Good evening, and welcome to a private showing...
of three paintings displayed here for the first time.
Each is a collector's item in its own way.
Not because of any special artistic quality,
but because each captures on a canvas...
Suspends in time and space...
A frozen moment of a nightmare.
Our initial offering... a small Gothic item in blacks and grays,
a piece of the past known as the family crypt.
This one we call simply The Cemetery.
Offered to you now... six feet of earth and all that it contains.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Night Gallery.
Anything more you need, Mr. Hendricks?
Then I'll move you to the window, sir, for a few minutes.
Oh.
Aw. Appetite not so good today.
It never is at lunchtime, sir.
Then why do you load it up that way, Portifoy? That is wasteful, Portifoy.
Mr. Hendricks doesn't complain, Mr. Jeremy.
And he also pays for it.
Tell me something, Portifoy.
During all those 30 years you have been waiting hand and foot...
on that dying blob of flesh upstairs,
you didn't know there was a nephew in the woodwork, did you, Portifoy?
Nor did your uncle, sir.
Well, now you do.
So dwell on it, Portifoy.
Tell me something, Portifoy.
When did my uncle... paint that one?
Just before his last \stroke, sir.
Hmm. How festive. Yet which brings to question, Portifoy,
not only my uncle's minimal talents...
but also his somewhat morbid preoccupation with all things dead and dying.
Tell me something. What did my uncle do for kicks before his several illnesses?
I mean, with all that money,
what other interests did he have besides, um, painting?
His painting has been his only pleasure, sir.
And the house. That's all he's cared for.
Oh, yeah. So my dear late mother used to tell me, Portifoy.
She herself died at a relatively early age from overwork...
and a surplus of pride.
She couldn't bring herself to crawl across to that rich recluse of a brother of hers.
She had her dignity to consider, Portifoy.
That was her long suit... dignity.
As a result, I have spent a good deal of my life...
acquiring a taste for the good life but somehow never acquiring the means.
How sad, sir.
Ah, it's only a passing sadness, Portifoy.
If painting was my uncle's only indulgence,
I anticipate a much more carefree existence...
as of the day he stops staring at this particular point of view...
and becomes a part of it.
Why don't you say what you're thinking, Portifoy?
I am a scoundrel, am I not?
You're a swine, sir.
What refreshing candor.
Well, now you just get that right out of your system. You hear, Portifoy?
Because as of the day I take over here...
and you bare those ancient fangs at me,
I'm gonna pull them... one by one.
Hmm.
Uncle?
Uncle? I've come to have a little chat with you.
Ah.
Now, now, now, now. Don't you move. No, sirree.
You just sit right there and you let me handle all the conversation.
Oh, you know, I have had the most interesting morning.
Oh, I have. I went through all the correspondence in your desk.
Yeah. Guess what I came across.
Yeah, correspondence.
Letters between you and your lawyer.
Having to do with?
Yes. Having to do with your will.
Oh, Uncle, I tell you, I was really impressed by your literary style.
Yes, sirree. Cogent, right... right to the point.
I mean, you say what you have to say. I'm very impressed.
And as to the contents, more impressed.
I mean, to discover that you had made my mother your beneficiary...
I tell you now, that touched me, Uncle. I was deeply touched.
Now, what was the other thing? Yeah, I know. I wrote it down.
I got it right here.
"That should she not be alive,
it would go to her sole survivor."
Oh, now, Uncle.
Now you believe me when I tell you that, when I read that,
I wept... I actually wept.
Oh, what a good heart. What massive compassion.
It's stuffy in here, isn't it?
Don't you think it's stuffy in here, Uncle?
Yeah, all right.
There. Oh, yeah.
That's better.
I wouldn't call for Portifoy, Uncle.
Now, really I wouldn't.
Why disturb that old gentleman? He has been
waiting hand and foot on you for 30 years.
So why don't we just give him the afternoon off.
Huh. Now,
I have been told by your medical advisors...
to keep you away from drafts.
It seems that you are susceptible to colds, perhaps even pneumonia.
Well, now let us just put that medical advice to the test,
shall we?
Let us see just how susceptible you are.
Voilà. isn't that refreshing, Uncle?
Oh, the cold.
The wind. Isn't that refreshing?
And think of this, if you will, Uncle.
Your last view of life...
That family graveyard down there.
Now you remember it well.
Drink it all in, Uncle, like a new tenant...
investigating his new abode.
Very well. I shall leave you now...
undisturbed.
And neither Portifoy nor I shall come back
in this room for, let us say, an hour, Uncle.
Or perhaps two... However long it takes.
However long it takes to, uh,
simplify things.
No change.
The doctor says he may remain in a coma for some time.
Pity.
I'm told you've become acquainted with, uh,
certain aspects of the will.
Only certain aspects that were lying around loose...
and unattended in my uncle's desk.
Tell me, who told you of my comforting discovery?
A little bird.
A little bird in a butler's suit...
who should watch out that he doesn't get his little beak smashed.
However, Mr. Carson,
seeing that my mother was the major beneficiary...
and I am her sole survivor,
well, that would mean that everything would come to me.
The man's not dead yet!
Do you suppose you might stifle those great
expectations of yours till the body's cold?
Mr. Hendricks has passed on.
He, uh, never regained consciousness.
May I claim my inheritance now?
Would it be too much trouble to first go through the motions of a funeral...
and a reasonable period of mourning?
Is that a legal requirement, counselor?
Let's say it's just what might be expected of a civilized man...
as an act of respect and appreciation.
Well, you see, Mr. Carson,
I'm not a civilized man.
I'm a black sheep nephew... with an itch.
And now, Doctor, if I may impose upon you to take care of the burial and all that.
Put it on the bill. He'll be buried in the family plot.
He mentioned that to me many times. Lovely.
And now, if either one of you gentlemen should need me,
I will be in there.
Doctor!
Doctor, shouldn't he be covered or somethin', or his hands folded?
I mean, isn't that part of the ritual, that he look at peace?
He should be resurrected... for as long as it takes to cut you off and boot you out.
That would give him peace.
Never mind, Portifoy. We'll show ourselves out.
Would you care to pay your last respects, Portifoy?
- He's gone, sir? - Permanently.
Oh, uh, item of interest, Portifoy.
There is a small stipend mentioned in the will for you.
I believe it's, oh, $80 a month for as long as you shall live.
Eighty dollars?
Eighty dollars... a month.
I'd like to stay, sir, with your permission.
Oh, excellent. Crazy.
Well, now, I'll tell you what, Portifoy.
First thing on the agenda will be to remove the bulk of this grotesquerie and...
Something, sir?
Well, that's odd. Odd, sir?
- Look at this. - Look at what, sir?
The picture. The painting, stupid. Look at it.
It's been altered.
I don't understand.
Haven't you got eyes? Can't you see? Now that has been altered.
It's a freshly dug grave.
I see nothing wrong, sir.
Well, forget it. Just forget it.
Uh...
You may go now. I'd like my dinner at the usual time.
Oh, yeah.
Well, as I breathe and live, if it isn't Osmond Portifoy.
Osmond Portifoy.
If there's nothing else, sir, I thought I'd lock up and retire.
That is your life, isn't it, Portifoy... Locking up and retiring.
You know,
to my dying day, I'm gonna carry a picture of you...
walkin' through life... Stiff-backed, straight-legged,
carrying a tray and towels over your arm...
and that reproving look in your eye.
Hey, you know that look, now, don't you, Portifoy?
How shall I describe it?
Ah, yeah. Like, uh...
Like a bank manager finding an incorrect balance.
It-It-It... It's changed again.
It's changed again.
Portifoy?
There is a casket in that painting now.
There is a casket in there now! Now, that was not there before!
What-What is happenin'? What in God's name is happenin'?
I brought you some hot tea, sir.
I don't want any hot tea.
Suit yourself, sir.
Portifoy. Yes, sir?
Did you look at the painting like I told ya?
Yes, sir. It's hanging there as usual.
As usual?
Well, I-I... I don't understand.
I burned it. I threw it on the fire.
And I watched it bubble and crinkle up. I watched it disappear.
And there it is on the wall... as usual.
Imagination, sir.
Imagination?
You burned me. Deliberately.
Oh, no, no, Portifoy. That was your imagination.
The tray, the teapot, your scalded wrist...
That's all your imagination.
Isn't that the catch-all explanation to cover
all the phenomena that goes on around here?
I tell you, this is not a haunt. It's a prolonged hallucination.
Get out of here. If I want you, I'll call you.
If you call me, Mr. Jeremy,
you call long distance.
What are you talking about?
I do not intend to spend another night in this house.
- No? - No.
In life, he needed me.
But in death, it's obvious he's strong enough to take care of himself.
Now you look here, old man. Death is final. Death is it.
I think not, Mr. Jeremy.
I think there are things stronger than death and more lasting than the grave.
Portifoy? I think hate is stronger than death, Mr. Jeremy.
And I think you're beginning to realize that.
I shall spend the night in the hotel in town and send for my things later.
But what about me? What am I supposed to do?
Who's gonna tend to my wants now?
Use your imagination, Mr. Jeremy. You're rather good at that!
Tell me something, Uncle.
Why don't you stay where you belong?
That is as close to a toast as you'll ever get from me, alive or dead!
Portifoy?
Portifoy!
Operator, would you put me through to the hotel in town.
Yeah, I know, I know. But you see, I don't have the number.
I would be grateful.
Hello? Hello? Would you connect me with Osmond Portifoy?
He checked in there this afternoon.
What do you mean you can't ring his room? You gotta ring...
Well, I don't care if it's 3:00 in the morning! Now, you...
Oh!
O-Operator?
My name is Jeremy Evans. I'm-I'm at the Hendricks house.
And there's an intruder here. Now, would you
call the police and have them come over right...
Right away?
No! I tell you, I can hear him outside.
Now, will you please... please call the police
right now and have them come over right away.
Yeah. Yeah.
Who... Who is it?
Who is there?
Who is out there?
You!
You don't belong here! You belong in the ground!
You! You're dead!
You belong in the grave! You're dead!
Hello. Doctor?
This is Portifoy at the Hendricks house.
I'm afraid there's been an accident, sir.
Yes, sir. Mr. Jeremy seems to have fallen down the stairs.
I believe he's dead.
It appears his neck has been broken.
Thank you, Doctor. I'll leave a light on.
So I think a long vacation would be in order for you, Gibbons.
You have performed your task... extraordinarily well.
You really have.
Fifteen paintings at $500 apiece.
Cheap at the price, I'd say.
Indeed, indeed.
Thank you.
Should I count it? If you like. It's all there,
plus 500 extra.
You're no Rembrandt, Gibbons, but you do have an uncanny knack...
of imitating other people's style.
You can afford it, I take it.
The savings of a lifetime.
But just a temporary inconvenience.
Perhaps I neglected to tell you...
Mr. Hendricks was a most-thoughtful old gentleman.
In his will, he stipulated that if there were no surviving family...
six months after his demise,
his entire estate would be inherited by his old family retainer...
Yours truly.
Run along now, Gibbons. Enjoy the fruits of your labors.
What if the nephew hadn't broken his neck?
What would you have done then?
Put something in his brandy?
Don't be crude, Gibbons.
If, uh, that unfortunate accident hadn't happened to him,
he would have gone slowly out of his mind.
And once he was committed,
I would be just where I am now.
Same end, just different means.
Would you... throw this in a ditch some place?
The trappings of death depress me.
From now on, this is going to be a place of cheer.
Well, good night, Gibbons.
Good night, Portifoy. Uh... Mr. Portifoy.
Mr. Portifoy.
Rest easy, Mr. Hendricks.
Rest easy.
Back, Jeremy.
Back, Jeremy. Back, Jeremy.
Back into the ground where you belong!
Back! Back, Jeremy. Back, Jeremy.
Back. Back!
Back, Jeremy.
Back!
Back, Jeremy.
Ob jet d'art number two.
A portrait. Its subject... Miss Claudia Menlo.
A blind queen who reigns in a carpeted penthouse on Fifth Avenue.
An imperious, predatory dowager...
who will soon find a darkness blacker than blindness.
This is her story.
Oops. I'm sorry. You're looking for Miss Menlo?
Mm-hmm. Penthouse. You can't miss her. She's the only one in the building.
Yes, I know. You know her?
I've been her doctor for years.
Say, that's a very good likeness.
Not really, Doctor. There was one thing I couldn't capture.
What's that? Her cruelty.
Well, Miss Menlo has been blind from birth.
- Cause and effect, huh? - Mm-hmm.
I'll tell you, Doctor. I was commissioned to do this a month ago.
One final application of lacquer and I am finished.
I used to wonder what kind of woman built an apartment house on Fifth Avenue...
and then installed herself as the only tenant.
Well, I'll tell you what kind of a woman it is, Doctor.
A tiny, fragile little monster... That kind of woman!
Afternoon.
Hello, Dr. Heatherton. Miss Menlo's expecting you. Can I take your coat?
That's all right. Thanks.
How deliciously prompt you are, Doctor.
You're only an hour late. I saw your painting.
I think the artist has done you justice.
If he has, Dr. Heatherton,
he's the only one in the 54-year history of my sojourn on earth.
No one has ever done me justice,
beginning with God.
I'm sorry to be late. I've been in surgery most of the day.
I'm impressed.
I always am with you. You're constantly and eternally...
the gentle healer.
Now then, what are we to talk about?
What we've already talked about on the telephone.
Well, as I've already told you, Miss Menlo,
the surgical procedure you questioned me about has been tried only on animals.
- Successfully. - A chimpanzee and a dog.
Both subjects had optic nerves regrafted from
donors whose visual organs were unimpaired.
In both cases, they were able to see...
One for a few moments, the other for a period of hours.
The donors, of course, were rendered permanently sightless.
So, you see, Miss Menlo, this is nothing more than a breakthrough, a beginning.
If it can work on animals, it can also work on human beings.
One doesn't have to be a high-priced Fifth Avenue surgeon...
to make this altogether reasonable assumption.
High-priced or otherwise, Miss Menlo, no surgeon would ever make such an assumption.
Nor would he put it to a test. You must understand something, Miss Menlo.
In the first place, the best you could expect...
Assuming the transplanting of the central optic nerve was successful...
Would be roughly 11 to 13 hours of sight, no more.
Then you'd be blind again.
And then of course there's that other insurmountable obstacle.
What is the insurmountable obstacle?
To put it simply, Miss Menlo, you need a donor,
someone who'd be willing to part with his sight for the rest of his life...
to give you roughly 12 hours of it.
I don't believe there's such a person around.
Nonsense, Doctor! Everyone has a price.
For their eyes? I seriously doubt that.
Well, that's where you're wrong.
My lawyer has found such a person for me.
He represented him in a criminal case sometime ago.
The man needs the money desperately.
He's agreed to become the donor and part with his eyes...
for a sum of cash. How much cash?
$9,000. That's what the individual required. That's what I'm paying.
Miss Menlo, listen to me very carefully.
There are four men who could conceivably perform the operation you're talking about.
I'm one of the four, but I can speak for the others as well.
I would no more remove the eyesight of another human being...
so that you might enjoy a few hours of sight
than I would deliberately kill a child.
Is that clear to you?
I want you to read something, Dr. Heatherton.
In this envelope, I have a complete file...
on one Dr. Frank Heatherton.
The impeccable Dr. Heatherton.
The respectable Dr. Heatherton.
Go ahead. Read it.
I told you all men had a price.
That's because all men have something to hide.
And you, Doctor,
you have more than most.
All there, I believe.
Do you recall the young woman?
Miss Grace Reardon, age 22,
who died on a kitchen table because the abortionist...
had the hygienic habits of a pig and the surgical deftness of a...
Of a paperhanger.
She made the trip to that butcher at the behest of you...
That rigidly moral, antiseptically pure physician who...
Who might on occasion, as he did on this occasion,
reveal a slightly gamier side to his character.
The release of this information...
would not enhance either your professional standing...
or your marriage.
Would it, Doctor?
No. No, it would quite obviously destroy me as a physician...
and it would wreck a 25-year-old marriage.
If that's what you've set out to do, Miss Menlo,
you've got all the proper ammunition.
As must be obvious over your many protracted loyal years...
of hand-holding with this dull, imperious woman,
I have no interest in helping or hurting anyone.
I couldn't care less about your extracurricular activities...
or my lawyer's off-Wall Street productions...
or anything else that doesn't involve me.
My abiding concern, Doctor, and my singular preoccupation is...
myself.
Eleven hours or 12... Fewer or more... it makes no difference.
I want to see something...
Trees, concrete, buildings,
grass, airplanes, color!
The idle rich.
A little something to ease the boredom.
Like scrounging around in the dirt, like a dog looking for a bone,
and finally unearthing whatever it is that a man must keep secret...
to guarantee his survival.
All right, Miss Menlo.
Why? I don't know, but I put a premium on my survival.
I'll perform the operation. The donor, who is he?
I'll have my lawyer contact you and give you his name.
He's an inconsequential little hoodlum.
You can arrange with Packer as to where it will all take place.
Because I want it to take place as quickly as possible. Is that clear to you, Doctor?
What's clear to me, Miss Menlo, is that you're to be satisfied...
For a whim, a fancy, a few sweeps of some clock hands.
While you indulge yourself, a man will deliver up his eyes, thanks to me.
I just hope the poor...
Realizes how much he sold for so little.
Lou, don't play games with me.
My stomach's coming up through my throat.
Hey, maybe you'll luck out and choke on it, huh, Sidney?
Please. Will you have a heart?
I'm dizzy. I'm telling you, this thing makes me sick.
Hey, this makes you sick? Well, you don't know the meaning of the word.
I'll tell you about "sick," Sidney.
You owe 9,000 bucks and you've owed it for too long.
That's sick, baby. That's terminal, you know?
Lou, I'm... I'm gonna get the 9,000 bucks tomorrow.
I'm gonna be some kind of a guinea pig for a doctor.
I'm gonna have a... Have an operation of some kind.
I'm gonna get the whole 9,000 bucks for you.
You don't stop, do ya, Sidney? On my father's grave.
The truth... Nothing but the truth.
I'll give you this. You got some imagination.
It's to laugh, huh?
What kind of operation?
I'm not allowed to say.
Ahh. I swear to God, Lou, that's it!
It's an operation, and I'm not allowed to say anything about it.
It's illegal or something.
But I swear, that's the goods.
I'm supposed to have a meeting about it tomorrow afternoon...
with a lawyer and a doctor.
And then tomorrow night, I'm supposed to check into a private hospital.
And I get my money when?
As soon as they give it to me.
Any time after 3:00. You come to my place.
I'll have it for you.
All right, Sidney.
I'll be in your room tomorrow afternoon.
If the 9,000 isn't there with you, you get 15 seconds to say your prayers.
It's been nice having this little chat with you.
Well, what do you think, Doctor? Will he pass?
Yeah, I think so. I'll have to do some more extensive
tests at the hospital, but I think he'll do.
After all, we're not asking too much of him. Just his damned eyes, that's all.
She's got you too, huh? That's her style.
She knows precisely what wheels to put in motion,
this fragile bird-like little thing.
The threat to destroy, passed down through channels...
You do it to him, or I'll do it to you...
Till it reaches the bottom echelon.
Then there emerges one poor hapless soul...
who can find no one lower or more vulnerable than he is,
and this is the one who is destroyed.
Mr. Resnick, a little something for you to sign here.
Oh.
Hey, it's to laugh. I swear, it's to laugh.
You gotta be a Philadelphia lawyer to read this thing.
On the bottom line, Mr. Resnick, just above the word "donor."
Hey, just for kicks...
Really, just for kicks,
what am I givin' and what are you gettin'? Huh?
Well, Mr. Resnick, you are donating your eyes...
Specifically, the central optic nerve.
Now, I could give it to you medically.
I could talk about the nerve fibers or the axons of the ganglion cells...
I believe it. I believe it.
I got no choice.
No choice.
Here, you take the eyes. Outside, they take the body.
Here you are, Mr. Resnick.
Yeah.
My son the donor, huh?
Sidney...
the sight giver.
So, what's left to see, huh? Mr. Resnick.
Mm.
I seen everything there is.
I seen the second Louis-Schmeling fight, and, oh, I won a bundle.
I seen the Kentucky Derby three times.
And I seen the home run that Bobby Thomson hit that killed the Dodgers.
Oh, I seen everything, man. Everything.
But, uh, the thing of it is...
May I? Yes, of course.
The thing of it is...
What's it gonna be like when it's midnight all the time...
and nobody's paid the electric bill, huh?
So-So, what do I do?
White cane, tin cup, pencils?
So, what's to do?
Grieve a little maybe.
Plenty of time for that. Oh! Plenty of time.
I'll still be able to cry out of 'em, won't I?
To your heart's content, Mr. Resnick.
To my heart's content. Oh, Doc, baby, you do turn a phrase.
I swear, you turn a phrase. Here's your money, Mr. Resnick...
With an extra 500 thrown in by the doctor and
myself... and the address of the hospital.
You're to be there at, uh, 7:00 this evening.
It's got a nice heft to it.
I, uh...
I hope I don't meet a bookie on the way.
I-I'm a sucker for a game of chance.
Honest. It's a fact. Anything at all.
For example, gentlemen, I'll lay you 5-to-1...
that 24 hours after you make me blind,
I'm gonna want to cut my throat.
And I'll lay you even money I do it.
When I see, I shall drink up Central Park.
I shall let it pour through my eyes until it floods my brain.
I shall maintain a reservoir of things that...
That I've seen during that brief time...
to remember for the rest of my life.
So, what's to do, huh? Nothin'.
That's the story of simple Sidney's life.
Hey, put it on the tombstone, will you, fellas, huh?
"Here lies Resnick.
"He wanted Miami Beach and a 50-cent cigar,
and that's all he really wanted."
So, learn the lesson, huh?
This is what you get for cheap tastes.
You get your eyes cut out.
♪♪
Miss Menlo, the anointed hour can be any moment now,
as I told you, any time after 5:00.
But may I make a few suggestions?
Remove the bandages very gradually.
I'd keep my eyes closed, if I were you, throughout the process.
Also, I'd keep the room dark.
The introduction of light should come in stages, in degrees.
It's sort of like becoming used to an artificial limb.
It may... may take time for the eyes to focus,
to accept light.
Perhaps hours.
What's the matter, Doctor? Looking at my gallery, are you?
You've got it all planned, haven't you, Miss Menlo?
Indeed. All the paintings and all the statues...
They're right there where I can see them,
and so is the rest of the evening and the night.
My eyes will take pictures, Doctor...
Pictures of everything to be filed for future reference.
A rather long future reference...
Whatever is the length of my life.
And now, if there's nothing else, Doctor?
Miss Menlo,
I hope you enjoy the next 11, 12 hours.
I hope...
that your eyes will see whatever is important to see.
I hope that my efforts have made it possible.
For both our sakes, I hope they have.
- I'll say good evening then. - Say good-bye, Doctor.
- We'll not be seeing one another again. - How sad.
How revealing. I'm to be discarded then.
The used lightbulbs of Miss Menlo's life...
When they cease lighting her way... Out they go.
Of course. Doctor.
Flick on the light switch if you will, the one in the hall.
Of course.
Perhaps if you're around town this evening, Doctor,
you might introduce yourself.
It occurs to me that I've never seen your face.
Oh, you can't miss me, Miss Menlo.
I'll be the tall man with the sick eyes,
the one with the ache in his gut,
the infection in his conscience so miserably incurable.
You can't miss me, Miss Menlo.
Thank you. Thank you, Heatherton.
No!
Oh, God, no!
Heatherton!
You witch doctor! You quack!
You charlatan! Butcher!
Heatherton!
I'll destroy you!
Heatherton! I want you! You come back here!
Elevator!
Heatherton!
Heatherton, please come back.
It... It didn't work.
It just didn't work.
Everything's dark again.
Heatherton, please.
Who's there?
Somebody's there.
Can anybody see me? I need help!
Heatherton. Please.
Hey, Officer, what's goin' on? What's happening?
Blackout. No power, no nothin'. Where you headin', mister?
Uh, home... Westport, Connecticut.
Lotsa luck.
Go on over to Columbus Circle and see if you can take 79th Street out.
But get out of the city if you can.
- How long is it gonna last? - Ask the mayor.
Come on, get movin'.
I can see.
That's the sun I'm seeing.
And sun is... It's a golden yellow.
That's color.
Oh, God, it's beautiful!
It's going away.
No.
No, wait. Not... Not yet.
Eleven hours... all gone, all finished.
That's not fair!
It's simply not fair!
I'm not ready. Come back.
I won't let you go.
Please come back.
I want it! I want the sun!
♪♪
And now the final painting.
The last of our exhibit has to do with one Josef Strobe,
a Nazi war criminal hiding in South America...
A monster who wanted to be a fisherman.
This is his story.
Halt!
Heil! Heil! Heil!
Olé!
♪♪
What is this, a bus station?
Oh, go back to sleep, old man,
or I'll put you there.
Bravo.
Next time, less noise please. Bravo!
You are so persuasive, Herr Strobe.
My proximity to a noisy tramp makes that imperative.
But if someone were to cut off your fists,
how would you ever prove a point?
You must learn to live with a little pain, my dear.
It's what the world is made of.
Hmm? So get used to it.
I am quite used to it.
It is the nature of my business.
It's what gets deducted from my body.
But, uh, we all of us suffer a few deductions along the way, don't we?
Instead of, uh,
a few thousand a day in the gas chamber,
Now... Oh, now it is, uh...
It must be an occasional drunk in a sailor suit.
Or a lady of commerce who speaks my language.
That is an accident of birth, Herr Strobe.
The language, that is all we have in common.
So?
Good night, Herr Strobe.
Go into your room...
and have one of your frequent nightmares.
When I hear all that fear coming through the wall,
it is a lullaby.
Gruppenführer Herme Arndt. Alias Josef Strobe.
Last known whereabouts... Caracas, Venezuela.
Known to have left the country April, 1961.
Assumed present whereabouts... Buenos Aires.
Is there anything on him here?
Usual thing... Seen here, seen there.
Supposed to have been working in a steel mill.
I checked them all out. Nothing connected.
I checked out beer gardens, German social groups... everything.
Nobody remotely resembling him.
Avram, he is here.
This time, I go on my instincts.
He could have had plastic surgery,
wear a beard or a mustache...
or a black homburg hat... and sell securities.
He's here, and we will find him.
Nightmare. Huh?
He has captured a nightmare.
I saw such a thing. I was there.
My friend, Jacob Sternbach... They crucified him that way.
It took him two days to die.
Forgive me. I was affected by the picture.
It brings back certain... Certain memories.
I hope I haven't disturbed you.
Excuse me. Yes?
I've...
That is, we've met before, haven't we?
I think not. I've only just arrived here.
You're German, aren't you?
No. Hungarian.
You look... You look familiar.
You were never in a camp, were you?
Auschwitz or... Oranienburg.
I was at both places.
My name is Bleum.
I told you I am not German.
Excuse me.
♪♪
Senor, the museum is closed.
Kindly leave the building, please.
Senor. Kindly leave the building.
Please.
♪♪
Nightmares again, Herr Strobe?
Go to hell, my dear.
I hear you've become quite an art lover.
My girlfriend told me that she saw you this morning in the museum.
What disturbs you tonight?
Gretchen.
Talk to me for a moment.
What do you want to talk about?
Something happened last night... and again today.
What?I was looking at a picture...
Picture of a... fisherman... on a mountain lake.
And after a while, it seemed as if...
As if what?
As if it were me in that boat...
just fishing.
No pain.
No running away. No...
looking over my shoulder.
What do you expect to see?
Ghosts.
Israeli ghosts.
They have a list, it appears.
They have a list.
And, after Eichmann,
it is you who are on the top of that list, Herr Strobe?
Very likely.
What would they do with you?
- So. - What do I ask of anyone?
So much is it to stop running,
to stop trying to find shadows to hide in?
Where is this compassionate and forgiving God they talk of?
Let him show himself to me now.
Let him give me a chance to survive.
Only that... just survive.
Like on that boat...
and that lake.
- Gretchen. - Ja. Ja.
You know, if I had...
concentrated... with all my might,
if I had exerted all my will,
I could have moved into that picture.
You surprise me, Herr Strobe.
Who would have thought...
that all you hunger for is a rowboat?
Yes.
That's all.
You black-uniformed gods...
who put barbed wire around the Earth...
and all you want is a rowboat!
You know something, Herr Strobe,
your tastes are really quite expensive.
You yearn for the most...
The most expensive and unobtainable things...
Peace and immortality.
Forget it, Herr Strobe.
The price is a soul and a conscience, and you have neither!
Go to hell, you...
After you, Herr Strobe.
Good afternoon.
Rather taken with it, aren't you?
It has a quality.
And the concentration camp picture...
That has no quality, Herr Arndt?
I beg your pardon?
I think you've made a mistake.
My name is Strobe.
Josef Strobe. You called me something else.
Forgive me. I guess I did.
You reminded me of someone,
a certain Herme Arndt.
Herr Arndt was not an admirer of Jews.
He would stand by the front gate at Auschswitz.
With a riding crop in his hand,
he would indicate which of the incoming people would die...
and which would temporarily stay alive.
And how were you so fortunate, Herr Bleum?
A concentration camp can be a university of higher learning...
when it comes to teaching a man to stay alive.
Good day to you, Herr Strobe.
♪♪
♪ Ay, ay, ay, ay ♪
♪ Canta y no llores ♪
♪ Porque cantando Se alegran ♪
♪ Cielito lindo los corazones ♪
♪ Ay, ay, ay, ay ♪
♪ Canta y no llores ♪
♪ Porque cantando Se alegran ♪
♪ Cielito lindo los corazones ♪
♪ Ay, ay, ay, ay ♪
♪ Canta y no llores ♪
♪ Porque cantando Se alegran ♪
♪ Cielito lindo los corazones ♪
♪ Ay, ay, ay, ay ♪
♪ Canta y no llores ♪
♪ Porque cantando Se alegran ♪ ♪ Uber alles ♪
♪♪ ♪ Über alles in der Welt ♪
♪ Wenn es stets zu Schutz und Trutze ♪
♪ Brüderlich zusammenhält ♪
♪ Von der Maas bis an die Memel ♪
♪ Von der Etsch bis an den Belt ♪
♪ Deutschland, Deutschland über alles ♪
♪ Über alles in der Welt ♪
♪ Deutschland, Deutschland über alles ♪
♪ Über alles... ♪
♪ Deutschland, Deutschland ♪
♪ Über alles ♪
♪ Über alles in der Welt ♪
♪ Wenn es stets zu Schutz und Trutze ♪
♪ Von der Etsch bis an den Belt ♪
♪ Deutschland, Deutschland... ♪♪
Über alles.
Wie geht es Ihnen, Gruppenführer?
Gut, danke.
Und Ihnen?
I knew who you were.
One doesn't forget a man like you very easily.
I'm touched.
Well, shall we have a drink, Herr Bleum,
or shall we talk of old times or...
What shall we do, hmm?
What would please you?
Tell me and see if I can't accommodate you.
Tell me, Herr Bleum,
have I changed much?
No. No, Gruppenführer.
You've changed very little.
Excellent.
Excellent, Herr Bleum.
The memory is still intact. Hmm?
The, uh, body is somewhat... the worse for wear, hmm?
The body has had much done to it.
This was done to me with a lit cigarette...
during an otherwise dull afternoon.
Your kind of sport, Gruppenführer,
something you would understand.
Tell me, Herr Bleum,
have you, uh...
Are you content to reminisce about these things?
- Or have you seen fit to... - Tell others?
What do you think?
I think, Herr Bleum,
that if you have something to say to the god of Israel,
now is the time.
I've made my peace...
Something you shall never be able to do, Gruppenführer.
You have put too many Christs on crosses...
for any god to give you an audience.
Still the martyr, huh? No. I am simply...
the six millionth plus one.
♪♪
De nada.
What time is the next bus?
The next bus to where? Where would you like to go?
Just... Just anywhere. Out of the city...
As far as this will take me.
Well, uh, that will take you to Mar Del Plata.
Lucky for you it stopped raining. You have kind of a long wait.
After 20 years, it's not so long.
Excuse me. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance.
Do you know a man named Bleum?
Listen to me. I don't care what Bleum told you.
He's-He's mad. He's out of his mind. Let's go.
Listen... Listen to me.
I'm not the one you want.
There are others, big ones.
There's-There's Bormann. Martin Bormann... he's still alive.
Believe me, he's-he's still alive.
And Müller. Heinrich Müller is still alive in Silesia.
Listen to me. I know these men. I can find these men for you.
Please. There must be a price, huh?
There's some price. Any price!
♪♪
¡Estúpidos!Don't let those paintings get wet.
You were hired to put them in the truck, so put them in the truck!
All right, all right!
No wonder we have no culture in this country.
Sure, sure. Get a uniform, and right away you are a king.
Nobody cares for paintings. All right. We take them in.
Be sure and dry them when you get them in the truck.
Now get moving! Get moving! All right, all right.
Come on, come on. Hurry up. It's getting late. All right.
And be careful when you set them down. Please! Please!
Who is in there?
Shalom, Gruppenführer. Shalom.
Please. If there is a God, let him show himself now.
Get me into the picture.
I must get into the picture.
♪♪
Please. Please.
God, Christ... anyone.
Get me into the picture!
I must get into the picture.
At this hour?
What's the matter? What do you hear now?
Don't you hear it?
A dog or something. It must have been run over.
Everything seems intact.
Maybe there was someone here, but they're not here now.
What happened to The Fisherman?
Was that one of the loaners? Yes, sir. It was taken away tonight.
The director had that concentration camp thing put there in its place.
Hateful-looking thing.
Luiz. Luiz.
Good evening.