All language subtitles for Basically (2014) - Ari Aster ¦ ENG SUB

You don't know what it's like.

I know.

No, you don't know.

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?

Wait, am I supposed to find this funny?

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

So what is that then?

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

Honey.

No, you're the one who took me to the fucking callbacks.

Jesus Christ.

That's my mother.

Don't ask me why.

She used to be an actress, although there's no proof of it.

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

appreciate 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 my mom.

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 it.

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 monographs?

Coop.

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

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

Quentin.

But the point is, he dabbles.

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 back,

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?

Did you clean the pool 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.

Oh.

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

fragility to the breaking point.

But it turned out she had this horrible allergy to silicone, and she basically

almost died.

Cooper!

Have you seen my doggy cycling?

Cooper!

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

gonna 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 family and spends his summers doing

missionary work at this bizarro 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, and I think it's ridiculous and hypocritical

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

think you're gonna die.

But I also don't explicitly not believe in God because who knows?

What was that?

Just answering emails.

And 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-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 that I've got to go through an eternity regretting it, but

I also don't want to waste my time while I'm here just sitting on the

sidelines talking to a fucking statue 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?

So 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

Tyler's baby.

I thought you wanted to be with me.

Of course I want to be with you, you idiot!

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 the Huffington Post even

interviewed me about it.

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

hundred, 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

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

It turned out that our old housekeeper, Melaina, 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.

It's 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 second-hand taste.

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

just 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 book 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.

Only problem was, 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 in the daytime as a valet.

Again, who cares?

And he was completely indifferent to what he called fashion but what 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, which, yeah, 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

couldn't 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,

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

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 tore out of there and

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

died, or 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

notorious 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 Journey.

I was Mary, and this like 100-year-old scout who was in the audience

one night apparently said I was better than Florence Eldridge.

He was like the first official Mary, but I guess he wasn't a real scout

since nothing ever came of it.

I mean, that wasn't even the good night.

The first night we went up was my first time in a play, my first

time in front of an audience, and somewhere in the second act, I got to

this place where I was just completely...

I 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, and 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 nights, too.

I...

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

Maybe sort of, but only ever sort of.

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

I 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?