"THEY SEE ME AS A MIX OF PIPPI LONGSTOCKING AND AL CAPONE"
BASED ON TRUTHS AND LIES
Clark, come here.
Clark, listen up. Here's the thing:
Life is full of disappointments, you just got to man up.
You hear? Just man up and deal with it.
That's right. You man up and deal with it.
Looking good, boys.
Shut the fuck up, bitch!
Grumpy bastard.
That's the whole point of it, know what I mean?
Don't listen to her.
Oh my God!
-Sten, what the hell? -Shut up, you!
-Clark! -It's about time he learned how to cope.
-He's six, damn it! -Exactly, about fucking time.
What the…
-No! -Clark!
Help him, god damn it!
-Sten, damn it, jump in and get him! -Son of a bitch!
Look what you did, you fucking bitch!
Sten, please, help him.
Clark!
Sten! He's drowning!
-Clark! Good boy! -It's about fucking time.
-Dive down and fetch my fucking bottle! -No!
Clark! Sten!
-No! -I said, get my bottle, idiot!
-Sten, what the hell? Clark! -Shut up, you!
-I said, get my bottle! -No!
Clark!
I never listened to my father's bullshit,
but what he told me that day stayed with me.
Sometimes life is full of disappointments, you just got to man up and deal with it.
And when life is at its best, you have to be ready for disappointment.
Oh, Clark…
Oh, slow down, you're making me come.
It's like I'm clairvoyant or something, like on this occasion.
I can smell it when shit's about to hit the fan.
Three, two, one…
Clark Olofsson! You're under arrest.
Easy, Clark! You're cornered! Give up!
Give up, Clark!
Not so fast… You're probably wondering what happened to Maria,
relocating to Beirut,
and our new life in The Paris of the Middle East.
Check it out.
BEIRUT, 1972 THE PARIS OF THE MIDDLE EAST
Son of a bitch…
Shut the fuck up, god damn it!
People are trying to get some sleep, for God's sake!
Shut up!
-Clark, what are you doing? -That jerk is waking up the neighborhood.
-Get back to bed, Clark. It's custom here. -Well, he better knock it off.
Or else…
Nope. I can't sleep like this.
As-salamu alaykum.
Alaykum salam.
-Hey buddy, bring the kid some tea! -OK.
This orange is delicious. Very nice apple-sine.
Sweet.
-Your tea, my friend. -Here you go, this is good tea.
Thank you… Shukran.
In Sweden we say, "Go shit yourself".
Cheers!
-Shisha. -Shisha?
-Care to try? -Thank you.
Try it.
Shisha is dope!
-Shukran. -Take care, buddy.
Go shit yourself.
Beirut made me feel free.
It was basically paradise, teeming with "business opportunities".
And the oranges were delicious. Much better than Sweden.
I have an apple-sine for you.
Mercedes car, what do you think?
-Honey! Where are you? -I'm in here.
There you are. I've got something for you.
Have a bite.
Listen…
I've been talking to this guy, Osman.
We have this fucking great business idea.
He owns an orange grove down here.
Damn cheap, a real bargain.
-Yummy, huh? -Yes, delicious.
-Way better than Sweden. -That's what I said, way better!
Why is it that all oranges back home come from Israel, or whatever?
That's orange racism!
We might as well get them from here. Cheaper, better, tastier.
Clark Olofsson, importer of oranges!
What do you say?
-I love it, Clark! -I knew you'd be happy.
-I was right about you all along. -Yes, you were.
You're no criminal, you're a sharp and driven business man.
Absolutely.
And a good person.
-Nah. -Yes, you are.
I'm so proud of you, Clark.
-It was tough to leave everything behind. -I know.
I know.
But a voice inside me said, "Go for it, Maria.
He won't let you down."
I'm so happy I listened to that voice, and that your dreams are coming through!
-You did it, Clark! -I sure did.
-We did it! -Yes, we did it.
And they lived happily ever after, and all that shit…
There he goes again!
Hell no…
-Go shit yourself. -Go shit yourself.
Fucking moron.
I was fed up with Beirut.
It wasn't the paradise it was chalked up to be.
I was sick of it, so I decided to haul the merch myself,
all the way back home to Sweden.
Get out of the way!
WELCOME TO TURKEY - GREECE - YUGOSLAVIA
WELCOME TO HUNGARY - THE USSR POLAND - GERMANY
WELCOME TO DENMARK - SWEDEN
The export, import done,
I just needed someone to take care of the distribution.
I knew exactly who to talk to.
My old pal, Kurre the Fox.
No way… Slark Olofsson!
What's in the bag?
Come in.
-Slark… -It stinks in here.
Kurre the Fox, owner of the largest porn collection in Sweden
and familiar with every dealer in town.
Perfect guy for the job.
Fuck, these sticks taste good!
-Look at that cock. -And now we shall drink.
Cheers, you fucking idiot.
I've got something for you.
Check it out.
-Man, I hate fruit. -I don't think you'll hate…
this!
No, sir. I most certainly do not.
This is fine stuff.
Black Afghan, straight out of Lebanon.
And I've got a fucking truckload of it parked outside.
-No way. -Yup.
You find the right people, that shit will practically sell itself.
I know the right people.
How about it?
Partners?
Partners.
Stay.
What the hell is his fucking problem?
Bengan? He doesn't have any problems.
He's staring at me like a psycho.
Get him away from me!
Alright. What now?
Well, let's go.
-You have a lot to do. -You mean right now?
Hell yeah, pronto.
The hash won't sell itself.
OK, I'm off.
Wait, what… You're coming with?
Sure, why not? Of course I am.
It's… the thing is…
Those dudes will freak when they see you.
Huh?
You're Slark Olofsson. World-famous all over Sweden.
A wanted fugitive…
Not exactly on their level, you know.
Yeah, you're right.
Trust me, I'll take this shit off your hands in no time.
If you play me, I'll kill you.
Hey, Slarken--
Understood?
Yeah…
I'm messing with you. Make it quick.
Yeah.
-Stay with Slarken, Bengan. -What the hell--
-Hold on. I'll take care of it, relax. -What the hell… Shoo, go away.
What the hell are you looking at, pervert? Huh?
No can do. You ruined it.
Do you know who you're dealing with?
Huh? Probably the greatest gangster in the history of gangsters.
What's that?
Like I couldn't rob a bank whenever the hell I want?
With this, no less.
Check it out!
Fucking idiot.
Nope. I'm not gonna rot in here.
Go shit yourself, you good-for-nothing rat!
That's right! You better believe it - it's me.
And this… is a robbery.
Well, I'll be damned…
-Do you have a name? -I'm Ingela.
-Don't tell me you're scared. -A bit… I've heard about you.
Don't believe everything you read. I'm better than advertised.
Excuse me, young man, are you robbing a bank or simply trying to get laid?
Uh, what?
I have a roast in the oven.
Sorry, I got a bit… distracted.
Is that really a gun in your pocket?
You're damn straight I have a gun in my pocket.
This is a robbery! I'm offering you a one of a kind experience.
A story to tell for the rest of your boring lives.
All of you were here, in the presence of Clark Olofsson.
Money in the bag. Clean it out. Everything!
Don't get any ideas! I dare you.
-So this is what you do? -Huh?
Robbing banks? Do you call that a life?
I'm into drug trafficking, too, and whatnot.
But mainly banks. You've got a problem with that?
Chop-chop! You heard the lady, she's got a roast in the oven.
Thank you.
So, Ingela, tell me…
Do you want to stick around with these boring people?
Or would you rather come with me, just for a few hours,
and enjoy the Clark Olofsson experience?
I'll shoot! Nah, just kidding.
Lady…
-What the hell… -Go shit yourselves, folks!
Champagne. On the double!
Get on the dance floor! It's time to "Catch an Angel".
Let's have some fun.
A classic.
Dance the night away…
Feel the rhythm.
This will be a night to remember!
Come on, Clark!
-Hey, get out. -I'm pissing…
-Get out! -Damn it…
Fucking asshole. I'm still pissing!
Alright.
-Jerk… -I fucking love you!
-I want the bank robber. Give it to me. -Let's go.
Right there.
-Damn, that's nice. -Are you finished?
You bet! You're dealing with a professional.
-How's your evening so far? -Simply amazing.
I think I know how to make it even more amazing.
Come on!
KIDS? IN DUE TIME. ARE YOU USING A CONDOM?
PUBLIC BATHING
Here we go.
Let's have fun.
Ladies first.
You're crazy.
-Last one in is a turd! -No…
And that's how we ended up here.
In the words of my old man, you got to man up and deal with it.
You all know what happens next.
Police! Easy, Clark!
Easy, Clark!
Give up!
Give up, you're cornered!
Clark!
Jailbreak, drug trafficking, bank robbery.
-Six years in prison. -Welcome home, Clark.
-Are these new pants, Söderström? -Yup, just for you.
-They're comfy. -I'm glad you like them.
Oh well… Behind bars again.
Kind of nice. There's no place like home.
Come on.
But I just had to call Maria.
Shut up.
I'll show you who's boss.
Shut up, for fuck's sake!
-What do you mean, "shut up"? -Sorry, it wasn't for you, I was just…
What were you thinking, Clark? You told me you were done with this.
I told everyone you were done, and they believed me!
Yeah. I know, it's messed up.
I'm sorry, it was really stupid.
You're wanted by the police and your first instinct is to rob a bank?
But my plan wasn't to get caught.
I mean… Stop focusing on the details and look at the bigger picture.
I love you.
You can trust me, Maria.
-Can I, Clark? -Of course you can.
You're the love of my life.
We'll see.
I have to go, I need to… find a way to get back to Sweden.
I'm hanging up now. Good bye, Clark.
So, that went pretty well, I think.
Six years is a long time. And prison can be a rough place.
Especially for a celebrity criminal like me.
That doesn't sit well with the other inmates.
So you have to watch your back, 24-7.
Hey fellas. Fia, that's fun.
Scoot over, let me join.
Sorry, pal. This game is for four players only.
Sometimes you have to put your foot down to show them who's boss.
Come on, I wanna join. Don't you know who I am?
Huh?
Sure, you're Clark Olofsson.
-Yeah. -But this game only has four colors.
Isn't that so, fellas?
Before we do this, I want you to reach down in your sweatpants
and see if you can find a cock somewhere,
because you all look like a bunch of pussies!
It's on, you Finnish fuckers!
Damn. All I asked for was a little love, and a game of Fia.
Hold your hats!
Janne Olsson. Nice to meet you.
I said, hello…
Olofsson.
I'm Janne Olsson.
Hiya.
All of a sudden, there he was. Chicken thief, Janne Olsson.
The guy who was about to change my life. Fucking unbelievable.
It's such an honor to meet you.
Oh, alright.
A goddamn pleasure.
-Have a seat. -Thank you, thank you.
-What are you in for? -Well, a variety of transgressions.
Janne wanted to be a celebrity gangster.
A life in the fast lane, just like me.
He wanted me to teach him everything and listen to my stories, over and over.
Man, that's awesome.
Like a child asking for the same bedtime story every night.
Come on, Clark. I want to hear it again, please.
Nope.
OK.
So, you dress up like an Arab, walk into a bank,
and you yell out something cool like,
"Hold on to your hat!"
Then you shoot the staff--
No, no, no!
Don't shoot the staff. You need them as hostages.
To make the big shots hand over the money and whatever the hell you need.
A fast getaway car.
-Ford Mustang, blue, totally badass. -Blue…
They'll give you anything you ask for.
And hey…
That's better. "Hold your hat" is lame.
-Man, you're an actual genius, Clark. -Yeah.
-Right on. -Yeah. Right on, god damn it.
The chicken thief was a big fan and did anything I asked him to.
He had tons of furloughs, so I had him help me prepare for my next jailbreak.
You requested dynamite?
Son of a bitch.
Attaboy, Janne.
My next furlough, Clark…
it's going down.
It's going down.
Alright…
Don't you quit on me.
What the hell? Fucking piece of junk.
Work with me, damn it.
That's it, downhill. Excellent.
Here I come, Clarken!
What the hell?
KALMAR PRISON AUGUST 6TH, 1973
Everything was meticulously planned according to my instructions:
The chicken thief picked a low-key car, and disguised himself to avoid suspicion.
And the dynamite, of course. A true classic in the jailbreak business.
As good as it gets.
As good as it gets, except that Janne's--
Janne's fucking second-rate dynamite didn't do the job.
-Come on, Clark! -Son of a bitch!
-What the hell's wrong with this dynamite? -There's nothing wrong with the dynamite!
Oh really?
-It didn't do jack shit! -Maybe you don't know what you're doing!
Of course I know what I'm fucking doing!
Janne the moron.
You brought me a fucking firecracker!
Had it not been for that assclown and his piece-of-crap dynamite,
it would have been a different story.
For all of Sweden.
Don't worry, Clark! I'm gonna get you out!
And for the entire world.
-I'll figure something out! -Fucking chicken thief!
I promise!
Shit!
Damn it.
Remember…
Anyway, Maria was back in Sweden, and she sure as hell wasn't happy.
-I'm breaking up with you. -Huh?
I had to do some damage control.
No, you're not. What do you mean?
We're having the same fight over and over again.
The same damn fight over the same damn things.
All couples fight.
It's normal in a passionate relationship, like ours.
Normal couples don't fight over the things we do, I assure you.
I wish we could fight over normal things!
We can have a normal fight, if you want.
You used dynamite!
-Someone could have gotten hurt! -Someone could have gotten hurt?
-Yes! -What about me? I risked my life, Maria!
Janne's dynamite was no good, almost got me killed!
-I wanted to break out because of you. -Stop it, Clark.
-You're not listening. -Yes, I am.
I can't do this any longer.
You can do anything, Maria. You're strong!
That's why we're together.
Clark, I mean it.
I'm leaving you.
No, no, no. Don't do this, damn it!
I know I messed up,
but…
But it's the society, you know, they never gave me an honest chance!
I know.
-And I thought I could help you. -Yes.
Bring out the good in you, but I can't!
You can. You can, Maria, don't give up on me!
If you leave me now, I don't know what I'll do.
You're all I have.
You're my only hope, honey. Don't take my hope away.
You have so much to give…
When you speak, people listen.
You inspire them.
Just imagine…
the things you could accomplish if only you tried.
You could be a role model.
A national hero!
-I want to be a national hero. -You don't act like it.
It's true! Just watch me. I'm going to prove it to you somehow.
How exactly?
Just watch me. Just watch me. I promise.
Just watch me, honey!
Honey?
-Hey. -Clark, it's me.
Ingela!
-Hello. -Hello.
-Who was that? -Huh?
The girl who just left?
She's… Whatever. Great to see you!
Hey…
I have something wonderful to tell you.
-Are you ready? -I'm ready.
-I'm pregnant. -Pardon?
I'm pregnant. We're going to be parents!
Fantastic! Great news, terrific, nice…
Is it mine?
-Yes, it's our child. -My child, our child.
It was a hell of a lot to take in.
I was about to become a dad, and a national hero, to boot.
A tough task when you're in isolation, like a fucking animal.
I just had to man up and deal with it.
Like when my old man left us and Mom ended up in the loony bin.
I was placed in a foster home.
Hey, kid!
And this ugly drunkard became my caregiver.
Get to work, god damn it.
You're positive you've got a cock, huh?
You wield that shovel like an old lady!
I couldn't care less, bullshit I can handle.
You little cunt-boy!
Bring me another bottle, you fucking brat!
All it takes is a little creativity, and nerves of steel.
I always had both.
I'll show you.
And I had fun fucking with the old bastard.
Here comes Santa…
I have something for you, cunt-boy.
-What the hell. Stop! -Go shit yourself, old-timer.
Clark!
Stop!
Eventually it was time to escape.
God damn it, Clark!
Stop!
Fucking brat.
No, no, no…
What the hell did you do?
What the fuck, Clark?
Damn it!
Clark!
Man up and deal with it.
STOCKHOLM AUGUST 23RD, 1973
What the hell are you looking at?
Huh?
I'm the only one here, so I guess you're looking at me.
What I want? You're about to find out.
Three million.
In unmarked bills.
Foreign currency.
And a blue Ford Mustang…
Blue!
Yes…
Three. Millions.
And a blue Ford Mustang. Now.
-Olofsson, wake up! -It wasn't me.
You have a visitor.
-Rise and shine, Olofsson. -Tommy Pony!
-What a surprise! -It's Tommy.
You're coming with me, pronto.
I am?
Yeah, well…
It's not like I have plans. So, where are we going?
The disco?
Seriously.
-What is this? Why the hell are you here? -Enough chit-chat. Let's go!
Gate open.
Stand by.
-Hey! -Hey.
I'm Hiller. Nice to meet you.
Police escort? Must be important!
Come on, guys. What do you have planned?
My good looks have left you speechless?
No shame in that. It happens all the time!
Listen, Tommy Pony. You have to see the irony.
You're always trying to throw me in jail. And now you're busting me out?
Calm down, Clark.
Hey, smile, god damn it. The press is here.
Maybe you'll make the front page. Quite the feeling.
Tommy! Tommy!
What's that smell?
Is that a new aftershave, Tommy?
Trying to get laid?
Nah, he's still paying for it.
Are we there yet?
-How long till we get there? I'm starving. -Please be quiet, Clark.
-What was your name again? -Hiller.
-Hiller, where are we going? -Shut up, Clark!
The seats are sticky. What have you been up to back here?
Wait, don't answer. I don't wanna know.
-So, Tommy. Getting laid much? -Shut it, Clark.
Fuck, you guys are boring. Can't we have some fun?
-I'm starving. -Well, now that you mention it--
Hiller! God damn it.
-I need to take a piss, too. -Shut. Up. Clark.
Fuck, you drive slow. Are we there yet?
Actually, we are.
We now see a dark blue Volvo approaching…
Hi there.
Clark Olofsson has reportedly been escorted here from a prison in Kalmar.
It was a long drive, and the car smelled like shit.
As we pulled up I realized something huge was going on.
I wanted to know what was happening, and I had a hunch…
Live from Norrmalmstorg, Bo Holmström.
Norrmalmstorg is, as you can see, packed with police cars and barricaded
since a shootout could break out at any moment.
At 10 a.m. this morning, a man, allegedly English-speaking,
entered the bank…
The Norrmalmstorg robbery. My claim to international fame.
The world came to know me as the Stockholm syndrome man.
Man, they should call it the Clark Olofsson syndrome.
Haha! Stockholm syndrome… Fucking bullshit.
A car just pulled up with Clark Olofsson, is he here?
I wouldn't know, since I've been doing interviews.
Fuck, those few days were a blast.
I look back on it as a fond memory.
Look at the commotion.
This terrorist has taken three people hostage,
shot a police officer in the hand, and asked us to bring you here.
And he's dressed up as an Arab.
Or a Rastafari, we're not sure.
-Rastafari… -He says he knows you.
Do you know this man?
I couldn't tell them I knew the guy…
Nah…
…or they wouldn't let me in there.
I can't say I know who it is.
No?
And I couldn't tell them I didn't know, or they wouldn't have let me in either.
But if it's who I think it is, and I'm pretty sure,
then you're in big trouble.
So who is it?
You tell me, but one thing is certain:
He's a dangerous, unpredictable lunatic, and I would do exactly as he says.
So, I had to play it perfectly, and they bought into everything I said.
-Hiller? Do you have a cigarette? -Yes, sure thing.
Rastafari, you say…
Yes.
-What more did he ask for? -Three million in cash and a Ford Mustang.
-Ford Mustang… -Blue. He was particular about that.
-Yes. -That's a nice car.
-It is a nice car. -Alright! Alright…
Clark, let me be perfectly clear.
I think this is a horrible idea,
but Palme believes you can find a way without anyone getting hurt or killed.
Have you ever heard something so stupid?
I'll be damned…
-The Prime Minister has asked for my help? -No, no, no!
-The terrorist asked for-- -Tommy Pony, my friend…
My name is Tommy, and you are not my friend!
No… OK then.
-Tell Palme I'll do it. -OK.
I'm doing this for my country, but…
I want a gun…
…immunity,
and extra furloughs.
Absolutely.
-Whatever you say. -Hiller! Absolutely not!
Then forget it. Turn the car around, I never asked for this--
Fine! Fine! Olofsson, you have a deal.
Just remember: nobody gets hurt.
Sure thing.
I promise.
OK. Let's go.
Son of a bitch!
Something's happening, yelling…
For fuck's sake, Clark!
-Watch out. -He's coming out.
-Seriously! -Only kidding.
What are you laughing at, Hiller?
Clark!
Off limits! Stay back!
Over here!
We need to fight crime,
or we won't be able to maintain rule of law.
As you can see, the police are taking every possible measure.
And such is the duty of the police.
You couldn't find anyone anywhere who wasn't watching
as I walked into the bank to save the day.
Oh my God, Clark…
Off limits! Stay back!
My God… It's Clark!
A whole nation held its breath and watched as I came to Palme's aid.
At the same time, we must protect human lives.
Clark Olofsson is being escorted…
Look, Daddy's on TV!
…by lieutenant Tommy Lindström…
Everybody!
My boy's on TV!
Shut up, bitch!
…make every effort to protect individual citizens from harm.
Needless to say, a shocking and dangerous development. We are taking cover…
Mr. Prime Minister, do you mean that the government and the authorities
are counting solely on Clark Olofsson?
Clark?
A notorious bank robber?
I'm… not going to comment on that.
OK. Here's the deal: The terrorist is holding the bottom floor.
We're positioned upstairs, the basement, the rooftops, pretty much everywhere else.
-Alright, whatever. Later. -One second!
Clark, remember what we agreed on. Nobody gets hurt. Nobody dies.
Of course. You can trust me, Tommy. Always!
You know that.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I might as well have been heading in to a death trap.
This is a terrible idea.
But I knew one thing for sure: Life is full of disappointments.
So you got to man up and deal with it.
And maybe have some fun along the way.
BASED ON "VAFAN VAR DET SOM HÄNDE?" I-III BY CLARK OLOFSSON
Subtitle translation by Erik Lindberg