The Young Pope (2016–…): Season 1, Episode 8 - Episode #1.8 - full transcript
The Pope deals with his grief after experiencing a personal loss, and travels to Africa where his eyes are opened to wider suffering.
Lord Almighty,
now that You have our beloved
Dussolier in Your arms,
I pray to You,
remind him of that afternoon
when we ran away together
from the orphanage.
Remind him of the fear and freedom
we felt on that rainy afternoon.
And reassure him,
there's nothing wrong,
freedom and fear
are always together,
like an old married couple,
each willing to die for the other.
Remind him of Sister Mary
at age twenty,
her hair flowing and blonde
and drenched in sunlight
as she ran and sank baskets.
Remind him of that indelible,
archaic picture of beauty
that so stirred us, in silence.
Now I know very well
that neither he nor I
will ever forget that picture.
Remind him, Lord Almighty,
of all our endless
late-night conversations,
in that big one-room dormitory,
under the blankets,
how we whispered in secret
about our one and only,
inexhaustible topic of discussion:
our future.
We were children then,
and that's what children do:
they paint the future in colors
that reality can never know.
Remind him not to grieve
over all our shattered dreams.
We wanted to live the lives
of the great baseball player,
the elderly gas station attendant
on the county road,
the heroic soldier,
the lowlife New York musician,
the fireman, the blue-water sailor.
Remind him not to weep
when he remembers that instead
we lived only the simple,
drab life of the priest,
such a strange life,
a life of hope and prayer that You,
Lord Almighty,
really do exist
and might think about us.
Amen.
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei.
Where do they go,
the airplanes we never take?
I always wonder the same thing,
every time I see one.
I always think that they go
to places I've never been.
They go somewhere else.
Tell me about the Blessed Juana.
She is revered in Guatemala
and across all Central America.
She died at the age
of eighteen and,
of leukemia and on her deathbed,
she said:
"All the world will be infatuated
with me because...
all my life I have been infatuated
with the world."
What did the Blessed Juana do
to deserve canonization?
Well, she cared for sick children
in the hospitals and,
in order to alleviate
their suffering,
she would tell them fairytales
that she thought up herself,
very amusing ones, apparently,
and always with the same
protagonist, the Madonna.
I like this, go on.
But these fairytales gave more
than a smile to the sick children.
Many of these children,
just a few days after listening
to Juana's fairytales,
recovered from terminal illnesses.
And they recovered with a smile
on their face.
All of the cured children,
when they were asked whether
they had any idea of why
they felt better and were healed,
gave the same answer:
"The Madonna made us laugh".
That's a wonderful story,
Your Eminence.
Yes, Holy Father, it's
a wonderful story.
Beautiful...
if only it were true.
But Holy Father, it is true.
All right, let me think about it.
I'll let you know my answer soon.
Tell me about your calling.
Holy Father, the announcement
of your orders
making abortion unforgivable
has unleashed the Femen
and they're protesting everywhere.
Beneath the Eiffel Tower,
in the European parliament,
even in St. Peter's Square.
I don't want to talk
about people who strip naked
in order to protest
against something.
The death of Andrew...
you weren't to blame.
Oh, yes I was.
Valente.
Holy Father.
I am so tired.
Here I am, Holy Father.
Make yourself comfortable.
- Did you have a good trip?
- Oh, I just love helicopters.
They make me feel like
I'm having an adventure.
Young people like you
love adventures.
Holy Father, may I remind you
that we're the same age?
We used to be the same age.
I was so surprised and happy
to hear that you wanted to see me.
I too was surprised to learn
that I needed to see you.
Oh, not wanted, but needed.
Weigh your words carefully,
Holy Father.
I'm really tired, you know that?
If you will allow me, Holy Father,
you're not tired.
You're grieving
and struggling with guilt
over the death of your closest
friend, Cardinal Dussolier.
What did you want to talk to me
about, Holy Father?
What are we doing wrong?
Oh, it's very simple.
We've failed to follow the eternal,
unchanging principle
of the carrot and the stick.
The carrot and the stick.
We brought the stick
but forgot the carrot.
What do you mean by carrot?
An opening.
What do you mean by an opening?
A speech about love
and a pastoral voyage.
I don't like to travel
and you know perfectly well
that I don't like to be seen.
I never said that you have
to let yourself be seen.
As for traveling:
everyone dislikes traveling
until they actually go on a trip.
Then they like it, don't they?
Where are you thinking
of dragging me?
To Africa.
To celebrate the thirtieth
anniversary of the foundation
of Sister Antonia's
first village of goodness.
The first of the 250 villages
of goodness.
The largest multinational
of charity.
Sister Antonia calls my office
an average of fourteen times a day
to repeat her invitation.
She'd gladly saw off one
of her arms to get you to come.
Well, you just tell her
to get to sawing,
and then I'll be around
sooner or later.
So what do you say?
I'm not particularly fond
of Sister Antonia and what's more,
several cardinals have told me
she has a close and friendly
relationship with halitosis.
No.
This doesn't strike me
as the right idea
to settle the problems we have.
As you wish, Holy Father.
What I really wish
is to go back to Rome.
I'm not a man
who's comfortable on vacation.
All intelligent men are
uncomfortable on vacation.
By the way, something that
may possibly cheer you up:
Elmore Coen, your favorite author,
is on vacation in Rome.
He stated in an interview with the
press that he'd like to meet you.
Might that be of interest to you?
I've always wanted to meet
Elmore Coen.
What became...
of the roller-skating children?
I've loved all your books,
Mr. Coen.
It's an immense honor for me
to meet you.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves,
Your Holiness.
After all, you're the Pope.
I had heard that you wanted
to meet me too.
How could I not?!
You are the most mysterious man
of these first few decades
of the century.
What writer wouldn't want
to meet you?
You writers are all
so obsessed with mystery.
You men of the cloth.
Don't kid around, either.
Writers and men of the cloth
are the same in that way.
They can't afford
to solve the mystery,
because the next day
they'd become irrelevant.
Writing is the one way I've found
of concealing
my boundless ignorance.
It's a fraud, really,
the way of gaining acceptance
from the world
and especially from women,
who are my one and only
real interest.
Oh, forgive me,
I've been inappropriate.
Not at all.
Laymen always think we priests
are scandalized
by even the slightest things,
whereas the truth
is the exact opposite.
We are never scandalized,
no profession has to deal with sin
on such a continual basis as ours.
The confessional
is our operating room.
Just as surgeons have
no fear of blood,
so we priests are no longer
afraid of scandal and sin.
So how do you survive
without women?
An easy answer.
The foolish ones
go with women on the sly.
The wise ones long ago understood
the degree to which sex,
as a source of pleasure,
has overvalued in our society.
Your Holiness, with a few words
you have just razed to the ground
three quarters
of my literary production.
I've almost always
written about sex
as the motor that drives the world.
And you were right. But you don't
write about motors that purr,
you write about motors
that break down continuously.
And they should have given you
a Nobel Prize for it, 20 years ago.
Ah, it's true.
Unfortunately, they've gotten
into the habit
of giving it only
to those who don't want it.
Have you ever had a girlfriend,
Your Holiness?
Certainly!
I've only have had one and
I remember everything about her.
Whereas you, Mr. Coen,
have probably had thousands
and don't remember
a thing about them.
I only remember certain perverse
and lustful details.
If you remember those,
that's probably because we're
continuing lecturing you
about how wrong it is
to remember them.
How do you feel?
Sick.
They've found something wrong
with me,
but they're not sure what it is.
Perhaps God has entered you.
The more than likely
it's the devil.
Are you going to resign?
No, I'm not going to resign.
That only makes me feel worse.
You're never going to be pope,
Michael. Get used to it.
I'm the Pope and I'm going to
remain pope until the day I die.
Because I'm curious to see
how it all turns out.
You don't believe in God.
- What did you say?
- I said you don't believe in God.
I was fifty years old
myself once, you know?
I had my own crisis of faith.
Like all priests.
The second calling is
more challenging,
and more fraught than the first.
You no longer have to deal
with the enthusiastic of youth,
now you must grapple
with disenchantment
and the limitations
of the rational.
You don't believe in God
but that shouldn't upset you.
Even though you're a pope.
There's still another path
that'll allow you
to find the people and things
you are looking for,
even if you can't see it now...
because all you can see
before you now
are your own doubts
and the darkness.
Please, show me this other path,
I beg you.
If I show it to you,
then the adventure is over.
Don't you see, Lenny?
Your life, your Papacy,
is an unforgettable adventure?
You truly are my spiritual father,
the best a priest
could hope to have.
Michael, what must I do
to restore the Church's fate?
Go to Venice and bury
two empty coffins.
Gloria Patri
et Filio et Spiritui Sancto,
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
Requiescant in pace.
Dominus vobiscum,
Sit nomen Domini benedictum.
Adiutorium nostrum
in nomine Domini.
Benedicat vos ompipotens Deus:
Pater, et Filius,
et Spiritus Sanctus.
Now...
next Sunday...
we won't see each other, my dear,
devoted faithful.
I have to take a trip.
I've decided to visit Africa.
To celebrate
the thirtieth anniversary
of the foundation
of Sister Antonia's
first village of goodness.
I know!
I know you wanted him, not me.
- When will he come out?
- I'll tell you right away,
so you can get it out of your mind:
he's not coming out.
What does that mean:
he's not coming out?
In that case, why are we bothering
to all travel together
- on the same flight?
- To feel he's closer.
Sofie, you know perfectly well that
this bullshit won't sell anymore.
Boys, what can I tell you?
He's not coming out.
That's the official version.
Then, I, I couldn't say...
Anything could happen,
one thing Pius XIII certainly
doesn't lack is unpredictability.
Take this trip... in two hours
he told us: we're going.
And we put the whole thing together
at the speed of light.
But I'm going to ask him
a really important question.
- Not right now, you're not.
- But why won't he come out?
- What is he doing?
- He's praying.
And we're praying, too:
that he'll talk to us.
We have been praying
for months now.
So what prayer is he praying?
My dear boy, I still can't read
the Holy Father's mind.
Well, he's not praying aloud. With
this pope, that constitutes news.
I have an important question
to ask him.
I understand, Jennifer,
but he's not coming out.
Prince Abadi
has prepared the stadium
for the Pope's public speech.
Will he go?
Will he allow himself to be seen
in public for the first time?
He said he will. In any case,
I'll keep you informed. Ok?
Sofie, when am I'm gonna be able
to ask my question?
I don't know, Jennifer.
Holy Father, reliable sources say
that the Kurtwell investigation
is at a standstill.
They say that you've sent
a man with no experience
to conduct that investigation
because you don't actually
want to investigate.
And there's a very specific reason
for that:
Kurtwell is blackmailing you.
Is that true, Holy Father?
And what is Kurtwell
blackmailing you about?
What does Kurtwell know about you
that we don't?
Stay where you are! Nobody move!
Stay where you are!
Stay where you are!
Stay where you are! Nobody move!
Stay where you are!
Don't move!
Don't move! Stay where you are!
Eminence, what a pleasure to see
you after all these years.
- The pleasure is all mine,
Mother Antonia. - The Holy Father?
He'll get out as soon as you
hand over your phone.
Are you joking, Eminence?
I want a picture with the Pope.
We're not joking, and there won't
be any picture with the Pope.
- So what shall we do? - Do you
think I went to all this trouble
to not even get a picture
with the Pope?
It's out of the question.
Mother, the Holy Father is waiting
there in the car.
This isn't fair,
and it's not equal treatment.
Is it plausible to expect
equal treatment with the Pope?
I don't like the attitude of
Pius XIII toward a woman like me
who's given so much to the Church.
Mother, don't forget
the law of reciprocity.
The Holy Father might dislike
your attitude too.
Now try to make a small effort
of peering into the future.
Who would have the worst of it
in this contest?
I have influential philanthropist
friends all over the world.
While the Pope doesn't even
have one friend.
And yet it would take him just
20 minutes
to shut down all 250 Villages
of Goodness.
And believe me, I've come to know
him very well.
If he wants to do it, he'll do it.
Now be a good girl
and give me your phone.
And one more thing.
A little gift from the Pope.
Take one.
Wait. No.
Better take two.
Let's go!
This is our church.
Next to it is the dormitory,
the health care clinic,
the dental clinic,
the elementary school,
the catechism school,
the cafeteria,
and the administrative offices.
Enough, enough.
Enough, enough.
Enough, enough.
Enough, enough.
Enough.
Enough, enough.
Enough.
Ni mara ngapi mimi aliiambia!
Huna kutumia maji,
siyo nzuri kwa ajili ya afya!
Not all that glitters is gold.
That water is dangerous.
It can cause fluorosis, anemia,
joint pains, dental disease,
and kidney failure.
The main problem afflicting
this area has to do with
a supply of safe,
clean drinking water.
Our benefactors send us huge
quantities of clean water,
but the bureaucracy, the soldiers,
and the gangs hijack it illegally,
and keep it for themselves.
This is a very ingenious system
designed by a Dutch company,
which donated it to us.
The water condenses on the glass
and then drips into containers.
There are times when
we manage to collect
as much as three liters a day.
- Would you like some water to
drink, Your Holiness? - No thanks.
Forgive me, Father,
for I have sinned.
I met this famous American author.
What a tempter!
He said he remembered
only the perverse
and lustful details of women.
Now I can't seem to do anything
but remember my own
very few details of that nature.
You might say to me: which ones?
When I met that girl in California
on the beach,
more than thirty years ago.
She told me:
"You can touch my legs".
It's become an obsessive,
very unhealthy thought.
Also, even though it was
in good faith,
I never even realized I was doing
it, I must have sinned with Esther,
Peter, and little Pius.
They left the Vatican,
without saying goodbye to me.
Just vanished.
Now I can't seem to sleep at night,
because I'm thinking about
the photo that they left behind,
a photo I thought mattered to them:
a photo of me holding
little Pius in my arms.
At times like this,
I feel guilty, because I should be
thinking about my only true friend:
Andrew Dussolier...
dead because of me,
and yet I've already stopped
feeling guilty about it.
This enormous burden swept away
by a tiny morsel of guilt.
How strange the human soul can be,
isn't that true, Father?
Finally, Father, the world!
Pity, compassion...
forgiveness...
all this Christian virtues the
world no longer attributes to me.
Can they be right?
Am I cruel?
All I know is everything I do,
I do for the love of God.
And that's all.
My penitence, Father?
My penitence, Father?
Do you speak English?
You couldn't have told me before?
You've just letting me rattle on
like an idiot
for the past ten minutes!
"Sister Antonia hides the water."
And she uses it to control
the sick and the nuns.
In exchange for a few glasses
of water she demands favors,
obscene acts,
and filth I could never repeat.
"I beg you, please, Father,
only you can help us."
Accipite et bibite ex eo omnes.
Haec quotiescumque feceritis,
in mei memoriam facietis.
I have to tell you something,
Holy Father.
Your Eminence, I don't wanna
hear any more bad news.
You might not believe it,
but for the first time I have
a piece of good news to give you.
Let's hear it, then.
The simple fact that you have
announced your first pastoral visit
and the prospect
of your first public appearance
have resulted in a 12% increase
in the number of requests
to take part in your next mass
at St. Peter's.
The morbid curiosity
prompted by absence.
Your Eminence, as an orphan,
I'm very familiar with this.
Holy Father, will you appear here,
in Africa, for the first time?
You once asked me who I really am.
- Do you remember that?
- Certainly.
I'm just a man.
- That's the answer.
- That's not all.
Your Holiness, you are the Church.
How wonderful!
And to think that there are
still people who believe
that God doesn't exist.
What was that American journalist
on the plane referring to?
Oh, probably just
one of the many slanders
making the rounds
about the Holy Father.
Kurtwell and Belardo
know each other
because they both
worked in New York, and that's all.
Oh I...
- Forgive me.
- No.
The civil war in this country,
practically speaking,
has never stopped.
It's hard to even come up with
an estimate of the number of dead.
The arrival of the Holy Father
has been particularly useful
because it at least forced
the sides to call a truce.
My fear is that, as soon as His
Holiness leaves this land of ours,
the warring bands will go back
to slaughtering each other
just like before.
Prince Abadi is a good man.
He's a great philanthropist,
generous with us,
and he does what he can
to halt the violence,
but without international aid
the task is daunting.
I'd use my words with care,
Mother Antonia.
The U.N. denounces Abadi
as a ferocious torturer
and old-school dictator,
that's why there has been
no international aid.
Your Eminence, I've been
in this place for many years.
Prince Abadi is a good man.
The United Nations has been
in this place for some time, too.
Prince Abadi is a good man.
The question here is: what exactly
does it mean to be a good person?
Let's take you for instance Sister
Antonia: are you a good person?
- I believe I am.
- Don't be in such a hurry.
Think carefully.
I try to live in accordance
with Christian values.
Which ones?
You can use Christian values
for all kinds of purposes.
A good person is somebody
who puts himself last,
who renounces
his own temptations and needs,
working only for the interests
of others.
Now think carefully
and answer sincerely,
because I won't put up with
even the tiniest lie from you:
are you a good person?
There seems to be a some kind
of misunderstanding
concerning the meaning
of my visit here to you.
You think I'm here to honor you.
In fact, I'm here
to ascertain your temptations.
Heal yourself, Sister Antonia.
Halitosis is a deformation
of the soul.
Water problem.
Ladies and gentlemen,
His Holiness Pius XIII.
This is the vicar of Christ,
Pope Pius XIII,
speaking to you now.
Brothers and sisters, I want to be
perfectly clear with you.
I have visited your country
and I have seen dead bodies
lying on the ground,
hunger, blood, thirst, and poverty.
All these things are the offspring
of the war and violence
that has clutched your land
for twelve years now.
I won't say the names of those
who are guilty in this.
There are too many of them.
We are all guilty.
We are all guilty of war and death.
Always.
In the same way,
we can all be guilty of peace.
Always.
I ask this of you on bended knee.
I am ready to die for you, if only
you will become guilty of peace.
I always say to the children who
write me from all over the world:
think about all the things
you like.
That is God.
Children like all sorts of things,
but none of them has ever written
that what they like is war.
Now look at whoever is next to you.
Look at them with eyes of joy
and remember
what St. Augustine said:
"If you want to see God,
you have the means to do it."
"God is love."
I, on the other hand,
won't speak to you about God
until there is peace.
Because God is peace.
And peace is God.
Give me peace,
and I'll give you God.
You don't know how wonderful
peace is.
You have no idea how disconcerting
peace can be.
But I know.
Because I saw it when I was
eight years old
on the banks of a river
in Colorado... peace.
It was beautiful.
Yeah, I know.
Those dancers
gave a wonderful performance.
No, Holy Father,
I'm talking about your speech.
It was beautiful.
Holy Father, weather conditions
in Rome are critical.
We're going to have to land
in Naples.
I would never dare
to contradict you.
Naples it is.
- May I touch?
- No!
I need to stop
at the next gas station.
Certainly, Your Holiness.
O Lord...
let us look each other
right in the eyes,
we can no longer put off
this matter.
We now need to speak
about Sister Antonia.
Blessed Virgin!
Maria...
Maria...
Maria.
Maria.
Maria.
Maria.
Maria.
now that You have our beloved
Dussolier in Your arms,
I pray to You,
remind him of that afternoon
when we ran away together
from the orphanage.
Remind him of the fear and freedom
we felt on that rainy afternoon.
And reassure him,
there's nothing wrong,
freedom and fear
are always together,
like an old married couple,
each willing to die for the other.
Remind him of Sister Mary
at age twenty,
her hair flowing and blonde
and drenched in sunlight
as she ran and sank baskets.
Remind him of that indelible,
archaic picture of beauty
that so stirred us, in silence.
Now I know very well
that neither he nor I
will ever forget that picture.
Remind him, Lord Almighty,
of all our endless
late-night conversations,
in that big one-room dormitory,
under the blankets,
how we whispered in secret
about our one and only,
inexhaustible topic of discussion:
our future.
We were children then,
and that's what children do:
they paint the future in colors
that reality can never know.
Remind him not to grieve
over all our shattered dreams.
We wanted to live the lives
of the great baseball player,
the elderly gas station attendant
on the county road,
the heroic soldier,
the lowlife New York musician,
the fireman, the blue-water sailor.
Remind him not to weep
when he remembers that instead
we lived only the simple,
drab life of the priest,
such a strange life,
a life of hope and prayer that You,
Lord Almighty,
really do exist
and might think about us.
Amen.
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei.
Where do they go,
the airplanes we never take?
I always wonder the same thing,
every time I see one.
I always think that they go
to places I've never been.
They go somewhere else.
Tell me about the Blessed Juana.
She is revered in Guatemala
and across all Central America.
She died at the age
of eighteen and,
of leukemia and on her deathbed,
she said:
"All the world will be infatuated
with me because...
all my life I have been infatuated
with the world."
What did the Blessed Juana do
to deserve canonization?
Well, she cared for sick children
in the hospitals and,
in order to alleviate
their suffering,
she would tell them fairytales
that she thought up herself,
very amusing ones, apparently,
and always with the same
protagonist, the Madonna.
I like this, go on.
But these fairytales gave more
than a smile to the sick children.
Many of these children,
just a few days after listening
to Juana's fairytales,
recovered from terminal illnesses.
And they recovered with a smile
on their face.
All of the cured children,
when they were asked whether
they had any idea of why
they felt better and were healed,
gave the same answer:
"The Madonna made us laugh".
That's a wonderful story,
Your Eminence.
Yes, Holy Father, it's
a wonderful story.
Beautiful...
if only it were true.
But Holy Father, it is true.
All right, let me think about it.
I'll let you know my answer soon.
Tell me about your calling.
Holy Father, the announcement
of your orders
making abortion unforgivable
has unleashed the Femen
and they're protesting everywhere.
Beneath the Eiffel Tower,
in the European parliament,
even in St. Peter's Square.
I don't want to talk
about people who strip naked
in order to protest
against something.
The death of Andrew...
you weren't to blame.
Oh, yes I was.
Valente.
Holy Father.
I am so tired.
Here I am, Holy Father.
Make yourself comfortable.
- Did you have a good trip?
- Oh, I just love helicopters.
They make me feel like
I'm having an adventure.
Young people like you
love adventures.
Holy Father, may I remind you
that we're the same age?
We used to be the same age.
I was so surprised and happy
to hear that you wanted to see me.
I too was surprised to learn
that I needed to see you.
Oh, not wanted, but needed.
Weigh your words carefully,
Holy Father.
I'm really tired, you know that?
If you will allow me, Holy Father,
you're not tired.
You're grieving
and struggling with guilt
over the death of your closest
friend, Cardinal Dussolier.
What did you want to talk to me
about, Holy Father?
What are we doing wrong?
Oh, it's very simple.
We've failed to follow the eternal,
unchanging principle
of the carrot and the stick.
The carrot and the stick.
We brought the stick
but forgot the carrot.
What do you mean by carrot?
An opening.
What do you mean by an opening?
A speech about love
and a pastoral voyage.
I don't like to travel
and you know perfectly well
that I don't like to be seen.
I never said that you have
to let yourself be seen.
As for traveling:
everyone dislikes traveling
until they actually go on a trip.
Then they like it, don't they?
Where are you thinking
of dragging me?
To Africa.
To celebrate the thirtieth
anniversary of the foundation
of Sister Antonia's
first village of goodness.
The first of the 250 villages
of goodness.
The largest multinational
of charity.
Sister Antonia calls my office
an average of fourteen times a day
to repeat her invitation.
She'd gladly saw off one
of her arms to get you to come.
Well, you just tell her
to get to sawing,
and then I'll be around
sooner or later.
So what do you say?
I'm not particularly fond
of Sister Antonia and what's more,
several cardinals have told me
she has a close and friendly
relationship with halitosis.
No.
This doesn't strike me
as the right idea
to settle the problems we have.
As you wish, Holy Father.
What I really wish
is to go back to Rome.
I'm not a man
who's comfortable on vacation.
All intelligent men are
uncomfortable on vacation.
By the way, something that
may possibly cheer you up:
Elmore Coen, your favorite author,
is on vacation in Rome.
He stated in an interview with the
press that he'd like to meet you.
Might that be of interest to you?
I've always wanted to meet
Elmore Coen.
What became...
of the roller-skating children?
I've loved all your books,
Mr. Coen.
It's an immense honor for me
to meet you.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves,
Your Holiness.
After all, you're the Pope.
I had heard that you wanted
to meet me too.
How could I not?!
You are the most mysterious man
of these first few decades
of the century.
What writer wouldn't want
to meet you?
You writers are all
so obsessed with mystery.
You men of the cloth.
Don't kid around, either.
Writers and men of the cloth
are the same in that way.
They can't afford
to solve the mystery,
because the next day
they'd become irrelevant.
Writing is the one way I've found
of concealing
my boundless ignorance.
It's a fraud, really,
the way of gaining acceptance
from the world
and especially from women,
who are my one and only
real interest.
Oh, forgive me,
I've been inappropriate.
Not at all.
Laymen always think we priests
are scandalized
by even the slightest things,
whereas the truth
is the exact opposite.
We are never scandalized,
no profession has to deal with sin
on such a continual basis as ours.
The confessional
is our operating room.
Just as surgeons have
no fear of blood,
so we priests are no longer
afraid of scandal and sin.
So how do you survive
without women?
An easy answer.
The foolish ones
go with women on the sly.
The wise ones long ago understood
the degree to which sex,
as a source of pleasure,
has overvalued in our society.
Your Holiness, with a few words
you have just razed to the ground
three quarters
of my literary production.
I've almost always
written about sex
as the motor that drives the world.
And you were right. But you don't
write about motors that purr,
you write about motors
that break down continuously.
And they should have given you
a Nobel Prize for it, 20 years ago.
Ah, it's true.
Unfortunately, they've gotten
into the habit
of giving it only
to those who don't want it.
Have you ever had a girlfriend,
Your Holiness?
Certainly!
I've only have had one and
I remember everything about her.
Whereas you, Mr. Coen,
have probably had thousands
and don't remember
a thing about them.
I only remember certain perverse
and lustful details.
If you remember those,
that's probably because we're
continuing lecturing you
about how wrong it is
to remember them.
How do you feel?
Sick.
They've found something wrong
with me,
but they're not sure what it is.
Perhaps God has entered you.
The more than likely
it's the devil.
Are you going to resign?
No, I'm not going to resign.
That only makes me feel worse.
You're never going to be pope,
Michael. Get used to it.
I'm the Pope and I'm going to
remain pope until the day I die.
Because I'm curious to see
how it all turns out.
You don't believe in God.
- What did you say?
- I said you don't believe in God.
I was fifty years old
myself once, you know?
I had my own crisis of faith.
Like all priests.
The second calling is
more challenging,
and more fraught than the first.
You no longer have to deal
with the enthusiastic of youth,
now you must grapple
with disenchantment
and the limitations
of the rational.
You don't believe in God
but that shouldn't upset you.
Even though you're a pope.
There's still another path
that'll allow you
to find the people and things
you are looking for,
even if you can't see it now...
because all you can see
before you now
are your own doubts
and the darkness.
Please, show me this other path,
I beg you.
If I show it to you,
then the adventure is over.
Don't you see, Lenny?
Your life, your Papacy,
is an unforgettable adventure?
You truly are my spiritual father,
the best a priest
could hope to have.
Michael, what must I do
to restore the Church's fate?
Go to Venice and bury
two empty coffins.
Gloria Patri
et Filio et Spiritui Sancto,
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
Requiescant in pace.
Dominus vobiscum,
Sit nomen Domini benedictum.
Adiutorium nostrum
in nomine Domini.
Benedicat vos ompipotens Deus:
Pater, et Filius,
et Spiritus Sanctus.
Now...
next Sunday...
we won't see each other, my dear,
devoted faithful.
I have to take a trip.
I've decided to visit Africa.
To celebrate
the thirtieth anniversary
of the foundation
of Sister Antonia's
first village of goodness.
I know!
I know you wanted him, not me.
- When will he come out?
- I'll tell you right away,
so you can get it out of your mind:
he's not coming out.
What does that mean:
he's not coming out?
In that case, why are we bothering
to all travel together
- on the same flight?
- To feel he's closer.
Sofie, you know perfectly well that
this bullshit won't sell anymore.
Boys, what can I tell you?
He's not coming out.
That's the official version.
Then, I, I couldn't say...
Anything could happen,
one thing Pius XIII certainly
doesn't lack is unpredictability.
Take this trip... in two hours
he told us: we're going.
And we put the whole thing together
at the speed of light.
But I'm going to ask him
a really important question.
- Not right now, you're not.
- But why won't he come out?
- What is he doing?
- He's praying.
And we're praying, too:
that he'll talk to us.
We have been praying
for months now.
So what prayer is he praying?
My dear boy, I still can't read
the Holy Father's mind.
Well, he's not praying aloud. With
this pope, that constitutes news.
I have an important question
to ask him.
I understand, Jennifer,
but he's not coming out.
Prince Abadi
has prepared the stadium
for the Pope's public speech.
Will he go?
Will he allow himself to be seen
in public for the first time?
He said he will. In any case,
I'll keep you informed. Ok?
Sofie, when am I'm gonna be able
to ask my question?
I don't know, Jennifer.
Holy Father, reliable sources say
that the Kurtwell investigation
is at a standstill.
They say that you've sent
a man with no experience
to conduct that investigation
because you don't actually
want to investigate.
And there's a very specific reason
for that:
Kurtwell is blackmailing you.
Is that true, Holy Father?
And what is Kurtwell
blackmailing you about?
What does Kurtwell know about you
that we don't?
Stay where you are! Nobody move!
Stay where you are!
Stay where you are!
Stay where you are! Nobody move!
Stay where you are!
Don't move!
Don't move! Stay where you are!
Eminence, what a pleasure to see
you after all these years.
- The pleasure is all mine,
Mother Antonia. - The Holy Father?
He'll get out as soon as you
hand over your phone.
Are you joking, Eminence?
I want a picture with the Pope.
We're not joking, and there won't
be any picture with the Pope.
- So what shall we do? - Do you
think I went to all this trouble
to not even get a picture
with the Pope?
It's out of the question.
Mother, the Holy Father is waiting
there in the car.
This isn't fair,
and it's not equal treatment.
Is it plausible to expect
equal treatment with the Pope?
I don't like the attitude of
Pius XIII toward a woman like me
who's given so much to the Church.
Mother, don't forget
the law of reciprocity.
The Holy Father might dislike
your attitude too.
Now try to make a small effort
of peering into the future.
Who would have the worst of it
in this contest?
I have influential philanthropist
friends all over the world.
While the Pope doesn't even
have one friend.
And yet it would take him just
20 minutes
to shut down all 250 Villages
of Goodness.
And believe me, I've come to know
him very well.
If he wants to do it, he'll do it.
Now be a good girl
and give me your phone.
And one more thing.
A little gift from the Pope.
Take one.
Wait. No.
Better take two.
Let's go!
This is our church.
Next to it is the dormitory,
the health care clinic,
the dental clinic,
the elementary school,
the catechism school,
the cafeteria,
and the administrative offices.
Enough, enough.
Enough, enough.
Enough, enough.
Enough, enough.
Enough.
Enough, enough.
Enough.
Ni mara ngapi mimi aliiambia!
Huna kutumia maji,
siyo nzuri kwa ajili ya afya!
Not all that glitters is gold.
That water is dangerous.
It can cause fluorosis, anemia,
joint pains, dental disease,
and kidney failure.
The main problem afflicting
this area has to do with
a supply of safe,
clean drinking water.
Our benefactors send us huge
quantities of clean water,
but the bureaucracy, the soldiers,
and the gangs hijack it illegally,
and keep it for themselves.
This is a very ingenious system
designed by a Dutch company,
which donated it to us.
The water condenses on the glass
and then drips into containers.
There are times when
we manage to collect
as much as three liters a day.
- Would you like some water to
drink, Your Holiness? - No thanks.
Forgive me, Father,
for I have sinned.
I met this famous American author.
What a tempter!
He said he remembered
only the perverse
and lustful details of women.
Now I can't seem to do anything
but remember my own
very few details of that nature.
You might say to me: which ones?
When I met that girl in California
on the beach,
more than thirty years ago.
She told me:
"You can touch my legs".
It's become an obsessive,
very unhealthy thought.
Also, even though it was
in good faith,
I never even realized I was doing
it, I must have sinned with Esther,
Peter, and little Pius.
They left the Vatican,
without saying goodbye to me.
Just vanished.
Now I can't seem to sleep at night,
because I'm thinking about
the photo that they left behind,
a photo I thought mattered to them:
a photo of me holding
little Pius in my arms.
At times like this,
I feel guilty, because I should be
thinking about my only true friend:
Andrew Dussolier...
dead because of me,
and yet I've already stopped
feeling guilty about it.
This enormous burden swept away
by a tiny morsel of guilt.
How strange the human soul can be,
isn't that true, Father?
Finally, Father, the world!
Pity, compassion...
forgiveness...
all this Christian virtues the
world no longer attributes to me.
Can they be right?
Am I cruel?
All I know is everything I do,
I do for the love of God.
And that's all.
My penitence, Father?
My penitence, Father?
Do you speak English?
You couldn't have told me before?
You've just letting me rattle on
like an idiot
for the past ten minutes!
"Sister Antonia hides the water."
And she uses it to control
the sick and the nuns.
In exchange for a few glasses
of water she demands favors,
obscene acts,
and filth I could never repeat.
"I beg you, please, Father,
only you can help us."
Accipite et bibite ex eo omnes.
Haec quotiescumque feceritis,
in mei memoriam facietis.
I have to tell you something,
Holy Father.
Your Eminence, I don't wanna
hear any more bad news.
You might not believe it,
but for the first time I have
a piece of good news to give you.
Let's hear it, then.
The simple fact that you have
announced your first pastoral visit
and the prospect
of your first public appearance
have resulted in a 12% increase
in the number of requests
to take part in your next mass
at St. Peter's.
The morbid curiosity
prompted by absence.
Your Eminence, as an orphan,
I'm very familiar with this.
Holy Father, will you appear here,
in Africa, for the first time?
You once asked me who I really am.
- Do you remember that?
- Certainly.
I'm just a man.
- That's the answer.
- That's not all.
Your Holiness, you are the Church.
How wonderful!
And to think that there are
still people who believe
that God doesn't exist.
What was that American journalist
on the plane referring to?
Oh, probably just
one of the many slanders
making the rounds
about the Holy Father.
Kurtwell and Belardo
know each other
because they both
worked in New York, and that's all.
Oh I...
- Forgive me.
- No.
The civil war in this country,
practically speaking,
has never stopped.
It's hard to even come up with
an estimate of the number of dead.
The arrival of the Holy Father
has been particularly useful
because it at least forced
the sides to call a truce.
My fear is that, as soon as His
Holiness leaves this land of ours,
the warring bands will go back
to slaughtering each other
just like before.
Prince Abadi is a good man.
He's a great philanthropist,
generous with us,
and he does what he can
to halt the violence,
but without international aid
the task is daunting.
I'd use my words with care,
Mother Antonia.
The U.N. denounces Abadi
as a ferocious torturer
and old-school dictator,
that's why there has been
no international aid.
Your Eminence, I've been
in this place for many years.
Prince Abadi is a good man.
The United Nations has been
in this place for some time, too.
Prince Abadi is a good man.
The question here is: what exactly
does it mean to be a good person?
Let's take you for instance Sister
Antonia: are you a good person?
- I believe I am.
- Don't be in such a hurry.
Think carefully.
I try to live in accordance
with Christian values.
Which ones?
You can use Christian values
for all kinds of purposes.
A good person is somebody
who puts himself last,
who renounces
his own temptations and needs,
working only for the interests
of others.
Now think carefully
and answer sincerely,
because I won't put up with
even the tiniest lie from you:
are you a good person?
There seems to be a some kind
of misunderstanding
concerning the meaning
of my visit here to you.
You think I'm here to honor you.
In fact, I'm here
to ascertain your temptations.
Heal yourself, Sister Antonia.
Halitosis is a deformation
of the soul.
Water problem.
Ladies and gentlemen,
His Holiness Pius XIII.
This is the vicar of Christ,
Pope Pius XIII,
speaking to you now.
Brothers and sisters, I want to be
perfectly clear with you.
I have visited your country
and I have seen dead bodies
lying on the ground,
hunger, blood, thirst, and poverty.
All these things are the offspring
of the war and violence
that has clutched your land
for twelve years now.
I won't say the names of those
who are guilty in this.
There are too many of them.
We are all guilty.
We are all guilty of war and death.
Always.
In the same way,
we can all be guilty of peace.
Always.
I ask this of you on bended knee.
I am ready to die for you, if only
you will become guilty of peace.
I always say to the children who
write me from all over the world:
think about all the things
you like.
That is God.
Children like all sorts of things,
but none of them has ever written
that what they like is war.
Now look at whoever is next to you.
Look at them with eyes of joy
and remember
what St. Augustine said:
"If you want to see God,
you have the means to do it."
"God is love."
I, on the other hand,
won't speak to you about God
until there is peace.
Because God is peace.
And peace is God.
Give me peace,
and I'll give you God.
You don't know how wonderful
peace is.
You have no idea how disconcerting
peace can be.
But I know.
Because I saw it when I was
eight years old
on the banks of a river
in Colorado... peace.
It was beautiful.
Yeah, I know.
Those dancers
gave a wonderful performance.
No, Holy Father,
I'm talking about your speech.
It was beautiful.
Holy Father, weather conditions
in Rome are critical.
We're going to have to land
in Naples.
I would never dare
to contradict you.
Naples it is.
- May I touch?
- No!
I need to stop
at the next gas station.
Certainly, Your Holiness.
O Lord...
let us look each other
right in the eyes,
we can no longer put off
this matter.
We now need to speak
about Sister Antonia.
Blessed Virgin!
Maria...
Maria...
Maria.
Maria.
Maria.
Maria.
Maria.