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("s'Rothe-Zäuerli" by Öse Schuppel playing)
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(tapping paper)
It is an extremely common mistake.
People think the writer's imagination
is always at work,
that he's constantly inventing
an endless supply of incidents and episodes.
That he simply dreams up his stories out of thin air.
In point of fact,
the opposite is true.
Once the public knows you're a writer,
they bring the characters and events to you,
and as long as you maintain your ability to look
and to carefully listen,
these stories will continue to...
Stop it! Stop it!
Don't! Don't do it!
(clattering in distance)
Uh... will continue to seek you out,
uh, over your lifetime.
To him who has often told the tales of others,
many tales will be told.
It's all right.
The incidents that follow
were described to me exactly as I present them here
and in a wholly unexpected way.
A number of years ago,
while suffering from a mild case of scribe's fever,
a form of neurasthenia common
among the intelligentsia of that time,
I decided to spend the month of August
in the spa town of Nebelsbad,
below the Alpine Sudetenwaltz,
and had taken up rooms in the Grand Budapest--
a picturesque, elaborate
and once widely celebrated establishment.
I expect some of you will know it.
YOUNG WRITER: It was off season,
and by that time, decidedly out of fashion,
and it had already begun its descent into shabbiness
and eventual demolition.
What few guests we were
had quickly come to recognize one another by sight,
as the only living souls
residing in the vast establishment.
Although I do not believe any acquaintance
among our number had proceeded
beyond the polite nods we exchanged
as we passed in the Palm Court
and the Arabian Baths and onboard
the Colonnade Funicular.
We were a very reserved group, it seemed,
and without exception...
solitary.
(the clinking of dishes and utensils echoing)
Perhaps as a result of this general silence,
I'd established a casual
and bantering familiarity with the hotel's concierge,
a West-continental known only as Monsieur Jean,
who struck one as being at once both lazy and...
really quite accommodating.
I expect he was not well paid.
In any case, one evening,
as I stood conferring elbow to elbow
with Monsieur Jean, as had become my habit,
I noticed a new presence in our company.
A small, elderly man, smartly dressed,
with an exceptionally lively, intelligent face
and an immediately perceptible air of sadness.
He was, like the rest of us, alone,
but also, I must say,
he was the first that struck one as being
deeply and truly lonely,
a symptom of my own medical condition as well.
Who's this interesting old fellow?
I inquired of Monsieur Jean.
To my surprise, he was distinctly taken aback.
He asked.
Don't you recognize him?
He did look familiar.
That's Mr. Moustafa himself.
He arrived early this morning.
This name will, no doubt,
be familiar to the more seasoned persons among you.
Mr. Zero Moustafa was, at one time,
the richest man in Zubrowka,
and was still indeed the owner of the Grand Budapest.
He often comes and stays a week or more.
Three times a year, at least, but never in the season.
Monsieur Jean signaled to me,
and I leaned closer.
I'll tell you a secret.
He takes only a single bed sleeping room
without a bath in a rear corner of the top floor,
and it's smaller than the service elevator.
It was well-known
Zero Moustafa had purchased and famously inhabited
some of the most lavish castles
and palazzos on the continent.
Yet here, in his own nearly empty hotel,
he occupied a servant's quarters?
At that moment, the curtain rose
on a parenthetical domestic drama...
***.
...which required the immediate
and complete attention of Monsieur Jean...
(dog barking)
...but frankly, did not hold mine for long.
(elevator bell dings, dog barks)
However, this premature intermission
in the story of the curious old man
had left me, as the expression goes,
"gespannt wie ein Flitzebogen."
That is, "on the edge of my seat,"
where I remained throughout the next morning until--
in what I found to be its mysterious
and utterly reliable fashion--
fate, once again, intervened on my behalf.
MR. MOUSTAFA: I admire your work.
I beg your pardon?
I said,
I know and admire
your wonderful work.
Thank you most kindly, sir.
Did Monsieur Jean have a word or two to share with you
about the... aged proprietor of this establishment?
I must confess, I did myself...
inquire about you.
He's perfectly capable, of course, Monsieur Jean,
but we can't claim he's a first-,
or in earnest, even a second-rate concierge,
but there it is.
Times have changed.
The thermal baths are very beautiful.
They were,
in their first condition.
It couldn't be maintained, of course.
Too decadent for current tastes,
but I love it all just the same,
this enchanting old ruin.
How did you come to buy it, if I may ask?
The Grand Budapest.
(grunts)
(clunking, water sloshing)
I didn't.
(water spraying)
(indistinct, distant shouting)
(man shouting)
(shouts echoing from distance)
If you're not merely being polite--
and you must tell me if that's the case--
but if it genuinely does interest you,
may I invite you to dine with me tonight?
And it will be my pleasure
and indeed, my privilege, to tell you
my story,
such as it is.
(Mr. Moustafa speaking indistinctly)
Two ducks roasted with olives,
rabbit,
(grunts)
Pouilly-Jouvet '52.
Plus a split of the brute.
(snaps)
That should provide us ample time,
if I commence promptly.
By all means.
(cork pops)
♪ ♪
(chuckles)
Well, it begins, as it must,
with our mutual friend's predecessor,
the beloved original concierge of the Grand Budapest.
It begins, of course, with...
(wind blowing gently)
(knocking on door)
Bring the table to the window.
Bring the tray to the table.
Right away, Monsieur Gustave.
Right there.
Have those been brushed and blocked?
Pack them in the hatboxes.
Is that from Oberstdorf & Company?
Second trunk.
I do, Monsieur Gustave.
Give them to me.
These are in order.
Wait in the corner.
I'm not leaving.
I beg your pardon?
Why not?
I'm frightened.
Of what?
I fear this may be the last time we ever see each other.
Why on earth would that be the case?
Well, I can't put it into words, but I feel it.
Well, for goodness sake,
there's no reason for you to leave us.
Come with me.
To *** Lutz?
Please?
Give me your hand.
You've nothing to fear.
You're always anxious before you travel.
I admit you appear to be suffering a more acute attack
on this occasion, but truly and honestly...
Oh, dear God, what have you done to your fingernails?
This diabolical varnish.
The color is completely wrong.
Oh, really? Don't you like it?
It's not that I don't like it.
I-I am physically repulsed.
Perhaps this will soothe you.
"While questing once in..."
Just listen to the words.
Hush.
"While questing once in noble wood of gray, medieval pine,
"I came upon a tomb, rain-slick'd,
"rubbed-cool, ethereal;
"its inscription long-vanished,
yet still within its melancholy fissures..."
MADAME D.: Will you light a candle for me, please?
In the sacristy of Santa Maria?
I'll see to it myself, immediately.
Remember...
I'm always with you.
I love you.
I love you. Abfahren!
(engine revving)
It's quite a thing,
winning the loyalty of a woman like that
for 19 consecutive seasons.
Um, yes, sir.
She's very fond of me, you know.
Yes, sir.
I've never seen her like that before.
No, sir.
She was shaking like a *** dog.
Truly.
Run to the cathedral of Santa Maria in Brucknerplatz.
Buy one of the plain, half-length candles
and take back four Klubecks in change.
Light it in the sacristy, say a brief rosary,
then go to Mendl's and get me a courtesan au chocolat.
If there's any money left,
give it to the crippled shoe-shine boy.
(spits)
Right away, sir.
Hold it.
Who are you?
I'm Zero, sir, the new lobby boy.
Zero, you say?
Well, I've never heard of you,
never laid eyes on you. Who hired you?
Mr. Mosher, sir.
Mr. Mosher!
Yes, Monsieur Gustave?
Am I to understand
you've surreptitiously hired this young man
in the position of a lobby boy?
He's been engaged for a trial period,
pending your approval, of course.
Uh, perhaps, yes.
Thank you, Mr. Mosher.
You're most welcome, Monsieur Gustave.
You're now going to be officially interviewed.
Uh, should I go and light the candle first, sir?
The candle.
(door squeaks)
Experience?
Hotel Kinski, kitchen boy, six months.
Hotel Berlitz, mop and broom boy, three months.
Before that I was a skillet scrubber...
Experience: zero.
Thank you again, Monsieur Gustave.
Straighten that cap, Anatole.
The pleasure's mine, Herr Schneider.
These are not acceptable.
I fully agree.
Education?
I studied reading and spelling.
I-I started my primary school.
Education: zero.
Good morning, Cicero.
Call the *** plumber.
This afternoon, Monsieur Gustave.
What in the hell is this?
Not now.
Family?
Zero.
Six, Igor.
Why do you want to be a lobby boy?
Well, who wouldn't
at the Grand Budapest, sir?
It's an institution.
Very good.
(laughs quietly)
A thousand Klubecks.
My goodness.
Were you ever a lobby boy, sir?
What do you think?
Well, I suppose you'd have to start somewhere.
Oh, go light the *** candle.
Yes, sir.
(door creaks open)
MR. MOUSTAFA: And so my life began.
Junior lobby boy in training,
Grand Budapest Hotel,
under the strict command of Monsieur Gustave H.
I became his pupil,
and he was to be my counselor and guardian.
GUSTAVE: What is a lobby boy?
A lobby boy is completely invisible,
yet always in sight.
A lobby boy remembers what people hate.
A lobby boy anticipates the client's needs
before the needs are needed.
A lobby boy is, above all, discrete to a fault.
Our guests know their deepest secrets--
some of which are, frankly, rather unseemly--
will go with us to our graves.
So keep your mouth shut, Zero.
Yes, sir.
That's all for now.
MR. MOUSTAFA: I began to realize
that many of the hotel's most valued
and distinguished guests
came for him.
It seemed to be an essential part of his duties,
but I believe it was also his pleasure.
The requirements were always the same.
They had to be rich,
old,
insecure,
vain,
superficial,
blond, needy.
Why blond?
Because they all were.
He was, by the way,
the most liberally perfumed man I had ever encountered.
The scent announced his approach
from a great distance
and lingered for many minutes after he was gone.
(sniffing)
I worked six days each week,
plus a half-day Sunday,
5:00 a.m. until just after midnight.
Our meals were small,
but frequent for stamina.
Two breakfasts, two lunches,
and a late supper.
Monsieur Gustave also delivered a nightly sermon.
Rudeness is merely the expression of fear.
People fear they won't get what they want.
The most dreadful and unattractive person
only needs to be loved,
and they will open up like a flower.
I'm reminded of a verse.
"The painter's brush touched the inchoate face
"by ends of nimble bristles,
"and with their blush of first color,
rendered her lifeless cheek living."
MR. MOUSTAFA: His own dinner,
he took alone in his room.
♪ ♪
(teakettle whistling)
The identity of the owner of the hotel
was unknown to all of us.
Each month, his emissary, known as
Deputy Kovacs, arrived
to review the books and convey messages
on behalf of the mysterious proprietor.
On these occasions,
Monsieur Gustave and our business manager,
Herr Becker, met with him in private consultation
above reception.
This was also when I met Agatha.
(sighs)
♪ ♪
But we won't discuss that.
♪ ♪
(rustling)
(door closes)
(snow crunching underfoot)
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Look.
GUSTAVE: Dear God.
I'm terribly sorry, sir.
We must go to her.
Tout de suite.
She needs me, and I need you,
to help me with my bags and so on.
Attendez-moi, darling.
Five minutes.
Do it, and bring a bottle of the Pouilly-Jouvet '26
in an ice bucket with two glasses,
so we don't have to drink the cat ***
ZERO: Yeah...
I blame myself.
She tried to tell me she had a premonition.
I didn't listen.
All of Lutz will be dressed in black, except her own ghastly,
deceitful children, whom she loathed
and couldn't bear to kiss hello.
They'll be dancing like gypsies.
There's really no point in doing anything in life,
because it's all over in the blink of an eye--
and the next thing you know, rigor mortis sets in.
Oh, how the good die young.
With any luck, she's left a few Klubecks
for your old friend,
but one never knows until the ink is dry
on the death certificate.
She was dynamite in the sack, by the way.
She was 84,
Monsieur Gustave.
I've had older.
When you're young, it's all fillet steak,
but as the years go by, you have to move on
to the cheaper cuts,
which is fine with me, because I like those.
More flavorful, or so they say.
(brakes squealing)
Why are we stopping at a barley field?
(militia shouting orders indistinctly)
Well, hello there, chaps.
Documents please.
With pleasure.
It's not a very flattering portrait, I'm afraid.
I was once considered a great beauty.
What's the "F" stand for?
Fritz? Franz?
Franz.
I knew it!
He's making a funny face.
That's a Migratory Visa
with Stage Three Worker Status, Franz, darling.
He's with me.
Come outside, please.
Now, wait a minute. Sit down, Zero.
His papers are in order; I cross-referenced them myself
with the Bureau of Labor and Servitude.
You can't arrest him simply because he's a bloody immigrant.
He hasn't done anything wrong.
Stop it! Damn you, damn you.
Never mind, Monsieur Gustave.
Let them proceed.
Ow! That hurt!
(grunting in pain)
You filthy ***, pockmarked,
fascist ***!
Take your hands off my lobby boy!
(door thumps open)
What's the problem?
This is outrageous.
The young man works for me
at the Grand Budapest Hotel in Nebelsbad.
Monsieur Gustave?
My name is Henckles.
I'm the son of Dr. and Mrs. Wolfgang
Henckles-Bergersdorfer.
Do you remember me?
I know exactly who you are.
It's uncanny.
You're little Albert.
I'm terribly embarrassed. Release them.
Release them!
Hmm.
Your colleague is stateless.
He'll need to apply for a revised Special Transit Permit,
which, at this point, may be very difficult
to acquire.
Take this.
It's temporary,
but that's the best I can offer, I'm afraid.
And how's your wonderful mother?
She's very well, thank you.
Yeah, I adore her. Send my love.
I will.
Your companion was very kind to me
when I was a lonely little boy.
My men and I apologize for disturbing you.
(clicks heels together)
(door closes)
(train engine chugging)
You see, there are still faint glimmers
of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse
that was once known as humanity.
Indeed, that's what we provide,
in our own modest,
humble, insignificant...
Oh, *** it.
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
Where is she, Clotilde?
Take me to her.
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
You're looking so well, darling. You really are.
They've done a marvelous job.
I don't know what sort of cream they've put on you
down at the morgue, but I want some.
Honestly, you look better than you have in years.
You look like you're alive.
(sighs)
Oh, you changed it after all.
It's perfect.
Oui, Monsieur Gustave?
A glass of chilled water with no ice, please?
Oh.
All right then.
I shan't be long, darling.
MR. MOUSTAFA: We were escorted
through a green baize door,
down a narrow service corridor,
and into the butler's pantry.
A moment later, the kitchen passage swung open,
and a small servant dressed in white
jolted into the room.
I've never forgotten the look on that man's face.
What the devil is going on?
I myself had never set foot
inside a house of this kind in my life.
I understood very little
about the events that were to follow,
but eventually, I came to recognize
when the destiny of a great fortune is at stake,
men's greed spreads
like a poison in the bloodstream.
Uncles, nephews, cousins,
in-laws of increasingly tenuous connection.
The old woman's most distant relations
had come foraging out of the woodwork.
At the head of this congregation--
it was a disorienting coincidence--
we discovered our own Deputy Kovacs,
himself an important attorney, of course.
He was the executor of the dead widow's estate.
(murmuring quiets)
This is Madame D.'s last will and testament.
It consists of a general tontine
drawn up before the event of her husband's death
46 years ago.
In combination with 635 amendments,
notations, corrections and letters of wishes
executed during these subsequent decades.
The ultimate legality of this accumulation
requires further analysis,
but in the opinion of this office,
it was Madame D.'s intention
that control of the vast bulk of her estate
should be transferred, forthwith,
to her son Dmitri,
with special allowances for his sisters
Marguerite, Laetizia and Carolina,
and minor gifts for various members
of the extended family,
as shown in the list of recipients,
which I will elucidate in due course.
(murmuring)
However...
...an additional codicil,
delivered into my possession by post
only this morning, and by all indications,
sent by Madame D.
during the last hours of her life,
contains an amendment to the original certificate,
which, as prescribed by law,
I will read to you now.
The authenticity of this document
has not yet been confirmed by the presiding magistrate,
so I ask that all parties be patient
and refrain from comment
until such time as our investigations
can be completed.
(knuckles cracking)
"To my esteemed friend,
"who comforted me in my later years
"and brought sunshine into the life of an old woman
"who thought that she would never be happy again,
Monsieur Gustave H.--"
"...I bequeath, bestow and devise, free of all taxation,
"and with full and absolute fiduciary entitlement
the painting known as Boy with Apple..."
"...by Johannes van Hoytl..."
I can't believe it
What?
"...which gave us both so much pleasure..."
Can she do that?
Who's Gustave H.?
I'm afraid that's me, darling.
DMITRI: That *** ***!
He's a concierge!
What are you doing here?
I've come to pay my respects
to a great woman whom I loved.
This man is an intruder in my home.
It's not yours yet, Dmitri.
Only when probate is granted and the Deed of Entitlement...
You're not getting Boy with Apple,
you *** little fruit.
(stammers quietly)
How is that supposed to make me feel?
Call the police! We're pressing charges.
This criminal has plagued my family for nearly 20 years.
He's a ruthless adventurer and a con artist
who preys on mentally feeble, sick old ladies,
and he probably *** them, too.
I go to bed with all my friends.
(crowd gasping)
(grunts, gasping continues)
Where's Céline?
What?
She's dead.
We're reading her will.
Oh, yes, yes, of course.
If I learn you ever once laid a finger on my mother's body,
living or dead, I swear to God,
I'll cut your throat. You hear me?!
I thought I was supposed to be a *** ***.
You are, but you're bisexual.
Let's change the subject.
I'm leaving.
That picture, Boy with Apple,
is priceless, understand?
Congratulations, Monsieur Gustave.
They're gonna fight me for the son of a ***.
Is it very beautiful?
Beyond description.
"E'en the most gifted bard's rhyme can only sing
"but to the lack of her and all she isn't.
His tongue doth..."
Can I see it?
I don't see why not.
(door opens, closes)
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
This is van Hoytl's
exquisite portrayal of a beautiful boy
on the cusp of manhood.
Blond, smooth, skin as white as that milk.
Of impeccable provenance.
One of the last in private hands,
and unquestionably the best.
It's a masterpiece.
The rest of this *** is worthless junk.
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
What did you want to tell me?
Before?
I think I cannot say right now.
Write me tomorrow.
Lutzbahn Station.
(engine starts, revs)
GUSTAVE: I'll never part with it.
It reminded her of me.
It will remind me of her always.
I'll die with this picture above my bed.
See the resemblance?
Uh, oh, yes.
Actually, we should sell it,
sooner rather than later,
in case they try to steal it back.
Plus, something about those lunatic foot soldiers
on the Express, I think this could be a tricky war
and a long dry spell in the hotel trade.
For all we know, they could board us up tomorrow.
Let's make a solemn blood pact.
We'll contact the black market
and liquidate Boy with Apple by the end of the week,
then leave the country and lay low
somewhere along the Maltese Riviera
until the troubles blow over and we resume our posts.
In exchange for your help, your loyalty,
and your services as my personal valet,
I pledge to you 1.5% of the net sales price.
1.5?
Plus room and board.
Couldn't make it ten?
Ten? Are you joking?
That's more than I'd pay an actual dealer,
and you wouldn't know chiaroscuro
from chicken giblets.
No, 1.5 is correct,
but I'll tell you what, if I die first,
and I most certainly will, you will be my sole heir.
There's not much in the kitty,
except a set of ivory-backed hairbrushes
and my library of romantic poetry,
but when the time comes, these will be yours.
Along with whatever we haven't already spent
on *** and whiskey.
This is our sacred bond.
I'll draw it up right now.
I, Monsieur Gustave H.,
being of relatively sound mind and body on this day,
the 19th of October in the year of our Lord, 1932...
MR. MOUSTAFA: He never told me
where he came from.
I never asked who his family had been.
(train crossing bell dinging in distance)
(latch clicks)
(handle squeaks)
(knocking)
Excuse me.
GUSTAVE: Uh-huh?
The police are here.
They asked for you.
Tell them I'll be right there.
Okay.
(door closes)
Have you ever been questioned by the authorities?
What? For what?
I was arrested and tortured by the rebel militia
after the Desert Uprising.
Mm-hmm. Right. Well, you know the drill then: Zip it.
You've never heard
Got it.
Okay, let's go.
(door opens)
(Henckles sighs)
How may we serve you, gentlemen?
Ah, Inspector Henckles...
By order of the commissioner of police
Zubrowka Province, I hereby place you under arrest
for the *** of Madame Céline Villeneuve Desgoffe und Taxis.
I knew there was something fishy.
We never got the cause of death.
She's been murdered,
and you think I did it.
Hey!
Stop!
♪ ♪
(wind howling)
(gears rattling)
(thud, man whistles)
(door closes)
What happened?
What happened, my dear Zero, is I beat the living ***
out of a sniveling little runt called Pinky Bandinski,
who had the gall to question my virility,
because if there's one thing
we've learned from penny dreadfuls,
it's that when you find yourself in a place like this,
you must never be a candy-***.
You've got to prove yourself from day one.
You've got to win their respect.
You should take a long look at his ugly mug this morning.
(wry chuckle)
He's actually become a dear friend.
You'll meet him, I hope.
So. You've talked to Kovacs?
I saw him last night in secret.
He made me take an oath on a Bible I wouldn't tell a soul.
You're supposed to also.
I'll do that later.
He suspects you're innocent.
Of course he does.
What's the charge?
In the small hours of the evening of 19 October,
an individual well-known to the house and staff,
a Monsieur Gustave H.,
did arrive at the Desgoffe und Taxis residence
in Lutz and entered by the rear service alley,
alerting no one to his presence,
and did then proceed by way
of back stairs and servants' passage,
to deliver himself into the private chambers
of Madame D.
There is no evidence
to indicate whether this visit
had been pre-arranged with her or not.
The next morning, Madame D. was found dead
by strychnine poisoning.
Monsieur Gustave was not observed on the premises again
until, of course, 24 hours later.
The identity of his accusers
is made clear in this notarized deposition.
They include, essentially,
all members of the extended family,
but the key witness who actually, ostensibly,
saw the alleged events,
appears to have fled the jurisdiction.
His whereabouts are currently unknown,
but he's being sought and pursued
by the relevant authorities.
Who is he?
Serge?
I'm afraid so.
That little prick.
No, I don't believe it.
They put him up to it.
I've been dropped into a nest of vipers.
You have an alibi?
Of course, but she's married
to the Duke of Westfalia. I can't allow her name
to get mixed up in all this monkey business.
Monsieur Gustave, your life may be at stake.
I know, but the *** legged it.
She's already onboard the Queen Nasstasja
halfway to Dutch Tanganyika.
Don't give up.
MR. MOUSTAFA: The details of the conspiracy,
now a matter of public record,
were, at that time, impossible for us to apprehend.
I'm looking for Serge X.,
a young man in the service of my employer,
the family Desgoffe und Taxis of Schloss Lutz.
Yes, sir?
You're his sister?
Yes, sir.
Seen him lately?
No, sir.
No... sir?
N-No, sir.
I need to find him right away,
for his own safety
and everybody else's.
If he shows up...
Yes, sir?
Tell him Jopling says,
"Come home."
MR. MOUSTAFA: But one thing was certain.
The Desgoffe und Taxis were a very powerful family...
...and time was not on our side.
(indistinct conversations)
(knocking on podium)
A letter from Monsieur Gustave.
Zero.
Read it.
(clears throat)
"My dear and trusted colleagues..."
I miss you deeply as I write from the confines
of my regrettable and preposterous incarceration.
Until I walk amongst you again as a free man,
the Grand Budapest remains in your hands,
as does its impeccable reputation.
Keep it spotless and glorify it.
Take extra special care of every little-bitty bit of it
as if I were watching over you
like a hawk with a horse-whip in its talons,
because I am.
Should I discover a lapse of any variety during my absence,
I promise swift and merciless justice
will descend upon you.
A great and noble house has been placed under your protection.
Tell Zero if you see any funny business.
"Your devoted Monsieur Gustave."
Then there's a poem, but we might want to go ahead
and start on the soup, since it's 46 stanzas.
(dinnerware clinking)
"A moist, black ash dampens the filth
"of a dung-dark rat's nest and mingles
"with the thick scent of wood rot
while the lark song of a guttersnipe..."
JOPLING: I never trusted that butler.
He's too honest.
Mm-hmm.
Uh-huh. Right, well,
be that as it may,
find him quick and make it snappy.
(door clanks shut)
(cart rattling)
May I offer any of you inmates a plate of mush?
No? Anyone?
You, with the very large scar on your face?
Oh, come now. Try it. It's actually quite warm
and nourishing this morning.
It needs a dash of salt.
Good day.
Mush, gents?
Any takers?
Suit yourselves.
Rise and shine. Chop-chop.
Good morning, Pinky.
Mendl's again?
Precisely.
Who's got the throat slitter?
Out of this world.
GUSTAVE: Mendl's is the best. Well...
Monsieur Gustave?
Yes?
(door creaks shut)
(clears throat)
Me and the boys talked it over.
We think you're a really straight fellow.
Well, I've never been accused of that before,
but I appreciate the sentiment.
You're one of us now.
What a lovely thing to say.
Thank you, dear Pinky.
Thank you, Gunther.
Thank you, Wolf.
Anything else?
Tell him, Ludwig.
Checkpoint 19 ain't no two-bit hoosegow.
You got broad-gauge iron bars on every door, vent and window.
You got 72 guards on the floor and 16 more in the towers.
You got a 325-foot drop
into a moat full of crocodiles.
But, like the best of 'em, it's got a soft spot,
which, in this case, happens to take the form
of a storm-drain sewer system
dating from the time of the original rock fortification,
way back in the Middle Ages.
Now, nobody's saying it's a stroll
down a tree-lined promenade
with a fine lady and a white poodle,
but it's got what you'd call "vulnerability,"
and that's our bread and butter.
Take a look.
Who drew this?
What do you mean, "Who drew this?" I did.
Very good; you've got a wonderful line, Ludwig.
This shows great artistic promise.
Question: how do you intend to penetrate this lowest rudiment?
It's 25 inches of reinforced granite masonry, is it not?
Digging with the throat-slitter,
I expect this would take
three to six months of continual effort,
during which time several of our members
will have been violently executed.
You hit the nail on the head, Mr. Gustave.
We got fake documents, second-hand street clothes,
a rope ladder made of sticks and bunk-linens,
but we need digging tools,
which are proving hard to come by in this flophouse.
YOUNG WRITER: At this point in the story,
the old man fell silent
and pushed away his saddle of lamb.
His eyes went blank as two stones.
I could see he was in distress.
Are you ill, Mr. Moustafa?
I finally asked.
Oh, dear me, no.
He said.
It's only that I don't know how to proceed.
He was crying.
You see, I never speak of Agatha,
because even at the thought of her name
I'm unable to control my emotions.
Well, I suppose there's no way around it.
You see, she saved us.
On our third formal rendezvous,
I had asked for her hand in marriage and she had agreed.
Yes.
We did not have 50 Klubecks
between the two of us.
No one knew, of course, but then, who would have cared?
We were each completely on our own in the world,
and we were deeply in love.
(carousel music playing)
Here.
Thank you.
I see.
Romantic Poetry, Volume One.
Monsieur Gustave recommended it.
I have a copy of my own as well.
I ruined the surprise, I suppose.
I'll go ahead and open it anyway.
Okay.
Read the inscription.
♪ ♪
MR. MOUSTAFA: Monsieur Gustave insisted
on an immediate and thorough cross-examination...
She's charming.
She's so charming.
...during which he presented Agatha
with a porcelain pendant and five dozen
individually tissue-wrapped white tulips
in a box the size of a child's coffin.
It's not right.
I beg your pardon?
Why is he sulking?
She's my girlfriend; you can't just buy her things.
I'm only interviewing this vision
of loveliness on your behalf.
Never be jealous in this life, Zero, not even for an instant.
Is he flirting with you?
Yes.
I approve of this union.
Agatha, my beauty, return to your beloved.
MR. MOUSTAFA: Soon we learned...
GUSTAVE: Blessings upon you both.
...not only was Agatha immensely skilled
with a palette knife and a butter-cream flourish...
Mendl.
(whispering): Go, go.
...she was also very brave.
I believe she was born that way.
(mechanical whirring)
(mechanical whirring)
(mechanical whirring)
(mechanical whirring)
Something's missing.
A crucial document,
either misplaced or, conceivably, destroyed.
I don't know what it contains,
I don't know what it represents,
I don't know what it is,
but there are traces and shadows of it everywhere.
Now, I don't want to alarm you,
and I don't expect to see any significant change
in the magistrate's ultimate decision
vis-à-vis your own inheritance;
but especially given
the circumstances of the death
as well as the disappearance of the key witness
in the *** case, Serge X.,
I suggest that we immediately bring this matter
to the attention of the municipal inspector
so there can be absolutely no question
of impropriety at any future date.
Agreed?
Not agreed.
Not agreed?
Not agreed.
Can I ask you a question, Vilmos?
Yes, Dmitri?
Who are you working for?
I beg your pardon?
Who are you working for?
I thought you're supposed to be our lawyer.
Well, in point of fact, I'm the executor of the estate.
In this particular situation,
Oh, yeah?
Yeah, a provision for my fees was included in the...
Just wrap it up and don't make waves.
Agreed?
I'm an attorney, Dmitri.
I'm obligated to proceed according to the rule of law.
Not agreed.
This stinks, sisters.
(cat yowls)
Did he just throw my cat out the window?
I don't think so.
Jopling?
(scraping)
Shh.
(approaching footsteps echoing)
(man sneezes nearby)
(footsteps depart)
Okay.
(scraping, tapping resume)
There's something I haven't told you, Agatha.
We stole a painting.
It's very valuable, maybe five million Klubecks, in fact.
I don't know if anyone's even noticed it's missing yet,
but if something should happen to me and Monsieur Gustave...
You steal art?
One picture.
Anyway, we need to make a plan for your survival.
Hide this.
It's in code and you might need a magnifying glass to read it,
but it tells you exactly where and how
to find Boy with Apple.
Don't take less than half the retail asking price.
Zero, I'm a baker.
I'm not a middleman.
I'm not a fence
if that's the term.
I don't trade in stolen property.
I said it wrong.
She willed it to him.
(footsteps approaching)
Go to sleep.
Yes, Herr Mendl.
(door closes)
No.
Okay, but take it anyway.
(bell tolling in distance)
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
(whistle ***)
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
(door creaks open, footsteps echoing)
♪ ♪
(door creaks open, footsteps echoing)
♪ ♪
(footsteps echoing)
♪ ♪
(footsteps echoing)
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
(sudden scream, thud)
♪ ♪
(bell tolling distantly)
(bell continues tolling)
MR. MOUSTAFA: The next morning,
Herr Becker received a peculiar
last-minute notice from the office of Deputy Kovacs
postponing their scheduled meeting...
in perpetuity.
(car door closes)
(footsteps approaching)
(door opens distantly)
(bell ringing)
LUDWIG: Let's blow.
(pulley squeaking)
(grunting)
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
(indistinct whispering)
♪ ♪
How did you get out there?
Shut the *** up.
These guys are trying to escape.
What's wrong with you, you *** snitch?
Guard! Guard! G...
(choking)
(thud)
GUSTAVE: It's you.
Thank you, thank you, you sweet, kind man.
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
(tapping, filing)
LUDWIG: Okay.
(grunting)
♪ ♪
(wind whistling)
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
(grunts)
(guard shouts in German)
(guard continues shouting)
(convict grunting)
(screams)
(groans)
(sighs)
I suppose you'd call that a draw.
(muffled clank)
Good evening.
(speaks indistinctly)
(groans)
Let me introduce you.
Pinky, Wolf, Ludwig, this is the divine Zero.
Gunther was slain in the catacombs.
Well, boys, who knows when we'll all meet again,
but if, one day...
Hold it.
No time to gab.
Take care of yourself, Mr. Gustave.
Good luck, kid.
(sighs)
Which way to the safe house?
I-I couldn't find one.
No safe house?
Really? We're completely on our own out here?
I'm afraid so.
I-I asked around, but, uh... (muttering)
I understand. Too risky.
We'll just have to wing it, I suppose.
Let's put on our disguises.
We're wearing them.
No-no, we're not.
We said false whiskers and fake noses and so on.
You didn't bring any?
I-I thought you were growing one.
And it wouldn't...
it wouldn't look realistic, would it?
No, when done properly, they're perfectly convincing.
But I-I take your point. So be it.
GUSTAVE: Give-give me a few squirts of L'air de Panache,
(man yells)
(distant clank)
Well, can I... can I not get a squirt, even?
I forgot the L'air de Panache.
Honestly, you forgot the L'air de Panache?
I don't believe it.
I mean, how could you?
I've been in jail, Zero.
Do you understand how humiliating this is?
(sniffs)
(wry laugh) That's just marvelous, isn't it?
I suppose this is to be expected back in...
Where do you come from again?
Precisely.
I suppose this is to be expected back in Aq Salim al-Jabat,
where one's prized possessions are a stack of filthy carpets
and a starving goat, and one sleeps
behind a tent flap and survives on wild dates and scarabs,
but it's not how I trained you.
What on God's earth possessed you to leave the homeland,
where you very obviously belong, and travel unspeakable distances
to become a penniless immigrant
in a refined, highly-cultivated society that,
quite frankly, could've gotten along very well without you?
The war.
Say again?
Well, you see, my father was murdered
and the rest of my family were executed by firing squad.
Our village was burned to the ground,
and those who managed to survive were forced to flee.
I left because of the war.
I see. So you're-you're, actually,
really more of a-a refugee, in that sense?
Truly.
Well, I suppose I better take back
everything I just said.
What a bloody idiot I am.
Pathetic fool.
***, selfish ***.
This is disgraceful,
and it's beneath the standards of the Grand Budapest.
(gasps)
I apologize on behalf of the hotel.
It's not your fault, Monsieur Gustave.
You were just upset I forgot the perfume.
Don't make excuses for me.
I owe you my life.
You are my dear friend and protégé,
and I am very proud of you.
You must know that.
I'm so sorry, Zero.
We're brothers.
How's our darling Agatha?
"'Twas first light when I saw her face upon the heath;
"and hence did I return, day-by-day, entranced:
tho' vinegar did brine my heart, never..."
(siren wailing)
Very good. I'm going to stop you there
because the alarm has sounded, but remember where we left off
because I insist you finish later.
♪ ♪
(police whistle blowing)
I want roadblocks at every junction
for 50 kilometers.
I want rail blocks at every train station
for 100 kilometers.
I want 50 men and ten bloodhounds
ready in five minutes.
We're going to strip-search every pretzel-haus, waffel-hut,
biergarten and especially every grand hotel
from Augenzburg to Zilchbruck.
These men are dangerous, professional criminals.
At least three of them are, anyway.
Who are you?
What are you doing here? Civilian personnel
aren't permitted in the cellblock.
This is a military investigation.
This is Mr. Jopling, sir.
His employer's mother was one of the victims of the...
Shut up.
You work for the family Desgoffe und Taxis?
Are you aware of the *** of Deputy Vilmos Kovacs
on the 23 of October?
I'm aware of his disappearance.
His body was found stuffed in a sarcophagus
behind a storage room at the Kunstmuseum late last night.
He was short four fingers.
What do you know about that?
Nothing.
Escort Mr. Jopling off the premises.
(rattling)
Mendl's.
GUSTAVE: Operator, get me
the Excelsior Palace in Baden-Jurgen
and reverse the charges, please.
We've no choice; there's nowhere else to turn.
I'll hold. Thank you.
It's our only hope.
Otherwise, I shouldn't even mention its existence to you.
It goes without saying,
you must never breathe a word about this to a living soul.
Of course.
I can't say.
Guten Abend. Monsieur Ivan, bitte. Danke.
How does one come by front-row aisle seats
for a first night at the Opera Toscana
with one day's notice?
How does one arrange a private viewing
of the tapestry collection at the Royal Saxon Gallery?
How does one secure a corner table
at Chez Dominique on a Thursday?
Ivan, darling, it's Gustave. Hello.
Well, I was until about five minutes ago.
We've taken it upon ourselves
to clear out in a hurry, if you see what I mean.
Well, through a sewer, as it happens.
Exactly. Listen, Ivan,
I'm sorry to cut you off, but we're in a bit of a bind.
This is an official request.
I'm formally calling upon the special services of...
IVAN: I'll call you back, Gustave.
Right. Stand by.
I beg your pardon.
Do you prefer to walk?
We're right here.
It's very simple.
Straight down the corniche, then left.
Jojo, see the gentleman out.
Get me Monsieur Georges at the Chateau Luxe, please.
(phone rings)
ALL: ♪ Happy birthday to you ♪
♪ Happy birthday, dear... ♪
Hello, Ivan?
Got it.
Get me Monsieur Dino at the Palazzo Principessa, please.
(phone rings)
Higher, goddamm it, higher!
(speaking indistinctly)
Take over.
Monsieur Georges.
Higher!
I see.
Straightaway.
Get me Monsieur Robin at l'Hotel Cote du Cap, please.
(phone rings)
...and two and three.
Monsieur Robin.
There's a call from Monsieur Dino for you.
Take over.
One and two and three.
MONSIEUR ROBIN: Yes, Dino.
Yes, Dino.
Okay, Dino.
Get me Monsieur Martin at the Ritz Imperial, please.
(phone rings)
Too much salt.
Not enough pepper.
(whispering)
Take over.
Robin? Martin.
Too much salt.
So I've heard.
Maybe.
Let me make a few calls.
(humming)
Serge X.: missing.
Deputy Kovacs: also missing.
Madame D.: dead.
Boy with Apple: stolen, by us.
Dmitri and Jopling: ruthless, cold-blooded savages.
Gustave H.: at large.
What else?
Zero: confused.
Zero: confused, indeed.
The plot thickens, as they say.
Why, by the way?
I don't know.
(horn honks distantly)
Get in!
IVAN: We found the butler.
He's hiding out in the remote foothills
near Gabelmeister's Peak.
Our contact convinced him to meet you
midday tomorrow at the observatory on the summit.
Tell no one.
He'll explain everything.
Your train departs in four and a half minutes.
Here's your tickets.
Oh, third class?
It was overbooked,
but the conductor used to be
a sommelier at the old Versailles.
He pulled some strings.
You'll need these for the dining car.
Oh, one last thing.
L'air de Panache.
They only had the half-ounce.
We should give him something as a symbolic gesture.
How much money you got?
42 Klubecks and three postage stamps.
Give me 25.
Yes.
Bless you.
Please.
(train engine chugging, wheels squeaking to a stop)
♪ ♪
JOPLING: I gotta to hand it to him.
DMITRI (over phone): Jesus Christ.
Hmm.
Well, what do you want next?
DMITRI: Talk to the clubfooted sister again,
and this time... be persuasive.
(door slams distantly)
DMITRI: *** son of a ***.
(clattering)
(sighs softly)
Holy ***!
What's the meaning of this ***?
Boy with Apple? I thought you'd hidden it.
It's been missing two weeks.
I assumed it went to the tax appraiser.
Are you *** kidding me?
MAID: Excusez-moi.
I believe it was removed by Monsieur Gustave.
I'm not angry with Serge.
You can't blame someone
for their basic lack of moral fiber.
He's a frightened little yellow-bellied coward.
It's not his fault, is it?
I don't know. It depends.
Well, you can say that about most anything.
"It depends." Of course, it depends.
Of course it depends. Of course it depends.
Yes, I suppose you're right.
Of course it depends.
However, that doesn't mean I'm not going
to throttle the little swamp rat.
May I officiate, by the way?
The ceremony?
With pleasure.
I must say, I find that girl utterly delightful.
Flat as a board,
enormous birthmark the shape of Mexico over half her face,
sweating for hours on end in that sweltering kitchen
while Mendl, genius though he is,
looms over her like a hulking gorilla.
Yet without question, without fail,
always and invariably, she's exceedingly lovely.
Why?
Because of her purity.
She admires you, as well, Monsieur Gustave.
Does she?
Very much.
That's a good sign, you know.
It means she gets it.
That's important.
Don't flirt with her.
(chicken clucks, coos quietly)
(grunts)
(chuckles)
(thumping)
♪ ♪
(panting)
(dogs barking distantly)
(latch clicks)
LIEUTENANT: A radio telegram was delivered
and signed for by the girl at 4:00 a.m.
The envelope was found near the body,
but its contents were missing. However,
the telegraph office always keeps a carbon
of the ticker tape for 24 hours.
I copied it down.
It reads as follows:
"Pack your things, stop.
"Be ready to leave at moment's notice, stop.
"Hideout is vicinity of Gabelmeister's Peak, stop.
Destroy this message; all my love, full stop."
(lieutenant snaps fingers)
(clears throat)
♪ ♪
PUMP ATTENDANT: Where you headed, mister?
Skiing? Sledding?
Mountain climbing?
(gas pump dings)
Three Klubecks.
(engine starts)
(train whistle blowing)
MR. MOUSTAFA: By express wireless,
I wrote Agatha with instructions
to move to our pre-arranged hideout:
a Gypsy caravan on the outer Nebelsbad road,
while Monsieur Gustave and I continued east
into the Zubrowkian Alps,
toward our high-altitude rendezvous
with the butler, Serge X.
As a precaution,
we disembarked quietly
in the freight yard just outside the station.
(sniffing)
L'air de Panache.
It's a hell of a view.
I give them that, for what's it's worth.
I agree.
(spraying)
(spraying)
"'Tis oft'-remarked:
"no single falling-flake does any other
Somebody's coming.
Are you Monsieur Gustave
of the Grand Budapest Hotel in Nebelsbad?
Get on the next cable car.
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
(squeaking, creaking)
(clanking, creaking)
Are you Monsieur Gustave
of the Grand Budapest Hotel in Nebelsbad?
Uh-huh.
Switch with me.
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
(latch clicks)
Are you Monsieur Gustave
of the Grand Budapest Hotel in Nebelsbad?
Put these on and sing.
(monks singing)
(Gustave muttering, singing a random melody)
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
Psst.
Are you Monsieur Gustave of the Grand Budapest...
Yes, damn it.
Confess.
I'm innocent.
Hmm? No, no.
(door closes)
Forgive me, Monsieur Gustave.
I never meant to betray you.
They threatened my life,
and now they've murdered my only family.
No. Who'd they kill this time?
The girl with the clubfoot?
Those ***!
I know, darling.
Let's put that behind us.
Listen, I hate to put you on the spot,
but I really must ask you to clear my name.
Obviously you're grieving.
Okay.
I get it. Go on.
I was the official witness in Madame D.'s presence
to the creation of a second will
to be executed only in the event of her death by ***.
Right.
Right.
But they destroyed it.
However...
I pulled a copy.
A second copy of the second will?
Uh-huh?
Well, what does it say? Where is it?
What's it all about, damn it?
Don't keep us in suspense, Serge.
This has been a complete *** nightmare.
Just tell us what the *** is going on!
(clattering)
Serge?
Serge? Serge!
Bloody hell, they've strangled the poor slob.
♪ ♪
(clicking)
Come on! Let's go!
ZERO: What do we do if we catch him?
GUSTAVE: I don't know. He's...
He's a homicidal psychopath.
Let's stop.
I can't. I can barely steer.
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
(wind whistling)
(wind whistling)
You sick, pathetic creep.
I hate you.
(groans)
"'If this do be me end: farewell!'
cried the wounded piper-boy..."
"...whilst the muskets cracked
"and the yeomen roared 'Hurrah''
and the ramparts fell."
"'Methinks me breathes me last,
me fears!', said he..."
Holy ***! You got him!
Well done, Zero!
(wind blowing)
Gustave H., you are a fugitive from justice!
Surrender lawfully, and I will personally vouchsafe
your fair treatment.
Do not attempt to flee.
I don't know.
I'd rather jump off this cliff right now
than go back to *** prison.
I say we steal that sick maniac's motorcycle,
go fetch Agatha, take back Boy with Apple
and head for the Maltese Riviera, once and for all.
Very good! You're so extraordinary, Zero.
Thank you.
A moment of silence in memoriam
of a devoted servant killed violently
during the conduct of his duties.
Good-bye, Serge.
Okay, let's go.
MR. MOUSTAFA: The war began at midnight.
Pffeifelstad fell by lunch under heavy shelling,
and ten battalions
surged across the long western border.
High command advanced to Nebelsbad.
(Agatha clears throat)
Compliments of Herr Mendl, for the executive staff.
MONSIEUR CHUCK: General Stieglitz requests
a garden-view sitting room with an extra roll-away.
Let's put him in the Duke Leopold Suite.
Secretary Woroniecki's office cabled.
He's checking in a day early.
Rooms 401-2-3.
Tell Tactical Logistics we're moving them
to a standard double on the third floor.
They'll need more space than that.
(Ping-Pong ball bouncing)
(switch clicks)
(soldier shouting indistinct commands)
GUSTAVE: The beginning of the end
of the end of the beginning has begun.
The sad finale played off-key on a broken-down saloon piano
in the outskirts of a forgotten ghost town.
I'd rather not bear witness to such blasphemy.
Me neither.
The Grand Budapest has become a troops' barracks.
I shall never cross its threshold again in my lifetime.
Never again shall I welcome...
Actually, I think we might be going in there right now
after all.
Dmitri.
Agatha.
(switch clicks)
Good evening, Mr. Desgoffe und Taxis.
I'm Monsieur Chuck.
We've booked you and your sisters
into the King Ferdinand suite.
Good evening. Good evening.
General von Shrecker asked me personally to make...
Who's that?
MONSIEUR CHUCK: I beg your pardon?
I think that girl's got my picture.
Excuse me.
♪ ♪
AGATHA: Six.
DMITRI: Hold it.
(door closes)
Compliments of Herr Mendl.
♪ ♪
Excuse me.
Have you seen a pastry girl with a package under her arm
in the last minute and a half?
Yep. She just got on the elevator
with Mr. Desgoffe und Taxis.
What did he say?
I'm sorry, who are you?
Otto, sir, the new lobby boy.
Well, you haven't been trained properly, Otto.
A lobby boy never provides information of that kind.
You're a stone wall, understood?
♪ ♪
(whispers): Pretty picture.
Sixth floor.
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
Where's Boy with Apple?
None of your *** business!
I'm going to blast your candy-***
once and for all right now.
(gunshots)
(gunshots continue)
Drop your weapon!
(gun clicking, gunshots resume)
MAN: Hey!
Hey!
(gunfire continues)
Cease fire! Cease fire!
Whoa, whoa, whoa!
Stop it!
Who's shooting who?
That's Gustave H.,
the escaped murderer and art thief!
I've got him cornered!
That's Dmitri Desgoffe und Taxis!
He's responsible for the killing of Deputy Kovacs,
Serge X. and his clubfooted sister,
plus his own mother!
Nobody move.
Everybody's under arrest.
(glass breaking, woman screams)
Who's out the window?
(gunshots resume)
Cease fire!
ZERO: 310-bis.
Hang on! Here I come!
(gunshots continue)
(creaking)
(grunts)
(groans, metal creaking)
Something's on the back of the...
(screaming)
(thud)
(muffled): Agatha!
Agatha!
Are you all right?
I think so.
Something's on the back of the picture.
What?
(crowd chatters excitedly)
(chattering stops)
MR. MOUSTAFA: She left everything
to Monsieur Gustave, of course.
The mansion, known as Schloss Lutz;
the factories,
which produced weapons, medicine and textiles...
(laughter)
...an important newspaper syndicate;
and, perhaps you've already deduced,
this very "institution"--
the Grand Budapest Hotel.
He anointed me his successor;
and as the war continued,
I served my adopted country from the narrow desk
still found against the wall in the next room.
He was the same as his disciples:
insecure, vain, superficial, blond, needy.
(laughter)
In the end, he was even rich.
Everyone's going to join.
He did not succeed,
however, in growing old.
Are you ready?
Dearly beloved,
we are gathered together here in...
Nor did my darling Agatha.
She and our infant son
would be killed two years later by the Prussian grippe.
An absurd little disease.
Today we treat it in a single week,
but in those days, many millions died.
(Gustav continues indistinctly)
On the 21st day of the occupation--
the morning the independent state of Zubrowka
officially ceased to exist--
we travelled with Monsieur Gustave to Lutz.
In answer to your earlier question, by the way:
of course.
Zero asked me
about my humble beginnings in the hotel trade.
I was, perhaps, for a time,
considered the best lobby boy
we'd ever had at the Grand Budapest.
I think I can say that.
This one finally surpassed me.
Although, I must say, he had an exceptional teacher.
Truly.
(train whistle blows)
"Whence came these two radiant, celestial brothers,
"united, for an instant,
"as they crossed the stratosphere
"of our starry window?
"One from the East,
and one from the West."
Very good.
Don't flirt with her.
(brakes squealing)
Why are we stopping at a barley field again?
I find these black uniforms very drab.
Well, hello there, chaps.
We were just talking about you.
Documents, please.
With pleasure.
As always.
(heavy footsteps approaching)
You're the first of the official death squads
to whom we've been formally introduced.
How do you do?
"Plus ça change," am I right?
Uh...
That's a Migratory Visa
with Stage Three Worker Status, darling.
Read this.
SOLDIER: Come outside.
GUSTAVE: Now, stay there.
I give you my word, if you lay a finger on this man,
I'll see you dishonorably discharged, locked up
in the stockade and hanged by sundown.
MR. MOUSTAFA: There are still faint glimmers
of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse
that was once known as humanity.
(gasps)
You filthy, ***,
(train whistle blows)
MR. MOUSTAFA: He was one of them.
What more is there to say?
What happened in the end?
In the end, they shot him.
So it all went to me.
YOUNG WRITER: After dinner,
we went to collect the keys to our rooms,
but Monsieur Jean had abandoned his post.
I expect he's forgotten all about us.
YOUNG WRITER: In recent years, of course,
such properties and holdings as the Grand Budapest
had with very few exceptions become...
common property.
While the precise terms of his negotiation
with the new government had never been announced,
the result was an open secret:
Zero Moustafa had traded a great and important fortune
in exchange for one costly,
unprofitable, doomed hotel.
Why?
Was it merely sentimental?
It was quite forward of me and a bit out of character,
but I felt I must know.
For my health, I suppose.
Forgive me for asking.
I hope I haven't upset you.
No, of course not.
Is it simply your last connection
to that vanished world--
his world, if you will?
His world?
No, I don't think so.
You see, we shared a vocation.
It wouldn't have been necessary.
No.
The hotel I keep for Agatha.
We were happy here.
For a little while.
(elevator bell dings)
To be frank, I think his world had vanished
long before he ever entered it.
But I will say...
he certainly sustained the illusion
with a marvelous grace.
Are you going up?
No, I'll sit for a little while.
Good night.
(bell dings)
YOUNG WRITER: The next week,
I sailed for a cure in South America
and began a long, wandering journey abroad.
I did not return to Europe for many years.
("s'Rothe-Zäuerli" by Öse Schuppel playing)
It was an enchanting old ruin.
AUTHOR: But I never managed to see it again.
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("s'Rothe-Zäuerli" ends)
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(man speaks Russian)
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Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org