All language subtitles for Basically (2014)

You don't know what it's like.

I know.

No, you don't know. No, I know I don't
know. I can't even imagine.

No one understands me, Josh.

Not my mom, not my dad, not even my
boyfriend.

Well, maybe you just have the wrong
boyfriend. What the hell?

Oh, yeah?

And who would be the right boyfriend? I
don't know.

Are you serious?

What are you doing?

Don't get hung up on me.

I'm asleep.

So what's that then?

Am I supposed to find this funny?

Honey, I don't even know what's
happening right now. So what is that

Oh my God, four months between me and
her for that part.

Honey. You're the one who took me to the
fucking callback.

That's my mother.

Don't ask me why. She used to be an
actress, although there's no proof of

Now she just tortures me because it's my
turn at the wheel.

And by the way, I'm not one of those
entitled L .A. cunts who doesn't

anything and just goes around biting the
hand that feeds her. My mother's hand

doesn't feed me. My father's does. And
it feeds her, too, although try telling

her that.

And if you already think I sound like a
bitch, then first of all, you don't know

her. And second of all, she's still my
mother, and she's still the most

important person in the world to me.

But if I'm going to do this, I'm going
to be honest, and if the truth hurts,

then... Look, I'm sorry, but you
probably just haven't heard enough of

Todd overdevelops his body while his
brain just erodes from total lack of

activity, which didn't stop my friend
Mona from blowing him in the bathroom of

the Glendale Galleria.

She says she knows this sounds insane,
but she only did it to get closer to me.

Bitch. This is Cooper. He's really shy.

Aren't you, Coop?

Hey, do you want to show off your
monograph?

Who?

See?

My dad's like this crazy renaissance
man.

My mom calls him a sociopath, but that's
just the rejection talking.

She likes to say that he left me, too,
but I'm not the one who gave him a heart

attack, and she's not the one who talks
to him every other day.

Anyway, he's got this Asian family now
with some environmentalist slut he met

Maui, so he basically just... escaped
from Alcatraz to lock himself in San

Quentin. But the point is, he dabbled.
He owns a couple of magazines and he

manages a bunch of buildings and he made
a shitload on the stock market.

Although, he likes to threaten that
times are tough and it's time to scale

which of course never actually happens.

Shandy, did you clean the pool?

Um, yes. Did you fix your car yet?

Well, my car is my car. So it doesn't
really concern you, does it? Does the

my pool? Because that does seem to
concern me.

Anyway, because of the recession, we had
to move from our bigger house, which

really only sucked because it was on the
beach. But beyond that, the economy

hasn't really affected my quality of
life, even though my more hyperbolic

friends would love to complain
otherwise.

FML, comma, I'm going to kill myself,
exclamation mark,

lol.

My mom bought herself fake tits for
Christmas last year.

She said it was a gift from a secret
admirer, which was already bending

fragility to the breaking point. But it
turned out she had this horrible allergy

to silicone. She basically almost died.

Anyway, when she came back from the
hospital, she was like beaming in this

insane way because she supposedly found
God, which by the way, you think only

happens in the movies, but she even came
back with like a rosary for a limb,

which by the way, her doctor gave her
since I'm pretty sure he's the one who

converted her, which I'm pretty sure has
to be against the law.

She probably mistook his fanaticism for
romantic interest and thought they were

going to get married or something.

But I did some thorough investigating.

And it turns out he's totally married
with this crazy racial hybrid for a

and spends his summers doing missionary
work at this Cesaro cult in Africa.

Mom pretends not to care and that she
never actually liked him in the first

place. Another example of her horrifying
denial.

I personally don't believe in God. I
think it's ridiculous and hypocritical

all of a sudden believe in him the
minute things get dark or you think

going to die. But I also don't
explicitly not believe in God because,

What was that?

Just answer email.

Don't get me wrong, I hate atheists just
as much as I hate religious jerks. I

mean, either way, you're just stubborn
and closed and you're not listening to

anything new because your puny brain's
already made up its stupid mind.

Like, just for instance, look at nature.

Have you even actually looked?

It's...

Amazing, and I don't know who or what is
responsible for all this amazing stuff,

and neither do you.

And I don't want to be the one who said
the whole Jesus or God or Buddha thing

was bullshit just so I can die and find
out that it wasn't bullshit, and then

I've got to go through an eternity
regretting it. But I also don't want to

my time while I'm here just sitting on
the sidelines talking to a fucking

either. I guess that's just, like, the
question. And honestly, who even cares

after a while? It's like, change the
fucking channel, am I right?

This is the party room.

My dad used to use it for functions and
fundraisers or whatever, but since he

split and my mom's a hermit, it's pretty
much been my job to keep the dust off.

I usually invite about one -third actual
friends and two -thirds industry

friends who are mostly just assistants
to casting directors and agents and

producers and stuff.

They might be mostly annoying assholes
now, but in five years, they'll be the

ones calling me with good news.

That's the philosophy, at least.

What do you want me to tell you,
Charlie?

You're my best friend. I don't love
anyone more than you, but I'm having

baby. I thought you wanted to be with
me.

That's me on the first episode of the
fourth season of One Heart Apart.

My character was basically this giant
slut who dies from an abortion.

It was really controversial at the time,
and Huffington Post even interviewed me

about it. But what it really did for me
was it expanded my network times, like,

100, and I made some really great
contacts.

Also, the casting director for the show
is always doing really big shit, so now

she knows me, which is, like, half the
battle.

Oh, my God!

Last summer, a skydiver whose chute
didn't open fell through the glass right

over there, dying horribly, but
instantly, thank God.

When the police and the paramedics
arrived, they turned him over, and

his skin was being eaten away by some
poisonous plant he fell into.

It turned out that our old housekeeper,
Milena, was growing this crazy arsenal

of poisonous shit, like 20 different
species.

And when she was being questioned, she
just sat there and stared.

didn't say or even acknowledge anything.

Who knows what would have happened to us
if that guy's chute had opened.

Another reason why I don't not believe
in God.

I don't really date that much, and not
for the same reason as my friend Janie,

who's just hopeless.

More of a career decision than a
personal one.

But my second -to -last boyfriend, John,
was this really smart, really sensitive

guy who was just amazing at painting and
drawing and writing and...

literally knew everything about
everything.

Okay, I basically feel like most artists
just have secondhand tapes.

You know, like movies or bands that
people told them to like, and so they

strap it on as a badge or something. But
I really think an artist is only as

good as his inspirations. And the thing
about John was that he was really smart,

but also totally unpretentious. And
whenever he gave me a piece of art or a

to read, it was...

actually great or actually exciting in a
way you could see and didn't have to

read about. And his art was like that
too.

The only problem was that he'd be the
one arguing with you about it. He was so

insecure and just aggressively neurotic.

Like, for instance, he was 5 '4", which
is basically the definition of who

cares. You could totally tell that he
was obsessed with it, which doesn't

exactly help if you're trying not to be.

And also, he didn't come from a lot of
money. Again, who cares? And he worked

the daytime as a valet again.

Who cares? And he was completely
indifferent to what he called fashion,

I call grooming, which would be totally
whatever if only he himself was okay

with it. But he wasn't.

So then... Okay, so there was this wrap
party for that show I did, One Heart

Apart.

And John didn't want to go.

I probably prompted him to not want to
go, if I'm being honest.

There was this actor there from the
show, Nick Bradley, who was basically

retarded, but everyone was completely in
love with him because he did cameos and

features. And apparently he was
interested in me because I pretty much

care less.

But long story short, we hooked up.

Superficial sparks flew. I broke up with
John, which made him weep in a way that

I never want to see another man weep.

So, of course, the Nick thing lasted for
like...

Two days, obviously.

And then a couple months after, I broke
things off with the first guy, John, the

artist.

He was

diagnosed with leukemia.

And I only saw him like one time, but he
was already well into the chemo and

pretty much bald and could barely
breathe.

I wasn't sure if he recognized me, but
like right after the nurse introduced

like before I could even say anything,
he grabbed my arm and begged me, like

literally begged me to kill him.

And so I basically had this huge panic
attack and like tore out of there and

home and cried nonstop for like two
weeks, during which time I guess he

I don't guess he died.

He... He died.

And now,

when I think about it...

I mean, I guess I really dodged a
bullet.

I'm supposed to be waiting on a call
from my agent, but this house is

for having zero reception, which during
pilot season, when your entire career

hinges on the next call... See?

Mom!

Who the fuck is John?

What? Who the fuck is John?

Who the fuck are you?

Who the fuck are you?

In the 10th grade, I was in my high
school's production of Long Day's

Was Mary and this like a hundred year
old scout was in the audience one night

apparently said I was better than
Florence Eldridge She was like the the

official Mary. I guess he wasn't a real
scouts and nothing ever came of it.

I Mean that wasn't even the good night
the the first night we went up was my

first time in a play my my first time in
front of an audience and

Somewhere in the second act, I got to
this place where I was just completely,

don't want to sound too whatever about
it, but all my ego fell away.

All my self -consciousness and I was,
suddenly I wasn't posturing or

playing something.

I was, it was like I was lifted out of
myself.

Or not lifted, like.

dissolved almost.

And every time I noticed that I was in
this place, I realized I had a choice

I chose to stay in it. I mean, it was a
choice.

And I know that sounds gay, but that's
what it was. And I don't think I felt it

any of the other nights, even though
people said I was just as good those

too.

I don't think I've ever felt it again.

Maybe sort of.

Only ever sort of.

You know, I also don't believe that
those things just go away forever

mean, what if I had chosen not to come
back into my body that

night?

Is that even possible to just take that
feeling and live

in it?

Or is the chase just the whole thing?