Translation and subtitles by PEPPER & LALASPAIN *** SONG LIVES FOR EVER ***
There's a tale told somewhere south of Burma.
It tells of one man's rendezvous with death.
A man who, when pushed far enough, retaliated.
How he faced down an army and spilled a river of blood.
Naysayers shake their heads, discounting the legend.
But the fact remains... it's all true.
I knew the man, and for a while, I loved him like a son.
The French high-tailed it in '54,
and the U.S. didn't yet have boots on the ground.
For a while, Indochina offered safe haven
to men who had reached the end of the line.
European war criminals, ex-Nazis, and other undesirables.
Or men with a price on their head in the West.
Men like... Martin Tillman.
- This is gonna be good. - Yes.
The tiger and the elephant, gentlemen.
Mr. Rastignac, you may have the honor.
My name is Jon-Pierre Rastignac. I have been known by many names,
but the one that I'm most commonly associated with is "The Executioner."
I face you as an equal.
With the exception of this blade, we're quite fairly matched.
They told me, if I fought, I would go free.
This fight was your salvation, but you lost.
All right. I like that.
Get lost!
On your knees!
If you shoot me, you'll take my place.
You shouldn't have done that to the corporal.
I asked the guards why a colonial police station with only one small jail
would keep a prisoner for three years.
They said only you knew the answer.
Most prisoners who end up here have no hope.
- I thought I might help... - You come twice a week
with flowers for him?
And he turns you away?
I can bring you fruit.
- The food here is not healthy. - I don't need your help.
Don't waste your time on me.
You're not a waste of time. You're just lost.
I'll come see you again... in case you change your mind.
JULY 1959
AUGUST 1959
- That agent is here again. - He's persistent.
- I can kill him if you order it. - The world is changing, Boon.
We must adapt with it.
Isn't it your job to transition the local police into power?
The side effect being that, for a brief few years,
you're neither beholden to the authority of the French...
nor the Vietnamese.
Mr. Harrison, what can I do for you?
Ho Chi Minh's strength in the north grows,
as President Diem's influence in the south diminishes.
The Americans are watching and will send more advisers within the year.
You and... your kind will have to find a different fleapit to lord over.
Perhaps.
I might be of valuable assistance to you when they arrive.
At what price to me?
MI6 would like to extradite Martin Tillman
to face criminal charges in Great Britain.
There's no one of that name here.
You're overlooking a potential opportunity here, Colonel.
I know what you did in the war.
You'll need a friend like me if you're gonna deal with the Americans.
Corporal Chief Boon, please escort Mr. Harrison out.
When I was a little girl, I rescued a stray dog.
A fighting dog that had been left for dead.
I looked at those black eyes and felt the ultimate betrayal.
Some animals are not meant to be caged, Martin.
Why are you talking to me?
- You made some bad decisions. That's all. - Time is up.
I'll be back next week. Goodbye. Why do you bother coming back for him?
We build our own cages, Martin.
Alcohol's an easy panacea here. Black Jamaican rum.
It will help you forget your sins... without losing your edge.
You assaulted a superior officer in '53.
You've served three years of a six-month sentence.
What does that tell you?
Tells me I'm not the only criminal in this room.
In the north, you're just an ex-Legionnaire
with a price on his head.
In the south, you're just another ex-con with no passport.
That tattoo is a writ of judgment against you,
an execution warrant in Great Britain.
You're not so dissimilar to us. Take... Seigneur Rastignac.
Spanish Blue Division. Fought heroically for the Third Reich.
Corporal Chief Boon of the 5th Vietnamese Paratroopers.
Once a hero, now hunted by the Viet Minh as a traitor.
And Seigneur Amarillo.
Loyal to Pétain and fought until the end in Berlin.
Santé.
This room is full of men who backed the wrong horses, indeed.
I'm feeling charitable... so...
I'm fulfilling my... obligation to you.
I'm paroling you.
Effective immediately.
You're saying I'm free to go?
Our glorious run together is over.
For most of us, Indochina will be the last outpost.
But, perhaps, we can work together again under different circumstances.
If you ever find yourself in a spot,
I can always use a man with a talent like yours.
I think I'll just be moving along.
Think about it, Martin. You don't look like a man with many opportunities.
You owe me now.
You ever see me again, don't you dare presume to forget that.
Are you sure this is wise?
I want that British agent out of my affairs.
The old colonel was right. Martin wouldn't go far.
He headed to the only person he knew outside of the camp...
which is where I met him.
This is Martin, the one I was telling you about.
I have to leave now. I want the two of you to be friends.
It's nice seeing you again, Martin Tillman.
There was once an Irish boxer named Tillman.
Showed potential. And then disappeared.
Looked after her since she was knee-high to a jackrabbit.
She believes in the good in man. I don't.
If you tell me where I can get a meal, I'll be leaving.
I have no beef with you, son.
And I could use a good bouncer. You look like you can handle yourself.
She says you're a straight shooter.
When I was inside, she'd visit every week.
Always bringing flowers for the commandant.
You don't know.
God bless her innocent heart. Give me the picture.
I'll be damned if that old flesh merchant, Hans Steiner...
isn't her own father.
Takes him flowers once a week,
in the hope that he'll sit her on his knee and kiss her cheek.
He refuses to see her.
Steiner married his con gái, local girl,
whom he later suspected of deceiving him.
When Isabelle was born, that gave him sufficient reason to... deny her.
I was Steiner's valet, saw the whole thing,
adopted Isabelle.
She deserves better than either of us.
You ever hurt Isabelle, and I'll kill you faster than I could shank a salmon.
And that's damn quick, boy.
There's an old storage shed out back you can bunk in.
You'll mostly deal with drunks.
Every so often, some lame duck paws a girl.
They get one polite request. Then... do whatever it takes.
Xiè xie.
Okay.
That'll do it.
You know, you're just like I was, Martin. But you ain't so old.
- You can still change your path. - I'm nothin' like you.
I'm young, handsome, and I burn in the sun.
- You son of a bitch! - But I have to say...
you're the only person in my whole life...
who ever went out of his way to help me.
I appreciate that.
Even the worst of us wants to be loved.
And, for a time, Martin enjoyed a peace he'd never known before.
Baron Valentine, certainement. Mais oui, certaine...
He was a freed prisoner.
She was an innocent, who had watched her injured patient limp back to life.
It was only natural that they would develop feelings for each other.
I'm not sure Valentine...
- Is that what you believe in? - No, I was never a believer.
I joined the fight because...
my dad and my brother were in ahead of me.
Where I come from, that's just what you did.
Your home is here now, Martin Tillman.
Leave the past behind.
He turns to his friend, he says,
"Séamus, I told you last night, you fucked a penguin!"
Yeah, you know, it's so damn easy to get so wrapped up in life
that you miss the precious moments like this.
- Toast to the future. - The future.
We damn sure ain't drinking to the past!
To not going back where we have been before.
- Cheers. - Cheers.
No, seriously, T.J., I was out in New York.
- New York? - Two weeks.
- Have I what? - Have you broken your hands?
Suppose I break my hands. I'd become a fucking baker.
This ain't your fight!
Get the fuck outta here.
Fuck off.
Who's this cunt think he is?
We got ourselves a hard-nut, lads.
There's a pretty penny out there for Legion deserters. You know that.
You look like a fellow who likes a good tear-up.
Well, you know what?
This is your lucky day, son, 'cause so do I.
Shh! Shh! Listen.
Is that your knees I hear knocking?
Go home.
If the idea is to have a fight, now's your fucking chance.
Martin!
That's enough!
You did your job!
- I told you I'm fine, okay? - You're not fine.
- Yes, I'm fine. - Turn your head.
Turn your head.
- I'm just joking. - You're a big baby!
Hey.
- Now, it makes sense. - We're closed. Come back tonight.
My country... my laws.
My revolver.
Martin and I are old friends. Care if I sit down?
Not my call.
Thank you.
Isabelle, you better go. Come on.
Does she still believe she's Steiner's daughter?
She is Steiner's daughter.
At great expense, our mutual friend Colonel Steiner flew in a champion boxer.
Last night, someone knocked him out cold.
I decided I should meet the responsible party.
Mr. Valentine told you we're closed. Why don't you come back tonight?
You've just burned the most dangerous man in Indochina.
Right now, you need me more than anyone else in the world.
Why don't you come back and fight for us?
Steiner had the British agent sent north, so...
you can make some money.
Life can be good.
I'll take my chances here, if it's all the same with you.
If you change your mind, you know where to find me.
Steiner needs to relocate his operation.
A bar like this would be a perfect fit.
Not my favorite customer.
We're closing early tonight.
I brought you bad luck.
Bad luck resides in our unconscious.
We inflict it on ourselves.
Seems to find me.
Listen to me, son.
I saw something inside you out there in the rain.
Maybe you need to stop running away from it.
Embrace it.
Martin!
I didn't think you'd be up this early.
I'll pray for you.
I want you to promise me something.
Don't ever watch me fight. Or bet on me, or...
be any part of what happens to me when I get into that ring.
I don't understand.
Something happens to me in there.
It's a part of me I don't want you to see.
I bring bad luck to the people around me.
Martin Tillman.
I've considered your offer, and...
I believe I'll take you up on it.
Well, that wasn't so difficult, was it?
That's right. The champ is here!
The champ is here! And who's gonna win? Who? Who? Yes! The champ!
Come on! Let's go! Come on!
Come on!
Martin Tillman!
- What can I get you? - Gin and tonic highball, old boy.
Three ounces of gin to four ounces of tonic water.
Splash of lemon if you have it.
I think I can find some lemon juice somewhere.
I've been in the north.
It's refreshing to hear English spoken again.
Diplomatic service?
You might say that. I'm looking for an Irishman.
- A boxer. - He was here, but now he's gone.
There are a hundred local criminals in this vicinity.
Nazis on the run, murderers, wanted war criminals.
What's with this guy?
In 1946, Martin Tillman set off several large bombs
targeting RUC and B-Special units.
We know he was working with his father and brother,
who were part of a flying column for the IRA.
But, as they were killed in one of the blasts...
he's our loose end, you might say.
Can't help you.
Well, if he does turn up, you can find me via the British Embassy.
You look like a man that could do with £10,000.
The reward money for information expediting his apprehension.
Do you know what £10,000 looks like in French piastres, Mr. Valentine?
Cheers.
Martin Tillman!
I hear you give your money to Valentine.
You ever wonder how you would do in a regular boxing match?
Big money in America. Madison Square Garden.
Imagine that.
I used to know people. Politicians, investors.
But I am SS Steiner,
and you are IRA Tillman.
I was sentenced to death by a war tribunal in absentia.
And you have the British Secret Service hunting you. So...
All that we shall ever be is this, that we are right now.
Dearest Isabelle...
I'm sorry I have not been in touch.
I deeply, profoundly loved your mother.
And I'm sure what you would really wish for me to say is that...
well, that...
I love you, too.
Well, unfortunately, I do not.
For you are, at best, the daughter of a whore
and deserve no such dignity for your wishful thinking.
I was blinded by my own lust and inexperience.
I could never love the daughter of the woman who made a cuckold of me.
You are nothing but another faceless vermin inhabitant
of this festering wasteland.
Cordially, Hans Steiner.
How you doing?
We're winning so far.
There was a British agent here asking after you.
Figured he'd catch up to me, eventually.
The money's good, Martin, but I don't need it.
Neither does Steiner. You can quit when you want.
That's my military passport. We can put your picture in it.
- Steiner wouldn't like it. - Forget Steiner.
Take the money from tomorrow's fight, go to America, take Isabelle with you.
You're as good as back in jail here, and you don't even know it.
Go to the States, get away! Taste real freedom.
What about you?
I'll head south with my girl. She's got family down there.
I'll do the next fight.
Then I'll have two weeks till the next one.
That'll give us time to get ahead of him.
Whatever wrong you've done doesn't matter to anybody...
until you decide... to go on living.
One hundred thousand French piastres. That's the biggest pot you've ever taken.
However, no one is betting against you, so...
the odds are no longer worthwhile.
- So... - You want me to lose the fight?
Well, that was easy.
I told you he'll be no problem.
If you give me a cut of the gate, I'll make it a fucking work of art.
You better make it look real.
You learned to think for yourself, Martin. That's good.
Lose well, Martin Tillman. Your life depends on it.
I know, I know.
Strictly speaking, I promised I wouldn't gamble.
But it's a sure thing!
I did my research on this guy. Martin will tear him apart.
We'll go south to your family. Buy a bar.
A bigger one.
Thailand, maybe. Yeah.
When the Europeans start arriving, the Americans will be next,
and we'll be in a great position to make some money.
How much did you gamble?
Now, don't you worry your pretty little head about it.
No, no. Now, just wait a minute!
Come on, let's go!
- Get up! Get up! - Get up! Get up!
This evening, many people found out that their great hero has no honor.
They're in the bar, waiting for you.
No, no, look! Here come my gentlemen now.
Okay, fellas...
- How'd I do? - You lost.
What?
You have until the end of the week to vacate.
The deed to this property,
everything and everything inside, now belongs to Monsieur Rastignac.
Martin lost?
He knew? He knew he was going to lose, but he let Valentine gamble?
You son of a bitch.
Watch your tongue, black. You don't want to upset me.
You're awful, all of you! You cowardly cheats.
Not one of you has the dignity or bearing of Valentine.
You should be ashamed.
You and your pig!
That's enough!
That's enough.
You've taken enough from us tonight.
You're not taking any more. It ends here!
And no Spaniard in a cheap suit with a paid-off contract
is gonna take any more, do you understand?
Put it down, Valentine.
- It's not fair. - You're not a killer.
No!
What are you doing?
Everything okay, Valentine?
So, there you have it.
Killed by three slugs from my own .45.
Everything just ceased to matter.
Not my life, the bar, anything.
I just signed off.
It was a different story with Martin and Isabelle.
The thing about a sawed-off shotgun is, it's sheer hell at close range,
but, over a throw, not so much.
The force of the hit dropped Martin, knocked him cold.
But it had missed everything vital.
Likewise with Isabelle.
The .45 that had finished me passed right through her.
She was a healthy young woman.
And, well... it's said the human is the hardest animal to kill.
Martin had never had much call for religion,
but there, in the jungle, he reacquainted himself with his Maker.
He begged God to let him die there,
to take his life in exchange for saving hers.
He offered God a proposal.
If she died, he'd follow her into the twilight kingdom.
But, if she lived,
it would become his mission to quench with death
those responsible for what had happened.
She deserves better than either of us.
I bring bad luck to the people around me.
Bad luck resides in our unconscious.
We inflict it on ourselves.
Though it broke his heart,
Martin knew he could never see her again.
It had never been so goddamn clear as it was then.
He would have to kill them all. Only then could it end.
Steiner, Rastignac, Amarillo, and Boon.
Just four men.
But, in Martin's mind, four reasons his life had been destroyed.
I'm expecting Steiner this evening.
Make sure we have an unopened bottle of cognac. Okay?
"And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts...
and I looked.
And behold a pale horse.
And his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."
- I'm looking for Rastignac and Steiner. - Why?
Rastignac and Steiner.
Mook-Lao!
Don't go inside, Mook-Lao.
Cognac for you.
Martin!
Give him a drink.
No, give him the good stuff!
See...
the thing that Martin knew that they didn't was
that, in a bar fight,
the man with nothing to lose was the man to bet on.
I'm gonna kill you.
And, if your men try to stop me, I'll fucking kill them, too.
A wise man once said,
"Fear the hanged man because he's dead already."
Martin Tillman is still alive.
He walked in Valentine's bar with just a machete. Killed everyone!
They had machine guns, shotguns, Steiner!
He cut them down like they weren't even there.
Like a demon!
The fighter you killed and buried has come back to life.
I'll just find him and kill him again.
Even allowing for the general rule of exaggeration,
I'd say we have a problem on our hands.
Are you afraid, Steiner?
You're getting old.
Let's just say I'm not taking any chances.
I'll kill anyone I find to be a threat.
But he can't do anything to us.
- What can he do to us? - He'll go after our money.
That's where I would strike first.
- Our money's at my safe, at the villa. - I have to stay here.
There's a full squad there. They're armed. You'll be fine.
No. I'm... I'm deeply sorry. I'm not... I'm not going. I am not going.
Take Constantine. He'll take care of you.
Constantine, send up Monte and his boys
and also extra ammunition.
Go.
Louis XIII cognac.
Nearly a century old. An excellent choice for this occasion.
He'd have to be out of his mind to come here.
If he does, I'll kill him.
Then I'll buy dinner as an apology for this inconvenience.
Constantine, watch here.
And over here. The rest with me!
Watch here!
You, there!
Get someone in position at the door!
Kill him!
You go! You go!
Martin...
There's enough for both of us. Look!
We can get out of this. Look.
I've been prepared to die so many times in my life.
Not in this manner so repugnant.
A man should go before his Maker...
properly attired.
Today, we're mobilizing an entire strike force
to keep one man from entering a police station.
Consider him deceased, my friend.
Let's go!
What would you think of me?
For as long as he could remember,
Martin had been fighting.
Whether it was harassing the English, hunting the Viet Minh,
or even knocking fellas down for money, Martin had fought for many things.
But never for revenge.
Revenge was pure. It was simple.
And it would allow almost any means to achieve its end,
no matter how ruthless.
Now, it wasn't as though Martin had any premonition
or innate strategic knowledge.
He just figured, it wasn't a good plan to go through the front door.
Grenade!
No, not that easy.
Go! Go, go!
There!
The corridor! He's coming in the front door!
Men...
Go!
Marco, stay here. Pussies.
Take it!
Look at this face.
Look into my eyes.
Do you think I've never faced death before?
Better men than you have tried.
I will not... I will not allow you the satisfaction.
You're scum that got lucky for a day or two.
I am an aristocrat.
I was a fighter once.
Let's see how good you are.
I have no fight with you.
You're wrong.
This place was my life.
I supported my parents, my wife, my children.
Now, I have nothing.
I can't help you with that.
There's a price on your head, Irishman.
That's good enough.
Turn the guns around. He's coming.
It's not until you face death that you truly appreciate life.
Wait for him to leave cover, then fire on my command.
What are you doing, Martin?
Fire!
Cease fire!
Pierre, go check on the target.
The rest of you, be ready to provide covering fire on my command.
Never send a boy to do a man's job.
Seigneur Rastignac, where are you going?
Give me a gun!
He's fighting like a Viet Minh.
To the building. Go!
- You wanna live or you wanna die? - I wanna live.
Losing your appetite for blood, Martin?
Not really.
Not many men are granted the opportunity to duel for their life.
Bedfellows like money and power billet together.
Rastignac had lost his money and all of his influence along with it.
With no collateral,
he was just a another no-account European of innate depravity.
Rastignac's treatment of the locals
had earned him many enemies amongst the natives.
Word had spread of Martin's quest to avenge the local girl.
Many in great sympathy.
With Rastignac's soldiers gone, his fortune lost...
it would be man against man.
Just the way Martin wanted it.
The matador's relationship with the bull is closer than with any woman.
They both know that only one of them will leave the ring alive.
You won, Martin. I'm not running anymore.
It's empty.
Let's do this like gentlemen.
My name is Jon-Pierre Rastignac.
I have been known by many names,
but the one with which I am most commonly associated
is "The Executioner."
I face you as an equal.
With the exception of this blade, we're quite fairly matched.
This is for Valentine.
Watch me.
Dearest Isabelle, I trust you are well.
I'm sorry I have not been in touch.
I deeply, profoundly loved your mother.
And I'm sure what you would really wish for me to say is that...
I love you, too.
It's been some time, Martin.
We can make the railroad in Saigon by 4:00 p.m.
Take the train to the airport.
We can be in London in two days, where you'll stand trial for murder.
But you'll probably kill me first.
- So... - What?
You can work for me.
I've been ordered to assemble a team of local operatives.
Men with your skills are a commodity, Tillman.
Indochina is changing...
and so must we.
Christ never gave him much
but a god-awful talent for carnage and death.
There was no need for him to deny it now. He was a killer.
And that's all there was to it.
And so was born...
the legend.
Translation and subtitles by PEPPER & LALASPAIN *** SONG LIVES FOR EVER ***