The Possessed (1965) Movie Script

- Is that you?
- Yes, it's me.
Where are you?
I'm waiting for you.
It's no use.
What do we have to say
to each other?
Let me see you at least once
before you go.
What good would that do?
I don't know.
I've been thinking a lot, Bernard.
We can't leave it like this.
Please come over.
- No.
- But, why not?
It's better this way, believe me.
I don't want to come back to you again,
like some sick person.
Why do you keep saying that?
That's right, like a sick person.
Maybe I do love you.
I would like to, but I just can't.
I already told you, I don't feel anything,
not for you, not for me, not for anyone.
I feel empty inside.
I feel finished.
Please, Claudia, forgive me.
Listen to me, Bernard.
- Yes?
- I love you, you know?
Yes, I know, I know.
I won't forget you.
I had left only emptiness behind me.
I was sick, desperate.
Passing by the lake,
I began to feel better.
I told myself that everything was normal,
I was going on vacation.
In reality, I was running
straight towards disaster.
- Mr. Bernard. How are you?
- Fine.
- Did you have a good trip?
- Yes, thanks.
We were expecting you tomorrow,
but you're in luck, it's the off-season.
The hotel is almost entirely yours.
So we can offer you
the nicest room in the hotel,
the center room facing the plaza.
I'd prefer the room from last year,
if possible.
What a shame.
But if you prefer...
That was Room 29,
if I'm not mistaken.
I don't recall. It was at the end
of the hall, facing the patio.
Yes, number 29, on the first floor.
Allow me.
You must be tired.
I see they're remodeling
the facade.
That's a shame,
the hotel will lose its character.
Unfortunately, we've painted the walls,
nothing else.
This hotel is old,
it needs a good restoration.
But if I were to follow your advice,
my dear Mr. Bernard,
I assure you, I would be ruined.
You are a client who's...
How shall I put it...? Somewhat special.
The rest want modern things,
everything plastic, televisions...
Sooner or later,
I'll have to remodel everything.
Here you are.
If you have to work to do,
you'll be more comfortable here.
The slaughterhouse is run
by my son Mario now.
He got married two weeks ago,
he's still on his honeymoon.
- Congratulations.
- They'll be back any day now.
What can I say?
I had to set him up
with a butcher shop to be rid of him.
Plus, we needed another
woman around the house.
My daughter Irma has
her hands full running the hotel.
And there's no one to do
the paperwork.
If I were younger,
I would've remarried myself.
But at my age,
women are a closed chapter.
At 50, you're just now entering
into maturity.
Perhaps it's the air around here.
Oh, yes? Well, if you say so...
Ah. If you need the maid,
the bell's just there.
- Alright? See you later.
- See you later.
I'd told myself that
the trip was out of loneliness.
But seeing those photos,
I knew I'd been fooling myself.
Hadn't I really come,
just because of her?
She was a maid at the hotel.
Her name was Tilde.
Come in.
Did you need something?
Mineral water, please.
Anything else?
Yes, I'd like to know...
Bring a large bottle, I'm thirsty.
Right away, sir.
Seeing that coat was a relief.
Tilde still worked here,
in the hotel.
- Welcome back, Mr. Bernard.
- Irma.
Were you looking for something?
Yes, I'm looking for the stairs.
I can't find them.
All these hallways look the same,
it's a real labyrinth.
The layout is a bit strange,
but you'll soon find your way around.
If you like, I'll show you the way.
- And how are you doing?
- Quite well.
Thank the Lord,
there's no shortage of work,
and no chance of boredom,
at least, not for me.
- Will you be with us long?
- Twenty or thirty days.
To finish some work and relax.
You'll see, once out of the city,
you'll be back on form in no time.
Look, there's the staircase.
See you later.
See you later, Irma.
Far from the city
and all my secret doubts,
I felt alive again.
The hope of seeing her
and the peacefulness of this place
gave me a playful, relaxed feeling
which I thought I'd lost forever.
What can I say, Mr. Bernard?
My job is deadly dull,
a small-town newspaperman,
always editing stories
of no interest.
Once in a while,
some tragedy occurs.
The lake is treacherous, you know.
And what happens?
Maybe some suicide, perhaps.
But then, there's nothing to do
but keep quiet
when faced with the mystery
of human nature.
Did you know this town has
a very interesting history that few know?
The lake hides the ruins of a town.
Yes, I know, Doctor.
I used to see it from my boat as a boy.
I didn't know that.
I thought you'd arrived here
only a short while ago.
I came here many summers
from the age of 10 till I was 17.
I visited with my mother,
my aunt and my cousins.
I don't recall the lake
ever appearing in your books.
No, I've never written
anything autobiographical.
It's difficult to look
inside oneself honestly, eh?
How is it that you're here
out of season?
That's exactly why I'm here.
My memories here are the subject
of my new book.
Though one never writes
the book one wants.
Excuse me.
But... But Mr. Bernard...
What do you want?
Francesco, don't you recognize me?
Mr. Bernard!
- What a surprise. How are you?
- Well.
- When did you get here?
- Just today.
- Staying at the lake hotel?
- Yes.
- And you're here to work?
- Yes, of course.
Congratulations on the Paris award.
You must be so pleased.
It was a great success.
And what do you think of my book?
Have you read it?
Of course I've read it.
It's very interesting.
But, frankly, I wasn't totally convinced.
It seemed to me you were afraid
of not finding an answer for everything.
You're right there.
But the critics said just the opposite.
- I'd love to discuss it with you.
- Not much I could tell you.
You know, I've always had
a strange mistrust of lakes.
But this one has always fascinated me.
Recognize him?
It's Mario, the son of the hotel owner.
His wife is very pretty.
A foreigner.
A lonely and very rich woman.
I waited all day to see Tilde.
I was sure she was going to appear.
But why had that woman I followed
been wearing her coat? Why?
There's all kinds, Mr. Bernard.
They'll say anything!
- How's it going? Everything alright?
- Yes, thanks.
If you need anything,
anything at all...
Perhaps a special dish,
a certain wine...
That pretty girl who was here last year,
doesn't she work here anymore?
No, Mr. Bernard.
Tilde is dead.
She committed suicide with poison.
One morning last December.
But, why?
We never knew.
She was like a daughter to us.
Dad, we have clients.
Excuse me.
I thought you'd like a coffee.
Would you like anything else?
No, thank you.
I didn't want to leave, but the news
tortured me. My peace was gone.
Tilde no longer existed,
she had killed herself.
No, I couldn't believe it.
But why? For what reason?
Who had Tilde been?
The memory of that Sunday,
last winter, obsessed me all night.
Damn you!
Damn you!
You swine!
I'll see you all in jail!
Damn you all!
Good morning.
Up so early?
Why didn't you tell me
that Tilde had died?
You didn't ask me about her.
Anyway, I thought you knew.
It was in all the papers.
Why did you hide it from me?
Mr. Bernard,
you wouldn't understand.
You don't know the rumors that
flew around about that girl's death.
I prefer to focus on my display cases
and my photographs.
What rumors?
Well, for one thing, the way she died.
She committed suicide with poison.
Not just poison.
What do you mean?
But, Mr. Bernard,
everyone knows about it.
They found poison
in her mouth and stomach.
But her death was caused
by a knife cut that slit her throat.
That is a somewhat strange suicide,
don't you think?
It was horrible.
Any why didn't Mr. Enrico say
anything to me?
What did he tell you about her death?
Yesterday afternoon
I asked him about Tilde.
I wanted to give her
some photos from last year.
I didn't know anything.
But why would she kill herself?
No one knows the truth that lies
hidden behind her death. Except Tilde.
And perhaps someone else.
Come with me.
Please, Mr. Bernard,
don't tell anyone
what I am about to show you.
And anyway, it's no proof
that would stand up in court.
Come closer.
Look at this.
This is a photo that Tilde took
with some friends.
She brought it in to be developed
a few days before her death.
- She's the one in the middle?
- Yes, that's her.
Notice anything?
Yes, of course.
The outline of her stomach isn't normal.
Even if she were leaning back.
You're right.
She looks pregnant.
Several months pregnant.
Anyone could see that.
Perhaps it only appears that way.
Tilde wouldn't have killed herself
over such a thing.
Actually, I never said
she killed herself.
Are you saying that
someone may have killed her?
I'm not the only one in town
who thinks so.
Though no one dares say a word.
Mr. Enrico is very powerful
and very dangerous.
So you think it was him?
I didn't say that.
But the knife was his.
It all fits nicely,
if you believe Mr. Enrico
was her lover.
Something I suspected
even while she was alive.
All told, quite an ugly tale.
But the police...
there would've been an investigation.
Naturally, they investigated.
But it was found that
there was nothing mysterious.
A banal suicide, they said.
A woman's crisis.
The autopsy even found
that Tilde was still a virgin.
Money talks, my dear Mr. Bernard.
Tilde was no virgin.
You say that
because you just saw the photo?
Well, then, how can you be so sure?
I know.
One Sunday last year,
I followed her to the hotel,
and I saw her making love to someone
through the blinds.
Who was the man?
I couldn't see his face for sure.
But it couldn't have been Mr. Enrico.
In fact, I'm sure it wasn't him.
- What was he like?
- I only saw his hands and his back.
He seemed strong, young.
He wouldn't have been more
than 30, 35 years old.
Perhaps it was just her boyfriend.
Perhaps that's why they killed her.
She had no relatives?
Just the father.
An alcoholic who raised her in misery.
He lives in the mountains now,
like a vagabond.
He comes into town to get drunk
or make a scene in front of the hotel.
Like last night.
Find him, take me to him.
I want to discover everything
about Tilde.
You've come back for her?
Just for her.
- Is there a problem?
- The gentleman says this isn't fresh.
But, Mr. Bernard...
I don't like how it smells.
Take it away.
That can't be, it was caught in the lake
just this morning.
Let me order you something else.
Would you like a steak?
No, thanks. I'm not hungry.
I'm sorry, very sorry indeed.
His ambiguous figure,
his sensuality, disgusted me.
Tilde couldn't have been his lover.
I couldn't believe it.
Mr. Bernard...
My apologies for before.
These things are important to the hotel
and to me personally.
Not all service providers are honest.
It's nothing. I should apologize.
I don't feel well, I have no appetite.
Must be the change of air
or the altitude.
It's quite notable here.
Happens sometimes.
Do you need anything in your room?
Did Tilde have a boyfriend?
I don't know. Why do you ask?
She was very pretty.
Very pretty.
Those words, the emotion
with which he'd said them,
seemed to bear out the hunchback.
But I couldn't accept that possibility.
I was afraid.
So who was Tilde, then?
What was she really like?
Her memory haunted me.
You're sleeping.
But I... I...
I can't sleep.
Our pride, all our hopes, dashed.
I can't take it anymore.
I'm frightening even myself.
My father didn't kill Tilde, it wasn't him.
There is... There's something...
...something very powerful
hanging over me and all my family.
Something that...
drags us toward disaster, all of us.
You have seen it.
We have no more guests.
Everyone avoids us in this damn town
that we built up from nothing!
You already know why.
Our family name has been dishonored.
It was me.
Yes, me! I found her!
Help us. Help us, please.
Our name's disgraced.
Our name, you understand?
Our name!
I wanted to see
where she was buried,
as if that would help
to explain her death.
I felt empty, lost.
But when I saw the photo,
a suspicion came over me,
dark and violent.
I saw her, and at first,
I didn't recognize her.
But then I did.
It was her, Adriana, Mario's wife.
- Mr. Bernard, you have mail.
- Thanks.
So tell me, are you happy
with your stay so far?
How's the work going?
What did you say?
I asked if your work's going well.
Yes, verywell.
I'm so glad to hear it.
She's doing better.
Adriana, my son's wife,
she's not feeling well.
The typical newlywed crisis.
What can you expect? She's foreign,
and has to get accustomed.
Your key.
Can I send anything up to your room?
No, thank you. Bye.
See you later.
Do you mind telling me
what we're waiting for?
You'll see soon enough,
and you'll thank me.
There, look.
You asked me to come out here
just for this?
You can't tell me that's normal.
Let's go back.
These mysteries are a product
of your sick imagination.
Are you sure of that?
You think I talk like this
because I'm some poor fool?
Don't kid yourself. We're all
hunchbacks of one sort or another.
And Tilde's death,
is that just one of my fantasies?
Maybe she committed suicide for reasons
of her own that we'll never know.
More likely you're afraid
to see her as she really was!
I've had enough entertainment
from your theories,
to the point of almost
losing touch with reality.
But you know what?
Just leave me alone.
Got that? Let's go back!
You're more of a coward
than I took you for.
You blame me for your own impotence
and hard-heartedness.
But relax, this situation is
more and more pointless,
absurd and unnecessary.
I made up that note about fishing.
That way, they wouldn't be suspicious
about us meeting like this.
It's best to be cautious.
It'd be bad for us if they knew
where I was taking you.
This investigation
is losing its point for me.
Maybe you threw me off the track
with that photo of Tilde.
But, Mr. Bernard...
You can't blame me
for a truth that's this complicated.
I'm only here at your insistence.
I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that.
I'm just saying
I didn't make up Tilde's death.
Or Mario's wife's midnight walks.
Or that she never comes out
during the day.
Have you seen her, too?
Not personally.
But the whole town talks about it.
It's incredible that
Mario can stand such a thing.
It just invites gossip.
Proof that his marriage is a failure.
He's a strange one.
I've never been able to get close to him.
Not last year either.
He's a violent man.
The townspeople are afraid of him.
Come on, we're almost there.
Here we are.
Tilde's father lives here.
Not a happy place. I warn you,
he won't be happy to see us.
You recognize him? It's Mario.
He's drunk.
Saverio, it's me, Francesco.
This gentlemen would like to ask you
about your daughter.
He was a friend of hers.
Do you understand?
And what can I tell you?
I don't know anything.
Tilde was a good person.
Now she's gone.
Who was it? Do you know?
Why won't you speak?
They've been to see you.
Did they threaten you?
Do the people from the hotel
visit a lot?
Don't be afraid.
Tell this gentleman what you know.
Who are you?
What do you want from me?
I don't know anything.
I don't know anything.
You see? It's useless.
He's afraid.
We won't get anything more out of him.
Maybe they've bought him off, too.
Let's get out of here.
- Relax.
- You serve her, Irma.
Here's some water.
I'll do it.
- Something hot.
- That smells good.
There you go. Eat slowly.
Eat up, Adriana.
Come on, eat up!
Just look at Mario,
he finishes his plate, see?
- The papers have just arrived.
- Thanks.
She's still a bit pale,
but doing much better.
It's the first time she's been able
to come down and eat.
It really hasn't been
a very fortunate marriage.
She's not very healthy.
She should've told my son
before they were married.
Don't you think?
Well, and how are you?
Have you gotten used to the climate?
Do you feel better?
No. I still feel a bit strange.
I must have a bit of a fever.
You probably caught a cold this morning
in the mountains.
In this weather,
you have to be careful.
Shall I send a thermometer
up to your room?
No, thanks, I brought one.
If you'll excuse me.
That night, I waited for her
a long time.
She would come, as she always did,
and we would finally speak.
What was she trying to tell me
with that note?
What secret confidence
did she want from me?
The cold and my fever
made the wait unbearable.
As always, everything seemed
normal on the surface.
But why had Adriana run away?
Why didn't she want to speak to me?
I felt sick.
Just a strong case of the flu.
You'll be fine in a few days.
Here's your prescription, alright?
The important thing is to take it easy.
I'll speak with Irma about food for you.
How many days was I sick in bed?
I lost all track of time.
Irma's sad presence was my only link
to the world outside my room.
Mr. Bernard?
How do you feel?
Who is it? You could've knocked.
What do you want?
Our apologies, but it's necessary.
Can you get up?
The truth is... I don't know how
I can be of help, I'm not well.
Yes, however, this is something
very serious, unfortunately,
and your presence could be decisive.
Will you tell me what this is about?
I'm sorry, but regulations forbid it.
I'll wait for you in the hall.
Take your time getting dressed.
Do you recognize her?
Yes. It's Mario's wife.
We pulled her out of the lake
this morning.
Please follow me.
We need a statement from you.
Our apologies, Mr. Bernard.
I know you're not feeling well,
but this is just a formality,
although a somewhat unpleasant one.
Please, have a seat.
The fact is...
...witnesses claim to have seen
the poor lady
walking at night along the lakeshore.
And two of them claim that
you can confirm this too.
It was a young couple
who often meet
in out-of-the-way places
late in the afternoon.
Tell me, Mr. Bernard,
do you recall ever having seen her?
Yes, I remember.
Will you tell me how
and under what circumstances?
A few days ago.
Two or three times, I don't recall.
I'm not used to going to bed early.
I saw her walking alone
along the lake, that's all.
Her presence there at that strange hour
always surprised me.
Did you speak to her?
No, never.
Did you notice anything else
strange about her behavior?
Truth is, her behavior always
seemed a bit strange to me.
How would you say...?
Because she seemed
to be simply out walking,
never waiting for anyone.
But I'm just guessing.
Did you ever think
she could be a sleepwalker?
No, I never thought that.
I've never seen a case like that.
But you wouldn't exclude the possibility?
No, I wouldn't exclude it,
though it seems to me
a somewhat unwarranted supposition.
But perhaps... it could've been.
Thank you, Mr. Bernard.
I hope I won't have to bother you again.
But... there is something.
What do you mean?
But... do you feel sick?
Would you like us to escort you
to the hotel?
No, no, thank you. It's nothing.
I just need some fresh air.
If you need me,
you know where to find me.
- Good day.
- Good day, Mr. Bernard.
Why hadn't I mentioned the note?
I didn't feel a thing anymore.
It all seemed futile.
I just wanted out
of this absurd story.
But this tragedy was as much a mystery
as Tilde's had been.
And I had the strong feeling
that something dark and terrible
was still sweeping over that family.
Something that wasn't yet finished.
That white coat, impeccable,
seemed to bear witness
to something sinister.
Why, on the night of her death,
hadn't Adriana worn it as usual?
Tilde! Tilde!
Why? Why?
It's your fault. Your fault.
Why had he left Adriana's funeral?
Why had he, in desperation,
gone to Tilde's room?
What dark truth linked
the two deaths?
An idea plagued me.
Perhaps Tilde hadn't been
as I had imagined her.
But you're...
You're pregnant?
Yes, I'm pregnant.
It was either you or your son.
And now one of you will have
to marry me, so decide who.
Because I'm staying here,
and as the lady of the house.
As you promised.
I could ruin you both,
and you know it.
Go ahead and call me a whore
if you like.
Connect me with the photo studio,
please, quickly.
- Yes, who is it?
- It's me, Bernard.
- I heard you've been ill...
- I'm better, thanks.
- I have something important to tell you.
- Where are you calling from?
From the hotel.
I have to talk to you right now.
I'm sorry,
but today is impossible for me.
I have a lot of work to do.
I don't think I can get away, sorry.
I've discovered some new things,
some new clues.
Do you have real proof?
Unfortunately, no.
But I must see you right away.
Listen, Mr. Bernard.
I don't want to be mixed up in this
any longer.
I don't want anything to do
with such an ugly affair.
I have to live in this town.
You write about these things,
and they make you money.
And I've made enough mistakes already.
I don't want to know anymore.
I have to go now.
I'm late already, I have to go.
Have they threatened you?
You hear me?
Answer me!
Can I help you?
I knocked on your door
to see if you needed anything.
I was speaking with the photographer.
I gave him some negatives.
I have to pick them up.
It's windy and quite cold out.
You shouldn't go out.
If you like, I'll handle it.
Thanks, but I feel much better.
I have to speak with you.
Please, don't go out.
How are you feeling, Mr. Bernard?
Better, Irma.
Much better, thanks.
Good, I'm very glad.
You should eat something.
Turn on the stove,
I'll be there in a moment.
Don't trouble yourself.
I have to go out.
Mr. Bernard...
Our apologies if...
...if we haven't attended to you well.
Unfortunately, this new tragedy has
caused our other guests to leave.
I've had to dismiss the staff.
Now I have to see to my father.
He doesn't seem himself.
All this gossip will be the death of him.
They've said so many things...
about my family.
People always kick you
when you're down, Irma.
It's as if fate itself
has been tormenting us.
Mr. Bernard...
I have to take my father
far away from here
and close the hotel for several months.
I wanted to ask you,
if you feel better, of course...
That is, I wanted to ask you
if you could check out now.
Fine. Prepare my bill.
Thank you.
And take that raincoat,
it's cold outside.
What could have compelled Mario
to write that?
Why did he want to talk to me?
A thousand doubts plagued me.
Thank you, Mr. Bernard.
I knew you'd come.
Close the door, please.
No one should know that we're here.
You didn't want to listen to me
this afternoon,
when I asked you to stay.
I would've told you everything.
And perhaps you could
have helped me.
Like my father, I can't bear
keeping this secret any longer.
You see...
...I didn't want Tilde to die.
My father ordered me to marry her
because she was pregnant.
But I said no.
I couldn't have gone on
sharing her with him...
...once she was my wife.
But Tilde was blackmailing us.
It was her,
she was the one who wanted it.
I didn't want my wife to die either.
One night, in a moment of grief,
I felt the need to confide in her.
I wanted to talk, confess everything.
I tried with you as well.
But I didn't want her death.
It was her! It was...
What's wrong?
What's happened?
- No one will betray me again.
- Irma.
- It's me.
- Yes...
I killed again. I couldn't allow
our family name to be sullied!
Let me go! I have to die!
- Irma!
- The white coat...
- Calm down.
- The white coat!
That afternoon, I had her coat on,
you were following me, not her.
She wanted to talk,
but she won't now!
My brother had to kill her.
Let me go! I loved them!
I loved them!
Now's it's all over,
our name has been spared!
It's all over, all over!
So, Mr. Bernard, your statement.
Please... sign your name here.
Thank you.
All this is just a formality,
since there won't be a trial.
- You don't think you'll find her?
- Not alive.
And perhaps, not dead, either.
In the exact spot where Irma fell in,
the lake is very deep
and the bottom is covered
with thick vegetation.
We've found only her coat.
But the divers are still searching.
So maybe, with no trial,
we'll arrive at a purely
hypothetical conclusion.
Thanks also to your intuition.
Of no use, unfortunately.
Your testimony serves
at least to satisfy
the journalists' curiosity
as well as the public's.
But don't let me keep you any longer,
I know you're anxious to go.
Yes, it was all so incomprehensible.
That cold winter morning,
as I left the hotel and all those places
filled with memories,
everything around me seemed strange,
inaccessible, farther away.
Even more so than I.