Synopsis: In this film, told almost entirely in iambic pentameter, She is a scientist in a loveless marriage to Anthony, a devious politician. He is a Lebanese doctor in self-imposed exile, working as a chef in a London restaurant. They meet at a banquet and fall into a carefree, passionate relationship. But the contempt He perceives as a Muslim immigrant to the UK causes him to break up with She, offering little in the way of explanation, and return to his homeland. She drags his reasons out of him little by little and tries to sympathize. Keenly feeling the loss of his love, She flies to Havana to sort things out on the beach and in the cabarets. She sends him a ticket, but harbors no illusions that He will join her in this Carribean melting pot...
Genre: Drama, Romance
Director(s): Sally Potter
Production: Sony Pictures Classics
  2 wins & 2 nominations.
Rotten Tomatoes:
100 min

== Yes ==

Subtitled By:

Nizar Ezzeddine

They say my cleaning

is the best they've ever known

but cleanliness

of course is an illusion

those of us who clean as a profession know

the deeper source of dirt is always there

You can't get rid of it

You cannot hide or put a lid on it

as long as human life is there

lt's us, the skin we shed

and then the hair...

l think of what l do as therapy for homes

you know l often see

the pain imprinted on a bed

you spot a stain that should not be in there

of course you know

at once what's going on

But then you go into another room, the one

he keeps his papers in, or so he says...

He sleeps in there

from time to time as well

What was l saying? Yes, it all relates

The evidence on things like dirty

plates, and socks and underwear

and other things l shouldn't mention

that he sometimes flings into

the toilet and thinks l won't see...

Ah, because he flushes, but

unfortunately he doesn't check its gone

it's down to me to try again

sometimes l fish it out...

lt's quicker in the end, it floats

l doubt they'll ever realize l know it all

They think that those of us who clean

are small somehow, in body and in mind

we fall our of their line of sight

invisible, we work our magic

lndivisible one from the other, we're

a mass, no soul, no rights to speak of

just a basic role to play

in keeping their lives looking good

Cosmetic artists, that is

what we should be called

Or dirt consultants

You waited until l am not there

How could you? ln our house?

- Oh don't

- Don't what?

- Don't make a scene don't make it worse

- l am not

Where, our bed?

The sofa? Or perhaps a chair?

That's fine

Forgive my question

but are you alright?

- l'm fine, thank you

- Are you sure?

Yes, quite

A woman left alone

if it was me... l wouldn't...

Wouldn't what?

Let such a beauty out of

my sight, not for a moment, no

A woman left alone, l wouldn't...

Wouldn't what?

Let such a beauty out of

my sight, not for a moment, no

And let me add

l'd like to steal you from the man

who cannot see that you're a queen

- When are you free?

- My God, you're fast

Oh no, quite slow

l don't believe this, l must say no definitely

lt's you

You knew

l guessed

That's good, l said l'd call

l thought you would

- You're over there

- Quite far away

You sound so near

and when are you...

- Returning? ln a day, or two

- l'd like to meet

Yes, where? You say...

Let's walk, somewhere, and eat

And talk

What's that?

- My cab, l'm getting out

- l cannot hear...

We'll have to shout

- l'll call again...

- Oh, good, yes, do

l'm glad l found you...

l understand that you've invited me

to make a case that life begins at three hours

or at one, or two, or maybe four

as if there is a moment when

we can be sure that we are human

You'll want evidence, material, not big ideas

nor common sense, but what is measurable

What you can see, and not once

but many times, repeatedly

For this is science

and that's what we do

But wait a minute, is this really true?

Could ''objectivity''

be just a point of view?

we interpret what we see, and can

see what we expect, in embryology

When a man first saw a sperm magnified

he thought he saw a little man inside

and those that looked were

sure that they could see one too

so eager were they

to agree, look at this, man?

Or mouse? The mystery is that

each cell knows its destiny...



Oh, Sister Maud

of course, hello

lt's been a while, it has

how time does go...

No, she's not here, of course

l'll tell her, yes l'm sure she meant to call

Oh, l would guess the weekend

but of course one never knows

Yes, always working

that's the way it goes

And how is her aunt? Oh

oh dear, how sad, is it serious?

Oh dear... that does sound bad

Oh quite, of course

l'll speak to her tonight

Except when she

gets back he will be out

That's how they organize their lives

l doubt if they will see each other for a week

They leave each other

notes but rarely speak


- Where are you from?

- l am lrish

- From Belfast

- But you sound...

l know, l know, American

They took me there

when l was ten, and you?

l am from Beirut

My land is made of stones

but we have trees that blossom

in the spring and then release their fruit

We have cherries, plums

and peaches and the queen of all

the tree that reaches for the sun to fill its

seed with gold, the yellow fruit, the apricot

the old and wisest say

this fruit will keep them young

And you can taste

her secret with your tongue

Potato is our apricot, we bake

we boil, we mash, we fry

and then we make a flour of it for dumplings

in our stew or bread or scones or pancakes

the famine haunts us still, you see

We too are haunted

by our dead, it seems

They speak to us

in riddles in our dreams

so many killed, they

ask the question, why?

Did we have to die?

Look, shall we think of something sad?

This conversation's far too light

That's bad, yes

absolutely, you are right

My auntie in Belfast once

said to me survivors can't forget

the memory is all that's left

we cannot let it go

lf it is lost, then who will ever know?

She brought me up, l loved her so

My parents went away when l was two

They said they'd fetch me in a month

but then a month became a year...

my father flew back

home from time to time

l never knew when l would go

do you believe in God?

Rate this script:5.0 / 2 votes

Sally Potter

Charlotte Sally Potter, OBE (born 19 September 1949) is an English film director and screenwriter. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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