All language subtitles for waiting_for_god_s01e03_cheering_up_tom

It's been raining, you cretin. And what
are we painting?

The Sistine Chapel.

Oh, that's in Rome.

I've got a very long brush.

I'm painting that new gardener, the
Portuguese boy.

Oh, Antonio?

Mm -hm. Oh, let me see.

Well, most trees are naked.

No, I mean, it looks like a naked man.

Jane, has it ever crossed your mind that
you have severe psychological problems?

But where is Antonio?

Well, he's behind the tree.

What? Yes, you see, you can't see him.
All you can see is his rake leaning

against the tree. Oh, that's a rake. Oh,
that's a rake.

The rake symbolises the presence of
Antonio. The painting is not a

representational actuality of Antonio.

Oh, you mean you can't do people?

I mean nothing of the kind.

What do you want?

Well, I've come to see what you'd like
for lunch.

There's a choice.

Then field cutlets. Or?

Or not field cutlets.

Why do you come on these futile
excursions?

Mr Baines wants the residents to feel
they have a say in how things are run at

Bayview. Pure tokenism, Jane.

Harvey Baines doesn't give a damn how
things are run here, just so long as

are run profitably.

Oh, you're so negative. I certainly am.

If there's one thing I'm positive about,
it's being negative.

Try Tom. He loves that sort of nonsense.

Yes, where is Tom today?

Isn't this his day for driving the
mobile library woman up the wall?

Oh, no, that's Tuesdays. Wednesdays is
Save the Whale's day.

Is his blow -up whale in the dining
room?

That's the point.

No, it isn't. He can't have been in for
breakfast.

Well, we'd better investigate.

I'll go alone.

It's policy.

What is it?

Well, you know, just opposing... Well,
you mean if Tom has fallen off the

Oh, please, Diana.

Jane, as a one -time photojournalist
with a penchant for war zones, I've seen

hundreds of dead bodies.

But they were foreign.

Oh, Jane.

Come on.

I'll come with you.

Oh, dear.

These were probably just slept in.

Doesn't smell as if someone snuffed it
in the night. Oh, damn.

Well, usually the old valves open, it
gets a bit whiffy. Oh, OK.

Oh!

Call an ambulance.

Tom?

Tom, can you hear me?

Tom, can you hear me?

Of course I can hear you, I'm not deaf.

Oh, what's the matter?

I think I'm dying.

Don't you bloody dare.

Where's the doctor?

All set up at the hospital. There's
nothing to worry about, Diana. Jane

contacted family.

No, don't. He can't stand them. Please
leave this to us, Diana.

He is my friend. Then why are you
shouting? Because I am going with him.

ma 'am, can't do that. Yes, of course I
can. Diana, please.

No, he's in good hands. Tom!

Now, just calm down, Diana. Oh, bugger
off!

Excuse me.

How is he?

You'll have to talk to the doctor. I
just want to know how he is.

Look, why don't you go and get a nice
cup of tea?

I have had 16 cups of tea.

I want to know how he is.

He's comfortable.

Yes, well, I know he's comfortable. He's
in bed. I want to know what is wrong

with him. I'm sorry, you really will
have to talk to the doctor. Oh, where is

the sodding doctor?

Oh.

Oh, Tom, you're great.

What do you think you're playing at?

Oh, Doctor.

Yes? How is he?

He's comfortable.

Oh, my God. Watch my lips. How is he?

What is his state of health?

Is he about to snuff it or does he want
to go skiing?

Are you the wife?

The wife? What do you mean, the wife? Do
you mean am I his wife?

Yes. No, I am not his wife. I am his
friend.

I'm sorry. I think I'd better speak to
his wife before his friend.

Then you'd better take a shovel. She's
been dead 15 years.

In the circumstances, I think that's a
rather tasteless remark.

Do you mean he's about to join her?

I believe his son and daughter -in -law
are on their way.

Oh, God, he's as thick as a plank and
she's something out of Twilight Zone.

Tell me. I'm sorry, I can only speak to
family.

that we should wait here.

He's a cynic, isn't he?

One night out in the years, he has to go
and mess it up.

Marianne. Oh, God, look, a bag lady.

If he joined Bupa, he wouldn't be here
with the down -and -ups.

Shut it down.

Do you want me to get you some coffee?

Thanks, I might sober up. I doubt it.

Smashing party.

Yes, dear.

That diamond person squeezed my bottom.

Yes, dear.

Wicked.

Squeezed. Ooh!

Geoffrey.

Yes, ma 'am.

Supposing. What?

You know.

I mean, we know.

I don't know.

Your dad.

Yes?

He's had a good run, hasn't he?

What?

We've got to face up to all
possibilities.

Not now, dear.

I mean, we've been very good to him.
Well, of course, he's my father.

A right family.

Yes. We're all family.

Yes. What's ours is his.

That's very nice of you, Marion.

What his is ours.

Sorry?

Like the insurance, the little bits of
silver and that nice Persian rug.

It's her.

Miss Trent.

So nice of you to come, eventually.

What are you doing here?

I'm trying to find out how Tom is.

He's fine. It's not too serious.

Not a proper heart attack at all.

He can never get anything right.

The doctor called it a minor occlusion.

It's a sort of warning.

The doctor spoke to you?

Of course.

He didn't speak to me.

Probably didn't like the look of you.

I thought you were a bad lady.

Dad.

Hello, Geoffrey.

Marion.

We've been so worried about you, haven't
we, Geoffrey?

Absolutely, and we really think that
when you get out of here, you ought to

home and stay with us.

Only if you want to, of course.

No, thank you. I'll go back to Bayview
if it's all the same to you.

But why?

Well, you know how it is. Want to keep
an eye on things like my little bits of

silver and my nice Persian rug?

Got the Porsche old thing? Certainly
have.

Then let's go.

Dad.

Tom, should I be looking just like this?
No. Well, then maybe you shouldn't.

Of course I shouldn't. Well, then why
are you? Oh, God, woman.

Don't you ever listen to your own
lectures?

To stay alive, one must be bloody
-minded and contrary at all times. Maybe

just theorising.

Oh, hold this bag and shut up.

A little weary.

Please, Tom, go back.

Oh, no, I've got to get out of here.

I could feel the clammy hand of
something or other crawling along the

Oh, I've been there, you know, I've been
there.

We must get out of here.

Oh, dear.

Do you think the part is still going?

Well, he's had a good long sleep, and
despite discharging himself in such a

cavalier fashion, he seems to be
recovering quite well.

Physically, that is.

More than I am.

Do you do head transplants?

Yes,

it's the state of his mind that gives us
most cause for concern.

You see, when he was in the hospital, he
asked us to pull the plug on him.

You should have listened to him.

It's not an uncommon request.

He went on to say that most of his chums
had died and he wanted to be able to

join them.

Yes, just a lot of them. around here.

Death seems to come in waves.

One goes and the others all pop off in
sympathy.

Not that we encourage it, of course.

Oh, no, it's not policy, is it?

It would appear that there is one person
that he likes.

Yes, that's me. He likes me.

I'm his son.

Someone called Diana Trent.

Tom and Midclint do spend a lot of time
together.

More of the pity?

Well, maybe she could help to get his
head sorted out.

She couldn't get her underwear sorted
out. Marianne, how do you mean, Doctor?

Well, is this Miss Trent, by any chance,
a kind, considerate, caring sort of

person?

No.

He's what?

He's in shock.

Well, of course he's in shock. He
thought he was going to die.

Apparently, with Tom, it goes much
deeper.

What do you mean?

Well, you know, Dad's a bit odd. A bit
of a fantasy dreamer. Aren't we all?

We've got to have a dream.

To make a dream come true.

What?

South Pacific.

Mr Gaynor.

Happy talking, talking, happy talk.

Talking about things you'd like to do.

Who did you say was disturbed?

Apparently Tom has gone into a bit of a
depression.

Well, it won't do him any harm. He's
always been far too cheerful.

The doctor feels you're the one to get
him out of it.

Me? He seems to think that Tom has
developed some sort of psychological

dependence on you.

What am I supposed to do about that?

Well, we were hoping you could cheer him
up.

Cheer him up? Me?

I spend my lifetime to depress people.

Well, it is rather important.

What if I don't succeed?

Well, he isn't very stable right now.

Cheer him up.

Cheerful, cheerful, cheerful.

I haven't been cheerful since 1975.

That was only because I got typhoid.

Oh, God.

What a wonderful day.

What a splendid day.

Hello, Tom.

What a wonderful day.

What's wrong with your face?

I'm sliding.

Then don't. But I can't help it. I feel
wonderful. I'm full of... full of

inner... joy.

Have you been putting gin on your
cornflakes again?

happy. You've no reason to be. You look
like a giant clam.

Only older.

Don't you call me old.

That's better. More like your usual foul
self.

What makes you happy?

I like the way my painting is going.

Oh.

Do you want to see it? No, thank you.

I wouldn't want to see something that is
still going to grow after I've gone.

Gone where, Tom?

Gone across the Fijian waters to the
other side of the Black River.

You mean Battersea?

The empty beyond.

How do you know that the beyond is
empty?

I went there yesterday at the hospital.

I left my body, you know. I was looking
down at me. Then I was out in the

corridor looking down and listening to
you all.

That's how I knew what that dreadful
Marion was up to.

Cold.

And did you see the tunnel of light and
the heavenly choirs and all those

ghastly relatives you thought you got
rid of?

No.

I was alone.

Oh, well, then it was a shock reaction,
Tom.

If it had been a near -death reaction,
you would have had all the other jazz.

But you don't believe in the afterlife.

Well, I keep an open mind.

I think you probably get what you
believe in.

And you've got your faith.

So for you, death should just be the
beginning of another big adventure.

But suppose I'm wrong and you're right.

Suppose they do just rot in a box, or
even worse, suppose heaven is really

some sort of, what did you call it,
Albanian Disneyland, where everyone is

nice you just want to throw up.

I'm just talking, Tom. I'm sure heaven
is fine.

There's different things to different
people.

But to you, heaven would be some sort of
Shangri -La, full of heroes and...

Optimists and people shoving flowers in
their ears.

And to you?

To me?

To me, heaven would be a noisy New York
bar full of cynical, drunken,

loudmouthed journalists all pretending
to be Hemingway, all telling huge lies

one another.

Then again, maybe this is it here.

Maybe the Bayview retirement village is
the afterlife.

Maybe we died at the pearly gates at the
bottom of the drive.

I'll be going to St. Peter.

The thing I really hate about death is
the lack of a timetable.

You can't look up when your last train
is leaving.

The Bayview to Heaven Express.

Then again... Wait a minute.

Maybe I can look it up.

If I write my own timetable, then I can
decide when the last train leaves. No,

Tom, not suicide.

Yes, that's it.

Then I'll know when it's going to happen
and I can put it in my diary. Yes,

that's it.

Wonderful.

See you later.

Or not, as the case may be.

He what?

He wants to kill himself.

Oh, dear.

What did you say to him?

I asked you to cheer him up, not push
him over the edge. Well, I failed,

I? We've never had a suicide at Bayview.

Plenty of death, but never a do -it
-yourself job.

Maybe I should have a word with him.

I don't think he's in that much of a
hurry, Jane.

We'd better get his family back.

Oh, don't be so thick.

Spending all those years with that
gormless troglodyte of a son and his

screeching parrot of a wife that has
made him into the unbalanced old bat he

today.

Leave it to me, I think.

What do you know about anything?

Diana, I'll have you know, I trained for
over three weeks to run this place.

And people management were the very
important part of that training.

I should be able to sort this out.

I am a man of action.

Aren't I, Jane?

Oh, yes, you are.

Jane, you're touching me.

Tuesday, heart attack.

It wasn't a heart attack, Tom.

Wednesday, disgust, life and death.

With Diana.

Well, you mustn't listen to Diana, Tom.

Thursday, died.

Which day am I going to be buried? I
don't want to leave an untidy diary

Well, Monday costs too much in overtime
at the weekend.

Monday, buried.

You're not going to be buried at all,
Tom. I do not wish to be cremated.

You're not going to be cremated either.

What are you going to do then?

Throw me over the back fence?

You're not going to die, Tom.

Not ever. Not tomorrow.

What's wrong with tomorrow?

Well, it... What's wrong with tomorrow,
Jane?

Well, it's Thursday.

It's Thursday.

Is it against Bayview policy to die on a
Thursday? It is against Bayview policy

for residents to die before their due
time.

But it is my due time. How do you know
that?

It's in my diary. Die Thursday.

If I die on the Friday, I'll be a day
late and I hate unpunctuality.

It's for me.

It's for us. What for Bayview?

I mean, if people think that every time
they leave their elderly relatives here,

they're going to top themselves on a
Thursday, well, people won't send anyone

here and we'll go broke.

I'd have to clone.

Then my passing will not have been in
vain.

That's not funny.

I'd miss you, Tom.

That's very nice of you, but if you
don't mind, it's time for my sleep now.

I have a long day before me tomorrow.

Well, not as long as usual, if you know
what I mean.

Good night.

Oh, no. It's awfully good, yes.

I'd like you to have that, you see.

Yes, I want you to have it.

Thank you very much.

Right, we'll see about that, Mr Ballard.

So

you're OK,

Dad? Well, I'm fine, Geoffrey, thank
you.

Mr. Bain said he was worried about you.
Oh, probably mixing me up with somebody

else.

Said you were feeling a bit suicidal.

Well, I was, but not any longer.

Especially since you didn't bring Mary.

She didn't mean to say that about the
silver and the Persian rug.

She was just exercising the words.

She means well, Dad.

Geoffrey, suppose you never saw me
again.

Dad. No, no, not that you won't, of
course, but just in case, I'd like to

you one piece of parley advice.

Yes, Dad.

Marion does not mean well.

She's an evil little harpy.

Dad, I really must object.

Take her down to the old quarry pond,
tie a rope round her neck and shove her

in.

Dad, this is not like you.

You've always been such a kind and
gentle person.

The kind and gentle people of this world
sometimes just don't have the courage

to be as bloody as they'd really like to
be.

I don't know what to say. I'm shocked.

And I blame myself about you too,
Geoffrey.

What's wrong with me?

You're wet, Geoffrey.

Desperately wet and fine, look.

You're hell -bent on being as big a
wishy -washy nobody as your dad.

I think I'm going. You're obviously not
yourself today. And the first thing you

must do to regain a smidgen of self
-respect... is to get rid of that woman.

Wire her up to the national grid or
something.

Goodbye, Dad.

This is all your fault.

He was a nice old man till he met you.

Go away.

Don't you go away.

I want you to have these.

No, thank you.

But they're all I've got. My most
treasured possessions.

Well, no good to me.

Why not?

Well, because I'm coming with you.

You're what?

Yes, you're right. What is the point any
longer?

We're just a waste of space.

I'm bored rigid most of the time.

Might just as well join you on the last
great adventure.

So, how are we going to do it?

Do what?

We'll croak ourselves.

Pills? I haven't really thought that
far.

I think pills are a bit namby -pamby
myself.

But you don't feel anything.

What a waste of time if you don't feel
anything. What do you gain from it? Pain

is experience, Tom.

Experience for what? For its own sake.

Now, if we were to shoot ourselves,
there would be a moment when we would

what it felt like to be shot.

We would be more complete human beings.

Metaphysically, that is.

Physically, of course, we'd be slightly
less complete human beings.

No, I don't think I could fit myself in.

What about the old necktie party, then?

We could string ourselves up outside the
dining room at lunchtime. I don't

curdle their custard.

I don't think so. No, no, you're
probably right. All that gurgling and

and your eyeballs popping out all over
the place. I am.

Blackened tongues flapping in the
breeze.

Still mine.

Wrist flashing.

My niece is always trying that. Every
Wednesday.

Save herself a lot of trouble if she had
zippers put in her wrist.

Please, Diana.

I hear drowning's quite nice. You get to
see the whole of your life pass before

your eyes.

No. No. I know you're probably right.
Who'd want a rerun of your boring life?

Oh, no. What else is there? Ah.

Poison? Exhaust fumes?

I don't know.

Well, you'd better think of something. I
haven't put us down for tea.

Do you think you're starving to death?

Look, it's none of your business.

It's my death, my idea, my little
moment.

The only reason you want to join me is
because you can't stand not being the

centre of attention.

You've ruined everything.

to do it.

No, I'm not. You never were.

I might have done.

Might.

Felt like it. Not you.

You think I haven't got the guts?

No. I think you've got more sense.

I mean, I wouldn't have done it because
I... Well, I might be a late developer

in something.

In the art world.

This painting?

It could be a great painting.

The first of many.

Ah.

See, while you're still breathing, there
is still something that you can do with

your life.

Well, who knows? You could still be a
famous bullfighter or astronaut.

Not very likely.

All right, you could be a famous
mediocrity, then.

So will you be.

Beg your pardon?

That's the worst painting ever seen.

It's a very good painting.

No, it's not.

It's terrible.

Look at that tree. It looks like a naked
man.

Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.

Yes, you've got no talent at all.

I have got talent. No, you're hopeless.

I am not. Really, really useless. You're
as much useless as I am. Quite the

worst painting I've ever seen. Oh, dear,
oh, dear, oh, dear. Oh, dreadful.

Thank you, Diana.

You cheer me up immensely.

That's a terrible painting.

gave it to me. It was just a loan.

I want it back. You can't have it.

I am grateful, Diana. How did you do it?
I deliberately painted a terrible

picture so that you'd think he wasn't
the only one with problems.

It doesn't look that terrible to me.

Really? And again, when it comes to art
appreciation, I'm a complete moron.

See you later.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.