God isn't for you Lenny.
God is for men who have no use for freedom.
You're wrong about abortion.
You're spreading a sorrow you don't even understand.
And that's the worst thing a human being can do.
You've made the kind of mistake that should be avoided at all costs introducing concepts that taken by themselves are true, but which, when lumped together, constitute a system that's overly rigid.
When it comes to abortion, rigidity is the only option: there's no getting around it.
It's a crime, forbidden and punished in the book of Exodus Chapter 21, verses 22-25, you know that.
22: "When men have a fight and injured a pregnant woman and she suffers a miscarriage, but no further injury, the guilty one shall be fined as much as the woman's husband demands and he shall pay in the presence of the judges".
23: "But if injury ensues, you shall pay life for life, 24, "eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot."
25 "burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe."
The Church has always maintain this tradition and... it is only modern laxity that wishes to turn sins into rights.
Not to encourage them, no one is actually in favor of abortion, but to undermine the principle of authority.
Oh, come on Lenny, you know these verses are a little more complicated than that: yes, the litigant pays damages in case of an abortion or suffers death if the woman dies in the course of losing the baby, but that's not what it is about, this is about compassion, empathy.
Bouvier? Are you seriously going to waste my time... with the Bouvier's nonsense? Post-revolutionary France?
Or the bullshit of St. Alphonsus?
It isn't bullshit, Lenny.
That abortion is a "grave moral disorder" is not open for debate.
That's what St. John Paul II said, and those three words, grave, moral and disorder are based on papal infallibility.
And yet, in 1591, Pope Gregory XIV, with the Sedes Apostolica bull restricted excommunication to the abortion of an ensouled fetus, introducing a distinction... that argues against lumping together disparate situations I'm sick and tired of distinctions.
Even for St. Thomas Aquinas, and right up until the middle of the nineteenth century, abortion was set to take place only after the ensoulment of the fetus, and that occurs in the third month of pregnancy.
Science is the gift of God and God taught us that ovulation is spontaneous.
Ask a woman about that: back when it was still believed that there were two kinds of insemination, male insemination involving sperm, female insemination involving eggs, it was considered a sin not to give a woman pleasure.
But then, when it was discovered that ovulation was spontaneous, the cost was several billion female orgasms.
But it made the psychoanalysts rich.
The one profession that involves no work and a great deal of money that we let slip through our fingers.
I implore you Lenny, reconsider your position on abortion.
Tough in principle, soft in practice.
Abortion is saying no to life.
Who gives a damn about life?
Life is not some stupid centerpiece on the side table of nothingness.
Life is meant to be used, and to be used well, to love and be loved.
And let me remind you what St. Alphonsus said about abortion:
"In an abortion everyone is guilty, except for the woman."
And what if that wasn't only true of abortion?
What if in the things of life everyone is guilty, except for the woman?
Are you talking about your mother?
Who else could I be talking about?
What is happening to me today?
At ten o'clock, Robert Lee, the new chairman of the Tea Party.
At 11:15, a brief meeting with the chancellor of Stanford University.
At one o'clock, lunch with the governor to fine-tune plans for the evening's events.
How long has it been since you've seen your father?
He's no longer my father, he's only my governor.
Don't you miss him?
He doesn't miss me, I don't miss him.
I miss everyone.
But more than anyone else, the person I miss is...
Mr. Jack Walser, he was the superintendent of the building where we lived, before the Lord called me to Him.
He had divided the tenants into two categories, the "natives" and the "nomads".
One day, Jack rang our door bell at ten in the morning, confident that Lucy and I would be at school, but that day we were in bed sick with a fever, happy to be safe at home.
Through the bedroom door I saw my mother offer him a cup of coffee, which Jack drank it standing up, because he didn't want to get the chair wet with his rain-drenched clothes.
No doubt, there was something bad he'd come to say, something important.
And then, Mr. Walser announced to my mother that the landlords had decided to implement a substantial rent hike with... with a caress.
With a caress... that never really happened, but that still come close to... brashing against my mother's drab hair, to my hair, to Lucy's and the hair of our father lying in a hotel somewhere in the city with his lover in his arms.
Listening to the rain... the way we were.
We "nomads" moved out the apartment at night, so we wouldn't be seen by the "natives", but at the bottom of the stairs Mr. Walser was waiting, and he shook our hands, one by one, and he said something to me that I've never understood, which is why I still remember it.
He said to me: "Always get a seat in the back of the train, because it's the safer."
Why does our Spanish persecutor not go home to his Pope?
I couldn't say.
What does he doing here?
He walks, he drinks, he sleeps, he drinks, he walks, he drinks.
Ah, he's battling against death, which is the least interesting of any of the battles we have ever summoned to fight.
It's too late.
It's too late for what?
For everything, Your Eminence.
Hello, Pete, have you five minutes for me?
Sure, Father Gutierrez.
I was just wondering if you'd had a chance to think it over.
Yeah, I've thought it over.
And I decided I'm not gonna press charges against Archbishop Kurtwell.
Why, why not?
None of the others filed charges, but at least they got plenty of cash.
You didn't even get that.
And have you ever asked yourself why they took the money and I didn't?
No, I haven't. Why didn't you?
Because I have my dignity.
So... if you have so much dignity, file charges against that man.
That man is evil incarnate.
Why are you crying, now? Pete, you know I'm right.
Bernardo. Can I call you Bernardo?
Yes, of course you can.
Forget about me.
How is training coming along?
I've been gradually intensifying.
Did you think over my proposal?
What do you mean, what proposal?
The idea of you giving me a hand in nailing Kurtwell.
That worm just drools when he sees you.
I drool when I see you, Bernardo.
All you'd have to do is go out with him one night.
You could just stop before things went too far, and in the meantime I'd find a hiding place and take pictures.
Freddy, Freddy, you're my last hope.
Bernardo, you are gonna leave here when you're done.
But I have to spend the rest of my life here, do you understand?
I can't afford to cross a man like Kurtwell.
He's one of the most powerful men in Queens.
You can understand that, right?
Don't resent me for it, Bernardo.
I never resent anyone.
That's my main problem.
What do you want, Freddy?
Just tell me what you want and you'll have it.
I want to become a great tennis player and win a Grand Slam.
Fine, then you'll have it.
Get out of here, asshole.
They've told me the date. It's for next week.
It's just one day of the year, Rose, an ordinary date.
They're going to empty me out, Bernardo.
They've given me a 60% chance of dying, 40% chance of living.
And if I refuse, I can't even begin to guess my life expectancy.
But I'm not gonna refuse, because I need to start running in this hotel again and I can't keep doing it from here, through six silent security monitors.
Isn't it nice to live silent and flat on your back?
No, it's horrible.
We all deserve the right to start over, Bernardo.
But you know what the funny thing is?
What is it?
How I'll leave this place.
How will you leave?
They're going to tear down the wall, turn it all into one giantic window, and out I'll go, dangling in midair, lifted by a crane.
It'll be a spectacular sight.
I'll be so ashamed.
I have to go now.
I'm going to write to the Pope.
It sounds so surreal, when you put it that way.
I'd like to put together a press release categorically denying the rumors about murky relations between you and Kurtwell.
A press release that states loud and clear: this Pope is blackmail proof.
If, as you say, this Pope is blackmail proof, there's no need to say so.
That's the point, Holy Father.
On a strictly confidential basis, I need to know myself: can Kurtwell blackmail you in any way?
Lenny... you think you're the hinge.
But you're the door.
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei...
I love you all!
Where have Esther, Peter, and little Pius gone?
They're living in a house by the beach.
Peter is a private security guard now.
Weren't they happy here?
Holy Father... life in the Vatican is not much fun for young people.
Everyone here says that you are a saint.
Show me where you live.
When you want to, you can come home.
But I haven't accomplished anything with Kurtwell.
Doesn't matter. Come home.
I'll be waiting.
Archbishop, your diocese is currently undertaking numerous projects aimed at revitalizing the neighbourhood.
Can you give us more details about that?
Well, we have put a lot of money and time over the years on this neighbourhood.
And I think that through sports, well, we'll be able to make a contact with the youth on the area and, and to help instill in them some of the values consistent with Christian life.
Among the many sports projects that your diocese supports, many involved tennis. Why tennis specifically?
Oh well, I, I love tennis.
It's been a lifelong passion of mine, and you probably didn't know but this area is very famous for tennis for a long time, and I think that tennis just offers a chance for excellence instructions of a man soul.
The elements of tennis are concentration, self-worth, and a lot of things that go in to making a great tennis-player.
And you know it's the responsibility of the Church to help these children to grow up...
Hic est enim calix sanguinis mei, novi et aeterni testamenti mysterium Fidei.
Qui pro vobis et pro multis effundetur in remissionem peccatorum.
Haec quotiescumque feceritis, in mei memoriam facietis.
Yes, I'd be glad to.
What's your name?
Why are you following me?
I used to skate only on the weekends, and only with my family.
Then one night we were having dinner and my daughter Kate, who was twelve at the time, says that that meal... was like being in a shark tank.
That's what my wife and I had become: a shark tank.
Now I skate alone, even during the week, but... it's not the same anymore.
Tanistone is my last name.
And it was my mother's last name too.
Why are you following me?
Haven't you discovered yet?
You're the missing link between me and the source of all my problems.
What's going on?
Why are you and the Holy Father so determined to get me?
Because for years you were so determined to get all those innocent children.
That's libel of slander.
And I could bring you up on charges tomorrow morning.
You don't have any solid evidence against me.
What else do you want?
What does Pius XIII want from me?
The Holy Father wants from you a statement that resembles the truth.
The truth is I know Lenny Belardo very well.
We shared power in New York for years.
And the truth is he has always envied me.
He envies me my charisma, because he lacks that quality.
That's the one and only statement that resembles the truth.
Be-- be reasonable, please.
The Pope has no reason to envy a sick old priest who's devastated by very grave accusations.
Your thesis doesn't hold together.
Let me reveal something to you, Father Gutierrez: you don't matter.
Not at all.
You can stay in Queens 'til the day I die, and it won't change a thing.
The Pope can't get to the bottom of things with me and he knows that perfectly well.
Because it would lead to pure pandemonium.
I pity you, Gutierrez, because you're just a bit player and a cheap piece of amateur theatricals organized by your Pope.
...is Kurtwell your father?
Do you remember that girl that was skating, this evening?
That was a moment.
Because only you and I saw that, out of the whole world.
I felt close to you.
I sensed that your despair was the same as mine.
That was the moment I thought to myself: I trust this man.
Yes, I, I thought, here's a good man.
And I'm a good man, too.
So I'll tell that good man the things he wants to know.
...is my father.
But that's not the point.
The point is the horror.
I'm not afraid of dying, but because I suffer from vertigo, I'm afraid of being swung out of this place through that hole in the wall and being dangled in mid-air.
I'll be there to comfort you.
Then I'll go back to Rome.
You're going back to Rome?
I'm done with my work here.
You come say goodbye to me now.
But I'm not leaving yet.
No, no, you come say goodbye to me now.
Breathe, Bernardo, I'm the one who's going to die.
Bernardo, we're breathing the same air.
All of you, leave now.
No, not you, Lenny.
Tell it to me, just this one time.
Let me die knowing I didn't believe in God in vain.
Tell it to me, Lenny.
Let's go say hello to Billy.
I'd rather not. I'm scared.
But we must. Billy is a friend of yours.
His mother is dying and he needs the comfort you can give him.
Thanks for coming, Sister Mary. Please.
Billy, your friends are here.
Come, let me get you something.
Sister Mary, can I go see Billy's mother for a minute?
I'd like to pray beside her.
Lord, we must talk about Billy's mother now.
We must talk, You and I. And no one else can hear.
Billy's mother is still alive.
Your mother is still alive too.
And you'll find her.
Now... at last...
...time to die.
Bring me back.
Bring me back!
To what do I owe the honor of your presence?
I have orders to accompany you to the Vatican, where you'll be given a fair trial.
We have a flight for Rome tomorrow afternoon.
It'll only be a big waste of time. For me and for you.
You don't have any solid evidence, you and your Pope.
Only the demented reavings of a lunatic who goes around with orange hair.
No one will believe you. No one.
We don't just have that testimony.
What do you think you have?
This is Kurtwell...
Even though you let it ring and ring, I know that you were waiting for my call.
Do you really want me to come to Rome to be subjected to a trial and found guilty?
I'm afraid it's absolutely necessary.
Then one second after I land in Rome, you are gonna see all the things I have on you on all the newspapers of the world.
Go right ahead.
The world would probably like it.
The world is always ready for love.
This is Archbishop Kurtwell. Is this a bad time?
I have some confidential information about the Pope.
And I have proof.
To be perfectly frank, it's more than information, these are ticking time bombs.
In that case, this is a very good time, especially for a journalist.
What's the subject?
I'm not talking about it on the phone.
Do you see the kind of things we're talking about here?
Letters that our Pope wrote to his...
Californian girlfriend over the years.
We have a Pope with a very active emotional life.
Where did you find them?
I took over a position that was previously held by Belardo.
I took over his desk.
Belardo made the error of leaving these letters at the back of a drawer.
Have you read them all?
Only the pertinent passages.
The steamy ones.
The ones that prove that Belardo has had a woman for years.
You should have read them all, and with care.
In this last one, he states he'll never send these letters to that woman because he's married to God.
Do you have any evidence that they were ever mailed?
Any envelopes with canceled stamps?
No, no, I don't.
Well, in that case, my good Archbishop Kurtwell, you don't have any news for me.
No bomb. No scandal.
A stack of love letters that were never mailed isn't news.
It's strictly literature.
Pack the bags, call the chauffeur.
You no longer have a car.
I put in a request to have it confiscated.
The Cardinal Secretary of State accepted my request.
We're going to take the train to the airport.
On one condition.
That we sit in the last car on the train.
It's the safest.
What is more beautiful, my love?
Love lost or love found?
Don't laugh at me, my love.
I know it, I'm awkward and naive when it comes to love, and I ask questions straight out of a pop song.
This doubt overwhelms me and undermines me, my love.
...or to lose?
How do I look?
All around me, people don't stop yearning.
Did they lose or did they find?
I can't say.
An orphan has no way of knowing.
An orphan lacks a first love. The love for his mama and papa.
That's the source of his awkwardness, his naiveté.
You said to me, on that deserted beach in California, "you can touch my legs."
But I didn't do it.
There, my love, is love lost.
That's why I've never stopped wondering, since that day: where have you been?
Where you are now?
And you, shining gleam of my misspent youth, did you lose or did you find?
I don't know.
And I will never know.
I can't even remember your name, my love.
And I don't have the answer.
But this is how I like to imagine it, the answer.
In the end, my love, we have no choice.
We have to find.
All right love bugs.
Mommy is gonna show you something that you didn't know mommy can do.