Subscribe Cinèphiles Asylum for more films. ON THE SILVER GLOBEThe film is based on
“The Lunar Trilogy”
by Jerzy ŻuławskiYou will see a film
made ten years ago;a shred of a film;a two and a half hour story,
one-fifth of which is missing.That one-fifth, dating back
to 1977,when the film was destroyed,
will never be recreated.In place of the missing scenesyou will hear a voice which will
briefly explain the original idea.The project
“On the Silver Globe”was interrupted in 1987.It fell from the clouds…
At night… From on high… They were nearby… They hunted… They found it in the morning…
In the trees… It fluttered. . . Beautiful… He traveled for two days… Across the snow… Tired… He thought: for them… For sure. What is it? He says they saw it fall… They couldn’t have seen… Maybe they saw a star… It is an ancient object.
It couldn’t have fallen now. It might have in the past… Everybody saw it…
Two days ago… At night… They found it in the morning…
Only for us… It is fifty, sixty years old. It’s a Small Transmission
Module STM. The way it burned indicates
Titanium Beta or something like it. It used to take off from a pad
on six propulsion nozzles. I guess they didn’t even
teach you that at school. Why did it fall right now? It might have roved to lock
in on a target station, but not for fifty years.
Unless… If they are telling the truth. They usually don’t lie. One of the older radar rigs
should crack it. If the brain has not burned up, it should tell us where it
comes from and why. Tell her not to enter. This place is packed with
sensitive gear. It will all go haywire. Unless she comes
to see you. She doesn’t come to see you,
she comes to take you. You don’t understand.
She is mine. No, it’s you who are theirs. Go, dress up warm.
It’s freezing outside. Later… What will happen when you run
out of all the chemicals? Freedom perhaps. They could kill us
and take the chemicals, or steal them
while we’re asleep. But they don’t.
We are the ones who give, who do not need to take. Alien as a tree. We must be explored
and domesticated. Poisoned, approached,
comprehended. Are we the last
of those who retain power, or the first of those
who are defenseless?Below the manhole where
the two astronauts have climbed,there is a laboratory.A giant hall filled
with machinescapturing sounds
from the outer space.Only one of the oldest
machines,which has remained idle
for decades,can decipher what is inside
the containerwhich the astronauts
were given by the rider.It is a diary, or rather a series
of semi-opaque platesfeaturing images as if
taken with a camera.The first plates show
the flight of a spacecraft;the pilots losing
control over it;and the spacecraft
crashing in the mountains.Only a small fragment of this
recording has remained.I can see!The astronauts clamber out
of the battered cockpit.They are amidst mountains and
the atmosphere is unbreathable.They leave the dead bodyof the flight commander
O’Tamor near the cockpit.They wheel out land roversfrom their rocket and they
ride downhill.One of the astronauts, Thomas,
is injured.A second rocket following
their coursecrashes in the mountains
and explodes.Were those who died in it, the
Remogners, pursuers or friends?This planet is an ideal
image of Earth.That is why it was chosen
as the cradle for new life.But the land rovers
heading for the searun across a huge heap of debrisresembling
architectural forms,as if a civilization
used to thrive here.While they are near the ruins,Thomas becomes
feverish and delirious.He’s seeing ghosts:
the dead astronauts,O’Tamor and the Remogners are
approaching him,trying to capture him.O’Tamor defends him.The Remogners
want to chain him up.Come here! O’Tamor was right.
We can breathe. We shall live… Wait! Do you remember
a man being born? The father endows him with
seeds of every possibility. Every man must
cultivate it within himself, watch it grow
and bear fruit. If it is vegetal,
he will be a plant; if it is sensory,
he will be an animal; if it is rational,
his essence will become divine; finally, if it is intellectual, he will be an angel or
the son of man. Maybe it is time to say that
the Republic is in real danger, that we are cowards who have
to defend courage, sex, consciousness,
carnal beauty, quest for love. The conquest of which may, after all, become
a heroic destiny. But to utter these words is
to reveal how sad we are, because the most steadfast
believers among us have spent their lives
talking about fear, impotence, stupidity, ugliness,
self-love and apathy… Although we have thus attempted to get an austere view
of this reality whose existence may depend on a decent life, on our work, our honor which permits us to express
no more than what we ourselves
have seen. It was… I did not hear your answers. I don’t believe that any
signal could penetrate the radiation belt enveloping
this planet. The trajectory of their
fall carried them over a plain. – Don’t pull!
– The wave bounced back and we caught it. They stood over me… O’Tamor was walking dead…
To take me along… Maybe what bounces
and returns is not only an
electromagnetic wave, but also bions making up
the image of the dead… – Don’t pull!
– You are delirious! I know that whatever
you say carries at least
a grain of truth if only because you are capable
of expressing it. Put him down! Don’t forget what we’ve escaped, just to repeat with impunity
what we believe in. Don’t forget. Whatever you say is true, unless you say it… to impose your will upon us. I don’t believe in anything. By saying it,
you are peering inside yourself. You are not blind. That is why you are
here, running away with us. Yes, you are dying, brother. After all, there is truth
in everything I say, if I am capable of expressing it. Freedom exists and resides
in darkness… It turns away from the
lust for darkness to lean towards the lust
for light. It embraces light with its
everlasting will. And darkness strives to capture
the light of freedom, but it cannot do that, because it is centered on
its own lust… and turns to darkness again.The wind rises.
The night is falling.The drizzle turns
into a downpourand the downpour escalates
into a hurricane.Thomas is dying.Before he dies, Martha implores
to be left alone with him.She loves him.
She clings to him.She protects him with her body.The nearby river is surging
and breaks its banks.It’s a flood.Martha! We have to be moving.
We cannot survive here. No chance, until we reach the
seashore where we were to land. Come on. No, no! You are sick.
You’ll have to be carried. Turn it off, I am telling you,
turn it off, you silly. The sea! I can see the sea! George, Thomas is growing faster
than he would on Earth. Six months old, he is
as tall as a one-year-old. George, is it possible
that we will die and he will be left alone? Listen, Martha, it is the rainy season. It will keep raining. Six months of waiting
is a long time, you may perish, we may perish, and then… Martha, am I right? Martha, am I right? Right. I’ve taken the cameras of
Martha and Peter. They’re no longer interested in recording our experiences. I have fused their memories
into one: mine. I erase irrelevant pieces.
I keep the gist. Only this recording makes
sense to me. I must be careful. It costs them so much. It costs me so little.
Why? Nothing at all. I don’t demand anything.
I don’t believe in anything. I believe only in perfect freedom,
ours, mine. Peter says that long,
long ago, I could have
been a monk, because I am not a man yet,
but I am already old. If one is to forget why we
are here, one would be like this.
I am. For it is not us that are lost
in contemplation of the world. It is the world that is lost
in our contemplation. Oh, Earth! You don’t wish to learn
with me, Tom? I can breathe without this. What is Earth really like? What is it, old man? Earth is what I feel for you. You are alive.
My father died. Martha, talk to me, Martha, say something! Yes. Martha, keep silent. Martha, laugh. Martha, cry. Martha, dance, dance! Martha, dance, dance! You can think only if
you believe. There is no thought
without faith. Only the one who has faith
has thoughts. Thus one must want to know faith. You can believe only if you
have roots. Only the one can believe who
has roots of his own. Thus one must want to know
the roots. You can have your roots
only if you act. The one who acts has roots. Thus one must want to know action. Here, everything is as
on Earth. The same chaos,
the same absence of truth. – The same lie.
– You love her. To love is to want to be absorbed
entirely by somebody. To love is to feel entirely
responsible for somebody. You can also take lasciviously,
without love. In that case,
this word carries no meaning. It turns into evil and hate. But we have arrived here
in order not to hate anybody. How can you be so happy here, – you who have nothing here.
– I have you. You have us,
you have what we have, which means nothing.
Nothing! Nothing! George, you’re not even
defending yourself. Oh Earth! Peter! Peter! Peter! I found him here. One day when the Angel of Death
came to Solomon he looked at one of his
courtiers. “Who is that?” the courtier asked. “The Angel of Death,”
replied Solomon. “It seems he has looked at me. So tell the wind to take me from
here and carry me to India”. And Solomon did it. Then the Angel of Death said: “l looked at him for such
a long time, because I was astonished. For I was ordered to capture
his soul in India. Meanwhile he is here at your side,
in your court. It is true!”ß I’m going to have
a baby. Yours. It will be my last baby. Say nothing for a while. I want to be at peace with
myself at least once. Help me. So far you haven’t let me paint you. Mayð I do it now? You could have killed him.
Peter. The moment he wanted to be with
me alone for the first time. A girl… I can see them… Everyone… And everything… Not exactly… I did not understand, either. But it’s dark here. You are back. And Mother? Mother is dead? Will you die too? Yes. – Like Mother?
– Yes. Yes. Still, I will say it.
Perhaps incoherently. l, a free man, an dispassionate man, I am wounded,
wounded like an animal. I suffer like an animal,
like Peter… What I brought along with
me was chaos. All order, all cheerfulness, clarity, tranquility have left me. As if her death brought
a dreamless nightmare, a dream without waking,
waking without meaning. I was taught
that the world’s eye, looking at me, is the same eye with which I look
at the world. This eye is neither cheerful
nor evil… neither feeling nor expectant. It is indifferent like water. I will remain in it for
as long as I am able. I will go to the mountains, looking for metal ores which
they could use. I will be thinking. I’ll be thinking. I will feel melted in you, oh rock, oh grass… I will feel. I will feel in me your
non-human translucence. I will feel impenetrable wind,
complete chill. I am nobody. I have despised the belligerent. Now l,
I myself deserve contempt, because I am fighting
against myself. There is suffering, but there is no
subject of suffering. There is action, but there is no
subject of action. There is solace, but there is no
man to reach it. ßThere is a road, but there is no
one to follow it. You are back again, Old Man. Please, – go on dancing.
– You are back again! I am Ada, Martha’s last daughter. Why won’t you ever die? Why won’t you die? Why won’t you understand what
you yourself gave to us? Why are you not in what exists? Why are you elsewhere,
where nothing exists? Nothing! And then fertile mother
Martha conceived thunder with
the heavenly Moon. And she indulged in pleasure to
make him stronger than Thomas. And swept by the flood,
she returned, and begot fish, and animals in the forest… And Peter gave us settlements,
and reason, and the bow… Always enduring, you bade us
to remember. Why don’t you ever say anything? Oh Earth! Earth! The Old Man said: Oh! Earth! I want to record myself
more often. No, no! Come! You,
who are poised motionless, but who are getting closer
to me every hour. She can feel the fire. She serves the fire. She gives herself to me, because I control the fire… I am consecrated to you,
who have arrived. I could marry him.
They are afraid of me and him, because I play Martha,
and you, and the rain. Love me. I love everything. Say something! Say something! Say something! I curse you in the name of the Old Man. Say something! – Say something!
– Kill. Kill him. The Old Man is praying
for you. Something he wanted to draw,
for he had forgotten how to write. Maybe evil? Evil. Forgive me. Don’t look at me
in this make-up, in this garb,
in this degradation. You would not
have looked for me, had you not found me! Record it carefully, for you are recording
a half-god half-animal. Were you just as afraid
on Earth, George? – That’s the source of the coming?
– Yes. – Will you go back there?
– Nobody returns anywhere, I told you many times. You do not have to
say the entire truth. You are the Old Man. But tell me, how come you
know everything? Because eternity is the state of simultaneous
possession of everything, Ada. I am Thomas II,
the son of Old Thomas. Thomas the third. I don’t understand when you
speak like this. Nobody understands you,
not even Ada. We are afraid to look
at your face for too long. I cannot oppose you,
Thomas the Third. This place is getting
more and more stifling, impatient and wistful. Because you are the Old Man. Bless me, Old Man. How? Old Thomas was sluggish. He did not try to enlarge
the country where we live. He did not want to know
what is beyond and beyond, as if he were afraid… Tomorrow the sea
might be calm and we will cross
to the other side. There, on the other side,
something is looming on bright days. What if there is no other side? There must be. You are right. It is I who always forget
that I know everything, but I don’t understand anything. – Do you want to see Martha?
– I don’t need to. I believe that mother Martha
had created all parts of the world, and we must explore them, because they were made for us. What are you doing here, Ada? Be angry with me, Old Man. Child, child,
you are not listening to me. I know, I know.
You cannot say everything. You will go back there. Stop raving. – You are my daughter.
– We all are your children, and you showed us what is good
and what evil. Tell me, why were you
banished from Earth? I, I am beautiful. I, I am young. I can do what nobody can do. May the blessing of humans
be with you. Give. Enough. We’ve only shreds
of memory left. On the other side, we found it. There are huge settlements, a city like a beehive… Everybody perished.
There… there… Monsters… They have wings…
Black… Only the middle eye… They are flying, flying after me… To destroy, destroy the humankind… They bring death… Master, Master! Master. It’s the wind? Master… Master…
Don’t go… I am better than you and that is why I will be
able to play your part. Earth, Earth, Earth, Earth. Oh Earth! Oh Earth! People, rejoice! The Old Man is leaving. People! May a man lie with
his own daughter? If a brother seizes
his brother’s property, should his arm be cut off? Should the dead be given food
every day, or only on holiday? …On holiday… Is the birth of a baby a holiday,
even if the baby is blind? I don’t know, I know nothing. I don’t know! – I don’t know anything!
– No, she is not ill. She is the victory of desire
over truth. And sick, sick is only the
one who is playing a part. Sick is the actor, for he
is seeking you within himself. And he is ugly,
although he can see and feel. And he will not be loved.
And he contorts his contorted face. And he is like a distorted mirror
put up to beauty. The actor is a victory
over ugliness, over the world’s beauty. Can you hear? Can you hear? Can you hear? They are flying, flying, flying, flying here! Come, you bloodthirsty God!Alone, in his outlandish suit of
half-astronaut, half-god,George reaches the spaceship
wrecked years earlier in the mountains.O’Tamor’s body is still there,
as if nothing had happened.With his last effort,
George finds the containerinto which he will insert
his recorded accountof what happened to him,
to them, to everyone here.He will fire the mini-craft
into space.Before it blasts off,before he deposits
the last memory disk,he briefly films his face.
And his tears.In the tunnel where the two astronauts
have watched George’s diary,the screens dims,
and silence falls.“This must be dispatched to
the Old Earth,”says the older astronaut.He glances at the younger one,
who is tense and self-absorbed.“Let’s go back there, home,”
says the ÿounger.“Let us rejoice with them, dance,
celebrate for we are alive”.“Why are you crying?”
asks the older.“Because I don’t know who I am”.The hatch is opened noiselessly
above their heads.A gust of wind penetrates
into the passageway.and with it,
a girl sneaks in.It is the same one who had
eyes painted on her palms.the same girl who died
with Thomas on the seashore.So it is not the same one,
only one eternally like her.Following her footsteps,
their bows drawn,warriors enter the tunnel.Years later,
another spacecraft landson the very spot
where George’s had crashed.It is more advanced and it
alights gently.A single man, Mark,
steps outside.He turns to the microphone
and the camera lensmounted on the ship’s
fuselage, and says:“Everything as described
in the transmitted account.”He gazes at George’s
petrified face.“They are beautiful,” he says.“A little funny, old-fashioned.”“I am going down to
meet the people.”There is crackling
in his headphones.“How am I doing?” Mark replies.
“I am fine.”“Not to be with you, believe
that you do not exist? That was a good idea.”“May it not hurt. Kiss Aza for me.”He breaks off the connection.Mark climbs down
the mountains.At the foot of the slope,where there is air,
swarms a thick crowd.These are monks,gazing for generations at
the inaccessible peaks,where George had departed,
and where now Mark is coming from.They had waited for him,because a prophecy said that
in due time a newyoung god would come:
a Victor,one who would liberate
people from the terrorof the hideous giant evil birds
and cruel monsterswhich had crossed the sea
and enslaved the people.“I’m no Savior,” laughs Mark–“I am a man, like you. “The father superior
smiles slyly:“Because that is what you want.”Mark is not inspired by
the faith of this denigrated people,but by the riot that breaks out
at the news of his arrival.The Sherns’ troops consist ofhalf-human creatures
born of a Shern and a woman.They are called Morques.They are beastly, strong,
and dumb.They put up fierce resistance.
Battles multiply.The last of the battles
takes places on the seashore,where a human settlement
has been crammed underground,and where resides the high-priest
Malahuda.Where is the high-priest?!
Where is Malahuda?! We have come to pay tribute…
At the head of the uprising… – And check… If this is the victor…
– If, if, if… Grab him, bind him,
punish him… I should kill you. They mustn’t see you
wounded, sir. Hurry! We shall find the high traitor who
has not come to meet half way the father of your fiancée, sir, fiancée whom you are going
to love for she is destined for you. – Begone!
– Then we will see who was right, the one who for centuries
had waited in the mountains, or the one who had humbled
himself and served! Get out! Nor did I realize what I was
or what I could learn with ease. What remained was
the ease of using
my own intelligence, which was searching for
a grown-up goal, while I was just a youth. The most stupid thing is to fail to
understand one’s own charm. – Who are you?
– We are actors, sir, saints. We must not take part in battles
nor die with people… nor cross thresholds.
We serve, sir. You are human. Good. I will be
able to play your part. Why are you crying, child? Our underground state, sir… where we have gathered for
centuries to celebrate the promise of your coming. Sects of suicides and flagellants,
poets and iconoclasts, formed here…
Here, monks wrote prophecies. Above ground, extended an abyss,
as dark as the human soul… For the human soul accepts the Shern,
justifies his actions… talks to him as if it were
dreaming awake. This is your church, sir… Sir, they are leaving! But they are ridiculous. Defenseless. Defenselessness is strong, good is bad,
beautiful – worm-infested. Is that all, is it the end? The Shern Aviya has not
been caught, sir. Now reinforcements will fly
from across the sea.Mark visits the high-priestwho resigns his power. He also tells
him about his daughter, Ihezal,consecrated to the victor
and to the cult of the Old Man.A young warrior, Yeret, is in
love with Ihezal.“It was me who talked to
the Sherns,“begging them to reduce the
size of tribute.“l bargained for human lives“and tried hard to grasp
the meaning of lawlessness,the absurdity of their way
of life,” says Malahuda.He is tired. “The end of faith
is imminent,” he says,“since you appeared.
Now reality begins.”I am alone. A prince in a glacial
room, in glacial space. I carry my own space within me. I am taking it to an absurd
country in absurd times. As if the entire world,
the big one and the one within me, blended into a hateful vision
of their bodies looking for
meaning in one another, meaning which the bodies
cannot contain. Do not look over there, sir. Children were being caught
by the Sherns, they were… Their mothers said… that the Sherns wanted to see
the demon inside man, – to see how the soul leaves the body…
– And you put up with that? There is no way to understand
them, sir. The Morques say that
their proximity is a poetic proximity. But it stinks here! Don’t laugh, sir. The Sherns have a single
eye in the center of their forehead, and they
speak using that eye. Silent, they speak, and you can understand
every nuance of their speech. Morques say that this is
beautiful: these are forms,
they say. They say we are defective, unable to steer either
the evil within us, – or the power.
– They are killing you. Inadvertently. You won’t understand
why they let some live, while exterminating others. – Haven’t you negotiated with them?
– They don’t negotiate, sir. Until they realized that they
could take women, there were swarms of them
And they were still able to fly. Now they are lying around,
watching, talking. With their eye, they
play-act. We can feel it. Anxiety reaches us
through the thickest walls. – Then we can see everything.
– Everything! Nothing! Nothing! Nothing, sir. There is a sect
of scientist who claim that they do not exist, that they are only
a reflection of ourselves conjured in the dark. They are what? I don’t know. – Do you believe them?
– No, sir. And do you believe in me? Who are you? A man. Hours of lead. Nights of lead. Lead in the heart.
Heartache turned into lead. Thoughts of lead,
about nothing, about lead. Lead cancer gnawing at my body,
liquid as an amoeba. An amoeba in my selfishness, in its right to search for
places of greater delight. She’s playing the woman, sir,
whom you left to come here. What?! You did leave her, sir, didn’t you? – The one you left to come here.
– How do you know that?! It’s in the prophecy. – Stop remembering!
– What?! She is asking you
never to go back. – Where?!
– To Earth, sir. Fear the signs of fornication,
the signs of decay, the depraved signs of blindness on
the fallen body of a woman… Don’t fear that which exists, for exists only that
whcih you cannot feel. It is terrible to be caught in the
hands of a living god! Aza! – And that shall be my name, sir.
– Ihezal! Aza! I want go outside and be left alone, without you. I knew you would come. If you are an intelligent being,
as they say, you are curious. You think: Who is that man?
Where is he from? I saved your life.
I did not denounce you. They would have beaten you to death,
and I would learn nothing. Maybe you will talk to
me instead. After all I am able to
understand who you are. I can hear. I am trying to understand. You are me. I am you. Everything is identical. Even when I think I’m talking
to myself, I am talking to you. Even when I think I’m talking
to God, I am talking to you. You are the gateway,
you are the tunnel, you are the light on the
ultimate threshold. This is bullshit. How? How? With what? What is this? I don’t know this notion.
I don’t know this. I don’t understand this. That we are brothers…
that we together… You are following a
new train of thought. You were only a step away.
I was… Now I see only flashes… You say… No… Light… Why are you repeating:
God…? Why: death? Why resurrection? Come back! You are survival,
because you are shut off, because you dissolve in
your power time, and air and the contradiction
which is us, the animals. I am an animal among
the animals. A wolf in a forest. The one who devoured
everything is alone. Only he endures.
Those whom he devoured are inferior. They must be bled, to get the nightmare
off their chest and to return cold
to the cold realm. Excellent, excellent. How do you know?
Why are you repeating her name? Aza! Aza! What does she hold against me?
That she gave herself to me? Whereas I have never given
myself to her entirely? When am I whole? I, within whom an eternal battle
of darkness takes place. You, come here! Aviy! Oh Martha! … People! … The Victor! Keep on talking to me…
monster, damn you! Leave it! – Chain him. I will talk to him!
– You were alone with a Shern? – She caught him.
– She starts showing the signs! – Enough! I give the orders here!
– Sir, the law says that such a woman…. I am the law. I take her in my care.
She is mine. I didn’t know what bliss is. I don’t know what it’s like
not to be responsible for oneself. Everything here is yours,
sir. You liberate. How do you feel facing the
Victor, louse? I shall serve him with all
my might, until doom. The Victor is unjust… As you stand over the
captive evil, let the good be good, even suffering… Yes, yes, yes. I am tired, – Hush!
– Tired. Listen. You’ve taken me.
I am yours. I would be consecrated to you
even if you had not come. Then anybody could take me. I would be a woman of the temple, and the children that I would bear
would be slaughtered. I accept everything you do.
I am you. I am what you are. – Do you love Yeret?
– I love you. No one else. I came here out of the frailty
of my heart. I was betrayed by a woman I loved,
the only one for whom… for whom nothing seems to
matter anymore. Such is the power others
have over us. What do l have?
Who do I have… What am l? One knife blow was enough
to release the dark balloon and set it adrift.
And the traveler, who had built his coccoon
solely out of air, saw night’s darkness,
and began to scream: I am in the prison of my
own freedom, in the hell of the one
watching me… I can afford to love you
and that woman. Be. Don’t think! It can’t hurt me! And yet I am alive!
Alive! You must not tell anybody
of what has happened here. Yes. – I was thoughtless.
– As you wish, sir. – I am weak.
– Yes. I am a man… from Earth. I am the one who has taken
you inside me. You are of two minds, sir. You have not finished your work,
and you hesitate whether to go back. I know whom you want to
talk to, sir. My father, to get him
out of your way; and to Shern Swiny because
he opposes you. Do you feel disgraced?
Spurned? I love you, sir,
as nobody ever will. …I have arrived from There,
from the depth of faith. From beyond life, from beyond
death and resurrection: as the Old Man. From today on
the lack of faith will be punished with all
severity… Worthless are those who
do not believe… Believers! Now either the Sherns retaliate, or we wage war across the sea… May the Sherns’ white hands never
take our women. To arms, believers! To Yeret’s troops!
To the troops! I am sure you understand… Yesterday, it was nighttime, the heat
of the battle. Today it’s different. I have come to ask you… They are getting ready to
cross the sea. However cruel and inhuman
you may be, there must be some truth in you,
your own truth… I’d like to talk to you…
They tell me about your crimes. I don’t know… Tell me if the transformation of visible into invisible
is reflected within us, how do we make it happen? I used to believe that
all excesses of faith and illusions are equally unjustified
and unimportant, and that deep down in everyone,
there is goodness. Everything is truth. There is a grain of truth
in everything that exists… I am to act as I wish…
As everyone… You are saying it with
such contempt. I can feel your hatred,
indifference… Why? Across the sea, the city
is beautiful, sweet and rich. I am not asking you about it.
I am asking you this: You said everything
had a name, a secret principle,
an asnwer. What is it? Where is the place where everything unites
and becomes one. Or does it? Keep on talking.
It’s beautiful. I don’t understand a word.
I am afraid. Chaos. Darkness. I can hear. It’s water moving.
No, it’s the night, no, it’s the movement,
movement of will. What do you want to say? Irrationality. Slavery. A kind of ritual genocide
as the objective? Cruelty as a virtue?
Inertia of the totality. Then why do you spit on me? You have nothing for me but contempt and contempt
will take you nowhere. I can hear…
its power over me is infinite. Whose power?
Whose power?! You are an animal. –You are an animal and yourself.
– So you can talk!No, it’s only you who can hear…– So why are you talking?
–Because you feed me.So, you want to live?l don’t know. What do you think?
Am I alive?You are an animal…
Therefore you are alive…Is it only the animal in you
that is alive?What about that which lives
thanks to the animal?I, I don’t understand.You are an animal and so am l.I am consistent.
You are not.I am a reflection of what
is in you.You are not a reflection
of what is in me.l want to know one thing only.
Earth, the planet you come from:–What is it?
– A Star, you see? A star.I forgot.Their conceit, rush to death, my death,
for I see myself in them. The image of her in the ecstasy
of love… impaled on him, screaming. You say… within.
To get inside. To excrete. The same.
Infinity is within. I don’t love.
Loving is inward… Loving not a person, not things,
not myself. Loving everything, you are everything
and to everythin indifferent. You come in contact with the
existence of truth, with the name of animality
without which you would not exist… Oh, I see. Beyond words.
Truth… evil.. they signify nothing. I yearn for this pain…
this flow. Now I feel melted.
Rock… Water! I feel your non-human
transparence. Your complete cool… I am a nobody. I have always been nobody. I hated and despised the
reconciled ones. Now I, I am the most despicable. Because I have come to terms
with myself. I will not change anything
in the world. My illusion is not even a ripple upon
the world’s cool, metallic surface. I can see…
It is an ocean. You are showing its beauty to me. Speak more slowly, speak more slowly! It is opening. Slower! I am in the doorway. Slower! It hurts. So much beauty that it hurts. I was taught to be intelligent,
efficient, cool… to conquer…
I have no feelings. Who? How? What am I to do? Unbind yourself…
The iron breaks your wings… Worms are eating your skin…
You are beautiful… You are divine… I love you. Master…
I want to vanish in your wisdom. He wants to kill you! It’s God! You hear something which does
not exist at all… He’s not saying anything you
wouldn’t know… – I can hear this!
– This god is in you, god! How… How do you know this?
Woman? I am playing this role… I know it. I can feel birth and death,
the truth and the untruth of everything. She’s been lying and committing
adultery for months. You are only beginning to
learn about others. You are only beginning to perceive…
to sense… The only important things is
what you demand of yourself. You are too wise for me. He is speaking to you…
singing to you. I can feel it from the anxiety
in me. He is laughing at you…
He is saying… saying that you never
had me and you never will because you are dry and dead…
you are not alive, because you are an object
created by objects, and you know neither the name
nor the meaning… Nor do you know anything
about yourself… – a blind man… a weakling.
– No… no! Take him! I’ve been learning… for many years. You know, victor, constrained by my duties, on sleepless
and doubt-ridden nights, I thought that I would be gone
while learning, that I would turn my life
inside out like a glove. Oh… Oh… ! Look! I’d always thought there were
two ways. As if acting in what we
play for real did not give me any satisfaction.
Now I have it. – Tell me how… ! What am I to do?
– You know well, certainly you do,
since you took my daughter and turned her into a woman. The Sherns.
What do you know? You cannot beat the Shern within you. Victor, you have probably
experienced it yourself. If you were unable to beat one, how are you going to beat
thousands? As you see, I am play-acting, and making room for you. You are to take action. Hope will return once
you are gone. – What is hope?
– Hope is… faith in becoming the
materialization of form. Blindly, groping in the dark. I am longing. Everything endures.
I endure. More and more often, I think of
closing my eyes and abstaining from everything. l, an eunuch in the landscape
of despair. Sir, we’ll cross the sea. I gave you gunpowder, ammunition.
You can go by yourselves. But sir,
it is you whom they worship, in whom they believe,
for whom they are waiting. – I’ll give her back to you.
– You need a woman, sir. Why must the riddle of chaotic
behavior lie in a Shern? Why does evil act selectively and
why is its method absurd? Is truth only the most
absurd thing I can think of, understand or utter, the most cruel thing
I can muster? What about courage? We’ve come to inquire about your
designs, sir? The designs are laid down in
the prophecy. It’s been known for a long time.
Why are you asking? Sir, you must appear before
the people with all ceremony. A vague rumor has spread across
town that the sea had not parted when you gazed upon it.
Sir, it’s necessary to levy taxes. We need metal, saltpeter, and manpower. You have decided, sir. People of little faith.
Can it be otherwise? Isn’t this right, dancer? You know everything, sir. Oh, world! What have I done not to
comprehend you? – Are you satisfied?
– Sir, we are savoring you. You are in us like marrow
in the bone… – What did you say?
– …like the cause of existence. Nothing, nothing, sir.
You let us rejoice. They are play-acting… That in
the beginning, the Shern, out of vanity, created the world which
he thought ideal. But when he looked up, he saw the light which he did
not create himself. Then he returned to his homeland.
And then his masculine creative power turned into feminine
readiness. Oh, sir, how hard I am trying! Gentle Malahuda, her father, is seen hanging around
town at nights. He mocks you, – undermines the faith of the people.
– What does he say? That peace will return only
once you are gone… I did not come to bring peace,
but war. – Gentle Rhoda…
– Who? A scholar, sir. He improved the weaving plant,
invented fuel for the flame, – measured the length of the roads…
– What does he say? He claims there is no Earth;
there has never been any Old Man; that everything is silent and empty. And that only we exist, and
the Sherns who are like animals. So where do I come from,
in his opinion? He says you are like a worm, sir, – that you came up to the surface…
– So why did I come? You did not come, you were expelled. – Where is Yeret?
– Yeret is leading the parade. The Morques we have caught will be
slaughtered in your honor, sir. You did not tell me that you
have caught somebody. – Not somebody, sir, something.
– Don’t instruct me, you fool! Nobody will be killed here
without my knowing. But you know everything, sir. Indeed you are a man.
I recognize your anger. I am being carried by the
river of love. It may be disgrace, betrayal and pain, but it encompasses good
and evil. It is good, if it is love. But… after all, the only thought
which sets thoughts in motion, the only fidelity
which gives a form to something which is the
churning chaos of biology, that thing is fidelity to a
pre-determined goal… Only it creates a sense that
this chaotic void can be buckled with the braces
of one’s own making. Certainly… but everything is of my
own making, including understanding that everything is everything,
and it is a bottomless and echoless well. Did you like me? Sir, stand on her.
Give her back her dignity. They will kill me! Leave me alone! What?! Morques, I don’t believe you descend
from your fathers alone… You must have something human
in you after your mothers. I am appealing to what
is human in you. Morques, your lives will be
spared, if you join us, if you come with us. Morques! Mother, mother… chains… child… mother. Kill nothing, you — nothing. Oh Shern. Everything — pain.
Sleep — pain. Day — pain. Fear. Quiet, Shern. I — Shern. When the Shern sings.
I — animal. You — less. You — death. I — the bow. Trees. Grass. I — see — Morque.
You — fear. I — the run. Alone. I go. I far. You near.
You fear — pain. Weight. You — voice.
I — silence. We — go away, perish, float. You — Shern. Let him sing. I can see earth, grass, forest. I can feel the warm air over
the path… The flight of two grey birds which
I associate with death… Which means… I’m afraid? Unbind Aviya! Ihezal has just asked to
bring him here. What? Whoever comes to know the world,
shall find a corpse. And who will find a corpse, shall be too good
for this world. Elem wants to burn them in pyres. He is right, sir. They are already nothing. A Shern’s touch burns
out their sex. If they can still speak,
they speak of the delight so great as to be hideous, sir.
The Shern touches their very kernel, their very darkness,
and pries it ajar, fills it up, clears it up. You sound as if you yourself… I know nothing, nothing. What do you want? What am I to do?
How am I to defend myself? I didn’t know that there could
exist such great love. On Earth things are different. – Is there day and night?
– Yes. – White and black?
– Yes. – Love and hate?
– There is no killing on Earth. There is killing when there
is life. No. What do you feel? Joy and the power of
fulfillment. You teach me something which
I did not know. I feel love. But now only my body is
suffering. The pain I feel is
merely physical. I can touch it. I can also, oh, new art, I can tell myself;
turn your thoughts away from her. May she not be present so that
you don’t suffer. Thus, through my body
swollen with pain, the soul is taking shape
smoothly, soothingly, and, I would say,
not-materially. The soul does not suffer. I recognize indifference in it,
like in a warm river. My soul and I
are identical. She was beautiful and famous? Yes. You’ve never loved her. What is this for? For your departure tomorrow. To pay homage to what exists
and reject nothing of what doesn’t. The tangibility of evil
which we see around. The submission to the narrow
labyrinths of one’s own sensual passion. The belief in the importance
of those who wield power over us means creating evil,
conjuring it in the dark, transforming oneself into a murderous gland
which considers everything its own property. Why does a woman concern you, sir? For holiness enters a man as he gains
hysteric purity of the visitation. Visitation of what? The Shern. What if the Shern is evil,
while I am your god. What is greater and more tranquil
than god? Let us depart. There will be the fervor
of victory after a long night. Guard her, remember, preserve. Can you feel it? Feel it? Those who have not showed
their faith… treacherous women… Those who have hidden their
sons from the expedition and those who have not
paid their taxes… I remember you. – What is your name?
– Sevim, sir. – What were you?
– A priest. Will you serve? Against whom, sir?The sea is calm and a gentle
breeze propels the ships.Before they reach their goal,
they come across a tree trunkadrift and carrying the Actor and
the scholar Rhoda,banished
for their lack of faith.The scholar is looking at
Mark with contempt.“You do not exist,”
he exclaims.“You have never come.”
Mark replies:“If I die, go to the mountains
and find my spaceship.Get inside, seal the hatch
and press one button.The red one. ““Count on me, sir,”
Exclaims the Actor.“l will transmit you”.“My oxygen helmetis in the monastery of the Expectant Brethren at the
foot of the mountains,” says Mark.“You are cunning,” replies Rhoda.“You are leaving me in the open seawhile you talk of the mountains.”“Yes,” Mark answers.
“Our odds are equal.”Mark! Mark! Can you hear me?
Mark! Aza! The next step, the next threshold which I will have
to occupy with my whole body, is death? – Speak.
– Still nothing. What if that’s not what
I wanted to ask about? When her truth speaks,
her darkness speaks. And clear is only that which
one formulates against oneself. – Speak.
– Still nothing. What if that’s not what
I wanted to ask about? There. I must know. There, there… Here, – not there. Here.
– There. I must see. In the end, every reduction
to physiology is fascism of the soul. It is shrinking instead
of growing, just as if everything
came down to the judgment that,
alive, man does nothing. Man creates only
if he’s crippled. or dead.“Master Jack,”say the doormen standing
before him at attention.Dressed in the same garb
as he is,the audience is sitting
in a huge dilapidated hall.They are leaning,
their eyes fixed on Azawho stands singing in
a brightly-lit corner of the hall.The hall acoustics is clear.Aza is singing what the actors
are playing:about herself, about her
divine love. About herself. Me, me.Jack shuts his eyes tight,takes a few steps back,
stumbles and runs out.– What’s wrong with you?
– I succumbed. That quack fed me some
some poison. Still no news from Mark? We sent him there
so that we could make love. – Yes.
– Now. – Now is ever. Now. Here. Ever!
– Love, love, we are making love. For a few months your girlishness, beauty and
youth have disappeared. You have aged and your
face scares me. For pushing the limits causes
matter to spontaneously combust, as beyond a certain point
there was just pulp and, at the very bottom, death. Once again, you are one
among many. You are taking part in
an auction. You exist anew thanks to
your love affair. But you don’t know that it is not
you who sets the price, the value of merchandise in this market; that the hand which
fumbles inside you and which cruelly turns your
glands inside out, is the hand of the very principle
of the market, the murderous hand or eye which finds pleasure
in seeing actors waste away like dogs
lustfully wagging their tails.Rows of ceiling-highmetal filing cabinets.Their drawers,hundreds of identical drawers,
are filled with electron tubessimilar to old radio-set valves.All valves are the same.
Mark bends over them.The Sherns swoop down on him.
Mark fires his weapon.From the skull of the dead Shern,
an eye rolls out onto the floor,still shining. When it finally
grows dim, Mark repeats:“That is all.”Thousands of Shern eyes,thousands of Shern brains are
lying in the drawers, waiting.Mark notices that the temple
walls are covered with frescoes.Moldy and faded, but legible,they depict Sherns sitting on
their thrones, pompous;sacred Sherns, conquering Sherns,Sherns gazing upon the supreme Shernwho gazes higher yet,
into the sky, with admiration.Mark speaks without
uttering any sounds:“Home. Home.”Aza, are you crazy?! I am crazy! I am crazy! You see, one can reach a state
in which one has to confess, submit, spill one’s guts, as if admitting that
there’s nothing else inside, and that the sight of one’s entrails
means renouncing the secret, exposing and rejecting one’s ego… without remainder. You, and if not you, then who? I? We are pleased with your
coming, sir, …but so many of you set out
and so few came back! War, diseases. Yeret, whom you sent in advance,
told me that you have done all that
was in your human power, human power, and nothing more… – Where is Yeret?
– He is at your side. We sent him back with reinforcements,
as you had requested. Don’t you remember? – I was sick.
– So we heard. Why? For lack of faith, of course. It’s not faith that
calls for the gift of grace, – but life itself.
– Why did we retreat, sir? We should have held out to
the end, for man, to the very end. It is written: Who comes to know oneself,
comes to know God. I already know who I am. And you, brother? Secret killings have been rife
since your left, sir. People are in panic.
You have retreated. – Their anger will be terrible.
– Where is Ihezal? Ihezal! Ihezal! Get up! Get up! You are the only man
without a secret. You speak of it,
but you don’t believe in it. You are like an animal
following a scent. Still the same. You are an actress playing
the value of a feeling, its transience. You are biology, speculating about the
mystery with your belly which you fill with heat which
in turn you mistake for yourself. Because we are sinful and dead.
We call from the depth. Let us crawl to the grace of
your resurrection, melt in your goodness, and experience your mercy
in order to attain resurrection together with you, oh mystery, because we are
small and dead. Ihezal! Why are you hiding? I’ve missed you so much! I waited. I knew that only my fidelity
mattered… my chastity… – and our mutual attachment.
– Why don’t you let me touch you? – Your speech is blurred.
– Maybe we are sick, sir… sick of evil and passivity. Maybe we live briefly as an ulcer.
And you want to rearrange our destiny. Maybe I am a disease turning
towards the new… – unfamiliar freshness.
– I don’t understand you! Sweet are my embraces,
remember, sir? But they are nothing compared
with the delight one’s body can feel… if it wants to, if it is in touch
with its feelings. I am a body, sir! Splitting. The idea of splitting.
Self-awareness in split. There is duality of nature here
and duality of life. The thought of duality is part
of my nature. It’s the contradiction between
form and desire… Between the answer and the
language of darkness. Hence I am God. – I am God.
– Come, sir. Sir! Sir, your spacecraft. Sir. The Expectant Brethren saw it rise
in a pillar of fire… I don’t want to see any more.
I want to know. I want to be there. You — here. There — nothing. Nothing is there. Everything is here. You may die. I beg you. I am not afraid of dying. The sea! We must change their cruel laws,
expel the priests, give an equal share to the people,
destroy false hopes. – They will not agree.
– Then we will do it alone. Cannons. Aimed at whom? The city, the city. Oh, they are right, sir. Blessed be who existed
before he came to be. And you shall become
those who are passing by.The Shern Aviy alights above
Marek’s head.He observes, curious,and jeers: “Hello, brother”.“Without that eye which
somebody had programmed for you,which perhaps you had
programmed yourselveswhen you still were able to think,”
says Mark.The Shern answers:
And who has programmed you? “.“Who am l? “–asks Mark.The Shern kneads some dirt in
his claws clutching the wooden cross,and replies: “This is you.”“Will I ever emerge from
this darkness,” asks Marek.“It does hurt, brother,
doesn’t it?” answers Aviy.Jack fires at him.
The Shern falls onto the sand,spinning more and more slowly,and like a dying wind-up
toy, keeps repeating“Love, love, love. “Force, my force, you have abandoned me! Who?! What?! Why?! Welcome… grace. How much can one endure? How much must
one love life so that one doesn’t
turn into a Shern?In a casino, astronauts are playing
roulette and baccarat.Jack is passing by catching
shreds of conversations.Somebody says: “He was not to blame.”“He was an animal among animals,
a wolf in a forest.”Somebody else: “Soul does not
reside in the brain,”but in form.”
A third voice:“The Angel symbolizes the
transfigurationfrom the visible into the invisible
which we are accomplishing.”Television screens set up
along the wall, come on,transmitting the images from
the camera mounted on Mark’s spacecraft.The camera seems responsive
to motion and body heat,because the scholar Rhoda and
the Actor are making their way to the ship,sharing an oxygen helmet.Jack calls out to them,
but they can’t hear him.Cautiously moving
past George’s corpse,the Actor and Rhoda board
the ship.The casino manager grabs
Jack by the arm, saying:“Master,they are looking for you.
Strikes, demonstrations.The conspiracy of the Gnostics…
Those who know, should…”Ihezal is seated at the end
of the baccarat table.She is wearing Aza’s dress.She laughs provocatively,
looking at Jack.She is surrounded by admirers.Jack’s assistant’s face
appears on the TV screens.Master, we have a signal.Keep talking.Where’s Marek?Who sent you?We can see you.There is a white round spotlight
over your heads.There is the eye which can see you.Speak to the eye… We are going to the earth’s interior, where we will find the truth, and human happiness, and the revelation of all mysteries. Because we have always
been right… Always… Right. Right. Right… – He’s gone mad.
–No, he is performing.Master, we can bring them
over to us. They are close enough, master.Take them on board.Where to, master?To the Old Earth.Jack turns his back to
the screen.Very slowly, he sinks
to his knees,and bends to the ground.It’s a heart attack.
Jack is dying.The astronauts rush to his side.They are pounding his chest
with fists. In vain.From the corner of the hall,
master Jack observes his own death.The astronauts are struggling
to rescussitate him,and nobody notices when
he walks out of the casino.Outside, it’s dark.There are bonfires
in the distant steppe.Around the bonfires there is
a tribe gathered. The same tribe.There is the Rider there and
the girl with eyes on her palms,so very much like Ihezal.
Jack comes up to her.She rises to her feet
and opens her arms.The camera zooms in
on the darkness of her body.The sound of her
even heart-beat can be heard.A moment later,the hoof-beats of a horse
riding away.The final shot of this filmdescribed in the script,
was as follows:428. Long shot. 3 meters.In the dawning light:a horse without a rider
galloping across the steppe.Due to the decision of the
vice-minister of culture,vice-secretary of state for
Polish cinema,the production of the film
“On the Silver Globe”was stopped in the spring
of 1977.At that time the film crew
were staying on the Baltic seacoast.At the same time, the film set,
with props and costumesneeded to complete
the 2-year-long production,had been finally created and awaited
the film crew in Wrocław,in Lower Silesia, in Masuria Lake District,
and in the Caucasus Mountains.All these decorations,
costumes and props were destroyed.The employees of the film studio:
make-up artists, costume designers, script writers,have preserved in warehousesand their own apartmentswhatever they managed to salvage.I am finishing this film
thinking of them.Meanwhile the small drama
of this filmand the grand and hopefully
honorable drama of our lives,will continue to intertwinein a common mosaic of successful
flights and crash landings.My name is Andrzej Żuławski,and I am the director of the film
“On the Silver Globe.”Starring: Subscribe Cinèphiles Asylum for more films.