All language subtitles for Adieu, Lacan

[mournful music]

[light playful music]

[pensive music]

[mournful music]

- [Seriema] But where do I
start?

The doctor would have
told me, "Speak, my dear."

Since the first time I
went to see him in France

he knew at once that I
wanted him as my analyst.

That first time I traveled
from Brazil with a letter

from my countrymen asking
him to send us an emissary,

a French colleague of
his, to teach his art.

Why did I take a letter
personally

when I could have sent
it through the mail?

Obviously, I took the
opportunity to go myself,

making it logical for him to
consider me

as his future emissary in
Brazil.

So, interpreting my message,

he received me imagining
pristine lands

with clean air and endless
waters where nature is
bountiful,

a country where the most
fruitful result would come

from teaching its people.

True, at first, there
could be no understanding

because the language is
different

but I, Seriema, would
be there to translate.

It would be enough to plant
the flag of the unconscious.

Yes, seeing me, the doctor
dreamed with gargantuan
appetite.

Obviously, it was I who
would nurture the dream.

Actually, I could only
provide the equivalent

of several bunches of
bananas in solid gold

because in the past my own
people served

as beasts of burden,

hauling heavy loads on
their backs until they bled,

peddling household items from
door to door

from sun up till sundown.

Of course, I wasn'’t going to
reveal that to the great man.

I would simply omit the story
of those who left Lebanon,

who in France would have been
looked upon

as merely Arabs among other
Arabs.

Why wouldn'’t I want to hide such
a past

to avoid the designation
that the nationality

of my ancestors imparted to me?

Was I going to introduce
myself by revealing my origins?

How could I divulge right away

what I had always made such
a great effort to hide?

Let the doctor imagine
the primitive beaches,

the imposing palms and me,

as the native born daughter of
natives.

Wouldn'’t his fantasy confer
on me the lineage I wanted?

Didn'’t it give me the illusion

of being a woman from Brazil
with no ties to immigration?

Dream, doctor, dream and
make this granddaughter

of immigrants into the
daughter of Brazil'’s founders.

Rid me of my ill-starred
identity.

[gentle music]

- [Lacan] But why did you
separate?

I still don'’t know the
reason, the real reason.

[birds chirping]

- [Seriema] I didn'’t want the
separation.

It was Antonio who moved out

after the second miscarriage.

- [Lacan] There were two
miscarriages?

- Yes.

I lost a child twice.

After the second time, Antonio
went crazy.

He, he smashed everything in, in
the house

and he disappeared.

He asked a friend to come
back and, and get some things

but he wouldn'’t send any
message.

I wanted him back.

I waited for three months.
Nothing.

- Three months is a long time.

- After that, I, I did
everything

I could to obtain a scholarship.

I got one, packed my
bags and went far away.

[birds chirping]

I thought he might change his
mind.

That hasn'’t happened so far.

I need to find out why I'’m
alone.

Why I lost Antonio.

- You didn'’t separate.

You lost Antonio.

- I also lost Brazil.

I didn'’t know what it
means to be a foreigner.

Where are you from? What
country?

You speak Spanish in
Brazil, right? Portuguese?

Here in Paris, I never know
if I'’m speaking correctly.

- Go on. I'’m listening.

- To say in the past tense,
even the simplest of actions,

French uses three words.

For "he ate," "il a mangé."

For the simple number
90, "quatre vingt dix."

Here, I am always translating
from the Portuguese

spoken by Brazilians into French

or from French into Brazilian
Portuguese.

I'’m forced to constantly think.

In Brazil, my mother tongue
thinks for me.

Here, it is complicated
to even order a coke.

If you don'’t say "cocaaa"

instead of "coca"

and if you don'’t change
the definite article

and use "un coca"

instead of "une coca,"

no one understands you.

- Hmm.

What else?

Go on.

- I don'’t know.

- I don'’t know.

She wants and doesn'’t want to do
analysis.

If the analyst isn'’t
resourceful, he'’s lost.

When he'’s attacked, he has to
keep quiet.

If he doesn'’t, the analysis
is over before it begins.

And is she gonna go on
like this in silence?

She'’s pretty. Straight dark
hair.

Could she have some Indian
ancestry?

Is there Indian blood in your
family?

- What me? An Indian?

What is he thinking?

That I am the descendant of
those Indians

who ran around naked

and threw themselves onto
European ships

believing they were headed to
heaven.

- You need to tell me what
goes through your mind.

Is there Indian blood in your
family?

- Seriema is the Indian
name for a Brazilian bird,

but there is nothing Indian
about me.

I'’ve already mentioned

that I'’m the granddaughter of
Lebanese.

My grandmother immigrated.

[birds chirping]

She always said, "From
Lebanon to Brazil at 15,

then five children, '’maktub.'"

That means fate, destiny.

Literally, "it is written."

"Maktub."

That'’s all that matters.
"Maktub"

and she boarded the ship.

"Maktub" and she got married.

"Maktub."

It never occurred to her
that a woman could be free.

Could have the same rights as a
man.

- What does your grandmother'’s
story have to do with yours?

- When I was born, my
grandmother said,

"What a lovely child,
what a pity it'’s a girl."

- Your birth was a
disappointment.

- Mm-hmm. She wanted a male,
a legitimate first born.

What a pity it'’s not a boy.

[laughs] How could anyone say
that?

One sentence is enough to save

or condemn a person to dig a
grave.

- True.

- And then my aunt, she
prayed day and night

to conceive a male.

"Hail Mary, full of grace,

the Lord is with you.

Hail Mary, full of grace,

blessed is the fruit-"

She even promised to cross
the city on her knees.

Novenas and more novenas.

Her entire pregnancy
begging heaven for a son.

- Irrationality.

- An abomination.

- In her family, the
pregnancy was torture.

Either the woman gave
birth to a firstborn male

or she was looked down upon as
if the sex

of the child depended on the
mother.

What is the relation between
your story

and that of your mother or your
aunt?

I'’m referring to the
miscarriage, to the
miscarriages.

- The doctor said it was the
problem of, of the uterus.

- And you didn'’t know about it?

- Not when I lost the first
child, no.

- And later?

- I didn'’t think it was anything
serious,

that there would be greater
consequences.

I didn'’t have an operation

until after the second
miscarriage,

when I was forced
to.

an infection, hemorrhaging.

I almost died.

- You knew and didn'’t get
treatment.

Go on.

I'’m listening.

[birds chirping]

- I know it'’s my fault.

- You'’re responsible. Not at
fault.

It wasn'’t a deliberate act.

You didn'’t willfully ignore the
problem.

- So what?

What good does it do to talk?

What good to lock the house
after it'’s been robbed?

- There'’s no reason to despair.

You'’re in analysis.

You can set out on a new path.

Re-invent your own history.

- Are, uh, is it over already?

- Come back tomorrow.

- I, I can'’t tomorrow.

- Then the day after tomorrow,
at five in the afternoon.

[door clicking]

[children chattering]

[Lacan sighs]

[children chattering]

[footsteps tapping]

[knuckles rapping]

Enter.

- The book from Alain just
arrived.

- Please leave it on the desk.

- Do you want me to
place that call for you?

- I'’ll be ready in a few
minutes.

I'’ll let you know.

[door clicking]

[birds chirping]

The miscarriage could have been
avoided

if she had listened to the
doctor.

She both wants to have a child

and for some reason doesn'’t want
to.

I hope she reflects on what she
said.

The fact of not having gotten
treatment,

of ignoring what she knew, the
problem.

The passion of ignorance is
the worst passion of all.

[Lacan sighs]

Please place the call.

[birds chirping]

Good day, Edouard.

How am I?

It'’s very touching for you to
ask me that.

I'’m sure I'm very fortunate to
have you

as my physician, Edouard.

My dear friend, let'’s save
us both some time, shall we?

It isn'’t what you said you'd
hope for.

I appreciate you being sorry,

but that'’s just it, my dear
physician...

We don'’t escape the real.

That'’s nice of you to say

but I don'’t want to live that
way

no matter what the cost.

A life of constant pain

isn'’t of interest to me...

Being helpless all the time...

Of course I will.

You as well.

[birds chirping]

[phone rattling]

[children chattering]

[upbeat music]

- Where are you, Seriema?

Where'’s your smile?

Your happiness?

Clouds pass and so does sadness.

The husband left but he can
return.

Call upon the burning angel.

O lady of the corolla,

plunge into Antonio'’s heart

the flaming sword of passion.

Your Maria is waiting for you.

Come and see my dancing.

Come and see, after the
clouds have disappeared,

the flock of birds crossing the
sky.

[sirens faintly blaring]

- I'’m listening.

- How can I reinvent myself

when I come from a family like
mine?

- Hm?

- [Seriema] My grandmother
emigrated from Lebanon

and lived for 70 years in Brazil

as if she were still in Lebanon.

She never reinvented herself.

I don'’t know what she did in her
life.

Her fate was arranged

between her father

and her grandfather, Arab style.

- Arab style?

- [Seriema] A style which
attempted

to perpetuate itself in our
family.

And when I think that it
still happens nowadays that-

- What else?

[upbeat music]

- I'’ve been dreaming about
Maria since yesterday.

Maria, the Bahian woman who
raised me.

"Come back," she told me.

- Nothing else?

- She advised me to call
upon the goddess of seduction

and ask her to bring my husband
back.

Unfortunately, I don'’t believe
in magic.

If I did, I wouldn'’t be here.

- And what else?

- I'’ve been thinking
about what you told me.

You'’d like me to have Indian
blood.

Then you could tell
your analysis colleagues

that you'’re analyzing a savage.

The French love the Noble
Savage.

I'’m sorry to disappoint you.

All of my ancestors were
immigrants.

- Why is she trying to provoke
me?

What does she gain?

It would have been better if she
thought

about what she said, "I knew
and didn'’t get treatment."

That'’s the reason for the
separation.

But it does no good to insist.

Forcing the issue only
increases resistance.

That'’s not why I'm here.

Be patient, doctor.

I'’m listening.

- I'’d like to have Indian
ancestors.

Indian and Portuguese,
like most Brazilians...

And not be the descendant of
immigrants.

Why?

- When I was a child,
they called me "Turk."

It was derogatory.

In addition to making no sense
to me, because my grandfather

left Lebanon to escape the Turks

to avoid having to serve
in the occupying army.

- The Ottoman Army.

- Yes.

My grandfather'’s name was
changed

when he arrived in Brazil at
customs.

What does the name of an
immigrant matter?

A nobody...Later as if,
as if that wasn'’t enough,

that nobody was called "child
eater."

- Child eater?

- My grandfather was a
kind of traveling salesman.

He sold merchandise in the small
towns.

A 200 pound sack on his back all
day.

He would go from place
to place without eating,

without anywhere to sleep.

"Cotton, silk, needles, thread!"

[bright music]

- No quick riches.

[pensive music]

- He,

he labored like a slave.

He would greet them with "Ahlo
Sahla."

And they would yell, "The Turk!
The child eater is coming."

Mothers would grab their
children and run away

as if my grandfather
really were a cannibal,

just because he spoke another
language.

- And now you'’re in a country

whose language is not your own.

French is not your mother
tongue.

- That'’s true.

But my, my grandparents
were Lebanese immigrants

to them French...France is, is
synonymous with civilization.

My, my mother dreamt of speaking
French.

"Music to my ears," she always
said.

And I studied the language.

- Be that as it may, your
mother tongue is Portuguese.

- [Seriema] So?

- You can do analysis

with a Portuguese woman who
lives here.

- A Portuguese? Out of the
question.

Doesn'’t he know that their
language isn'’t the same?

It seems to be, but it isn'’t.

Portuguese is one thing,

Brazilian Portuguese is another.

For sandwich they say, "prego,"

which means nail.

If someone sees me eating a
sandwich,

they'’ll say I'm eating a nail.

"Broche" which is brooch

in Portugal means fellatio.

If I compliment her on her
broach

she'’ll throw me of her office.

No, it'’s impossible.

From her point of view, I
warp, I ruin the language.

She'’d say I need Portuguese
lessons more than sessions.

- [Lacan] I'’m listening.

- No, not with a Portuguese.

I'’d rather not do analysis.

- Well then, come back tomorrow.
At five.

[door clicking]

Seriema wants to do analysis
with me.

And if not with me, with no one.

So it has to be the way she
wants.

Why does she insist on
doing analysis in French,

in a language that'’s not her
own?

In any case, she knows what
she wants and doesn'’t want.

[birds chirping]

She may not come.

She insists on doing analysis
with me

and then doesn'’t show up.

I suggested a Portuguese
analyst.

Could it be she feels rejected?

Not everything she says in
Portuguese can be said in French

but maybe that'’s not even the
problem.

Maybe it'’s the sex of the
analyst.

It may be that she can'’t
imagine doing analysis

with a woman.

Medical discoveries.

The heart has a gender.

The differences between the
male and the female heart.

Apparently, even in the
anatomy of the heart

men and women are different.

[Lacan sighs]

[birds chirping]

Could you place the call?

Hi, Edouard.

I thought about it.

I know.

My daughter wants me
to go through with it.

She is very dear to me.

I'’m not going to do it.

Because that'’s my decision
to make, my dear friend.

It isn'’t written anywhere that
you have to have the answer

for everything,

to know everything.

I don'’t want my life
to be about surviving.

Of course, of course.

Very good.

[car horns faintly honking]

5:30. Seriema isn'’t coming.

[birds chirping]

[paper rattling]

- Hi.

- Hello.

[footsteps tapping]

[footsteps tapping]

- [Gloria] He will be here soon.

- Thank you.

[birds chirping]

- [Lacan] Good morning.

I see it.

Please tell the little
Brazilian woman to come in.

- I heard you tell your
secretary,

"The little Brazilian woman can
come in."

- Sit down.

Yes, I said little Brazilian.

In French, the diminutive is
affectionate.

- It reminded me of that
"little Turk" from my childhood.

I can'’t stand to be labeled,
Doctor.

- [Lacan] Shit. Why did
I say little Brazilian?

- My grandfather told me that in
Lebanon

Christians were forced to
wear a patch on their sleeve.

They could only walk on
one side of the street.

Anyone walking on the other
side would be arrested.

"Ishmael! To the left."

My grandfather has been
called a Christian,

a Turk and a child eater.

And I am the little Brazilian
woman.

I prefer to be called by my
name, Seriema.

- For good reason.

What else?

Speak?

- [Seriema] I don'’t really
know why I'’m in France.

- She doesn'’t know why

because she doesn'’t listen to
herself.

You said that in your family

France was synonymous with
civilization.

- My mother would love to be
born here.

Paris. [laughs]

The Eiffel tower, the Pantheon,

Edith Piaf, "The Rights Of Man"

with Sorbonne and the real
thinkers.

The City of Light.

Even the Statue of Liberty
was sculpted in Paris.

But what do I have to do with my
mother?

I don'’t know anyone here.

My room is tiny.

My bed is so soft, I prefer
sleeping on the floor.

I grew up barefoot and here
I never take off my boots.

I'’m 10,000 kilometers from home.

- It'’s true.

You left your country,
your home, your family.

It was

a great dislocation

from one continent to another.

As if you were going to discover
America.

- And all for a husband who only
wants me

if I can bear a child.

To him, no woman is unique.

He'’s been married several times.

Any woman will do.

I don'’t want to be put on a
pedestal

but I don'’t desire to be
just like all the others.

- An ancestor who needed
to bring a male child

into the world in order to be
loved.

She ran the risk of being
depreciated by giving birth.

Seriema couldn'’t identify with
her

but she could have identified
with some other woman

and undergone treatment to
carry her pregnancy to term.

Odd.

And she always wears suits

with the same purse on her
shoulder.

She doesn'’t use jewelry.

Just that strange pendant.

You said you don'’t want
to be on a pedestal

and neither do you want
to be like all the others.

What does that mean?

- What does it mean?

[Seriema laughs]

I don'’t know.

- [Lacan] Think about it.

200 francs.

- Why 200?

- [Lacan] For today'’s
session and the other one,

the one you didn'’t show up for.

- I don'’t have 200.

I do have 200.

- Excellent.

[children faintly chattering]

[car horns faintly blaring]

Why does she say she doesn'’t
have what she owes me

when she has it?

[birds chirping]

[people faintly chattering]

What are you thinking?

- With you staring at me
like that, I can'’t think.

Should I say I don'’t like
to be looked at that way?

That his staring bothers me.

That I don'’t want to be coveted
by him.

- You'’re the age my father
would be if he were still alive.

- Hm.

What is it you have around your
neck?

- The glass eye?

- Yes, the eye.

Could it be a fetish?

- Fetish?

- Fetish. An object having
magical powers.

- The idea never occurred to me.

After taking me for a savage,
now he thinks I'’m a fetishist.

It is true that um, I, I only
leave home

when I am wearing the eye,

with my body sealed.

- What?

- Sealed body means,
um, protected from envy,

from the evil eye, as Maria
would say.

- Maria, who is Maria?

- The black nanny who raised me.

You don'’t listen.

I'’ve already mentioned her

because she'’s the one
I miss the most here.

The eye is an amulet that
she gave me, a talisman.

I can'’t live without it.

- Can'’t live.

- [Seriema] No. Why do you ask?

- For you to become aware
of your belief in magic.

- What?

- [Lacan] That'’s right.
You believe in magic.

- I believe in Maria who raised
me.

She is more than a mother.

She is my protector.

She gave me this talisman to
protect me

just as she'’s protected.

Who doesn'’t need protection?

Isn'’t it enough that I'm, I'’m
living in this city alone,

living without love.

- Love, that'’s what you
want more than anything.

- True.

A man for whom I am unique.

- As unique as a daughter
can be to her father?

- My father?

He died so long ago
I'’ve lost sight of him.

- I'’ll see you next time.

- Next time.

What do you mean next time?

- Here you can speak freely.

Nothing you say will be
censured.

- It never occurred to me
that you could censure me,

otherwise, I wouldn'’t be here.

I thought it strange

that you called asking what
time I would be at your office.

I'’ve never heard of an analyst
doing that.

You must have guessed
I didn'’t want to come.

- But you came.

Talk.

- I don'’t know how to say what I
want

because in your language,
I don'’t know the word.

- [Lacan] What word?

- "Saudade."

Without that word I am not
myself.

I miss the language of Brazil.

I miss my country.

"Bonsoir" is strange

because it means good evening.

And we only say good
night, because in Brazil,

night falls in the blink of an
eye.

Here in Paris,

when I say a word wrong,

the person I'’m speaking
to first corrects me

and only then listens
to what I have to say.

And it'’s impossible not
to make mistakes. [laughs]

In French, the sea

is "la mere," feminine.

In Portuguese, "o mar,"
masculine.

"Banco" in French is feminine,

"la banque," but no matter

how many times I go to the bank,

I always say, "le banque."

I get it wrong.

- [Lacan] Is she going
to go on making a list?

Every session she talks
about the language problem.

That'’s how she's able to
avoid what'’s really important.

The essential.

- But the worst is what'’s
happened

to our samba.

"O Samba" has turned

into "la samba."

Everything is turned around.

Tree, palm, fruit...here
they'’re masculine, not feminine.

Even the sex of a ball is
different.

- The masculine sex of
words, the feminine sex,

sex...

Don'’t cry, my dear.

You didn'’t go to the couch.

You conquered it.

From now on, it is yours.

[Seriema sobbing]

- The couch is mine.

To say what?

That I go to bed alone every
night?

That I don'’t remember
anymore what sex is like?

Or rather,

I do but,

sex without love is not,

it is not the same.

At least with him-

- With whom?

- Antonio.

With him, at least I had
the illusion of love.

I thought he loved me.

And my happiness was as clear as
day.

- And now you think you were
mistaken?

That he didn'’t love you?

- I don'’t know what I
think anymore. [sniffling]

- And?

Speak.

- I remember, I remember
something

my father told me shortly before
he died.

Don'’t forget that I love you.

It seems like a demand.

- It is.

And you haven'’t forgotten him.

[door clicking]

Well, the face to face is over.

Seriema no longer needs to look
at me.

She can lie down and listen to
herself.

It'’s a victory.

People live their lives without
listening to themselves.

With a tin ear.

Some even die without ever
listening to themselves,

eternally deaf to their own
speech, to their own body

which screams rather than talks.

A deafness that in itself is
enough

to justify psychoanalysis,

if it still needs to be
justified.

[dramatic music]

Come, my sister.

[door thuds]
[dramatic music]

- I thought you were my
father when I saw you.

- Oh.

- I dreamed about my father.

He'’s been dead for so long.

- The dream.

What was it like?

- I was in a judo center

near the house that I lived in
as a child.

I was the only girl in the
center

wearing white, ready to spar
with a yellow belt on my waist.

- [Lacan] Yellow?

- Yes. Yellow is for beginners.

My father was sitting down,

showing me the black belt of
champions.

He wanted to watch the fight.

Suddenly, the instructor
comes in and demands

that my father return
the black belt to him.

I, I screamed and ran out.

My father caught up with me in
the street,

took me by the arm

and pulled from his pocket

another black belt, laughing
loudly.

- An unbeatable father.

- He wanted me to be unbeatable.

A champion at judo, karate,
Capoeira,

everything the boys in the, in
the neighborhood did, I did.

My father said, "You were
born to be like them.

If a boy can learn, so can you."

Whatever my father wanted, I
wanted.

Studies, sports, I was, I was
brought up to, to compete,

to win contests, grants.

- [Lacan] That'’s how you got
here.

You came on a grant, didn'’t you?

- I won the grant

after I lost my life,

the child I had conceived.

I miscarried instead of giving
birth.

It would have been better
if I had been born sterile,

not have raised expectations.

- What is the relationship

between having lost the
child and your story?

- [Seriema] What story?

- Your childhood, your father.

- My father is dead and buried.

- Buried doesn'’t mean forgotten.

Your dream is proof of that.

- He died after raising
me to love only him.

"Don'’t forget that, that
you can always count on me.

No one will ever love you the
way I do."

Always, never...

- [Lacan] What else?

- When he would pick me up
at school, he would ask me

if any boys had spoken
to me. I would say, "No."

He would ask me this every day.

And when I would give
him the same response

he would smile and then say,
"What would you have done?"

I said, "I would have hit the
boy."

He said, "Good for you."

He couldn'’t accept that,
that I would be interested

in anyone but him.

He wanted me all for himself.

- He definitely did everything
he could

to turn his daughter against
men.

Half of humanity.

No wonder she'’s in analysis.

What'’s important is you've
remembered the story.

- Important? Why?

- Because whoever ignores
the past becomes its victim,

goes on repeating it,
can'’t reinvent her life.

[door clicking]

She didn'’t want to know about
her father

but he returned in her dream.

Ancestors return.

They don'’t cease to exist.

[dramatic orchestral music]

[dramatic orchestral music]

[gentle thoughtful music]

What happened?

Talk.

- What happened is I had a
hallucination.

That'’s never happened to me
before.

- A hallucination?

What was it?

- [Seriema] What was it?

It was-

- Speak.

[sirens faintly blaring]

- Rats.

I saw, I saw rats in the waiting
room.

The other patients said
that they weren'’t there

but I saw them.

I saw two.

- Two what?

- [Seriema] Two huge,
black, horrible rats.

- Two rats.

- That'’s, that's strange.

- [Lacan] What?

- Uh, when you pronounced the
word,

I, I realized that the ra

is the first syllable

of my father'’s name and
my great-grandfather'’s.

- [Lacan] What is the name?

- Raji.

Raji is my great-grandfather'’s
name.

It was to keep from being
executed that he emigrated

so that his children
could revere their saints,

live in peace and, and bury
their dead.

He died on the ship.

And to avoid the plague,
he was thrown into the sea.

His body wrapped into a shroud,

Bible verses...farewell...

- Hmm.

- [Seriema] He left Lebanon,
but he never arrived in Brazil.

- He did arrive.

Otherwise you wouldn'’t
be talking about him.

- [Seriema] Up until today,
I'’ve never spoken of him,

just as I never said the
name of my father as a child.

"What'’s your father's name?"

"Roberto...Ricardo..." never
Raji.

Why should I run the risk
of being called a Turk?

- What matters, my dear, is
now you can say the name.

You can speak the truth.

There'’s no way to forever
deny one'’s origins...

renounce one'’s ancestors.

Life depends on what we can say.

Your life has changed.

- What about the hallucination?

- [Lacan] You won'’t have it
again.

- What, what, what, I-?

- The name you silenced

to hide your origins has
materialized.

Materialized in the rat.

Now you can say Raji.

There'’s no cause for
hallucinations.

You'’re no longer subject

to unexpected apparitions of
your father.

Come back tomorrow.

It'’s horrible not being able

to be Arab, Jew, Black,

not being able to be who you
are.

Nothing is worse than
racism turned inward.

Seriema is cured of that.

She was cured today, here in
analysis.

I'’m the one who needs analysis
now

because I can'’t accept my own
death.

Never again,

"Good morning, Papa."

[rain drumming]
[thunder rumbling]

- I left here in bad shape.

I am paying just to suffer.

I don'’t know if I should
continue.

- Why did you leave in bad
shape?

- I left feeling ashamed of my
father

and I remembered other
embarrassing things.

- You can talk here.

You must.

I'’m here to listen.

[thunder rumbling]

- My breasts.

When they began to
grow, I, I felt ashamed.

And the nipples that became
hard as rock. It hurt

and meant that I had the body of
a woman.

Suddenly I was no longer
sexless.

- You were no longer sexless.

- Yes. I was no longer sexless.

Before that, sex didn'’t exist.

From that moment on

it was one embarrassment after
another.

Pubic hair and the blood every
month...menstruation, huh?

I would writhe in pain from the
cramps.

And I felt disgust.

Whether I wanted it or not,

I was no longer like my father.

And to be like my mother, that
was not something I wanted.

She lived for the church.
[scoffs]

To her, everything was a sin.

The word freedom was
meaningless.

Fortunately, it was Maria who
raised me.

- You were as ashamed of your
body, as of your origins.

Your body contradicted your
desire to remain sexless.

- "If the boys can
learn, then so can you."

I imagined I was one of them.

[laughs] Nonsense.

I only had the right to
do as my father wanted.

And when I met my first
boyfriend, oh,

he wouldn'’t speak to me.

He wanted to kill me.

- Really?

- If it weren'’t for Maria...

Maria gave me strength.

But my father was devastated

and I lost interest in the
courtship.

I wanted to break up with the
boyfriend

and in the end he broke up with
me.

I didn'’t know pleasure

when I met Antonio.

He inflamed me

and I liked how I felt.

Sex was never the same again.

I put away shame.

The word sin for us was
meaningless.

With him, I didn'’t know who
was male or who was female.

Each of us could be one or the
other.

[thunder rumbling]

If it weren'’t for the
miscarriage.

Antonio told me

that I didn'’t want to have his
child.

That was at the hospital,

after the hemorrhage and
the operation on my uterus.

From then on, nothing went
right.

I, I was cured,

but I had lost my husband.

- And you did want to
have Antonio'’s child?

[rain drumming]

- I don'’t know.

I say, "I don'’t know," and you
get up?

- [Lacan] True.

- You'’re going to leave
me with "I don'’t know."

I can'’t stand this way
of ending a session,

the sudden and brutal
interruption.

- [Lacan] 100 francs.

- I didn'’t withdraw any money.

Then go and get it.

- [Seriema] I'’ll come back
tomorrow.

Today, I'’m taking a break
from the unconscious.

[thunder rumbling]
[door clicks]

- [Lacan] A being without sex
is what Seriema wanted to be

because biological sex ran
counter to her fantasy.

The fantasy of being like her
father.

- [Seriema] I'’m late
because Antonio called me.

It was last night.

He said he needed to see me.

I simply said, "I am in Paris."

And he hung up and called me
back.

He said, "If you are there,
then that'’s where I'm going."

I was puzzled.

- For good reason.

- [Seriema] And now I'’m
confused.

- Mm.

- [Seriema] This business of
paying

every time I come here bothers
me.

I don'’t understand why it is
this way.

It would be better if it wasn'’t.

- For you to forget that you pay
me?

That I'’m your analyst.

Unconditional love is what you
want.

- [Seriema] I don'’t deny it.

It was unconditional love
that I wanted from Antonio,

with or without a child.

I wanted to be loved just as I
loved.

I got pregnant twice because
that'’s what Antonio wanted.

- She got pregnant to satisfy
her husband.

How strange.

That'’s what it means to be the
object

of desire of the other.

You only wanted what Antonio
wanted

just like in your childhood.

- [Seriema] I don'’t understand.

- In your childhood you only
wanted what your father wanted.

You never spoke with
anyone at school, any boy.

- [Seriema] True.

And later, without being aware,

I lived only to satisfy Antonio.

- Except that you got pregnant
and didn'’t give birth.

Your desire to satisfy your
husband wasn'’t realized.

Why?

- [Seriema] You only listen

in order to find out something
else.

- [Lacan] She'’s evading again.

If she could, she'’d argue
analytical theory with me

just to continue in
ignorance, to not do analysis.

- You ask questions, but answers

you never give me.

Well today, I don'’t have
anything to say.

I can'’t take it anymore.

May I leave?

I would like to sleep.

Last night, after the phone
call,

I didn'’t get a wink of sleep.

I kept thinking about what I
should do.

[birds chirping]

- See you next week.

- Next week?

- The holiday. Because of the
holiday.

- Happy holiday.

- There'’s nothing sexless about
her.

That'’s why she loves Antonio.

"With him, I didn'’t know who
was man and who was woman.

Each of us could be one or the
other."

She has a freedom that I lack.

As if bisexuality didn'’t exist.

Doctor, you have studied a lot

but you haven'’t learned as
much as you should have.

[footsteps tapping]

It'’s better to lay down.

- I wasn'’t even going to come
today.

- But you came.

That'’s what matters.

And you'’re here on the couch.

So lay down.

I can'’t insist on the correct
position.

I can'’t take the chance

that she'’ll leave and
interrupt her analysis.

- On Friday, I forgot
the keys to my apartment.

Couldn'’t get into the building.

So I stood on the street

until my neighbor showed up at
three o'’clock in the morning.

I got sick and spent the
entire weekend in bed.

And last night, what
I had, wasn'’t a dream.

It was a nightmare.

- I'’m listening.

- I'’m listening.

If I hadn'’t have spoken about my
father

I wouldn'’t have had the
nightmare.

I woke up so frightened that I
cut myself,

hit my head on the glass
door in the bathroom.

I can'’t take this analysis
anymore.

- What is it you dreamed?

[birds chirping]

- I can'’t tell you.

- You can.

Here you can.

[birds chirping]

- A bubble.

I dreamed that I was in a red
bubble,

sleeping on the floor.

Suddenly I heard a whistle

and a voice said, "Time to wake
up now."

I wake up and I look at the
floor of the floating bubble

and I stretch and get up
carefully

so that I don'’t fall.

It'’s like I'm, I'’m
walking on a tight rope.

And with each step, I hear
the voice saying in Latin,

"Mens sana in corpore sano."

"A healthy mind in a healthy
body."

Another favorite saying of my
father'’s.

I look at the red and it starts
to lighten

and starts to change

into a glaring brilliance.

And suddenly, he appears.

- Who appears?

- My father...

- Why are you ashamed?

- [Seriema] Because of what
happens.

- Tell me.

- My father hands me a newborn

that he is holding in his arms.

And he says,

"Take him."”

"“Take our son."

"Our son"...that'’s, that's
incest.

The child of, of insanity
of, of my father'’s,

my father'’s jealousy
and my own submission.

Mens sana in corpore sano.

I wake as if I'’m, I'm leaving
hell.

Incest is a crime.

It'’s a depraved act.

I, I, I, I'’m afraid.

I'’m afraid I'm going crazy.

- Stay calm, stay calm.

The fantasy of incest isn'’t
incest.

No one goes crazy by wanting to.

- Hmm.

- [Lacan] It'’s true.

An incest fantasy isn'’t
innocuous.

- I don'’t understand what you
mean.

- If not for the incest
fantasy, you wouldn'’t be here.

You wouldn'’t have sought
treatment.

You could'’ve had Antonio's child

but the father of your
child, to you, isn'’t Antonio.

- Now I understand what you mean
less.

- The father of your
child, in your fantasy,

was not Antonio

but your father.

The unconscious exists.

We are all subject to it.

Come. You are no longer unaware
of what you needed to know.

Come, Seriema.

"My desire will be yours."

A father who enslaved his
daughter...

kept her from even imagining a
father

for her own child and thus
made motherhood impossible.

The unconscious exists.

And it isn'’t the little
lamb of a good shepherd,

but Seriema has taken a giant
step and broken the shackles.

She'’s no longer the slave of
repetition.

Half an hour late?

One step forward, one step back.

- Oh my God!

- Is there anything wrong?

- I lost my pendant yesterday.

Have you found it?

- Sorry. I didn'’t.

- [Seriema] Then I have to go.

- But the doctor is waiting for
you.

- But.

Has anyone found my fetish?

Great.

[footsteps thudding]

I'’m in no condition to do the
session.

And I don'’t even know if
I'’m staying in France.

- Why?

- I lost my eye.

- What?

- [Seriema] Coming out
of the telephone booth.

- Did you hurt yourself again?

You lost an eye?

- No, the glass eye, my
pendant, my protector.

- How did it happen?

- [Seriema] In the booth.

- Where?

- In the booth where I hack the
telephone.

- You "hack" it?

- Yes, to talk to Brazil.

All Brazilians in Paris do it.

- How was it you lost the
fetish, the protector?

- I don'’t know. I only know
that nothing else matters to me.

- Go back to the booth.

Look for the eye.

If you don'’t find it, call
Brazil,

order another one right away.

[door thudding]

[footsteps tapping]

Without the pendant, Seriema
won'’t stay.

And I'’m here in order that
she'’ll stay.

Look for it, make a phone
call, send a telegram,

anything for her to continue
analysis till the end.

If it'’s necessary for
me to act like a guru,

I'’ll become a guru.

The analyst is an actor

who pretends not to be acting.

He can take on any role.

Just because I'’m French
doesn'’t mean I'm not Brazilian.

Even without believing in magic.

- I had a dream last night

that you were dead and in a
coffin.

Every once in a while, you would
get up

and console the people who
were there saying your goodbyes

as if you were a fantasy.

- [laughs] Fantasy.

In what way?

- No, I made a mistake.

I meant to say a phantom,
as if you were a phantom,

but I misspoke.

In French, I get confused.

The two languages are so
similar and yet so different.

I even think you were dead
because-

- Because of what?

- Because if you died,

then I could go back to Brazil.
[laughs]

Here, I stumble over
words, stumble and fall.

As if the words were stones in
the road.

- Stones in the road...

- They are only good for
me to communicate. [huffs]

"How much does this cost?"

"Please pass the bread."

They don'’t take me back to
anything.

They are opaque.

They are like things.

- What?

- They are opaque.

They don'’t lead me back.

- What about the other words?

The ones in Portuguese?

- I was born and brought up with
them.

They have more than one meaning
for me.

They take me back to
other times, other places.

With them, I can play and find
joy.

I feel safe in my language.

I'’ve had enough of
living without sunshine.

The French say that the
sun shines for everyone,

but here I never see the sun.

Antonio now calls me every day.

He'’s the man I love.

The man I want to have a child
with.

- Then you'’ve chosen the father,
Antonio.

- I'’ve chosen.

- Now, she'’ll leave.

- I want his child, our child.

A child born there speaking my
language.

- What else?

[Seriema laughing]

- You'’re not interested in what
I say

but only in what is left unsaid.

- That'’s true.

See you tomorrow.

What interests an analyst is not
the part

that'’s left unsaid.

The fact is that a child is
now within Seriema'’s reach.

Now she can give life because
she can choose the father.

She has stopped being against
herself.

Analysis is over.

No, analysis will only be
over when Seriema understands

why she chose an analyst
whose languages isn'’t her own

since, for her, language is
fundamental.

- Hm.

It isn'’t easy to say.

- Hm.

- It'’s time for me to go home.

[birds chirping]

I don'’t want to stay here
forever.

And I have nothing more to say.

- I think you do.

- Maybe now you can tell me

why you did analysis in a
language that'’s not your own.

- [sighs] I don'’t know.

[birds chirping]

Maybe it was-

- Yes?

Yes?

- Maybe it was to not say
everything.

- How so?

- My father always said

that he was the only person
I could tell everything.

It was to do as my father
wanted that I chose you.

In order to not say everything,

I chose an analyst who
didn'’t know my language.

So as to not reveal myself.

Unbelievable! How strange!

- No, my dear.

It was an unconscious act.

- Choosing my analyst to obey my
father?

- The unconscious acts and
speaks for us.

No one can be held responsible

for what he does without
being conscious of it.

- What madness! [laughs]

- Madness...that was the
condition of your analysis.

Now you'’re free.

Free of your father'’s desire.

- Free of my father'’s desire?

- Yes. Now you can follow your
own path.

- Is it over?

- Like it or not.

Of course, you can'’t gain your
freedom

from your father just to
be chained to the analyst.

- Analysis is over then.
Brazil...

Antonio is waiting for me.

- Adieu...

- Adieu.

[bright upbeat music]

Unconsciously, I had obeyed my
father

who didn'’t relegate me to a
tower

but wanted me to have eyes only
for him.

His little girl who should
never display herself

before others or even in
analysis,

talk about sex and orgasm.

This is where I had to
arrive to put Raji behind me

and unbind myself from the
doctor.

To say adieu to the
great man and his city.

[bright triumphant music]

[gentle music]