Filip

BASED ON LEOPOLD TYRMAND'S AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL NOVEL "FILIP"

WARSAW GHETTO, 1941

One last time.

- Ouch. - You're doing it on purpose.

Sure! Why bother practicing?!

Hold this.

They keep falling down.

He must've been a fat guy.

- But I've never performed before. - Me neither.

- But you learn fast. - And you don't.

We'll be rich. I know how to hustle.

- I'm about to die... - Me too!

Filip, hurry up.

I love you.

- We'll be late. - Calm down.

I love you, do you understand that?

- Come - Hurry up.

Why are you dragging your feet all of a sudden?

Sorry.

This is my friend, Sigmund.

- He works with me in the sewing room. - Good day.

Mom and Dad, my sister Ewa, my brother Filip.

And this is Sara,

his sweetheart...

or perhaps...

Wife?

You know that Sigmund wants to get into the African coffee trade?!

Well, not now, obviously...

This is us. See you.

Keep your fingers crossed for us!

And keep yours crossed for us.

I'm a bundle of nerves.

I love you.

Good luck, son.

Come on.

There's more room here than in the attic,

so let's take one step forward and two to the side...

Filip... I'm scared...

I have something for you.

I wanted to give it to you at the end, but I can't wait any longer.

Will you be my wife?

- Are you crazy? Now? - When, then?

If you'd rather not...

Please give them an equally warm welcome.

Youth, joy, charm.

They've toured Monte Carlo, London, and Brussels.

- For the first time in our cabaret! - What the hell did you tell him?

- Sara et Fil! - I'll kiss you later.

Stop, stop!

Come on, shoot them!

Run!

You hear?

Run!

Come on!

FRANKFURT TWO YEARS LATER

You people are out of your minds.

You should all be hanged.

Us?

You.

Foreigners.

But all your boys have left and are dying at the front.

We're all you have left.

I wouldn't mind

if all foreign waiters were to be hanged from the lampposts.

For the torment we suffer looking at your fat faces.

Are you laughing?

Is something wrong?

I was assigned to a factory.

Can you imagine me working some machine?

Even our ministers work at the munitions factories.

- So does one of the royal family... - Good for them.

But while I still have these legs and this butt,

nobody will make me stand next to some machine.

Not the Reich Ministry of Labor, or the Gestapo...

Careful there, they're cracking down on dodgers now.

You're like Danish, or Dutch, or something, right?

- Belgian. - That's what I said...

It's all the same. Leo, right?

Not Leo. Pierre.

Great. Pierre.

And him?

- Czech? - French.

But Francesco mentioned that he's not exactly French.

Did he?

What do I care...

Francesco is a very nice guy...

- Isn't he pretty? - You're the pretty one.

I have to pee.

Don't peek, or I won't come back.

I like her.

There's something different about her...

And I like that.

- You just fancy her, that's all. - I do.

I'll be in Kassel tomorrow,

then in Dortmund, and then I'll go to Stuttgart.

My ass is already sore from sitting on trains.

But that's why they'll never get me.

Compulsory laborers within the Reich are forbidden to:

leave Frankfurt;

maintain intimate relations with citizens of the Reich;

own any valuables,

furs, woolen blankets, books, magazines...;

own ration coupons for clothing,

fish, meat, chocolate, coffee, fruit, or milk...

- Nothing about wine? - Nothing.

Well, that's alright!

So, pleasure-wise, we're left with:

searches, torture, prison,

labor camp, concentration camp

and... and... and what?

Certain... certain...

death.

They'll be conscripting infants soon.

Blanka, the master race uses the front door,

the slaves are off to the pigsty.

Remember, first floor. Door marked Private.

Say at the reception that you are going to comfort a widow - Mrs. Stein.

- Room 109. - Room 109. I know.

Francesco...

Look...

Here's what we'll do.

Stay with us for a while, but not too long.

When I get down to business, make yourself scarce.

Okay?

Where is she? She should be here by now.

Maybe she got lost.

At last!

From heaven to hell.

Welcome to hell, then.

Hello. Good day. It's going to be a hot evening.

- It's going to be hot. - Fifteen minutes, tops!

Maybe I'll turn Churchill down a bit?

They can hang you for that, too.

No, leave it.

The sound of his voice soothes me...

As you wish.

It's hot...

Finally, a great idea.

Don't you have any more?

I'm thirsty.

I'll grab something from downstairs.

What would you like?

- Maybe Schloss Johannisberg? - I love that one.

Really?

You have good taste.

So that we'll hear his footsteps.

Just as I thought...

What?

We're a good match.

I'm out of here.

I don't have the heart to tell him... He's so nice.

And so into me.

My train leaves in an hour.

I'll see you... after the war.

Remember, for sleeping with guys like me, the Gestapo will give you a new haircut.

So it's not just rumors.

What?

That you're a Jew.

I had to check for myself.

I'll see you...

Morning, Fil.

Heil Hitler!

- Heil Hitler! - Heil Hitler, Fil!

Fil! Coffee for Herr Eissler!

Coffee for Herr Eissler. Got it!

Bohumil, where's that coffee for Herr Eissler?

Fil's on it.

Good morning, Herr Brutsch. Coffee coming right up.

Move your asses.

Bohumil, you've got to be faster with those tablecloths. It's almost 7:00.

- Jupp! Hurry up! - Bugger off.

Want me to kick your ass? You miss being thrown down the stairs?

Not now, Fil.

You could just help me instead.

Have you ever seen a French waiter help a German dishwasher?

Fil! Where is breakfast for Herr Eissler!

Breakfast for Herr Eissler!

Where's that coffee?!

Francesco.

Buongiorno, bon appétit.

- Guys, come on. - It's hardly even funny anymore.

Laszlo?

I can't.

My waiter's honor won't let me.

One more, for me.

And for Laszlo.

Cheers!

Enough, or it'll get too watery.

- A little more... - No, Eissler is a good man.

- Cutlery! - Coming right up, boss!

Look, Blanka and Francesco loved each other so much.

And now Francesco is "servicing" the general's wife on the second floor.

- He's moving on up. - Yes, he is.

You're still thinking about Blanka?

You're not made for each other. Leave her.

Stop talking in French. Get him that blasted coffee right now!

Hello boys! I've seen a rat again.

Something should be done about it.

Door!

- Good morning, Herr Direktor. - Good morning.