The Assault

THE ASSAUL:

Far into the Second World War...

live Anton Steenwijk, his parents

and his brother Peter...

on the edge of Haarlem.

It's January 1945.

Almost all of Europe is liberated...

celebrating, eating, drinking

and making love.

But here in Haarlem

it's still war.

And winter.

The winter of starvation.

You always bring so many earthworms.

- From my bird cemetery.

I bury all the dead birds

that I find.

Open it.

I have my hands full.

What you put into Mother Nature,

you will also get back.

The banisters and the door

of the visitor's room.

The whole house will go.

My dad stokes the stove

with novels.

The heavy ones should weigh

the most.

Anton, you're forgetting the soup kitchen.

- Oh, yuck. Let Peter do it for a change.

Peter can't do it.

Imagine if there's a sudden raid.

We will go together, alright?

I have to go anyway.

I may not be on duty, but

it impresses people.

Hello, Mr. Aarts.

Hello, Madam.

Karin, Tonny, wait up.

Can you hold up for a moment?

You sure walk fast.

Do you mind if I walk with you?

- Of course not, Madam.

Then allow me to carry your bag, Madam.

There walks the Aarts woman

with her husband.

They always treat you like dirt.

- A little, yes.

Surely because he's in insurance.

That doesn't amount to anything in a war.

Hello, Mrs. Aarts. Hello, Sir.

Nice weather, isn't it? For January.

Stir first. I want some of that

thick stuff from the bottom.

Of course, nurse.

And for my neighbours the same recipe.

I wish you'd go with us every day.

Hey, boys. Get out of there.

Are you mad?

Bunch of slobs.

Did you see how they greeted me, those Aartsen?

Pathetic.

Hey, it's your friend.

Hello, Anton.

Hello, Fake.

Say, do you know him?

Do you know that bastard?

That Ploeg is the beastliest

killer of whole Haarlem.

And you are greeting him, Tonny?

I only greeted Fake.

He's in my class.

Would you like a biscuit?

- Yes please, Mr. Beumer.

Home-baked from bean flour.

By Mina Bakgraag.

Do you like it?

Do you still have vacation?

- The school is closed. Coal scarcity.

I'm sure you don't have a problem with that.

Bye.

- Bye.

Listen. 'At the World Exhibition

in New York, a cylinder was buried...

containing a complete summary

of our technology.

Such as the Lord's Prayer, movie sequences,

novels and a 1938 lady's hat.

The cylinder will be opened again

in 5000 years.'

That's in the year 6938, dad.

I wish they'd buried that Homer

along with it. The damn translating.

I don't want to hear you say such things.

I think that's sensible.

Then the people of 6938 will understand

their present day much better.

Those who don't know their past,

don't understand their future.

Remember that, Tonny.

Can we? The table is set.

Not so quick. And chew,

that's the best for you.

What's wrong, mom?

- What is it, dear?

A button.

Not even made of bone. Even the buttons

in the soup aren't any good.

Does it hurt, mom?

The crown is broken.

No dentist anymore who can

do anything about it.

What are you doing?

- I'm putting in a clove.

It takes away the pain.

I remember that from my grandmother.

It helps right away, boys.

If we'll just finish our meal,

we can play a game later on.

See you tomorrow.

Same place, same time,

same nothing.

Peter, your translation.

As when through rain and melted snow-

swollen rivers...

streaming down from the hills...

into a valley cavity

their tremendous mass of water...

originating from abundant

sources...

join in their hollow bed...

and far away in the mountains, the herdsman

hears their dim-thundering roaring...

That's how the screaming sounded...

and the laborious battle of soldiers

getting in a fight.

How beautiful.

- Yes, very.

Especially if you work on it for 1.5 hours.

You don't realize that yet.

A traditional education.

It will be of use to you for

the rest of your life.

With the exception of some small

matters:
Perfect.

Wie lacht niet, die de mens beziet.

What does that refer to?

- Nothing.

Sunt pueri pueri pueri

puerilia tractant.

'Children are children, and

children do childish things.'

We will go to bed soon.

- It's not even curfew yet.

We don't have a lot of carbid anymore.

- I want green.

You think you will win sooner then?

- Yes.

We will see about that.

- Well, are we still playing?

Let's throw and see who starts.

- Me.

Someone is shot.

- Peter, here. Stay here.

It's Fake Ploeg.

- Tonny, move away from that window.

Dead as a doornail, if you ask me.

- Ploeg?

Look.

God damnit.

- Hey, calm down a little.

The Krauts will get us now.

We didn't do anything.

- They don't care.

What are you going to do?

- Put him at Mrs. Beumer.

Better the old woman than us.

- How dare you?

Why should he lay at our place then?

- You say something, Willem.

A few seconds later

and he would have laid at her place.

Yes, but that's not the case.

He wasn't laying here either,

yet that's the case now.

I'm gonna put him back.

- You're playing with your life.

Not me, you.

Stay here.

You're all crazy.

Retards, all of you.

Hold it, don't move.

Hands up.

What's that?

Are they shooting at Peter?

Where is he?

- Round the back.

Peter.

Peter, sonny boy?

What should we do now?

Maybe he hid himself somewhere.

Why don't you wake up finally.

They're shooting at Peter.

Maybe he's already been hit.

Forgive me, Thea.

Forgive me.

It has gone well for so long

and now at the last...

Anton, put on a coat.

God, where is that boy?

Maybe at Korteweg. That's where

he ran to with Ploeg's pistol.

Did you really see that?

- Just when he walked away, he grabbed it.

He wouldn't...

I'm going to Korteweg.

Be careful, there's the guy

who was shooting at Peter.

Get inside, mom.

Yes, I'm closing the doors.

Open it.

- Open the door immediately.

They have the key...

Three men go upstairs.

The rest spread out.

Papers, quickly. Everything.

- We have nothing to do with it.

Shut up.

Ethica, more demonstrata geometrico.

Benedictus de Spinoza.

Is that right?

Are Jew books being read here?

I...

- Take off your hat when you talk to me.

I am principal clerk

of the court.

Shut up, Jew friend.

Where is the fourth one?

My 17-year-old son, scared

by this terrible event...

suddenly left the parental house

without saying goodbye.

He went in that direction.

You don't say, Mr. principal clerk!

He did?

Suddenly? Really?

Absolutely.

- Take them.

Tonny.

- Mom.

Wait here.

Here, take this.

Come.

Are we locking up kids now, too?

- No bullshit, open it.

Will my parents be brought here as well?

- That's a concern of the Germans.

Where should I leave him? They're all full.

- With the one in cell six.

The SD said Einzelhaft would go there.

- I'm the guard commander.

Try to get some sleep,

it's only for one night.

Sir?

What brings you here?

- Madam...

They set our house on fire.

- When? Just now?

Yes, a man was shot in

front of our house.

I mean, not at our house. At the neighbours...

- Jesus.

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