Arriving in an unidentified Swedish port city, a young drifter takes a temporary job as a waiter at the gloomy Hotel Busarewski, where he is given the nickname "Giliap." As he struggles to connect with the people around him, he finds himself caught between a blooming, tender romance with a beautiful waitress named Anna and the absurd, criminal schemes of a manipulative co-worker known as "The Count," leading to a melancholic exploration of unfulfilled dreams and human disconnection.
Information |
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|---|---|
Language |
Swedish |
Country |
Sweden |
Premiere date |
November 16, 1975 |
Running time |
137 minutes |
Genre |
Drama |
Budget |
$900,000 |
Box Office |
Not Disclosed |
Crew |
|
Directed by |
Roy Andersson |
Produced by |
Göran Lindström |
Written by |
Roy Andersson |
Music by |
Björn Isfält |
Cinematography |
John Olsson |
Edited by |
Roy Andersson Kalle Boman |
Production Co. |
Sandrews Europa Film |
Distributed by |
Sandrew Film & Teater AB |
Official Trailer
The Plot
The Grandeur of Hotel Busarewski
An elderly man was violently tossed out onto the cold street from the entrance of the Hotel Busarewski, a name that echoed with a cruel irony for those who knew its inner workings. He stumbled to his feet, shouting at the hotel manager from the pavement, questioning aloud if this was any way to treat decent people. As he staggered away up the street, a quiet man carrying two heavy suitcases arrived at the Swedish port city hotel. Inside, the atmosphere was fraught with tension. The manager, a stern man confined to a wheelchair and suffering from a vastly exaggerated sense of self-importance, wheeled himself around the lobby. He barked at his weary staff, loudly demanding to know where the decent people were and berating an employee over why the front roll-up was still broken.
The manager aggressively rolled his wheelchair through an empty dining room, snapping at the staff with desperate suggestions to save money. He ordered them to light used candles before the guests arrived and to place fewer floral buds in the decorative vases. Moving to a buffet prepared for an incoming funeral party, he angrily inspected the appetizers and salads, finding faults where there were none. Demanding an air of class, he insisted the hired string quartet play their somber music, even though the dining room remained completely devoid of patrons. Just as the manager raised a hand to interrupt the musicians, the new arrival with the two suitcases stepped into the room.
Assuming the worst, the manager instantly mistook the man for the new chef. The stranger quietly corrected him, stating he was the new waiter. Without a hint of apology, the manager informed him that he would be working a funeral meal at exactly 2:00 PM to learn the ropes. The new waiter was sternly instructed to use the back stairs rather than the guest elevator, with the manager pompously reminding him that the hotel had a grand reputation of class and tradition to uphold. With a wave of his hand, the manager ordered the quartet to resume playing.
At the front desk, the clerk handed the new waiter—whom we shall call the man, or simply W—his room key. The clerk leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially that, just for today, he could take the elevator. W ascended to the top floor, where he accidentally startled an older woman who was hastily adjusting her uniform. W asked her for the location of room No. 7. The woman pointed out that this was No. 3 and gestured him in the proper direction, pausing to ask if his stay at the hotel was only temporary. W hesitantly agreed that it was. With a dry chuckle, the woman joked that it was a bit draughty on their floor, but it suited the pigeons just fine. Finally alone, W inspected his rather drab, claustrophobic little room. Peering out the glass, he indeed spotted a pigeon resting on the neighboring windowsill, and across the way, through an open window, he caught a glimpse of a woman taking a shower.
Somber Duties and Basement Encounters
Later that day, W sat in the employee dining room, eating his dinner alongside his new coworkers. A heavy silence hung over the tables; there was absolutely no conversation among the seated staff. W's presence as a stranger did not go unnoticed. Finally, a portly man who worked as the head chef called out across the room, inquiring if W was a sailor. When W calmly responded, "Partly," the chef let out a hearty, booming laugh. The sound acted as a catalyst, and the rest of the room suddenly erupted into extended, raucous laughter. The sudden joy was swiftly killed, however, when the manager appeared at the doorway. Absolute silence returned instantly as the manager coldly asked if the employees had finished their meals.
W's first shift began in earnest. He stood by the buffet, diligently lighting the candles as the funeral guests awaited their entry. The mourners filed in somberly, their faces etched with grief, and began to occupy the tables. A man invited them to be seated, and the servers sprang into action. The contrast between the dining room and the kitchen was jarring; behind closed doors, the kitchen staff enjoyed a mood of gaiety and lively singing. Back in the dining room, a grieving man accidentally spilled food onto his fine suit and urgently ordered rags and water. W quickly rushed over to aid in the cleaning effort, joined surprisingly by the maître d', who lent a hand. Flustered, the man who had spilled his plate immediately asked for a glass of schnapps. Meanwhile, an older man sneaked into the kitchen to scrape his plate, jokingly asking W if the mournful guests out there were puking yet.
As the afternoon dragged on, one funeral guest slipped into the bar, ordering something exceptionally strong. He leaned over the counter, telling the bartender in a daze that he simply could not believe Evert was dead. Soon, other grieving guests joined him, seeking liquid solace. The moment the very last guest vacated the dining room, the staff rushed around to quickly blow out the candles, desperate to preserve the wax to appease the manager. W and the others began disassembling the elaborate buffet table. Out in the lobby, many funeral patrons lingered in somber despair, creating a surreal scene when the regular, carefree dinner guests arrived for the evening. The joyous evening patrons were guided to the bar, passing right through the silent, grieving assembly.
Tasked with moving furniture, W and another waiter guided tables onto a cart, taking the elevator down to the dimly lit basement. There, they were intercepted by a custodian wearing a crisp blue uniform. Through a slightly ajar door to a side room, W noticed a woman dressed only in a negligee, while a man beside her stood up and hastily began dressing himself. Ignoring the awkwardness, the custodian aggressively tried to sell the waiters some transistor radios. Returning to the bustling lobby, the waiters witnessed a tense standoff. The manager and his staff were blocking the path of a strapping, highly intoxicated young man accompanied by a couple of friends and a dog. Denied entry and a beer, the young man angrily tried to throw a punch. Only the desperate pleas of his friends finally convinced him to leave the premises.
Seeking a brief respite, W grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen. The woman who poured it for him studied his face, asking if he was just passing through. When he nodded, she confessed with a wistful sigh that her intentions had been exactly the same—twelve years ago. Another man sitting nearby chuckled, noting that W had certainly endured a challenging first day. Stepping out the back door of the hotel to catch his breath, W found several staff members gathered around a motorcycle, watching a repairman restart it. As the engine revved with a deafening roar, the manager's voice echoed from above, shouting out the window that the hotel had guests to consider. W retreated, climbing the stairs back to his room. In the hallway, he crossed paths with an incredibly attractive waitress, offering a brief, polite greeting before collapsing onto his small bed to rest.
A Doomed Bird of Passage
W awoke later in the evening, the thick atmosphere of the hotel clinging to him. He ruffled his hair and ventured outside once more. In the back lot, he found the chef and another kitchen staff member sipping coffee in the shadows, quietly listening to the unmistakable sounds of passionate sex echoing from an open upstairs window. Walking back inside, W noticed the attractive waitress he had seen earlier—Anna—working the busy evening shift in a dining room now packed with lively patrons. Making his way toward the front street, W arrived just in time to see the tyrannical manager and his wheelchair being awkwardly loaded into a waiting car. As the door closed, the manager was heard loudly vowing to anyone who would listen that he had not given up. When the car pulled away into the night, W continued his aimless walk down the street.
His evening stroll led him down some abandoned streetcar tracks. The night air was pierced by the drunken laughter of three people who had overindulged, stumbling clumsily on a nearby staircase. A man looked down from the level above, calling out to ask W where he was going. W, having no answer to give, remained silent and continued his solitary march. When he finally returned to the Hotel Busarewski, the bar was alive with singing guests. The elderly man from the funeral was still wandering among the dinner patrons, continuously remarking aloud in utter astonishment that Evert was dead. Anna, displaying remarkable patience, gently took the old man by the arm and escorted him back to the bar. The band had transitioned to dance music, and a large section of the dining room had been cleared to serve as a dance floor.
W navigated his way through the dancing crowd and retreated to the top floor. As he slid his key into the lock of his upstairs room, he realized he was not alone. A man stepped out from the shadows of the dimly lit hallway. The stranger, talkative and intensely charismatic, introduced himself as Gustav Svensson, though he preferred to be called "The Count." Gustav looked W up and down, declaring him a "doomed bird of passage." The Count passionately explained that he didn't want to associate with such drifting souls, but rather with people who genuinely wanted to straighten out their lives. He leaned in close, advising W to write to the underground if he was truly interested in changing his fate, swearing to W that this would be his very last season working at this miserable hotel.
Down in the dining room, a woman began to sing a melancholic song about the beginning of a love affair. The haunting melody drifted up through the floorboards into W's room, washing over him and leaving him feeling profoundly lonely and forlorn. He sat at his small desk, pen in hand, attempting to write a letter, but the weight of the evening forced him to stop and lose himself in thought.
Stolen Food and Seaside Aspirations
The next morning brought the harsh reality of another shift. Anna was among the staff diligently resetting the tables in the sprawling dining room. The boss rolled his wheelchair over to her, his demeanor softening as he blatantly told Anna she was beautiful. He sighed heavily, wishing aloud that Anna could have experienced the hotel thirty years ago, when the establishment was vibrant, elegant, and truly meant something. His nostalgia quickly morphed into a bitter rant. He confessed he was now afraid to be at the hotel at night, disgusted by the noise, the vulgarity, and the cheap slot machines that plagued the halls. The manager explained he was hosting a crucial luncheon that day with Director Ek and his attorney, demanding that the fine China be laid out perfectly alongside a fresh bouquet of flowers. He promised Anna he would tell Ek that installing the slot machines had been a massive mistake, before pivoting to complain bitterly that the ungrateful staff was constantly stealing food and liquor from the pantry.
The manager's tirade was abruptly interrupted when the old man from the previous day's funeral suddenly rose from behind a nearby sofa, still loudly exclaiming his sheer amazement at the death of Evert. Anna quickly stepped in, gently escorting the disoriented man to the cloakroom. The old man stubbornly refused to go home, begging for a room, but he was abruptly and coldly told by management that the hotel was completely full. As he was pushed out the door, he continued to mutter that he was not going back to his house. Soon after, Captain Simonsson was the first of the lunch guests to arrive. He requested to sit entirely alone, wishing to dine without phone calls or interruptions. The manager quickly redirected him to another table, explaining smoothly that the hotel management would be dining at the Captain's usual table in the corner. Conceding, the Captain ordered an asparagus omelette and a large number of alcoholic beverages.
Meanwhile, chaos brewed inside the kitchen. The staff had been gathered and were being shown the contents of a discovered bag filled to the brim with stolen food. Amidst the interrogation, Anna was informed that someone had sent her a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Just then, W pulled his coat on, preparing to begin his shift. The gathered group turned their accusing eyes toward him, demanding to know if the bag of stolen goods belonged to him. W flatly denied ownership. Moments later, The Count arrived, watching with interest as Anna unwrapped her mysterious flowers. Out in the dining room, the manager wheeled in, visibly distressed and humiliated that the directors of the hotel had completely failed to show up for their scheduled luncheon.
At his table, the Captain flagged W down, asking if there had been any important phone calls for him. Getting a negative response, the Captain turned his attention to Anna, brazenly telling the waitress that he was now available if someone wanted to talk to him. Later, the manager sat alone in the lobby, fuming in upset over his absent guests. The maître d' eventually approached him, gently suggesting that they must clear his reserved table. While working, W struck up a conversation with Anna, learning she had been employed at the restaurant for six months. W reiterated that he was just passing through. Anna confided that she was planning on quitting. As they were ordered to clear the manager's sad, empty corner table, Anna revealed she was heading to a beach hotel on the coast. W asked if it wasn't too late in the season to move to the beach; Anna agreed it was, but she didn't care. When W asked if she lived at the hotel, Anna replied that she rented an apartment nearby, though occasionally, if her shift ran incredibly late, she would stay overnight in one of the staff rooms. Handing W the table's floral centerpiece, she instructed him to take the flowers to the refrigerator.
A Roll of the Dice and a Hidden Weapon
The evening wore on as ladies waited patiently at the bar until their gentlemen companions finally joined them for dinner. Eventually, W cashed out his slips and officially ended his long shift. Another waiter patted him on the back, advising that he would take care of serving the latest table, but only after he enjoyed a much-needed smoke from his pipe. W retreated to the kitchen, sipping hot coffee while the remaining staff huddled around a small table. The Count sauntered over, grinning broadly, and asked W if he had made a fortune that evening. W dryly replied that he had made just enough for tobacco, a remark that drew a hearty, echoing laugh from the exhausted crew. Amused, The Count offered to take W out for a beer, an invitation W cautiously accepted.
W, The Count, and another colleague named Tony piled into a car. During the ride, The Count discovered that the female coworkers they had hoped to invite had already gone home for the night. The trio eventually arrived at a gaudy, neon-lit nightclub adorned with bright orange tables and harsh overhead lighting. The Count immediately ordered a round of white wine for his companions and made a show of introducing the nightclub waiter to W. Behind them, a scantily clad woman slowly climbed behind the stage curtain, casting long, suggestive shadows. Feeling lucky, The Count handed Tony a wad of cash, sending him off to place a bet specifically on the number seven at the gambling tables.
With Tony gone, The Count leaned across the orange table, his tone shifting to one of genuine regret. He apologized profusely to W for their bizarre encounter in the upstairs hallway the previous night, admitting shamefully that he had been drunk and driveling absolute bullshit. Staring into his wine glass, The Count confessed that he understood the kind of people who came to work at the Busarewski. He lamented that they never stuck together; instead, they all drifted off on their own, a path that ultimately led to nothingness. To emphasize his grim point, The Count made a sharp, dramatic motion of slashing his own throat. Just then, Tony returned to the table, looking defeated. He had placed The Count's bet on number seven, and he had lost it all. The Count tried to brush it off, minimizing the loss verbally, but his internal rage quickly peaked. Unable to control his boiling emotions, he violently smashed his glass against the table, screaming at the top of his lungs that the establishment was entirely full of swindlers. Massive nightclub security guards immediately rose from their seats near the stage, sternly ordering the men to leave. Spiteful to the end, The Count encouraged W to leave the generous tip sitting right there on the table.
The three men stumbled back into the Busarewski late into the night. The exhausted desk clerk firmly reminded them that employees were strictly forbidden from using the guest elevator. The warning fell on deaf ears; they ignored him completely and rode up to the top floor. Gathering around a small table in one of the rooms, they began drinking heavy pours of whiskey. As they sat in the dim light, The Count pushed a mysterious gift toward W. He proudly stated it was a token of brotherhood from himself, Tony, and a man named Sven—whom The Count described with fierce admiration as an absolute genius currently biding his time in prison. W opened the heavy wooden box. Inside, resting ominously, was a gun carefully wrapped in a dirty rag. The Count leaned back, his eyes flashing with a dangerous zeal. He justified his deep dive into criminality as a pure necessity, arguing passionately that society took no care of people like them. "What we are not given," The Count whispered, "we must take."
The Borrowed Apartment
On an unexpectedly quiet evening, the head chef stood outside the back entrance, enjoying a solitary smoke when W appeared, dressed in his casual street clothes. Recognizing that W had the night off, the chef amiably asked if the young man had managed to find any lucrative work on one of the large ships docked nearby. Their pleasant conversation was abruptly cut short by a delivery boy arriving with yet another magnificent bouquet of flowers for Anna. Leaving the alley behind, W wandered onto the main street. A belligerent drunk staggered past, shouting to nearby pedestrians that their days were strictly numbered. Ignoring the commotion, W approached a street vendor and bought a hot sausage to ward off the evening chill.
Back inside the dreary dish room of the hotel, the busboys stood around idly, commenting to one another about how agonizingly slow business was that night. Anna finally reached the end of her shift and punched her timecard. Walking through the empty employee dining room, she found W fast asleep at a corner table. She gently roused him, and as he blinked awake, he learned of the calm, uneventful night he had missed. Still groggy, W asked Anna exactly when she would be leaving for that summer hotel job on the coast. Anna looked away, admitting quietly that she didn't know. Before the intimate conversation could progress, she was sharply called away by a supervisor.
At the end of yet another grueling night shift, W sat outside drinking a bitter cup of coffee with a few lingering employees. As the group began to disperse, Anna made her way out of the heavy glass doors of the building. W lingered intentionally. Anna noticed him, paused, and turned around, asking W what his plans were for the rest of the evening. W shrugged, casually stating he might hit the town. Seizing the moment, Anna asked if he would like some company. W agreed immediately, briefly excusing himself to run up and change his clothes. When he returned, Anna led him away from the gloomy hotel and through the quiet streets directly to her apartment.
She unlocked the door, warmly inviting W inside. She gave him a brief tour of where she lived and offered to make him a comforting cup of tea in the small kitchen. While she boiled the water, W walked around the living room, his eyes landing on a framed photograph. He asked if the smiling people pictured were her parents. Anna looked over and shook her head, explaining that the people in the picture were complete strangers to her; the truth was, this wasn't even her apartment, but rather a borrowed space. She let out a genuine, ringing laugh when W pointed at the photo and remarked that the man looked exactly like the famous entertainer Danny Kaye. The laughter faded, replaced by a heavy silence. Anna looked down, asking softly if W was leaving the city soon. W nodded, agreeing that his departure was imminent, much like hers. Overcome by a sudden wave of emotion, Anna stepped closer. She confessed that she absolutely hated it when people said they were leaving. Desperate for connection, she clung to W, wrapping her arms around him and fiercely wishing aloud that they could just leave together. W, however, remained emotionally guarded. He gently but firmly fended off her physical advances, stepping back. He told a heartbroken Anna that they would talk about it some other time, deciding it was best that he leave the apartment entirely.
The Birth of Giliap and the Cruel Aristocrat
W was sound asleep in his cramped hotel bed when a sudden noise startled him awake. The Count was standing right over him. Uninvited, The Count pulled up a chair right next to W's bedside and slowly unfolded a crinkled piece of paper under the dim lamplight. It was a meticulously drawn map. The Count pointed a finger, showing exactly where he and Tony would be positioned, and detailing the exact street corner where W was expected to wait for them inside a specific blue van. W stared at the paper, exhausted. Just as W rolled over, attempting to dismiss the man and go back to sleep, The Count re-entered his line of sight, his voice taking on a ceremonial weight. He officially gave W a new code name for the operation: Giliap. With burning intensity, The Count promised that if this plan was properly handled, it would become the definitive beginning of an entirely new life for all of them.
The scene shifted to the loud, pulsating atmosphere of the nightclub. Anna pushed through the doors, entering the establishment where Giliap, The Count, and his shady associates had gathered. She was immediately met with a barrage of crude catcalls from the patrons, but she ignored them, making a beeline for their table and confidently seating herself right on the armrest of The Count's chair. Reveling in the attention, The Count brazenly showed off Anna's exposed legs to the salivating men at the table. He then introduced another woman, named Claire, to the newly christened Giliap, before grabbing Anna by the hand and proudly leading her out onto the dance floor. As they swayed to the music, Giliap watched from the shadows.
Later that night, Giliap, Anna, and The Count rode together in a speeding car. The atmosphere was intimate but tense; Anna had laid her head affectionately on The Count's shoulder. Staring out the window into the dark night, The Count began to wax philosophical. He delivered a long, bitter monologue about how people of different economic statuses slept differently, raging about how profoundly unjust it was that immense wealth was never aligned with good people, but always hoarded by the bad. His rant was interrupted when the car was suddenly forced to stop on a dark road by three vagrants blocking the path. One of the disheveled men approached The Count's half-opened window, politely asking for a spare cigarette. The Count seemed to reach into his pocket to oblige, but in a flash of cruelty, he rapidly rolled up the glass, violently trapping the vagrant's arm in the window frame. As the man screamed in pain, The Count calmly took his lit cigarette and pressed the burning tip directly into the back of the trapped man's hand. Anna screamed in sheer horror, begging him frantically to stop. Finally releasing the window, The Count stepped out of the car and mockingly threw his entire pack of cigarettes at the agonizing derelict. Climbing back in, he coldly commented that scum like that could be mercilessly tormented and yet they would still remain grateful for the scraps. Disgusted and unable to stomach another second, Giliap threw his door open, exited the vehicle, and decided to walk the rest of the way alone in the dark.
Giliap was resting on his bed in his dismal room when a soft knock came at the door. It was Anna. She entered timidly, offering a sincere apology for the horrifying events of the previous day. Giliap gestured for her to take a chair. Studying his face, Anna commented that Giliap was always so quiet, noting that he often seemed deeply troubled, even highly secretive. Giliap looked back at her and replied evenly that the only true secret about him was that he had absolutely no secrets at all. Anna smiled softly, whispering that she and Giliap were actually quite the same. Unbeknownst to them, outside on the street, The Count sat in a parked car, his eyes narrowed as he watched Giliap and Anna head out together for the evening. The pair ended up drinking cold beer in a smoky casino tavern. Anna grew flirtatious under the neon lights, leaning in to tell Giliap that perhaps his greatest secret might be sitting right next to him. Giliap stared into his glass, confessing that he was originally supposed to go out on a boat, hoping to find something truly meaningful out in the world that he could bring home to someone exactly like Anna. Her eyes filled with a sudden, deep dread; Anna whispered her greatest fear—that Giliap was going to take all of her feelings, pack them away, and then just completely disappear.
The Botched Escape and The Big Black Fear
The day of the operation arrived with a suffocating tension. Gripping the steering wheel with sweaty hands, Giliap drove The Count in the designated blue van, navigating toward the precise drop-off location outlined on the map. Before exiting the vehicle, The Count gave Giliap strict, final instructions regarding his fake identity and reiterated exactly why he must remain parked in this specific spot. Giliap pulled the heavy van around the block, idling quietly on a narrow side street. Meanwhile, The Count walked with agonizing slowness toward a looming, grey building, casually giving subtle hand signals to a man revving a motorcycle and another accomplice waiting in a parked car. Inside the van, Giliap reached back and opened the rear doors, revealing another anxious hotel worker who had been riding in the back. Together, they quickly set up a heavy wooden ramp, bridging the gap from the street directly into the back of the van, and then they waited in agonizing silence.
Down the street, The Count leaned against a brick wall, pretending to casually read a newspaper. Suddenly, a dark sedan pulled up to the building, followed closely by a police motorcycle. Four stern-looking men exited the car, dragging a prisoner between them—Sven. The trap was sprung. A man clutching a gun rushed up from a hidden doorway, screaming and encouraging Sven to break free and jump onto the waiting getaway bike. Chaos erupted. Sven violently shoved one of his detainers and lunged for the motorcycle, but the weight of the struggle caused the heavy bike to crash violently onto the pavement, pinning the rider. Seeing the disastrous failure unfolding in seconds, The Count dropped his newspaper and shouted for everyone involved in the escape plot to run for their lives. The plan had disintegrated completely due to poor preparation and overwhelming confusion.
Having fled the scene before the sirens arrived, Giliap and his companion from the van managed to return to the damp safety of the hotel basement. The Count was already there, chain-smoking nervously and sulking in a dark corner, deliberately distancing himself from the other men gathered in the subterranean room. He dramatically addressed the crew, lamenting what a profoundly sad chapter they had all just lived through, but seeming most upset by the fact that his beautiful suit had been ruined in the frantic escape. Upstairs, oblivious to the criminal failure, Anna sat quietly with Giliap in the employee dining room, gently touching the petals of the bouquet of roses she had received. Their quiet moment was interrupted when word spread through the staff that Gustav, The Count, had fallen suddenly and seriously ill, and that he intensely desired for Anna to come up to his room.
The Count lay pale and sweating in his bed, completely surrounded by his loyal colleagues from the hotel. Acting as if he were on his literal deathbed, he weakly looked around the room, asking each person individually if he had ever treated them unfairly or badly. One by one, they all murmured their reassurances that he had not. Anna, who had been highly reluctant to see the man who had tortured the vagrant, eventually appeared at the doorway. Gustav's face lit up with deep satisfaction. He told Anna he was so glad she had come up, confessing in a trembling voice that he had been completely overcome by "the big black fear," and that everything around him was getting so incredibly dark.
The weight of the botched crime and the grim atmosphere pushed Giliap to his breaking point. Later that night, he arranged to meet Anna back in the casino club. W was visibly distraught, his usual calm demeanor entirely shattered. He leaned over the table, desperately asking Anna if they were just doomed people entirely without hope. He interrogated her, demanding to know what she possibly wanted from him when he had absolutely nothing of value to offer. Unable to bear his self-pity and panic, Anna fiercely grabbed his heavy coat by the collar and shook him violently, trying to snap him out of his despair. Hours later, having calmed down, W climbed the staircase to Anna's borrowed apartment to apologize. As he reached the landing, he froze. He saw Gustav, fully recovered from his sudden "illness," standing at Anna's door with a fresh bouquet of flowers in hand. Gustav turned to W with a cruel smirk, delivering the crushing news: Anna had packed her things and left the city.
Footprints on the Seaside
The news of Anna's sudden departure spread quickly through the hotel corridors. In the kitchen, the head chef regretfully informed the manager that their best waitress had simply disappeared. The manager, calloused by years in the hospitality industry, was entirely unsurprised. He waved a dismissive hand, stating that it was simply the nature of their transient business. However, noticing W standing nearby in stunned silence, the manager attempted to engage him, expressing a rare moment of genuine regret. He swore that whatever he had said or done during her employment, he had truly meant no harm to Anna. W offered absolutely no response; he remained locked in a stony, impenetrable silence.
Miles away from the suffocating gloom of the Busarewski, the bright sun beat down on a pristine beach resort. Anna, wearing a fresh uniform, was busy waiting tables on an outdoor patio. She diligently wiped down a table for a wildly happy gentleman who was practically shouting good morning to everyone who passed by. Suddenly, the crunch of footsteps on the gravel made her pause. W stood there, his heavy travel bags still gripped firmly in his hands. Overwhelmed, Anna immediately turned her back to him, unable to process the sight. W slowly approached the patio. Gathering her composure, Anna quietly inquired exactly when he had arrived. W confirmed he had just stepped off the morning train. From a short distance away, another waitress named Lena watched the dramatic reunion unfold with intense curiosity.
Later that afternoon, Anna walked down to the edge of the water, standing on the sandy beach and silently looking out at the crashing surf. W found her there, quietly taking a seat on a wooden wooden stairway nearby. Realizing he had truly followed her, Anna walked over and sat down beside him on the steps. Without a word, she began weeping uncontrollably. She collapsed into W's arms, burying her face in his chest, softly declaring through her tears that she simply could not talk right now. The emotional storm eventually passed, giving way to domestic tranquility. That evening, in the small kitchen of her new seaside apartment, Anna finished cooking a warm dinner. She carried the hot pan over to W, who was patiently seated at a small, intimate table. As they waited for the fresh food to cool, they poured glasses of wine and drank together, basking in the rare peace they had finally found.
Meanwhile, back at the coastal town's train station, a dark figure disembarked from a newly arrived carriage. It was The Count. He stood on the platform alongside Tony, who pointed out the exact direction to the beach resort hotel. Having delivered his leader, Tony immediately boarded the departing train, leaving The Count alone to execute his final plan. Back at the resort's grand dining room, a joyful end-of-season celebration was underway. The hotel manager stood before the crowd with a microphone, proudly introducing his hardworking staff, the talented orchestra, and his smiling wife, graciously thanking all the guests for their wonderful summer stays. He excitedly announced that the orchestra would now play the very last dance of the summer season. Far away from the noise, in the quiet safety of Anna's apartment, W relaxed in his chair after their satisfying dinner. As Anna rose from the table to clear the plates, W softly complimented her, praising the beautiful dress she wore. Moved by his words, Anna leaned down, and the two finally shared a deep, meaningful kiss.
The Parrot and the Final Morning
The romantic atmosphere of the last dance in the resort's dining room was suddenly shattered by a series of loud, terrifying screeches echoing over the music. The elegant guests gasped in alarm. Striding through the crowd was The Count, projecting an aura of complete control. He loudly assured the panicked restaurant managers that the bird causing the commotion was not dangerous in the slightest. With a theatrical flourish, The Count produced a bright green parrot from his coat and casually placed it on his shoulder. Ignoring the stunned stares of the wealthy patrons, he demanded a strong drink. The dining room manager, desperate to remove the bizarre disruption from the dance floor, nervously suggested that the gentleman would be much better served in the lounge, hastily escorting The Count in the direction of the bar.
Back in the staff quarters, Lena, who shared the apartment with Anna, was modestly dressing down for bed. She pulled down the sheets, kindly making up a comfortable sleeping space for both Anna and her newly arrived guest, W. As she fluffed the pillows, Lena casually mentioned to Anna that some crazy man had just started a massive brawl down in the main dining room. Unbothered by the chaos of the outside world, Anna quietly undressed to go to sleep beside W. Outside in the cool night air, the maintenance staff was already hard at work, loudly boarding up windows and locking doors, methodically closing down the grand seaside hotel for the harsh winter season.
The next morning broke with a crisp, seaside chill. Anna was up early, fully dressed and buzzing with a renewed sense of purpose. W was still tangled in the bedsheets, watching her move about the room. Anna walked over to the bed, her eyes shining with excitement, and told W that she was going to go out and clean up a bit. When she returned, she promised, they would pack their bags and go somewhere—anywhere—the exact direction of which was yet to be determined. W smiled lazily from the pillows, telling Anna softly that no matter where they ended up, at least they finally had each other. Satisfied and brimming with hope, Anna turned and walked out the door, heading down toward the water.
A Fortune Scattered in the Wind
Anna strolled peacefully along the deserted stretch of the beach, the morning tide washing over the sand. Without warning, a figure emerged from the deep shadows underneath the wooden platform of the staff guest rooms. The Count stepped into the sunlight. His face was a mask of desperation. He raised his hands, begging Anna not to be alarmed, insisting that he had only come all this way because he just wanted to talk. As Anna froze, her heart hammering in her chest, The Count produced the heavy wooden box from his coat. He flipped the latch and opened it, pulling out a massive handful of stolen paper money. Holding the cash up to the wind, he triumphantly announced to her that they were finally rich, pleading that with this fortune, they must start their lives over again together.
Terror washed over Anna's face, and she immediately began to back away slowly across the sand. Seeing her rejection, The Count's demeanor shifted instantly from desperate pleading to lethal rage. He dropped the money, reached into his coat, and slowly unwrapped the dark gun from its concealing scarf, pointing the cold steel directly at her chest. He began calling her name repeatedly, his voice cracking, as she frantically turned and tried to run away toward the dunes. A single gunshot rang out, tearing through the sound of the ocean waves. The Count shot Anna in the back. She collapsed instantly, her lifeless body coming to rest in the soft, cold sand. Just over the dune, two workmen heard the sharp noise, but, assuming it was just seasonal construction, they merely shrugged and went right back to their loud hammering.
The gun slipped from The Count's trembling fingers. Struck by an overwhelming, immediate wave of deep regret, he rushed forward and swept Anna's bleeding body up into his arms. He desperately tried to carry her away, but soon realized he possessed neither the strength nor the footing to carry her limp form up the incredibly steep sand dune. Defeated by gravity and his own monstrous actions, he gently laid her back down in the sand. Hovering over her lifeless face, The Count finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably into the seaside wind.
A short while later, entirely unaware of the tragedy, W and Anna's roommate, Lena, headed down the wooden steps toward the beach to enjoy the morning. As they walked, they noticed paper money blowing wildly across the sand—the cash that had spilled out of The Count's dropped box. Delighted by the unbelievable discovery, the two of them eagerly dropped to their knees and began gathering up the scattered bills. Their joyous laughter filled the air until W's ears caught a strange, out-of-place sound over the crashing waves: the distinct, raspy squawk of a green parrot. W stopped dead in his tracks. He cautiously peered under the wooden platform where the sound had originated, finding nothing but shadows. A terrible dread gripped his chest. Leaving the money behind, he quickly scrambled up the steep face of the sand dune.
As W breached the crest of the hill, his entire world collapsed. Several people from the Hotel Busarewski, drawn by the commotion, were already gathered in a tight, silent circle around Anna's lifeless body lying in the sand. Lena, who had followed W up the dune, gasped in horror, the fistful of gathered money dropping uselessly from her fingers to blow away in the ocean breeze. Time seemed to fracture. In the somber aftermath, W and Lena stood among a crowd of silent, would-be passengers waiting on the platform at the local train station. The heavy burden of grief hung in the air. Lena turned toward W, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, desperate hug, before she suddenly broke away and ran off down the platform alone. The loud, clanging bell of the incoming train sounded, echoing against the station walls. The waiting passengers eagerly stepped closer to the edge of the tracks to board, ready to move on to their next destination. But W did not move. Staring out into the middle distance, entirely hollowed out by the tragic journey, W planted his feet and firmly stood his ground.
Top Cast
- Thommy Berggren as Giliap
- Mona Seilitz as Anna Gustavsson
- Willie Andréason as Gustav "The Count" Svensson
- Lars-Levi Læstadius as Kreip
- Henry Olhans as The Vulture
- Rainer Mieth as Fat Chef
- Julie Bernby as Singer
- Arne Leif Nielsen as Simonsson
- Pernilla August as Girl at Summer Hotel
