疗养院

THE HOURGLASS SANATORIUM

We’ve almost arrived.

How will I get there?

You’ll find the way.

You don’t need help.

I’ve come a long way.

I booked a room by telegram.

Who can I see?

Everybody is sleeping.

I’ll tell the doctor when he wakes up.

Sleeping?

It’s daytime not night.

They sleep all the time.

You didn’t know?

Night never comes here.

You can wait downstairs.

In the restaurant.

The doctor will see you now.

Where is he?

We received your telegram yesterday.

We sent our coach to the station.

You must have arrived

on a different train.

The station?

We don’t have a good train connection here.

How are you feeling?

Is my father alive?

Of course.

I mean to an extent

allowed by the situation.

You know, just as I do,

that from the perspective

of your home, your country,

you father is dead.

This cannot be fully reversed.

His death casts a shadow

on his existence here.

But he doesn’t know or suspect?

Don’t worry.

Our patients don’t suspect anything.

They can’t.

You probably want to see your father.

I’ll take you there.

We reserved a bed for you

in his room, as you requested.

The trick is that we moved back time.

Time is late here by an interval

which I can’t precisely define.

It all boils down to relativity.

Here, your father’s death

hasn’t occurred yet.

But he met with his death

in your country.

So my father is dead.

- Or is close to death.

- You don’t understand.

We reactivate past time

with all its possibilities.

Including recovery.

We let our patients sleep

for a long time.

We spare their vital energy.

They have nothing better

to do anyway.

Why don’t you lie down?

There’s nothing more

you can do now.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

I came to talk to you.

Go on.

Why are you spreading lies

and gossip about father?

- What lies?

- I know you’re behind them.

I didn’t lie.

You remember how he went

missing for many days.

He avoided us.

Who knows whether

he’s still alive somewhere?

I have to know the truth.

Stop tormenting me.

It’s hard to communicate with him.

How can I cope

with everything myself?

How can I answer questions

which God keeps asking me?

It’s too much for me.

His complaints terrify me.

- Don’t cry.

- I have a migraine.

You won’t go to school today.

To school?

Mom, I’m not a little boy anymore.

Yes, you are.

You’ve got ink on your hands.

Your knees are bruised.

You’re a naughty, unruly boy.

You hang out

with God knows whom.

Wake those good-for-nothings.

It’s time to open the shop.

- But I’m sure...

- Stop tormenting me.

I told you that your father

travels around as a salesman.

Sometimes

he returns home at night

only to go off again before dawn.

I’m sure he’ll come back.

You’re tossing and turning

like fish out of water.

- You sleep a bit, doze off a bit...

- Yawn a bit.

And you rest again.

You should learn wisdom

from an ant, lazybones.

An ant? Go to hell.

That ant of yours knows

no teacher, boss or shegetz.

And it’s doing fine.

What’s he talking about?

I walked the fields of a lazy man.

I walked the vineyards

of a stupid man.

Where is that from?

Our Lord didn’t say that.

Don’t listen to it!

Nettles grew over everything.

Thorns covered his land.

And the stonewall

collapsed to pieces.

Clap your hands

and call out His name

while rejoicing.

Call out his name to the sounds

of songs and trumpets.

Praise Him with harps,

praise Him with lyres.

Praise Him with the drums

and dancing.

Praise Him with stringed

instruments and horns.

Praise Him with the cymbals.

Praise him

with loud clanging cymbals.

Let everything that

has breath praise the Lord.

Alleluia.

Clap your hands and sing.

Sing.

Sing wisely.

In a dream he saw a ladder

that reaches from earth to heaven.

And God’s angels

were going up and down on it.

Is it possible?

It’s our little Józef!

Did you get lost on

your way to school?

Well?

Rascals! They’re everywhere.

When I want to go down

to get bread in the morning,

I can’t even....

...open the door.

They squeeze through cracks.

And try to get into the kitchen.

They ogle me.

They can hardly wag their tails.

They’re overjoyed

when they see a fire.

They clap their hands

and dance like savages.

They’re hopeless

at putting out fire.

But they like to celebrate.

- Who are you talking about?

- Those idle firemen.

They get lazy in autumn.

They sleep while standing.

I think you’re prejudiced.

They’re nice boys.

An old stove-fitter told me

that when he repairs chimneys,

he finds them attached

to the smoke vent,

motionless like the larvae.

They sleep like that being

drunk from raspberry juice.

And they whine in their sleep:

"Sugar, sugar".

If I glance at one of them,

his face swells and becomes

obscenely red like a turkey.

I heard that it’s a way

of strengthening the inner self.

And rejuvenating colours

when firemen eject fireworks,

rockets and Bengali lights.

I won’t give them

any juice anyway.

I didn’t ruin my complexion

hovering over the stove to make it,

so those rascals could drink it.

Unfortunately, Adela,

you never understood things

which go beyond the mundane.

Look.

Is it possible to grow hair

to the ground?

You look so different.

Just wonderful!

The captain of rascals!

"I, Anna Csillag, born in Moravia,

had poor hair growth".

I wish I had hair like that.

Would you like some water?

- With raspberry juice.

- No, thanks.

Too bad.

Her poor hair growth

was divine retribution.

But prayers and penance

took the curse off her.

She was graced with enlightenment.

She received signs

and made this miraculous remedy.

Look.

These are her brothers,

cousins and brothers-in-law.

Who’s he?

Another brother-in-law.

She made a whole town happy.

Really?

"Elsa. The fluid with a swan".

It’s a balm for all afflictions.

It works wonders.

Where did you get this book?

It’s been here all the time,

scattered around.

"Smoke all you want".

"Sexual Neurasthenia".

"Gramophones".

You silly thing.

We use its pages to wrap meat

and your father’s lunch.

It’s degradation of an original book.

You’re late.

There’s no more juice.

I have some rose preserve.

It’s not bad.

Adela!

- Try it.

- Thank you.

- It’s not a preserve.

- So what? It tastes sweet.

Is your name Jakub?

No, I’m Józef.

Jakub is my father.

I see.

Can you come out?

We can’t talk like this.

- Excuse me.

- It’s all right.

I have a valuable delivery.

Where can I find your father?

I’m looking for him myself.

Allow me to introduce

Honduras and Nicaragua.

Come closer.

It’s spotted.

That’s right.

It’s perishable.

- Birds of paradise?

- Not only.

For hatching, it’s best to let

Belgian hens sit on them.

Or you can do it yourself.

I think I see your father.

Over there!

Don’t you think he’s behaving

in a strange way?

He’s demonstrating.

Father!

Father...

You should beware of things

like narrow-mindedness,

pedantry and blind literalism.

Have you noticed that

in some books flocks of swallows

are flying between the verses?

Stanzas of swallows.

You should learn to read

from the flight of these birds.

Father. I have to tell you something.

It’s a secret.

I found an original.

- An original?

- Yes.

Look.

It’s worthless!

It’s a book!

It’s just a myth.

A book is a myth

we believe in when we’re young.

We stop treating it seriously

as we get older.

Books live a borrowed life.

Every book has a moment

when it soars into the air like

a phoenix with its pages on fire!

Look.

We love them for that moment.

But they turn to ashes.

Thank you.

Why doesn’t anybody

offer goldfinch?

Where?

A book is a myth, my son.

It soars into the air

like a phoenix.

Hyderabad.

Guatemala.

Tasmania, San Domingo.

Sierra Leone.

Labrador, Barbados,

Trinidad, El Salvador,

Borneo, Sumatra, Pernambuco.

Hiporabundia.

You’re talking nonsense.

You could say Panfibras.

Haleiwa, Abracadabra.

Why do I get the feeling

that I’ve been there before?

A long time ago.

What if we know all landscapes

that we come across in life?

Can anything new happen?

Something we can’t sense?

Do you hear me?

I want to know if all this

could have happened.

Answer me.

Did it happen or not?

Yes and no.

There are some things

that can’t fully happen.

They are too grand and magnificent

to fit into an event.

They just try to happen.

Tell me if they really exist.

She did exist.

And nothing can

take away my certainty.

Don’t be afraid.

She can’t hear us.

It’s my dead mother,

she lives here.

She’s inhabited by ghosts,

phantoms, larvae and chrysalises.

Helpless and naive,

she takes them into her dream

and sleeps with them.

She wakes up half-conscious

at dawn and remembers nothing.

That’s why she’s so sad.

She has to live so many lives.

Do you know a story

that time cannot change?

There is one that

you haven’t heard.

It belongs to the night.

Will you find the patience

to listen to it?

Somebody will walk

across the sky,

cuddling a baby in a coat.

Constantly on the way,

on a endless journey.

He’ll pass us with long steps.

That’s what’s going to happen.

Over and over again.

Bianca, you can count on me!

Till the last drop of blood!

Well?

It’s a riddle.

What about her?

She’s all grey.

The touch of her hand must

be beyond imagination.

What did you see there?

Something colourful,

colonial terrifying.

Abductions, pursuits, betrayals.

It’s a story about an abducted

and switched princess.

You’re making it up.

Java.

Sumatra.

Borneo.

I can appoint you as coregent.

Anonymously.

Together with the stamp album

we’ll form a triumvirate.

We’ll be responsible

for this unsolved affair.

With the stamp album?

What a naive question.

It’s a universal book.

A compendium of knowledge

about human life containing

allusions and understatements.

This story will be interspersed

with dashes, ellipses and sighs.

It requires a bit of intelligence

and imagination.

Your words are delirious,

ridiculous, insane.

I was fond of you, Rudolf,

because you own this album.

Now your outbursts of

envy put me off.

Don’t forget that you’re

dependent on me.

I have to get to the other side.

I know.

Her father is a ship’s doctor.

A small steam boat

with wheels at the sides

is waiting for her

every night at the pier.

It’s lights are off.

Don’t go there.

I have a bad feeling.

Don’t worry. I may seem excited,

but I have my fears.

Won’t it be safer to look through

the stamp album?

You haven’t seen New Mexico.

Remember that there

is no final Mexico.

Behind every Mexico

there is a new one.

They only seem dead.

The don’t have to breathe

for a longer period.

These villains won’t be

characters in novels.

They’re just a makeshift creation,

a one-time thing.

They were caught at a moment

when their obsession,

their madness was real.

Skilfully prepared, it became

the core of their new existence.

A new man was created

in the image of a mannequin.

This is anarchist Luccheni,

assassin of Empress Elisabeth.

And this is Draga,

the demonic Queen of Serbia.

Edison and Bismarck.

"Leatherstocking".

This is a young genius,

the pride and hope of his family.

Addiction to masturbation

ruined his life.

Unfortunately, they’re not authentic.

But we put a lot of effort

into making them look good.

Their faces are pale,

flushed from

the illness they died of.

Now take a look at

Emperor Franz Joseph.

Wrinkles on his face make him

look like he’s smiling.

But when you come closer,

you see that

his smile is just a grimace

of bitterness and terseness.

He had a younger brother,

so different spiritually

and ideologically.

This unfortunate antagonist,

disadvantaged by birth,

was Archduke Maximilian.

The emperor loved him secretly,

but planned to get rid of him.

He appointed him commander

of the Levantine Ship Squadron,

hoping that he’d go under.

Later he signed a secret alliance

with Napoleon III.

That’s him.

He used deception to involve

Maximilian in the Mexican incident.

This creative young man

renounced his Habsburg title

only to ride aboard

the French liner "Le Cid"

right into a trap.

Some sources say

he was just a cousin.

Others that he was never born.

He was conjectured from the fears

and hallucinations the emperor

experienced while sleeping.

We had problems putting

him back together

after his execution in Vera Cruz.

Unfortunately,

he still suffers from amnesia.

I had to teach him everything

about his life again.

My only success is that

at the sound of the name

of Emperor Franz Joseph

he draws his sword.

He wounded Victor Emmanuel.

The latter didn’t manage to get out

of his way quickly enough.

Bianca...

and Maximilian?

It’s a simple mechanical trick.

When wound up he moves

and acts like a live person.

A simple mechanical trick,

my foot!

A cynic in the tropics.

No, a tropical cynic.

And Rudolf said I exaggerated

and made things up.

They should take their medicine

and be in bed by now.

It’s not good to keep them

on stands for so long.

I can smell curare.

Would you like to see

my collection of weapons?

So my intuition was right after all.

Under the cover of law

and order hair-rising things

are happening here.

Will you tell me who Bianca is?

Her mother was a Creole.

Archduke Maximilian called her

lovingly Conchita.

She went down in history under

that name, through the back door.

Her mother?

You mean grandmother?

Mother.

After Maximilian’s downfall,

she took her daughter to Paris.

She lived on a widow’s pension.

That’s where history loses track

of our touching character.

Allow me to finish for you.

It’s confidential!

Keep calm and control yourself.

100,000 pesos.

My business is not going well.

It’s an expensive project.

In 1900 a Mrs. de V,

a woman of exotic beauty,

leaves France and goes to Austria

with her daughter and husband,

having fake passports.

They get arrested in Salzburg,

while changing trains to Vienna.

After checking his fake passport,

Mr. de V is free to go.

But he does nothing to get

his wife and daughter released.

That very day he goes back

to France and is never seen again.

I will be the one to identify him.

150,000 pesos.

You’re so uncompromising.

What do you want?

Your decisions will show

if you’re aware of the situation.

- I want facts!

- Stop!

I think Bianca’s origin

has been confirmed.

Negroes!

Hordes of Negroes!

Negroes at this time of the year?

The barometer

must be at its lowest point.

Bianca?

I thought you’d never get here.

- Sit down.

- No, infanta.

I have to do duties

which fate has assigned to me.

I have to carry out my plan.

Did you bring anything to read?

Decrees. Sign them.

"Daisy, Daisy give me your answer".

Barrel organs everywhere!

Real marvels of technology.

They may come in handy.

Things went so far that

I got involved in the dynastic

affairs of great monarchs.

I think we’re in trouble.

Let’s think about betrayal.

- Betrayal?

- Yes.

- Betrayal?

- That’s right.

Do you have a better idea?

I don’t understand.

It must be a wonderful feeling.

To penetrate the depths

of villainy and erase oneself

from one’s own memory.

Wouldn’t you like to be defiled

or repulsive for a moment?

But totally renewed.

Do it.

You’ll become one of them.

One of those black Negroes.

Now that things are at the final

stage you want me to betray?

You’re ridiculous with your

faithfulness and sense of mission!

- What if I chose Rudolf?

- No.

I prefer him a thousand times

over you, a boring pedant.

He would be obedient.

Even when it came to crime

or self-destruction.

Rudolf obedient?

Do you remember Lonka,

the washerwoman’s daughter?

You played with her

when you were a little boy.

- Yes.

- It was me.

Only I was a boy at that time.

Did you like me then?

Bianca, I feel everything

is going the wrong way.

Must you disappoint me?

May I see your tickets, please?

Conductor...

What is going on here?

Take it easy. Don’t panic.

We’ll fix everything quietly.

We don’t need help.

Normal facts are arranged in time.

They are threaded on it...

...like onto a string.

It’s important for

narration and continuity.

Fine.

What about events

which have no place in time?

Events which

have occurred too late,

when time has been allocated?

Is time too tight

to take in all events?

Time has its side offshoots,

somewhat illegal and dubious.

But we can’t be too fussy

when dealing with events

that cannot be classified.

Who knows? Maybe all the dirty

manipulation is behind us.

We’re heading to a dead end.

Exactly.

How can I get out of here?

Why don’t you try going

under the bed again?

- Excuse me, I have to go.

- Coward!

I hope to come back again.

Coward!

Stupid coward.

It’s you.

You don’t look well.

Everything is mixed up, father.

Father?

It takes a lot of patience to find

the right words in this confusion.

You can do it by grammatical

analysis of sentences and tenses.

What? I don’t remember.

I am, he is, she is...

I’ve got it!

You are, we are!

They are...

You need to eliminate

flirtatious chatter of birds,

their pointed adverbs, prepositions,

and timid personal pronouns

to find a healthy grain of time.

Legend books,

unwritten books, great epics,

pallid and monotonous

nameless novels,

faceless giants,

dark evening stories,

cloudy dramas,

errant and lost books.

You must have a lot of work.

The light on in your room

late at night.

Try. See if you can do it.

Fascinating!

What a beauty!

Remember. Paradisea apoda

or the bird of paradise.

Cardinalis cardinalis!

Chrysolophus pictus.

Upupa epops.

I want you to take

something with you.

Anything, at least a tiny bit.

Get it into your blood,

your life and save it.

And live with it.

Come in!

Go now.

They’re looking for you.

I don’t want to be disturbed.

Go.

Go!

Go!

Look at you.

You’re covered in cobwebs.

You ripped your coat.

You’ve been in the attic again.

Shop assistants steal from us,

people buy on credit only,

and you just play around.

Take it to the shop.

Your father must be hungry.

The shop!

They’re looking for you.

It’s hot.

Who?

The shop assistants,

especially Teodor.

I know. They’ll be climbing

the ladder up and down.

Up and down.

Józef!

I wish you

had been born earlier.

Come!

Take it to them.

It’ll scare them.

Adela, Holofernes was a man.

Whatever. I kept her in borsch

to make her look better.

I’ll buy it.

Lay off. It’s not for sale.

What? The head is in a shop,

so it’s for sale.

I’ll buy it.

Father!

Take it away.

There’s no room here.

Stop bothering me.

I’m busy.

Jakub! Go on, trade!

Father!

Wake up, Józef.

I know you’re exhausted.

It’s only a few steps more.

Father, you’re ill. You should

take care of yourself.

Can you hear him?

He’s coming.

I know him since childhood.

We went to school together.

That egoist disgusted me.

He devoured lots of buttered rolls.

Go and meet him.

He’ll think I ignore him.

Go!

If I’m not mistaken it’s Józef,

Jakub’s son.

May the sky over your heads

always be blue,

and the ground under

your feet moist with dew.

I don’t think I need to say that.

You can hear their shop

is as busy as a beehive.

It’s just appearances

and pitiful mystification.

Mother complains

that people buy on credit only.

- What did he say?

- Credit.

- I must have misheard.

- I could have expected it.

- They sell on credit.

- Enough! I don’t want to hear it.

Why do you keep bowing?

Turn your ear and listen

to the words of the wise.

Apply your heart to my teaching.

I sold for cash.

Help our fellow man

as much as we can,

but be vigilant

we don’t fall ourselves.

The seven years of plenty

will come to this land.

It was Christian Seipel and Sons,

owners of weaving mills.

The rich man laboured

in gathering riches,

and when he rests he shall

be filled with his goods.

The poor man laboured

in his low way of life,

and in the end he is still poor.

Come.

She doesn’t show up

in the park anymore.

They must be guarding her.

They smelled danger.

It’s nothing but humbug!

Extraterritoriality! Mexico!

Maximilian! Cotton plantations!

Enough!

Who told you that?

The files of this secret conspiracy

were never revealed.

I’m the owner of

this stamp album.

I won’t lend it to you again

for such purposes.

I must admit that

the whole thing is incredible.

Unbelievable.

What do you think, Rudolf?

Who could have conceived

such an evil idea,

which goes beyond any fantasy?

I’m amazed myself.

Tittle-tattle!

Our partnership is over!

Suit yourself.

I said I would prove

that it was all true.

- Where is Mr. de V?

- He’s left.

We’ll see.

Where is the infanta?

Her Highness has left too.

Nobody is here.

Right. Get out.

Somebody must have

betrayed me.

Abra...

Abra?

Abracadabra.

Great.

Come on. Get up!

Haleiwa!

Vienna!

Bravo!

Mount your horses, gentlemen!

Haleiwa!

- What’s going on here?

- This way, Your Highness.

Forward!

Gentlemen,

I troubled you in vain.

These people are free to go.

Don’t harm them.

In my blindness I wanted

to preach the scripture,

to interpret God’s will.

My false belief made me

pursue obscure clues

and make random conclusions.

Allow me, my friend.

Noble gentlemen and you, infanta.

I hand the regency to Rudolf.

I abdicate!

You’re free, noble gentlemen.

Thank you in the name

of our idea.

Our dethroned idea, which...

Hurry!

Hurry!

Father!

Call Garibaldi.

He’s an expert on wounds.

Bianca.

Get a stretcher.

Hurry!

What a fatal night.

I didn’t foresee it.

He had a noble heart after all.

I have wronged him.

Rudolf, you must comfort Bianca,

love her with double love

to replace her father.

You want to take him with you?

Let’s form a procession.

Form a procession!

One more thing, Rudolf.

I should be the one

to provide for the old age

of those homeless heroes.

Unfortunately I’m a pauper.

- How much?

- Ten thousand.

- Five.

- No.

Twelve.

Gentlemen! After what happened

no wax museum will take you in.

Competition is big.

As you have no practical skills,

my friend made a donation

to purchase twelve barrel organs.

Go around the world

and play to make people happy.

You can choose the music.

Now, dear friends

and noble gentlemen,

let’s cheer together:

Long live the newlyweds!

Farewell, gentlemen.

May what you see

be a warning to you.

Don’t ever try to guess

God’s intentions.

Ignorabimus, gentlemen.

Ignorabimus.

Are you Józef, Jakub’s son?

Maybe. Yes.

Did you dream the standard

dream of biblical Joseph?

Maybe.

Well?

Do you know that your dream

was noticed at the highest level

and was severely criticized?

I’m not responsible for my dreams.

Yes, you are.

You are under arrest in the name

of His Imperial and Royal Majesty.

I’m at your disposal.

His Imperial and Royal Majesty’s

bureaucracy is a bit slow.

I have surpassed that early dream

with more serious deeds.

I wanted to do justice

and kill myself.

Now that obsolete dream

has saved my life!

- Don’t cry.

- I have a migraine.

Come. We’ll make tea.

Is Adela at home?

Adela left to America.

She left?

She went by ship and it sank.

All passengers died.

We never heard from her again.

What about father?

Where is he?

He left many times,

but it was never final.

It had its good points.

This way he prepared us

for his ultimate departure.

Take me to him.

All right.

I think it’s time for you

to see him.

The shop is closed for good.

Sometimes I go down there

to sell the remnants.

But the shutters

are only half-open.

He was one of those

whose face was touched by

the hand of God while sleeping.

They know

what they don’t know.

They become speculative

and suspicious.

Through closed eyelids

they see images of distant worlds.

For man goes to his eternal home,

while mourners go about

in the street.

Before the silver cord is broken,

and the golden bowl is crushed.

The pitcher by the well is broken,

and the wheel at

the cistern is crushed.

Then the dust will return

to the earth as it was.

And the spirit will return

to God who gave it.

I’m so glad to see you, Józef.

What a surprise.

I feel so lonely here.

Although I can’t complain.

I’ve been through worse things.

I must tell you something.

But don’t laugh.

I rented a place for a shop here.

It’s nothing much.

Back home I’d be ashamed

to have a stall like that.

But here we had to pull

in our horns.

Isn’t that right, Józef?

Life goes on.

I must have overwound it.

I see you’re sleepy.

Go back to sleep.

You have no idea

how hard it was to get a loan.

People here

don’t trust old merchants.

Merchants with past experience.

Do you remember the optician’s

shop in the market square?

Our shop is right next door.

We don’t have a sign yet.

But you’ll find it.

You’re going out without your coat?

I couldn’t find it in my trunk.

They forgot to pack it.

Take my coat.

No. See you.

Jakub! Go on, trade.

Why don’t you sit down, father?

You’re ill. You should

take care of yourself.

Stop bothering me.

I’m busy.

A letter came for you.

It’s on my desk among papers.

On my first day here

I was served

an excellent fillet of beef

with mushrooms.

It was a hell of a piece of meat.

I have to warn you.

If they ever want to

serve you fillet of beef...

Fillet of beef...

I still feel fire in my stomach.

I have diarrhea after diarrhea.

It’s really tough.

Or take, for instance,

hunter-style roast,

stuffed with pate with gravy.

Here we don’t have to deny

ourselves anything.

We can afford

to indulge big style.

An angel of a boy.

So precious.

You must admit he’s charming.

Got a light?

Even schoolgirls here wear

bows in a special manner.

If you as much as glance at them,

you get that sultry look...

which fills us with desire.

I have to see the doctor.

He’s at the restaurant.

I’ve just been there.

Sorry.

I meant the operating room.

We’re evidently in a trap.

Ever since I came here,

the sanatorium personnel

hasn’t done anything

to provide proper care.

We’re left to ourselves.

I can’t get a bed,

not to mention clean linen.

Those secrets and discreet looks

of yours are just a mystification.

I feel like opening all those

doors to expose the intrigue

we got involved in.

Get some sleep.

You can hardly keep on your feet.

Józef, Józef...

I’ve been lying in bed here,

left without any care.

The wires have been cut.

Nobody comes to see me.

Nobody can make me

a cup of tea.

My own son has

abandoned his sick father

to chase girls in town.

Józef, you should go

to our shop more often.

The shop assistants

are stealing from us.

Our shop will go to waste

if nobody takes care of it.

Look, my heart is pounding.

My strength is leaving me.

Józef, was there

any mail from home?

Doctor...

You’re not looking well.

Take your jacket off.

I’ll examine you.

Your irritation is justified.

Your body,

especially your nervous system

has to adjust to new conditions.

We were deceived by an ad.

It wasn’t a good idea

to send my father here.

Moving back time!

It sounds good.

But what is it in fact?

Do we get fully valuable

and credible time here?

No. We get time

used up by people.

It’s frayed and full of holes.

It’s vomited, secondhand time!

You may question the quality

of your father’s existence,

but you can see him

and talk to him.

You should be

very grateful to the doctor.

Enough! Space is for people.

In space you can swing around,

turn somersaults,

jump from one star to another.

But don’t tamper with time!

The blame for this lies

in fast decomposition...

Of time.

We all know that

this chaotic element can be

kept within certain bounds

if regulated continually.

If not, it begins to play

all kinds of tricks.

Isn’t that right?

You should take better

care of yourself.

Wear warmer clothes.

To start with, get some exercise.

Later we’ll see.

Chin up!

It’s lucky that father

is no longer alive.

It won’t affect him anymore.

|

五光十色，怪异诡谲的梦境！

将现实、幻觉、梦境、回忆杂糅于一体，通过诡异的蒙太奇手法转场，让人摸不着头脑。

好吧，说实话，我没看懂........

我连看了三遍，同时将《沙漏做招牌的疗养院》看了大半本，才模糊地理解了导演想表达的情感。

时间啊……

父亲母亲啊……

战争啊……

书籍啊……

一切似乎都失去了意义，留下的只有麻木的我们。

小时候的约瑟夫，被书中的地名和故事吸引，总是产生不切实际的幻想。好在他的父亲经营者一家杂货铺，日子过得还不错。坏的地方是，他父亲似乎总是不着家，小时候的记忆总是始于母亲责令自己去寻找父亲。

杂货铺经营布业生意，在小时候的记忆里店员们是虔诚的信徒，拉着自己一起歌颂上帝，小约瑟夫也在梦幻中坠入了宏大叙事的陷阱。等到青春期，店员们开始鼓动他和阿德拉建立性关系，他一方面羞涩于面对赤裸裸的性，另一方面也因戴上了“帽子”而无法享受世俗的快乐。他和阿德拉争辩消防员的伟大，书籍的神圣。在被忽视和鄙夷之后，他靠在床下，发现阿德拉的姘头昨夜就睡在她的床下吃着粘腻的果酱，他邀请他吃，蛊惑说它是多么美味，可约瑟夫尝了一口觉得令人作呕。

约瑟夫拿着神书去寻找父亲，路上遇到了不远万里来谄媚父亲的卖鸟人，无数为了现实利益而讨好父亲的市井小人。约瑟夫看不起这些人，可父亲真正地与他们打成了一片。这让约瑟夫迷茫、嫉妒，不知道人们怎么能不依赖书和信仰获得意义呢？

父亲说，长大后的某一刻你就会发现书不重要了，你不会真正地在意它，它就会像不死鸟一样迅速烟消云散。不忿的约瑟夫找到了鲁道夫，鲁道夫和约瑟夫看起来是一类人，集邮、看书。他把愤怒发泄给鲁道夫后，见到了另一个女人——碧杨卡。约瑟夫为了获得碧杨卡，卷入了一场侦探式的皇室迷局，最终或真或假地发现碧杨卡的身世秘密。可碧杨卡竟然要求约瑟夫和自己发生关系，“堕落吧”，这种邀约约瑟夫感到错愕。由于没有得到好的回应，碧杨卡闹脾气说鲁道夫比他强多了，言听计从，可以随意玩弄。约瑟夫感到崩溃，从剧中解离出来，同时列车长出现了......

他见到了父亲和鸟儿，父亲要求他指出鸟，他就学鸟叫，父亲对他非常满意。临别时，父亲把他的镀金帽子摘下来，换上了新帽子，并祝福他获得鸟儿的一点点【新东西】。所谓新东西，其实就是世俗享乐。

回到家的约瑟夫，在母亲那里得知店里出现了许多无法查清根源的偷盗行为，母亲非常地担忧，派约瑟夫送茶给父亲，然而真正到达店铺时，店里早已经没了神圣感，充斥着世俗、奉承与情色，唯独没有书、宗教和秩序。死的头被制作成玩物，殖民地的残忍可见一斑。新宗教使团的到来使约瑟夫眼前一亮，以为那些金色皮肤的异乡人能够神启般改变家族的命运，然而他们只是前来做生意的俗人。随后驻地遇到了一连七年的饥年，饿殍遍地，即便是节日也不能敞开肚皮吃。直到那一刻，约瑟夫理解了“只要发生过，就是发生过”这个道理，也知道了自己才是本部戏剧的唯一主角，一种虚幻的控制感、解脱感冲昏了约瑟夫，他急于找到碧杨卡。

1973年的《砂制时镜下的疗养院》是波兰导演沃伊切赫·哈斯最为奇诡绮丽的作品。哈斯的野心显然不只在于将布鲁诺·舒尔茨这位文学大师为数不多的短篇小说影像化，而是在糅合和集聚舒尔茨之下试图对苦难之国波兰及其历史进行高度概括和细致呈现。其与众不同之处在于，得益于舒尔茨，影片所采取的并不是外部与现实的逻辑和视角，而是聚焦在不断为外在力量所塑形或者不如直接说是捏揉的主体（个体或波兰犹太族群）身上，并以影像这一外化形式悖论式地持续朝内牵引：空间繁复折叠，时间持续崩塌，而童年和父亲正在不断死亡与复活。

哈斯舍弃了舒尔茨小说中的父亲-动物的直接变形，削减了轻盈，并在某种程度上更改了原作主旨，但影片仍是在舒尔茨的诸多符号（乃至直接挪用小说语句作为台词）中进行的，而哈斯强大的结构与表现才能使其不致散乱，反而在皱褶与裂隙间拓展与逼近各种可能，同时也让影片真正成了自己的作品，让它与《萨拉戈萨手稿》一起璀璨镶嵌在他创作生涯“现实主义——超现实主义——内心独白”中的第二环。

于其间，于哈斯褴褛之梦的长镜中，脚步是不间断的，但你不知道自己走过的是不是时间（以事件为表征的历史-时间），是时间的流逝和重回，还是两者几乎不可逾越的距离，唯一确定的是你找不到归宿，永远——

“够了！离时间远点儿，时间是不能摸的，不要刺激它！你拥有空间还不够吗？空间是为人类准备的……看在上帝的份儿上，不要擅自拿时间捣乱！”（布鲁诺·舒尔茨，沙漏下的疗养院）

不知道大家看完这个电影有什么感受，可能会分读没读过舒尔茨原著,以及了不了解波兰历史两种。我呢，其实是在一个比较尴尬的位置，喜欢舒尔茨，但对波兰一无所知。波兰这个国家很奇怪的，出各种精神病艺术家，像电影的祖拉斯基和哈斯，文学的舒尔茨、密茨凯维奇还有刚获得诺贝尔文学奖的托卡尔丘克这样的。我想这可能是因为波兰是一个在夹缝中求生的小国，几百年前的大国，到后来一直被瓜分，导致它文化里有种深深的不安感，呈现出来的作品就会是撕裂和癫狂，在东欧荒诞派里别具一格，和同样也是小国、文艺里也是诡异的日本也不一样，波兰的精神病里没有那种病态，一直有一个向上牵引的，或者说形而上的力量。

电影的主体是改编自舒尔茨的同名短篇，同时糅合了他的其他短篇（舒尔茨只写了不到三十个短篇），所以我们看到的那些时间和空间的转移更像是在各个短篇之间进行跳接，当然哈斯的转接做得很漂亮，差不多就跟梦的转接一样自然，而且很多镜头都还是长镜。我们可能会说，一个艺术家的才能就表现在他素材的呈现方式或者对素材进行搭配的能力，也就是说艺术其实就是在拼想象力（哲学和科学也是啊），想象力归根结底就是新的结构，新的链接，那我们说哈斯做得很好。

但哈斯在影像化的过程中，有改变的东西，有沉默，我们真正要去看的是这个沉默，我们去理解一个作品，其实看的更多的并不是他表现了什么，而是他没有表现什么，很多时候我们讲的话，其实都没有那些没讲出来的或者没能讲出来的话真实。

哈斯的省略，首先有他不得已的地方，从文字到影像，嘴巴到眼睛，肯定要丢失很多东西，文字本来就已经是固定和排除了，视觉的剪除只会比文字更厉害，所以怎么去抵抗这种限定是他要认真考虑的东西，方法当然就是超现实，是舒尔茨和哈斯共同的选择。不遵循现实逻辑，不是因为现实缺乏或者现实乏味，而是我们在恢复和维持被现实削减掉的丰富性和可能性，就像使这个电影运转的核心：回拨时间，恢复各种可能性，甚至是相悖的可能，重新死亡的可能，他父亲在叙述之外其实已经死了对不对，甚至我们也可以说主角约瑟夫其实也死了，但是他死得很混沌。这就是很荒诞的，跟舒尔茨自己的意外死亡一样，舒尔茨是个犹太人，50岁的时候被盖世太保枪杀，但不是死于对犹太的仇视。因为有才能，舒尔茨被一个盖世太保保护，但是有一天这个盖世太保杀了另一个盖世太保的什么人，那个盖世太保就杀了舒尔茨作为报复，很荒诞，死于一场游戏，当然很难说反犹不是一场更大的游戏。

第二个是改编必须的舍取和变形，也正是舍取才会让改编的作品真正成为自己的作品。尽管舒尔茨小说本来就以绚烂的想象力和色彩见长，但哈斯的具体影像出来的时候我们还是会很赞叹，那些场景、调度，但技术解析不是我们的主要目的，你当然可以去解读它的隐喻、意指借符号、色彩去厘清它的脉络分层，蓝色调和白色调，但这不是主要目的。

我们要去看在哈斯舍弃的是什么，是舒尔茨的轻盈和灵气，当然这也不能说是失败，只是两种不同的风格而已，但这个能让我们更明白这部作品。

可能和我们观影感受不太一样，我们去看这个电影觉得它的主题是应该是梦和时间，至少是各种外在力量聚集在个体身上，塑造“我”这个主体之后的再映现，关键就恰恰是这个，这个在超现实中自然地走来走去的人是谁，这个“我”是谁。那哈斯的野心当然不只是影像化舒尔茨，而是在糅合和集聚舒尔茨，然后试图对波兰或者我们说波兰犹太人的历史做一个高度概括。舒尔茨当然也试图重构自己或者说族群的祖先，但舒尔茨用的是飘忽的神话，一个无可名状的东西，那影像其实很难表现虚无，因为视觉直接就是可见的，它无法从无开始，梅洛-庞蒂讲，视觉不是认知，视觉中的我也不是虚无。

而哈斯呢，给本来已经是具体的影像添加了另一种具体，这让哈斯更接近卡夫卡。卡夫卡是很具体的，所以卡夫卡其实是个彻底绝望的人，那个守门人最后说，这个门是为你开的，现在我要去把它关上了，这就是最绝望的时候。不知道舒尔茨生活中是不是绝望，也不知道他知不知道集中营，《砂制时镜下的疗养院》在舒尔茨不多的小说中算是沉重的，但其实还是很轻盈，有逃逸的可能，小说开场描写的那列火车是指向了某种不堪，但没有明指是什么，而哈斯在电影开场，在火车的意象里直接加进了集中营的蕴含，给影片设置了一个沉重和具体的开场。当然接下来主人公就离开了这列火车，来到了一个混沌的空间，也就是开始了对舒尔茨的整合，去加强那些小说间松散的联系，填补它空白的地方。但有了这个基调，那些飘忽的台词和场景就想要往一个什么东西、往具体上去落靠。

好在一部伟大的作品有很多层次，所以不熟悉波兰和波兰历史并不妨碍我们进入，就像我们八十年代引进和学习拉美爆炸，其实也是略去了它的现实蕴含，我们只学了“多年以后”这个时间和叙述结构，不知道马尔克斯是个左派，老朋友略萨甚至还竞争过总统。更何况电影本身也含有这个主题，这就是时间。

电影里为什么是这样的时间？我们知道，时间其实是不存在的，或者说时间和空间、意识一样，只是一个空空荡荡的舞台，如果没有内容，我们根本无法感知，时间最初其实观察出的天体运行的规律，太阳每天东升西落，二十八星宿轮替变换，这样得到节气，按时耕作才不会被饿死，意识呢，黑格尔老早就讲，意识只是一般的虚无。艺术也一样，我们不说这个是梦，因为我们知道梦这个东西说白了就是情绪，里面的人物、情节都是随意被用来填充的，艺术不一样，艺术不能是随意的，更不能是空白的，它需要东西需要血肉来承载，对肉身如何塑造以及塑造得如何，才让艺术家有了各自的风格和高低。

对于时间来说，填充它的就是事件，我们每个人每天都在发生，都在经验，这个不可避免，但事件或者说历史-时间如何塑造了你，这个是可以抵抗的，只要逃开现实主义的叙述逻辑就可以。为什么现代艺术都不再讲述故事了呢，现代的人死了，长期以来构筑现实的“我的人生是一个故事”现在需要变成“人生是一个白痴的故事，充满了喧哗与骚动”，现实和梦一样，同样只是对一个个“理念”的模糊接收，两者都是第二级的东西，所以无所谓层级次序的分别，人在今天比起其他任何一个时期来，无疑都更像一堆杂乱无章的幻影，我们应该像第八十一分钟的那个角色一样，在身上挂满钟表，就像挂上勋章。

我们其实是不能占有时间的，更不要说连续性的时间，我们只有空间，小说里也说，时间是不能碰的，但空间是给人类准备的，我们一起离开那列火车之后，目睹的其实不是时间，时间根本不可见，我们进入的只是空间，一个不再有时间的死亡空间，那里面事件当然还在发生，但已经不再是在时间里发生，而是发生在时间空间化的空间里，在意识-空间里。所以也可以讲，哈斯用自己的风格去丰富舒尔茨的，更多的是在空间方面。我们要学的，可能也不是他如何具体地拍这部电影，而是我们每个人要怎样去确认和回应发生（发生和没有发生，可能发生）在自己身上的东西，怎样去叙述它，去在空间里面一个点一个点的生存，我们要学的是这个，把自我夹在经验的实在性与意识的否定性中，去逼出人真正的东西，像主角约瑟夫那样，最后从坟墓里爬出来，成为自我否定的上帝（我们是自己人生的叙述者）——瞎眼的列车长，当不再能看时，他和我们，或许就能够去触摸那不可触摸的力量，去承受那不可承受的——

“那些普普通通的书就像陨石。每一本这样的书都只会闪耀一时，那一瞬间就像凤凰呼啸着翱翔而过，它的每一页都会燃烧起来。因为那一瞬间，此后我就永远热爱它们了，虽然它们很快化为灰烬。”（布鲁诺·舒尔茨，书）

荨麻地

——致舒尔茨和哈斯

我那时在夜晚里工作，虽然像但并不是盗窃，住朝北的房间（如果你相信物理的话，朝北永远要比朝南低上五六摄氏度，但是我不相信，这只是经过铁道时别人告诉我的，我如今连话语也不信了，但如果从你那里再也得不出语词了我可能会伤心，像妈妈一样），我在北半球拉不会中断的四层窗帘，想要跳过自杀直接进入到死亡，但可能我早就已经与它混融一处了我不确定，这很难吗？因为在现实里的某些时候我看着一部关于梦的电影，却和生活一样不是正在生活和做梦而只是对它进行回忆和分析，在那里（在人间的所有角落）我犯了一个错误，接着是许许多多个错误，但也也许，没有一个错误能够成为本源和开端，错误的场景、错误的人物以及错误的话语在线上变换交杂着，突然又自然，那些变形和消失的都去哪儿了呢？但也也许它们会再来临，而我会再次看见它们，我一直是我，在同一时间和一生的全部时间——也就是说，在一瞬间接着一个瞬间的瞬间——我的和你的我，牙牙学语和垂垂老矣的我，黑色西服和赤身裸体的我，被审问和被损害的我，瘫痪奔跑和喜悦失落的我，自己父亲和母亲并儿子的我，拥有阴茎乳房太阳月亮的我，荨麻地里的一株和樱花林里的一棵的我，生前和死后的我，所有的这些，我们会再次相遇，但也可能不会，我没有在等着，而是，我只能是我，是博尔赫斯。一颗高贵的心脏曾在我胸膛跃动。

没有看过小说原著，也没有了解过导演风格以及创作背景，仅仅被它瑰丽的画面吸引过来，简单记录一下粗糙的感觉。

第一感受是灰尘味和发霉的甜腻气息。

一定是那种长久无人问津的城堡才特有的灰尘味儿和树上唯一一个快要腐烂掉的苹果所散发出来的甜腻气息。灰扑扑又摇晃晃的开场，是疲惫旅程的引子。一进入疗养院，鼻子口腔都被迫吸入了灰尘 ，接着主人公的四处闯入游走，一直被那种不适的发霉的甜腻气息包裹，直到故事结束。父亲离去，而唯一一颗苹果掉落。

其次是思绪被切碎，逻辑遭遇阻碍，远在个人体验之外的奇特感觉。

逻辑经验无法在这里得到任何有效回应，这是梦里也不曾有过的场面。门和床底是触发思绪游走的开关，或者是把眼睛闭上在重新睁开，非常意识流的表达。疗养院是大型的时间沙漏，约瑟夫在自己的时间里随意游走，到处都是蜘蛛网和厚厚的灰尘，这些部分也许是他平日里极少触碰的记忆，封闭在某个角落，很久远也很少打开。这些记忆思绪图像是我完全没整明白的地方，但以倒推的方式往回看，没有谁能真正把握自己。无逻辑的表达，错乱的图像，诗话的语言在意识里是非常合理的。通过无法被完美整合的表面，可能会更接近真相或者是真实。这份真相对于观众我而言是无意义的，或者我并不在意，但对我们每个人而言，那些看起来无逻辑又混乱却不断在沙漏里重新捡起来的瞬间都暗藏着每个人的内心。

第三感受是来自于父亲，也或许除了约瑟夫，印象最深刻的人是父亲，我的感观体验，灰尘味儿，发霉的腐烂，很大程度都是濒死的父亲赋予，约瑟夫的时间里，父亲在各个场合都显得从容睿智，被众人围绕，唯独最后的独白，他诉说了隐秘的孤独。

暂时就这样吧，有时间看看原著。