Bal-Can-Can

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Gennaro... Shhh, Gennaro!

Gennaro!

What's up, Carlo?

- A new guy just came in.

There, next to the

Norwegian.

I'm not Norwegian,

I'm Swedish!

And who's that?

- I don't know. Ask him.

Maybe he doesn't

understand Italian.

Look at his feet...

They look Spanish to me.

Shhh, Spanish guy...

Obrigado, hey! Obrigado...

"Obrigado" is a Portuguese

word, guys.

He's one of ours!

Hello, guys. It's a bit stuffy

in here...

Anybody got a cigarette?

No, smoking is not

allowed here!

He got you, he, he...

And how do you intend to

smoke, Carlo?

Hey, unknown... What's

your name?

Santino.

Hello, Santino.

We're Italians,

those guys there are

Frenchmen...

Enchante'!

The one next to you is

Knut the Dan...

I am Swedish!

Well, whatever! Then Kurt

the German...

Then sergeant John...

Thanks, guys. Where are

we, anyway?

This is a fridge. This is

where they store us, the

dead people, in these

compartments.

Oh, fuck! - Hey, Santino,

how come they labelled

you "unknown"? - We all

have our ending, boys:

Some die from old

age, others from tumours,

I died because of my blood

brother!

Your blood bro' killed

you, eh?

No, I got killed because of

the son of the blood bro' of

my father... Ah, it's all

very complicated!

Use your own words,

Santino.

Ok, then! My story begins

a long time ago,

in Macedonia. Do you

know what Macedonia is?

Sure! It's a kind of salad.

Carlo! How can a person

be born in a salad?

"Macedonia" is the brand

of cigarettes that

Monica Bellucci smokes in

"Malena".

You don't know shit, guys.

Macedonia is a country,

down in the Balkans. Let's

start from the beginning.

Some fifty years ago...

After the Second World War,

Macedonia was a part of

Tito's Yugoslavia. Very

important historical period,

ruling of the proletariat... all

ideology, you know? Quite a

limited environment for a

dynamic young man

like my father Vitomir.

His blood brother Seraphim

was his best friend.

Vitomir and Seraphim were

like Little Caesars:

They dressed better than

Fred Buscaglione,

and boxed harder that

Rocky Marciano.

When they showed up to

parties, they immediately

broke the girls' hearts...

and also the jaws of their

jealous boyfriends!

Those were poor times, but even

poor people like to dress up.

Vitomir and Seraphim

started to make profit from

this human weakness, buying

goods in Italy and selling

them for five times their

price in Yugoslavia.

But the Yugoslav customs

showed no understanding

for their business

determination...

Anything to declare?

Well, personal luggage,

reference books...

Small stuff!

- Small stuff, yeah.

Down on your knees!

The search for easy money

against the limitations

imposed by the law

led these talented young men

to embrace their destiny:

Shefket Ramadani!

Good job, money easy.

Train arrive Friday.

Two.

In Dubrovnik get shipped on

boat...

Two hundred twenty

box! And in Dubrovnik:

My guards, my people, my

policeman, my engineer...

nobody touch you. We split

fifty-fifty!

Why fifty-fifty, eh?

Why not in thirds?

Why? Why because

fucking shit why!

Whattya got?

- Two pairs.

Me better. Straight.

That's why!

Fucking why...

Can ya see anythin', bro'?

I can see shit, bro'.

Well, fuck it.

Watch the wire, bro'!

Ouch!

They've turned on

the electricity.

Wanna play hard, eh?

Fuckin' bastards!

Gimme them pliers.

Don't have 'em, bro'...

- So fuck ya, bro'...

So fuck me, bro', I didn't

bring them.

Never mind, bro'. I'll lift it

up and we'll go under.

Ready, set, go...

Arghhh!

Hold on, bro'!

Don't give up, bro',

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