[ Muffled chatter ] [ Down-tempo organ music plays ] ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Man singing indistinctly ] ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ Pope: In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.

Are you ready?

Honecker: Yes.

Then go ahead.

Holy Father, I... Come on.

We don't have much time.

I don't know what to say.

When was the last time you went to Mass?

Uh, I'm not sure.

Have you been unchaste?

You mean the kiss of socialist brotherhood?

No.

Further down.

The socialist sisterhood.

You know exactly what I'm talking about.

I used to have porno cassettes from Rome.

Hetero?

Yes, but black and white.

Yeah, those cruddy old things.

East Germany didn't make trash like that.

Did you watch capitalist TV?

Yes.

But who at the time?

Series?

Yes.

They weren't too dumb?

Of course they were.

But I didn't want to appear superior.

[ Scoffing ] Superior.

In your youth, you despised the upper 10,000.

Years later, you are one of them yourself.

That's not true.

We weren't more than 100.

Maybe 200.

You never got it, did you, Erich?

That's for history to decide.

[ Down-tempo organ music plays ] You and your big talk.

♪♪ Look at this.

♪♪ Is it really true that this picture was always on your night table?

Yes.

And why?

I'm not sure.

The harmony.

The symmetry.

The equality.

It helped me fall asleep.

♪♪ You don't regret anything, do you?

I do.

We were too lenient.

The Nazis threw me in jail.

The fascists never let up.

I had too many ideals.

That's perverse.

♪♪ You should be drowned in the excrement you fed your own people.

♪♪ But I'm afraid the Lord watches over you, too, and will have mercy.

Repeat after me.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...

...I will fear no evil...

...I will fear no evil... ...for thou art with me.

...for thou art with me.

Thy rod and thy staff... Thy rod and thy state... Staff.

Staff.

...they comfort me.

...they comfort me.

Okay, so let's go.

Where to?

You're going to Heaven.

♪♪ ♪♪ What are you waiting for?

Have their land mines been removed?

Yeah.

And the automatic firing devices?

Yeah.

[ Wind blowing ] How much further?

We're already there.

Ah.

A transit route to Heaven without any waiting lines.

No, you're next.

Oh, after you.

Oh, no, you're on your own now.

I'm not going with you.

Why not?

I still have time.

So do I. I have to confess first.

So confess.

I'm listening.

It's none of your business.

And you?

Have you been chaste?

Oh, bug off.

I do my own confessing.

I'm accountable to God alone.

And He knows everything anyway.

I'm under constant supervision in this job.

They never leave me alone, those Bible thumpers.

Madonnatella.

They've got one-track minds, and I'm stuck with the rest.

Why do they have so many nuns in the Vatican anyway?

Sure, someone has to do the cleaning, but such young ones in the sacristy.

Damn infallibility.

I wish I could be ashamed of myself now and then.

The world is bad.

The flesh is a sorceress.

Deliver me out of the mire, lest I sink.

Let not the water flood overwhelm me.

Let not the well shut its mouth upon me.

Amen.

♪♪ Go on.

It's enough.

[ Bell tolling ] Your God is either blind or was bribed.

They're ringing.

[ Tolling continues ] Go on, please.

Go ahead.

Please.

After you.

Nobody's there.

[ Wind blowing ] [ Metal crunching ] It's broken.

What now?

I don't know.

I'm going home.

And where may that be?

Better stay here.

Let's go to sleep.

Tomorrow's another day.

It's actually quite nice here.

I'm tired.

Me, too.

Oh, you know what, Karol?

When you think about it, they were good times.

Yes.

All things considered... they were good.

Hard, but good.

Yes.

Sleep tight, Erich.

You, too, Karol.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Banging ] [ Suspenseful music plays ] ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Banging continues ] ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Clock ticking ] Narrator: Uh-oh.

Almost 12:00.

No, I'm not celebrating.

I'm staying in.

I don't have anything to celebrate.

Every year, the same story.

♪♪ ♪♪ [ Bell tolling ] ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Bang ] How did last year's resolutions go?

[ Girl screams in distance ] Fine.

All resolutions successfully completed.

I didn't have any.

Smoking?

I didn't smoke much.

The year went by just like any other.

What was your greatest romantic experience this past year?

My greatest romantic experience this past year.

The woman at the bus stop.

Concordia Square, between Lucas and Simon.

And there she was.

♪♪ ♪♪ The woman stood there as tall as a victory column, a look of pure disdain on her face, from head to toe, a vamp in armor.

And to die for.

I could have nailed her.

But she didn't notice me.

Too bad.

What would she have seen?

Oh, well.

Probably better this way.

♪♪ I don't ask too much of a woman.

Beauty.

Intelligence.

Aloof tenderness.

Fatherly affection.

How hard can that be?

And what if I'd seen her first from behind?

♪♪ Of course she didn't get on the bus.

Lucky me.

Such is fate.

Too bad, though.

We could have taken a cruise together.

The ship's chefs at the railing at night.

Black seagulls.

Moonlight reflected on the backs of breaching whales.

The chatter of passengers below deck.

Too bad.

[ Man speaking indistinctly in background ] ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Water splashing, gull crying ] Did you have an unforgettable experience?

Yes.

My visit to Red Square.

I couldn't sleep, so I took a late-night walk along the Marx Prospekt.

When I got to Red Square, I saw a man sitting on a bench with his back to me.

And I thought, "You know that guy."

So I got closer, and I was right.

The minister president.

The minister president alone at night on a park bench.

Unbelievable.

I felt as if I were being sucked into a television screen.

I braced myself and said, "Excuse me.

I don't mean to disturb, but aren't you the minister president?"

"Yes."

"Oh, right.

Well, I'm sorry I bothered you."

"It's no bother at all.

Take a seat."

And then he moved over to make room for me, and I sat down on his left.

Oh, it's hard to describe.

He told me he couldn't stand it in the hotel -- the hassles with his wife, her dislike of everything official, is perfectly rehearsed, detached friendliness 24/7, cameras flashing through keyholes, the bulletproof vest under his pajamas, his composure sickening even in the morning.

I asked him if it wasn't a bit dangerous hanging out there alone on Red Square.

I might be a terrorist and shoot him to strike back at the system.

He said he wasn't worried in the least.

There was little time to be insulted because at that moment a fat Soviet supreme announced a so-called ultimate perspiration, or something like that.

This consisted of nothing more than listening to an old hymn.

That was it.

But there's a chance I might have gotten that wrong.

♪♪ ♪♪ A solemn indifference took hold of everyone.

Ha.

It was hilarious.

But somehow sad, too.

And then something amazing happened.

The minister president, deeply moved, surrendered himself to the moment.

Incredible.

Incredible what was going through me.

I wish everyone could have an experience like that.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ Ah, right.

Australia.

I bought a little pin.

A kangaroo.

So tiny.

And then I lost it on this hike.

Melbourne.

I walked the entire way back.

The eucalyptus forest.

The seaside.

The whole time I was thinking to myself, "When was the last time you saw it?

When was the last time you had it on?"

And then there was the museum where the concert was.

And I looked and looked.

Then everyone pitched in.

Nothing.

Oh, well.

[ Clock ticking ] And what else?

♪♪ The real-estate agent.

The Realtor.

I almost forgot about that.

Jones Johnson was his name.

[ Chuckles ] Poor devil.

His parents couldn't decide on one name.

I met him in the woods.

"Out so late?"

he said.

"Sure.

I like it, thanks.

Bye."

I had to make a quick getaway.

♪♪ Would I like to view a country manor nearby?

He was a real-estate agent and it was one of his properties.

"Oh, thanks, but I don't need a country manor.

Thank you."

But I should at least take a quick look.

It's really nice.

Yada, yada, yada, yada, yada.

"Well," I thought, "I suppose I can indulge him."

Inside, it was what I thought it would be -- drafty, damp ashes in the fireplace, broken incubators, receipts lying around, papers, names and platitudes etched into the furniture.

[ Footsteps ] In one of the rooms, there was a beautiful woman, a model posing in the nude.

"Does she come with a paintbrush?"

I asked, joking.

"The girl comes with a house," he said, "all-inclusive."

"But I don't want to paint nudes," I said.

"Painting nudes is an obsolete art form."

"You don't have to paint her.

You can take photos of her, for example," he said.

"She wouldn't mind?"

"No."

"Hmm."

One room led to another.

It was endless.

They were quite nice, but crooked and damp.

And there was all this old stuff lying around.

♪♪ The real-estate agent had a few anecdotes up his sleeve about the people who used to live here, who was murdered in which bathtub, who was conceived in which bed, which contracts were signed on which table, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

All of it yesterday's trash.

And the way he spoke and that "blah, blah" Realtor speak -- awful person.

His suit, his socks, his ears.

Blech!

"We Realtors are so often misunderstood," he whined, and was about to lean on me.

I stepped aside just in time.

"Decrepit property," I thought.

I asked him the price.

He was touched.

He said he was thrilled that I wanted the house.

Of course he would renovate it first, et cetera, et cetera.

I said I didn't want it.

I just wanted to know the price, damn it.

"Young man," he began.

The owner of the property, the man he worked for, an extremely wealthy man in want of nothing, wanted to give me the house.

But I didn't want anything that was worthless.

"Well, since when is value based on price?"

I could have punched him.

[ Footsteps ] ♪♪ He liked me the second he saw me, he said, But I'm not a likable person.

And just as I suspected he would, he forced his business card on me without even asking first.

And then, to top it off, he asked why I was so ungrateful.

When I turned around to go, he started sniveling.

Would I at least consider taking the stall?

♪♪ ♪♪ I wonder what he's doing tonight.

Probably partying in some hole in the wall.

Maybe I should have taken it.

House wasn't all that bad.

And he wasn't such a bad sort.

Pretty nice guy, actually.

Maybe I'll give him a call.

So, what else was there?

[ Fireworks exploding ] ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Down-tempo music plays ] ♪♪ ♪♪ I recently came across an ad about a new medical procedure.

And the procedure, it claimed, is even more precise than x-rays and sonograms put together.

And, as it turns out, for years I've been walking around with this strange sensation.

Sometimes it hurts.

Sometimes it feels good.

In any case, it's annoying.

"I should go see about it," I thought.

So I went for a checkup.

♪♪ ♪♪ Going to the doctor's is always such a festive occasion.

Take how the chairs are arranged in the waiting room -- a testimony to true hospitality.

The great joy of being in a waiting room is how community, equality, and physical proximity intermingle.

On every face of every patient, excitement that very soon they, too, will have the chance to talk about their afflictions.

♪♪ After two hours of waiting, we drift away in a pleasant trance.

♪♪ [ Clicking ] ♪♪ [ Bell dings ] Finally I was called in.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ Undressing in front of a woman you don't know is usually a complicated, psychosociological act.

But here, it was business as usual and thoroughly effortless.

I was expecting an impressive high-tech instrument that virtually healed you just by looking at it.

But it was nothing like that at all.

I have to say, I was a little disappointed when I saw the device that would be used for the examination.

"So, lie down, please."

"Lie down, please," the physician said... [ Machine whirring ] ...and positioned the probe.

I really wanted first to talk about how I felt, but I didn't get the chance because almost immediately the machine began revealing images of my symptoms.

Its speed really impressed me, although the images were disappointing.

They were so dark, without brilliance or subtlety, and technically nothing new.

"You are aware that you have this here."

"You are aware that you have this here," the doctor said.

"What?"

"This here.

This echo."

"No, I didn't know."

"Where is this?"

"I don't know.

No idea."

"And what's that?"

"This?

How am I supposed to know?

A loading area.

A door.

A fence."

"Uh-huh."

[ Machine beeps ] "And where is it?"

"Could be anywhere."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, we can tell what this is.

But who is it?"

"Oh, my God.

Frederica.

With the space between her teeth.

That's..." "And what have we here?

A little blurry.

Lovely.

These things always show up."

"I think we can stop the examination now.

Here again.

Always the same pattern.

Uh-huh.

And again.

They're all over the place.

Have you had this a while?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so."

"Not necessarily a bad thing.

It usually goes away by itself.

Just breathe normally, please."

♪♪ "Aha.

You have a wolf, too."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not as long as it doesn't act up.

Lots of people have them.

Look, Here's another one.

Would you like to see more?

One more, huh?

I'm billing the full hour anyway.

Most people are surprised by what we find.

Oh, look at this.

A mouth hound.

A temple, phantoms.

Man hurries about, although in vain.

He heaps up stores without knowing for whom.

Oh, boy.

I think that's enough, hmm?"

"Yes.

Thank you."

[ Machine whirring ] ♪♪ [ Bell chiming ] "So, how am I?"

"Everything's fine.

A few echoes, but nothing malignant."

"And where do they come from?"

"Oh, everyone has them.

Everyone has their own reflex patterns.

Would you like to see mine?

Here.

Pretty, isn't she?

The face of myopia.

She's been there forever.

Oh-ho, the way I bullied her.

Ah, this is my uncle.

It's always nice to see, but a little ridiculous, too.

So..." "So, I'm healthy?"

"Well, what's healthy?

It's just a word.

200 years ago, at your age, you would have been -- But the echo is fine, nothing out of the ordinary."

♪♪ The entire examination took five, maybe six minutes.

I think I was relieved when it was over.

It was only just a few banal images.

Superfluous invention, this machine.

Why did I even go there?

When I got outside, everything was the same anyway.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Mid-tempo music plays ] ♪♪ ♪♪ Recently, my bus was late again.

At first, I wanted to use the time being annoyed, but then I was distracted by two people waiting there.

♪♪ And that's how I became witness to a curious incident.

For a suspiciously long time, a young man had been gazing from a distance at a beautiful woman with what can only be described as starry-eyed adulation.

But instead of giving him the cold shoulder, as etiquette would demand of a woman, she didn't seem at all averse to his advances.

In fact, she too was encouraging him with wistful looks.

And, finally, in best traditional fashion, he went over to her and said, "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and I want to marry you."

♪♪ ♪♪ Instead of dismissing him, flattered though she was, or calling the police, the woman said something like, "I've been watching you the whole time, too.

My answer is yes.

I'm in love with you, and I consent to the marriage."

♪♪ At first, they were astonished by the perfect symmetry of their vows.

In any case, their first reaction was silence.

♪♪ Finally, the man said, "And what now?"

"I don't know," she replied.

"Everything suddenly seems somehow so futile, huh?"

"Yes," said the man.

"The honeymoon is over."

"We'll never be able to live up to our expectations of each other," she went on.

"True," said the man.

"It won't get any better than this."

"I know.

It's only downhill from here," said the woman in a tender, consoling voice.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ "Okay, let's just avoid all the rest," the young man concluded.

"Yes.

I'll always love you," said the woman.

"And me, you," the man answered.

[ Vehicle approaching ] And then the bus came.

Finally.

They said their goodbyes.

Their embrace was a dangerous move.

There was really no need for it anymore.

The whole episode rubbed me the wrong way.

Why, for example, did she take the bus, but he didn't?

Now, it suddenly looked as if the two of us men had been left behind together, as if we were waiting together, misplaced and forgotten.

I thought their behavior was rather inconsiderate.

They could see that I was right there and that I could hear everything they said.

I'm all for good entertainment, but who wants to hear pathetic, depressing dialogue?

I can listen to sad sacks anywhere.

It doesn't have to be at a bus stop, too.

I was so disgusted that I completely forgot to get on the bus.

♪♪ So I walked home.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Clanging and chiming ] [ Clanging ] [ Clanging continues ] [ Rhythmic percussion ] ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Clanging ] ♪♪ [ Clanging continues ] ♪♪ Last Sunday, I took one of my morning walks.

The same as always.

[ Clanging continues ] But something happened this particular Sunday that shook me to my bones.

It occurred to me that nothing at all struck me.

Nothing.

At all.

Nothing worth mentioning or out of the ordinary.

Sure, there were a few little things, this and that.

But nothing truly... remarkable.

♪♪ I stayed calm and kept walking.

"Just be patient," I said to myself.

♪♪ ♪♪ I even stopped, a lot, and waited, so as not to miss the decisive moment.

But all in vain.

At moments like this, if I only had a vision.

That would be great.

Or a mission.

But absolutely nothing happened.

The streets were completely empty.

And if I were to have a vision, [chuckles] I probably wouldn't be standing here anyway.

I'd be somewhere... totally else.

We're told change is important.

At the very least, we should change the world.

I did.

I don't know how many times.

But somehow it never made a difference.

It's a disgrace.

Besides being asocial.

♪♪ Our capacity for change lies in our youth.

But I'm too old to be young.

♪♪ [ Clanging ] ♪♪ [ Indistinct shouting in distance ] ♪♪ I was patient.

I waited.

But you can't force things to happen.

♪♪ You don't have to, either.

Sorry.

Maybe next time.

♪♪ [ Clanging ] [ Mid-tempo music plays ] ♪♪ ♪♪ It was a Sunday around six weeks ago.

It was my first meeting with the woman I'd found on the Internet dating website Heart Pacemaker.

Before that, we'd sent each other a bunch of really nice e-mails and stuff.

Finally, it was time for our first rendezvous.

You can only imagine my sheer surprise when it turned out that the woman I'd been set up with was none other than the chancellor herself.

No wonder all the bodyguards.

No wonder all the secrecy beforehand.

No photo, no address.

No details.

Just warm, yet oddly unrevealing letters.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ She wasn't a bit self-conscious and said, "I see you're shocked, huh?"

"Yeah, well, you're not what I expected.

Just give me a moment."

"We can't meet more than two or three times a year, I'm telling you this right off the bat."

"Fine.

Less is more.

Best would be never."

"And it must remain absolutely secret.

We'll see after the election.

Maybe I can even give you my cellphone number."

♪♪ ♪♪ "But you're married, Missus..." "Oh, please call me Angela."

"Oh, yeah.

Um, you are married...Angela."

"Of course I am.

Imagine a single woman doing this job.

I have to keep up appearances.

But that has nothing to do with us, of course."

"My God.

Where did you ever find the time to write me with your busy schedule?"

"Oh, sweet pea, I have speechwriters.

Do you really think I write things like that?"

"Oh.

Ah.

But how did you know I could be trusted?

For all you knew, I could have been a spy or something."

"I had you vetted.

Come on, let's take a walk."

"You can go out, just like that?

I thought you can hardly go anywhere in public anymore."

"I'll put on my mask.

Don't let it bother you.

It's just a mask.

And I can leave my bodyguards here."

♪♪ ♪♪ She had written me that she was a physicist, so I'd read up on the subject.

"E equals MC squared, huh?"

"Oh, don't.

Don't worry your head over it."

"We're alone here.

You can take your mask off now.

Hmm?

You know so many people.

Why me?"

"Because you're such an adorable romantic and you know nothing about politics.

Your letters were so innocent.

I hope you're not a journalist, are you?"

"I once wanted to be a journalist."

"Well, be glad you're not.

What a bunch of poor suckers they are.

Every day, a new hobby horse to flog.

Selling papers is all that counts.

Just recently I happened to say [indistinct] is a nice opera.

Some journalist dug up that Adolf Hitler once said that, too.

The next day, the headlines read, 'The chancellor quotes Hitler.'

If they had my job, I'd write about them.

Oh, would I ever love that!"

"Do we always have to talk about politics?

The moon is beautiful tonight."

"Yes.

It's a lovely evening.

It's so nice talking with someone who doesn't only talk about the European crisis and fiscal pacts, climate disasters, coalition partners.

Politics is just another word for garbage collection."

"But you enjoy the power."

"What power?

You start out a mover and end up a manager.

It's never about truth.

Just get a majority.

That's why my hairdo is more important than my politics.

And sometimes all I really want to do is just snuggle."

"Your place or mine?"

"Mm, better yours."

"I wouldn't mind going to the chancellery."

"Yeah, right.

In front of a thousand cameras.

Nah, I'd love nothing more than a nice, dirty, little kitchen.

Posters on the walls.

A toothbrush next to the toilet."

"My whole apartment is the size of your desk."

"Wonderful.

Let's go."

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ "Don't you want to turn a light on?"

♪♪ "I thought you wanted to snuggle."

"Okay.

Go for it.

Oh, I'm so out of practice.

I'm just a blob of sexual suppression.

How did I ever end up in this job?

My idiotic ego, that's how.

Come on.

You have to take the initiative here."

"Yes, I know, but I feel so weak in your presence."

"Oh, God, not you, too.

I'm surrounded by wimps!"

Our flirt was interrupted by the ring of her cellphone.

"Yes.

Yeah.

What?

12%?

Under 12%.

Nonsense.

They're just polls.

No one ever likes realpolitik.

The facts?

No one ever wants to listen to the facts.

Don't understand a sentence with more than 10 words.

Ugh, the context?

They'll edit that out anyway.

No, let's take some new photos with the national soccer team.

Okay, then with the pope.

Fine, then with Obama.

Oh, I see.

Okay.

Isn't there anyone I can take a picture with?

Tonight?

No.

I happen to have a life.

I'm in a meeting.

It's actually true.

Yes.

Not tomorrow.

Okay."

"What's wrong?"

"Ah, nothing.

My approval rate is under 12%.

The polls."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, there is.

Just pretend you're an alien.

I can't stand my life anymore.

All those enraged citizens in their so-called political disenchantment.

They make me want to vomit.

They never get off their butts, but they sure as hell know how to whine and complain.

All those model citizens just wishing they could wake up every morning to a guaranteed income, their reward for just breathing.

And now they want a baby bonus, too.

They want us to subsidize their having children.

But copulation -- oh, that's still free of charge.

Our dear citizens should go and elect themselves.

Imagine what things would be like then.

What is it you even like about me?"

"I'm not sure.

I just like the way you are, somehow.

You're what I'd call a real Iron Lady."

"Oh, for God's sake!

Not you, too.

I'm a woman.

I'm a woman, damn it!

A woman."

"Yes, but somehow you're not."

"That's right.

Be honest.

I like honest people.

Most people are just blazing hypocrites.

How does somebody even get a job like this?

The day will come when no one will want to have it.

They'll have to start begging people on the street.

'Hey, would you like to be chancellor?'

Just watch them run in the other direction.

Take Obama, the way they cheered him.

And now look at the awful press he's getting.

And the people you have to deal with -- all those bankers, board members, priests, gardeners.

Everything's always my fault.

All I want is a little snuggle, and all he wants is an Iron Lady."

"No, I just meant that..." "Forget it.

It's not your fault.

You're just one little citizen, one little voter."

♪♪ "Our date is ridiculous anyway.

We're in the middle of a global economic crisis, and here we are talking about cuddling.

On the other hand, we shouldn't underestimate our hormones.

Politicians are allowed to make war but not love.

I'm not going back to the chancellery.

Who the hell designed that icebox anyway?

All they want to do is screw you over.

I'm just there to fulfill a function.

And in the end, the only person who really loves you is the chauffeur.

I am sick of it."

I was wondering what to say when she suddenly went to the window and jumped out.

Luckily, I live on the ground floor.

She fell in the bushes.

♪♪ They put me behind bars anyway.

She hasn't come for a visit, but she did have someone write me a nice letter and said that she was very sorry.

Could we remain friends?

Yada, yada, yada.

I've been detained for questioning.

But what are the questions?

In the end, all this online dating stuff is never the answer.

And she wasn't right for me anyway.

Too bad.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Bells tolling ] [ Bird cooing ] Sundays.

All week long, we live for Sunday, and then we sleep, do nothing.

[ Tolling continues ] Is doing nothing even possible?

Is it the seventh day or the first?

Or maybe the zeroth?

God saw everything He had made.

And it scared the living daylights out of Him.

"Oh, boy," He probably said to himself, "Let them figure it out."

What did He actually do before that in the zero void?

Sundays are always so quiet.

Church bells make it seem even quieter.

They say we see more when it's quiet.

Or do we hear more?

We actually hear less.

Look at that mountain on my desk.

Reminders.

Bills.

I love it.

I'm wanted.

They need me.

I'll take care of it today.

My wife's on the phone again.

A business call.

What else?

Even on Sunday.

She's so independent.

When actually did she start bringing her lovers home?

She could have walked out on me by now.

But she's so attached to me.

[ Wife speaking indistinctly ] Shoshi always comes on Sundays.

My personal dream illustrator, my Quasimodo.

He's not cheap, but he's worth it.

I tell him what dreams I had that week, and he puts them down on paper.

[ Bells tolling ] "Any progress, Shoshi?"

"A bit."

"Let me see."

[ Tolling continues ] ♪♪ [ Wings flapping ] [ Tolling continues ] "It took you four hours to draw this?"

"Then go do it yourself."

"No need to feel insulted.

Everything takes time.

Besides, it was a pretty miserable dream anyway.

What could I have done to avoid it?"

"The usual, of course.

Namely, don't want anything, don't believe anything, don't expect anything."

"Yeah.

Yeah, I know.

And last night?"

♪♪ ♪♪ [ Clanging ] [ Bells tolling ] "That doesn't look much better, does it?"

"Then do something about it.

Go dancing again.

Or get rid of that mess on your desk."

"Okay, I'll do that."

♪♪ [ Tolling continues ] Nah, not today.

[ Footsteps ] "I'm going out."

"Where?"

"A date with Fritz."

"Uh-huh.

And what about your boy toy back there?"

"What about him?"

"Is he staying here?"

"How should I know?

Probably."

"Uh-huh.

Have fun."

"The three of you, too."

♪♪ Oh, when I think back to what it used to be like, when I was the only man in her life.

Now, I can't tell if she's saying hello or goodbye.

"Shoshi."

"Mm?"

"Show me some of my old dreams.

The one with the jacket."

"Whatever for?"

"Because... you won't do anything with it anyway, so..." "Okay.

Here."

♪♪ [ Bells tolling ] ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Tolling continues ] ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ "What do you think the book means?"

"No idea.

They're your dreams.

I just draw them."

"Yeah, I know."

"Dream something better."

"Uh-huh."

[ Bells tolling ] "Shoshi, you know what?

You're fired."

"No, I'm not.

I quit."

♪♪ "Shoshi?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You'll stay, won't you?"

♪♪ "I guess."

♪♪ ♪♪ [ Bells tolling ] [ Tolling continues ] [ Dog barking, wind blowing ] [ Tolling continues ] [ Rhythmic scratching ] [ Down-tempo music plays ] ♪♪ ♪♪ For some time now... ...for quite some time, really, wherever I am, whatever's going on, I'm always tired.

I fall asleep everywhere.

♪♪ ♪♪ Wherever I go, whether it's business or pleasure, I fall asleep.

[ Applause ] ♪♪ I barely sit down, start following the conversation, and then it comes over me -- this fatigue.

Comes from deep inside me, sneaks into my eyes.

My head sinks.

And then...

It can be awkward.

Take my maiden speech in front of Parliament recently.

Embarrassing.

♪♪ Or the other day -- that date.

What an amazing woman.

And me?

♪♪ Or just last week in court, I was the witness.

Or was I the defendant?

I mean, I'm interested in everything.

I love conferences.

I'm in good shape.

Okay, the competition never sleeps.

[ Indistinct conversations ] There's a frenzy all around me.

My rivals work through the night.

[ Keyboard clacking ] [ Indistinct conversations ] He who snoozes loses.

[ Indistinct conversations continue ] I used to be political.

The things we fought for.

Protests.

Riots, sit ins, demonstrations.

[ Indistinct chanting and shouting ] [ Whistle blowing ] And today?

Disgraceful.

[ Indistinct chanting and shouting continues ] ♪♪ ♪♪ The doctor examined me from head to toe.

Nothing.

♪♪ I guess that's just the way it is.

It's not the worst thing in the world.

It's hardly even worth mentioning.

I don't think anyone minds.

On the contrary, almost everyone is tired.

People sleep everywhere.

Most don't notice if you're awake.

Most don't even notice if you're there.

So... what bliss, this languor, this waning away, this letting go.

Wonderful.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Down-tempo music plays ] ♪♪ ♪♪ My Uncle Albert, they say, was a rather odd but remarkable man.

He lived for many years in America before moving back to Europe.

I think I may have seen him once when I was a child, but...

I barely remember him.

And he hardly knew me either.

Obviously, he felt he knew me well enough to make me his beneficiary, because not long ago, when he died, I found he'd bequeathed me his museum.

Yeah.

I inherited a museum.

It's on the church square next to the old post office.

I've walked past it on several occasions, but I've never been inside.

No director.

I wonder why.

Positions like that are hard to come by.

No ticket booth.

Free admission.

If it costs nothing, it's worth nothing.

Heh.

Great way to start.

♪♪ ♪♪ I'm guessing that's part of the exhibit.

Hmm.

Oh, just what I was afraid of.

I was never interested in stuff like that.

And that's those -- those sculptures.

Hyper-realism.

I've read about that.

It smells funny in here.

Paintings.

Hmm.

Nice big rooms.

♪♪ Is this part of the exhibition or not?

♪♪ ♪♪ [ Clears throat ] "Hello?

Are you the guard?"

"Yeah.

Why?"

"Where is everybody?"

"Everybody?"

"The other people who work here."

"They left a long time ago."

"But you stayed?"

"I've been here for 31 years."

"You mean you come in the morning and stay until it's time to close?"

"Sometimes I sleep here, over there on the mattress."

"But isn't that an exhibition piece?"

"So?"

"You sleep on the exhibition pieces?"

"Why not?

Would you like a look around?"

"Yes, I would.

What did the last director say about that?"

"About what?"

"That you sleep on the artwork."

"He said that I'm part of the exhibit."

This here is an installation by, um...Schmidtler."

"What's that name again?"

"Schmidtler.

He works with...straw.

These are straw sails."

"Mm.

Mm-hmm."

"And this is... 'Untitled' by... Sarah Silverman."

"Uh-huh.

And, uh, what's all that music everywhere?"

"It's, you know, sounds.

Most of the installations come with...sounds.

Music.

Whatever."

[ Soft music plays ] ♪♪ "Who put all this together?"

"It's set up according to each artist's plans.

That's why there is such a mish-mash.

They decide everything themselves.

Of course, the museum directors contributed to the overall design, but the artists -- they're the worst."

Some of those things weigh tons, and we have to assemble it all.

This is 'Untitled' by, uh..." "You don't have to explain everything.

Thanks."

"Okay.

Okay."

♪♪ "And what do the people who come here say about all this?"

"What people?

Some people used to come here when it was cold outside to warm up.

But then we couldn't afford the heating anymore, so they stopped coming."

"Maybe you don't advertise enough."

"You wouldn't believe how much we advertised.

No, it has to be something else.

But that's none of my concern now, anyway."

♪♪ "And who did those?"

"Ah, they're from, uh, that photographer.

Uh, what's his name?"

"I think I know who you mean.

I forget his name."

"It doesn't matter.

I don't know him anyway.

This one here is by Brewster -- George Brewster."

"Oh, I thought it was from that other one that, um...

I know.

I know who you mean, but I can't remember his name.

Although it is different.

Similar, but different.

What did you say again?

You've been here for 31 years?"

"Yeah."

"You probably hate all these pieces by now."

"No.

I hate the artists and the directors and the museum visitors, of course, but not the art.

The art is meaningless.

Here -- we had to rip out the entire floor here.

What a mess."

♪♪ ♪♪ "Do you still have the boxes?

The packaging?"

"The shipping crates?

Sure.

Tons of it down in the basement.

This is my favorite piece.

'Two Guards.'"

"Yeah, it's funny."

[ Footsteps ] "So, all this belongs to me now."

"Pardon?"

"All this belongs to me.

I'm inheriting this.

I'm the heir."

"Ah, that's you.

I see.

[ Chuckling ] Good luck."

"Where do those stairs go?"

"To the basement.

The storage rooms."

"I see.

I'll take a look down there, too."

"Be my guest.

It's all yours, isn't it?"

♪♪ ♪♪ [ Tapping ] [ Rustling ] Uh-huh.

Hmm.

Man.

[ Creaking ] My God, so much stuff.

Of course, I'm a complete philistine when it comes to art.

I don't know anything about it, really.

Is all that real?

[ Footsteps ] But no one else ever comes down here.

"Deborah...Sherberitz.

Rye flour paste on cast iron, copper sheet on glazed concrete."

Oh, please.

Come on.

[ Clanging ] Ah, those sculptures again.

Who is all this for?

And it'll be here forever.

Dust everywhere.

Everything has to be cared for, cleaned.

And it could be such a nice building.

[ Clanging continues ] ♪♪ ♪♪ That's a church?

Or is that an installation?

A broken baptistry.

Pretty lousy work.

What's this one called?

"Fossil in the Heart of a Meteorite."

Hmm.

A dog.

It starved to death?

Heh.

Okay, enough is enough.

I'm out of here.

[ Footsteps ] "So, um, thank you."

"What are you gonna do with it?"

"Beats me."

"No one's gonna buy it, telling you straight away.

They tried that already.

The art is considered minor."

"Really?

Those pieces look like major works to me."

[ Chuckles ] "Oh, I see you don't know the business.

You can sell the building, of course, but you will never get rid of the art."

"Okay.

They look like everything else in here.

But they're not part of the collection, are they?"

"No."

"Oh.

Well, goodbye for now."

"Goodbye.

Take care."

♪♪ ♪♪ Oh, Uncle, Uncle, what have you done?

♪♪ I know you meant well.

Everyone always means well.

But it's irresponsible, is what it is.

Blessed are our heirs.

Nope, not with me.

No one can force me.

Well, I suppose I can sleep over it.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪