ck
and she drove
Picco's courier car number eight.
She said she was alone.
More than once.
Going into town?
Okay, boys.
I'm Henry Morgan.
Enchanted.
- Kerstin B?ck.
- And this is Klas.
Easy now, Kerstin.
It's probably slippery.
...that pettiness. I don't feel
I'm getting anywhere either.
That I'm finding anything.
It's like...
It feels so dumb,
all this striving, or whatever...
you wanna call it. I mean,
what are we striving for anyway?
Time passes and suddenly
there you are, all by yourself.
- Where did you say you were going?
- We didn't.
Here's fine.
I hold women in mourning in such
high esteem. They look so dignified.
I'm considering ditching
the mourning band soon.
I can't take any more sympathy.
I see.
My dad died a month ago.
He was clever. He started a betting
company in the opportunistic '20s.
When times got tight,
he went into car sales.
He was some driver.
Yes, I can imagine.
He actually knew Ronnie Peterson,
the race driver.
Here you go.
We cried by the hospital TV
over the footage from Monza.
I think it must have been the grief.
Ronnie was the greatest thing ever,
and dad died two weeks later.
Damn! I've lost a contact lens.
- Oh?
- The right one. Don't move!
Shit! They cost a fortune!
- Why don't you help me, guys?
- Sure.
- What does it look like?
- Small, I guess.
Shit, how weird. I have a delivery.
Do you drive?
Drive...?
Look. Here it is.
I just need to rinse it off.
What a curious person. Most curious.
Yes. I'm gobsmacked.
And I'm in love.
Here are some lyrics for you.
"Kerstin in a black mourning band
and contacts."
This is powerful stuff, Klas.
Very powerful.
Oh, well, we'll have to share her.
Chastely and innocently.
You answer. I can't lie any more.
- Then you make the move of the week.
- Okay.
Henry Morgan.
Hi, this is Klas' publisher, Franz?n.
- Can I speak to Klas?
- Sorry, he's not around.
I think he's down
at the Royal Library today. Writing.
Please ask him to ring
when he's back.
I'd really like it to happen
this time.
I'll pass that on.
Your publisher's getting edgy.
We need money for the goose supper.
What do you think about
Strindberg's collected works?
- Complete?
- Yup. I imagine so.
Shame.
Well, what the hell can one do?
We lived
with disaster looming over us.
We lived every day
as if it might be our last.
- One thousand.
- Actually...
I was offered 2,500 over the phone,
but that was in Uppsala.
Two thousand. What do you say?
This was an event
they all looked forward to.
The annual goose supper.
Let's see, we need
three bottles of red,
and two bottles of brandy.
The old men decorated the tables
with the best loot they had
and Henry cooked the goose with the
same passion as he did everything.
I've been lucky. I've worked
for some of the best in Paris.
It took a few years,
but I got there.
Hurry up. Get a move on!
What's this plate doing here?
Does it look clean?
Now get a move on!
It was 1968, in May.
The revolution was coming,
but not in the restaurant kitchens.
- Bonjour, Madame Zissou.
- Bonjour, Monsieur Morgan.
THE DAYS WHICH SHOOK FRANCE
Bonjour, Mademoiselle.
Half a pint, please.
I'm Henry.
Nice to meet you. You're very pretty.
Sometimes I checked Bop Sec,
to see who was playing.
Some people play the saxophone
as if they're in a hurry.
Others seem
not to give a damn if they're late.
And then, you can play like Bill
and not give a damn
about anything at all.
Barman, two beers, please!
Henri, le boulevardier!
Maud. She's here.
Hotel Ivry, Rue de Richelieu.
So, are you a couple now?
Sucker!
You know her. If Paris is burning,
she wants to see the fire.
Wilhelm Sterner?
Nice gangster.
Go and say hi. She wants you to.
She would have said.
It's fate.
You had to come back,
and it happened to be here, tonight.
There's nothing in the way.
I'm not in your bloody way.
You can't just turn up like that
after five years.
I'll call and say you're on your way.
She's been waiting, kiddo. I know.
She's skulking in her room.
Like de Gaulle.
Hello?
He never managed to explain,
but it wasn't their night.
There was a revolt,
the president was in hiding
and Henry unfortunately resembled
someone wanted by the police.
Fate seemed to want something else.
A stronger will than ours
kept us apart.
Free? Or unfree?
At the time,
I couldn't tell the difference.
Monsieur Morgan!
This letter came from Stockholm.
"Dear Henry, hope you are doing fine.
Here, there's a lot of hoo-hah.
Your brother's in the paper again.
I'm not sure
what they're protesting against.
I also have some bad news.
Your granddad is dead.
He had a stroke in the stairwell.
It's time you came home.
He wanted you to take over
on Horn Street.
Take care for now.
Mum."
Alright, my dear friends!
I'd like to welcome you all
to the annual goose supper of 1978.
- This is the 19th supper.
- What?
And this year,
we also have a new member: Klas.
He'll stand in for my brother.
The Flask, you're there.
That's for the Queen of Hot Goods.
- Ladies first.
- Here's the soup.
Extremely dry...
...for ten years with our old stuff
without being visited by the police.
They haven't got the time.
Wasn't it a restaurant?
No, a beer caf?.
Only old men. My dad went there.
I remember Henry's, the Jazz Baron.
Sometimes, he'd be there, too.
He had his own style.
Henry was so small
and afraid to go in.
He was even more difficult
to get home.
He was a charmer and a half.
What do a poet's words matter
when there's a goose on our platter?
I go for it and I make it!
You picked that one up in Marseille.
I saw a Tuareg bikini-clad dancer.
When I got back, they'd taken
every single thing in the flat.
Literally. The only thing they'd left
was my type-writer.
Leo?
So, that was the famous brother?
The poet, Leo Morgan.
I recognized him from town,
restaurants and concerts.
We were supposed to look alike,
but I didn't think so.
His eyes were black.
They changed Henry,
who behaved as if
he was watched by a critical judge.
So, how was New York?
Henry's been waiting for letters,
but there haven't been any.
It was cool. It was fucking cool.
The buildings were full of magma.
As if the entire city
was built on a volcano.
All the signs and windows
were glowing and pulsating.
You thought it was bound
to start seeping out somewhere.
But I mainly went to the cinema.
Did you believe that?
What I said about the cinema.
Hey, you!
I've never been to America.
What are you laughing at?
I was in an asylum.
I was in an asylum.
He'd been
at L?ngbro mental institute.
A record somewhere
tells the story of his illness.
A cup of tea?
My heart isn't beating any more.
Try to eat something.
It's beating me up.
I found out most about Leo
from Henry.
Leo himself didn't say much.
They were the opposite
of one another,
as brothers often are.
And life in the flat on Horn Street
would never be the same again.
They had a lost paradise,
Storm?n, an island
in the archipelago.
Every midsummer, their dad,
Gus Morgan, the Jazz Baron,
played away.
Watch out for adders, sweetie.
I've gathered so many flowers...
- Greta! Where's the boat?
- ...No one can ever count them
Medallions of June
Summer at its most coquettish
We get dressed for war
We arm ourselves tenderly
Soldiers asleep in the forest
We descend into a vault
where nothing grows
Do something! Don't just stand there!
Not even the flowers of evil
...the ten-year old boy
who was reported missing
has been found dead.
The police have suggested the boy
may have been subjected to violence.
Somewhere, there is a radio...
which only...
sends...
statistics...
burnt on the skin.
- They found the boy.
- I know.
Have you talked about it at school?
My God.
Did you see?
The police and Verner!
- What the hell's going on now?
- I don't know.
- What's going on?
- I don't know, I swear.
Mom wanted me to tell you.
People have probably talked.
I went to the police and pleaded guilty
to the murder of the boy they found.
Of course it wasn't true.
I wanted to know
what being questioned was like.
And I have information
about others who've disappeared.
My God. Get a grip, lad.
"The Hiroshima bomb killed
over 200,000 people in one go.
Radiation injuries were immeasurable
and loads of people were wiped out.
People's shadows were found
where the sun had never shone."
"Radiation should be avoided.
Fold down the brim of your hat
so it covers your face."
So if an atomic bomb goes off,
this is what you do?
I doubt the protection afforded by that.
Maybe if you're a long way away.
If the bomb fell on the City Hall
and you were in a suburb, or something.
- Good evening.
- Why are you wearing that?
We're in the middle of something.
Is it the old man's?
CHAPTER IV
A LIVING LEGEND
Most people thought he was dead,
but he wasn't.
This is mine, all of the downstairs.
I don't know who had the idea first.
In those days...
things happened spontaneously,
sort of anywhere.
Welcome to the center for hot journalism.
Many are out in the field right now.
The "Harry Lime Group" was so...
typically Leo Morgan.
No one is more underground.
King of the Sewers, sort of thing.
Who were the other band members?
Yeah, well.
There was me and Leo,
Verner Hansson and Nina Negg.
Leo and Verner were old friends.
Verner was a classical super mind.
He knew all the train timetables.
He was in "Young Inventors".
He did a language course in England.
In Bournemouth.
He left a mummy's boy. Six weeks
later, he came back smoking.
With hair like the Beatles and high boots.
His mom must have had a fit.
Nina Negg had immense personality.
A broken soul. She was stateless.
Not a normal citizen.
More of an anti-citizen.
I saw the Beatles... and Dylan.
- And the Stones.
- I was in Bournemouth.
The words were Leo's.
He was already established.
He'd been on TV.
A prodigy.
I've gathered so many flowers
No one can ever count them
Medallions of June
Summer at its most coquettish
We get dressed for war
We arm ourselves tenderly
Soldiers asleep in the forest
We descend into a vault
where nothing grows
Not even the flowers of evil
SANCTIMONIOUS COWS
What the hell do I write?
Shit, fuck, shit!
We became Mods.
We hung out in the market square
in our US Army jackets.
"Let us hand out wings
on every street corner
There are always some who dare
touch upon that innermost sky"
We were among those who buried
ourselves in the King's Park in '67.
- Here's a nice one. No watermark.
- Is that so?
- One hundred.
- I want two hundred for that.
They were from southern Stockholm
and could get anything they wanted.
Hey, you!
Close the door behind you next time.
But they would mainly sit and smoke.
I'd been travelling around a bit
on the continent,
and seen happenings and that.
So I organized a few things
around here as well.
Stuff against the atomic bomb
and the Vietnam war.
We had a lot of fun.
I mean, we had done stuff before
that first music festival on G?rdet.
In 1970.
What was the festival like?
What do you remember?
Well, there was primarily one band.
They came unannounced, rather late,
and looked unlike anything else.
I don't think they had their own
instruments.
What were they called?
Harry Lime Group.
- The singer, what was his name?
- Leo? Morgan?
A poet. He wrote books and poetry.
- He didn't sing, though. He talked.
- Yes, he talked.
I'd never seen anything like it.
I felt sort of "What?".
I started up the only proper
underground band in Sweden.
Comrades! Brothers and sisters!
Together! Together we are strong!
It was called "John Silver,
poet, pirate and cigarette".
It probably sounded terrible.
"Smoke your cigarettes slowly,
comrade.
They may be our last."
Beautiful, eh?
Smoke your cigarettes slowly, comrade
They may be our last
"John Silver, poet.
Poet, cigarette. Cigarette poet."
"Pirate, poet, cigarette."
That's it. It was Leo's poetry.
- Home-printed.
- He printed his own stuff.
Sing your songs quietly, comrade
They can never silence us
For this march, there's no map
No one commands the terrain
No one can speak so clearly
that we obey them
Geographical directions are never...
One line was something about
being able to see the underground.
"Geographical directions
are never vertical."
Geographical directions
are never vertical
"Geographical directions
are never vertical."
So Leo Morgan.
We can reach both God and Satan
Without knowing where we are
Wasn't there a female singer, too?
- She shouted.
- Yes.
It wasn't singing.
- Nina... Negg.
- Yeah, that's right. Negg.
I remember different titles.
Something about a figure-head.
Harry Lime Group became a concept.
And now, you seem to be doing okay?
Yes, sadly. I mean, Leo did his thing.
"Disloyalty as a fine art"
was his motto.
- I got them a flat.
- Spoiled!
Spoiled brats!
Leo, you and your fucking poems.
Your pretty words.
I tried to organize them, but...
Imperialism and bullshit about new
Christmas habits and cosmic love.
It isn't worth shit.
Time to wake up.
The whole world's awake.
But it was already too late for that.
It was all too late.
The party was over.
It had finished a long time ago.
But...
It was so dark,
that there was no evidence.
- Nina?
- She was stateless.
Nina? Nina!
On a couch covered in goose pimples.
- Nina! Nina!
- No one believes in murder...
without a corpse.
Nina.
Nina Negg died
of an overdose in 1973.
My little boy.
I'm not sure
what happened to Verner Hansson.
- Mom, why have you locked the door?
- For your own sake.
And Leo ended up in L?ngbro.
Quite a ropey outcome, really.
They all met terrible fates.
Why was that?
Society's got a lot tougher, so...
There are rumors.
You work at a magazine
some regard as sort of dubious.
We were going to avoid that.
Weren't we?
We said we would. Is that thing off?
- Sure.
- Switch it off, will you.
Whatever you've heard is bullshit.
Verner Hansson is a penniless alkie.
Leo only has hallucinations.
I really stood up for those lads.
But now they're both wasted,
sadly. Sorry to say.
I didn't want to say it publicly,
but that's the truth.
Sadly.
You might have thought
Stene Forman was a typical survivor.
That's what he thought,
but he would meet a terrible fate.
Even if that still lay in the future.
- Are you coming?
- No, I'll skip it tonight.
- Can't leave my brother.
- Why not?
You know how it is.
I'll work out here instead.
Okay. See you later, then.
How's Henry?
Leo's back.
Shit, is he loose again?
He needs help.
Help him.
What did Willis say?
Well...
- What do you think?
- He doesn't get it.
- It's about respect.
- For someone institutionalized?
- Because he's ill.
- Because he's got you.
It's like this:
Leo's a living legend.
What the hell can one do?
Henry! It's collapsed!
It's coming down.
Greger's in there.
- Come with us.
- Hurry!
I froze. I couldn't do anything.
- Then he was gone.
- Greger!
- I'll call an ambulance.
- Hell, no!
And spoil 19 years of hard work?!
It's not worth it.
Shut up! Shut up and dig!
Klas! Get the wheelbarrow.
It's a human life.
Careful. He might be lying there.
Give me the torch! Give it here!
He was a very humble man.
Hell, this was scary, I can tell you.
You're sitting here smiling,
you wretch!
- What's that?
- Gold.
Gold?
What did I say?
Beautiful, Greger. This is an omen!
A ray of hope
as we head for the winter darkness.
Right. Look here.
This is where it caved in.
That means the new cave
should be exactly here.
Oh. Amazing.
"Greger's cave." What do you think?
Greger? Have you got a fag?
- Greger's cave.
- Yes.
- I'm honored. Very honored.
- I propose a toast.
- Were you dying?
- No, not really.
We got ourselves a new tunnel.
Greger's cave.
I see. That's a good name.
And we'll drink to that. Gentlemen.
Hell, that got me going.
It must be nerves.
- I was pretty scared.
- Is there any more?
- I was pretty scared.
- Is there any more?
Half a bottle of red.
Where?
What about doing something?
Go out for a boogie?
It's Wednesday,
midweek celebrations!
Mature dancing at the Dance Hall.
Spectacularly good night, isn't it?
- Two gin and tonics.
- We're so worth it!
We took a trip to France
- In search of a romance
- Come on, Klas!
We have to dance!
We even gave the Eiffel Tower
one last chance
Now I'm in a fairy-tale, I am
We do the Louvre hand in hand
You and me at Notre Dame
He was in top form.
No one would think he'd despaired
in a dark tunnel a few hours earlier.
He'd forgotten that now.
No problems, no worries.
I didn't want to remind him
about Leo or Maud.
Or about the golden goblet.
- Kerstin!
- Klas!
- Hi there!
- Hello!
- What are you doing here?
- I was going to ask the same thing.
- Henry's down there.
- I see.
Can I buy you a drink?
Oh, the things we're able to see
Absolutely!
At the Champs-?lys?es
I'm in a fairy-tale, I am
- Henry!
- Hello! How nice to see you!
- Sally from Solna.
- Hello, I'm Klas.
Sally is a fab dancer.
And Klas is a devil at... the tango.
Oh, I am? Well, why not?
Shall we?
Of course.
Klas? Three dances, that's all.
...yearning for this
Life's not long, so why hesitate
When we both want the same thing
When we're close and I can touch you
The angels start to sing
- Where do you live?
- Up there!
- Wait a bit, wait a bit.
- He's totally crazy, but fun.
Even if you run up a few cab bills.
Being trustworthy has its advantages.
Quiet please. People are asleep.
I fell for that, too, the first time.
What a flat!
We've lived here since the '20s.
Klas, show Kerstin around.
I'll get the drinks.
Okay. That's where I sit.
Wasn't that other brother
a writer as well?
No, he's a poet.
Palm Breeze,
an award-winning cocktail.
Won first prize in London in 1949.
I made hundreds when I lived there.
It was nice.
A tiny detail:
You're very beautiful.
But gum and cocktails
don't go together.
Sorry. A force of habit.
Hell, Klas. Our song!
Take a seat.
Between life and death, a path lies
The presence of memorable folk
Is rarely
as real as your eyes
Kerstin in a mourning band
and contacts
Kerstin in a mourning band and contacts
Between you and me, walks one more
The meaning of our time on earth
Is rarely
The one we wished for
No one's ever dedicated a song to me.
This is my little brother, Leo.
This is Kerstin.
- Hi.
- Delighted.
We're playing some Nachtmusik.
Our own Elton John.
- What's wrong with Elton John?
- He's a genius.
As is my brother.
Quit it.
- He's a poet.
- Quit it.
I've always wanted
to be able to play chess.
There's a master teacher over there.
Are you any good?
The heavyweights have formed a line.
Ahead is a pawn,
backed by a colleague at G6.
In boxing terms this is a mismatch
because the one outweighs the other.
Check mate in four moves.
Cigarette?
I'm not quite sober
and things aren't set
but there's a solo concert coming up.
Please be seated.
Kerstin, pick your seat.
"Europe, crumbling fragments."
Klas is writing the program.
You vote Conservative
to have a change,
not for what they represent, then?
I think...
you need to alter
governments every now and then.
- Regardless of orientation?
- What's the option?
Apart from some weirdo Communists.
- Who do you vote for?
- I don't vote.
- Is that any better?
- No.
Try grabbing a voting slip
in a straightjacket.
Do you always wear a dressing gown?
He hates talk when he's playing.
Sorry.
Elton John's better, though,
isn't he?
At the piano, anyway.
Where are the others?
Aren't they listening?
Damn that Leo.
- Good morning.
- Wow!
Are your breakfasts always like this?
Well, yes, usually.
Are we somewhat in love, then?
Dunno, really.
He's so delicate, somehow.
Hell's bells! Damnation!
- Guys, I'd love to have that song.
- Girls are like birds.
Would you be darlings
and put it on a tape for me
so I can listen to it in the car
and think of you?
Of course. We'll see to that.
Bye, guys!
Fuck this vacuum cleaner.
It's so pointless.
It worked just now.
- I don't do Christmas.
- You live here.
I can't cope.
I can't take the noise!
So cover your ears.
Easy now. No one's forcing you.
You do the rest.
I'll do them.
- Leo's left. He couldn't cope.
- Oh.
And, one more thing.
No presents this year.
- When's dinner?
- In three quarters of an hour.
I'm out of fags.
- You're afraid of me, aren't you?
- Nope.
We've never spoken.
Of course not.
You're never here.
I get totally fucked-up vibes here.
Your perfection chokes me.
You're constantly defending
yourself and Henry.
- Why would I?
- How should I know. You just do.
Sitting on your fucking ass,
writing, like a broiler.
Take a look outside.
Go into the streets
and look at the people there.
Check their faces and you'll see.
Stop it this instant.
You come home pissed,
and there's nothing wrong with that.
But you really have to try
a bit harder.
Cheers to that.
Oh, you've eaten?
Hours ago.
I met an old acquaintance
who sells trees, you see.
From Storm?n.
You know, Leo's and my... You know.
- I just had to take some.
- But we'd said no tree?
When they come free,
I don't give a toss about Leo.
He's not in, for that matter.
When will he grow up?
Mum and her Christmas dinner.
He can't cope.
Hey, you'll have to come instead.
Won't you?
This piano's out of tune.
You have to ring the blind man.
Him? He's no longer with us.
You can take the leftovers home.
- Then Leo can have some, too.
- He doesn't do Christmas.
How could they become like that?
Him and Verner.
"Like that".
Protesting against everything.
Is Verner at home?
Probably downstairs, drinking.
They were the nicest boys
you could imagine.
Did well at school. Polite.
Well brought up.
And now this.
- Chet Baker and all.
- Mum.
Klas hardly knows Verner.
They were always together, those two.
He was super intelligent.
He had a stamp collection
which was priceless.
And he drank it.
Make sure you care
for your children.
If we have any.
Why wouldn't you?
Why does everything
have to be so bloody difficult?
- Nowadays everything's so liberal.
- To things being liberal!
Yes. And difficult.
"Good party," said the old woman
when her husband was buried.
And the jam. There.
Thank you.
Well, it was nice meeting you.
- Verner may appreciate a visit.
- Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas.
- Hello.
- Oh, it's you.
We've been at mum's,
and she thought Verner may be in.
No, he's not here.
I have no idea where he is.
- Oh well. Please give him my best.
- I will.
- You? I have to talk to...
- No, Verner. No!
- Don't spoil everything!
- It's fucked-up anyway.
He's got the sharpest brain in town,
but he drinks himself into a stupor.
A beer?
They're victims of the same crap,
Verner and Leo.
Do you know Stene Forman?
Don't think so.
Then you haven't heard
about Hogarth.
Rumors, mainly.
The Harry Lime Group.
Awesomely bad. Only performed once.
At the G?rdet musical festival.
Forman initiated that.
He's behind all this. All this evil.
He inherited a magazine, Blixt.
- The kind you find in the barber's...
- Yeah, I know.
THE HOGARTH AFFAIR
It was doing badly,
so he had to
find other ways to make money.
- Hello, Leo!
- Hello, you old scoundrel.
Stay a while. Have a seat.
- How's things?
- Okay.
- Still writing?
- No.
- Nothing, really.
- Verner called. He sounded like shit.
- What's he on?
- He's only drinking.
He gave up the dope.
He babbled about his dad.
Tore Hansson,
who disappeared in 1944.
- That was never investigated.
- Nope.
He had been called
by some journalist.
Hogarth. He had new information.
Yes.
Blah, blah...
Listen, I was thinking
about a series.
Missing people still missing.
What do you say?
- About what?
- Don't be so thick. About writing it.
The money's good,
and you need money, don't you?
- Hullo. Did you buy any booze?
- No, shit.
- I forgot.
- What?
I was just kidding.
I got quite nervous there.
I tried to talk to mum
about the old guy out in Bromma.
But it's impossible.
Then she refuses to bring home
anything to drink for days.
That old guy out in Bromma.
- He...
- Hogarth?
Hogarth.
He calls it a judicial scandal.
He says it doesn't matter
if it's statute-barred.
Me and mum can make certain claims.
- We've got rights.
- To what?
Compensation.
Because the company still exists.
Wasn't it about principles?
Principles of justice.
Of course. That's the important bit.
Money's not important to me.
This is about justice at last.
I'm in no position.
You can see that for yourself.
But that one...
- That old guy out in Bromma.
- Hogarth.
He's able.
And so are you.
Put an end to this, Leo.
For my sake,
please put an end to this.
I don't use that door.
I'm Leo. Morgan.
A friend of Verner Hansson's?
What? Yes, we've hung out
since we were young.
Young and fatherless.
Fuel oil is expensive.
I go easy on it.
- Do you drink whisky?
- It happens.
I was a good friend
of your granddad?s.
The WWW Society.
Are you still digging down there?
For the Bellman passage?
I know. You can't talk about it.
But do you think
your granddad could keep quiet?
He had wild hopes for it.
I'm cleaning out my stuff.
You collect some papers
over the years.
Things you never got
to the bottom of,
like "The Case of Tore Hansson".
In 1944, I was the editor of
the Stockholm Daily.
One day, I had a phone call
from a Tore Hansson.
- Editor Hogarth.
- Hello, I...
He had a bad stammer.
He sounded agitated
and collected at the same time.
He worked as a turner
at Zeverin's Engineering Works
in Hammarby Docks.
Somehow,
and he didn't want to say how,
he had discovered
that they did a night shift.
The management
had denied all knowledge
so he had made his own,
very interesting, observations.
A scandal, he called it.
If it got out, it could
jeopardize national security.
What was it?
I don't know.
But I can imagine.
A Swedish precision engineering
workshop in the middle of the war.
Germany desperately needed
certain products.
I asked Tore Hansson to come by,
so we could have a proper talk.
He was supposed to have come
the following day, but never did.
Two weeks later,
he was reported missing
without trace.
"Fifty years of political scandal
in the state of Sweden."
No questions.
Use the same door
you came in through.
Hogarth seemed afraid.
Or maybe he's senile.
This is good. It's really good.
My line of thinking goes:
We'll start with Tore Hansson's case.
Meanwhile, I find another
four or five cases.
- Cash advance?
- Sure.
- Is five enough?
- It'll do.
"It'll do".
Miss! Another couple of beers,
please.
Death is a precious stone, a frogfish
A calcification
with a seductive promise of peace
- Who is it?
- Me. Hogarth.
This place looks just the same.
It's ages since I was last here.
It's been left as it is.
There they are: Truth and Falsehood.
- If things were that clear-cut.
- Yes.
I've got papers in my briefcase.
But where is it?
You left it in the hall.
I've had to take precautions.
There's a taxi waiting downstairs.
I've crisscrossed all over town.
- What's this?
- Various documents.
Including wage ledgers
from Zeverin's from the '40s onwards.
I'm sure you'll find people
who worked with Tore Hansson
and are still alive,
maybe still working.
You have to get hold of someone.
A new witness.
I can't cope much longer.
I'm leaving you to take over.
Sturdy locks.
That's a good thing.
Hogarth seemed afraid.
Or maybe he's senile.
He likes you. He's a heavyweight.
Have you spoken anymore?
He doesn't answer.
Hang on in there.
If he won't answer, visit him again.
Maybe. I'll see.
Hello?
Emergency.
Hello?
"Mrs. Andersson's couch."
What the hell?
"Charlie was beside himself
with excitement.
He pulled her skirt off."
There were no signs of violence?
No.
And you didn't call the cops?
Zeverin's Engineering Works
is part of the Griffel Group.
The Griffel Group
is owned and run by Wilhelm Sterner.
This is worse than I expected.
Sterner's not your brother's
best mate, exactly.
- I want out, for fuck's sake.
- Leo.
Get a grip.
Have you gone through the lists?
We need a new witness.
I don't like that Stene Forman.
He's a bloody opportunist.
That's not the issue.
What's your opinion of Sterner?
I've known him for 15 years.
He's careful, but dangerous.
What does that mean? That I carry on?
Verner deserves it, but...
The question is whether you can hack it.
You know what might happen.
What do you think?
Don't know.
It probably depends
on how far you go.
It's a magazine.
I'd recommend you didn't.
Who are you really trying to protect?
You. From yourself.
One day, I'll make money, too.
EUROPE, CRUMBLING FRAGMENTS
If anyone had asked
where he was heading, he'd say Paris.
Just to have something to say.
But he might as well
have said, "Out." "Off."
Or "Away."
Copenhagen was first.
A tall guy. He often plays in shades.
- Bill from Stockholm? No, in Hamburg.
- I see.
- Bear Quartet? Have they played here?
- Afraid not. It was cancelled.
Shall I take your coat?
What? Oh, thanks.
One beer.
You must be rich.
What? Do you want a cigarette?
Yes, please.
- I'm Tove.
- Hi. Henry.
- Are you Swedish?
- Yes. Or I was.
- What?
- I'm a deserter.
From the Swedish armed forces.
Are you the right one?
They're never wrong.
- Are you the right one?
- Yes. Of course.
Want a drink?
A beer for this lady.
Can I take your picture?
Thanks.
Am I the right one?
Henry didn't quite see why Tove
thought he was the right one.
He'd been content
with being her lover.
Are you in a hurry to go to Paris,
or will you stay a while?
I'm used to being thrown out.
Ever been to Jutland?
I think you'll like it.
- This is Fredrik and Dine.
- Hello.
- Welcome.
- This is Henry.
Tove hung out with a gang of Quakers.
I hardly knew what that meant,
but I liked their style.
Well, this is where we live.
Please.
What's up?
He tried to live as if
Maud and Sterner had never existed.
It worked well for a while.
He was happy there.
- Cheers! To Henry!
- Cheers!
Thanks. Cheers, then!
Welcome to the family.
Are you enjoying it here?
I hope you're careful
with those piano fingers.
- Your fingers.
- Piano.
- What were we supposed to do?
- But we can't just take it!
- Not deny others their freedom.
- His old one wouldn't get him far.
Maybe that's what you want?
That he should stay here. Eh?
Sorry, I can't say anything.
But I haven't asked any questions.
I feel so stupid.
Oh? Why's that?
I'm in love with you.
They say it's a work-related injury.
Work-related?
What kind of work
would that be, then?
You'll find out.
I want to know what's going on.
Okay.
Get a chair.
You're wanted.
You could use some help,
and if you help us,
we'll help you.
Here. Brand new.
What do you want me to do?
Take a suitcase to Berlin,
with forged passports for people
on the other side of the wall.
We can't force you to do it,
only ask you.
Guten Tag. Ihre Fahrkarten
und den Ausweis, bitte.
It'll mean a lot to many people
if you say yes.
And you'd make some money.
Ihre Fahrkarte, bitte. Danke.
They needed new faces all the time.
People with a lot of beliefs,
or people with no beliefs at all.
The emotions stirred up
were simply "work-related injuries".
"Hodie mihi cras tibi."
"For me today, for you tomorrow".
The instructions were simple:
get into the Eastern Sector...
via Checkpoint Charlie.
After getting confirmation in a smoky
and greasy bar with a billiard table.
A beer, please.
Hey, do you want to play?
His name was Franz.
He looked like a war veteran,
but was too young to be one.
He'd won
the Berlin Bowling Championships.
They'd been touring Holland
ten years earlier
when a man had come in
and machine-gunned people down.
Franz's arm had been shot to a pulp.
When the attacker reloaded, Franz
killed him with a metal bowling pin.
I've still got the pin at home.
Playing like that one-armed, I'd hate
to think how you played with two.
- What the hell do you mean?
- You're a wicked player.
With amazing precision.
It was meant as a compliment,
but it went down the wrong way.
As exactly the opposite.
Stop it, Franz!
Please.
I'm so sorry.
Verena was staying locally.
She was gathering information
about missing people.
Just like Verner, Leo's weird friend.
Excuse me,
but the lady who was sitting...
I'm sorry?
The redhead.
Hello?
Mr. Yard?
Whoever they were, they were pros.
But unreliable.
I waited calmly for two days.
Nothing happened.
I waited for a week.
Nothing happened.
I waited until
I started to get fed up.
Excuse me, I'm looking for
an English woman called Verena.
Room 46, at the top.
Verena.
The letter had been
sent from Stockholm.
As if anyone there
knew where to find me.
"Beat a retreat, Peter.
Everything's gone to pieces."
"When you see Verena's picture
in Kurf?rstendamm 108
the time has come to leave.
You're brave.
Burn this letter.
W.S."
PLASTIC SURGERY
Henry could have been a victim, too.
But he was lucky.
Maud had saved him.
BEFORE AFTER
They dug tunnels like these
in Berlin, too.
Those who never got their passports.
What happened?
Well, people got caught.
Some went underground.
Others disappeared.
I could hide from Sweden,
but not from Wilhelm Sterner.
He's not only evil,
if that's what you thought.
Watch out.
We're getting close.
Hi there.
I hope you're fine, wherever you are.
You must find it so petty,
the stuff we do down here.
Or up here, whichever way it is.
And it is, it's petty and trivial.
But what else can we do?
Stick with it.
It's our only chance.
We get nowhere.
We find nothing.
But we give thanks for nothing.
For everything passes,
and nothing remains.
And Earth is a cold place.
Can I be of any assistance?
I was just overhearing.
You sound like a real vicar.
It was so beautiful it made me weep.
Cigarette?
Her name was Kerstin B?ck
and she drove
Picco's courier car number eight.
She said she was alone.
More than once.
Going into town?
Okay, boys.
I'm Henry Morgan.
Enchanted.
- Kerstin B?ck.
- And this is Klas.
Easy now, Kerstin.
It's probably slippery.
...that pettiness. I don't feel
I'm getting anywhere either.
That I'm finding anything.
It's like...
It feels so dumb,
all this striving, or whatever...
you wanna call it. I mean,
what are we striving for anyway?
Time passes and suddenly
there you are, all by yourself.
- Where did you say you were going?
- We didn't.
Here's fine.
I hold women in mourning in such
high esteem. They look so dignified.
I'm considering ditching
the mourning band soon.
I can't take any more sympathy.
I see.
My dad died a month ago.
He was clever. He started a betting
company in the opportunistic '20s.
When times got tight,
he went into car sales.
He was some driver.
Yes, I can imagine.
He actually knew Ronnie Peterson,
the race driver.
Here you go.
We cried by the hospital TV
over the footage from Monza.
I think it must have been the grief.
Ronnie was the greatest thing ever,
and dad died two weeks later.
Damn! I've lost a contact lens.
- Oh?
- The right one. Don't move!
Shit! They cost a fortune!
- Why don't you help me, guys?
- Sure.
- What does it look like?
- Small, I guess.
Shit, how weird. I have a delivery.
Do you drive?
Drive...?
Look. Here it is.
I just need to rinse it off.
What a curious person. Most curious.
Yes. I'm gobsmacked.
And I'm in love.
Here are some lyrics for you.
"Kerstin in a black mourning band
and contacts."
This is powerful stuff, Klas.
Very powerful.
Oh, well, we'll have to share her.
Chastely and innocently.
You answer. I can't lie any more.
- Then you make the move of the week.
- Okay.
Henry Morgan.
Hi, this is Klas' publisher, Franz?n.
- Can I speak to Klas?
- Sorry, he's not around.
I think he's down
at the Royal Library today. Writing.
Please ask him to ring
when he's back.
I'd really like it to happen
this time.
I'll pass that on.
Your publisher's getting edgy.
We need money for the goose supper.
What do you think about
Strindberg's collected works?
- Complete?
- Yup. I imagine so.
Shame.
Well, what the hell can one do?
We lived
with disaster looming over us.
We lived every day
as if it might be our last.
- One thousand.
- Actually...
I was offered 2,500 over the phone,
but that was in Uppsala.
Two thousand. What do you say?
This was an event
they all looked forward to.
The annual goose supper.
Let's see, we need
three bottles of red,
and two bottles of brandy.
The old men decorated the tables
with the best loot they had
and Henry cooked the goose with the
same passion as he did everything.
I've been lucky. I've worked
for some of the best in Paris.
It took a few years,
but I got there.
Hurry up. Get a move on!
What's this plate doing here?
Does it look clean?
Now get a move on!
It was 1968, in May.
The revolution was coming,
but not in the restaurant kitchens.
- Bonjour, Madame Zissou.
- Bonjour, Monsieur Morgan.
THE DAYS WHICH SHOOK FRANCE
Bonjour, Mademoiselle.
Half a pint, please.
I'm Henry.
Nice to meet you. You're very pretty.
Sometimes I checked Bop Sec,
to see who was playing.
Some people play the saxophone
as if they're in a hurry.
Others seem
not to give a damn if they're late.
And then, you can play like Bill
and not give a damn
about anything at all.
Barman, two beers, please!
Henri, le boulevardier!
Maud. She's here.
Hotel Ivry, Rue de Richelieu.
So, are you a couple now?
Sucker!
You know her. If Paris is burning,
she wants to see the fire.
Wilhelm Sterner?
Nice gangster.
Go and say hi. She wants you to.
She would have said.
It's fate.
You had to come back,
and it happened to be here, tonight.
There's nothing in the way.
I'm not in your bloody way.
You can't just turn up like that
after five years.
I'll call and say you're on your way.
She's been waiting, kiddo. I know.
She's skulking in her room.
Like de Gaulle.
Hello?
He never managed to explain,
but it wasn't their night.
There was a revolt,
the president was in hiding
and Henry unfortunately resembled
someone wanted by the police.
Fate seemed to want something else.
A stronger will than ours
kept us apart.
Free? Or unfree?
At the time,
I couldn't tell the difference.
Monsieur Morgan!
This letter came from Stockholm.
"Dear Henry, hope you are doing fine.
Here, there's a lot of hoo-hah.
Your brother's in the paper again.
I'm not sure
what they're protesting against.
I also have some bad news.
Your granddad is dead.
He had a stroke in the stairwell.
It's time you came home.
He wanted you to take over
on Horn Street.
Take care for now.
Mum."
Alright, my dear friends!
I'd like to welcome you all
to the annual goose supper of 1978.
- This is the 19th supper.
- What?
And this year,
we also have a new member: Klas.
He'll stand in for my brother.
The Flask, you're there.
That's for the Queen of Hot Goods.
- Ladies first.
- Here's the soup.
Extremely dry...
...for ten years with our old stuff
without being visited by the police.
They haven't got the time.
Wasn't it a restaurant?
No, a beer caf?.
Only old men. My dad went there.
I remember Henry's, the Jazz Baron.
Sometimes, he'd be there, too.
He had his own style.
Henry was so small
and afraid to go in.
He was even more difficult
to get home.
He was a charmer and a half.
What do a poet's words matter
when there's a goose on our platter?
I go for it and I make it!
You picked that one up in Marseille.
I saw a Tuareg bikini-clad dancer.
When I got back, they'd taken
every single thing in the flat.
Literally. The only thing they'd left
was my type-writer.
Leo?
So, that was the famous brother?
The poet, Leo Morgan.
I recognized him from town,
restaurants and concerts.
We were supposed to look alike,
but I didn't think so.
His eyes were black.
They changed Henry,
who behaved as if
he was watched by a critical judge.
So, how was New York?
Henry's been waiting for letters,
but there haven't been any.
It was cool. It was fucking cool.
The buildings were full of magma.
As if the entire city
was built on a volcano.
All the signs and windows
were glowing and pulsating.
You thought it was bound
to start seeping out somewhere.
But I mainly went to the cinema.
Did you believe that?
What I said about the cinema.
Hey, you!
I've never been to America.
What are you laughing at?
I was in an asylum.
I was in an asylum.
He'd been
at L?ngbro mental institute.
A record somewhere
tells the story of his illness.
A cup of tea?
My heart isn't beating any more.
Try to eat something.
It's beating me up.
I found out most about Leo
from Henry.
Leo himself didn't say much.
They were the opposite
of one another,
as brothers often are.
And life in the flat on Horn Street
would never be the same again.
They had a lost paradise,
Storm?n, an island
in the archipelago.
Every midsummer, their dad,
Gus Morgan, the Jazz Baron,
played away.
Watch out for adders, sweetie.
I've gathered so many flowers...
- Greta! Where's the boat?
- ...No one can ever count them
Medallions of June
Summer at its most coquettish
We get dressed for war
We arm ourselves tenderly
Soldiers asleep in the forest
We descend into a vault
where nothing grows
Do something! Don't just stand there!
Not even the flowers of evil
...the ten-year old boy
who was reported missing
has been found dead.
The police have suggested the boy
may have been subjected to violence.
Somewhere, there is a radio...
which only...
sends...
statistics...
burnt on the skin.
- They found the boy.
- I know.
Have you talked about it at school?
My God.
Did you see?
The police and Verner!
- What the hell's going on now?
- I don't know.
- What's going on?
- I don't know, I swear.
Mom wanted me to tell you.
People have probably talked.
I went to the police and pleaded guilty
to the murder of the boy they found.
Of course it wasn't true.
I wanted to know
what being questioned was like.
And I have information
about others who've disappeared.
My God. Get a grip, lad.
"The Hiroshima bomb killed
over 200,000 people in one go.
Radiation injuries were immeasurable
and loads of people were wiped out.
People's shadows were found
where the sun had never shone."
"Radiation should be avoided.
Fold down the brim of your hat
so it covers your face."
So if an atomic bomb goes off,
this is what you do?
I doubt the protection afforded by that.
Maybe if you're a long way away.
If the bomb fell on the City Hall
and you were in a suburb, or something.
- Good evening.
- Why are you wearing that?
We're in the middle of something.
Is it the old man's?
CHAPTER IV
A LIVING LEGEND
Most people thought he was dead,
but he wasn't.
This is mine, all of the downstairs.
I don't know who had the idea first.
In those days...
things happened spontaneously,
sort of anywhere.
Welcome to the center for hot journalism.
Many are out in the field right now.
The "Harry Lime Group" was so...
typically Leo Morgan.
No one is more underground.
King of the Sewers, sort of thing.
Who were the other band members?
Yeah, well.
There was me and Leo,
Verner Hansson and Nina Negg.
Leo and Verner were old friends.
Verner was a classical super mind.
He knew all the train timetables.
He was in "Young Inventors".
He did a language course in England.
In Bournemouth.
He left a mummy's boy. Six weeks
later, he came back smoking.
With hair like the Beatles and high boots.
His mom must have had a fit.
Nina Negg had immense personality.
A broken soul. She was stateless.
Not a normal citizen.
More of an anti-citizen.
I saw the Beatles... and Dylan.
- And the Stones.
- I was in Bournemouth.
The words were Leo's.
He was already established.
He'd been on TV.
A prodigy.
I've gathered so many flowers
No one can ever count them
Medallions of June
Summer at its most coquettish
We get dressed for war
We arm ourselves tenderly
Soldiers asleep in the forest
We descend into a vault
where nothing grows
Not even the flowers of evil
SANCTIMONIOUS COWS
What the hell do I write?
Shit, fuck, shit!
We became Mods.
We hung out in the market square
in our US Army jackets.
"Let us hand out wings
on every street corner
There are always some who dare
touch upon that innermost sky"
We were among those who buried
ourselves in the King's Park in '67.
- Here's a nice one. No watermark.
- Is that so?
- One hundred.
- I want two hundred for that.
They were from southern Stockholm
and could get anything they wanted.
Hey, you!
Close the door behind you next time.
But they would mainly sit and smoke.
I'd been travelling around a bit
on the continent,
and seen happenings and that.
So I organized a few things
around here as well.
Stuff against the atomic bomb
and the Vietnam war.
We had a lot of fun.
I mean, we had done stuff before
that first music festival on G?rdet.
In 1970.
What was the festival like?
What do you remember?
Well, there was primarily one band.
They came unannounced, rather late,
and looked unlike anything else.
I don't think they had their own
instruments.
What were they called?
Harry Lime Group.
- The singer, what was his name?
- Leo? Morgan?
A poet. He wrote books and poetry.
- He didn't sing, though. He talked.
- Yes, he talked.
I'd never seen anything like it.
I felt sort of "What?".
I started up the only proper
underground band in Sweden.
Comrades! Brothers and sisters!
Together! Together we are strong!
It was called "John Silver,
poet, pirate and cigarette".
It probably sounded terrible.
"Smoke your cigarettes slowly,
comrade.
They may be our last."
Beautiful, eh?
Smoke your cigarettes slowly, comrade
They may be our last
"John Silver, poet.
Poet, cigarette. Cigarette poet."
"Pirate, poet, cigarette."
That's it. It was Leo's poetry.
- Home-printed.
- He printed his own stuff.
Sing your songs quietly, comrade
They can never silence us
For this march, there's no map
No one commands the terrain
No one can speak so clearly
that we obey them
Geographical directions are never...
One line was something about
being able to see the underground.
"Geographical directions
are never vertical."
Geographical directions
are never vertical
"Geographical directions
are never vertical."
So Leo Morgan.
We can reach both God and Satan
Without knowing where we are
Wasn't there a female singer, too?
- She shouted.
- Yes.
It wasn't singing.
- Nina... Negg.
- Yeah, that's right. Negg.
I remember different titles.
Something about a figure-head.
Harry Lime Group became a concept.
And now, you seem to be doing okay?
Yes, sadly. I mean, Leo did his thing.
"Disloyalty as a fine art"
was his motto.
- I got them a flat.
- Spoiled!
Spoiled brats!
Leo, you and your fucking poems.
Your pretty words.
I tried to organize them, but...
Imperialism and bullshit about new
Christmas habits and cosmic love.
It isn't worth shit.
Time to wake up.
The whole world's awake.
But it was already too late for that.
It was all too late.
The party was over.
It had finished a long time ago.
But...
It was so dark,
that there was no evidence.
- Nina?
- She was stateless.
Nina? Nina!
On a couch covered in goose pimples.
- Nina! Nina!
- No one believes in murder...
without a corpse.
Nina.
Nina Negg died
of an overdose in 1973.
My little boy.
I'm not sure
what happened to Verner Hansson.
- Mom, why have you locked the door?
- For your own sake.
And Leo ended up in L?ngbro.
Quite a ropey outcome, really.
They all met terrible fates.
Why was that?
Society's got a lot tougher, so...
There are rumors.
You work at a magazine
some regard as sort of dubious.
We were going to avoid that.
Weren't we?
We said we would. Is that thing off?
- Sure.
- Switch it off, will you.
Whatever you've heard is bullshit.
Verner Hansson is a penniless alkie.
Leo only has hallucinations.
I really stood up for those lads.
But now they're both wasted,
sadly. Sorry to say.
I didn't want to say it publicly,
but that's the truth.
Sadly.
You might have thought
Stene Forman was a typical survivor.
That's what he thought,
but he would meet a terrible fate.
Even if that still lay in the future.
- Are you coming?
- No, I'll skip it tonight.
- Can't leave my brother.
- Why not?
You know how it is.
I'll work out here instead.
Okay. See you later, then.
How's Henry?
Leo's back.
Shit, is he loose again?
He needs help.
Help him.
What did Willis say?
Well...
- What do you think?
- He doesn't get it.
- It's about respect.
- For someone institutionalized?
- Because he's ill.
- Because he's got you.
It's like this:
Leo's a living legend.
What the hell can one do?
Henry! It's collapsed!
It's coming down.
Greger's in there.
- Come with us.
- Hurry!
I froze. I couldn't do anything.
- Then he was gone.
- Greger!
- I'll call an ambulance.
- Hell, no!
And spoil 19 years of hard work?!
It's not worth it.
Shut up! Shut up and dig!
Klas! Get the wheelbarrow.
It's a human life.
Careful. He might be lying there.
Give me the torch! Give it here!
He was a very humble man.
Hell, this was scary, I can tell you.
You're sitting here smiling,
you wretch!
- What's that?
- Gold.
Gold?
What did I say?
Beautiful, Greger. This is an omen!
A ray of hope
as we head for the winter darkness.
Right. Look here.
This is where it caved in.
That means the new cave
should be exactly here.
Oh. Amazing.
"Greger's cave." What do you think?
Greger? Have you got a fag?
- Greger's cave.
- Yes.
- I'm honored. Very honored.
- I propose a toast.
- Were you dying?
- No, not really.
We got ourselves a new tunnel.
Greger's cave.
I see. That's a good name.
And we'll drink to that. Gentlemen.
Hell, that got me going.
It must be nerves.
- I was pretty scared.
- Is there any more?
- I was pretty scared.
- Is there any more?
Half a bottle of red.
Where?
What about doing something?
Go out for a boogie?
It's Wednesday,
midweek celebrations!
Mature dancing at the Dance Hall.
Spectacularly good night, isn't it?
- Two gin and tonics.
- We're so worth it!
We took a trip to France
- In search of a romance
- Come on, Klas!
We have to dance!
We even gave the Eiffel Tower
one last chance
Now I'm in a fairy-tale, I am
We do the Louvre hand in hand
You and me at Notre Dame
He was in top form.
No one would think he'd despaired
in a dark tunnel a few hours earlier.
He'd forgotten that now.
No problems, no worries.
I didn't want to remind him
about Leo or Maud.
Or about the golden goblet.
- Kerstin!
- Klas!
- Hi there!
- Hello!
- What are you doing here?
- I was going to ask the same thing.
- Henry's down there.
- I see.
Can I buy you a drink?
Oh, the things we're able to see
Absolutely!
At the Champs-?lys?es
I'm in a fairy-tale, I am
- Henry!
- Hello! How nice to see you!
- Sally from Solna.
- Hello, I'm Klas.
Sally is a fab dancer.
And Klas is a devil at... the tango.
Oh, I am? Well, why not?
Shall we?
Of course.
Klas? Three dances, that's all.
...yearning for this
Life's not long, so why hesitate
When we both want the same thing
When we're close and I can touch you
The angels start to sing
- Where do you live?
- Up there!
- Wait a bit, wait a bit.
- He's totally crazy, but fun.
Even if you run up a few cab bills.
Being trustworthy has its advantages.
Quiet please. People are asleep.
I fell for that, too, the first time.
What a flat!
We've lived here since the '20s.
Klas, show Kerstin around.
I'll get the drinks.
Okay. That's where I sit.
Wasn't that other brother
a writer as well?
No, he's a poet.
Palm Breeze,
an award-winning cocktail.
Won first prize in London in 1949.
I made hundreds when I lived there.
It was nice.
A tiny detail:
You're very beautiful.
But gum and cocktails
don't go together.
Sorry. A force of habit.
Hell, Klas. Our song!
Take a seat.
Between life and death, a path lies
The presence of memorable folk
Is rarely
as real as your eyes
Kerstin in a mourning band
and contacts
Kerstin in a mourning band and contacts
Between you and me, walks one more
The meaning of our time on earth
Is rarely
The one we wished for
No one's ever dedicated a song to me.
This is my little brother, Leo.
This is Kerstin.
- Hi.
- Delighted.
We're playing some Nachtmusik.
Our own Elton John.
- What's wrong with Elton John?
- He's a genius.
As is my brother.
Quit it.
- He's a poet.
- Quit it.
I've always wanted
to be able to play chess.
There's a master teacher over there.
Are you any good?
The heavyweights have formed a line.
Ahead is a pawn,
backed by a colleague at G6.
In boxing terms this is a mismatch
because the one outweighs the other.
Check mate in four moves.
Cigarette?
I'm not quite sober
and things aren't set
but there's a solo concert coming up.
Please be seated.
Kerstin, pick your seat.
"Europe, crumbling fragments."
Klas is writing the program.
You vote Conservative
to have a change,
not for what they represent, then?
I think...
you need to alter
governments every now and then.
- Regardless of orientation?
- What's the option?
Apart from some weirdo Communists.
- Who do you vote for?
- I don't vote.
- Is that any better?
- No.
Try grabbing a voting slip
in a straightjacket.
Do you always wear a dressing gown?
He hates talk when he's playing.
Sorry.
Elton John's better, though,
isn't he?
At the piano, anyway.
Where are the others?
Aren't they listening?
Damn that Leo.
- Good morning.
- Wow!
Are your breakfasts always like this?
Well, yes, usually.
Are we somewhat in love, then?
Dunno, really.
He's so delicate, somehow.
Hell's bells! Damnation!
- Guys, I'd love to have that song.
- Girls are like birds.
Would you be darlings
and put it on a tape for me
so I can listen to it in the car
and think of you?
Of course. We'll see to that.
Bye, guys!
Fuck this vacuum cleaner.
It's so pointless.
It worked just now.
- I don't do Christmas.
- You live here.
I can't cope.
I can't take the noise!
So cover your ears.
Easy now. No one's forcing you.
You do the rest.
I'll do them.
- Leo's left. He couldn't cope.
- Oh.
And, one more thing.
No presents this year.
- When's dinner?
- In three quarters of an hour.
I'm out of fags.
- You're afraid of me, aren't you?
- Nope.
We've never spoken.
Of course not.
You're never here.
I get totally fucked-up vibes here.
Your perfection chokes me.
You're constantly defending
yourself and Henry.
- Why would I?
- How should I know. You just do.
Sitting on your fucking ass,
writing, like a broiler.
Take a look outside.
Go into the streets
and look at the people there.
Check their faces and you'll see.
Stop it this instant.
You come home pissed,
and there's nothing wrong with that.
But you really have to try
a bit harder.
Cheers to that.
Oh, you've eaten?
Hours ago.
I met an old acquaintance
who sells trees, you see.
From Storm?n.
You know, Leo's and my... You know.
- I just had to take some.
- But we'd said no tree?
When they come free,
I don't give a toss about Leo.
He's not in, for that matter.
When will he grow up?
Mum and her Christmas dinner.
He can't cope.
Hey, you'll have to come instead.
Won't you?
This piano's out of tune.
You have to ring the blind man.
Him? He's no longer with us.
You can take the leftovers home.
- Then Leo can have some, too.
- He doesn't do Christmas.
How could they become like that?
Him and Verner.
"Like that".
Protesting against everything.
Is Verner at home?
Probably downstairs, drinking.
They were the nicest boys
you could imagine.
Did well at school. Polite.
Well brought up.
And now this.
- Chet Baker and all.
- Mum.
Klas hardly knows Verner.
They were always together, those two.
He was super intelligent.
He had a stamp collection
which was priceless.
And he drank it.
Make sure you care
for your children.
If we have any.
Why wouldn't you?
Why does everything
have to be so bloody difficult?
- Nowadays everything's so liberal.
- To things being liberal!
Yes. And difficult.
"Good party," said the old woman
when her husband was buried.
And the jam. There.
Thank you.
Well, it was nice meeting you.
- Verner may appreciate a visit.
- Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas.
- Hello.
- Oh, it's you.
We've been at mum's,
and she thought Verner may be in.
No, he's not here.
I have no idea where he is.
- Oh well. Please give him my best.
- I will.
- You? I have to talk to...
- No, Verner. No!
- Don't spoil everything!
- It's fucked-up anyway.
He's got the sharpest brain in town,
but he drinks himself into a stupor.
A beer?
They're victims of the same crap,
Verner and Leo.
Do you know Stene Forman?
Don't think so.
Then you haven't heard
about Hogarth.
Rumors, mainly.
The Harry Lime Group.
Awesomely bad. Only performed once.
At the G?rdet musical festival.
Forman initiated that.
He's behind all this. All this evil.
He inherited a magazine, Blixt.
- The kind you find in the barber's...
- Yeah, I know.
THE HOGARTH AFFAIR
It was doing badly,
so he had to
find other ways to make money.
- Hello, Leo!
- Hello, you old scoundrel.
Stay a while. Have a seat.
- How's things?
- Okay.
- Still writing?
- No.
- Nothing, really.
- Verner called. He sounded like shit.
- What's he on?
- He's only drinking.
He gave up the dope.
He babbled about his dad.
Tore Hansson,
who disappeared in 1944.
- That was never investigated.
- Nope.
He had been called
by some journalist.
Hogarth. He had new information.
Yes.
Blah, blah...
Listen, I was thinking
about a series.
Missing people still missing.
What do you say?
- About what?
- Don't be so thick. About writing it.
The money's good,
and you need money, don't you?
- Hullo. Did you buy any booze?
- No, shit.
- I forgot.
- What?
I was just kidding.
I got quite nervous there.
I tried to talk to mum
about the old guy out in Bromma.
But it's impossible.
Then she refuses to bring home
anything to drink for days.
That old guy out in Bromma.
- He...
- Hogarth?
Hogarth.
He calls it a judicial scandal.
He says it doesn't matter
if it's statute-barred.
Me and mum can make certain claims.
- We've got rights.
- To what?
Compensation.
Because the company still exists.
Wasn't it about principles?
Principles of justice.
Of course. That's the important bit.
Money's not important to me.
This is about justice at last.
I'm in no position.
You can see that for yourself.
But that one...
- That old guy out in Bromma.
- Hogarth.
He's able.
And so are you.
Put an end to this, Leo.
For my sake,
please put an end to this.
I don't use that door.
I'm Leo. Morgan.
A friend of Verner Hansson's?
What? Yes, we've hung out
since we were young.
Young and fatherless.
Fuel oil is expensive.
I go easy on it.
- Do you drink whisky?
- It happens.
I was a good friend
of your granddad?s.
The WWW Society.
Are you still digging down there?
For the Bellman passage?
I know. You can't talk about it.
But do you think
your granddad could keep quiet?
He had wild hopes for it.
I'm cleaning out my stuff.
You collect some papers
over the years.
Things you never got
to the bottom of,
like "The Case of Tore Hansson".
In 1944, I was the editor of
the Stockholm Daily.
One day, I had a phone call
from a Tore Hansson.
- Editor Hogarth.
- Hello, I...
He had a bad stammer.
He sounded agitated
and collected at the same time.
He worked as a turner
at Zeverin's Engineering Works
in Hammarby Docks.
Somehow,
and he didn't want to say how,
he had discovered
that they did a night shift.
The management
had denied all knowledge
so he had made his own,
very interesting, observations.
A scandal, he called it.
If it got out, it could
jeopardize national security.
What was it?
I don't know.
But I can imagine.
A Swedish precision engineering
workshop in the middle of the war.
Germany desperately needed
certain products.
I asked Tore Hansson to come by,
so we could have a proper talk.
He was supposed to have come
the following day, but never did.
Two weeks later,
he was reported missing
without trace.
"Fifty years of political scandal
in the state of Sweden."
No questions.
Use the same door
you came in through.
Hogarth seemed afraid.
Or maybe he's senile.
This is good. It's really good.
My line of thinking goes:
We'll start with Tore Hansson's case.
Meanwhile, I find another
four or five cases.
- Cash advance?
- Sure.
- Is five enough?
- It'll do.
"It'll do".
Miss! Another couple of beers,
please.
Death is a precious stone, a frogfish
A calcification
with a seductive promise of peace
- Who is it?
- Me. Hogarth.
This place looks just the same.
It's ages since I was last here.
It's been left as it is.
There they are: Truth and Falsehood.
- If things were that clear-cut.
- Yes.
I've got papers in my briefcase.
But where is it?
You left it in the hall.
I've had to take precautions.
There's a taxi waiting downstairs.
I've crisscrossed all over town.
- What's this?
- Various documents.
Including wage ledgers
from Zeverin's from the '40s onwards.
I'm sure you'll find people
who worked with Tore Hansson
and are still alive,
maybe still working.
You have to get hold of someone.
A new witness.
I can't cope much longer.
I'm leaving you to take over.
Sturdy locks.
That's a good thing.
Hogarth seemed afraid.
Or maybe he's senile.
He likes you. He's a heavyweight.
Have you spoken anymore?
He doesn't answer.
Hang on in there.
If he won't answer, visit him again.
Maybe. I'll see.
Hello?
Emergency.
Hello?
"Mrs. Andersson's couch."
What the hell?
"Charlie was beside himself
with excitement.
He pulled her skirt off."
There were no signs of violence?
No.
And you didn't call the cops?
Zeverin's Engineering Works
is part of the Griffel Group.
The Griffel Group
is owned and run by Wilhelm Sterner.
This is worse than I expected.
Sterner's not your brother's
best mate, exactly.
- I want out, for fuck's sake.
- Leo.
Get a grip.
Have you gone through the lists?
We need a new witness.
I don't like that Stene Forman.
He's a bloody opportunist.
That's not the issue.
What's your opinion of Sterner?
I've known him for 15 years.
He's careful, but dangerous.
What does that mean? That I carry on?
Verner deserves it, but...
The question is whether you can hack it.
You know what might happen.
What do you think?
Don't know.
It probably depends
on how far you go.
It's a magazine.
I'd recommend you didn't.
Who are you really trying to protect?
You. From yourself.
One day, I'll make money, too.