Fanny and Alexander Page #8

Why can't you

tell God to kill the bishop?

Or maybe God doesn't

give a damn about you, or any of us.

Have you ever seen God

over there on the other side?

No one around here

has a damn thought in their heads.

Idiots, the whole lot...

You must be gentle with people.

Aren't you coming to bed?

The clock has struck four.

- I can't sleep.

- Nor can I.

I've been with Elsa, she is very ill.

- We ought to send for the doctor.

- He's coming tomorrow morning.

- What's that?

- Hot broth, it's soothing.

May I?

But of course.

Can't you forgive me?

I'm staying with you, am I not?

- This sudden yielding confuses me.

- Drink it while it's hot.

You demand that the children return?

- Then the position is hopeless.

- I care only for what is right.

Isn't that Elsa calling?

Stay, I'll go in and see to her.

- Can I help you, Aunt?

- It's so dark.

- What's the time?

- It's almost half past four.

- A long night.

- You should try to get some sleep.

My legs are hurting.

They are swollen and aching.

You once said...

...that you

were always changing masks.

So that finally

you didn't know who you were.

I have only one mask.

And it is branded into my flesh.

If I try to tear it off...

I always thought people liked me.

I saw myself as wise,

broad-minded and fair.

I had no idea...

...that anyone

was capable of hating me.

I don't hate you.

No, but your son hates me.

I'm afraid of him.

- Who is on the other side of the door?

- It's God...

- Can't you come out?

- The living may not see God's face.

- What do you want?

- I want to prove that I exist.

- This is the end of me, isn't it?

- Would you like me to show myself?

Then I will show myself.

Here I come, Alexander! Right now!

- Admit it, you were scared!

- Not bloody likely!

"This is the end of me, isn't it?"

- Ow, that hurts!

- Don't cry, Alexander.

I didn't mean to frighten you,

at least not that much.

I've been working

on this puppet all night.

This rich circus owner in England

is crazy about our puppets.

And then I heard you padding around.

Do you hear that?

My brother is awake.

He's singing.

Poor Ismael, he can't bear

being around people.

- Sometimes he gets violent.

- You said you'd been up all night.

- But I saw you sleeping.

- So much in life is inexplicable.

You notice that particularly

when you dabble in magic.

- Have you seen our mummy?

- No...

Come on.

Look carefully, Alexander...

Can you see it breathing?

It's been dead for over 4,000 years,

but it's still breathing.

I'll make the room dark.

- What do you see?

- It's glowing...

Only no one knows why it's luminous.

No one can explain it.

People resent

what they cannot understand.

It's better to say

it's mirrors or projections...

Then people will laugh instead,

which is healthier all around,

particularly from a financial point

of view. Now watch carefully...

Uncle Isak says we are

surrounded by layers of reality.

He says there are swarms

of ghosts, spirits, phantoms, souls...

...angels and devils.

He says that the smallest pebble

has a life of its own.

- Would you like some more coffee?

- Yes, please.

Everything is alive. And everything

is God, or God's intention.

Not only the good things,

but the cruellest and worst.

What do you think?

If there is a God, he's a sh*t.

I'd like to kick him in the arse.

I find your theory interesting,

and it appears to be justified.

Shall we take Ismael his breakfast?

Ismael?

I've brought your breakfast.

Emelie...

As I couldn't sleep,

your sister gave me bromides.

I had put three powers in the broth.

I never meant for you to drink it.

When you went to check on Elsa,

I added three more.

You will sleep soundly.

By the time you wake, I will be gone.

I'm going back to my children.

To my home... and my family.

Emelie!

Emelie...

- I'll change and you'll come back!

- I will never come back.

I will poison your existence,

ruin your children's future...

You no longer

know what you're saying.

I'm wide awake!

I'm so terribly wide awake...

Please, at least help me to bed.

I can't see anymore, and I feel dizzy.

Emelie, are you there?

I can't see...

Emelie!

Ismael, I've brought your breakfast.

Good morning, Ismael.

This is Alexander Ekdahl, a friend.

Leave us alone, Aron.

You needn't worry, I won't eat him.

Even if he does look appetizing.

- Come back in half an hour.

- But Uncle Isak...

Uncle Isak is an old goat. He need

never know about Alexander's visit.

No, thank you.

My name is Ismael,

you know that already.

"And he will be a wild man;

his hand will be against every man,

and every man's hand against him."

I'm considered dangerous,

that's why they lock me away.

In what way are you dangerous?

Write your name

on this piece of paper.

Here's a pencil.

It's rather blunt, but it will do.

Now then, Alexander Ekdahl...

Read what you just wrote.

It says:
"Ismael Retzinsky".

Perhaps we are the same person.

Maybe there are no boundaries.

Maybe we all flow into each other,

boundlessly and magnificently.

You bear terrible thoughts...

It's almost painful to be near you.

At the same time, it is enticing.

- Do you know why?

- I'm not sure if I want to know...

You can make an image

of someone you dislike.

And stick pins into it.

It's a clumsy method compared

to the swift path of evil thoughts.

You're a strange little person.

You do not want to express

what's always on your mind...

You are picturing a man's death.

Wait...

I know who it is.

A tall man with fair greying hair,

correct me if I am wrong.

He has clear blue eyes and

a boyish face, correct me if I'm wrong.

He is asleep, and in his dream

he kneels down at the altar.

Above the altar

hangs the crucified prophet.

In his dream he gets up and cries out:

"My God, my God,

why hast thou forsaken me?"

But there is no response.

Not even laughter.

Don't say things like that.

It's not me...

...it's you.

Do not hold back...

He is sound asleep,

plagued by nightmares.

Give me your hands.

It's not necessary,

but it's safer this way.

The doors are to be thrown open,

screams will ring out.

- I don't want to...

- It's too late.

There is only one path,

and I will accompany you.

I will obliterate myself

and merge into you.

Don't be afraid,

I am your guardian angel.

It's five o'clock. Daybreak.

The doors are thrown open... Wait!

First... a terrible scream rings out.

A shapeless burning figure...

...moves across the floor, shrieking.

I don't want to... Let me go!

Emelie...

The police are here.

They insist on speaking to you.

Your husband, His Grace the Bishop,

lost his life this morning

in horrifying circumstances.

Do you permit me, madam?

We believe we have determined

the course of events.

Miss Elsa Bergius was ill in bed.

A lamp was on her bedside table.

The lamp appears to have fallen,

igniting the bedding and

Miss Bergius' nightdress and hair.

Blazing like a torch,

the woman ran through the house.

Rate this script:3.8 / 4 votes