All language subtitles for En.therapie.S01E24.1080p.BluRay.DD+5.1.x264-SbR_track4_[eng]

- Hello.
- Hello.

I’m a bit early, do you mind?

No, not at all.

No.

Wait in the waiting room.
I’ll come for you.

IN THERAPY

LÉONORA AND DAMIEN,
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 17, 2015, 5 P.M.

Well?

How are you?

Fine.

You seem a bit restless.

Damien’s not coming.

He has an appointment.

But don’t worry.
Apparently we’re back together.

He knows I’m here, he urged me to come.

I’ll tell him what we talk about.

I have to tell you that I felt..

It’s stupid, I know, but...

when you asked me to wait,

I sat there thinking, and...

I wondered
if you find some patients nicer.

- Nicer?
- Nicer than us.

Easier, more interesting.

Patients that you like more.

I’m not here to like my patients.

You think I like some patients
more than others?

I know we’re not easy.

How would you characterize
the patient that you are?

Annoying, abusive...

unbearable.

If you could change, what sort
of patient would you like to be?

Maybe it’s you I’d like to change.

- Change me how?
- I don’t know.

More like Brad Pitt.

That’s asking a lot, but I don’t mind.

What would Dr. Brad Pitt’s reaction be
if you arrived early?

Who says I’d see him for therapy?

He wouldn’t have made me wait
like a kid outside the principal’s office.

You took that as a punishment?

Tell me how your week has been.

Fine.

You said that “apparently”
you’re back together.

What did you mean by “apparently”?

- Is that what I said, “apparently”?
- Yes.

No, everything’s fine.

He’s meeting one of the greens
from the Paris council,

who may be interested in his...

thingy.

The plant-based breeze block.

You don’t sound very confident about it.

Know what he said last night?

He said that...

I should come on my own
because talking does me good.

That’s the new Damien:
“Talking does you good.”

You’ve turned him
into a super-sensitive Damien.

Beyond your wildest dreams.

This morning he was unbearable.

You look gorgeous in that blouse.

“Work late if you have to,
I’ll put Robin to bed.”

A good father.

After last week, we carried on
as normal, and slept in the same bed.

Then, the next night...

after switching the light off,

he asked me
in this really gentle voice...

“Will you make love with me?”

Asking permission.

Then he started caressing me,
kissing me,

continually asking if I liked
what he was doing. It was tiresome!

Tiresome and crap!

Afterwards he...

cuddled up to me
like a kid in his mother’s arms,

and started whispering,
“Léo, I love you.”

It made me want to puke!

Why?

I don’t know. It was so..

So...?

All that tenderness
dripping all over me.

You find that worse than being called
horrible things like a liar or paranoid?

Yes, much worse.

Tenderness and sex don’t go together.

It has to be bestial.
Even in the worst times, we had that.

Sex?

I could never tell my girlfriends
what Damien and I did in bed.

They’d have called the police!

Now it’s a really bad lay.

And it’s your fault.

- My fault?
- Yes.

That stuff about intimacy
has disarmed him.

Disarmed?

What do you mean?

I mean that he wasn’t even worried

when I told him I’d have to go back
to work tonight after this session.

Why? Should he have?

He’s not the same Damien.

Wasn’t it you who was demanding
more attention, more kindness?

Kindness? No.

I hate that word.

Kind is...

what you ask children to be.

Do you like my necklace?

It was a present.

From whom? Damien?

No.

- From whom?
- Benjamin.

My boss.

Damien thinks he’s on a business trip.
In fact, he’s picking me up after this.

- We’re not going to the office.
- Where are you going?

Who knows what the night will bring?

Dinner with your boss?

Maybe dinner, but it won’t stop there.

We’ll do what we have to do.
It’s inevitable.

Did you come here so I’d stop you?

You can try, it won’t work.

Then why did you come?

I’d have felt bad
if I hadn’t given you a chance.

When I had the idea,

it was like a time-bomb’s countdown
had begun.

Who set it going?

The shitty sex.

I was showering.

I’d never been in such a hurry
to have a shower after sex with Damien.

And I realized that...

it would happen
between Benjamin and me.

I’m trying to understand.

So you want to punish Damien

because of the “shitty sex”

or because of the new kindness
he’s been showing you?

Why am I doing it?

Why do I keep doing the same thing?

We keep doing the same thing

either because we like it

or because we can’t stop ourselves,
we’re a prisoner of it.

It’s too late, he won’t be long.

Who?

Benjamin.

You talked about a time-bomb.

The expression isn’t insignificant.

Are you trying
to dynamite your marriage?

To blow it up?

Maybe I chose the expression poorly.

No, it was very well chosen,
it was the expression that came to you.

Like when you blamed me
for “disarming” Damien.

Whom do you want to punish?
Me, you, Damien, both of you?

- Do you like Benjamin?
- No.

He’s a dunce.

- But I so...
- So...?

I so need to forget myself.

You said you were overweight as a child.

Yes.

I think we should talk about that.

I wasn’t obese.

Just fat.

The obese one in my family is my sister.

That’s a joke, she’s a sex-bomb!

Another one.

Yes.

I have to change my expressions.

No, on the contrary,
they’re well chosen.

Seeing you today,

I find it very hard to believe
that you were an overweight child.

It’s like you’ve erased
that little girl.

I decided to stop eating
when my father died.

Overnight.

I lost twenty kilos.

It was the only thing I could control,

so sometimes I’d eat...

just an apple or a cracker all day.

I could feel my stomach shrinking,
curling up on itself.

It gave me this wonderful dizzy feeling.

What are you thinking about?

Nothing.

Tell me.

About my dad.

He was a great dad.

Charming. I adored him.

Tell me a bit more.

That’s enough.

And your mother?

My mother’s dead.

That’s a joke.

Ah, a joke! Another joke.

My dad died when I was thirteen,
and I wished it had been her instead.

Cinderella’s stepmother,
that’s my mother.

And my sister
is the nasty stepsister, Drizella.

Once, my parents...

came back from Italy
with two beautiful dresses.

A blue one for me
and an orange one for Agathe, my sister.

Mine didn’t fit, of course, and...

my sister’s was too big for her
and would have fitted me very well.

But no.

She said she wanted to keep
the orange one,

that it wasn’t her fault I was fat.

My mom intervened.

And my sister ended up
throwing it at me,

saying, “Take it,
you fat cow!”

I started crying.

And my mom got angry.

She said, “Why are you crying?

“You should thank your sister.”

That night I heard my parents arguing.

My dad asked my mom why she hadn’t
bought two orange dresses.

She said, “If I’d got her an orange one,
she’d have looked like...”

I didn’t hear the rest, but I spent
all night wondering what it was.

I’d have looked like what?

A... big pumpkin?

A beach ball? A hot-air balloon?

Did you talk to your father
about what you overheard?

The time was never right.

You could have talked to your mother.

Not really.

She’d have said I made it up.

She’d have found a way
to convince me I’d imagined it.

I had a great imagination,
she called me Miss Fibber.

I made up all sorts of things.

My sister had...

an English penpal.

He was coming for a week
during the spring school holidays.

I was still fat at the time.

The day he was coining, she said to me,

“Let’s play a joke on him.

“You wait on the station platform
and pretend to be me.”

She gave me a piece of card
with his name on. It was Oliver.

And... she stood a bit apart,

a few meters away,
to see if she liked him.

Anyway, he was cute,
so I knew my sister would like him,

and I pretended to be her
as we walked along for a bit.

Speaking pretty bad English.

Then she suddenly appeared

and said, “I’m Agathe. She’s my sister.”

He was completely taken aback.

And I felt...

humiliated.

Thinking back on it now
still makes me blush in shame.

She said, “It was a joke.”

It took me years to understand.

What she wanted

was to see the relief on his face

when he realized his pen pal was her
and not me,

the fatty.

Funny, huh?

Oh, yes.

But I got my revenge. I found him
years later and fucked his brains out!

I told my sister
and she said she didn’t care.

I said, “Really?
Well, he told me...

“that you stank of fish
and he dumped you.”

- Was that true?
- No.

So you settled that score in bed.

Exactly.

Like you’ll do with Damien
by sleeping with Benjamin.

You were thirteen when your father died?

Yes.

He was a great dad, he was...

considerate.

If he got home late from work

he’d come into our rooms
to kiss our eyelids.

Sometimes I woke up.

I’d smell his aftershave.

He’d run his hand through my hair
and whisper that he loved me.

He was...

tender and kind.

When Damien’s kind
it makes you angry.

You said it makes you sick
when he expresses his love.

Do you get scared
when people express tender feelings,

like the new Damien?

Are you afraid that they’ll disappear,
that they’ll die,

like your father?

Maybe that’s why you provoke Damien,

so you don’t have to bear
someone else disappearing.

You create situations

which arouse his darker side,
making him bad.

Why am I attracted to that?

When you create situations of tension,
violent arguments,

you suffer less...

you suffer less
from disappearance and death.

It’s the mind deceiving itself.

It’s a way of staying in control,

turning the grief and pain you suffered
as a child into something else.

You feel more secure
with violence and brutality.

So you provoke
this violence and brutality.

Including in sex.

These are subconscious mechanisms.

Maybe that’s why you can’t bear
the new Damien. He’s putting you in danger.

His submission?

His love.

He’ll soon be here, what should I do?

You want my authorization
to sleep with him?

I want you to tell me that...

it’s not that bad.

Maybe it is.

Do you think Damien
will be able to forgive me?

That’s up to Damien.

The real question
is whether you will forgive yourself.

I’d like you to talk to him and explain.

Explain what?

That...

that I can’t help it, that I’m crazy.
All that stuff about my dad.

No.

Will you be able to forgive yourself?

I always forgive myself.

Whatever I do.

I have a method.

When I go to bed,

I close my eyes
and simply stop thinking about it.

And it works.

I forgive myself, no castigation.

- No castigation?
- No conditions!

You think I want to punish myself?

It was you who started the countdown.

Your story about the bomb reminds me
of Hitchcock’s definition of suspense.

On a café’s terrace
there are two characters,

sitting at a table.

And under the table there’s a bomb.

They don’t know.

But we, the audience,
know there’s a bomb.

For them it’s an ordinary moment,
but for us it’s extraordinarily tense.

It’s extremely dangerous, we don’t know
when the bomb might explode.

That’s suspense.

It’s a question of viewpoint?

Right.

- No longer want to be at the table?
- No.

Because you suffered too much
when it all blew up with your father.

- So, what, I want to be the bomb?
- Exactly.

To be in control of the situation.

The real bomb was your father’s death
when you were young.

And so as not to suffer again

the pain linked to that trauma,

you set your own bombs.

And you hurt others, sometimes yourself.

You think that sleeping with Benjamin

will give you back the Damien
who mistreats you, bullies you,

abuses you.

What don’t you like
when he tells you he loves you?

That’s not love, it’s...

it’s weakness, it’s unbearable.

So it’s love when he harasses you,
follows you, and records you?

No! You said!
It stems from the same neurosis.

The fear of being abandoned.

So when is his love right for you?

I don’t know.

And you?

When do you love yourself?

Thank you.

Hello, this is Damien Jeannery.
Leave a message.

Yes, it’s me.

No, never mind,
I just wanted to hear your voice.