"O mankind!
"We are asleep.
"The world is deep.
" Deeper than the day imagines!"
It's not ocean effluvia in my nostrils!
It's the smell of cunt.
Cunt in sight!
Onward and upward, dear pecker!
Why are you so excited?
I want to get laid.
- That's all we needed! - Don't frighten the game away.
Be reasonable, this isn't the moment!
That's where you're wrong.
Go screw where you want, but not on the table.
Your table...
Think I'm going to empty my balls here?
Got a light, honey?
The iron's red-hot.
If you touch it, you may burn your little hand.
Let's go put the fire out at the boarding house.
At this hour? Too much work.
I'd rather get laid right now over by the curtains.
Let's see the little birdie fly.
I'm warning you, I won't undress.
Of course.
Doing it standing is good for the back.
It's healthy and good for your growth.
3,000 escudos, honey. Cash.
3,500 with the mouth.
I prefer cash. Cunt, arse and blowjob?
I'm too old for a three-course meal. I'm just hungry for cunt.
I'm a man of simple tastes.
Take five and you're lucky.
The right to tits in the air is included.
I never refused a tit to anyone.
You'll see, the service will be good.
Between friends, no problem.
I leave on one foot and return on the other.
I had pins and needles in my cock, you know.
What's your name?
Come over here.
- And yours? - Susana.
Champagne? A sip.
I've never seen anything like it!
- What happened? - He's not human, honey.
He almost tore my cunt open.
I don't intend to be a cripple for 5,000 escudos.
Take his money, I don't want it. He can go fuck himself!
- I'm a whore but I got my dignity! - It's an occupational hazard!
But this only happens to me. Nobody would believe me.
Your money!
I don't understand this shit!
They're sluts
but they won't put their cunts to work!
Your money.
Thanks.
In my day, the women used to say:
"What a lovely cock!"
They were proud
to have it shoved up their cunt
and scream:
"Go on, yo-yo, stick it to me!"
What a hellish night!
The cock
is nature's ploughman.
It's daybreak.
We're pretty tired. Time to go, I think.
I admit it hasn't been an easy night.
The gate's locked.
We are dead men without leave.
Let's go get hanged somewhere else.
We're the jettisons of the jetty.
Crabs!
Velvet crabs.
Damn!
There's no place to drop dead!
Splendour and misery of a donkey.
Henrique!
Do I see a ghost? Is that you, Henrique?
No, I'm Max.
Mister Jose, serve me a Scottish tea, if you don't mind.
Thank you. You can go.
I've had problems at home.
I surprised my wife
in the arms of a socialite.
Cuckold, if you like, but not host.
You asked for it. You're always chasing skirts,
you faun!
I'm a sad faun.
For once, my wife stuck horns in my heart.
I'm in pain.
Oh, yes,
I'm in pain.
Such things happen.
Yes, I know,
but it's a hard nut to crack.
Poor Max's lament.
I want to visit a foreign woman,
I want to reveal the enigmas of man,
I undo the straps on my boots,
I search in man and I search in woman.
On the face of women I erase wrinkles.
I tramped along frozen shores
where seals blow into the holes.
I delight in the sea's song
and the limpid plaint of new ice.
And now,
an old spirit brings force
into the dance hall.
Have they found the body yet?
No,
but I hope the river will mercifully carry him
out into the old ocean.
Had he been here, I imagine him saying:
" Look at the ocean.
"With luck, we'll see the body float by."
Maybe even as far as the North Pole,
so that, posthumously,
his crazy dream will be realized.
We can't do a thing.
Wherever he is, I imagine him happy.
I know it's not easy, but put it out of your mind.
Try to enjoy yourself.
Take a trip to Egypt,
cruise down the Nile with Catarina.
She's open and high-spirited.
Crocodiles are my dream.
And my house at Geres is at your disposal.
Obviously, the death of a friend
does something to you.
Yet I don't feel very despondent.
Maybe a bit restless, a bit apathetic.
No, but something strange is happening to me.
I feel like going off to war.
Nothing strange about that.
Man is made for war, woman for the warrior's leisure.
But it's the stirring of a warlike temperament...
I dream of military uniforms
and battles where I'm covered in glory.
For a conscientious objector with a loathing of firearms
it's all very mysterious, you'll admit.
You can always join the Foreign Legion.
My Egyptian friend is an authority in analysis.
What are you getting at?
I don't know Jean, but I doubt he needs that kind of treatment.
Anyway, authorities take huge fees.
He just needs to look after his health.
A stay in the mountains will do him a world of good.
My house is always at his disposal.
You'll feel at home there.
I still advise a consultation
and not this sort of idiotic treatment.
- Let's visit your girlfriend. - What girlfriend? I have none.
The girl of your dreams, of course.
Jean's old enough to dream by himself.
Warriors are alone on the field of honour.
- You want to dream alone? - Yes. And no.
- Yes and no? - Since my wife left me, I've felt...
a certain resistance... what's the word?
You mean
you haven't fucked since Carmen left you?
I never was much for fucking,
but I must say that since yesterday
I have this cold sensation all over my body.
- Cold sensation? - An icy feeling...
which suddenly condensed around my pelvis
and turned into a block of ice.
What's both awful and surprising
is that I get a hard-on, then another, and another.
The miracle of love's visitation,
the miracle of Cherubino, my dear Jean.
Non so piu son cosa facio...
The swan song.
Jean, I had a dream.
You and the old sailor were walking one night.
But in my dream you were with a young woman.
Catarina, for instance.
She was driving a yellow cart drawn by a mule.
Anyway,
you were so present in my dream
that you've become unreal.
Under the archway,
a mule is harnessed to a cart
where Ariane, a young woman dressed as a man,
is selling roses.
The mule's genitals are hidden in a plastic pail.
Would you like some roses?
I prefer roses to a homeland, my love.
We want to rent your cart, dear boy.
Impossible, kind sir.
We've finished for today and I'm not a dear boy.
My name is Ariane.
Don't be angry, Ariane. I was just teasing you.
You're not the first to take me for a boy.
I like to dress this way. It suits this kind of job.
We don't mind.
We just want to tour the town.
I can pay well.
You'll have to persuade Lucio.
He's more interested in straw than gold
and he's worked hard today.
Equal pay for equal labour. Is that the only problem?
Maybe.
But don't go thinking it's that easy.
Where do want to go?
Around in circles.
Are you crazy? A taxi would be better.
We really want to go by mule.
It will cost you a fortune.
Henrique takes out a 1 0,000-escudos bill
and gives it to Ariane.
Don't overdo it.
Too much generosity is never innocent.
Lucio is a mule, not a Rolls Royce.
For how long?
All night, probably.
All night?
Then you'll need an extra ration of oats.
And to round things off,
we'll make it 1 2,000 escudos. That seems fair enough.
Henrique gives Ariane
a 5,000-escudos bill.
1 5,000 in case of rain.
OK. Let's see what Lucio thinks.
Want to go on an endless drive, darling?
Ariane strokes the mule's muzzle,
who in the meantime
takes Jean de Dieu's sleeve between his teeth.
- It's your lucky day. - What?
Ariane said the mule is madly in love with you.
Every one to his taste.
Jean discreetly removes his coat sleeve,
takes some providential lumps of sugar from his jacket pocket
and gives them to Lucio.
He seems pleased with this treat.
Are you French?
Jean de Dieu nods yes.
I think you're lucky.
If he takes a dislike to someone, there's nothing to be done.
Nothing like Buridan's ass,
who provoked so much sterile academic debate.
Ariane checks the animal's harness one last time.
He's an honest mule.
What is he hiding in his pail?
The same thing as you, I suppose.
I don't wear diapers anymore.
It's only compulsory in town.
So he won't urinate on a public thoroughfare.
- Where do they shit? - On the public thoroughfare.
Which goes to show our cities are more tolerant of shit.
Get in.
Henrique, his inseparable brandy bottle at his side,
Iies down among the rose bouquets.
Jean de Dieu sits next to Ariane.
The cart moves off, drawn by Lucio
at a fast trot, his bells ringing gaily.
The cart crosses several streets of Lisbon
before coming near a restaurant.
We've got the wind in our sails! And with this music,
all we need is a cortege of cherubs.
Wake me up when we get to paradise.
You're there already without realizing it.
Lucio is faster than I thought.
He's a swift ass. He's still young.
If it's too bumpy, I can slow down.
I like feeling the wind in my hair.
And your friend?
He's a sailor. He's used to the swells.
And the jolts of life.
- Don't worry about me. - Not asleep?
Having a little nap. Do you mind, my dear Jean?
Not at all!
You're always in Graca?
Usually. Rain and shine, it's our livelihood.
Strange, I often pass through there
but I never noticed your cart.
When we work, we have no time for others.
Yes. It's the age of " Every man for himself"
and " Run for your life."
Lucio might complain. Any reason to complain, sweetie?
You know, we've been around.
My parents were very poor.
They emigrated and worked in a Luxembourg circus.
They died in a trapeze act shortly after I was born.
It happens. That's life... But here we are.
God, grant us each a death
in accordance with our life.
Lucio and l know all the roads of the North:
Warsaw, Prague, Budapest, the blue Danube,
Vienna, Paris, Amsterdam and, especially, Berlin.
We earn a good deal there. Enough to buy a purebred.
Why this wandering, if I may ask?
Because Germans hate asses. They prefer pigs. Schwein.
It's because asses are dying out
whereas anyone, even a lowlife, can become a little pig.
Henrique sings an old popular song from the 40s.
- We are all German Jews. - I'd rather not understand.
There's nothing to understand. I mean, wherever you go,
times are hard for asses.
They have very dark balls.
True, it's not always easy, but we hold our own.
Of course. Samson too held his own with an ass's jawbone.
He had no choice. He was told people were shouting:
" Death to Samson, and death for everyone!"
You haven't any relatives?
If I do, I never met any.
Maybe in a remote part of Portugal,
or, who knows, in the Cevennes.
When an ass talks,
the other's ears droop.
Good night. Sweet dreams!
What's got into him?
- He was unhappy in the navy. - No one forced him.
The only discovery of Luxembourg was due to a group of doctors.
An event so rare that the Luxembourgers celebrated
with brass bands and cannons.
With all the necessary pomp for 3 days and 3 nights.
The Grand Duchess even left her cage
to unveil the commemorative plaque.
What were they celebrating?
I forget.
If I'm losing my memory, it's because it's unimportant.
But what were they celebrating?
Oh, yes!
The discovery of a psychic illness. Curable, it seems.
They named it
"the Portuguese malady."
- Does that ring a bell? - Never heard of it.
I just asked. It's nothing.
Is your friend always in a bad mood?
Let him talk. An ass isn't heard in heaven.
He's heard. He's heard.
- And you? - I direct plays.
Once, in Berlin,
I was given angel wings to play an extra at the Wall.
But I couldn't leave Lucio, so I said no.
This longing to wear wings...
How cute!
Ask Ariane if she's ever dreamed
of John Wayne swinging his hips at the North Pole.
- What? - He asks if you've ever dreamed
of John Wayne swinging his hips at the North Pole.
Of course! All girls dream of that.
- What? - The caravan goes by
and the cart stops near the Sao Carlos Theater.
The passengers get out
as Ariane hangs around Lucio's neck
a well-deserved bag of oats.
Stroking the animal, Ariane says:
" Pretty little ass!"
We hear an aria from Verdi's " Rigoletto."
It's fine.
It's going to be terrific.
We'll have a drink and start again.
- You like Verdi? - Yes.
Magnificent. Come with me.
What are you drinking to?
Our characters are in a restaurant dining room.
What are you drinking to?
To the excellence of our horizon.
A waiter approaches their table with a plate.
To be negotiated with the manager...
A truly carnivorous horizon.
The formal opening " bon appetit!"
fails to suggest the gluttony of the guests.
Henrique points to Ariane's mittens:
"Take off your gloves, child. You're not bottle-feeding your mule."
Ariane hides her hands.
My hands are cold: I have poor blood circulation.
- You have a warm heart. - A fickle heart.
Can you pass the salt, Ariane?
- To the waiter: " Another bottle!" - You're voracious! Thank God!
I don't know why, but I'm starved today.
And you? You always eat and drink like this?
- When I feel like it. - Do you often feel like it?
Depends on the days. When I like what I'm eating!
I don't have to be asked.
I call it: putting an end to the belly's misery.
- Why are you so skinny, then? - Do you mind?
They say skinny people have intense inner lives.
They said I had a tapeworm, but I never could catch it.
Know how to catch them? With your hands.
You dip a piece of bread in some broth
or something sticky:
olive oil, bechamel sauce, vanilla ice cream...
Then,
you shove the bait
up the asshole
and you patiently wait for the worm to bite.
Then you extract carefully,
so that the parasite comes out in one piece
and doesn't scratch the ass's skin.
Until now the only thing to come out of my ass
has been shit.
Shit and hurricanes.
You're disgusting. You ruined my appetite.
A nice meal topic. I can't eat either.
You're too sensitive. What page are you at, children?
Sixty.
- Right there. - Oh, yes. Thanks.
I spared you the May beetle grubs,
but that's my childhood.
They were everywhere, even in my mouth and nose,
not to mention my poor ass.
Stop, Henrique, before I throw up!
You have a sensitive stomach for someone who stinks of mule.
I don't stink of mule.
Do l?
Jean de Dieu sniffs Ariane.
- Ariane doesn't stink of mule. - Like it? It's my natural smell.
A heady scent. It's like being in a field of roses.
A sea of roses?
Smell her ass, rather.
Go smell it yourself.
Only if it's pink. Is it pink?
You'll never know.
You're dead wrong, honey. I already know.
What colour is it?
I'm gonna get lost for a minute.
Jean, order me a coffee. I'll be right back.
And a bottle of whiskey for everybody!
What colour is it?
Henrique exits.
- What colour is it? - I can't tell.
Must be a vague, indefinite colour.
It's not true. Your friend is quirky.
Yes, Henrique is erratic. He likes to ramble.
He drank too much, too.
- Things going well, Catarina? - Yes.
Paul is such a saint.
Go on, please.
We drank too much. You're sweet, Jean.
Let's just say I'm polite.
Too polite, maybe.
I prefer that. You're trustworthy.
Want to see? It's pink.
What's pink?
It's a sign of trust. Don't tell your friend.
I won't give your trust to Henrique.
- I thought you were friends. - But not old friends.
How can you be with him? He's despicable.
It's a long story.
He's a bit eccentric, I admit, but I rather like him.
Maybe because we have nothing in common.
We women are rarely wrong about that.
- You saw his eyes? - What about them?
Nothing. They're cold and empty.
The eyes of someone without illusions.
No. I can tell you're a sad person,
but at a closer look, you still have laughing eyes.
It's only an impression.
Why are they laughing? I'm not happy to be unhappy.
I don't believe you.
It's true. My life is no life, it's a semblance of life.
That's not true. You're cheating, Jean.
Cheat, me? With what? With life?
No, with death.
I've never thought of it... Dessert?
I can't eat any more, but I'll have coffee.
Three coffees and a bottle of lrish whiskey.
The waiter brings the coffees and whiskey.
Ariane and Jean take their coffee.
Jean serves Ariane some whiskey and fills a glass for Henrique.
Ariane puts the saucer on Henrique's cup.
It's best to cover it before it gets cold.
Do you live with anyone?
I used to be married. My wife left me.
Long ago?
This summer. We'd decided to go to Spain.
I woke up one morning in my hotel room
to discover the lovely Carmencita gone.
It was raining, I turned over and went back to sleep.
- Does it still hurt? - That's just it...
What hurts is my inability to feel hurt.
I thought Carmen's disappearance was perfectly natural.
- Then you didn't love her. - I did love her...
... and, in a way, I always will.
Maybe she'll come back. I'm sure she'll come back.
Why would she?
Because women love to be loved.
She may be regretting it right now.
She may be thinking it over.
Before thinking, she'd already been shrinking.
- What about you, Ariane? - I'm fine the way I am.
And love, Ariane?
Love? Love is a bohemian child. I don't like prisons.
Ariane laughs.
Henrique returns with a blind violinist.
He holds a red rose in his hand.
He's a lunatic. I warned you, Jean.
He's in a good mood. The world won't come to an end.
This is Ragno,
the Paganini of Syracuse,
who's come for us.
But first, he'll honour us
by having a drink.
In Syracuse, Salazar said to his grandchildren:
"The square of the hypotenuse
" is not equal to the sum of the squares of its adjacent sides."
Henrique drinks his whiskey at one go,
refills his glass...
and offers it to the musician.
It's not very clean but it doesn't matter.
Ragno doesn't give a damn.
A blind man's ethics are different from ours.
Henrique eats the rose.
Diary of a chambermaid.
Henrique, emptying Ariane's glass...
Diary of a country priest.
You might think of Ariane.
Oh, only a digestive rose,
nobody's rose.
You eat it and empty it.
It's supposed to clean the intestines.
Jean de Dieu caresses Ariane, who huddles against him.
Ragno plays " Ride of the Walkyries."
Calm down, you...
spider!
Our ears can't stand these arachnoid convulsions!
Entertain us with " La vie en rose".
Henrique sings: "When you take me in your arms..."
I'm an artist, my good man.
If you think money can buy everything, you're wrong.
It's as I said, my son, Wagner or nothing.
Ragno launches into his music...
Henrique pushes him towards the door.
If that's the way it is,
go fiddle in the rain.
If it's to listen to that shit, I prefer the music
of my asshole.
Long live the blind!
The blind man foams with rage!
With a certain dignity, it should be said,
he beats a retreat, playing as protest
a few measures of " La Marseillaise"
before walking head-on into the door.
The worse blind man
is the one who wants to see.
Ariane, Jean de Dieu and myself
continue our journey to the door of Max's Himself Bar.
The three of us enter the room,
sit at a table
and silently look around.
The atmosphere is noisy and smoke-filled.
I order beers.
Among the customers is a group of skinheads.
It smells of scorched earth. We forgot our anti-toxic masks.
- This isn't Austerlitz! - Of course. It's after Auschwitz.
Arbeit, arbeit...
... macht frei!
The skinheads sing a hymn.
The only good fascist
is a dead fascist.
No pasaran!
With the floor liberated,
Ariane and Jean de Dieu can now waltz.
Here, a present for you.
- She has the same name as you. - Ariane?
Take care of her. I'm going to work.
Jean de Dieu, Ariane and Henrique
sit at a table eating breakfast.
All's well that ends well.
- Journey to the end of night. - Ariane looking at Jean:
We won't meet again?
Probably not.
You know where to find me.
Anyway, I'd like to come by the theatre.
You're always welcome.
I'll be going. I want to stretch my hips.
I'll go with you.
Ariane, my sister,
of what wounded love
did you die, abandoned on the shore?
An engaged couple were embracing
In a banana plantation
The fiance, a rascally fellow
Hugs her tighter Not hurting a bit
He put his arms around her hip
With such a show of tenderness
And in the shadow Of the banana tree
Showed her the banana split.
Who are you?
Paul.
Max Monteiro.
Pleased to meet you. I know you.
By reputation, I hope.
Quite a bad one.
Thank you, my dear man.
I'm in the middle of writing...
and I thought about you...
to play a departed friend.
If, one day, you'd care to drop by...
Yes?
I'd like to read you a few pages
of this dramatic work.
Listen, Paul,
I'm very touched by your words.
To our health?
You were going to perform?
Yes, but, you know, l...
I have trouble with this object because...
I'm rather... on the other side. I mean...
What's the matter?
Why are you upset?
" I dreamed of John Wayne swinging his hips at the North Pole,
"so I'm leaving. I'm rushing up there."
"The car keys are on the kitchen table.
" I fed the dogs
" And I even milked the cows.
"You can look after the house.
" I've had it with the joys of pleasant life. Good luck. Paul."
He didn't take anything,
not even a suitcase.
- What do you think? - Did you have a fight?
No.
Not at all.
We even made love.
He was unbelievably gentle.
It was almost like the first time.
I don't know what to say, Marianne. I'm flabbergasted.
Paul's not someone who'd go to the North Pole.
I think you're right.
He's too fond of his comfort
for a crazy adventure like this.
Thanks.
I'm so sorry!
I forgot that you had stopped drinking.
I've started again. A little glass is good for me.
It's not an idea you have,
Ieast of all Paul, to just get up and go to the North Pole.
Yes, it's unthinkable. You're right.
It must be a joke.
First of all,
in the name of the Father,
the Son,
and the Holy Ghost,
and of the Glorious Mother.
I would like to be this foreign woman
whose wrinkles you'd erase,
the wrinkles of lost loves.
Incredible!
I don't believe my eyes!
It's them!
- Who? - Henrique, Ariane and Lucio.
Jean...
Why the North Pole?
It was Joao's old dream: meet a kindred spirit
with whom he could swing his hips at the Pole.
It wasn't God... John Wayne's hips inspired him.
John Wayne's hips? I don't get it.
In my husband's dream, John Wayne swung his hips at North Pole.
There have been wilder dreams.
And may I ask,
what is the mystery of John Wayne's hips?
There is none.
It's simple: John Wayne limped slightly with his left leg
because it was heavier than the right.
The older tailors knew this
and tailored the pants legs accordingly.
On the left leg, near the genitals,
they drew a small pocket in chalk
and always asked their clients:
Will this do? A bit larger?
That's why.
There was no room for error. They were always at hand.
Coming to this conclusion, you decided to marry.
We married because we were starved.
Starved for love, if you wish, for love is the child of hunger.
For the Greeks, Eros was the son of Penia, Poverty.
Love is hunger for another life, the desire for transit.
When lovers kiss, they devour each other.
They die into each other, pass into a new being.
Life must not repeat itself,
for repetition is immobility, remaining in the same place.
Love compensates death, giving what it takes.
Man perpetuates himself by loving and eating:
Eat! This is my body!
The body is an absorbed fruit. Fruit is humus, water and sun.
The fruit turns into spirit, verging on Divinity.
And they said more than that. For example:
What's the ass to do with pants?
My wife knows it all, but there's really little to know.
When I first saw Ariane, I studied her.
Ouch! My poor pelvis.
I didn't breathe a word. I thought:
She's the one!
A man, if he's a man, holds on.
Hold on! Don't collapse, Joaozinho!
I'm not much of a talker.
At the first chance,
I said what Salazar would've said to his governess:
My dear Maria, we're not to enjoy ourselves.
May I ask: like so many of our compatriots
scattered to the four corners of the earth, what made you emigrate?
You may. We'd had enough of this caca.
You have no work in our country?
No work, no nothing.
I don't mind watching others work.
But you've never had a profession?
Put down "strolling player" or nothing at all.
I don't care. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a sailor.
I wanted to go to sea with a parrot on my shoulder.
See other climes, other people.
Don't be so modest, my love.
Now he's obsessed with being a landlubber.
Hail, old ocean!
There was a little boat
That had never been to sea...
How will you survive at the Pole? On donkey meat?
By drilling holes in the ice with our magic wand.
My wife and I dislike donkey meat.
We're bons vivants, not democrats.
How will you put up with all the snow?
Hear that, Ariane? The man says we won't resist!
Let him talk. You don't seem to know the rascals on TV.
Whoever can survive in this squalor
can survive at the North Pole.
Don't worry about us.
If we get bored We'll go to the Moon.
Then is it the same spirit of adventure
that led the old Portuguese to discover the new worlds
which motivates you now?
Look, my good man,
Iet's say it's the despair of the modern world.
I am merely a polar emigre. The artic poles.
I am as old as shit. My name is Joao de Deus.
Are you watching, Jean?
Excuse the dirty trick
but a scalded cat fears even cold water.
Ariane will knit some woollen socks for you.
I'll send you a sperm whale for sailing down the river.
Hang in there, old Frenchie! Keep trying.
I'm not very media, am l?
But...
Come, Luciano, we've fooled another one.
They' re mad!
What's the matter with them? They' ll never make it!
Maybe they' ll reconsider on the way.
They won't.
They'll go all the way to the stars, those mule-heads.
And what if we went
to swing our hips at the North Pole?
Listen, Marianne:
Let's swing our hips, even if it's just a whim.
But don't ever mention the North Pole again. OK?
All right, dear.
- Sorry not to have gone with them? - A little.
Violent beauty will be erotic yet veiled,
explosive yet contained, or it will be nothing.
Not on the couch, anyway.
Subtitling Pedro Povoa / CRlSTBET, Lda.