German Angst Page #3

Give me the rag.

Darren... there is a game,

we did as children.

It's called "The Hot Seat".

Hold him down on the ground.

Now I throw it over.

Three, two, one... Go!

I... I feel... so comfortable!

I don't think you'll be writing

for a while, motherf***er.

Motherf***er!

Action!

- Is this the English method?

- I don't know.

English, Russian, Chinese, whatever.

Pain is international.

...his bones.

You want to try it too?

Do you want more blood?

Hit him! Hit him! Do it

or I'll kill you!

You have to bury him.

- It has a f***ing Polish eagle.

- Eagle?

He flew away from him.

Come, look at this.

- This is art, man.

- Beautiful.

You can scream all you

want here in Germany.

- Well done. Bravo.

- The b*tch is still alive. Good morning!

Wait.

- What are you doing?

- I?

You have a choice.

A choice? No, I haven't.

Polish dirty son of a b*tch.

Look at him. His face.

I'm sure you would want

to trade places with me.

But it's impossible.

Why we don't ask.

We don't explain.

We just know...

that you are the victim...

and you will be executed.

You have nothing to complain about.

Today is your day.

I will not have mercy...

compassion,

comprehension...

and martyrdom.

I'll be despised!

I'll be hated!

I am what I am...

and I will drag this

guilt with me!

Everywhere I go!

For him... everything will end

with a happy silence.

And for me... my nightmare is

only beginning.

For those who believe that

it is easier?

Bye Bye.

Come on, baby!

Bye Bye!

We must finish what we started.

- I will help you to turn it on.

- Yes! Yes!

- Sh*t!

- Again!

How are you now, you f***ing Polack?

Yes!

F*** you!

- Now let's have a beer.

- Come on!

When I talk about these events,

I am never sure if they are real...

or sick dreams that go

through my brain.

Mandragola

- Have you heard?

- What?

That sound.

Love, You just imagined it.

What's happening?

- You don't believe me, Maya.

- It's OK.

Fine...

He began...

the day, when you left me.

Maya, you misunderstand.

What kind of artist would photograph

the tits of a prostitute?

It's just work.

Come on, it's a model.

It's my job.

- Eden, we are ready.

- don't talk, Eden.

Maya, please.

- You can discuss it later.

- There is a stain.

Think about it.

- We can talk about this later? I have to work.

- Where do I put the bottle?

Wait a moment.

Don't worry.

You have all the time you want.

- Maya, dammit, listen.

- You won't miss me.

I've never been important.

Cornelson wants that bottle in the frame.

Sr. Helmut Newton, can your little

assistant put it there?

I know a perfect place for the bottle.

"Photo Art" called me

the magician of the camera.

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