Amorosa Page #3

before it's too late.

It's already to late, Arvida.

The household course begins next week.

And the napkins need monograms...

I'd just trow them at Beda...!

You have never been the domestic type...

I'm not sure who I am anymore

and what I want.

The towels needs hemming...!

You won't have any use for those anymore.

You're not staying.

I'm thinking of my family back home.

If they want what's best for you, they'll rejoice.

Mother will feel dishonored...

Everyone will be embarrassed some time.

But it will pass. And Gerhard will mostly

get his ego hurt, he's so self-conceited.

One person will at least be happy.

Adolf?

Mm...

So, it's decided?

I have always been an obedient

child, Arvida. I've had enough.

I wish I was as brave as you.

I'll miss you.

You're different.

My heart aches!

Not here.

Yes.

You are going to the hospital now.

But you will become healthy soon.

And then I'll see you back at my place.

It will end the same way for Agnes as for

her cousin who is in a mental institution.

It's in our genes.

The menstruation arrived late.

It matters, the doctor says.

Schizophrenia, the doctor says.

Agnes becomes more anxious

when she writes.

She will never become a real author.

She isn't strong enough.

Agnes recovers abroad,

I heard.

Isn't it terrible, Adolf,

this thing with Viveka?

She doesn't want to keep the baby,

she believes it will go mad.

Yes, and Aimees smallest

is partly retarded.

Poor Aimee who is in a mental institution.

Yes, her nerves was to weak.

Hysterical females...

Es kostet ja nicht so viel...

No...!

Noo...!

Adolf:
Now when she is married,

she won't acknowledge us anymore.

The mother:
Sprengel doesn't believe

in the doctor's diagnosis.

He says that her hysteria

and depressions are a crisis of the soul.

It sounds nice,

and intellectual.

Sprengel will lock her up

and force her to write.

This is where you'll be writing your

masterpieces. When your powers allow.

I'll show you what I have in mind.

The mother:
The books will be expensive.

She always get sick when she writes.

And suddenly we're good enough for her,

since it's Us who pay the bill.

Don't get cross with me for my

small, yet necessary, modifications.

In general, I probably get what

you mean, better than anyone else.

And I believe that my small,

insignificant modifications,

becomes a correspondence

between us.

I feel so close to you,

through this.

We work all winter so I

rarely allow you to answer the phone...

...I turn down all visitors that may worry you,

and in spring, we travel to the south.

To avoid your family.

I'll do anything,

to please you,

my little Butterbur, cherie.

I have had my eyes on this big,

magnificent bed while you were sick.

There's place for me too when

you want, and are able to give me the favor.

Otherwise, I can always sleep

on the couch in my office.

You can walk straight from the bed

to your desk.

I'll place it below the window.

Your little hand can caress just

as well as it can handle a pen.

I'll love you as no one has ever done before.

When I kiss and embrace you,

I want to penetrate your soul.

In that way, nothing will get ugly,

nothing disturbed.

Your whole being will confine

in me. You become calm, happy.

All external conditions will

become indifferent in comparison.

Don't you agree, my love?

We have to be... the one

and only for each other.

You gave me a new life, Pa.

Most people would say

I have ruined it.

That your husband is arid and pompous.

You are ahead of you time

It irritates people.

His hidden desires tempts him,

to translate erotic pieces

with atrocious motifs.

The doctors are paying...

I'm not considered quite normal.

No, not with a wife like I...

A "filthy individual"...

I have the biggest

collection of pornography in Sweden.

A a derailed genius

who hates everything and everybody.

Since he lost his ability

to write.

You are wasting your time on me.

Yes. I've transferred

my ambitiousness to my wife...

...as a father transfer his

ambitions to his kids.

You're powerful, a great love.

You are the most beautiful

feature of my nature.

Sprengel is living of her money!

Basking in reflected glory.

It's a shame!

You are talking about an exceptional

individual, Mr. Bonnier.

You call her hysteric since

she won't accept your modifications.

She's the most talented woman in Sweden!

The fact that your prestigious publishing house

can't match her, is outrageous.

She exceeded the good taste,

you say?

One can not write a life portrayal

without bringing along some horrors!

It's always a pleasure

to displease you "elite publishers"...

I've been in contact with publishers who wants

to publish the books that has been silenced.

We'll sue them for breach of contract.

I admire the way she describes

the degeneration of the bourgeois.

How many pages today?

With wide margins?

Agnes lives in her own solar system,

my lord. Birth, death, love, hate.

She's completely indifferent

to all trends.

And if she's forced to take stand

in social issues...

...she will believe what

the majority believes. She's adjustable.

She writes about perverted sexuality...

The carnality of Sweden is a greater

flaw than our craving for liquor...

Eroticism isn't nice,

not even normal, it seems.

This obsession with sexuality...!

I thought you were her friend.

You once said that the sexuality is one

of the most important aspects... in life.

It is the authoress's intent,

that the women of her novels wanders

through a world of misfortune and decay.

It's an image of our modern world,

which she would like to change.

You'd better leave. I usually drink a

glass of sherry with Agnes at this hour.

Right now we are pretending that we are

in Spain, where she longs to be.

A little acting won't hurt,

it makes her calmer.

Goodbye. Thank you for visiting.

It would certainly be delightful

to sleep with you.

But highly inappropriate

in our costuming.

I've seen worse things

in this house.

No talking outside this door.

Then maybe the police will show up.

You probably know yourself, why

Mr. Sprengel can trust me.

Did you light the incense?

Pull down the sunset?

Good!

MUSIC:

Father Pierre...

Why are they afraid

of my writing, Padre?

Unfortunately it's due to our society,

perhaps all societies.

You have dared the truth, Mrs Sprengel.

Call me Agnes.

Mrs. Agnes...

Those who criticize you is too afraid

to tell the truth themselves.

They judge me! But what they don't know

is that I've already judged myself...

They tell me I'm not serious.

But maybe I'm serious, after all.

My stay at the mental institution

has branded me for life.

My contract has been broken!

I don't write pornographic filth!

A lady of your ancestry doesn't

even know the meaning of the word.

You claim that I'm not decent.

Be careful, Padre.

I'm losing grip of life.

She mustn't be disturbed!

She has to sign.

It's that damn will!

The age of the assassins are here!

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