Original subtitles

[MUSIC PLAYING] [TRAFFIC NOISE]

[DISTANT SIREN]

FRANK: Men lurking in bushes, in parks, public parks.

Don't they worry about insects?

What if a mosquito, you know, down there?

And those bookstores, come on.

A hole in the wall, they don't know who

or what's on the other side.

Like disease isn't enough.

What about splinters?

Not that they care the way they pierced

holes everywhere, even their--

well, yeah, exactly, I never even touched myself some places

those, you know, have pierced.

And, yeah, I know, I know.

They're not all like that.

I've watched Oprah.

But the ones that aren't, you think they're not as bad?

I'm open minded and all that slop.

OK, I want to wear a dress, hey, free country.

But some of them, flowery sundresses, and they

cut beards.

I mean, I seen one of those parades on-- on the TV.

I saw the parade on TV.

I know every guy's not--

I mean-- I mean, I look in the mirror and I don't see much.

But I need off-- off-- off it all.

I've been losing track of things.

Please, tell me what things.

Last week, I kind of sort of lost count of some pills.

Made me think maybe it might be time to see someone.

You understand I'm a psychologist and not

a psychiatrist?

So?

I'd like you to see a psychiatrist.

I'm that far gone?

Why not you?

No, in addition, a psychiatrist for a medication

consult for depression. - Me?

Here? I'm miles from depressed.

I heard mention of suicide.

I flushed those pills. They're sewage.

I swear.

Do you still think about suicide?

I don't think about anything.

I wake up my brain, I might as well you give in.

Look, I'm not going to kill anyone, including myself.

Convince me.

That pill stuff, I kind of sort of lied.

I never took pills.

And you'll kindly explain why the lie.

What?

You don't ever lie?

Frank, I'm the therapist, which allows me to answer

your questions with a question.

You, on the other hand, cannot.

Now, why the lie?

Uh-- well, you-- you asked what I wanted off of.

And I-- I panicked.

Well, then I'll ask again.

What would you like off?

You know.

Yeah?

DR. APSEY: Correct.

So.

DR. APSEY: I can't cure you.

You're suffering isn't from a disease.

I thought you did that type of counseling.

DR. APSEY: Frank, would you like it to be a disease so a pill

would make it disappear?

That pill?

I'd kill for.

The quick fix, huh?

Change requires more than a pill.

The difficulty of it now isn't diddly doo compared

to the difficulty of changing.

Do you think you're up to such difficulty?

I told you. I don't think.

DR. APSEY: Working with me requires you start.

I do have other clients with identity disorder issues,

experiencing similar pain to yours.

I understand English usually.

So talk it, huh?

Many of my clients, as we proceed,

discover their interests--

interests of which you wish to be freed--

lessen and eventually disappear.

So you do--

I help people create lives that work.

If it disappears, then many of my clients

seem pleased by the byproduct.

Fuck yeah.

You desire change.

Are you prepared for the most grueling journey of your life?

I understand English always, so talk it.

Are you prepared-- - I don't know.

Well, if you ever do know, feel free to schedule

another appointment.

If not, of course, I wish you the best.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

[LAUGHS]

Wow.

Whatever vitamin you're taking--

- Vitamin L. - L?

L, love?

Lust?

Lecturosity?

Lying.

What an aphrodisiac.

Details.

Praise the Lord, I'm cured.

Great.

Then you can delete your collection

of nude celebrity photos.

It's not a collection.

I just haven't cleaned up my files in a while.

Yeah, yeah, whatever, whatever.

So tell me already.

Well, OK, our initial therapist client chit chat

was of the perfectly blah blah genre

that you, as a psychologist, I assume

are excessively familiar with.

Until the good doctor says pull down your pants.

And I, say excuse me, big daddy, but you're hardly my type.

But in the name of solid investigative reporting,

I decided to drop my very brief briefs.

Then Dr. Frankenstein slaps electrodes

to my low hanging and extraordinarily oversized man

balls.

Now, I'm thinking, oh, my god, how

do I let my dear, sweet, sonofabitch

Jonathan talk me into this.

He shows me a slide of this naked toy boy, beauty boy,

I'm thinking, well, this isn't so bad,

until this electric shock zaps me.

And suddenly, I'm prancing around like I'm auditioning

for the city ballet.

He flips off the switch.

And the instant the current stops,

the hunk around the slide is replaced

with a slide of an objectively, rather

uninteresting naked woman.

You know, men equal pain.

Women equal relief.

As if I needed an electric shock to teach me

that men equal pain.

No dinner till you tell me what really happened.

Well, I knew I was in trouble when

he put on their rubber gloves.

Frank.

OK, OK, I'll tell you.

For you, my love, nothing but the truth.

I pulled it off.

I should have been an actor instead of a writer.

I was so Butch.

You know, more perfectly butch than ever dreamed I could be.

Oh, sweety, you can be butch.

But I was petrified that I would lose control

and my voice would rise an octave

and the spirit of Judy Garland would burst from my body.

Now, when has the spirit of Judy Garland

ever burst from your body?

Exactly.

But what if my first session was Frankenstein

was the moment when all my nelliness first surfaced.

You're being a tad offensive, you know.

That's the point.

I dripped of self-loathing, so terrifyingly

easy to find in myself.

I was the perfect public service announcement for fag haters.

We're going to nail this guy.

But get this.

Not once did he utter the word ga-- ga--

gay.

Like he'd spew fuzzy green chunks

if the dreaded G word passed his lips.

So I think next session, chunks.

But what else?

I need coaching.

If you were him, exactly what would you be expecting?

Well, if I were he, I'd expect lots

of doubts, lots of questions.

OK, I've got questions, Dr. Apsey.

I got questions.

I'd recommend asking them.

No Bible thumping.

I don't care what Jesus thinks of me.

I have no interest in Jesus's opinion of you either.

This is not Christian therapy.

Anything else?

Unorthodox techniques.

Like torture?

OK, no electric shocks.

No electric shocks.

No funny smells to make me puke when you flash

pictures of naked individuals.

No punishment stuff.

What you're describing is aversion therapy.

I promise none of that.

Only direct, honest talk.

So direct he couldn't even say the G word.

Yeah, couldn't say the word.

Then last week, why wouldn't you say the word?

What word was that?

The word.

Ah, yes, the word.

You refrain from using it.

So I chose similar restraint out of respect for you.

Have you ever employed it to describe yourself.

I've been to a therapist before.

I said it then.

I'd like to see copies of the records.

Forging records, that's inadvisable.

That's impossible.

The guy's died-- or moved-- or something.

Did this other therapist use aversion?

I don't remember.

You don't recall if he used electric shock?

Little electrodes over your body.

No. No shocks.

Any form of aversion?

No.

So how are you aware of aversion therapy?

There are books.

Ah, of course, I've read.

- I've read. - What books?

"The Recurrent Use of Aversion Techniques

in the Clinical Treatment of the Male Homosexual

in the 20th Century."

I don't remember the title.

You're aware of aversion therapy,

yet your previous therapist never used it.

You've read, but you don't remember the books.

If you were I, Frank, would you believe that?

A good therapist doesn't insinuate his client is lying.

I don't think a good therapist calls his client a liar.

Probably not.

- Are you lying? - No.

Maybe.

Maybe I never exactly been to a therapist.

Then my previous question remains.

Have you ever verbalized the word about yourself?

Could be not.

If you did, what would happen?

Your worst fear. - Oh, if I said it?

I'd puke my guts.

Fear of vomiting. Nothing more?

- There'd be more. - Of course, there's more.

DR. APSEY: Tell me.

- I don't know I got the words. - Find them.

I got, you know, a life, not a perfect life, but I'm standing.

And sometimes I think that one word and my tendons

let go my bones, my muscles turn to Jell-O, and I'd collapse.

I don't think I can say that word and still stand.

Do it anyway.

I'm pressing, Frank, because the first step to change

is accepting what you want to change.

Hey, I accept it.

I quite doubt a human organism can accept something he

she won't verbalize.

Um--

Earlier, you said you had a life.

Yeah.

What type of life?

A supercalifragilistic life with the man you love.

A life, a life, just a life.

You're not married, correct?

No.

Girlfriend?

- No. - Boyfriend?

- Husband, please. - Fuck you.

No, no boyfriend.

Would you like someone special in your life?

Doesn't everyone?

So is your life working?

My life is not so bad.

So why are you here?

OK, my life sucks.

My life's a fucking nightmare.

Enough?

DR. APSEY: No.

Why?

Because.

Because-- because I may have tend--

because I have tendencies that may be-- that are homosexual.

I maybe kind of sort of messed up.

Instead of forcing him to use the word,

the session became about me not saying it.

So, you know, giving him what he wants, I said homosexual.

Fag seemed too hostile.

Gay, too neutral.

He certainly wouldn't understand the subtleties

of the word queer.

I don't understand the subtleties of the word queer.

FRANK: Basic homophobia 101 theories.

He manipulated you into saying the dreaded H word.

You won't be able to cope with the truth.

So you'll sink into self-destructive behavior,

the way we all do when we're faced

with our sick, twisted selves.

Drink yourself into oblivion, have

a few unsafe anonymous fucks in filthy places, rape

a couple of blind handicapped, 10-year-old boys.

You know, the usual thing.

So next week, you make up some gooey experience,

so he can convince you what a twisted worm of a man you

are and pull you out of the homosexual muck

and into a blissful heterosexual life

where the sun always shines.

What do you mean make up?

You want to see the monster's methods?

You got to give him what he wants.

Talk dirty to him.

I wouldn't do that.

That's not my experience.

Not me.

The me in his office, that me wouldn't talk dirty.

So talk clean, but the extracurricular activities,

very, very dirty.

So if you were to, you know, what would it be?

Sex in bushes?

No, I-- I told him I don't like that.

Perfect.

He assumes you're lying and you have a frequent bush

pass for the park.

No.

I'd never have anonymous sex.

I'd-- uh-- - What?

No.

What?

Tell me.

Um-- uh-- a huge club with pitch black room.

There's lots of men.

And there's-- there's lots of wandering hands.

A relentless army of hungry hands, smothering my body.

Pinching fingers, probing tongues.

So sticky, so wet.

You seem to have given this a lot of thought.

Uh, huh.

So that's what you'll tell Frankenstein next week.

Yeah, but I've never been.

He'll know I'm making it up.

OK.

Club Phuque-- P-H-U-Q-U-E, cute.

Group scenes, role playing, fetish attire required.

Open seven days, 10:00 to 4:00, refreshments, nonsmoking rooms.

Yeah?

Well, if you can't fabricate, then fornicate.

Go to a sex club.

Do whatever.

Safe only, of course.

And you got a nice non-fabricated experience

to tell Frankenstein.

I can't believe you want me to have sex with another guy.

I don't.

I want you to write this article.

If we stop one guy from going to this quack,

you've saved a life.

God, I hate when you do this, Jonathan.

If I were good fag, I'd protest with you

at every new cause de jour.

If I were a good fag, I'd yell louder.

If every a good fag, I'd throw condoms at the pope.

I can do what you want, which makes me the good fag.

I can not do what you want, which

makes me an unenlightened, apolitical, fucking piece

of selfish shit.

It's OK for you to contradict that.

What's wrong with being a good fag?

It's not wrong.

It's just-- it's very, very hard.

OK, exactly what sort of depravities

do you want me to make up?

My name is Franklin Johnston, and I

am a writer, freelance writer.

Nice to meet you all.

I didn't actually make the choice to go see Dr. Apsey.

It was planned experiments.

I went somewhere last night, only to watch.

I wasn't going to take off any clothes,

but everything got taken off.

I guess, there wasn't much of a fight.

How many times? How many individuals?

I don't know.

I woke up 6:00 AM, was naked, curled

up on a damp, concrete floor.

Found a pair of jeans, soaked, not mine, and shirt, mine,

but covered in, you know, ew, so I left it.

Walked home shirtless, shoeless, soulless.

And you undertook this excursion because?

Last week you said, say it, say it, say it, say the word.

So I said it, faggot.

And I acted like a faggot.

All male organisms in your situation

don't engage in such behavior.

You-- you pushed me.

Me?

Have you ever succumbed to anonymous sex before?

Don't remember.

Frank, your lapses of memory consistently occur at

ridiculously convenient times.

Say, yes.

Yeah, I guess I've done that stuff.

Were we acquainted during his past exploits?

FRANK: No.

So were these previous encounters because of me?

Of course not.

Then who caused you to have anonymous sex

these other times?

Whoever.

Your editor.

My boss.

I got fired.

When you were fired, what were you feeling?

How do I know?

Do I look like a keep a diary?

Upset, angry, humiliated.

FRANK: All of the above.

Last week when we verbalized the word, you all of the above?

Yeah, exactly.

DR. APSEY: So both times, you were angry, upset, humiliated,

and what did you do?

Fucked.

I fucked.

So for five fucking seconds I could fucking

forget who I fucking was.

So who caused you to have anonymous sex?

Don't take the blame.

You-- and my ex-boss.

DR. APSEY: You had nothing to do with it?

Look, slap my knuckles or something.

Let's get on with this.

To punish you?

Last week, you specifically requested I refrain

from punishment techniques.

This week you're wanting them.

Make up your mind.

He's putting words in your mouth.

You're putting words in my mouth.

I am concerned you view me as a disciplinarian.

And your activities the other night

were rebellion against me.

Well, no real guy likes some other guy

telling him what to do.

DR. APSEY: Did I ever tell you no sex club?

My mind's not a tape recorder.

Mine is.

I've never mentioned sex, not the word, not the activity.

You're rebelling against the rule I never made.

So why did you assume you shouldn't have sex?

Well, duh, that's why I'm here.

DR. APSEY: Then you've created the no sex rule, no me.

Perhaps you shouldn't be so demanding of yourself.

I should do exactly what I'm trying not to.

I will never tell you whether or not to be sexual.

But, Frank, desires exist.

Repression always fails miserably.

Healthy sex is not an anesthetic.

Mature adult sex connects to feelings.

If that's easier with a man, practice with a man.

I'd prefer you build an emotionally healthy

relationship with a man, than have anesthetized sex

with men or women.

Well, even Frankenstein has his surprises.

I'm-- I'm--

I'm-- I'm surprised.

I have a confession to make.

That story about the sex club, I made it up.

Oh.

Why this lie?

FRANK: A friend put me up to it.

Frank, I'm going to piss in my pants.

To see if you'd pee your pants or anything.

Pleasantly, it's been quite a while since I've

lost bladder control.

Perhaps there's a better therapist for you.

Great, now you see what you've done.

I'd be happy to recommend a few.

- OK. - No.

- No. - You view me as your enemy.

Ask to stay.

Please let me stay.

Have you noticed a pattern to our sessions?

You lie.

You stumble.

You reluctantly come clean.

He wants an apology.

I'm sorry.

Sorry isn't worth doo doo.

FRANK: Please, please, please, let me stay.

The pain you radiate blinds me.

I'm a sucker for pain.

You may stay, if you stop lying and begin with coming clean.

It saves time. It saves energy.

It saves me pissing my pants.

Agreed?

Thank you.

Now, homework for the week.

No lying.

Lying is toxic.

It's time to develop healthier habits.

And the truth is a spiffy habit to get into.

He was lying, but his--

his lies, by his own admission after a while, were very--

were thin veneer.

It became very complicated.

Well, you have all the records.

So truth is a very important factor in my life.

I would like to give all my patients

the benefit of the doubt.

I mean, people lie.

I guess you could label anything a lie.

But people are just afraid of the truth.

And that's as clearly as I can put it.

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't know why told him the sex club was a lie.

Maybe it's his eyes.

They suck words outta me and everything backfires.

He's supposed to tell me I'm bad and he doesn't.

Well, what is he going to say?

You know, good afternoon, you're bad.

Please pay me $150 an hour to destroy your life.

He's supposed to punish me, but he won't.

He knows that you don't trust him.

So he expresses compassion to keep you off balance.

He's supposed to hate my guts, but I

think he actually likes me.

I can't deal with him liking me.

Because you like him?

You are way off.

Clients are frequently attracted to their therapists.

Are you? You're crazy.

I've seen him at conferences.

He's not bad looking.

You know, if he were my therapist,

I might sport a woody.

You're oversharing.

Look, I'm having a really bad day.

And it would be really nice if you would just

zip up your deliciously oversized mouth, nod your head,

mutter a few therapist's uh, huhs,

and never use the phrase sport a woody again.

Jonathan, what if I can't?

I mean, it's not exactly like I've never

done a piece like this before.

Uh, huh.

Is that a therapist uh, huh?

I aim to please.

Jonathan.

You're a good writer.

I'm a writer, not a reporter.

Who am I kidding?

I write about tulip festivals and antique shows and fall

colors.

But an expose?

What if I'm in over my head?

Then you will rise and meet this challenge.

Same way you've risen and met every challenge

I've ever seen you face.

I have complete confidence in your ability.

You know what?

What?

I have an uncontrollable desire to kiss you.

Wow.

That is friggin freaky.

I'm experiencing the same uncontrollable desire.

Oops.

What?

The uncontrollable desire, it's spreading.

Oh, you have uncontrollable desire to kiss my nose?

Yeah. That all right?

Yeah, that's all right.

Oops, your earlobe, can I kiss it too?

- Yeah, I guess so. - Oops.

The bulging bag underneath my left eye.

How did you know?

Faggot intuition.

OK, before you completely lose site of the fact

that we are in a public place, Jonathan, I respect you.

You're always right there, front line.

That's why they call me super fag, faster than a speed

dial phone tree, able to leaflet entire malls in a single bound.

Exactly.

But it's not that I'm not sure if I can pull this off,

but I'm not sure--

I'm kind of thinking--

feeling I maybe sort of don't want to.

Well, and you don't want to, you don't want to, right?

Wants change, right?

Wants change all the time.

I mean really all the time, like-- like when you wanted

to manage our investments, instead of hiring

a professional, except it turned out that it was harder

than you thought, so you quit.

We ended up with a 1% return instead of 10 or more.

Oh, when you wanted to make extra money

with that multi-level marketing craziness,

except it was more time consuming than you thought.

So you quit.

We ended up with 100 gallons of mud mask and a tax write-off.

Or whatever.

You know-- you know, you go half way.

Wants change and you bail.

I step aside and I let you self-sabotage

because it is your life.

And it's usually only money.

But this time it's more.

So grow a backbone.

Visualize manhood.

Pretend you have a brain.

But under no circumstances, drop out.

Why don't you tell me what you really think?

Sorry.

Sorry, sorry.

I'm not allowed needs and I'm not allowed concerns?

Yes, of course, you are.

Tell me your concerns.

Oh, eat it.

If I go back, I do.

And if I don't, I don't.

Well, you're going back.

You are going back.

[DOORBELL RINGING]

JONATHAN: The actual idea of Mr. Johnston posing

as a client of Dr. Apsey's, I--

I was not involved in.

It was Dr. Baldwin's idea for me to--

to go under cover.

Prior to the events in question,

no, I wasn't even aware of Dr. Baldwin.

As Mr. Johnston is a reporter, I--

it was not my place to decide whether or not

it was within the bounds of his professional ethics.

It's not my responsibility to make that decision.

DR. APSEY: How was your lie-free week?

Difficult.

DR. APSEY: Perhaps you'll share how difficult.

Listen, I can't-- um--

do this today.

I'll pay you.

And therapy may be a beneficial place

to share these difficulties.

I can't talk about not lying, because I'd

have to lie to do it.

DR. APSEY: You're more comfortable with falsehood

than truth.

But changing patterns is why you're here.

You don't have to have sex with men.

That's the big step.

Take a small step today.

Earn a couple bonus therapy points.

Tell the truth.

The friend I told you about last week,

the one who convinced me to lie about the sex club,

he's not a friend.

Well, not, of course, he's a friend,

but a friend I kind of sort of have a thing with.

DR. APSEY: I assumed.

Now this man, what should I call him?

His name is Jonathan.

DR. APSEY: And how is not lying connected to Jonathan?

Sometimes he wants me to do things

I'm not sure I want to do.

Sexual things?

Personal things.

True friends don't push. FRANK: Yeah.

He's a therapist, too.

I mean he should know better, right?

A therapist?

Exactly, what's he been pushing you to do?

I know you know I have to lied to you.

It's not only to you, everywhere.

Every crack in my life I putty with a lie out of habit

to survive, because day in and day out,

I got the not so subliminal message

that I was sick or defective or pathetic, because I couldn't

hammer in the nail with a single pound,

or my handshake wasn't firm enough,

or I couldn't do the 42 push-ups that the Presidential Fitness

Test said I should be able to do.

And I knew that something was very, very, very wrong with me,

because whenever there was a neighbor or a postman

or a waiter who had that certain je ne sais quois, you know,

that certain gent don't want to say qua.

My dad would say that man's a little light on his feet.

And it scared me, because somehow I knew

that je ne sais quois was moi.

So another day passed when my dad wasn't embarrassed by me,

and he didn't know why except that in the tiniest

corner of his brain I spoke with a voice so soft

he never listened.

And I would do something wrong.

I would do something.

Dad would hit me on the face. Hit me.

Not a slap.

But fingers, definitely fingers hit,

curled with the fist hit on the face.

And Mom would try to stop it.

Stop, stop, stop, she'd yell.

But words didn't work.

So she hit me first.

You know, softer, kinder, gentler smack.

Because she figured if she hit first, then he wouldn't.

But the problem was-- the problem

was she grew to like hitting, because the power over me

was the only power she had.

And then they'd fight. It's my turn.

Then they'd fight.

No, it's my turn.

Honey, I think your turn was yesterday.

No, I don't think I would have every given

him that black of an eye, dear.

And because I caused this fight--

because I caused this fight, they'd both just gang up on me.

It glued their marriage together.

No, stop it.

Stop it.

Frank, stop, stop, stop, stop.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

OK, this is the truthful truth.

Mom and dad never hit me physically,

but they hit me with words.

They hit me with criticism.

They hit me with the disappointment festering

in their fearful eyes.

And I though I must be very, very, very bad to make them

judge.

I figured if I lied, they wouldn't see me,

and they couldn't reject me.

And it continues even today, no matter how much money I make

or how many articles they publish--

I'm-- I'm a-- I'm a writer.

Did I tell you I was a writer?

I feel inadequate.

And when Jonathan suggested writing an expose,

I thought, wow, that's a serious piece of journalism.

It could fix me.

And I said, yes, yes, yes, save me from myself.

So I came to be saved, but not by you, by this article.

But then you surprised me.

You helped me taste clean.

I-- hey, I still get those bonus points?

FRANK: Say something.

Hate me.

Hit me.

Rip me a second asshole and scream, fuck you,

fuck you, fuck you.

These options you have suggested,

many have crossed my mind.

But life ultimately is about self-control, isn't it?

So before I lose my professional tolerance

and those options seem viable, you'd better go.

DR. APSEY: Notice my tone.

The low timbre and even modulation

indicate I'm not posing a question or an invitation.

An order, now go.

Are you expecting ugliness?

To see my anger?

I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you.

I just--

I just want to interview you, include your side.

Continue.

I'm going to write this article

with or without your cooperation.

I prefer it to be with.

DR. APSEY: Why?

Professionalism.

Professionalism hasn't been a major force in your behavior.

No, I guess not, but I was talked into some things

I wish I hadn't been.

How many times have you lied since we've met?

DR. APSEY: The question was not rhetorical.

An exact number please.

I don't know--

DR. APSEY: Then estimate.

Six times.

A conservative estimate.

Oh, all right, six.

And not white lies, but six malevolent falsehoods.

I didn't have to tell you I was a writer.

I could have-- could have continued this game if all

I wanted was to trap you.

I don't.

I suppose so.

You're not the first client who lied to me.

Well, when they lie about their names, you know it's hopeless.

Let me see your driver's license.

DR. APSEY: I promise, I won't laugh at your photo.

[LAUGHING]

Franklin Johnston.

Well, Mr. Johnston, you want to interview me from my side.

It's a delicate dilemma.

To consent to an interview with a client

would clearly be an inappropriate dualistic

relationship, yet in reality you never were a client,

so perhaps I'll give your proposal serious consideration.

Now go.

I know sorry isn't worth doo-doo,

but please accept my apology.

I'm a therapist, not a saint. Now go.

- Hi, sorry I'm late. - Hey.

Subway's a mess.

Hey, champagne.

What's the occasion?

Listen, I'm sorry.

Meetings, protests, fundraisers, I love that life.

You go along with me sometimes I think

just to earn good fag points--

like I dole them out.

I promise, never again will I pressure

you to be more political.

You're free, poof.

You don't want to write this article, it's OK.

I'll find someone else.

Thanks. - Thank you.

Jonathan, it's just the pretending

I'm uncomfortable with.

I think I want to be above board.

You know, tell him I'm a writer and do

a straightforward interview.

Like he would go along.

And even if I, trusting him what he says,

the only way to get the truth is--

Is by lying.

Get the fat free.

If he knows you're a reporter, he's never going

to give you honest information.

Well, I hope you're wrong, because-- uh--

Frank.

OK, Jonathan, just don't flip. OK?

Frank, tell me you didn't.

I kind of sort of did.

Frank.

Frank!

What on earth were you thinking?

I don't know.

I just can't go through with this.

- After all our planning-- - Your planning--

You sabotage--

Choosing not to do something your way

isn't the same as sabotage.

Whatever. Fine.

It's over.

There'll never be an article now.

Oh, grow up.

Total honesty here.

Hey, just say it.

You don't think I'm good enough.

Asking you to go undercover was a mistake.

If-- if I always go half way, it's because you--

you-- you build me up. You can do it.

You can do it.

Then you shut me down with your doubts.

OK, no more halfway.

When this article comes out, I'll be saying I told you so,

I told you so, I told you so, until you're

investing in earplug stocks.

I very much look forward to you proving me wrong.

I believe that Dr. Apsey approach and the basis

of his psychotherapy is unethical,

inappropriate, immoral, as well as perhaps malpractice.

His use of language is very powerful.

He-- he comes across as sounding quite logical.

I did not realize that Dr. Apsey would manipulate

Mr. Johnston to such a degree.

Of course, he was in a dilemma, because he was talking

about someone he loved, he cared for,

but who I feel was using him unfairly.

DR. APSEY: To let or not to let one never truly

was a client, i.e. you, interview me for a potentially

career threatening article, the roughly four

inch by four inch area beneath my solar plexus

currently is experiencing a not negligible inflammation,

commonly labeled caution.

My caution encourages me to say N-O.

The 4.1 pounds above my neck--

the average male brain is actually 3.1 pounds.

I hope you'll excuse me for being a smidgen overgenerous.

I'm feeling rather vulnerable.

My brain assures me I have nothing to lose by cooperating.

You'll write the article, with or without my input.

If you lie, you lie.

If you tell the truth, I can only gain from an interview.

The single path to victory is to step aside.

As the history of humanity and inhumanity

clearly demonstrates, stepping aside

is, of course, much more difficult than loading a gun

and shooting it.

How to step aside, make the correct decision,

I have no earthly idea.

And you're telling me this, because--

Ah, my analogy eludes you.

Then I'll try again in a more simple vernacular.

You like Oprah?

Sure.

Who doesn't?

I wouldn't know.

Her people phone me.

I decline.

Talk shows expect you to be combative.

I'm not. They expect you to be defensive.

I'm not.

They expect you to be charming and have

a sublime ability to banter.

Well, OK.

But honesty and integrity aren't assets during a ratings sweep.

Do you find my condescension of television arrogant?

Extremely.

But not unjustified.

I'm pleased we see eye to eye.

Now, you must elucidate.

Why would a wise organism trust the print media

more than the electronic media?

So why did you ask me here today?

You've initiated a game I'm powerless to terminate.

So I intend to win.

You and I are not in opposition.

No?

If I refuse your interview, what will your article say.

Uh-- I'd say you're a kind hearted man who's misguided

in his attempts to change us.

Oh, as I suspected.

You'd invalidate me and my work, yet we're not in opposition.

Then you are naive, which benefits me tremendously.

I'll win much more easily.

Now, you've unfairly labeled me as misguided.

How can I prove otherwise?

Prove your therapy works.

DR. APSEY: Prove it doesn't. - That is not my--

Why not?

Your Dr. Baldwin in his fancy office claims I'm a fraud.

Do you ask him for proof? No.

Because what?

He cooks you dinner, warms your bed.

So his assertions go unchallenged.

You know his last name?

How?

Oh, I've done a dollop of research this past week.

Your community is small and quite talkative.

Information equals strength.

I intend to play your game from a position of strength.

And you've certainly gone out of your way

to let me know this.

I wonder, does a man secure in his strength

go out of his way to reveal how strong he is?

I like you, Mr. Johnston.

Next question.

OK, why this type of work?

DR. APSEY: If I weren't so terribly shy,

I'd put it in a brochure.

People ask me so frequently.

My younger brother was similar to you, my clients.

I thought, I don't care who cares.

It turned out he cared.

I was 19.

I was away at college.

One day I received a letter from him

using the corner of a razor blade as a pen and his blood

as ink.

He wrote, "I won't live this way.

I'm sorry."

When my clients frustrate me, I think of my brother.

OK.

And how do I know this really happened?

Here, I'll show you the blood drenched

letter I carry in my wallet.

I'm sorry, gay teen kills self.

It's very tragic.

It's also very convenient.

A dead brother motivating you to save the poor gay men

from killing themselves.

I am so thoroughly pleased you were never

a client, because now I have complete freedom

to say fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Heavens, fuck is a lovely word.

I'll have to remember to use it more frequently.

Is your outburst intended to distract

from the question of proof?

March 23, 1971, his obituary two days later.

Morton, Illinois, "Morton Herald," Adam Apsey.

You want proof, do your own research.

Next question.

Oh, I need to interview your clients

who supposedly succeeded.

DR. APSEY: I guarantee my clients

complete confidentiality.

That's a convenient rule.

Oh, I suppose your Dr. Baldwin has allowed you to interview

those clients he stole from me? - Jonathan--

Do I detect surprise?

Has he never informed you that stealing my clients

is his favorite pastime?

Your clients?

If you won't let me talk to them,

then all I have is your opinion that they've changed.

And if you spoke with them, would you believe them

or insist I brainwashed them?

FRANK: Some people would say that, yes.

Yes, some people.

Attack dogs, really.

They bark and growl simply because my clients had

the courage to assume control of their lives

and change themselves to find happiness.

While these some people are wallowing

in pain over the same sexual behaviors

they're waving their flags about.

I'm not in pain over my sexuality.

Did I say you?

That's your inference, not mine.

Of course, now that you mention it,

anonymous sex, followed by guilt ridden drunken binges--

That wasn't me.

I made it up.

Oh, made that up means your subconscious mind

is barking louder than your conscious,

which mind hardly matters.

As you've pointed out, I'm not your client.

So don't try to psychoanalyze me.

I'm here in a professional capacity.

How professional?

How determined are you to find out if my therapy works.

FRANK: Very.

Only one way, go through the process.

You change, you'll know.

Not possible.

Well, then Mr. Professional has a professional dilemma.

To write my therapy works, you need proof.

The only way to obtain such proof

is to experience the process.

Yet if you write my therapy doesn't work,

you'll know you failed to test it.

How unprofessional.

Don't mind fuck me, doctor.

Hardly my style, mister.

I'm merely encouraging in you a professionalism.

I know you possess.

I've been to the library to sample your articles.

Would you rise above the tulips?

The world is filled with weak organisms.

Don't be one of them.

I didn't steal Frankenstein clients.

Some of his clients chose to see me.

I think you'd be happy, now upset.

I'm not upset.

You seem upset.

I'm not upset you're seeing his clients.

I'm upset you didn't tell me.

I never discuss my clients with you.

Corners, please.

This is different.

You've got men who've been through his process.

I need to interview them.

I can't encourage my clients to talk to a reporter--

any reporter.

They're too vulnerable.

Would it hurt to ask?

Yes.

It's my professional obligation to protect my clients.

And I am professionally obligated to find proof

before I write he's a fraud.

My ethics are expendable and yours aren't?

The proof would be sitting in your lap

if you hadn't told him you were a reporter--

You won't let me talk to your clients.

What do you expect me to do? - Nothing.

I thought, you write the article, the board's alerted,

Apsey loses his license.

Me involving you to keep my name out of it was just cowardly.

I'm going to the board to file a complaint.

What he's doing is worse than just unethical.

It's malpractice.

And if there's any justice, he'll lose his license.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, you file a complaint,

you sabotage my article.

You think after Frankenstein's notified

he'll ever talk to me again?

So what?

The goal is to stop him.

From me filing a complaint or you writing an article,

what's it matter?

It matters.

It matters to me.

You challenged me.

You can't unchallenge.

The other day you told me not to quit.

Don't get in my way.

[HALTING PIANO MUSIC]

[DOOR BELL BUZZES]

[PIANO CONTINUES]

This isn't a drop in clinic.

I wanted to apologize for doubting about your brother.

And since you are here, I suppose more questions.

You do, he'll think your apology was manipulative.

No, no more questions.

Hm, I'm pleased.

If you had any more questions, how could I not have doubted

the sincerity of your apology?

Well, since you've no new questions, yet you're here,

may I ask questions of you?

Uh-- OK.

How would Dr. Arthur Alexander Apsey--

excuse me, Arthur Alexander Apsey,

PhD, a spoonful of alphabet soup following my name steadies me.

When I feel off balance, my wife scolds me.

My pomposity explodes.

Gee, gosh darn it, I tell her, good thing you're a saint.

Your question?

Ah, yes, one, is same sex behavior a clinical pathology?

No, merely undesirable.

Heterosexual behavior is the superior choice.

Question two, would or could I force a male organism

to change his sexual behavior?

Never, your process only works on voluntary participants.

Question three, is same-sex sex natural?

Homosexual behavior occurs across many cultures.

But so what?

In every society, human beings kill one another.

Does that make murder natural?

If so, then nature is terribly overrated.

Congratulations, Mr. Johnston, you understand my theories

well enough to parrot.

You've admittedly no new questions, yet here you are.

Why?

I came to apologize.

DR. APSEY: A letter or a phone message would have sufficed.

Excuse me for being personal.

Why write such an unlikely article in the first place?

Why spew such poorly crafted lies?

So I'd catch you?

For a confession?

Why haven't you located any of the men

who've completed my therapy?

As though my refusal to provide their names

would have stopped a more determined reporter.

And why today have you no new questions, when

if I were writing the article, the most important questions

I'd have are still unanswered?

The only answer that makes any sense is what you want,

you won't admit.

Why do you think it's so impossible for someone

to like being gay?

I don't care about, Mr. Someone.

My undivided attention is on you.

You have no idea what it's like to be this way

in a world that despises you.

Ah, the blame game.

Society's abuse, the government's neglect,

always somebody else's fault. You don't like the way you are.

But just as much of the world loves you as hates you.

Your books, your parade, your television

shows all insisting gay is good, gay is better, gay is best.

So if you don't like yourself, maybe it's

not because of the world, but simply because you

don't like yourself.

And given your feelings, I don't believe

you've never wondered what it would be like not

to have your sexual desires?

- What gay man hasn't? - Bingo.

But so what?

Wondering isn't the same as wanting.

I like being gay.

I like being gay.

I like being gay.

Is my message getting through?

Yes, a message is beaming through, though not the one

you intend.

Would someone say, I like, I like, I like,

so fervently if he really believed it,

or do you mutter it under your pillow every night,

like a mantra, hoping repetition creates reality.

Every human organism has parts of himself he doesn't like.

Exactly.

And survival is finding self-love, hunting, digging,

scraping it up off the sidewalk, it that's what it takes,

and allowing it to grow.

You choose only to survive?

What about thrive?

Survival is talking, conning yourself into self-love.

Thriving is transforming yourself into the man

you can and do love.

You remember our first session, I

asked you if you wanted a pill.

Yeah, I remember.

Scientists have been developing them for years,

secret funding, secret studies.

This tiny pill, can forever change your sexuality.

Right.

DR. APSEY: It's merely a game.

Play with me.

Not a chance.

FRANK: I don't think so.

Why are you so terrified of a hypothetical?

Let the world take a pill away.

Let the world take a pill.

So take those away.

That pill will never exist short of a nuclear bomb.

The world is here to stay, because the world

is inside us, inside our heads, a world

of other people's voices.

Some say you're good, OK.

Some say you're bad or evil.

But liking or disliking the way you are,

how do you know those feelings are your own

or response to those voices?

You can't know how you truly think unless you

silence those voices.

DR. APSEY: Who's chattering in your head?

No one.

Jonathan.

Oh, I don't know.

I could go on all day. There are many.

Exactly.

And all together, if all those voices are telling

you one thing, what is it?

Be a good fag.

Yes, the best little fag in the world.

Is that truly what you want or merely a response

to those voices?

DR. APSEY: How can you know unless you remove those voices?

Do you perform exorcisms?

Quality idea.

From now on, you hear anyone's voice in your head,

you say out, loudly, firmly. Out.

Say it. Out.

No.

- Are you scared? - Don't.

If you eliminate those voices, are scared

they'll be anything left?

Don't you dare do it.

Don't give into the fear.

Out.

Good.

Again.

Out.

Out.

I'd be walking around the streets out, out, out.

If you can't verbalize it, snap your fingers twice

and think out.

[SNAPS] Out.

[SNAPS] Out.

Snap your fingers.

Quality.

Again.

[SNAPS] Good.

Now say it. [SNAPS] Out.

[SNAPS] Out. [SNAPS]

Out.

[SNAPS] Out.

[SNAPS] Out.

[SNAPS] Out.

DR. APSEY: Quality. Now look at the pill.

It looks like a vitamin.

The most potent medicine is often very simple.

Lick it.

DR. APSEY: The taste? - Nothing.

Well, lick it again. Lick it harder.

FRANK: It's nothing.

You're licking with your tongue.

Lick with your imagination.

That's chilled raspberries.

Smell it.

A wet forest.

A tiny pill looks like a vitamin,

but tastes like raspberries and smells like a wet forest.

What magic.

Now ignore the hate.

Ignore the love.

Ignore the hope.

Ignore the fear.

Ignore the world that says you're sick.

Ignore the world that says you are special.

Ignore being the evil homosexual.

Ignore being the good fag.

Hypothetically, the big if, if you

could obliterate your same sex desires, would you?

You hungry?

DR. APSEY: You hungry? Hungry, hungry.

Every shirt I own has a button missing.

What do you say after brunch with your mom tomorrow,

we go shopping?

Have you ever--

if there was a pill to make you straight, would you?

Not in a million years. You?

Not in a billion.

I love how I am.

Yeah, me too.

But for guys who don't, is trying so, I don't know, evil?

Not evil.

Useless.

Yeah.

Of course.

But even if maybe a guy has the right to try.

Sure, try.

Then in a month or a year or a decade,

it blows up in some woman's face or some children's faces.

And everyone has wounds that burn

for the rest of their lives.

Shirt's ripped, toss or sew?

I don't care.

I'm asking because I'm thinking of writing if a guy

wants to try that, it's--

I don't know, maybe, kind of sort of not so bad.

It's a personal choice.

But a false choice.

I mean, for hundreds of years, they've tried to fix us.

They tried electroshock, pumping us

full of hormones full of drugs, cutting our brains,

cutting our--

Apsey doesn't do those things.

Frankenstein uses words.

No difference.

Whatever they try, we're still here and always will be,

because it never worked.

[SNAPS]

Out.

I can't believe I just did that.

Out?

- Oh, something Apsey said. - Oh?

You know, if you and I are arguing

and we come to a standstill, it's a--

Wait a minute.

You're not talking to Frankenstein

about our private life, are you?

That's what one does in therapy.

He's not your therapist. He's research.

Remember?

Yeah, of course, he's research.

Frank, promise me you won't go back.

He's dangerous.

He will open your skull like cracking an egg.

And he'll reach his hands in and he will need your brain

like dough, until you won't even remember you have a penis,

let alone what you like to do with it.

I've seen it.

I have four clients who told me how

Frankenstein has crept into their heads

and destroyed their lives.

Please, promise me you won't go back.

You've seen the damage he does.

I haven't.

OK, a new client started yesterday,

a pickup from Apsey--

Hello.

JONATHAN: He's been seeing Frankenstein

for about two years. DR. APSEY: Who?

How? Don't you wonder how?

Jonathan, we were wondering with hundreds of gay therapists

in this city, somehow of all Dr. Apsey's ex-clients

end up saying you.

How do they find you?

You develop a reputation.

Huh.

JONATHAN: This new client, I could ask about you

getting an interview--

- Double huh. - If--

- Beware the if. - If?

If you promise me never to see Frankenstein again.

You're-- you're-- you're--

He's bribing you.

You're bribing me?

DR. APSEY: Although technically there's

been no exchange of money.

It's like blackmail.

You're blackmailing me.

Not precisely blackmailing.

I can't believe you.

I just want to be clear here, because if you're really--

you are resorting to-- - Manipulation.

He's manipulating you.

I'm manipulating you.

How dare you try to manipulate me.

You ask this new client or you don't.

No strings attached.

All right, I will ask.

No strings attached.

What a weak organism.

No, if you think it's unprofessional.

You are stronger than that, Mr. Johnson.

Do it. Don't.

Don't ask.

I'm getting whiplash.

You are stronger.

Fuck professionalism.

I have.

Ask.

I don't consider my therapy conversion therapy.

I consider my therapy therapy.

Dr. Apsey never, never, never encouraged me to do

anything against my own will.

People come to me.

I do not seek them out.

And I try to make their lives better.

The repercussions of Apsey's work were severe.

I believed that I was doing the right thing for the good

of my clients who have suffered from this kind of junk science

for far too long.

I've been clear.

Unannounced drop-bys are unacceptable.

You have severe boundary issues.

Yesterday, that-- that magic pills so-called game

was so-- so-- so manipulative.

I prefer the label truth facilitation.

I offer a mirror.

OK, so maybe a mirror, because swallowing

a pill may be reflect, shows that-- that some part--

teeny tiny so, teeny tiny part wants maybe

wants what you have to offer.

OK, but so what?

This-- this change-- supposed change, you say it's not easy.

You say it's the most difficult thing you ever do.

But what you don't say is--

the word you don't use is impossible.

Yes, Dr. Baldwin and his clones

have worked tirelessly to promote

the myth of impossibility.

But I know deep down I was born--

So what?

It's in my genes.

I have no control over my attractions.

Ha, ha, fully 50 types of bunk.

So maybe a chunk of your hypothalamus

is bigger than the average bear's or your mother

dressed you in taffeta or your father was a weak and distant

or your big brother told you vaginas have teeth.

Who cares why?

Inside each of us is the liar, the thief,

the killer, but also the saint, the healer, the lover.

DR. APSEY: Isn't life about the parts of ourselves

we choose to cultivate and act upon?

Isn't America based on the belief

of bettering ourselves and picking ourselves up,

rising above, transcendence?

In India, a master walks across coals 600 degrees

Fahrenheit.

His feet remain unburned.

A yogi locks himself in a vault with just enough oxygen

for an hour, yet he slows down his heartbeat so that oxygen

lasts a day instead of an hour.

You tell me the human mind can accomplish these marvels,

but you can't control where you want to put your peepee.

I don't think so.

But a man walks on coals, I can see that.

Yet a man says he's changed and you refuse to believe that.

But it doesn't matter whether you

want to believe my therapy works or not, because you still

have to choose.

A year from now or five years or 10 years,

there's going to be a shot or a gene therapy

or a tiny pill that tastes like raspberries,

smells like a wet forest, sexual attraction will

change as easily as hair color.

Clinging to the illusion that my therapy doesn't work merely

postpones the inevitable.

You, everybody like you, will have to choose.

So what?

What am I going to do?

I'm going to just renounce, betray just reset my sights

and aim for heterosexuality because sometime in the future

it will be possible?

I don't care what you choose.

The motives behind my magic pill game were self-serving.

So you could experience the view from my client's vantage.

So your journalistic portrait of me

would be more comprehensive though the magic pill

was to what manipulate me into civility?

Well, no more manipulative than the so-called professional

tactics you've used on me.

Considering the precarious position in which you put me,

I think I'll be forgiven if my magic pill

game was self-serving.

Now, no more dropping by.

I don't ever want to see you again.

Good luck with your article.

Thank you for allowing me to express my thoughts.

Be well.

Be happy.

Be gay.

You're up late.

You're out late.

Dinner is cold.

I'm colder.

Come warm me up.

You eat? - No.

- Tupperware. - It smells good.

Ah, it's the bread.

The bananas were rotting.

I left something out.

It chews like lead.

I'm sure it's delicious.

He said no.

He who?

JONATHAN: My new client, about an interview.

All the others.

You could ask one, you could ask the others.

Frank.

Be careful, respectful.

I'll give you a list of questions.

Frank.

One might be willing to talk to me--

Frank, I already brought the subject up as a hypothetical.

They said no.

All of them.

Yeah.

How convenient.

How many?

Four.

All four?

- All four? - How amazing.

What an amazing show of solidarity.

Except that they're not acquainted.

Except that they don't know each other.

So it's not solidarity, but a coincidence.

So this is an amazing coincidence

that all four have so quickly dismissed being interviewed.

You don't leave me?

Such razor sharp perception skills.

Why would you lie?

How how long have we been together?

How patronizing.

Why do you put with this?

Don't patronize me.

You know as well as I do.

In all hours six years, four months, and 13 days,

yes, I know exactly.

Before Frankenstein entered your life,

do you remember even once not trusting me?

I hardly have the power to make you distrust each other.

Dr. Apsey can make us distrust each other.

Yeah, he can.

It wasn't till after all this started,

that I began distrusting you.

You never used to hide things from me.

I'm not now.

Your editor called this afternoon.

I asked her how she thought the article was going.

She said what article?

The article you told me she was so anxious to see.

She had no idea what I was talking about.

You had no right.

I asked anyway.

I'm not sorry.

Because I never had a vision for the article.

I wasn't going to put myself out on a limb till I was certain.

So you lied to me.

I-- I-- I withheld minor information.

You never used to lie to me until you

started seeing Frankenstein.

That absolutely cannot be pinned on me.

The day we met you asked if I had plans for Saturday night.

I answered no, then rushed to the nearest pay phone

to cancel them.

It's not a big lie, but a lie.

What about that plaid tie you love

and I said it's only mildly unpleasant, when in fact it's

extraordinarily ugly.

I've lied between the sheets that the thing

you do with the fur feels good when it just scratches.

I've lied about liking this sugar-free fat-free banana

bread lead slop you make.

I've probably lied to you daily for a month.

I'll make a list.

And, yes, I lied about pitching the article before I'd

ever set eyes on Dr. Apsey.

So if you didn't believe in the article, why--

Because I always do what you want.

Did. Past tense, did.

And will you write the article?

- Of course. - When?

Unrelenting, isn't he?

When I'm ready.

Show me, whatever you have.

Anything?

I haven't even seen a single word.

It's in my head.

I'll put it on paper when I complete my research.

And an estimated completion date?

The banana bread's not so bad.

You're too hard on yourself.

I know you didn't want to see me again, and I know--

Yes, yes, yes, I expected you back.

You did?

Yes, of course.

But why?

You can answer for yourself.

I'm here for the article.

The article, the article, the article, look me in the eye.

Tell me you've written one sentence.

I thought not.

Now the unanswered question, was your smokescreen

conscious or not?

OK, listen, if a man--

not me, hypothetical-- if a man wanted to see you for therapy,

but couldn't--

Couldn't?

Yeah, say he couldn't afford it.

I'd offer for free.

No, free has no value.

I'd charge $1.

OK, not because he couldn't pay, but for some other reason,

whatever.

He can't see you, but he might want

to kind of sort of maybe work on his own,

what would you tell him?

I would ask this man when's the last time he had

dinner with a male organism who didn't

share his sexual leanings?

If it had been a long, long time?

That would suggest Mr. Hypothetical lacks

comfort with the male gender.

All men have same gender needs.

If humankind could accept same gender

emotional needs as normal, homosexual behavior

would disappear.

But close-minded organisms label same gender needs as gay.

So if you feel and admit same gender needs, you're gay.

But you're not, you have same gender needs.

That's all.

But back to Mr. Hypothetical.

Meet men without his leanings.

Study how they interact, how they express or repress

their same gender needs.

Become friends with the type of man he wants to be.

And reading, I'd offer a list of books-- really, Mr. Johnston,

must we maintain this pretense of the hypothetical?

Yes, we must.

Would you care to peruse the list

I'd offer Mr. Hypothetical?

No.

Yes.

No. Maybe.

If it's handy.

Hi, sorry, I'm late.

Subway.

Subway's been screwed up a lot lately.

Yeah.

You were out late last night.

Were you staying away till I was asleep?

Absolutely not.

Well, maybe.

I'm tired of fighting.

Come on, let's play.

You going to tell me where you were?

I was out walking.

Serve.

You reeked of cigarette smoke.

- I thought you were asleep. - I wasn't.

JONATHAN: One, nothing.

So?

I went to a sports bar, you know.

Studied straight men in their natural habitat.

Research?

How's the article going?

I don't want to talk about that.

Not going well?

The idea was yours.

But now the article is mine.

From here on, Apsey's off limits.

Two, nothing.

Why'd you move up our racquetball time.

JONATHAN: You're changing the subject.

Yeah, I know.

Meeting canceled.

I didn't want to go.

Jonathan Baldwin not in the mood for a meeting.

Has the sky fallen? - Yeah.

It's my serve.

Please tell me you're not seeing Frankenstein for real.

You've mastered that.

Have you ever considered communicating with words?

Don't call him Frankenstein.

His name is Arthur Apsey.

Sweetheart, I'm sorry if you were born

a way you don't want to be.

But you can't change that.

Not I don't want you to, but can't.

You used to melt in my arms.

Now you repel.

When was the last time we made love?

That event was not momentous enough to mark on my calendar.

Five weeks, two days.

Plenty of couples go five weeks.

You first met Frankenstein what?

Six, seven weeks ago?

Coincidence?

And those men you were with at the bar,

if they're so straight, why did I smell them on your clothes?

Why did I smell one of them on your skin?

Please tell me you were safe.

I-- I didn't.

No lies.

Yes or no, did you have sex with another man.

No.

No.

Remember, I told you in high school, you know--

Yeah, I remember.

I lied. I was never bashed.

It never happened, huh?

It happened, but not the way I told you.

The hell hole I grew up in had a town punk.

Every now and then when the beer wouldn't anesthetize

the boredom, the town punk and his gang of punk wannabes

would drive up to Chicago and set a bar on an open flatbed

of a pickup, spitting epithets at shoppers

who fell into the category loosely described as fruity.

One summer night, they spied a boy who they laughed

was so fruity he could pose for a still life.

Fruity boy fought back.

The fruity boy got hit, got kicked,

got a broken beer bottle ground into his face.

The punk and his buds bolted.

The punk went away to college and moved as far from Chicago

as he could.

Eventually, the punk became me.

The memory of that bleeding boy consumed--

consumes-- I see on the street a face, a scar,

I mean, I know what I did, but I'll never really know.

This-- this is truth.

I'm sorry.

JONATHAN: I'm sorry. - You're amazing.

You once were a self-hating redneck.

And here you are now, super fag?

People really can't change.

OK.

Truth, I was safe with her.

It was a her.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

I'm aware of the complexity of this issue.

I did not realize that it would come to this.

I take responsibility for how my emotional reactions

affected this scenario.

I haven't seen Jonathan--

I mean, I haven't seen Dr. Baldwin--

uh-- since-- um--

uh-- Dr. Baldwin and I are not together any more.

[DOOR BELL RINGING]

If you haven't noticed from your watch,

you may notice from my attire, this

is a thoroughly inappropriate time for you to be here.

I was walking by.

At 10:00 PM?

Please.

FRANK: Last night, I went to a bar,

you know, a regular bar to study men.

I met-- I met a woman there, blonde,

curves in all the places I'd want curves if I liked curves.

I'm trying to figure out why I didn't care.

She was beautiful.

She catches my stare.

Thinks I want her.

Flirts.

You know, sparkly eyes, head thrown back,

a deep throaty laugh.

She helps me forget who I am and invites me home.

I go.

Then the pre-sex dance, men, women, it's all the same.

You know, the heart's pounding.

It's me and it, out, working order.

I stick it in.

I do it.

And it was off.

The smells, the tastes were off.

How could such an ill considered attempt

end in anything but failure?

Which you knew beforehand. Tea?

So this escapade puzzles me.

I want to believe your mission to destroy me is terminated,

but I'm aware of the possibility that you

may still be hoodwinking me.

And quite frankly, this turn of events

makes me doubt your sincerity.

So now, it's my turn to demand proof.

Proof? What?

That I'm with a woman?

A different kind of proof.

I'm filing a complaint against your Dr. Baldwin

with the psychology licensing board.

What?

What he's done going after me is wrong.

Please, no.

And you'll be expected to testify.

I won't turn on Jonathan.

I'm not asking you to.

Merely tell the truth.

The truth is the same as turning on him.

If there's one thing you've learned from me,

isn't it not to lie?

Yes.

And if the board talks to you, will you?

Please, don't do this.

I'll do anything.

Just ask.

But don't hurt Jonathan.

An acquaintance of mine at the board

told me your Dr. Baldwin inquired about filing

a complaint against me.

I'm filing a counter complaint because, at the risk

of sounding like a five-year-old, he started it.

If you are able to dissuade your Dr. Baldwin,

I'd be less inclined to file a complaint of my own.

I'll stop him.

I imagine you overestimate your influence on Dr. Baldwin,

but I'll wait one week to provide

you with the opportunity.

Now, your misguided sexual attempt, what

was that all about?

- I don't know. - You don't know?

Of course, not.

Shall we construct some possibilities?

Perhaps research for a new article, arousing first person

narrative on how it was to sleep with a woman in, oh, how many

years? - Oh, lots of them.

Any reality to this first hypothesis?

No.

Then hypothesis number 2, this woman found

you so irresistible, she began shoving

$100 bills down your shorts?

It wasn't that kind of bar.

Well, let me suggest a particularly

far fetched hypothesis.

Perhaps you slept with a woman because, gee, gosh,

you wanted to.

DR. APSEY: Ah, no response.

I'm not sure.

DR. APSEY: How could you be?

Clarity is unobtainable as long as you live with Dr. Baldwin.

I love him.

So?

The great romantic myth is that love is the highest calling.

It's not.

I once had a client who justified sex with his dog,

because he loved the creature.

His dog.

Love is no excuse for poor choices.

The Dr. Baldwin you love set you up.

He used you for his own vendetta.

Why didn't he come to see me himself?

Because he didn't want to risk anything.

I like you.

But you've been one dumb dupe, his pawn.

He's not a man to trust.

Your life has no room in it for a manipulator like Dr. Baldwin.

Clear enough?

I guess.

Good man.

DR. APSEY: Now, be firm. In control.

Your Dr. Baldwin will employ all his tricks

to demolish this decision.

Understandably, he's got a lot to lose.

You.

- Morning. - Hey.

Out all night?

I'm thinking--

Uh, huh.

I'm thinking maybe it's time to--

it's time to-- to end us.

More research?

You have the divorce experience and presto more material

for the article that never was.

I don't appreciate your attitude.

If I'm ever going to figure out what life I want,

I need to leave.

I need out.

I will let you go, no fight, if you

swear you'll never go back.

I-- I can't.

I won't promise that.

I won't let you go back.

What?

You'll time me up?

Hire a 24 hour guard.

Whatever it takes.

Frank, heel.

Frank, sit.

Frank, stay.

Frank, write this article.

No, I won't live with your demands, with your lies,

with your manipulations, with you.

I lied once.

With Sebastian.

That's the only time I've ever lied to you

Behind my back.

A complaint against Apsey, if that's not a lie, what is?

Yeah, I know.

And he knows too.

And he's going to file a counter complaint

if you go through with it.

How can I trust you any more.

It's a lie here, and a lie there.

And they build and build and build.

All of a sudden there's a swamp of lies just smothering

our relationship, a dark, dank sludge

that we're wobbling through.

And I'm sick of a stink.

I'm sick of you.

And I want out.

FRANK: I don't mean this very moment.

That's mine.

JONATHAN: Yeah.

You're packing for me?

Us.

Us?

Bermuda.

You always wanted to go, right? - Jonathan.

Fuck.

Fuck.

JONATHAN: How many times have I told clients you

can't change another person?

Let go.

And yet I can't.

I'm getting you away from that monster.

We thought you'd pull something like this.

We?

Where you going

To Frankenstein's castle, for a heart to heart,

or a fist to fist.

I'll decide which on the way.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

Just-- just-- just let me talk to him.

Ah, the announced visit with gays multiplying.

Dr. Baldwin, I presume. Welcome.

I'm sorry. I tried to stop him.

It's quite all right. The pleasure is all mine.

Nobody's.

This war is between you and me. - Jonathan, please--

Leave Frank out of it.

Shut up, Frank, I'm doing this for you.

Shut up? You treat me like a child.

- Then act like an adult. - I am.

I don't think so.

- You act like an adult. - I-- I--

I am. - Gentlemen.

Like was that adult?

Gentleman.

I don't do couples therapy.

Now, Dr. Baldwin, I'm pleased you're here.

This game of yours has gone on long enough.

This is a game to you.

This isn't any case.

And your pawn, Mr. Johnston, is suffering.

I am not a. pawn.

He is not my pawn.

You don't need to talk for me.

JONATHAN: Then tell him.

Listen, I am not--

I was his pawn.

JONATHAN: Frank.

But you don't have to call me one.

How dare you call Frank a pawn.

Don't defend me.

Apparently, you need--

I don't need you to.

No, I don't.

No, I don't. [CLAPS]

Can we stop this infantile doo-doo?

Heavens, you two together are a nightmare.

Can we get a collective grip?

JONATHAN: You keep your sucking strangling

tentacles off of Frank. - If not?

Because if not, every ounce of pain that you inflict

upon the man I love I will turn back on you tenfold

until you withered and broken--

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

I'm sorry I have no patience with such dedicated hate.

Hate is not a family value.

JONATHAN: Ding, ding, ding.

Bob, deceit for 20.

Take a look in the mirror.

A mirror?

One of us is reported, both of us are.

There's no victory in sacrificing one another.

A truce, no complaints.

No complaints, if--

if you agree never to see Frank again.

Agreed, if you never again steal from me another client.

Absa-fucking-lutely not.

What's more important to you?

Mr. Johnston?

Your clients?

Your license?

You're stopping m?

You can't have them all.

Prioritize.

You are pure evil.

DR. APSEY: I am pure nothing.

And neither are you.

Deal.

In truth, to keep Mr. Johnston, you'd

condemn dozens of men to my therapy,

which you believe evil?

Do we have a deal or not?

No, my offer was a bluff.

I didn't think you'd accept.

You may be willing to sacrifice dozens of other men

to save Mr. Johnston.

But I won't sacrifice Mr. Johnston to save myself.

The only deal I'll agree to, no complaints, no conditions.

See you in the unemployment line.

DR. APSEY: Believe it or not, Dr. Baldwin, I respect you.

Fuck you.

Well, parts of you, the part that dreams of a perfect world

where everybody is happy and well adjusted.

That would be lovely.

But in some men's perfect world, they wouldn't be

OK with their same sex desires.

They simply wouldn't have any.

Do you have a son?

Dr. Baldwin, you've chosen to fight to change the world--

A nephew?

Fine.

Like a neighbor's boy.

Bang your head against the wall,

but others don't want to--

JONATHAN: Somewhere there is someone's life

who you are destroying. - Fight.

Others want to change them ourselves.

Let others make their own choices.

JONATHAN: Don't do that to him.

Step aside.

Yeah, step aside

Hello. Remember me?

This was about me, wasn't it?

If this is about me, why are neither of those two voices

I hear mine?

It's like the two of you are on opposite shores.

I'm drowning.

And you're yelling this way, no, this way.

Grab my life preserver.

No, come on my boat. I'll save you.

No, I'll save you.

Screaming so loudly, I hadn't even

noticed it's the two of you pissing,

shitting, vomiting in the lake that makes the water so high.

I don't need to be saved.

I need to be left alone.

Out.

Out.

[SNAPS] Out.

Out.

Out.

I wish I hadn't met Dr. Apsey, because, though he

was very logical sounding, he confused me.

I think people don't want to entertain a possibility--

His work is dangerous.

I believe that it's homophobic.

They do not even want to think that a certain possibility is

in the realm of possibilities.

And anyone that might even bring that up is an enemy.

If that is a strike against me as far as this board

is concerned, so be it.

Why shrink possibilities.

My intent with the article was not to discredit Dr. Apsey.

Have you read the article.

I just present both sides.

Yes, I understand that this is an ethics violation over which

I can lose my license.

As a psychologist, I never set about--

I think it would be a mistake to--

I think it would be a mistake if I lost my license.

I don't think I've done anything wrong.

Come embattled with another professional.

My record will speak for itself.

Dr. Apsey doesn't need to--

he doesn't need to--

just be who you want to be.

FRANK: Thank you for finally seeing me.

I have a job interview at 2:15.

Talk.

I called because I--

I want your recipe for banana bread.

I wake up some mornings and all I want

is a slice of that lousy bread.

Still games?

I'm trying to apologize.

- Get on with it. - I'm sorry.

That's it?

Two words?

After both you and Apsey filed complaints

that became the story.

I couldn't write the article without mentioning you.

I'm sorry you lost your license.

But he's going to lose his too.

What do you do now?

Start over.

Being forced out of my career, hey,

prevents a mid-life crisis.

That's the silver lining.

Some days that's all there is.

- What you did was unforgivable. - Yes.

Forgive me anyway.

- You hurt me. - I know.

You used me.

I know.

We shouldn't have. We did.

Are we sorry?

Do you remember maybe our 10th date?

We strolled in this park, by this fountain.

You stood behind me.

Your arms wrapped around my chest.

You kneecaps cradled the back of my knees.

You kissed my ear.

And I thought you were writing true poetry.

The truth, if it's anywhere in me, it's in my body.

And my body knows.

It's been designed to love--

One overly ripe banana, mush it.

I know we can't go back.

But we can go forward to the future.

Three cups self-rising flour.

Us, no lie. No manipulation.

Self-rising or chew like lead.

We're capable of that, aren't we?

Sometimes I forget the self-rising.

Listen to me. I'm trying to say--

I know what you're trying to say.

Stop it.

Don't say it, please.

I'm not ready to stop hating you--

yet. - Yet?

I like that yet.

[MUSIC PLAYING]