Original subtitles

Are we going to get something published, or what?

Or do you just want to cultivate your angst?

- There is a reason why we hesitated. - What do you mean?

You’re the one who stopped.

Sure, but...

I can start walking again.

Do I really want to expose the world to this?

Let’s just do it.

This...

is when it all begins.

Their manuscripts would have been accepted immediately.

They would’ve been published the next fall.

Finally, they would’ve been authors.

Their books would have sold poorly.

Erik and Phillip couldn’t care less.

More importantly, the books’ enigmatic nature

would’ve made them cult classics.

Phillip would’ve been overwhelmed by his success.

In a burst of hubris, he’d declare his literary project completed and--

No,

it would’ve been love that caused Phillip to lose faith in literature.

He would have left Oslo without telling a soul.

After three months, he would’ve reached the Vézère-valley.

The sight of the Lascaux paintings would’ve provoked a delirious fit.

Believing he knew Japanese,

he’d follow a tourist group from Hiroshima an entire day, before collapsing.

Diagnosis: Acute Stendhal Syndrome.

The urge to write would again have resurfaced.

January. Oslo.

The loss of Phillip would’ve become a loss of inspiration.

The writer’s block was a fact.

Author Sten Egil Dahl would have convinced Erik to go abroad to write.

She was a French publisher’s daughter.

Her father had idealized her,

causing a deep inferiority complex, both physical and intellectual.

On October 24, she would have thrown herself from their balcony.

Her letter would’ve suggested it was their happiness she couldn’t deal with.

Erik would’ve felt ashamed by the creativity triggered by her death.

They would have met by chance at a café...

No, on the street.

On the Metro... At an airport...

No, in the Luxembourg Garden.

They would have realized they were both writing the same book.

THE ZERO POINT

The book would’ve triggered a revolution in East Africa,

been banned by the Vatican, disillusioned the Dalai Lama,

and shaped the sexuality of Frode,

a 12 year old son of a pastry chef,

who would’ve happened to read--

This...

is when it all begins.

We have to get out of this country.

Erik was relieved when his suspicions were finally confirmed.

He was utterly without talent.

Phillip’s manuscript was accepted. His book was released in the fall.

Hi.

SIX MONTHS LATER

These are great CDs. Chris De Burgh, Sissel...

- Pan Pipe Moods? - Those are Dad’s old CDs.

- They came with the car. - Came with the car?

Air conditioner and Pan Pipe Moods is standard equipment in a Volvo?

- Hi. - Hi.

- Is that everything? - I think so.

Thanks.

It’ll be nice to come home to your apartment, your PC...

Maybe you can start writing again.

- Do you have any music we can play? - No.

Did you get hold of any good drugs, Phillip?

I actually talked to a doctor who...

They said down at the hospital that...

That more people get addicted to--

I’m sorry, but right now you sound like Geir.

Shit...

Nice friends.

Geir.

Could we drop by Bygdøy?

Isn’t it a little too cold for that?

The punk band Kommune played their farewell concert on Dec. 27, 1999.

Next song, “Fingerfucked by the Prime Minister”.

Morten, a diehard fan, missed his train and had to bike 50 km.

After 12 minutes, he got a knee in his eye.

His first encounter with Phillip and the others.

Ironic punk quickly evolved into cynical commercialism:

Henning started an ad agency.

This is...

Katinka.

Morten quit college to work for Henning as a “creative” consultant.

She’s discussing ads in public spaces.

I’m just trying to get her to bed.

Hi, Lillian.

Erik kept his girlfriend at a safe distance from his friends.

Tonight? I don’t know.

Morten asked Geir what she was like.

Geir said she was “intelligent”.

Morten therefore assumed she was ugly.

Geir pretended to agree.

A drunk Geir had once told Erik he feared they were friends with him

only because his brother was in the band.

Erik then had to wait two days before asking him for free tickets.

What does that mean?

“Que le tout”?

Phillip, please turn it down a little.

Violins are nice, but...

“The only thing left, is everything.”

“The whole.”

- Hi, Phillip! - Hi, Mum.

- Hi. - Hi.

How is it going?

Fine, I think.

- Was the drive okay? - Yes.

- Not too much traffic? - No, we stopped at Bygdøy.

Have you removed my things?

Well, I had to tidy up a bit.

Where are the pictures of Kari?

We talked about this.

- You just took them down? - It’s for your own good.

Why didn’t you tell me?

Maybe I forgot. The doctor...

Give me my keys, Mum.

It’s only practical that someone has a spare set.

Yeah.

Hey...

Maybe you should take the keys.

Think about it.

You’ll probably write something incredible now.

How’s your writing going?

To hell.

I’ve reworked that last one I sent in.

Think you could take a look at it?

You should just send it in.

I’m sure it’s excellent.

Should we head home?

Am I tired already?

Sales is about...

commitment,

desire,

- knowledge-- - Good, Fhaisal...

But you forget one key point:

you can’t sell over the phone,

until you have learned to sell yourself.

You should leave modesty at the door

before entering here.

Oops! Modesty just got run over by a steamroller.

Toss the ball to someone, Fhaisal.

Okay, who are you?

Kari.

Who are you?

Kari.

Kari grew up on the east side of town.

Phillip, on the west.

Still, Phillip insisted he had seen her before: Independence Day 1989,

he had gotten lost and ended up marching with the wrong school.

Kari didn’t believe him, but liked the idea.

At 18, Kari met Rune, the former guitarist in Kommune,

now frontman in Mondo Topless,

incidentally the worst use of a Russ Meyer film title as a band name ever.

Fucking hippies!

After dating Rune for three years, Kari started noticing Phillip.

She thought he was cute, but was sure he was gay.

She asked Rune who they were.

Just some spoiled rich kids from the West Side.

I heard one of them wrote this weird book.

LANGUAGE AS A PRISONER OF REALITY

Phillip later told Kari he knew they were destined for each other.

In ten seconds, she will look at him.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five,

four,

three,

two,

one...

The next day, he invited her to Paris.

Phillip’s sarcastic humor made her gasp with laughter.

Phillip said her gasping was repulsive.

This only made her gasp even more.

His gaze made her feel pretty.

Phillip loved her parodies of “sexy” girls in music videos.

She was the only girl he had met who had Ramones’ Road to Ruin on vinyl.

He enjoyed that they both admitted actually disliking The Clash.

Are you okay?

I’m fine.

- Hi. - It’s amazing.

This is incredible.

In the subway... I didn’t see the sign...

I sat down, and he said I... shouldn’t... It was painted...

But there wasn’t any paint...

You have paint on your jacket.

There’s paint all over your back.

No, there isn’t.

- There was something... Fuck. - Phillip, what’s wrong?

It’s just... I-I...

It wasn’t by chance.

It was no coincidence that we met.

The doctors said his obsessive romance with Kari had triggered his psychosis.

When Phillip was committed, Kari was advised not to visit him.

- Hi. - Hi.

I let myself in. Where have you been?

What do you mean?

- I kept trying the doorbell. - I just went to the store.

I’m fine. Don’t worry.

Hey, I’m sorry.

I just wanted to show you this.

They accepted it.

They’re going to publish Prosopopeia.

That’s great!

- Have you told Lillian yet? - No.

A good book cover is important.

Didn’t you say that

if your book was accepted, you would...

What do you mean?

- I have to break up with Lillian. - You don’t have to.

Yes, I do.

We’ve been going out for three years.

I can’t waste any more time.

We can’t have girlfriends now.

We’re supposed to write and read, and hang out with friends.

And if we feel the urge...

we’ll practice deviant, fetishistic sex with prostitutes.

That is what we should do!

You can practice deviant, fetishistic sex with Lillian.

That...

No.

I have to break up with her.

I can’t stay with her just to be nice.

Not that she’s terrible to be with.

She’s actually pretty cool.

Girls aren’t cool.

They can be pretty or “cute” and,

with some serious dieting, even sexy.

They can be nice. Dumb, but nice.

But who wants “nice”?

You want interesting people around you.

Has a girl ever introduced you to any new music

or recommended a book you didn’t already read in high school?

Anything just slightly outside the mainstream?

If so, she got it from an ex, her brother, her father.

They just pretend.

It’s worse here. On the East Side, they know they’re underprivileged.

Here, they think they have to have “an opinion”.

And intrude on adult conversations.

- Hi. - Hi, Lillian, it’s me.

Guys in long-term relationships

become so lame.

They get sucked into this feminine sphere of TV-series

and nice dinners.

They get less and less time to read and listen to music.

Eventually, they don’t even miss it.

They end up as under-stimulated, bourgeois...

retards.

Hi!

If he broke up now,

Lillian would think it’s because of the novel.

He’d be a phoney who dumps girls once he succeeds.

She’d think she wasn’t good enough for him, which wasn’t entirely true.

And what about all his things?

It would seem cynical to take them now.

But picking them up later would definitely be wrong...

- He could buy new ones-- - What’s the matter?

Erik, come here a second.

Erik, come here a second.

I don’t mind you using my PC at all.

But I don’t appreciate that things like this pop up,

when I turn it on.

Is this what you look at?

Feel free to talk to me about it.

But what if that girl was me?

- But what if that girl was me? - What if she can’t take it?

That may be conceited of him, but...

Bullshit.

Feeling guilty is slave mentality.

Sometimes you have to be Zarathustra.

Be mean.

I have to tell you...

Suddenly, Erik remembered the last time he was mean.

- Erik and Phillip were in second grade. - WALDORF SCHOOL, 1991

Phillip had another best friend:

Erik heard Svein talk about Phillip to a sixth grader.

You two hang out a lot. Are you gay, or what?

No, but maybe he is.

Having had a liberal upbringing, Erik had always defended society’s outcasts.

But this time, he told everybody that Svein said Phillip was gay.

Erik’s mother heard this from a classmate and Erik’s teacher.

He used “gay” as a term of abuse?

His father is reactionary, but...

An emergency meeting was called.

Svein left the school shortly after.

Such a pity, one bad apple can spoil the bunch.

Years later, Svein was seen cutting in line at a liquor store,

pushing a baby carriage.

My novel was accepted.

That’s great!

Are you still at the university?

I don’t know. It’s kind of complicated.

I’ve considered studying sociology again.

No... I don’t know.

I’m working at the moment.

- Hi. - Hi.

I’m going to get a coffee.

How long has it been?

Seven... seven months.

I can’t believe we’re sitting here like this.

Yes...

Remember when I tricked you into falling in love, in Paris?

I was already in love with you.

No, you weren’t.

You were still into that “rock star”, weren’t you?

Poor Rune.

No.

But we had a nice time, didn’t we?

In Paris.

Were you in love with me then?

Yes. I was.

I wasn’t sick yet.

I wasn’t.

You’ve put your hair up.

Yes.

I like it.

No, you don’t.

I do.

It’s just different.

You look nice.

I felt a lot worse afterwards. I didn’t understand anything.

I wanted to call.

But they told me that wasn’t a good idea.

And then I didn’t know...

I didn’t know how you felt.

That must have been hard.

I wish we could just...

meet all over again.

Forget everything.

- Bye. - Bye.

I must admit, after reading this,

I thought:

“He must be some

“eccentric, old-before-his-time type”.

No offense.

And then you show up.

Look at him!

I mean, he’s handsome.

A good-looking boy.

So, what happens now?

Certain parts will be reworked.

And it needs to be proofread.

But this is a book. It will be published this fall.

This fall?

Isn’t that a little soon?

- I just feel-- - Leave the feeling to me.

But the title...

- Prosopopeia. - We’ve discussed that.

I like one-word titles myself: “Hunger”, “Underworld”...

“Prosopopeia” is one word.

He’s right about that.

Wow.

Your first book...

sets the tone for your entire authorship.

Imagine a critic writing a review...

of... Prozac-and-pee.

I’m provoking you a little,

- but-- - I love the title.

There’s something about your thematic structure that...

It’s interesting that you know Phillip Reisnes.

Something about your book

reminded me of his.

Yeah?

Maybe you’re right.

Thank you.

You and Reisnes...

- How old are you? 23? - Yeah.

Fantastic!

A word to the wise:

Never....

listen to old farts like me.

No, no, no.

Remember what Wittgenstein says,

“Uttering a word is like striking a note on the keyboard of the imagination.”

I have something I need to do.

Excellent.

Have you read Ottar Tømte?

We’re marking the release of his posthumous poetry.

- If you want to go. - Yes.

Thanks for the invitation.

Yeah. So?

Who was friends with Ottar Tømte?

Who wrote the epilogue for his book

and will feel obliged to appear?

Erik and Phillip discovered Sten Egil Dahl when they were 17.

At the time, Phillip’s father stayed in a Neurological Sanatorium in Western Norway.

They both spent all their lunch money on books and records.

CRYSTAL SHADOW, THERE ALREADY

UNTITLED

- Dahl wrote his first novel at age 20. - THE OTHER NIGHT

It was awarded the Nordic Council’s Prize for Literature in 1964.

Unexpectedly, he didn’t show up at the awards ceremony.

Sten Egil Dahl...

This reinforced his reputation as solitary and detached from reality.

China considers it beautiful

that the North Vietnamese are bleeding!

My book has nothing to do with Chinese politics!

I’m afraid the debate has to end here.

Thank you.

Sten Egil Dahl left Norway.

In Paris, he wrote his second novel, Shadow, There Already.

He soon withdrew from public life.

Before returning to Norway,

he only had contact with reclusive author Maurice Blanchot.

Little is known about Dahl after this.

He published a few books, but remained a recluse.

He lived isolated in a house by the Frogner Park.

Erik found a cryptic passage in Crystal,

where the Monolith statue, observed from a window,

was described as a sundial.

- That must be the house. - Yes.

Phillip’s first work was called Dust.

Erik was impressed.

Erik’s story took three months.

He claimed he wrote it in one night.

It works better if you remove the lens cap.

Listen, “Rain Man”...

have you been out of the apartment yet?

- I went to the pharmacy yesterday. - The pharmacy?

- So you’ll go? - I guess.

And Dad says,

“Henning, give Geir more space around the dinner table.”

I thought, “Is he planning on getting fatter?”

He was a chubby kid.

- No, I wasn’t. - You were our very own Michelin Man.

- How much do you weigh now? - 165 lbs.

Erik?

Johanne,

- from the publisher’s. - Of course!

Good to see you again.

Feel free to join us.

Thanks.

- Johanne works with my publisher. - Well, I’m also working on my MA.

I was a big fan of Erik’s manuscript.

What is your master’s thesis about?

I’ve written...

a project description, but I’ll probably change it a bit.

But it’s basically about contemporary literature.

The new Norwegian authors.

Anyway, things are more exciting for you,

with your upcoming release.

You’re Phillip, right?

I mentioned it to Erik already...

Phantom Images is one of my favourite books ever.

Thanks.

Particularly...

that long passage toward the end.

Is that how you work now?

Phillip has been a little tired lately.

But he’s better now.

Right?

Soon, you’ll write something awesome again.

- We had a meeting today. - Sebastian. Hi.

A new cell phone ad campaign.

I like the edge. It’s quirky, it’s weird. It works.

We made small talk, wondered if we had any mutual acquaintances.

It turns out we did.

Lars... Lars Henriksen?

- Lars Thomassen? - No. Lars Etterstad.

- Did he go to Berg High School? - Yes.

Porno Lars?

They know Porno! You guys know Porno Lars?

Porno?

This consultant had lived in that flat share with Lars.

Lars came home late one night.

He asked if Lars wanted a glass of wine.

But Lars answered:

I’m trying to cut back on TV.

He said he was going to read his new Heidegger book.

But thanks for the offer.

Look at him.

He has no idea that he goes by the name of Porno Lars.

Careful, Lars.

Too much Heidegger can make you dizzy.

What’s he saying? I can’t understand his dialect.

What’s that tattoo? An ad?

“Oslo city Shopping Center”?

- No, don’t! I’m dry! - Oh, really?

So, you’re getting your masters?

Are you okay?

Sure. I just don’t understand your friends’ humor.

What’s Mathis Wergeland’s book called, Erik?

- That Which Ties Us Down. - Right.

That which ties us down.

- “Ties”... - I liked Mathis’ book.

I figured.

If he had written in English,

he would be world famous by now.

You’re just jealous.

Jealous? Me?

I knew him before he was famous, and he was a jerk even then.

Oh, he was a jerk?

Well, not everyone can become a famous author.

You do have a point.

“Jerk” isn’t precise enough to describe him.

I wish Mathis would...

choke on Black cock in hell, that politically correct fascist cunt.

That’s what I want.

No...

That’s enough!

He’s just kidding.

- No, I’m not. - I don’t care, I’ve had it.

I hate people like him.

- It’s not the worst, Janne. - “Johanne”.

What you hate is war and George Bush and the World Bank and such.

Who the hell do you think you are?

You here...

are the most immature people I have ever met!

Spreading nasty rumors about each other... I feel sorry for you.

- And for him. - Me?

What are you talking about?

Why do you hang out with these people?

“Sorry for me”?

- I’ve met guys like you before. - What’s she talking about?

I just have one thing to say:

It can’t be easy...

to have problems in this crowd.

You’re so cute when you’re mad.

And you are incredibly banal!

She seemed nice.

Bye.

Hi.

Hi, Erik!

Hi.

Long time no see.

Isn’t... Lillian here?

No.

Does anyone want a drink?

I think I’ll wait.

No, thanks.

- Have you seen Sten Egil Dahl? - I doubt he’ll show.

But you and...?

I just wanted her to come.

Are you sure that’s a good idea?

What does your psychiatrist say?

- Is it a problem that Kari is here? - No. No.

I didn’t mean it like that.

How are you doing?

Fine. So-so, I guess.

Are you still at the university?

No, I don’t know.

I’m in telemarketing.

How interesting.

No. It isn’t. Actually, it sucks.

I heard your book is getting published.

Yes. I’m...

pretty nervous about that.

There’s Mathis Wergeland.

Please don’t come over, you superficial imbecile.

Shit.

Look at this! Phillip Reisnes.

Long time no see. Good to have you back.

Are you writing?

No, I’m...

That is...

- Hi. - Hi.

Erik. Erik Høiaas.

This is Kari...

- Kari...? - Kari-Kari?

Nice to meet you.

I really believe in this guy.

See you around, all right?

You know what?

I-I don’t think...

I have to go.

Don’t let him bother you.

I just don’t feel well.

I’m tired.

- What about Sten Egil Dahl? - Do you want to go home?

I can’t do this. Sorry.

This was a mistake.

Don’t worry about it.

It just isn’t like it used to be.

I know it’s important to Erik,

but I don’t want to write any more.

Having fun?

Yes.

Have you thought about your title?

- Yes, I’ve thought about it. - Excellent.

I think Prosopopeia is a good title.

Don’t you?

Don’t ask me, tell me.

Say, “The book’s title is Prosopopeia, dammit!”

I’ll remember that. Thanks. We’ll talk later.

Sten Egil Dahl?

My name is...

Erik Høiaas.

I’m a big fan of your work.

- It’s a great honor for me-- - Hey, Erik! Hi.

- Mathis Wergeland. - Right.

I’m a big fan of yours.

Well “fan” is a little teenage, but “admirer” is so formal.

Crystal...

is just amazing.

Your opening chapter there...

There’s this...

This...

- Don’t you agree? - Absolutely.

- Do you write, too? - Yes, I have...

written a book.

You probably haven’t read it.

It hasn’t been published yet.

No.

Then I probably haven’t read it.

But it will be published.

Excuse me,

I was on my way home.

But your book has been accepted?

Erik knew, that in Dahl’s mind, he and Mathis were now indistinguishable.

Phillip?

What’s wrong?

I just don’t feel...

I couldn’t sleep... and...

It helps to turn up the volume.

I took a little too much Seroquel.

I couldn’t sleep!

You’re taking your medication?

Did something happen between you and...

Kari?

Don’t baby-sit me. I need time to myself.

No problem.

Hello?

- Hi. - Hi.

Why did you buy me a plane ticket?

Did you look at the date?

The exact same date as the last time we went.

You can’t just assume that I can – or want to –

- go to Paris. - No pressure.

But can you at least consider it?

Lars mentioned that Phillip and Kari were going to Paris again.

Erik pretended that Phillip had already told him.

He studied chemistry.

Was brilliant. The best in his class.

He got headhunted to some pharmaceutical company in the USA.

But his girlfriend couldn’t handle a long-distance relationship.

She got depressed. Said she couldn’t function without him.

So he quit his job and moved back home.

After a few weeks, she dumped him.

Didn’t really love him any more.

He was unable to go back to work.

Now he lives with his mum.

You live with your mum, don’t you?

Hi, Lillian!

She’s probably frigid.

- Any girl that pretty is. - You would know who’s “cilibate”.

“Cilibate”?

You mean celibate.

Right, “cilibate”.

Maybe “cilibate” is how farmers say it, but in civilization we say

- celibate with an “e”. - You know what I meant.

Tonight?

I don’t know.

I have to try to write while Phillip is away.

Thank you.

You’re so cool!

I’ll call you tomorrow.

I love you.

Bye.

- It’s so embarrassing. - Anyway, my point is--

My point is that you need to get laid.

Why don’t you go see Lillian?

I thought maybe we could...

- I can get laid whenever I want. - With that Hitler Youth haircut?

I’m out of here. Bye.

Bye!

We were on the fourth floor last time.

This room is nice.

We had a nice time?

Absolutely.

I may have been a little nervous.

How did I seem to you?

You seemed happy.

What did we do the next day?

We sat at a café

and talked for ages.

- What was the weather like? - Raining, I think.

What did we talk about?

Everything. I can’t remember.

But it was nice.

What was I like? Was I happy?

Don’t you remember?

Sure.

I’m glad you came.

You were thinking about Rune.

I decided I had to make you fall in love with me.

- You were unsure of your feelings. - No, I wasn’t.

Sure you were.

Anyway, it worked.

It worked because I told you first.

“When I reach zero,

“you’ll fall in love with me.”

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

What are you doing?

Seven, six...

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

You must have sat and slid down.

Your skirt had been pulled up.

Don’t worry.

You looked incredible.

- It feels stupid. - Don’t worry about that.

- Can’t we...? - Come on!

Come on.

Look to the left.

A little down.

Gather your legs.

It’s uncomfortable.

- We had sex the second night. - They know what “sex” means.

No, they don’t.

It’s just strange noises to them.

The French don’t even understand English without a French accent.

I don’t think it was until the third night.

Why was I so nervous?

You were so cute.

You kept talking about how the first time is never any good.

No, wait.

What’s the matter?

What are you thinking about?

Nothing.

Say something.

Why did you want us to come back here?

You don’t love me anymore, is that it?

I don’t know.

Of course you know.

AUTUMN

Erik Høiaas is here.

Your book has just been published.

“Pro-so-po-peia.”

You write about madness.

Do you have a personal connection to that?

Well...

Prosopopeia isn’t really--

It isn’t really about madness.

The personal is on a different level than the biographical.

But the protagonist is searching for “the absolute language”.

A language which can grasp all the world’s nuances.

And that is...

a madness of sorts.

A strong personal experience can become an intense story.

But what I meant to say...

just for the record...

It has become a tabloid requirement...

to give details of personal suffering.

Bringing up all sorts of personal “tragedies”.

But that’s not

real “literature” is it?

We also have Jon Pedersen with us.

You became an author late in life.

Your story is titled The Long Journey Back.

I never thought I would become an author.

But when things...

- Hi, Phillip. - Hi, Erik Høiaas.

How’s it going?

I’m not really sure.

I don’t know if you saw me on TV. It didn’t...

go well.

Forget about that. Come on over. Geir and Morten are here.

It’s been a while.

I don’t know... I’m going to Lillian’s.

So...

nothing’s changed there?

Then bring her with you.

We’ve been invited

- to a party at Lars’. - Party at Lars’?

- MED STUDENTS’ PARTY. IT’S GONNA BE SICK! - Two months earlier, Lars felt obliged

to mingle with his fellow Med students.

No one had heard from him since.

That night, Lars had mingled quite a lot with a girl: Merethe.

Does Lars have a girlfriend?

My God!

Then... we have no choice.

Okay.

Lillian was understanding as always when Erik said:

Phillip rang. He doesn’t feel well.

21? This must be it.

Hey...

I can’t take it. It’s too sad.

- Hey, there. - Hey. Well... quite a party!

And Little Lord Fauntleroy! Out swimming with commoners?

We were about to leave, but now things are picking up.

- I brought my friend Johanne. - Nice to meet you.

Come on in.

Sorry.

Are you all right?

Do you know Bjørn?

Yes.

- What’s your name? - Geir.

Hi, Geir.

Ingrid?

Ingrid!

We’ve had another complaint. Can you please--

Henning!

Choke on Black cock in hell, you politically correct fascist cunt!

Get some sleep.

Bye.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight, seven, six, five...

Four, three,

two, one...

Lillian?

Hi.

- How nice. - Not a word, Erik.

Don’t touch me.

- You are such a jerk. - No...

Lillian...

- Hey, come sit down. - I’ve had enough.

Not just because we never see each other. It’s that you pretend to care...

when you’re so damn selfish.

You’re such a damn cliché!

Don’t call me.

Is he awake?

So you’ve seen it?

FORM WITHOUT SUBSTANCE

Want a cup of tea?

Hi, Phillip.

No, I’m a little...

What?

You’ve written something?

Well...

This is...

A lot of it is good, but we’ve

always been honest with each other.

This isn’t your best work.

But it’s cool that you’re writing.

What?

I’m glad you take it like that.

It just seems...

disjointed.

Even for me who knows your style.

I mean, you haven’t slept all night.

But there is something here.

Your water metaphor relating to emotional distance...

But then that glides into...

this erotic thing...

There’s a lot here you can work on.

I don’t think so.

- It’s only the first draft. - Don’t try to be nice.

I’m not being nice. If you work on it, this might be publishable.

That isn’t important. I’m just writing for myself.

- A lot of this is good. - No, it isn’t!

Why can you never say what you mean?

I mean... You’re a great writer.

But this is what I mean...

All I’ve ever done is to recycle Sten Egil Dahl and Tor Ulven.

It’s no big deal.

Is that recycled Sten Egil Dahl, too?

I don’t know.

What do you mean?

Hey!

What the fuck are you doing?

He’s mine.

Svein?

Sorry, Erik.

I’m not a homo!

You’re Erik Høiaas, aren’t you?

- Yes. - I saw you on TV last night.

Let me get you to a doctor.

No, I’m fine.

TV is no place to discuss literature.

I don’t know why...

I’ve read your book.

Great title.

Very good.

Except for the final part.

Don’t try to be poetic.

- Are you serious? - Yes.

But the rest was good.

Very promising.

You...

You look much better now.

How do you feel?

Much better.

Much better.

An idea had begun to take shape.

Two days later, as he lay in bed,

irritated by the lights from his stereo, that couldn’t be turned off,

it came to him:

he had to get out of Oslo.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

Hello, my name is Kari Brekke. May I speak to Linda Saugstad?

- Hello, my name is-- - Kari?

I found you. I managed to find you.

You know where I work.

It was always meant to be. There were just so many things...

Something links us together.

I found you here, right?

Everything was a mess.

There was something that...

Excuse me.

Can I help you?

- Listen to me. - Kari?

Just wait!

I love you,

Kari.

Everything is in synch now.

I love you. I love you.

Stop it!

I can’t take this any more...

You...

Phillip.

Hey...

Hey...

Phillip?

- Kari? - Just...

Come on.

Get up.

Erik would have left without saying goodbye to Phillip or his friends.

He would have found a small apartment where he could write.

Erik would have let nothing interfere with his creative impulses.

Paradoxically, missing friends and family would have inspired him.

After months of hard work, he would’ve completed his novel.

The next fall, Erik’s second book would be published in Norway.

- EXPECTATIONS OF FORGETFULNESS - The book would’ve gotten mixed reviews

and sparked a literary debate.

A professor from Denmark would say in an article:

“Norway now has two authors of interest: Sten Egil Dahl and Erik Høiaas.”

Erik would feel distanced from this fuss, working on his new book.

Surprisingly, the big hit that fall was a debut novel, which sold almost as much

- as publications about the Royal House. - 3RD EDITION!

A coming of age, Oslo epic: Henning Jensen’s Roundabout.

It’s an attack on the World Bank,

the North-South conflict.

- That may not be obvious to everyone. - No,

but all the more important.

Buy it, it’s important!

After a year abroad, Erik would have felt it was time to come home.

They would have met again at a café.

Or at a restaurant...

No, no...

It would have been at a wedding.

Kari is cool.

She’s my nurse.

Makes sure I take my medicine,

get dressed correctly. Gives me sponge baths...

Nah...

actually, we’re pretty happy.

You all have girlfriends.

Traitors!

You didn’t give us a choice, running off like that.

Quisling.

No...

I’m back at the university.

Yeah? Studying what?

It may seem stupid, but...

I’m studying psychology.

That’s great!

Erik would’ve feared she thought he was ironic.

He truly thought it was a touching expression of love.

He killed himself?

Yes.

- I thought you knew. - No.

A few months ago.

Does anyone know why?

Well, he only had two fans.

One went nuts,

the other fled the country. That was the straw...

No, I don’t know.

This next song is dedicated to my brother Geir...

who is rising through the ranks in the party.

Let’s hope he doesn’t get...

“Fingerfucked by the Prime Minister”!

The next day, Phillip would have told Erik how much he liked his book.

They would’ve discussed S. E. Dahl’s suicide,

before Phillip said he had run into Svein.

He seemed upset about hurting you.

Me?

Phillip’s comments would inspire Erik to keep working on his next novel.

- Seriously? - Yeah.

How about you?

Aren’t you going to write?

No, I don’t think so.

Though maybe the spirit will move me again,

like last time.

Ten,

- nine... - Stop it.

Eight,

seven, six, five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Stop.