All language subtitles for En.therapie.S01E11.1080p.BluRay.DD+5.1.x264-SbR_track4_[eng]

“THEY WERE
THE YOUTH OF FRANCE”

REMEMBER TO SEND
THE PLUMBER HIS CHECK.

IN THERAPY

ARIANE – MONDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 2015, 9 A.M.

You won’t believe this.

Can I have a glass of water?

Please.

Thanks.

Someone’s lost... some of herself!

Doesn’t your wife clean up?

No, it’s not that. It’s...
Never mind.

Twenty minutes late.

I know, I’m sorry.

But something incredible happened to me.

I really do have the perfect excuse.

- Isn’t that an oxymoron?
- Meaning?

An oxymoron. Two words of opposing...

I know what an oxymoron is, thank you.

But I don’t see one there.

It doesn’t matter. Carry on.

This morning I got a taxi.

As we pulled away
there was a cat in the road,

trying to get across.

And the stupid thing turned back,

so it was hit full-on by the car.

It was thrown onto the pavement,
its little body all mangled,

its back limbs completely smashed up,

and just one paw still working...

So I asked the driver to stop,

to help it.

Do you know what he said?

“We’re not going to stop
for no matter what, young lady.”

There!

What type of bastard won’t stop
to help a dying little creature?

And this guy had the nerve
to try to salve his conscience,

saying, “Anyway, animals like
to go and hide to die.”

An asshole, right?

Not everyone would stop like you.

No, not everyone.

But you, for example,
you’d have stopped, right?

You wouldn’t have?

I don’t know.

I find that hard to believe.
I know you, you’d have stopped.

What I’d have done isn’t important.

You know why there were so few deaths
in hospital on 13th November?

Because they did the triage
in the Bataclan.

A military technique.

They left the almost dead
on the floor, where they were.

And they got out only those
who had a chance of making it.

Little risk.

Hence not many lost in hospital.

I thought that favoring those
who had a chance of making it

was what saved their lives.

Our profession...

Well, my profession isn’t about deciding
whether he or she has a chance.

It’s about doing all I can to save them.

But if they’d taken everyone out,
more people would have died.

Yes, but you’re talking about
weighing up viability.

- You can’t compare.
- No.

Of course it’s indecent
to compare a cat to the Bataclan.

Even without the cat
you’d have been late.

What?

The taxi didn’t stop,
which means you were already late.

I’m talking about the Bataclan
and you’re back on that stupid thing?

Why are you like that?

- Like what?
- I don’t know. Anti...

- Anti what?
- Anti me!

Conflictual,
having a go at me for being late.

I’m trying to understand.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence
that you’re late today.

Okay.

So maybe I chucked the cat at the car?

I don’t doubt that the cat
got in front of the taxi,

but I’m wondering if its presence
gave you the chance to posit something.

It’s commonly called a Freudian slip,

but that’s a misnomer. You haven’t
slipped, but achieved something.

For the first time you’ve dared
take a step outside the therapy.

I don’t understand any of this.

You’re never late, Ariane.

Yet you work very awkward hours.

You’re always telling me
how you were almost late.

An emergency at work,
operating complications...

Lots of perfectly acceptable excuses.

Yet today, after two weeks
that were especially...

Hectic.

Yes, hectic.

You haven’t used any of those, excuses
but told me about this cat.

What are you getting at?

Maybe, and I repeat maybe, you’re trying
to tell me something by being late.

- Tell you what?
- That I’m not doing my job properly.

I think we need to dig deeper into this.

What question?

Whether this therapy is doing you
more harm than good,

within the limits
that we have or haven’t established.

What’s the idea?
I’m trying to follow this.

Look, Ariane, I think it’s time
that the two of us discussed

the possibility of ending this therapy.

You can carry on with someone else.
I can even refer you.

I’m ten minutes late,
so you’re kicking me out?

Are you still angry
about what happened last week?

Why do you think I might be angry?

No, because I wanted to say...

I’m not mad at you any more.

Because I was angry last week.

I even considered not coming,
to get back at you.

I was so restless afterwards
that I couldn’t ride my scooter.

So I walked around the block
for half an hour, to calm down.

Then I came to the terrace
just opposite the Casa Nostra.

With all the flowers and tributes.

And all of a sudden
my anger just vanished.

And I realized I was in shock.

Like I’d been punched in the stomach.

Like I had punched you in the stomach?

Are you serious?

I’m just asking.

I’m sick of you playing the innocent!

Acting like nothing happened last week.

On the contrary, I’m insisting because
I know what that anger represents.

What it represents?
What are you talking about?

Your anger.

It’s been a year and only now
are you letting yourself express it.

You’re so angry you even considered
not coming back.

You expressed it by being late.

You’re not listening to me.

You don’t care.

I was telling you how my anger vanished.

How all week I’ve been going over it,
looking at it from every angle,

all to get used to the idea that...

you don’t love me.

So, yes, I thought, “Why go again?

“Why inflict that on myself?”

And I realized
that it wasn’t your fault.

That my anger,
this pain, all of that was...

In fact, it’s not your fault.

It’s...

You don’t have to love me back.
You owe me nothing.

I don’t deny that last week
I may have been a bit... brutal

in slamming the door on your fantasy.
It was a bit...

Hysterical?

No, not hysterical.

- Cruel?
- Resolute.

I gave you the unequivocal response
you asked for.

I’m sincerely sorry if it hurt you.

Okay, I accept your apology.

But I don’t think your response
was as unequivocal

as you claim.

And I did have an unassailable excuse
for being late.

Unassailable, okay.

But the timing is too perfect
to be a coincidence.

Because coincidences don’t exist?

I’m starting to understand
why people make fun of shrinks.

Your tendency to connect everything,
interpret everything,

so you’re always right.

Isn’t it a smokescreen?

It annoys you quite a bit.

Wouldn’t it annoy you,

if your shrink forced you to believe
all his inane theories?

Without being able to defend yourself?

Because everything you’re saying
can be turned back against you.

I’m starting to think I’d have been
better off taking that cat to the vet.

Rather than coming here?

Yes, at least I’d have avoided
all this interpretation.

Since you’re not getting
proper treatment here?

You’re not listening.
That’s infuriating.

You’re not listening to yourself.

I’ll risk a bit more smokescreen.

Your identification with that lost cat
is too huge to ignore.

Okay.

You clearly have a passion for that cat.

Okay, if you want to turn it
into an experiment, I’m listening.

But be creative
because I like things to be top-level.

Will you fell me
I’m Schrödinger’s cat?

Am I here, am I not here?

Living, dead,
or maybe both at the same time?

One foot outside the therapy,
one foot in.

You don’t think
I’m making enough of an effort,

I’m feeding off your stories,
your pain, your desires...

Desires which, what’s more, I reject.

Yes, I’m feeding off them.

You bare yourself before me
and it feeds my ego.

But deep down I’m not helping you?

All of a sudden, you see,
I miss Cédric.

This is the first time
I’ve been with you and...

I’ve missed him. Cédric.

Cédric who, unlike me...

Loves me.

And proclaims it
to whoever is willing to listen.

What would happen if it was me?
If it was me who told you all that?

No, stop.

I’m done with telling myself stories
and imagining things.

It’s dangerous for my mental health.

I have to conserve my strength
for the wedding, the preparations...

Aren’t those preparations exciting?

Exciting? No.

That’s not the first word
that springs to mind, no.

At the moment the word “wedding”
gives me palpitations.

And if you want to talk to the real
wedding planner, that’s Cédric.

If you can catch him!

He’s here, there, seeing the caterers,
the photographers...

The other day he asked me
to choose names for the tables!

There!

It’s not for another year.

He’s hesitating between flower names,

the regions of France...

Who gives a fuck about table names?

Really?

Yes, what does it matter if we hold it
in Château Lovey-Dovey or wherever?

Everyone always wants something
original and different. Right!

It’s always the same set-up,
the same clothes,

the same... I don’t know,
the same decorations,

the same endive salad before dessert...
It’s always the same!

At least Americans can go to Las Vegas.
That is exciting.

It’s true!
You get an Elvis-lookalike priest,

a transvestite playing the organ.

It’s... so much better
than some pathetic speeches.

Know what else Cédric has done?

He’s changed his status on social media.

Now we’re “engaged”.

Meaning?

Meaning that in the eyes
of all his friends and colleagues,

and therefore in the eyes
of all mine too,

we are... “engaged”!

There! Lovely, huh?

How has your father reacted?

He doesn’t know.

You just said everyone knows.

No, my dad isn’t on social media,
he’s still in the Minitel era.

You haven’t told him yet?

No.

Perhaps because telling him would,
in a certain way,

make this marriage real?

No, it’s just that my dad and I
aren’t very close.

And you know that.

Plus he’s in the south
arid I’m here, so...

I call him, on birthdays,
and we see each other at Christmas.

Yeah, I know it’s sad,
but that’s how it is.

Why not call and tell him, then?

I don’t want to, not on the phone.

He wouldn’t understand.

I’m not going to call him
and say: “Mo--”

I was going to say “Mom”.

I’m not going to call him and say,
“Dad, I’m getting married.”

He wouldn’t understand.

He’d be imagining something huge,

a great romance,

a great love story...

How it was for him and my mom, in fact.

But it’s not like that any more.

It’s become...

It’s become a bit fake.

And Cédric’s really happy, so...

I feel like I’m cheating on him.

- Cheating on him?
- Yes, by being unhappy.

I tell myself
I have no right to be unhappy.

It’s been a series of drinks
with his buddies this week.

I feel like the kill
in a hunters’ photo.

Or maybe a cat among the cars?

So we’re coining back to this cat thing?

I thought you were going
to say something profound,

something that made sense.

Something profound about what?

I don’t know,
that bullshit about me being late!

Ariane, that is crucial.

This is like Kafka.
Any word I utter turns into my trial.

It’s not your trial, Ariane.
You’re not guilty of anything.

By arriving late today
you were judging me.

And I find that healthy, actually.

It’s a way for you to tell me
what you hadn’t yet dared tell me.

What am I telling you?

For example,
“Fuck you, Dayan, you’re a shitty shrink!”

What a farce!

Okay, you want to get rid of me,
I get it.

You don’t have
to insult my intelligence.

But maybe you’re right, we should stop,
because we’re getting nowhere.

Please, I’m not trying
to get rid of you.

I just wanted to evoke with you
the possibility of an exit,

so that the idea
would gradually instill into you.

Yes, it’s well instilled now!

But how long
have you been thinking this?

How long have...

you been thinking
about getting rid of me?

Honestly, I feel you’re grasping
for any pretext to kick me out.

And my arriving late
is the perfect excuse for doing it.

First, I’m not kicking you
out of therapy, Ariane.

It doesn’t work like that,
it’s a gradual process.

Second,

I think it’s you who got rid of me,
and a long time ago.

You don’t want me as a therapist
but as someone who loves you.

I should have realized
and not let things degenerate.

Because I’m no longer your analyst,
I’ve become the one who humiliates you.

Our relationship is one long humiliation.

I humiliate you each time
I don’t respond to your desires.

Maybe you’re sick of it
and you’re trying to hurt me back.

I punch you in the stomach,

and the following week
you consider not coming as a reprimand.

But in the end
you do come.

You find a balance
in the role of victim.

You hate pity,

yet you’ll do anything to arouse
that emotion in me.

I don’t think it’s a good idea

to let this humiliation ritual
last much longer.

I don’t consider it progress
in your analysis. You deserve better.

Better from you?

Or better than you, as an analyst?

So all of a sudden you’re powerless
to treat me?

I don’t believe in your fake humility.

But let’s go with that.

Why can’t you treat me any more?

Maybe because you feel something for me?

Maybe because...

your “no” last time
wasn’t really a “no”?

Too many limits have been crossed.

By me or by you?

You crossed them by intimating that
you no longer wanted to be my patient.

What a drama!

Fix it, then, Dayan!

A patient must have fallen
in love with you before.

How long have you been a shrink?
30 years?

It can’t be the first time. You should
be able to handle such situations.

It’s almost a quarter to.

I arrived late,
can’t you let it go on a bit longer?

No, I’m sorry.

- The rules again?
- Yes, the rules.

What happens if I stay anyway?

Will you manhandle me outside?

I’ll see you next week.

Are you paying by check or in cash?

You’re a gentle ball-breaker!

That’s almost an oxymoron.
“Gentle” and “ball-breaker”.

Hello.

Are you here to see Dayan?

Yeah, why?

Either you’re early or late,
but he’s seeing someone else.

No, I’m 10 o’clock Tuesday.

- What’s so funny?
- Nothing.

It’s just that it’s Monday.

- It’s Monday?
- Yes.

Shit!

Are you sure it’s Monday?

Yes.

- I don’t believe it!
- A problem?

No taxi for ten minutes.

Where are you going?

- The fifth arrondissement.
- Me too. I’ll give you a lift.

Yeah?

If you’d rather wait ten minutes,
there’s a café over there.

I’m a cop.

Since the 13th
we keep our gear in the trunk.

Okay? I really am a cop.

- Is that all right?
- Yes.

Okay.

I’m Adel.

Ariane.