All language subtitles for En.therapie.S01E31.1080p.BluRay.DD+5.1.x264-SbR_track4_[eng]

You’re not at school?

My English teacher isn’t there.
I don’t have a class till one o’clock.

Don’t you think we have a problem?

A problem?

Your family crashing and burning.

IN THERAPY

MOHAMMED CHIBANE,
MONDAY, JANUARY 4, 2016, 10 A.M.

It’s not crashing and burning.

We’re just experiencing
some turbulence.

Well, it seems like it.

You have to fix it now,
before it’s too late.

- It’s up to you.
- Liza, sweetheart...

You made your choice,
now do something!

- Made what choice?
- You chose her! Mom!

- What are you talking about?
- I know everything, Dad.

Adults think we don’t know anything,

but I can see that you can’t stand her.
In fact, she disgusts you!

That’s not it at all.

Do you think you’ve hidden it from us?

I know she cheated on you.
Sleeping with a dickhead!

She’s afraid of getting old,
pulling out her gray hairs.

She’s selfish, always has been.

She’s incapable of love.

Look how she excludes you.

Do you feel at home here,
apart from in your office?

The rest is all her,
her stuff, her vision of the world!

Is that normal?

Are all families like that?

She’s a dragon.

If it doesn’t fit in her box,
she chops it off.

You can’t just let it go.

You can’t let her
destroy everything.

Liza, sweetheart, things aren’t...

that simple.

Your mother and I
are going through a rough patch.

But I have my share of the blame too.

You’re a pain, always accusing yourself!

That’s a patient, I have to go.

You just don’t see it.

But I want to carry on
this discussion.

You never want to disappoint anyone,
your patients...

Wake up, Dad.

There’s us too.

Sort this shit out,
so we can get back to our lives!

Mr. Chibane?

- Dr. Dayan?
- Please come in.

No.

It’s that way.

This is your home?

- What if a maniac got in?
- A maniac?

One of your patients.

- Did he sit there?
- Yes.

So...

what was wrong with my son?

You know,

this is an unusual situation.

As I told you on the phone,

everything said in here
is confidential.

Even for his father?

Even for his father.

A therapist can’t receive a patient’s relative
without his permission.

He can’t give that.

The rule still holds.

I cannot tell you
what your son talked about here.

I understand.

I hope we can still find things to say.

My daughter-in-law told me
he was coming here.

You didn’t introduce yourself
at the funeral.

It didn’t seem the time or place.

Had he been coming here long?

You can’t even tell me that?

What difference does it make?

Just keep it vague,

but tell me what was wrong with my son.

There are as many reasons for seeing
a therapist as there are patients.

It can be something short-lived,

anxiety...

but it usually boils down
to wanting to understand,

and make peace with oneself.

Peace?

He clearly didn’t find it here.

He’s left two kids fatherless.

He loved his children,
he’d tell them stories.

He wasn’t home much,
but when he was he’d play.

At the pool it was like
he was still a child himself.

Do you know how he died?

I was told he was taking part
in a reconnaissance operation

in a village.

His unit was attacked
and he stayed behind

to cover his comrades’ withdrawal.

Don’t you see
that there’s something wrong there?

A clever young Frenchman,
married and with children,

dies in a Syrian village
covering his comrades’ withdrawal?

What does it mean?

What was he doing there?

What’s the point of that waste?

Do you have an idea?

You?

I don’t know.

Adel was a dreamer.

He was a gentle, kind boy.

Often alone.

He’d come into the shop after school,

eat a pain au chocolat, and sit there
with his toy figures and comics.

I could see groups of children
playing outside. But not him.

He stayed there, alone,
making up stories.

He was chubby.

You wouldn’t think so to see him now.

I mean...

he became so tough.

It was the fault of my pastries too.

It scared me.

What scared you?

His gentleness, his fragility,

and above all
his hopes.

You wouldn’t understand.
You’re from a different world.

I’m not having a go at you,

but I can see it.

Hope isn’t for everyone.

Adel had too much of it.
He was like Ferhat...

my older brother.

Adel had the same feet,

weird-looking feet,
with one toe much too long.

I spotted that
as soon as he was born.

My older brother was more to me
than my parents. He was my touchstone.

He protected us, guided us,
taught us everything.

I admired him, he was like the sun.

He was someone you couldn’t not love.

I spent my childhood trailing after him,

waiting for him to tell me
one of his stories.

He was brilliant,
he wanted to change the world.

He read Frantz Fanon’s
The Wretched of the Earth.

I remember its ragged cover.
He always had it with him.

Ferhat was an intellectual.

He had a love of books, words, ideas...

He thought we could mend
what was broken.

But we can’t.

There are things we can’t fix.

I did all I could to protect Adel.

To make him harder.

I didn’t want him to be like Ferhat.

I had a bird.

We always had one
in the house in Algeria.

A singing goldfinch.

A little bird with a beautiful song.

So pure.

Adel loved that bird.

I let it out of the window.

With my son watching, I grabbed the bird
and chucked it outside.

The look on his face...
He didn’t understand.

He ran to the window
and watched it fly away.

A moment later it had disappeared.

Did Adel tell you
about the massacre at Al Hajed?

I imagine he did.

It obsessed him.

Is that what he came to you about?

I cannot answer, Mr. Chibane.

I heard my brother die.

I can’t be certain,
was hiding like a rat,

while my entire family
was put to the sword.

Did Adel tell you that? What I did?

I heard Ferhat
calling out to his daughter.

She was getting married.

He cried out her name, Malika,
with all his strength.

Everyone was screaming.

But I heard his voice above the others.

I’m not sure, those dying groans
could have been another brother.

They could have been
my father or mother,

a nephew,

a niece...

But I don’t know why,

even though I was in the dark
I was sure it was him.

We were in this cupboard,

and no one thought to open the door.

So many dead, so much blood,
so many children...

Even they were disgusted.

Do you understand?

In the end they left without finding us.

I waited a long time.

I knew they were no longer there,

but I couldn’t open that door.

As long as I hadn’t seen them there,
all dead, my whole family massacred,

it was like it hadn’t yet happened.

Then we had to go out.

My brother was lying in front
of the door, his jaw hanging off.

We stepped over the bodies,

and left that cursed land.

The earth over there is soaked in blood.

My brother had given me the bird.

I couldn’t bear
to hear it singing after that.

You said “hiding like a rat”.

Why?

I was skulking like a rat,
while they all died.

How would you put it?

Mr. Chibane, you hid your wife and son
while armed killers massacred everyone.

Are you trying to find excuses?

Is that what Adel
came here for? Excuses?

No.

Good. I don’t need any.

Don’t look for excuses for me,
don’t be condescending.

I’m older than you.

I apologize if I’ve offended you.

I’m not trying to lecture you,

I’m just suggesting
that for all these years

you’ve borne a huge burden of guilt.

Maybe that’s inevitable,
but the truth is that you’re not to blame.

You’re a victim.

The terrorists are to blame.

I’m not a victim.

I survived.

You survived but, above all, you saved
your wife and son from a massacre.

Everyone else died,
but you kept them alive.

- You were a hero.
- What good did it do?

A father shouldn’t have to see his son die.

It’s like a river flowing backwards.
The world loses all meaning.

What was he thinking?

I’m not asking you to give away
his secrets. I’m just asking that.

I want to know what he was looking for.

I know he told you.

He’d become obsessed by our past.

He’d chip away at me,
trying to get me to tell him.

All my life I tried to protect him.

Why did he want to open the wound?

To suffer, again?

In the past we sometimes find keys
that help us live now.

Did he come here
to complain about me?

No, Mr. Chibane. He didn’t come here
to complain about you.

Do you have children?

Yes, I have three.

You’re lucky.

I only had him.

I can still feel his weight
on the day he was born...

the weight of his body in my hands.

That feeling of the first time
I held him has come back to me.

Already I can’t remember his face,

but I remember the weight of his body
in my hands.

That sense of wonder.

He was born with his eyes open,
little black orbs staring at me.

An old soul.

So serious, so fragile,

so gentle...

What’s the point of waking up ghosts?
He shouldn’t have.

Nothing could be learned from that day,

except a lesson
that he didn’t want to hear.

What lesson?

The only worthwhile one
for people like us, Doctor.

Don’t get involved in the affairs
of this world, grin and bear it,

build yourself something small enough,
modest enough,

to go unnoticed.

You can dream for more, not us.

Not immigrants, people from countries
at war, the colonized...

We can’t.

The worst thing

is that we’d argued before he left.

He’d brought me a bird.

I didn’t want it, it made me angry.

You understand why?

How stupid of me!
How could he know?

Now..

I think I was wrong.

If I’d talked to him,
maybe he wouldn’t have gone.

What do you think?

You knew him so well.

No, I don’t claim to have known your son
better than you.

Sometimes it’s impossible to talk
about certain things with one’s family.

It’s easier to talk to a stranger,

someone to whom you don’t mind
appearing weak, for example.

I’m jealous.

I look at you, and I’m envious
of the time you spent together.

I can’t help it,

I can’t stop myself.

And I hold it against you.

Adel and I didn’t talk much.

What did you think of him?

That’s not confidential... is it?

I think Adel
was an extremely determined young man.

I think he was faithful to his family,
very loyal.

He tried to find a balance
without shirking his responsibilities

or ignoring the truth.

He wanted to be a hero.

Since he was little.

Did he tell you that?

He wanted to save the world.

I hope you tried to show him
that was impossible.

I wasn’t here to tell him what I thought
or what he should do,

only to listen to him without judging.

- And to help him find connections.
- Right!

But did he tell you he was leaving?

He talked of his wish
to fight terrorism.

But who put that idea in his head?
Who encouraged him?

- I can’t...
- I get it.

You’re not here to give your opinion.

But it’s you
who’s steering the discussion.

Making me talk about certain things.

I think you’re steering the discussion.

- I’m listening.
- No.

You’re getting me
to talk about the past.

I understand the principle.

But what I want to know
is whether someone encouraged him.

You know it was an insane idea, right?

Stopping terrorism all by himself,
where’s the sense in that?

Come on! Is that serious?

I think that Adel felt
he had a responsibility.

I can understand that.

A man accepts responsibility,
takes the blows.

I know of no other definition.

For example, I know what I did.

What did you do?

In my arrogance

I interfered in others’ decisions,

and I unleashed the GIA’s anger
against my family.

When they wreaked their vengeance,
I hid and let my family die.

I’ve lived with that for a long time.

I’ve accepted it.

I could have hidden my wife and son,
and gone out to help,

but that’s not what I did.

I’m a coward.

After letting all my family die,
did I let my son die too?

Can you answer that?

Did my efforts to protect him
push him the other way all his life?

The police, the elite squad,
the fight against terrorism...

Always fighting.

Was it for me he did that?

Did he tell you?

Your son was a sensitive,
intelligent and brave man.

He thought
he had a responsibility to the world,

he believed in commitment,
and he set himself a mission.

You...

you’re a mature, educated man.

A young man came to you
asking for your help.

That’s right, isn’t it,
people come here for help?

When was it?

When did he start coming?

You can’t even tell me that?

I don’t think it was very long ago.

We saw him change.

I’d say
he’d only been coming a few months.

Maybe even only a few weeks.

Since the Bataclan.

So, after just a few weeks,
this young man who came here for help

went and got himself killed
in a foreign land.

How good a job did you do?

I tried to accompany Adel in his quest.

I feel responsible for all my patients,
I mean that.

What would you have told him
if it’d been your son?

Is that how you spoke to him,
how you “accompanied him in his quest”?

Like he was your own son?

- I know you’re suffering.
- That’s not what I’m asking.

If your son had come and told you
he was going to Syria to fight ISIS,

what would you have said?

I’ll put it this way.

If your son had come to me

to tell me he was going,
gun in hand, to fight terrorists,

and I’d let him go,
what would you think of me?

When you look in the mirror,

do you dare admit to yourself
that you sent my son to his death?

I hope you’re able
to help your other patients.