movie online eng

english subs for a yify brripperfume.the.story.of.a.murderer.2006.720p.x264.yify quick. we can't hold them back much longer. hurry. - come on!- get up! quick! faster! open the doors. come on, quickly! just read them the sentence.

the sentence of the courtis that in two days hence the perfumer journeymanjean-baptiste grenouille shall be bound to a wooden cross with his face raised toward heaven. and whilst still alive be dealt twelve blowswith an iron rod breaking the joints of his arms, his shoulders, his hips,

his legs. he shall then be raised upto hang until dead and all customary acts of mercy are expressly forbiddenthe executioner. in 18th-century france, there lived a man who wasone of the most gifted and notorious personagesof his time. his name wasjean-baptiste grenouille, and if his name has beenforgotten today, it is

for the reason that his ambitionwas restricted to a domain that leaves no trace in history: to the fleeting realm of scent. in the period of which we speak, there reignedin the cities a stench barely conceivable to usmodern men and women. naturally, the stenchwas foulest in paris, for paris wasthe largest city in europe. and nowhere in paris was thatstench more profoundly repugnant

than in the city's fish market. here we are.i'll get another box. it was here, then, on the mostputrid spot in the whole kingdom, that jean-baptiste grenouille was bornon the 17th of july, 1738. it was his mother's fifth birth. she'd delivered them all hereunder her fishstand, and all had been stillbirths,or semi-stillbirths, you all right?

and the whole mess was shoveledwith the fishguts into the river. it would bemuch the same today but then, jean-baptiste chose differently. what's that noise? - it's a baby.- what's going on here? it's a newborn. where's its mother? she was just here.

she tried to kill it.her own child. she tried to kill her baby! there! there she is! stop! stop where you are! murderer! thus, the first soundto escape grenouille's lips sent his mother to the gallows and jean-baptiste,by official order, to the orphanageof madame gaillard.

how many today? four. well, three and a half. as usual, more dead than alive. just take the money and sign. make room. - where?- move! go on, now. is it dead? that's not staying in my bed.

- let's throw it out, then.- what if it screams? let's just kill it. harder! push! what are you doing? for mme gaillard, grenouille was asource of income, like any other. the children, however,sensed at once that there was somethingdifferent about him. by the age of five, jean-baptistestill could not talk. but he was born with a talent thatmade him unique among mankind.

it was not that the otherchildren hated him, they felt unnerved by him. increasingly he became aware thathis phenomenal sense of smell was a gift that had beengiven to him, and him alone. when jean-baptistedid finally learn to speak he soon found that everydaylanguage proved inadequate for all the olfactory experiencesaccumulating within himself. wood. warm wood.

grass. wet grass. stones. warm stones. water. cold water. frog. wet stones. big, wet frog stones.

something. by 13, mme gaillard no longerhad room for jean-baptiste and thereforedecided to sell him. come on. ten francs. from his first breath of the odorenveloping this man... seven, and not one sou more. ... grenouille knew thathis life in grimal's tannery would be worth precisely as muchas the work he could accomplish.

unfortunately for madame gaillard, the bargain was short-lived. life expectancy in the tannerywas a mere five years but jean-baptiste proved to beas tough as a resilient bacterium. he adjusted to his new fate and became a paragonof docility and diligence. slaved 15, 16 hours a day,summer and winter. gradually he became awareof a world beyond the tannery, where a utopia of unexploredsmells lay in store for him.

grenouille! come with us. i'm taking youto town for delivery. jean-baptiste grenouillehad triumphed. he was alive and at last he wasin his element. he was not choosy. he did not differentiate betweenwhat are good smells from bad, at least not yet. he was very greedy.

the goal was to possess everythingthe world had to offer in odors. his only condition being,that they were new ones. thousands upon thousands of odorsformed an invisible gruel which he dissected into itsmost remote parts and pieces. come on! get your ass over here! he needs two dozen skinsby next week. can you do that? - yeah. yeah.- yeah, come with me. what is it called?

"amor and psyche", madame.my latest creation. may i try it? if you'll allow me, mademoiselle. sheer heaven! monsieur pelissier,you are truly an artiste. please, take them.i've got far too many. what do you want? want to buy some? two for a sou.

next time you run off like that,i'll kill you! that night, he could not sleep. the intoxicating power of thegirl's scent made it clear to him why he'd come to his own lifeso tenaciously, so savagely. the purpose of his miserableexistence had a higher destiny. he would learnhow to preserve scent so that never again would helose such sublime beauty. there were about a dozenperfumers in paris in those days. one of them, the once-celebrateditalian perfumer, giuseppe baldini,

had set up shop in the center ofthe bridge called pont au change on his arrival in parisover thirty years ago. to be sure, at one time inhis youth, baldini had created several truly great perfumes,to which he owed his fortune. but now baldini was out of touch, out of fashion, and spent his days waiting forcustomers that no longer came. - chã©nier! there you are!- monsieur baldini. put on your wig.

put on your wig! you going out? i wish to retire to my studyfor a few hours and do not want to be disturbedunder any circumstances. will you be creating a newperfume, monsieur baldini? correct. for count verhamont. he has asked for something like...i think he said it was called amor and psyche from that swindlerin the rue saint andrã© des arts. pelissier?

pelissier, that's him. amor and psyche! do you know it? oh, yes. you can smell iteverywhere these days, monsieur. on every street corner. in fact, i justpurchased you a sample. in case you wanted to test it. what on earth makes you think i'dbe interested in testing it? you're right.it's nothing special.

actuallyit's a very common scent. i believe the head chordcontains lime oil. really? and the heart chord? orange blossom, i believe. and civet in the base chord, but, you know,i cannot say for sure. well, i couldn't care lesswhat that bungler pelissier - slops into his perfumes.- naturally not, monsieur. and i am thinking of creatingsomething for count verhamont

that will causea veritable sensation. i'm sure it will,monsieur baldini. take charge of the shop, chã©nier,and don't let anyone come near me. inspiration requirespeace and tranquility. is there anything else you need? inspiration, perhaps. ah, my giuseppe. you are stillthe great perfumer baldini. wonderful.

he did it again. lime oil. orange blossom, to be sure. and a hint of cloves, perhaps. no. or could be cinnamon? it's gone. cinnamon.

it's not cinnamon. cloves. musk? who's there? i'm from grimal's tannery. i've got the goatskinsyou ordered. follow me. this way. there.

lay them there. tell your masterthat the skins are fine. i'll come by in the nextfew days and pay for them. yes, monsieur. you want to make this leathersmell good, don't you? why, of course and so it shall. with amor & psycheby pelissier? whatever gave you the absurd ideai would use someone else's perfume? it's all over you.

it's on your forehead,your nose, your hands... it's bad, amor & psycheis, master. there's too much rosemary in it. and too much of... that and that. bergamot and patchouli? pat...? patchouli. what else?

that and that. lime... - rosemary.- musk. and cloves? and this. - storax?- that's in it too. - storax.- storax. you have, it appears,a fine nose, young man. my nose knows all the smellsin the world.

it's the best nose in paris,only i don't know the names. i need to learn the names,learn them all... no, no, no! you dont interrupt mewhen i'm speaking. you are both impertinentand insolent. even i don't know every scent. i've, of course, known for some timethe ingredients of amor & psyche. but all it needs to find that out isa passably fine nose, nothing else. but it needs the craftof a true perfumer

to detect the exact formula, which notes, which chords, and in what precise measurements. could you tell me the exactformula of amor & psyche? best-nose-in-paris! speak up! you see, you can't. can you? and i'll tell you why. because talent meansnext to nothing,

while experience acquired in humility and hard workmeans everything. i don't know what a formula is, but i can make amor & psychefor you now. and you think ljust let youslop around in my laboratory with essential oilsthat are worth a fortune? you? yes. now pay attention!

what is your name, anyway? jean-baptiste grenouille. very well,jean-baptiste grenouille, you shall have the opportunity nowto prove your assertion. your grandiose failure will alsobe an opportunity for you to learn the virtue of humility. - how much do you want me to make?- how much of what...? how much amor & psyche do you want? shall i fill this flask?

no! you shall not! you may fill this one. yes, master. but, master baldini... you must let me do it in my own way. as you please. no! don't drop it. that's pure alcohol.you want to blow up the building? you have to measure it first!

stop, stop it! that's enough! you know nothing! essential oils are alwaysto be mixed first, then the alcohol added and never ever is perfumeto be shaken like that! i must have been insane to listento your asinine gibberish! it's all done. this is amor & psyche!

but it's nota good perfume, master. if you let me again, master,i'll make it more better. now it's a really good perfume. don't you wantto smell it, master? i'm not in the moodto test it now. i have other thingson my mind. go now. - but, master...- go! now! can i come to workfor you, master? can i? let me think about it.

master! i have to learnhow to keep smell! what? can you teach me that? i shall have to thinkabout it. now, go. i love you. i'll give you 50 francs for him. grimal's transaction had a profound effecton all three parties.

not least uponmonsieur grimal himself. as for giuseppe baldini,the acquisition of grenouille miraculously transformedhis dwindling business even surpassing its former glory. while at last, for jean-baptiste, the mysterious secretsof the perfumer's craft began to unfold. now, pay careful attentionto what i tell you. just like a musical chord,a perfume chord contains

four essences or notes, carefully selectedfor their harmonic affinity. each perfume contains three chords: the head, the heart and the base, necessitating twelve notes in all. the head chord contains the first impression,lasting a few minutes before giving wayto the heart chord, the theme of the perfume,lasting several hours.

finally, the base chord, the trail of the perfume,lasting several days. mind you, the ancient egyptiansbelieved that one can only create a truly original perfumeby adding an extra note, one final essencethat will ring out and dominate the others. legend has it that an amphorawas once found in a pharaoh's tomb and when it was openeda perfume was released. after all those thousands of years,

a perfume of such subtlebeauty and yet such power, that for one single moment every person on earth believedthey were in paradise. twelve essences could be identified, but the 13th, the vital one, could never be determined. why not? why not?what do you mean, why not?

because it's a legend, numbskull! what's a legend? never mind. jean-baptiste. jean-baptiste? what's the matter? master, i have to learnhow to capture scent. what are you talking about?

i have to learnhow to capture scent and reprise it forever. you mean, preserve. you have to teach me that. all right.calm down, my boy. calm down. we have work to do. "the soul of beings is their scent." you said that, master.

did i? i will make youas many perfumes as you want but you have to teach me how to capturethe smell of all things. can you do that? well, naturally. then teach meeverything you know and i'll make you the bestperfume in the whole world. imagine, jean-baptiste,

ten thousand roses to produce one single ounce of essential oil. now, keep the air flowing or thebottom petals will begin to stew while i set up the alembic.and take care not to damage them. we have to let them go to theirdeaths with their scent intact. perfect. now, help mewith the moor's head. temperature is vital. when the quicksilver is here,the heat is precisely correct

and the oil will gradually rise. note this mechanism is a remarkableinvention of my own devising. you will observe how cold water is pumped through here allowing the essenceto condense here until it finally appears here. of course,out on the hillside above grasse we had only to bellowpure, fresh air.

ah, grasse. what a town. the rome of scents. the promised land of perfume. no man can rightlycall himself a perfumer unless he has proved his worthin that hallowed place. not to worry.happens all the time. to grasse. master. look.

the very soul of the rose. what's wrong? what have you done? - you lied.- what? you lied to me. how dare you talk to me like that. you said i could capturethe scent of anything. and so you can. what do you smell?

nothing. what were you expecting to smell? glass. but glass doesn't smell. course it does.what's this? i don't smell a thing. it should smell like copper! enough! you were trying to distillthe smell of copper?

iron? glass? copper? what else did you try? have you gone completely insane? you told me i had to experiment. experiment? experiment? but not with the cat. what kind of a human being are you? don't you know anything? you can no more distillthe scent of a cat

than you can distillthe scent of you or me. i can't? of course not! he is in stadio ultimo. - what?- he's dying. is there nothing you can do? - i fear not.- no! he cannot die. well, my fee is 50 francs. 50 francs?

you charlatan!you can't even name the disease! no! jean-baptiste! you cannot do this to me. not now. not yet. is there any other way to preserve smellbesides distill it? is there, master? well, yes, i believe there is.

what is it? it is known as the mysteriousart of enfleurage. can you teach me? not even i am intimatewith its secrets. but could i learn it in grasse? - well...- could i? where else but in grasse? within a week grenouillewas well again, but to travel to grasse to findajob he needed journey papers.

baldini agreed to provide them on condition thatgrenouille left him not less than one hundredformulas for new perfumes. grenouille did not mind. hecould have given him a thousand. the morning of grenouille'sdeparture, baldini was pleased. at last, he felt rewarded forhis many years of hard work. he could not remembera happier day. deeply satisfied,he went back to sleep and awoke no more in this life.

with every step he took fromthe city, the happier he felt. the air above him grewclearer, purer, cleaner, and at last he was ableto breathe freely. there were two waysto reach grasse. the first followed the windingroads through the villages while the second lead acrossthe mountains, down into provence. the choice was quite easy. thus his nose led himever higher, ever further from mankind,

more towards the magnetic pole ofthe greatest possible solitude. grenouille needed a moment tobelieve that he had actually found a spot on earth where scentwas almost absent. spread all around lay nothing butthe tranquil scent of dead stone. there was something sacredabout this place. no longer distractedby anything external, he was finally able to baskin his own existence and found it splendid. after a while, he almost forgothis plans and obsessions

and, indeed, might have doneso altogether. hello? there were a thousandsmells in his clothes. the smell of sand,stone, moss. even the smell of the sausagehe'd eaten weeks ago. only one smell was not there. his own. for the first time, grenouillerealized he had no smell. he realized that all his lifehe had been a nobody to everyone.

what he now felt was the fearof his own oblivion. it was as thoughhe did not exist. by the first light of next morning,grenouille had a new plan. he must continuehis journey to grasse. there he would teach the worldnot only that he existed, that he was someone, but that he was exceptional. and with this decision it seemed that the gods hadat last begun to smile on him.

go in. laura? coming, papa. haven't seen you here before. it's my first season. picking togetheris always more fun. they say you pickeverything you find. idiot! how many times have i told younot to cram the blossoms in

like you're stuffing a chicken? watch how grenouille does it. look how skillfullyhe handles them. the whole art of enfleurage isto allow the flowers to die slowly. in their sleep, as it were. handle them as you would a lady.wouldn't you agree with me, druot? if you say so, madame. you. check the jonquil blossoms. they need more time.

do what i say! stop it! i'm not in the mood. are you sure? of course i'm sure. i said... ...no! suit yourself lucien?

fetch me back the ladder. fetch it yourself. lucien! tuberoses for madame arnulfi.she here? she's busy. seems such a waste to boil them. or whatever you do with them. so what do you do with them? warm them in animal fat.

- what for?- the fat soaks up their scent. then what? then i cool it to a pomade and then i filter it before... before what? before i add in alcohol andother essences to make a perfume. don't touch anything. what's in there? nothing. just flowers.

- can i look?- no. not now. i've got work to do. you must go now. - come on. let me look.- don't touch. ah, my tuberoses. morning, madame. morning. why have you covered the tank? it's an experiment, madame.

to protect the blossomsfrom daylight. to preserve the scent better. well, if you say so. come with me. i'll settleyour master's account. to preservetheir scent better, you say? i don't smell much. no. then my experimentwas a failure. make sure it's your timeyou're wasting, not ours. how much must i pay

to be with you? depends what you want. what's that stuff? i'm creating a perfume. lie down, please. it feels horrible. it's only animal fat.to soak up your scent. creating a perfume, eh? admit it. you're gettingsome sort of bang out of this.

aren't you? i enjoy my work. hold your arm still. don't thinkyou're gonna tie me up. hold out your arm, please. i've come across somestrange men in my time... just relax. holy mother, what's that?! just for scraping off the fat.

- are you mad?- relax. you'll ruin everything. if you're frightened, you stink.then your perfume will be spoiled. i've had enough. here, take your money. basting me up in all this goo.you think i am a christmas goose? get out of here! quickly, blow them outbefore the roses melt! - roses can't melt, papa!- these ones can. now i'd like to propose a toastto our guest of honour,

his excellency,the marquis de montesquieu. may our tradecontinue to flourish! i thank you all and would ask of youthe honour to be the first to offer my congratulationsto your beautiful daughter and present her with a smalltoken of my affection. it's beautiful. i'm overwhelmed, your grace. "your grace"?

i had hoped that we would beon more familiar terms by now. let's have a gameof hide-and-seek! oh yes! but everyone must play! let the men catch the women. albine! wait! put me down. please? now there's no escape. game's over, everybody. time to go in now.

albine? franã§oise? laura, have you seen the twins? no, not since the game started. jacques? take this way. you two with me. your excellency? through here. albine! franã§oise! i told that cretin ten timesto get these ready!

don't keep picking on the boy. i'll kill him, the uselesslittle sewer rat! why aren't the enfleurageframes... yes, master? i mean, would you be good enoughto prepare the enfleurage frames? certainly, master. acurfew? are you mad? jasmine can only be pickedbefore dawn. we all know that.

this could meanthe ruin of our trade. yours. and yours and yours. supposing it's your daughternext time. of course a curfew is necessary,but we also have to catch this man and to do that is to understandhow he thinks, what he wants. i should have thought thatwas obvious. use your imagination. and if i were to tell youthat all except the prostitute went to their graveswith their chastity intact?

how would you know? the coroner had each girl examined.they were all found to be virgins. supposing there isn't a next time? if we introduce a curfew wemay all go bankrupt for nothing. so we wait until he's killed,what? six? seven? eight? curfew!go back to your homes! gentlemen! we have to face the fact that ourpolice are helpless in this matter.

i suggest that we askfor support from paris. paris won't be smarter than we are. we must arrest every gypsyin provence. and every beggar. and every man withouta wife and family! listen. we have to put ourselvesinside the mind of this man. each of his victimshad an especial beauty. we know he doesn't wanttheir virginity, so it seems to me that it's their beauty itselfthat he wants.

it's almost as if he's tryingto gather something. as if his ambitionsare those of a collector. a collector? of what? their hair? whatever it is,i fear he won't stop killing until his collection is complete. monsieur. this man is a demon. a phantom who cannot be foughtby human means.

now, i insist that we call uponour bishop to excommunicate him! what good would that do? have you no faith in the powerof our holy mother church? this is not a matter of faith. there's a murderer out there and we must catch himby using our god-given wits! i say untilwe submit to mother church these killings will not cease. citizens of grasse, we herebydeclare that this murderer,

this demon in our midst, has incurred the sentenceof excommunication. not only has this depraved monster robbed us of our daughters, the young and fair blossomof this city, and by his wanton acts has brought our trade,our livelihood, our very existence, to the brink of eternal darkness.

we therefore declare that this vile viper, this ignominious carbuncle, this execrable evil in our midst, shall henceforth be solemnlybanned from our holy presence, rejected from the communionof holy mother church as a disciple of satan, slayer of souls. stand clear!

an infected limb,an outsider of the faith a necromancer,a diabolist, a sorcerer and a damned heretic. oh, god, in thy mostmerciful spirit, bring down thunderboltsupon his head and may the devilmake soup of his bones. amen. my lord! it's a miracle! he's been caught!he's been caught!

my lord, the fiend has been caught. in the city of grenoble. he's confessed to everything. he's confessed to everything! hallelujah! praise be to god! and we thank him for listening to our prayersand answering them. just read the report.

this cannot possiblybe the same man. he confessed to everything.including the murders in grasse. yes. under torture. look. here. he admits to stranglinghis victims, pulling out their hairand ravaging them. the grasse girls were killed bya blow to the back of their heads their hair was carefully cropped,and not one of them was violated. antoine,

we're all happy it's over. let it go. - papa, what's the matter?- we're going home. now! but why? i'm enjoying myself. - don't argue with me, laura.- stop it! i'm going... laura! out of my way! papa! i'm so sorry.

i know you must think mea very foolish man, but try to understand you're all i have left. you don't need to explain, papa. - if anything were to happen to you...- i know. but you must stop worryingabout me all the time. sweet dreams, my love. sweet dreams, papa. papa, what's the matter?

did you open the window? why? have this letter dispatched to themarquis de montesquieu immediately. stay on the road northinto the mountains. did monsieur richis leave? he did. which way? north. you sure it wasn't south?

i saw them with my own eyes.why do you want to know? i said north. north! good god! good afternoon, monsieur. good afternoon. do you haveanyone else staying here? no, monsieur. then i would like to takeall your rooms for the night. it will be our pleasure, monsieur. and tomorrow, at first light, we wishto be ferried to the lle de lã©rin.

- it's deserted, just a few monks.- i'm aware of that. very well, monsieur. our finest room, mademoiselle. with a superb view of the sea. one moment. very well. do you have a room next to this one? - yes, but the view is different.- i have no interest in the view. papa, will you please tell menow what is happening?

you haven't said a word all day. why all this secrecy? last night i dreamt you were dead, murdered like all the other girls. the truth is, i'm convinced thatthe killer is still here somewhere. all of his victimswere young and beautiful, and who is there more beautifulthan you, laura? whatever his insane scheme, it will surely be incompletewithout you.

i wrote to the marquis acceptinghis proposal of marriage and requesting that it take placeas soon as possible. until then you will stayin the safety of the monastery. and all this becauseyou had a bad dream? - i've made my decision.- but i don't know if i love him! i'm afraid the circumstancesleave us no choice. - papa!- it's all arranged, laura. on your feet.hands in the air! why did you kill my daughter?

i needed her. i just... needed her. but remember this. i will be looking at you when you are laid on the cross and the twelve blowsare crashing down on your limbs. and when the crowd has finally tired of your screams and wandered home,

i will climb up through your blood and sit beside you. i will look deep into your eyes and drop by drop i will trickle my disgust into them like burning acid, until finally you perish.

unchain the prisoner. that's enough. let him be brought to the scaffold. what's that? he's over there. this man is innocent! he is innocent! an angel! this is no man!

this is an angel! you can't fool me! forgive me, my son. the people of grasseawoke to a terrible hangover. for many of them,the experience was so ghastly, so completely inexplicable andincompatible with their morals that they literally erased itfrom their memories. the town council wasin session by the afternoon

and an order was passedto the police lieutenant to immediately begin freshinvestigations into the murders. the following day,dominique druot was arrested. it was in his back yard that theyfound the hair of the victims. after fourteen hours of torture,druot confessed to everything. with that, the case was closed. by then, grenouille was alreadyhalf way back to paris. he had enough perfume left toenslave the world if he so chose. he could walk to versaillesand have the king kiss his feet.

he could write the pope a letter,reveal himself as the new messiah. he could do all thisand more if he wanted to. he possessed a power strongerthan the power of money, or terror, or death. the invincible power to commandthe love of mankind. there was only one thingthe perfume could not do: it could not turn himinto a person who could love and be lovedlike everyone else. so, to hell with it, he thought.

to hell with the world, with the perfume, with himself. on the 25th of june, 1766, around 11 o'clock at night, grenouille entered the citythrough the port d'orleans and like a sleep-walker, his olfactory memories drew himback to where he was born. i love you!

within no time,jean-baptiste grenouille had disappeared fromthe face of the earth. when they had finished, theyfelt a virginal glow of happiness. forthe first timein their lives they believed that theyhad done something purely out of love. - ey, over here!- look! look, a jacket! let's take them all home.

Tweet

Subscribe to receive free email updates: