I'll begin long before I existed.
When the time came for my poor mama to be born...
my grandmother Anna Bronski...
who was still young and unsuspecting...
was sitting in her four skirts at the edge of a potato field.
That was in 1899...
in the heart of Kashubia.
Please!
He's gone.
Anybody come this way?
Name of Koljaiczek?
- A firebug. - Short with broad shoulders.
I seen him! Running like a bat out of hell!
Which way?
I don't believe it.
- Doesn't matter. He's gone. - Must be in Bissau.
If he's not here, it has to be one or the other.
There's no place else.
And besides, it's raining.
All right, Koljaiczek.
My name is Joseph.
Joseph and Anna hid with the raftsmen...
for almost a year.
That's how long it took the police to catch up...
with my grandfather.
Don't shoot!
- Don't shoot him! - Fire at will!
After that dive...
Koljaiczek was never seen again.
Some say he was drowned...
some that he...
escaped to America...
and in Chicago, under the name of Joe Colchic...
became a millionaire.
They say he made his pile in lumber...
in matches...
and in fire insurance.
As for my grandmother...
she sat year after year in her four skirts...
hawking her wares in the market.
Geese!
Not too fat and not too lean!
And she grew older.
The First World War came...
and instead of geese...
she had only turnips to sell.
Turnips!
My poor mother grew older too.
She was worried about her cousin Jan.
Jan had been called up for duty.
- Name! - Bronski, Jan.
- Year?. - 1898.
Cough.
Rejected!
They've turned me down for another year!
For the first time, my mother...
held her cousin Jan in her arms...
and I doubt...
if they ever embranced more happily.
Sister Agnes, is there too much paprika? Or does it need more clove?
What did she say?
She says you're a born cook, Mr. Matzerath.
You know how to turn feelings into soup.
The war had spent itself.
Danzig was declared a Free State.
The poles were given...
their own post office...
where Jan Bronski went to work.
Alfred Matzerath also stayed in Danzig.
We Kashubians have always been here.
Long before the Poles...
and naturally long before the Germans.
Old stuff, Jan. Now we've got peace!
Germans, Poles, Kashubians--
we'll all live together in peace.
I don't know.
Well, you'll see.
The two men, so different despite their similar feelings for Mama...
liked each other...
and in that triunity, they brought me, Oskar...
into the world.
The sun was in the sign of Virgo.
Neptune moved into the house of middle life...
establishing Oskar between faith and disillusion.
Push, push!
Push, Agnes, push! Push hard!
It's coming! It's coming!
I first saw the light of this world...
in the form of a 60-watt bulb.
Alfred, it's a boy!
I knew it would be a boy...
even if I sometimes said it would be a girl.
Let's see how much he weighs.
When he's big, he'll take over the shop.
Now we know what we're slaving for.
When little Oskar is three years old...
he shall have a tin drum.
Only the prospect of the tin drum prevented me...
from expressing more forcefully my desire...
to return to the womb.
Besides, my umbilical cord had been cut.
There was nothing more to be done.
As it was, I could hardly wait 'til my third birthday.
What is it?
Oh, it's little Oskar!
Do you want some more cake?
Your mouth's filthy.
Respect the human body. That's--
And with rolls at 3 pfennings--
The main thing is a stable currency.
And plenty to drink!
Here's to the stable mark and the 3-pfenning roll!
To youth!
And to beauty!
We won't be so young when we meet again!
Love, oh love
is a power divine!
September 12...
1927.
Next year, you'll be this big!
And then, this big! And this.
And then as big as me!
Gangway!
Fresh from the celler!
- Playing, Mr. Scheffler?. - Heavens, no!
Go ahead. I'll just watch.
Besides, it's my bedtime.
- He's always tired. - You shouldn't have married a baker.
It's been a long time since Grandma took anyone under her skirts.
Let's have a little game!
Hey, cousin, you're out of diamonds!
Don't argue! Play!
I have two diamonds myself.
How would I now?
That day...
thinking about the grown-up world...
and my own future...
I decided to call a halt...
to stop growing then and there...
and remain a three-year-old...
a gnome, once and for all.
One, two, three.
God! There he is!
What happened?
He's fallen down the stairs!
Do something!
Why was the trap open?
He's bleeding!
Alfred, it's your fault. You left the door open!
I was only getting beer for everybody.
Run and get the doctor!
- It looks bad. - You! You! It's your fault.
You left the trap open!
Stop! Stop!
Calm down! What's done is done!
Two weeks in bed and Oskar will be as good as new.
Just a slight concussion.
Plenty of cold compresses.
My fall was a complete success.
The family story was: On his third birthday...
our little Oskar fell down the cellar stairs.
No bones were broken, but after that, he didn't grow--
not a single centimeter.
That drum again! So loud!
So there's my little Oskar, all well again.
Not in the house, I said!
Besides, it's broken. You'll hurt yourself.
- Staying? There are mushrooms. - Sorry. Post office time.
Leave the drum here.
If you hurt yourself, it will be my fault again.
See? I told you so.
Give me that drum and I'll give you a candy.
Let them have it. I'll get you a new one.
No! Oskar don't want!
We'll see about that.
Alfred, why must you...
always use force?
My drum!
And so I discovered that my voice was capable of a scream...
so highly pitched...
that no one dared take my drum away...
Shards bring luck!
because when my drum was taken away, I screamed...
and when I screamed, valuable articles burst into bits.
Where's the witch, black as pitch?
Here's the black, wicked witch!
There are going to be changes!
Scum! Beat it! I'm coming down!
O glorious call of the sun!
I'll take this one.
if you please, at this extraordinary potato:
this swelling, luxuriant flesh, forever...
conceiving new shapes...
and yet so chaste.
I love a potato...
because it speaks to me.
The spuds are bigger this year than last.
What are you doing?
Oskar learn to write.
Stop that. You'll never learn to write...
and read the great classics, the eternal truths:
"Die unto life!"
Hold it. Now I've got all of you.
A bit more to the right, Alex.
For you on your first day of school.
Eyes this way, please.
My name is Spollenhauer, and I am your teacher.
Be seated.
And now, dear children, do any of you know a song?
You must be little Oskar.
We've heard so much about you!
How well you play!
Isn't our Oskar a fine drummer?.
But now we'll put the drum away.
It must be sleepy.
After school, you can have it back again.
You're a naughty Oskar.
I will now read you the program.
Monday: Writing, Arithmetic, Reading...
Religion.
All together: Writing!
Arith-me-tic!
Oskar, stop that!
Religion.
Get out!
Strange! Very strange!
How old is he, did you say?
Six, Doctor.
Inge, kindly undress Oskar.
How long is it since he fell down the stairs?
Three years on September 12.
We'd better examine the spine again.
Be a good boy. I'll give it right back.
Oskar, give me your drum. I'll hold it.
See, you can't get out of your shirt.
Oskar, if you're not good, the doctor won't make you well.
Come, child. Give me your drum!
Amazing! Amazing!
I shall write a paper...
about it for one of our medical journals...
if you have no objection.
The destructive force of this local phenomenon...
...is such as to suggest...
an anomalous formation of the lower larynx...
in little Oskar Matzerath.
Not can we exclude the hypothesis...
of a concomitant development of the vocal cords.
Did you hear that? In a medical journal!
Does the doctor say why he won't grow?
You'll have to ask him that.
Why he won't grow.
Cut it out!
He's yours as much as mine.
If not more.
Who left the trap open, you or me?
Uncle Hailandt, come spit in the soup.
Look what I found in the pond! Two frogs!
What are you doing, Tom Thumb?
Make Oskar taste the soup!
Now it's your turn.
You'll love it.
A treat!
Open your mouth!
Good, huh?
Just a little more!
Labesweg and its backyards hemmed me in.
I longed for space and took every opportunity...
to escape the persecutions of the soup cooks...
by going into town...
alone or with Mama.
Drum's busted.
Want me to mend it?
He's getting a new one.
Hello, Uncle Jan.
Coming?
I must leave you now.
A few little errands.
Good-bye, Agnes.
This is for your drum, Oskar.
Who do I see? Oh, Mrs. Matzerath...
and little Oskar, for a new drum?
Yes, Mr. Markus. Again.
He's always at it.
I never know what year it is or what day...
except when you come in.
Something tells me it must be Thursday again.
You have such beautiful hands.
Oskar, see that box? Hand it to me.
That's it.
See, Mrs. Matzerath. Beautiful stockings. Silk!
Pure silk. Fine quality!
One, two, three pairs. Take them.
They'll suit you fine. A bargain!
Much too dear for me!
- They're worth it. - Maybe later.
I'll let them go for half a gulden.
So cheap?
No, Markus, that's driving them away.
Take them! Don't ask questions!
And now, Oskar...
what would you like?
Oh! A new drum we need?
Just choose one. You know where they are!
See, Oskar?. He's so happy!
Mr. Markus, could little Oskar stay...
with you for half an hour?.
I have some important business.
Yes, yes, I'll watch him like the apple of my eye.
Do your important business and don't worry.
The little prince will stay with me...
while you do your important business...
like every Thursday.
We're blocking the street!
Danzig has always been German!
If not for the German people...
these eastern regions would have succumbed...
to total barbarism...
Have a nice walk?
The Fuhrer's speaking all over! Except here!
And now, ladies and gentlemen, the smallest of the small:
Bebra and his midgets!
My word!
Now it's three-year-olds who choose to stop growing.
My name is Bebra.
Directly descended from Prince Eugene...
Whose father was Louis XIV...
and not some Savoyard, as has been claimed.
I stopped my growth on my tenth birthday.
Better late than never.
Tell me, my dear Oskar.
How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?
Twelve and a half.
No! And how old do you think I am?
Thirty-five.
Flatterer!
I shall be 53 in August.
I could be your grandfather.
- Are you, too, an artist? - Not really.
Although...
as you see, I can lay claim to a certain artistry.
You must join us. You must!
Do you know, Mr. Bebra...
to tell the truth...
I prefer to be a member of the audience...
and let my little art flower in secret.
My dear Oskar!
Trust an experienced colleague.
Our kind must never sit in the audience.
Our kind must perform and run the show...
or the others will run us.
The others are coming.
They will occupy the fairgrounds.
They will stage torchlight parades, build rostrums...
fill the rostrums...
and from those rostrums, preach our destruction.
They're looking for you, dear friend. We'll meet again.
We're too little to lose each other.
They are coming!
These damn puttees always slip!
I need boots.
You know they cost way too much.
Or leather gaiters at least.
How do I look?
- Going to the demonstration? - Yes, at the fairground.
Big show!
Gauleiter Lobsack is speaking.
And what a speaker!
I'm telling you, these are historic days.
A man can't stand aside. Gotta join in.
You should read the Danzig Sentinel.
Crazy your opting for Poland.
I've told you 20 times.
I'm a Pole.
Think it over.
Take your umbrella. It looks like rain.
An umbrella with my uniform?
The stew is on, Stir it now and then. Be done in 20 minutes.
Bite to eat before you go?
No time. Duty is duty and schnaps is schanps.
National comrades...
of Danzig and Langfuhr...
of Ohra, Schidlitz and Praust...
from the hills and from the lowlands...
I know you all...
cherish but one wish.
It has been our heartfelt wish...
ever since a shameful diktat...
separated us...
from our beloved German fatherland.
That wish is: Home to the Reich!
What is the meaning of this Free State...
that was so generously foisted on us?
It means that our waterftont...
is crawling with Polacks.
And in the middle of our beloved Old City...
they've stuck a Polish post office--
something we can do without.
We Germans had...
post offices...
before the Poles...
even thought of writing letters.
We taught them the alphabet.
And now, dear national comrades...
let us welcome our guest from the Reich.
Party comrade Albert Forster...
has just arrived on the field.
What's going on? I want to know what's going on!
Block all the exits!
Can you catch them with a clothesline?
Real fish or just old shoes?
Suppose we take a look?
Maybe something's there!
The sack!
Call that fat?
You should have seen them...
after the battle of Jutland...
when we and the English--
See what I mean?
After the battle...
they were this thick!
He wanted one-fifty...
but I gave him a gulden.
Don't expect me to touch your eels!
Don't put on airs.
I'll never eat fist again. Certainly not eels.
You've always eaten them, and you knew where they came from.
Quiet!
Stop that drumming!
- Leave the child alone! - And sit down!
Who was to blame? Who left the trap open?
Old stuff. Sit down.
See if they're not delicious.
Come on. Dig in.
Fresh eels with dill sauce...
a bay leaf and a twist of lemon peel.
Don't make her eat if she doesn't want to.
- keep out of this. - Leave her alone.
She'll only vomit.
I paid good money for these eels. Just try them.
They've been well cleaned and washed.
No gall. Light, healthy liver.
And so fresh!
Oskar! Sit down!
For hours I stand at the stove.
Some people would be very happy to eat my eels.
I don't know what to do.
Alfred, calm down!
I can't talk to her. And the fish is getting cold.
Women are more sensitive.
You talk to her. if only she'd calm down.
Shouldn't I warm them up at least?
Don't do it with Bronski...
who picked the Polish post office.
Don't bet on the Poles.
If you must bet, bet on the Germans.
Sooner or later, they'll take over.
And then you'll be stuck with Bronski...
that crazy Pole.
You'll be in trouble.
Why not bet on Matzerath?
Or if you'd do me great honor...
bet on me...
on Sigismund Markus...
that was just baptized.
No, Markus. Please!
We could go to London...
like everybody else.
Look. There he is!
We'll take him with us to London.
He'll live like a prince.
Thank you, Markus, but it's impossible.
And not because of Bronski.
I'm glad to hear that.
Steer clear of Bronski...
and stick to Matzerath!
Come on! Play!
One-two, one-two!
Can't you...
or don't you feel like it, brat?
Cause you can do everything else.
I have sinned in thought, in word and in deed.
Alone or with others?
With someone else.
When and where?
Always on Thursday, in Tischlergasse.
But, child! Why that low neighborhood?
I can't help it, Father. I try, but I can't.
But my dear Mrs. Matzerath, the consequences!
I've got them already, Father.
Father, what will I do with the child?
I love my little Oskar...
but he's already 14.
Always trouble, and now this!
Pray, Mrs. Matzerath, pray!
Oskar, stop it!