Mother Night Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Mother Night script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the Keith Gordon movie based on the Kurt Vonnegut book starring Nick Nolte.  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Mother Night. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

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Mother Night Script









"Haifa, Israel 1961"



Do you prefer German or English?






You are to write down your memoirs

for the Haifa Institute...



for the documentation

of war criminals.



You have three weeks to complete

your memoirs before your trial begins.



Do you have any questions?



No. This is great.

Thanks for everything.



"Jews, Negroes...




You are the only man I know who has

a bad conscience about the war.



Who is this?



Bernard Liebman.



I have guard duty

from  :   till   :  .



Oh. I see.



Everyone else on either side...



is convinced he couldn't have acted

in any other way.



How do you know I have

a bad conscience?



The way you talk

in your sleep.



I can tell something

is troubling you.



What do you imagine

is troubling me, Bernard Liebman?



All I heard were

a couple of names.



"Helga" was one.



"Hoess" was the other one.



I knew Hoess.



He had no trouble sleeping.



Slept like a baby

right up to the end.



You know this?



I guess so.



I helped hang him.



- With your testimony?

- No.



With my hands.



Did that give you

lots of satisfaction?



My job was to strap his ankles.



I did a very good job.



I see.



Afterwards, I packed my bags

to go home.



The catch on my suitcase

was broken...



so I buckled it shut

with a big leather strap.



Twice, within one hour...



I did the very same job.



Once to Hoess...



once to my suitcase.



Both jobs felt about the same.






I, Howard W. Campbell, Jr.,

am an American by birth...



a Nazi by reputation...



and a nationless person

by inclination.



I am awaiting a fair trial for

my war crimes by the state of Israel.



I was born in Schenectady, New York,

on February        .



My father was raised

in Tennessee...



the son of a Baptist minister.



He was a service engineer

for General Electric.



Because of his work...



most of his reading consisted

of tradejournals and technical books.



There were a few

notable exceptions.






In      when General Electric

relocated my father...



we left Schenectady

and moved to Berlin, Germany.



By     ...



I had become a successful

playwright in the German language...



and I had married

the young, beautiful...



and famous German actress Helga Noth.



When my parents left Germany...



they asked me to return

to the United States with them.



I didn't.



"My dear, sweet Eva...



this is the only way...



I know how to make good...



the frightful wrong

which has befallen us.



It does not matter

what lies ahead...



for I have

a full life behind me...



all in those few,

sweet hours with you.



I once told you

that I would pledge my life...



for our nation of two...



and reside there...



even in death...



as surely as I reside in heaven...



when your arms are around me.



Soon it will be time

to keep that pledge...



and I rejoice to think...



that earthly distractions

will no longer intrude...



on my eternal devotion to you.



From this moment forward...



our nation of two...



is the only country...



I will know."



As the insanity of the world

descended on us...



my Helga and I survived

by pledging our undying loyalty...



to the only nation

that made any sense to us.



It was called

das Reich der Zwei...



"the nation of two."



It was only one month after my parents

returned to the United States...



three years before America

would enter the war...



when I first met

my blue fairy godmother.



I call him that because no one

believes he existed but me.



But he really does exist...

or at least he did...



on that Sunday afternoon

so long ago in Berlin.



Nice-lookin' men.



I suppose.



- Do you speak English?

- Yes.



Thank God.



I've been goin' crazy

tryin' to find someone to talk to.



Pardon me?



I'm sorry. You mind if I come over there

so we don't have to holler?



As you please.



"As you please." That sounds like

somethin' an Englishman would say.



- You English, are ya?

- No, I'm American.



That a fact?



Any of my beeswax

what you do for a living?



- Writer.

- No kiddin'!



Well, there's a coincidence,

'cause I was just sittin' over there...



wishin' I could write...



'cause I thought up

one hell of a story.



There's this American, see?



And he's been livin' in Germany so long

he's practically a German himself.



He writes plays in German, is married

to a beautiful German actress.



He knows a lot of big-shot Nazis

who like to hang around theater people.



Who are you?



Oh, wait a minute.

This gets better.



So this fella knows

there's a war comin'.



America's gonna be on one side,

Germany's gonna be on the other.



So this American, who's been nothin'

but polite to the Nazis so far...



decides to pretend

he's a Nazi himself...



and he stays on in Germany

once the war comes...



and gets to be

a very useful American spy.



I asked, "Who are you?"



I'm sorry. I'm sorry.



I got so carried away I just...



Here you go.

That's me.



"U.S. War Department

Wirtanen, Frank - Major"



So, Mr. Campbell,

what'd you think of my little story?



What did I think of it?

Oh, I don't think much of it.



I mean, it's highly implausible.

It's ridiculous.



Oh, that's okay, 'cause...



today isn't when you give me

your final answer, anyway.



Final answer?



If you imagine that I'm gonna go home

and think this over, you're mistaken.



I'm gonna sleep like a log.



I'm not a political man.

I'm just not.



I'm an artist.



If a war comes, it's just gonna

have to get along without me.



Well, I wish ya

all the luck in the world, Howard.



The worse this Nazi thing gets...



the less anyone's

gonna sleep like a log.



Well, I don't know.

Maybe. We'll see.



That's right. We'll see.



That's why I don't expect

your final answer today.



If you go through with this,

it'll be strictly on your own...



working your way up with the Nazis

as high as you can go.



To do this right, you'll have to commit

nothing less than high treason.



Even if you do live through the war

without being caught...



your government will never

acknowledge your role as an agent.



We couldn't afford

the security breach.



You come lookin' for a pardon...



they'll deny

they ever heard of ya.



You'd be left hung out to dry.



You make it sound so attractive.



Oh, I have a feeling I've made it

sound very attractive to you, Howard.



- I've seen your plays.

- Really?



And what did you learn from them?



You're obsessed with the notion

of pure hearts and heroism.



You love good,

and you hate evil...



and you'd sacrifice anything

in the name of romance.



I'll be in touch.



It was every playwright's

secret dream...



to create the most challenging role

I could imagine...



and then play the part myself.



Cue theme music.



"Three Years Later"



"Good afternoon,

ladies and gentlemen.



This is Howard W. Campbell, Jr...



the last free American...



speaking to you from Berlin, Germany,

the heart of the free world.



There is a fine article

in the current Reader's Digest...




'There Are No Atheists in Foxholes.'



Well, today I would like

to expand on this theme a little...



and tell you that even though

this is a war inspired by the Jews...



a war that only

the Jews can profit from...



you will find there are

no Jews in foxholes either.



Every G.I. Joe knows..."



Every Sunday afternoon

wherever my voice could be heard...



people stopped whatever they were

doing just to hear what I'd say next.



Even Berlin's chief of police

and his family were devoted listeners...



and not just because

they were my in-laws.



"Now, to the American folks

at home...



I want you to think of all the Jews

living in your neighborhood."



It took me only a couple of hours

to write each speech...



after which I'd hand it over to

the propaganda ministry for their notes.



Among those who examined it

was another Allied agent...



whose identity never was

revealed to me.



"Do they have more

or less gasoline?"



My speech would be returned

with all sorts of notations...



including those left

by my fellow spy.



"To these questions..."



These markings would dictate

certain vocal mannerisms...



pauses, emphases...



coughs, stumbles,




"Now let me ask you this:



Do you know of

a single Jewish family...



that has ever received

a telegram from Washington...



that begins...



'The secretary of war

expresses his deep regret...



that your son was killed

in defense of his country'?



Of course not.



No Jewish family would ever

receive such a telegram...



thanks to a personal guarantee

from the American dictator...



Franklin Delano Rosenfeld."



It was in this manner that I broadcast

coded information out of Germany.



I don't know to this day

what information went out through me.



"Why do you take arms

against your German brothers?



You know that Germany's objectives

are the same as your own.



You must understand

that theJews...



can only thrive in a nation

which lives in slavery.



So, my brothers...



lay down your arms.



By fighting this war, you'll only

fortify the bank accounts...



of your political leaders

who blindly serve theirJewish masters.



This has been

Howard W. Campbell, Jr...



the last free American.



Thank you for listening.

Heil Hitler."



You are a murderer.



You are a coward.



You are all cowards!



You are murdering children!



You should rot in hell!



Damn you!



Howard just

instinctively understands...



the German ideal

of right and wrong...



the certain triumph

of good over evil...



and the redemptive power of romance.



Just promise me one thing:



You will not leave

the propaganda ministry...



and return

to playwrighting full-time.



Little chance of that,

Herr Goebbels.



I've always found it ironic

that the man...



who so eloquently communicates

our ideals to the masses...



should be born in America.



Well, it's not so ironic.



I consider myself a spiritual native

of my adopted fatherland.



Something i've always wondered,

Herr Campbell:



Do you ever miss America?



Sometimes. Of course I do.



But I could never be happy

with the Jews in charge of everything.



Jews. The Jews will be

taken care of in due time.



Our friend Hoess here is seeing to it

at a resort he's running in Auschwitz.



My wife and I live

for that day.



Is there a chance we might

meet Mrs. Campbell?



Yes. Of course, Herr Hoess.



I'll ask Helga to join us,

if you'll excuse me.



If that woman walked off a cliff,

I swear, Howard would follow her.



Time passed.



I never told my Helga

I was a spy.



To tell her would only

put her in danger...



and make her live

in constant fear.



So I hid my true self

from her...



knowing that politics had no place

in our nation of two.



I suppose the moral here is:



You must be careful

what you pretend to be...



because in the end

you are what you pretend to be.



History says

the war ended in     .



In fact,

it ended one year earlier.



My nation of two was

the loser...



insanity the victor.



There were no prisoners...



no survivors.



Why would the Germans

want to kill my Helga?






I said enemy guns.



The Russians.



It was Russian fire.






It was tragic timing, sir.



The Russians fired

on the Crimean camp...



where she was

entertaining troops.



Reich Marshal Goering will issue

an official commendation...



for Mrs. Campbell's bravery.



I am sure

she would be very proud.



Yes. Yes, of course.



Is there anything I can do for you,

Herr Campbell?






"Good afternoon,

ladies and gentlemen.



This is

Howard W. Campbell, Jr...



the last free American...



speaking to you

from Berlin, Germany...



the heart of the free world.



As you know,

the Bolshevik hordes...



continue their barbaric

advance towards Berlin.



Let theJewish leaders who are

exalted by our temporary setbacks...



be warned that National Socialism

will never allow Germany...



to fall under the heels

of the black beast...



who terrorizes

our women and children.



As for my American brothers...



you are fools

if you believe your dictator...



Franklin Delano Rosenfeld,

is concerned with your welfare.



If you fail to heed

the warning of your Aryan brothers...



the fate that awaits you

is the fate you deserve.



German victory is certain,

for it is a moral victory.



The final blow will be

struck by Adolf Hitler.



This has been

Howard W. Campbell, Jr...



the last free American.



You may not hear from me

for a while.



Thank you for listening.

Heil Hitler. "



- Howard.

- Herr Noth.



Interesting time

to visit your in-laws.



If you wish to stay a while,

perhaps you can help me...



greet the Russians

when they arrive.



I'm going to the front.



Right over that way.



An easy walk from here.

You can make it in a day...



picking buttercups as you go.



May I ask

where you're moving to?



I'm staying here.



My wife is at my brother's home

in Cologne. Resi will join her today.



- But why stay here?

- With the Russian army at my doorstep?



I'm still the chief of police.



I'll not have my people say

I fled with my tail between my legs.



Is there anything I can do?




You can shoot Resi's dog.



It can't make the trip,

and I can't take care of it here...



so you can shoot it.



- Where is it?

- In the music room with Resi.



She knows it's to be shot.

You'll have no trouble with her.



All right.



You broke my heart

when you married my daughter.



I wanted a German soldier

for a son-in-law.



Yes. I know.



Because I hated you so much,

I studied you.



I listened to everything you said.



Never missed a broadcast.



Did you know that

until this very moment...



nothing would have

delighted me more...



than to prove you were a spy...



to see you shot?



Now I couldn't care less

if you are a spy.



- Do you know why?

- No.



Because now I know

that even if you were a spy...



you could never have served the enemy

as well as you served us.



All the ideals that make me

proud of being a Nazi...



they came not from Hitler...



not from Goebbels...



but from you.



You alone kept me from concluding

that Germany had gone insane.



Now, look how you've grown.



You are here to kill my dog...



aren't you?






But, Resi, it's not something

I want to do very much.



That's all right.



I never liked it anyway.



I just felt sorry for it.



I'm going to the front.

I just came to say good-bye.



Which front?



The Russian.



You'll die, then?



Well, maybe not.



Everybody who isn't dead now

will be dead soon...



including me.



I'm sure you're going to be fine.



That's all right.

It won't hurt.



Suddenly I just

won't be anymore.



Since we'll all be dead soon,

I might as well tell you something.



What is it?



I love you.



Oh, Resi,

that's very sweet.



No. I mean I really love you.



When Helga was alive

and you two would come here...



sometimes I envied her,

and sometimes I hated her.



When she died, I dreamt

I would grow up and marry you...



and be a famous actress,

and you'd write plays for me.



I see.



I'm very honored.



That's all right.

It doesn't mean anything now.



Nothing means anything.



Go ahead and shoot the dog.



Resi was only half right.



From what I could gather,

she was dead before long...



but I went on living.



Had I actually traveled

to the Russian front...



surely I would have died

as Resi predicted.



Instead, I motorcycled around

the German countryside...



thinking I could simply

wait out the war.



My little respite ended

two months later...



when I was captured by Lieutenant

Bernard B. O'Hare, American  rd Army.



I had said "good morning"

to him in passing...



and he recognized my voice

from the radio broadcasts.



O'Hare seemed to take all

the things I said rather personally.



After my capture,

the American army escorted me...



on a private tour

of the Nazi death camp at Oerdre.



They thought it would be

interesting to see my reaction...



to the fruits of my labor.



Take a good look

at your Kraut friends, Campbell...



'cause you're next.



To me,

they looked quite peaceful.



Two days later I was driven away

by two American soldiers.



I couldn't quite tell

if they knew who I was.



Well, Howard...



what did you think of that war?



Is that you, Wirtanen?



I got to hand it to you...

you lived through it.



- A lot of people didn't, you know.

- Yes.



Yes, I know.



I know. My wife.

My wife, for instance.



Yeah. Sorry about that. I found out

about that a few days before you did.



You found out about it before me?

How did you find that out?



That was one of the pieces

of information you broadcast that week.



I broadcast that...



that my wife had died?



I didn't even know it?

You knew she was dead and I didn't?



I would have liked

to have mourned.



Well, what happens to me now?



You've already disappeared.



The  rd Army's been relieved of ya.

There's no records to show your capture.



So, Howard,

where do you want to go from here?



Oh, I don't know.



I don't suppose there's a hero's

welcome waiting for me anywhere.






We can't exactly start bragging

about all the clever tricks we pulled.



We might need them again

for the next war.



No, your role

will remain classified...



and Uncle Sam's official position is

that you're the scum of the earth.



Scum of the earth, huh?



What about my parents?



I'm sorry, Howard.

They both died about six months ago.






Father first, and your mother

two days later. Heart both times.



Did anyone tell them

what I was really doing?



Come on, Howard.

What were we supposed to do?



Sacrifice our radio station

in the heart of Berlin...



for the peace of mind

of two old people?



Oh, no, no. We wouldn't want that!

How many people knew what I was doing?



- There were three of us.

- Just three?



- It's probably too many.

- Three people knew me for what I was?



Everyone else knew you

for what you were, too.



Wait. How can you say that?

You think I'm a Nazi? I wasn't a Nazi.



Well, let me ask you

something, Howard:



What would you have done

if Germany had won the war?



Marched right up to your pal

Goebbels and surrendered?



Told him you were actually

a patriotic American spy?



Yes, I might have marched in there!

I might have escaped. I don't know.



Oh, all right.

You want me to be a Nazi?



You go ahead.

Classify me as a Nazi.



You want to hang me? Go ahead

if you think it'll raise morale.



I don't consider this life

any great treasure.



Well, I just want you to know

how little we can really do for you.



How little?



False identity, some cash,

transportation to a new place...



Anywhere you'd like to go, Howard?

How 'bout New York?



You can lose yourself pretty easily.

Plenty of work if you want it.



All right.

New York then.



Of the three that knew

I was a spy, who were the other two?



The second was

General Donovan of the O.S. S...



and the third,

I'm sorry to say, is dead.



You used to attack him

every night on your broadcast.



You called him

Franklin Delano Rosenfeld.



He got a big kick out of that.

He used to listen to you every night.






"New York City




At first I lived

under a false name.



The idea was to start

from scratch, lead a new life.



After a while, though, it became clear

that I really had no life...



so the alias became unnecessary...



and I went back

to using my own name.



No one ever asked whether I was

the Howard W. Campbell, Jr.



All of my belongings,

like myself, were war surplus...



coming from recreation kits

intended for troops overseas.



They even included

phonograph records...



so I became the proud owner of    copies

of Bing Crosby's "White Christmas."



"Property of U.S. Gov't"



I survived my purgatory

in New York...



the same way I survived

the hell of wartime Germany...



I let my emotions be stirred

by only one thing...



my love for Helga.



It remained the permanent axis

about which my thoughts revolved.



To you, my love...



to your beauty

and to my undying devotion.



To das Reich der Zwei...



nation of two.



It's very nice, isn't it?



It's very dry.



Just the way you like it, hmm?






- Dr. Epstein?

- Yes.



I'm your neighbor from upstairs.



I've cut myself.



Well, you won't need stitches.



The blood often makes these things

look worse than they really are.



Well, thank you, Doctor.

I'm very grateful.



No problem.



I'm only sorry it took this

to provide an introduction.



Yes, yes.

No, you're right.



That's a very famous name

you have.



Pardon me?



You never heard of

Howard W. Campbell, Jr...



broadcasting from Berlin?



From Berlin...



Yes, I do remember now.



It was a long time ago.



I never listened to him,

but I remember he was in the news.



Those things fade.



Those things should fade.



That insane moment in history

should be forgotten.



You know of Auschwitz?



Yes, yes, of course

I know of Auschwitz.



That is where I spent

my young womanhood...



and my son the doctor here...



he spent his childhood.



- Oh, well, I'm sorry.

- Forget Auschwitz.



It doesn't do any good.






No need for amputation.



- Just keep it dry for a few days.

- Well, thank you.



No problem.

I'll see you out.



What? Pardon me?



I asked if you spoke German.



Oh. No, no, no.

I'm afraid not.




That's "good-bye," isn't it?



It's "till we meet again."



Oh. Till we meet again.



Well, auf Wiedersehen.









Campbell, it's Adolph Eichmann.



I'm in the cell above you.



Yes, Eichmann. Hello.



You're always typing in there...



day and night

and night and day...



typing, typing, typing...



Is it bothering you?



No. I'm a heavy sleeper.



I'm only curious.

Are you preparing your memoir?



Yes. A command performance

for the Haifa Institute.



You're a lucky man.



I'm lucky?



How do you consider me lucky?



You can type.

I'm writing mine longhand.



One day I got the idea that a hobby

might help pass the time in purgatory.






in my solitude

I had created something...



that could only be used in concert

with another human being.






George Kraft?



Who is it?



I'm Howard Campbell,

your neighbor from upstairs.



What do you want?



I want to know if you play chess.



I didn't know I had a painter

living under me.



Where do you show your work?



I don't show my work.



Well, you should.



You been painting all your life?



No, not really.



My wife died four years ago...



and I had the choice of either...



coming to Greenwich Village to be

a painter or blowing my brains out...



so I flipped a coin, and here I am.



At least you had painting

you could turn to.



What does that mean?

You mean you lost your wife too?



Yeah. I see you in the hallway

and I say, "yes...



this man too

is a member of the brotherhood."



- The brotherhood?

- Brotherhood of the walking wounded.



World's largest organization, and you

don't know it exists until you're in it.



You become a member when you lose

the one thing that gives life meaning.



And the thing that bonds you together,

that holds the group in one piece...



is the fact that the members

are absolutely incapable...



of speaking to one another.




I don't mean to rattle on.



How'd you lose your wife?



I can't speak about it.



Well, of course

you can't speak about it.



You're a member

of the brotherhood.



The day came

that I told him everything.



It all spilled out of me...



You know, I knew the war was over,

and Germany was going to lose...



and here I was an American spy.



My parents,

my boyhood in Germany...



about Helga

and our nation of two...



my blue fairy godmother,

the speeches, the code...



my capture

and my banishment to purgatory.



I didn't have anything to live for.

I lost my wife, I lost my nation of two.



George Kraft, my only living friend,

took it all in stride.



Yeah, but why doesn't

the government come forward and say...



"This man you're spitting on

is a hero"?



George, nobody spits on me.



Nobody even knows I'm alive.



Life continued unchanged...



for a while.



"The White Christian Minuteman

Supreme Court Demands U.S. Be Mongrel"



"An American Tragedy!"



Howard W. Campbell, Jr., a great writer

and fearless American patriot...



now lives in poverty and in loneliness

in a one-bedroom apartment...



at    Bethune Street

in New York City.



Such is the fate of thinking men

brave enough to tell the truth...



about the conspiracy of international

Jewish bankers and communists...



who won't rest until the body of every

American is hopelessly polluted...



with Negro and/ or Oriental blood. "



Maybe it was that lady downstairs...

Epstein's mother.



Why wouldn't she just

call the authorities?



Why would she send my address

to some racist newsletter?



Why don't you set the record straight?

It's time you wrote again anyway.



I'm afraid dead men don't

write very well.



That's not true.

All the best writers are dead.



That's the most truthful thing

you've said today.



Listen to me.

It's because while you're dead...



you have nothing to lose,

you can be completely courageous.



Find yourself a woman,

start writing again.



- A woman?

- A woman.



George, you better stop drinking.

My portrait's gonna look like a Picasso.



- Don't change the subject.

- I'm not changing the subject.



- Sit up.

- I am sitting up.



All right, I tell you what.

You get a woman, then I'll get one.



I don't need a woman.

I'm on fire for my muse.



You, however...

you're a mortal.



You need a woman.



- I already got one.

- No, you don't.



- Yes, I do.

- Had a woman.



- Past tense. She's dead.

- I don't wanna talk about this.



I'm only telling

you what you need to hear.



- If you're gonna speak the truth...

- Oh, God, did I hit a nerve?



- No, you didn't hit a nerve. I'm fine.

- I am so sorry.



No, don't be sorry.

Don't be humble, George.



- I'm abject. I feel really...

- No, you're not abject.



- Go ahead, talk. I can't hear you.

- God, I just...



I just shoot my mouth off,

and l...



I don't know...

I'm gonna...



One, two, three, rest.



One, two, three, four.



- Who is it?

- Howard W. Campbell, Jr.?



Who is it?



It's the Reverend Dr. Lionel Jones...



D.D.S., D.D.



I presume you received

our complimentary issue...



of the White Christian Minuteman.



It's all right, Howard.

I'm with friends.



Howard W. Campbell.



What an honor.



I feel as if my whole life

was leading up to this moment.



How do you do?



Please, allow me to introduce you

to my bodyguard...



August Krapptauer.



Vice Bundesfuehrer Emeritus

at the German-American Bund.



A great, great pleasure,

Mr. Campbell.



And my secretary,

Father Patrick Keeley...



former chaplain

of the Detroit Gun Club.



Words fail me, Herr Campbell.



Likewise, I'm sure.



- Could we get some water?

- Yeah, of course, of course.



The climb up your stairs was

quite an effort for our Mr. Krapptauer.



Might we bother you

for a glass of water?



All right. Come on in.



This is my good friend

and neighbor, George Kraft.



How do you do?



- Yours?

- Yes.



What a marvelous likeness

of our Mr. Campbell.



You've done a masterful job

capturing the jaw line.



Have you a background

in dentistry?



Dentistry? No.



Well, as one who's devoted his life

to dental medicine...



allow me to say that you have

perfectly duplicated...



Mr. Campbell's Aryan jaw line.



- Oh, I'm thrilled that you noticed.

- How could I miss it?



Are you familiar with my book,

Christ Was Not a Jew?



I could never find a copy.



Oh, that's too bad.



Father Keeley, make a note

that we must send Mr. Kraft...



an autographed copy.



In it, I reproduce

   famous paintings of Christ...



and point out that not one of them

shows Jewish jaws or teeth.



- I don't know what to say.

- Well...



I had to publish the book myself.



But what can you expect when

the publishing industry is run by Jews?



Oh, of course, forgive me.



I've been talking so much,

I almost forgot what brought us here.



What does bring you here, Jones?



A surprise for you, Mr. Campbell,

waiting downstairs.



Why don't you just tell me

what this is about?



Forgive me, Mr. Campbell...



but I have promised

not to spoil the surprise.



Now, I give my word...

if you're displeased...



we'll take it away with us

and leave you in peace.



- Where is it?

- At the bottom of the stairwell.



You can't miss it.



All right.



- Want me to go with you?

- No.



I'll be right back.



There is no room

in your life for me.



I will say good-bye...



and I will never bother you again.



No room in my life?



My life is nothing

but room for you.



God, you're alive.

How can it be?



Oh, look at you.

You haven't changed.



- I have so much to tell.

- Yes.



I always knew you'd come back.

I always knew that.



I just didn't know when or how.



There's somebody I want you to meet.

I want you to meet George Kraft.



- This is Helga.

- Hello. Welcome.



I presume you weren't disappointed.



How did you do this?

How did you bring my wife back to me?



A subscriber in West Germany

wired me...



that Mrs. Campbell had just arrived

as a refugee.



One day I learn that you're alive...



a month later

that your wife is alive.



Now, what can I call a coincident

like that but the hand of God?



Why don't we let Mr. And Mrs. Campbell

have a few minutes alone now?



Yes, of course. Our chauffeur will

bring up Mrs. Campbell's bags.



No need, no need.



- You fool, what are you doing?

- I'm fine, perfectly fine.



You're risking your life,

exerting yourself like that.



It's an honor to risk my life

for a man who served Adolph Hitler...



as well as Howard W. Campbell, Jr.



He's gone.



Maybe I should call an ambulance.




That's terrible, just terrible.



Poor, dear August.



Who's going to carry

the torch now?



Excuse me?

Everything all right up here?



No, as a matter of fact.

August just died.



Oh, no. That's a shame.



- Now, that's a real shame.

- Mr. Campbell...



Robert Sterling Wilson,

the black fuehrer of Harlem.



I heard about you,

but I never listened to you.



- That's all right.

- We was on different sides.



See, I was on the side with the colored

folks. I was with the Japanese.



I hear you say you didn't think

colored folks was so good.



Now, Robert, let's not squabble

amongst ourselves.



Let's all work to pull together.



Now I'm just telling him like I tell you

and the reverend every morning.



Colored people gonna have

a hydrogen bomb all their own...



and pretty soon they gonna give Japan

the honor of dropping the first one.






China, I guess.



On other colored people?



Now whoever told you

a Chinaman was colored?



Mutter, Vatter und Resi...



are all dead.



Yeah. Yes, I know.



But l... I am alive.






Well, l...



It's all right.

It doesn't matter.



Our life starts tonight.



We'll check into a hotel.



Tomorrow we'll find

a new place to live.



I've found an old store

that has our bed in it.



Do you remember our old bed?



- Yeah.

- Ja.



We'll start again

right where we left off.



Nation of two.



- Us.

- That's right.









we do not have to

check in to a hotel.



It's been so long.



I'm no longer a young man.



She had been captured and raped

in the Crimea...



and then shipped to the Ukraine

and put to work on a labor gang.



Nobody told her the war was over.



After her repatriation, she was sent

to Dresden, East Germany...



and put to work

in a cigarette factory.




she escaped to West Berlin...



and days later,

she was flying back to my embrace.



All that mattered now was that

our nation of two was whole again.



- Hello.

- Hello.



Welcome home.



Now here...

Here it is right here.



Excuse us. Here.



Helga, right here.

Here's the bed.



It's locked. Veterans Day.

It's Veterans Day. Damn it.



Oh, goddamn it!



Howard, you have changed.



Forgive me, I'm sorry.



Yes, I've changed, but people should

be changed by world wars.



Otherwise, what are world wars for?



Maybe you have changed so much

that you do not love me anymore.



How could you say that

after last night, huh?



We really have not talked

anything over.



But, Helga, what is there

to talk about?



No words could change

the way I feel.



Do you mean it?



Yes, of course I mean it.



Nothing I could say

could spoil it.



Nothing you could ever say

could spoil it.



Never, never.



I'm not Helga.



I'm Resi...



her little sister.






You said you loved me.



- How could you do this to me?

- I love you.



You love me? How could you love me?

You don't even know who I am.



When I got to West Berlin...



they gave me papers

to fill out...



name, occupation,

nearest living relative.



I had a choice.

I could stay Resi Noth...



secret machine operator

with no family anywhere...



or I could be Helga Noth...



famous actress and wife

of a brilliant, handsome playwright...



living in America.



A man I love deeply.



Who should I have been?



Howard, for ten years

in that factory...



the only things that kept me alive

were daydreams of being my sister Helga.



So Resi disappeared.



I don't know what to say.



You picked a hell of a person to be.



That is who I am.



I am Helga.



You believed it.



Was I or was I not Helga

to you last night?



That's a hell of a question

to ask a gentleman.



Am I entitled to an answer?



Would you sometime

write a play for me?



I don't think I can write anymore.



Did Helga inspire you to write?



Not to write,

but to write the way I wrote.



We used to say that

I wrote parts for her...



that let her play

the quintessence of Helga.



I want you to do that

for me one day.



The q...



- The quintes...

- Quintessence.



The quintessence of Resi.



Maybe I will.



Resi was growing younger

by the second.



Although she had bleached her hair white

to appear older...



it now spoke to me of peroxide...



and girls who run away to Hollywood.



Finally, I have a home.



It takes a heap of living

to make a house a home.



- Who did that?

- Who did what?






Howard Campbell?



You know him?



It's funny...

You look just like him.



Don't that look

like the gentleman you're with?



Let me see.



"Israel Locates

War Criminal in U.S."



Before the Jews put you in the zoo,

I'm gonna have some fun with you myself.



You felt that one, huh?

That was for Private Irvin Buchanan.



- Is that you?

- No, he was my best friend.



Five miles in from Omaha Beach,

the Germans, they cut his nuts off...



and they hung him

from a telephone pole.



And this... this is for Axel Brewer.



He got run over

by a tiger tank in Aachen.



- This is for Eddie McCarty.

- Please!



He got cut in half

by a schmeizer.



And this... this is for...



Do not speak, liebling.



- Where are we?

- We are safe.



You have been asleep.

They will not find us here.



- Who won't find us here?

- The Jews, sweetheart.



What's on my chest?



You had your ribs taped up.



By whom?



The doctor who lives

in your building.



- Epstein.

- Ja, that was him. He was very nice.



I used his phone to call Dr. Jones,

and he brought us here.



How nice to have friends.



Ja, come in.



- How's he doing?

- He has just woken up.



How's your head?






- You ought to take an aspirin.

- Thanks for the advice.



You see, most things in this world

don't work, but aspirin do.



Resi, the newspapers...



Is it true the Israelis

want to put me on trial?



Dr. Jones says the American government

will not let you go...



but the Jews will send men

to kidnap you...



like they did Herr Eichmann.



It ain't like having a Jew here,

a Jew there after you.



They got everything after you

but the Jewish hydrogen bomb.



What the hell is that?



That was your friend.



- Jones?

- No, George Kraft.



What's George doing here?



He is coming with us.

We are all leaving the country.



Dr. Jones has made

the arrangements.



Howard! Look who's up and around.

How do you feel?



I'd stand a better chance if it weren't

for the racket you're making.



Sorry, just killing a little time.

God, you scared me half to death.



I was worried sick about you.



You know, it was bound to happen

sooner or later.



Well, it's all for the best.

You'll see.



You'll have a new identity,

get a new place, new country...



be able to start writing again.



I might even be a better painter

in Mexico.



- Mexico?

- Well, look who's back on his feet.



Well, I guess you can't keep

a good man down.



That's the spirit.




Wednesday night is

the weekly meeting...



of the Iron Guard of the White Sons

of the American Constitution.



Father Keeley and I want to stage a

memorial service for August Krapptauer.



We thought that perhaps you,

being Krapptauer's mentor...



might say a few words.



I've thought of a general theme,

if that helps.



I'm sure I could use one.



I think the theme should be...



"His Truth Goes Marching On."



What could I possibly say

to a bunch of junior storm troopers?



I knew their fearless leader

for all of    seconds...



before he dropped dead

on my stairway.



You'll find the right words.



You always do.



When we get to Mexico...



I'm going to write again.



Did I have something to do

with this miracle?



Mm-hmm, everything.



Very little, but some.






The real miracle...



is the talent you were born with.



The real miracle is your ability

to raise the dead.



- The love does that.

- Yes.



It raised me too.



Today, the mayor admitted

his embarrassment...



that a notorious war criminal

had been living an anonymous life...



in New York

for at least some of that time.



He also noted that neither he

nor the United States government...



have any authority to hand Campbell over

to the Israeli government for trial.



However, it all may be a moot point.



Howard W. Campbell has,

once again, escaped without a trace.



This is Campbell's

last known residence.



The modest apartment in Greenwich

Village has been vandalized...



by locals angered by Campbell's

latest escape from justice.



The United States government

has promised to make a full review...



of Campbell's citizenship status...



and to find out why he was never

brought to trial previously.



In the meantime, Israel has stepped up

its demands for Campbell...



encouraged by the idea that he may not

be a citizen of the U. S...



that he may, in fact,

be a citizen of nowhere at all.



We must never forget that

a propagandist of Campbell's sort...

"Israeli Vice-Consul"



is every bit as much of a mass murderer

as Eichmann, Himmler and even Hitler.



How many millions of people

lost their lives...



because of the lies he spread

during the war?



We will find Campbell,

just as we found Eichmann.



A man can't hide forever

when his hands are covered...



with the blood

of six million human beings.



"Work Makes You Free"

Howard W. Campbell, Jr...



wanted to be here tonight...



to tell you of his long and fulfilling

association with your fallen hero.



But he's asked me to make this

brief statement to you...



on his behalf.



The truth of your leader,

August Krapptauer, and those like him...



will be with mankind forever...



as long as there are men and women

who listen to their guts...



instead of their minds.



And now for a special treat.



A subscriber to the

White Christian Minuteman in Vermont...



has made us a loan

of some very rare material...



which I'm sure you'll find

most inspiring.






Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

This is Howard W. Campbell, Jr...



the last free American.



Tonight, I would like to ask

a common question:



Why are we enemies of theJew?



The answer is simple.



TheJew is the cause

and the beneficiary of our slavery.



He has made two halves

of the fatherland.



TheJew has no interest in the solution

of Germany's problems.



He can't.

He wants them to remain unsolved.



You see, he has a better trump in

his hand if a nation lives in slavery...



than one that is free.



TheJew is the cause

of our misery...



and today he lives on our trust.



And that is why,

as National Socialists...



we are enemies of theJew.



He has ruined our race,

rotted our morals...



corrupted our traditions

and broken our power.



As long as we are true

to our Aryan heritage...



he is a leper among us.



If we ignore our destiny, he will

triumph over us and our future.



TheJew is the plastic demon

of the fall of mankind.



He thrives in filth and garbage,

and he spreads disease.



He steals our possessions

and lusts after our women.



He pretends to be afraid

of this victim...



and before the unfortunate one knows it,

his neck is broken.



We areJew-haters

because we are proud to be Aryans.



It isn't true that we eat a Jew

with every breakfast.



But it is true that theJew

is slowly eating away at our future.



That is going to change

as surely as we are Aryans...



as surely as world supremacy...



is the birthright

of the Aryan race.



"Leave Thru Coal Bin Door.

Cross Alley #   . Life In Danger!"

This has been Howard W. Campbell, Jr...



the last free American.



Thank you for listening.



Heil Hitler.



I gotta admit, Howard, act three

had me on the edge of my seat.



My blue fairy godmother.



I was beginning to wonder

if you really existed.



I exist all right.

I'm just retired. Eight years now.



Imagine my surprise when they called me

out of retirement two months ago.



- For me?

- Yeah.



- Why all this sudden interest in me?

- That's what I'm supposed to find out.



Well, it's no mystery

why the Israelis wouldn't want me.



No, the mystery is why the Russians

should think you're such a fat prize.



The Russians?

What Russians?



Well, at least two in this country.



One is your friend,

Colonel Iona Potipov.



- Potipov?

- Sorry, you know him as George Kraft.



He's been operating in the U.S.

As a Russian spy since '  .



George Kraft's not a spy.



- I mean, George told me about his wife.

- His wife?



In Indianapolis who died four years ago?

No such person.



He's got a wife, all right,

still living in Proscurov.



He just hasn't seen her for    years.



I don't imagine he's mentioned the three

children or nine grandchildren.



- Kraft, he was...

- Potipov.



Whatever. He was living

in the building for three years.



I mean, he didn't

introduce himself to me.



I went downstairs.

I introduced myself to him.



From what I can tell, you weren't part

of his original agenda.



Just sort of an unexpected perk.



Everything was nice and quiet

until he sent an anonymous letter...



to your protege, Dr. Jones,

telling him where you were.



Then the excrement

really hit the air-conditioning.



It was Kraft.



If it makes you feel any better,

he really is a painter.



I don't think much of his work,

but what do I know about art?



Maybe it's okay. Maybe that's

the one thing you can't fake.



Maybe you're the exception

to that too.



What was Kraft's plan for me?



Well, when he tipped off Jones...



he knew you'd become news again.



He figured he could get you out of the

country easier and stay by your side.



And you could be kidnapped

with fewer international complications.



I see. I see.






you said there was two Russian spies.



Who's the other?




Nah, Jones is

the one true friend you got.



Seems he's the only one

with your best interest at heart.



Who's the other one?



No, not Resi.



No, goddamn you!

Not Resi!



Relax, Howard,

I'm only the messenger.



You're a goddamn liar.



I'm sure she had you thinking about your

new life and how nice it would be...



but it wouldn't have gone that way.



When you got to the airport in Mexico

City, there'd be a second plane...



and off you'd go on a one-way trip

to Moscow, all expenses paid.



What could the Russians

possibly want...



with such a burned-out piece

of World War II surplus?



They can exhibit you

as a prime example...



of the fascist war criminals

that this country shelters.



They also hope you'll confess

to all sorts of collusion...



between the Nazis and Americans

before and after the war.



I think that's our echo.



You've been typing

for almost    hours straight.



Me, I've barely written

five pages in as many days.



When do you eat?



I don't know.



I hear your trial starts

in a couple of days.



Where's your lawyer?



He's trying to find the one person

who'll corroborate my defense.



So far I'm told he

doesn't exist.



Listen, Campbell,

can I give you some advice?






Spend some time

in the exercise yard...



or have them bring in

a radio or television.



You've got to learn to relax.



It is important to learn

how to relax.



That's how I got here!



Hey, Eichmann, can I ask you

a personal question?






Do you believe you're guilty

of murdering six million Jews?



Absolutely not.



Oh, you were simply a soldier,

were you?



Taking orders from higher-ups,

is that right, Eichmann...



like any good soldier?



- Campbell?

- Yes.



- About those six million...

- Yes?



I don't need credit for all of them.



I'm sure I could spare you a few.



- Where were you?

- We were worried about you, old boy.



- You are cold.

- I just stepped outside for some air.



- That was a bit of a risk, wasn't it?

- Yeah, it was a bit of a risk...



but you know what Jones says:

"I'll sacrifice anything for the truth."



This is torture having to stay

in this cramped room...



for the fear of our lives.



How can people treat us like this?



Oh, I don't know, Resi.



You know, in spite of everything...



I still believe people

are really good at heart.



You know?



Tomorrow we will start our new lives,

and then you will be able to relax.



Oh, yes, to relax.



- You know, I was thinking...

- What? Tell me.



I was thinking that maybe Mexico

isn't what we want.



We can just go on from there.



Maybe right at the Mexico City airport,

we could just get right on another jet.






I don't know.

We could go to the Caribbean.



- We could go to Moscow maybe.

- Moscow?



That's a novel idea.



- You don't like it?

- I would have to think about it.



I want you

to think about it, too, okay?



- Yeah, if you want.

- Yeah.



You know,

the more I think about it...



the better it sounds.



What can you possibly

find interesting about Moscow?



Well, I don't know.

I'd like to visit an old friend.



You never told me

you had a friend in Moscow.



Gee, George, I guess it just

never came up in a conversation.



What's his name?



Colonel Iona Potipov.



- Don't know him.

- Don't know him, huh?



It doesn't matter. He's just a spy

trying to get me to Mexico City...



so I can be kidnapped

and flown to Russia to stand trial.



- That is not...

- Don't even think about it.



God, Howard, this is ridiculous.



Cowboys and Indians.



Yeah, all right, George.



Howard, this is not who I am.

This is the way things are.



Nobody should know that

better than you.



- Yeah. Yeah.

- Sweetheart.



That dream about Mexico...

it was really true.



Tomorrow we were all

going to escape.



It was our mission

to get to Moscow...



but then I was not going

to go through with it...



because I love you.



I told you I was not gonna go through

with it, did I not?



Yes, you did.

She told me.



And he agreed with me. He came up

with the dream of Mexico...



where we would all get out

of this trap together.



- How did you find out?

- American agents.



They'll be raiding our

happy little home any minute now.



That's unfortunate.



Then we must leave right now, liebling,

while we still can.



It's too late, darling.

We're already surrounded.



- Then we will fight them.

- Resi, you don't understand.



I said, we are surrounded.



Does that matter?



Yes, of course that matters. We...



You mean,

why don't I die for love...



like a hero

in a Howard W. Campbell play?






Ja, that is exactly

what I mean.



Let us die together...

here and now.



You have a full life ahead of you.



I have a full life behind me.



All in those few sweet hours

with you.



Sounds like a line

I might have written as a young man.



It is a line you wrote

as a young man.



A foolish young man.



I adore that man.



I'm sorry, I can't congratulate you

on your taste in men.



You no longer...



you no longer believe

that love is the only thing to live for?



Well, no.



Then tell me what to live for.



Tell me anything.

It does not have to be love.



Anything at all!

I will live for that chair...



or that picture on the wall

or that crack over there!



Just tell me.

Tell me what you live for...



and I will live for that too!



Resi, what I live for is...



I'm an old man.



I will show you what to live for.



I will show you a woman

who dies for love.



No, Resi.

No, no, my God.



Don't move a muscle.



The morning after the raid

on Jones's basement...



I was released...



thanks, I suppose,

to my blue fairy godmother.



I was deposited

onto the streets of New York...



restored to the mainstream of life.



I took several steps

down the sidewalk...



when something happened.



It was not guilt that froze me.



I had taught myself

never to feel guilt.



It wasn't the fear of death.



I had taught myself

to think of death as a friend.



It was not the thought

of being unloved that froze me.



I had taught myself

to do without love.



What froze me was the fact

that I had absolutely no reason...



to move in any direction.



Are you all right?






Been standing there a long time.



Waiting for somebody?



You lost?



Better move on then,

don't you think?






"Nazi Pig"



"Keep Out"



"Let's Finish The Job!"



Who is it?



- It's Howard Campbell.

- What do you want?



Could I come in?



You're going to have to tell me

what this is about.



I want to go to Israel

to stand trial.






I want to be tried

for my crimes against humanity.



What do you want from me?



I want to surrender

to an Auschwitzer.



Then find one who thinks

of Auschwitz all the time.



And don't speak Yiddish!

We are in America now!



If you can't remember,

I will remember for both of us.



- You still want revenge, is that it?

- Yes.



Then go on with your plan

because it proves nothing.



Mr. Campbell,

I think I can help you.



Thank you.






"Translation: 'Corpse carriers

to the guardhouse."'






"My Trial"






"Dear Howard...



The discipline of a lifetime now

collapses like the walls ofJericho.



What is the tune

that Joshua's trumpet plays?



Is that the music of my conscience?

I doubt it. I've done you no wrong.



I think the music must be an old

soldier's itch for a little treason.



And treason this letter is.



I hereby violate

my direct and explicit orders...



and identify myself as the man

you knew as Frank Wirtanen. "



I affirm and will affirm

under oath...



that I recruited you

as an American agent...



and that you,

at great personal sacrifice...



became one of the most effective

agents of the Second World War.



If there must be a trial

of Howard W. Campbell, Jr...



let it be one hell of a contest...



and may justice be served.



Yours truly, Frank.



May justice be served.



I like the sound of that.



They say that a hanging man

hears glorious music.



I wonder what it sounds like.




Special help by SergeiK