All language subtitles for Naked.Lunch.1991.1080p

Exterminator.

You want I should spit
right in your face?

- You want? You want?
- I ran out.

You ran out?
Oh, that's nice.

It's impossible you run out!
What'd you do, eat the stuff?

The Chink shortchanged me.

No glot. Come Fliday.

It's funny. It's actual very funny
what you just said.

Ran out.

They can either paint it,
or draw it, or write it down

and then pass it on to somebody.
They read what you're saying,

and then they reexperience.

That's the only connection
you have with that.

So you can't rewrite,

'cause to rewrite
is to deceive and lie,

and you betray your own thoughts.
To rethink the flow

and the rhythm and the tumbling
out of the words... is a betrayal.

And it's a sin, Martin. It's a sin.

I don't accept
your Catholic interpretation

of my compulsive,
necessity to rewrite

every single word
at least a hundred times.

Guilt is... Thanks.
Guilt is the key, not sin.

Guilt re not writing
the best that I can.

Guilt re not considering everything
from every possible angle.

Balancing everything.

How about guilt re censoring
your best thoughts?

Your most honest, primitive,
real thoughts.

Because that's what your laborious
rewriting amounts to, Martin.

Is rewriting really censorship,
Bill?

Because I'm completely fucked
if it is.

Exterminate all rational thought.

That is the conclusion
I have come to.

What is the man talking about?
I'm being serious.

So is he.

So how is the extermination business
going there, Bill?

Somebody's stealing my roach powder.
Somebody's got it in for me.

Bill, maybe you should take it
as a sign.

Maybe you ought to try your hand
at writing pornography.

Yeah, a novel a week at 120 bucks.
It's serious money.

I can connect you with the guy.

We're thinking of collaborating
on one ourselves.

I gave up writing when I was 10.

- Too dangerous. - Only if someone
reads what you write.

So far we haven't had that problem.

- I've found my profession. I'm
an exterminator. - Of course, Bill.

That's just what the world needs
more literate exterminators.

Give me a cigarette.

Of course, then, you know...

you're gonna have trouble

if you can't keep track
of your roach powder.

Wait a minute. Do you boys
know something about this?

We don't exactly know anything.

No, but we suspect
it's a domestic problem.

- My God, what are you doing?
- You weren't supposed to see this.

Well, now that I'm seeing it,
what is it?

I'm shooting up your bug powder.

You might like to try it yourself.
Or you might not.

I ran out in the middle of a job.

You gotta stop using the stuff,
Joan.

They ration it out
like snakebite serum.

Just do what everybody else does,
cut it with baby laxative.

The roaches will shit themselves
to death.

It's the best job I ever had.

If I run out again, I'm finished.

It's...

It's a very literary high.
Very literary.

Is that why Hank and Martin
know all about it?

We all just tried it together-spur
of the moment thing.

They didn't like it, I did.

What do you mean,
it's a literary high?

It's a Kafka high.
You feel like a bug.

Try some.

Well, I don't know.

I don't know.

I think our metabolisms
are very different.

Whose? Yours and Kafka's?

I thought you were finished
with doing weird stuff.

I thought I was, too,
but I guess I'm not.

Personally... I prefer
a pyrethrum job to a fluoride.

With the pyrethrum
you kill the roaches right there

in front of God and the client

whereas this starch and fluoride...

leave it around,
the roaches eat it...

come back a few days later,
they're running around fat as hogs.

And there it is, Bill.
You want to put on some weight,

you gotta switch from that yellow
powder diet of yours

to some of this good
fluoride stuff right here.

Sure works for the Chink.
He's healthy enough.

You see him scarf that poison down?

He doesn't really eat it.
It's sleight of hand.

The hell he doesn't.

Been breathing in the powder
so long, it just makes him laugh.

Just like them roaches.

William Lee.

- What is this?
- He's Hauser. I'm O'Brien.

City Narcotics.
We're gonna take you downtown, Bill.

Little matter of possession
of a dangerous substance.

You've got quite a record, Bill.

A lot of drugs poured down
the old vein.

I was a troubled person then.
I'm married now. Got a good job.

That's good, Bill. That's nice.

What's this, then?

That's my job.
I use it to kill bugs.

- He says it kills bugs.
- He could be right.

- I'd like to see it.
- Me too. I'd like to see it, too.

Well, gee.

I'd like to demonstrate,

but I already got rid
of that last case of crabs I had.

Very funny, Bill.

But, you know...

- I think we got a bug around here
somewhere. - You're right.

Let's see if that yellow stuff
will kill it.

We'll be back later to see
how it worked out, kiddo.

Break a leg.

William Lee?
I have arranged all this

just to have a moment alone
with you.

I am your case officer.

- My what?
- Case officer.

You are my agent. I, in turn,
report to your controller.

Come, come, Mr. Lee.
You don't have to play dumb with me.

- That would be foolish,
wouldn't it? - It would.

Say, Bill... do you think
you could rub

some of this powder on my lips?

Yeah.

Sure.

Well, now.
As you might have expected

I have instructions for you
from Control.

It's about the little woman.

- The what? - The little woman.
Your little woman.

- Your wife.
- Tell me.

Your wife is not really your wife.

She is an agent
of Interzone Incorporated.

You must kill her.
Kill Joan Lee.

It must be done soon,
this week.

And it must be done real tasty.

Interzone Incorporated?

An organization based
in Interzone,

a notorious free port
on the North African coast.

A haven for the mongrel scum
of the Earth

an engorged parasite
on the underbelly of the West.

I can't see it. Why would a classy
American woman like Joan

ever want to work for a two-bit
outfit like Interzone Incorporated?

But who says Joan Lee
is really a woman?

In fact,
who says she's human at all?

- What do you mean by that?
- I can say no more.

Hey, where you going? Don't do it.
There'll be hell to pay.

We've been made.
We gotta get out of town.

Wait a minute.

- What's going on?
- I got busted for bug powder.

I started hallucinating
behind the stuff.

God knows what I really said
to those two flatfeet.

I'm not even sure
how I got out of there.

Did you bring back
tomorrow's bug powder?

Did you, Bill?
Did you?

My God, Joan. You're acting
like a full-fledged junkie.

And it's bug powder,
for Christ's sake!

I do have a little bit of a habit,
yes, hon.

You ought to at least give me
a few marks for originality.

How did you know
it just wouldn't kill you?

I don't know, Bill.

I felt drawn to it.
You know?

Like you feel drawn...
to an old lover.

Say, Bill...

could you rub
some of this powder on my lips?

Could you... Bill?

Please.

Hey!

Bill.

Where were you this morning?
We missed you at the Automat.

I... got in a bit of a jam.

I misplaced the gear,
in a manner of speaking.

We heard about it.

We saw you go off with the heat,
in fact.

They won't give it back to Cohen.
It's evidence, they say.

Yeah. It's an embarrassment, yes.

Is that why you tried to lift mine?

That's unkind, Edward.
"Lift" is unkind.

I'm doing a job for a friend.

The centipedes, Edward.

The centipedes are getting
down right arrogant.

- They're starting to attack his
children. - Take it from me, Bill.

You're not the first one
to develop a bug powder problem.

See this man.

He'll help ya.

Dr. A. Benway.
General Practitioner.

Bug powder?

- You mean pyrethrum?
- Yes.

I get a lot of you folks
in the extermination trade.

You better help this friend of yours
get off the yellow stuff.

- It'll kill him.
- How do I get him to kick?

- Kick?
- How do I get him off it?

Mix it with this.

Gradually increase the percentage of
black without telling your friend

and he'll lose his taste
for the bug powder soon enough.

- What is it? What does it do?
- It's all natural.

It's made from,
aquatic Brazilian centipede

or some such outlandish thing.

It shuts down the brain's response
to the bug powder. That's all.

The powder becomes irrelevant
to the addict...

and the addict then
ceases to be addicted.

Side effects?

Nothing that will surprise
the addict.

But, I before I do your cure

I've gotta score some bug powder.

Score?

You're not trying to... pull a fast
one on the old doctor, are you?

I came here for help.

Of course you did.

My God.

It smells like a...
tainted cheese.

You'll see how elegantly this works.

The black will disappear
completely.

And there'll be no smell,
no discoloration.

It's like an agent.

An agent who's come to believe
his own cover story.

But who's in there,
hiding in a larval state...

just waiting
for the proper moment to hatch out.

Centipedes.

"Followers of obsolete,
unthinkable trades...

doodling in Etruscan...

addicts of drugs
not yet synthesized...

black marketeers
of World War III...

excisors of telepathic
sensitivity...

osteopaths of the spirit...

investigators...
of infractions denounced...

by bland, paranoid chess players...

servers of fragmentary warrants
taken down...

in hebephrenic shorthand...

charging unspeakable mutilations
of the spirit...

officials of unconstituted
police states, broke..."

Hi, Bill.

Say, why don't you and I join them?

Hank and I were just bored.
It wasn't serious.

I didn't take it seriously.
Where is Hank?

He got embarrassed and left.

Not before he came, I hope.

Hank's on junk. He doesn't come.

Not before you came, I hope.

I'm on bug powder.
I don't need to come.

"Officials of unconstituted
police states...

brokers of exquisite dreams
and nostalgias...

tested on the sensitized cells
of junk sickness...

and bartered for raw materials
of the will...

drinkers of the Heavy Fluid sealed
in translucent amber of dreams."

I guess it's about time
for our William Tell routine.

Oh, God.

Joan.

Oh, Joan.

Are you a faggot?

Not by nature, no.

I'm not.

I wouldn't say...

faggot. No.

However, circumstances
have forced me to consider

the possibility that...

I'd like you to meet
a friend of mine.

He specializes
in sexual ambivalence.

Sexual ambulance, did you say?

My God.

He's called Mugwump.

No point in feigning surprise.

You knew we would be getting
in touch with you.

Why else would you come
to a waterfront dive like this?

- Why else?
- I suggest a Clark Nova portable.

It has mythic resonance.

Clark Nova. A typewriter?
You suggest it for what?

For your report from Interzone,
of course.

Handwriting is not
considered professional.

Interzone.

- My report. - And don't leave out
any of the tasty details.

The small red hole
in the forehead

or the look of astonishment
on her face.

Listen to me. You're just
gonna have to leave town

and Interzone is the only place
that'll have a shady character

like you at such short notice.
Take this.

Take what? What is that?

Your ticket to Interzone.
Tourist class, I'm afraid,

but what can you expect these days?

We'll contact you there.

It's commie trash.
And it's been fired very recently.

You use it in a holdup?

I want that typewriter
in the window. I want the portable.

This plus...

8$.
You got any ammo to go with it?

These'll cover the state tax.

Bill.

Martin.

Listen. I told the police it was
a drunken accident, that I saw it.

So at least that's on the record.
They're after you though.

They're saying
that you escaped from custody

and murdered your wife,
and they want you.

I'd better lie low
till my ship sails.

You booked passage somewhere
already?

Sure. Look. Got my ticket.

Put this away,
for God's sake, Bill.

- I'll send you a report.
- You'll send me a report?

I'll send you
a copy of the report.

Are you gonna be all right?

I hear Interzone's really nice
this time of year.

He woke up in bed
to find himself wedged

between a Dutch transvestite
and six Arab men.

Clark Nova.
Very nice for writing reports.

I use a Krups Dominator myself.

Company policy.

You're American, correct?

You know Dr. Benway?

I am interested in selling
a large stash of the black meat.

Verstehen Sie? The sun-dried,
powdered black meat

of the giant aquatic
Brazilian centipede.

And...

for some reason

I am certain that you are working

for Herr Dr. Benway.

I'm sorry. I apparently mistook you
for somebody else.

But as it happens, Mr. Lee,

I am, among other things a provider
of rare services to the arts

and in my experience as a provider
of rare services to the arts

I have found that writers
are a particularly needy group.

Is there nothing
I can provide for you. Mr. Lee?

A very professional
operation,

as you can see, Mr. Lee.

You like a taste?

I'd be happy to join you in a taste,
if you're planning to have one.

You can understand
that if you were

a purchasing agent
for a foreign power

how it would be
to my advantage

to impress you
with the cleanliness

and the sincerity
of our operation.

- You mentioned a Dr...
- Benway.

- Benway.
- Benway. Correct.

Yes.

Does he qualify as a foreign power?

Oh, but yes!
He's very foreign.

May I?

Yes.

Lee, wake up.
This is no time to doze off

like a freckled-face boy
on a fishing raft.

What's up?

Now, now, Bill.
No need for that.

You didn't think
we'd abandon you, did ya?

No. The thought
never occurred to me.

Good. We like confidence
in an agent.

But don't let it make you careless.

I was...
I was just in the...

process of configuring my report.

That's good, Lee. Admirable.

But there have been some changes...

- Changes at the top.
- Oh, yeah?

Good changes, Bill.
Fresh blood. Sparkling insights.

Bill,
could you do me a favor?

What?

I want you to type
a few words into me.

Words that I'll dictate to ya.

Yeah.

Sure. What the hell.

Okay. Now, the first sentence is,

"Homosexuality
is the best all-around cover

an agent ever had."

Come on, Bill.

Don't be such a pansy!
Be forceful.

Hurt me.

I love it.
That is a great sentence.

These are words to live by, Bill.

I'm glad these words
are going into your report.

Our new management
will be so pleased

that you see our point of view.

What point of view?

Well, just that we appreciate
that you might find

the thought of engaging
in homosexual acts

morally and possibly even

physically repulsive
and we are encouraged

that you are able to overcome
these personal barriers

to better serve the cause
to which we are all so devoted.

You have left the Clark Nova
at home?

It's doing all right without me.

And...

you have contacted Dr. Benway?

I told you before
I never met the man.

Bill, I can smell him on you.

Benway marks out all those
whom he has met

like a lemur pissing on a liana vine
to mark his territory.

You're a marked man, Bill.

Joanie.

Joanie, shall we go?

Yes. Yes.

Hans. Hans, that couple.

Who are they?

They are Tom and Joan Frost.

Americans who have lived here
a very long time.

They're both writers.

Writers of fiction, like you.

They live in a nice flat

in the new building
at the foot of the mountain.

They're visited constantly
by many handsome,

young Interzone men. Sometimes...

two or three at a time.

Can you introduce me?

I do not think
it would be to your advantage.

For some reason

that woman has taken
a serious dislike to me.

Kiki.
Come sit with us.

Kiki, this is Mr. Lee.

Hello.

Mr. Lee is curious
about the Frost couple.

He would like to meet them.

I think the woman would have sex
with you, Mr. Lee.

The man, he only likes
Interzone boys.

I don't want to fuck 'em.
I just want to talk to 'em.

You know how Americans are, Kiki.
They love to travel

and then they only want to meet
other Americans

and talk about how hard it is
to get a decent hamburger.

There's a party tonight
at the O'Leary place.

Frost will be meeting
a group of us here

and then walking
through the casbah.

My friends and I would be happy
to take you with us.

You're the new writer, aren't you?
You've just arrived.

A few days ago.
I write reports.

Oh! And did you come
to Interzone for the boys?

- No, I didn't.
- Tom and I did.

That's quite a hot threesome
you arrived with.

They're very cheap,
and they're really a lot of fun.

You use a Clark Nova, don't you?

- To write with. Typewriter.
- I do. Yes.

I wouldn't use a Clark Nova myself.
Too demanding.

Demanding?

Oh, come on. We're both writers.
We know what we're talking about.

Well, I'm new to this game,
to tell you the truth.

If I get blocked again,
I'll let you try my Martinelli.

Her inventiveness will surprise you.

I can't wait.

They say you murdered your wife.
Is that true?

Who told you that?

- Word gets around. - It wasn't
murder. It was an accident.

There are no accidents.

For example,

I've been killing my own wife
slowly, over a period of years.

- What?
- Well, not intentionally.

I mean, on the level of conscious
intention, it's insane, monstrous.

But you do consciously know it. You
just said it. We're discussing it.

Not consciously.

This is all happening
telepathically.

- Nonconsciously.
- What do you mean?

If you look carefully at my lips
you'll realize

that I'm actually saying
something else.

I'm not actually telling you
about the several ways

I'm gradually murdering Joan,

about the housekeeper Fadela, whom
I've hired to make Joan deathly ill

by witchcraft,

about the medicines
and drugs I've given her,

about the constant nibbling away
at her self-esteem and sanity

that I've managed without being
at all obvious about it.

Whereas Joanie finds
that she simply cannot be

as obsessively precise
as she wants to be,

unless she writes
everything in longhand.

Look...

I'm afraid...

I'm not gonna be very good company
tonight.

Thanks for the invite. I think
I'll have to take a rain check.

Enjoying the beach?

I would never have expected
to see you up and out so early.

You certainly were in rough shape
at the O'Leary party last night.

Was I?

You were very raw.
Emotionally, I mean.

You seemed to be in a lot of pain.

I don't remember... pain.

In fact, I don't remember
the O'Leary party.

In fact, I don't remember you.

It was a very intense
performance in any case.

My name's Cloquet.

Yves Cloquet.

Can I buy you breakfast?

I've seen you around,
but I had no idea you were queer.

- Queer. - I saw you arrive
with those three Interzone boys.

What an entrance.
You all looked very...

familiar with each other.

Queer.

A curse.
Been in our family for generations.

The Lees have always been perverts.

I shall never forget
the unspeakable horror

that froze the lymph in my glands

when the baneful word seared
my reeling brain...

I...

was a homosexual.

I thought of the painted,
simpering female impersonators

I had seen in a Baltimore nightclub.

Could it be possible
I was one of those subhuman things?

I walked the streets in a daze

like a man with a light concussion.
I would have destroyed myself.

But a wise old queen...

Bobo, we called her.

Taught me that I had a duty

to live and to bear
my burden proudly for all to see.

Poor Bobo came to a sticky end.

He was riding in
the Duc de Ventre's Hispano-Suiza

when his falling hemorrhoids
blew out of the car

and wrapped around the rear wheel.

He was completely gutted,
leaving an empty shell

sitting there
on the giraffe-skin upholstery.

Even the eyes and the brain went

with a horrible "schlupping" sound.

The duke says he will carry

that ghastly schlup with him
to his mausoleum.

You sound as if you could use
a drink.

My place?

A drink.

A drink?

No.

No, I can't. I gotta go home.
I have a... I have a...

I have a report to write.
Excuse me.

You made a big hit
with our young friend Yves.

- Yves?
- Cloquet.

Yves said
you were wonderfully funny.

Said you did a little routine
that made him

chuckle to himself all day.

Yes, you could...

You could probably get him into bed
if you worked at it a bit.

Deadly aphrodisiac, humor.

I'm not...
I don't really...

Have you seen Hans around?

You mean you haven't heard?

- No. I haven't heard. - Hans was
arrested and deported two weeks ago.

Deported?

They let him take his clothes
and his passport.

That was it. Everything else
nationalized, as they say.

- Why? - He neglected to pay
the right officials, I think.

You knew he ran
a drug factory in the medina?

What...

- What drug did he manufacture?
- Nothing too exotic.

Majoun, I think. It's a local hash
resin-almond paste.

You'd spread it on a muffin
like jam. Try it.

While you're at it,
why don't you try my Martinelli?

Take her now.

Try her out.

Holy shit. That machine doesn't
belong to me. It's Tom Frost's.

My God, Lee...

Surely you know better than to bring
an enemy agent into your own home.

You gave me no choice.

You were giving her access to your
innermost vulnerabilities

forcing them on her,
for God's sake!

But what am I gonna tell him?

What's your assessment
of the situation?

Did Frost know that his machine
was an Interzonal agent?

He and his wife appear to have
a close connection

with the indigenous population here.

His wife.
Yeah, yeah! Of course!

The key is Joan Frost.

You will seduce her, and you will
discover the substance of her report

and deliver it directly to me.

Seduce her? But what about Kiki
and the Interzone boys?

- My cover.
- It'll work beautifully, Bill.

The opposition will be thrown
into total confusion.

- Tom's gone out with the boys.
- I came to see you.

There's a great restaurant
in New York looks just like this.

Oh, really?

- You write in longhand.
- Yes.

I'm not good with machines.
They intimidate me.

- I think I broke Tom's typewriter.
- The Martinelli?

- He'll be furious.
- Does he have another one?

Yes, he has that one,
the Mujahideen. It's Arabic.

- Does he use it much?
- Not much.

What happened to the Martinelli?

I probably just threw it
on the floor and smashed it.

Probably? You don't know?

I suffer from...
sporadic hallucinations.

Join the club.

Do you intend to kill
Tom's Mujahideen?

Only in self-defense.

I understood writing
could be dangerous.

I didn't realize the danger
came from the machinery.

- What are you talking about?
- I'll show you.

- Are you gonna write something
in Arabic? - No. You are.

I don't like using Tom's things.

We don't trespass on each other.

Do you have any objection
to trying some of this?

I can't read it. Is it erotic?

It's... fairly erotic.

- Kind of uncivilized.
- More erotic.

- Filthier. - Filthier? Okay.
All you think about.

Ooh, this is very good.

Joan. Oh, Joan...

Mrs. Frost! This is an evil
and insane thing that you are doing.

You must stop it at once!

Pull up your hair.

Who's that?

My housekeeper.

It's my Mujahideen.

For God's sake!

It jumped of its own accord.
You did see that, didn't you?

Joan, are you all right?
What happened?

Fadela stormed in here,

and she threw your typewriter
out the window.

That's it.
The woman has to go.

She certainly seemed deadly to me.

I knew it.

Look, Tom. Look.

This is how Fadela's been
controlling you, Joan.

Your blood, your pubic hair,
your fingernails.

Fadela controls nobody,
and you know it.

We have forced control upon her.

Poor woman's probably desperate
to get out of our household.

No, missus.
She's making you say everything,

even that.

You must find all of these in your
house. You must destroy them.

Bill,
I'm going to need my Martinelli.

I feel desperately insecure
without a typewriter in the house.

Yes, I haven't had a chance
to try it out yet, Tom.

I was kind of hoping.

I'll leave Hafid here with you,
Joanie, in case Fadela comes back.

Bill and I will go to his place
and pick up the Martinelli now.

I'll go with Bill. You two
stay here. I need to get out.

Fadela's within 30 feet of us.
See if you can find her.

There. She's right there.

That thing she's cutting up...
have you ever seen that before?

No. Looks like some kind
of sea creature, I think.

All those women...
they work for her.

In a sense.
They're all Fadela's lovers.

I'm going to have to.

I'm gonna have to stay here
with Fadela... do penance.

I've been instructed
to reveal to you

that you were programmed
to shoot your wife, Joan Lee.

It was not an act
of free will on your part.

Hey!

Who the fuck asked ya?

You worry me, Bill.
You cause me many anxious moments.

Oh, gee, I hope
you're not losing any sleep.

No need to be nasty, Bill.
There was some thought

that you might actually want
to hear this information,

that it might assuage your guilt.

Save the psychoanalysis
for your grasshopper friends.

You have to admit,
it was a pretty tasty setup, Bill.

Joan marries you as part of her
agent's cover, not realizing

that you were the very enemy agent
assigned to kill her.

As elegant as it is brilliant.

Wait a minute.

You're saying that Joan was sent by
Interzone Incorporated to marry me?

Yeah. In fact, she was sent to you
by Fadela, who was her controller.

We did a lot of groundwork
to set you up in their files

as the prime candidate for marriage.

And it didn't matter that
I didn't know anything about it?

An unconscious agent
is an effective agent, Bill.

The situation does generate
some ethical paradoxes at times.

I'm the first to admit that.

When you bugs first approached me,

one of your associates suggested

that Joan was possibly not human.

What did he mean by that?

Women aren't human, Bill.

Or perhaps more precisely, they're
a different species from men

with different wills
and different purposes on Earth.

You know this instinctively, Bill

and it's your instincts
that make you such a good operative.

I'm talking about Joan.

If Joan Lee wasn't human,

what was she?

Well, Joan was a special case.

Joan was an elite-corps centipede.

Joan was a centipede.

- Where's my Martinelli?
- Jesus, Tom, are you nuts?

Don't fuck with me, Lee.
I want my typewriter.

A lot of people have tried
to silence me. All have failed.

Tom.

She's here

I fear it's hopeless.

All right.
We're taking your Clark Nova.

Hafid, the bag.

What's going on here?

Wait, wait! This is a heinous
mistake you're making.

- Lee, do something. Stop them.
- He's got a gun, Clark Nova.

You don't want to lose
your best agent, do ya?

You're gonna have to write
a full report, Lee.

- And I mean full. - How am I gonna
write it, in longhand?

Will you take this sack off!
This is insubordination!

You're all gonna pay for this!
Heads are gonna roll!

Your days in Interzone are numbered,
Lee.

I suggest you give up
the writing game.

Make tracks for another part
of the world.

Fuck 'em all.
Squares on both sides.

I am the only complete man
in the industry.

Bill.

Bill?

I must be hallucinating.
What are you cats doing here?

We're here to see you, Bill.
Come on.

It's probably the first time

you haven't been hallucinating
in a long time.

What are you talking about?
What are you saying?

Naturally,
I've had a few odd moments.

Everybody blacks out in Interzone.
Wouldn't you?

- Definitely.
- Sure.

What's in the pillowcase, Bill?

These are the remains
of my last writing machine.

It's been a big problem for me.

- Mind if I take a look?
- Go ahead.

Wait a minute.
Where are we going?

- Oh, man.
- How about back to your place?

- Nope.
- Why not?

I'm not safe there.
I'm a dead duck there.

We'll protect you.

You boys are kidding yourselves.

- You're babes in the woods here.
- What do you suggest?

We thought it was important for us
to help you get your book together.

Yeah, I've sent sections of it to my
publisher, and they're interested.

- All you gotta do is finish it.
- You've already done the hard part.

Book. My book?

Yeah. The one
you've been calling Naked Lunch.

Where did you put
that Bradley the Buyer routine?

- Did you find it all?
- Yeah. It's on the sofa

right next to the Hassan's Rumpus
Room riff.

- It's all right there.
- I never saw those pages before.

I truly do suspect
some sort of colossal con.

Someone's planted these pages
in your room, right?

Somebody sent all those letters
to me

and signed them with your name,
right?

A well-orchestrated cabal
could easily manage

all of these simple things,
children.

When will you learn?

They've done you a favor,
'cause this stuff

is gonna get published under your
name, and you'll have a career.

Yeah, you'll probably
get into print before we will.

For God's sake, Bill,
play ball with this conspiracy.

You're patronizing me, boys...

but I don't mind,
'cause you're so sweet to me, too.

Hey, Martin, listen to this.

"So we start for New Orleans past.

Iridescent lakes and orange
gas flares

and swamps and garbage heaps...

alligators crawling around
in broken bottles and tin cans...

neon arabesques of motels...

marooned pimps scream obscenities
at passing cars

from islands of rubbish.

New Orleans is a dead museum."

So nice.

Sound familiar, Bill?

First time I ever heard it.
Read on.

I think it's time
to discuss your philosophy

of drug use as it relates
to artistic endeavor.

I think it's time
to bring this meeting to order.

I think it's time for you boys
to share my last taste

of the true black meat.

The flesh of the giant
aquatic Brazilian centipede.

So we're still here
in Interzone with Bill, right?

- That's right. - Now we're gonna
travel back to the city, right?

That's right, Hank.

I think Bill's on top
of things here, don't you?

He has a grip on a certain
unique reality principle, yes.

I think you both should consider
staying here for a few months.

Everything you could want
is cheap and plentiful here.

That reality principle thing
could work for you, too.

My mother's all alone,
and she's kind of sick, Bill.

And besides, my book's as
all-American as football.

Couldn't finish it here.

America is not a young land.

It is old... and dirty and evil.

Before the settlers,
before the Indians.

The evil is there waiting.

What about you, Martin?

Maybe you can move into my place.
What do you think?

Stay until you finish the book,
but then come back to us.

You'll be okay?

Yeah. Don't worry about me.
The Zone is full of surprises.

The Zone takes care of its own.

William?

You look terrible.
What are you doing here?

I don't know. I don't know.

I just...

My only fr...
My only friends in the world.

I'm afraid
I'll never see 'em again.

I'm feeling so...

Severed.

Come with me. Take me home.

I can't go home.
I can't go home.

Is that your typing machine there?

Foutu.

Broken... beyond repair.

If we fix the typing machine

we also fix the life.

There. You see?
There's no cause for despair.

In this shop, anything can be fixed
that is broken.

I don't know, Kiki.

They don't seem to be capable
of delicate work here.

You must have faith, William.

Look.
We have your new writing machine.

Not bad. Not bad.
Not bad.

I feel very comfortable
working with you.

I like that sense of camaraderie
in an agent.

You must be progressing.

My predecessor felt you had an
ambivalent relationship with him.

- You mean Clark Nova.
- Yes.

How is he?

He's still in the hands
of our enemies.

- Such are the hazards of our trade.
- A hazardous trade, yes.

Your report on the subversive
activities of Joan Frost

was a model of its type.

If you continue to develop
your skills as an operative

I think a top position
with the C.I.A. is not out of reach.

The C.I.A.?
You really think so?

You have the demeanor.
That's something you can't buy.

The C.I.A.

That's a career you can really
sink your teeth into. It has...

resonance.

But giving yourself over
to being a writer...

This stuff is very potent.

The two are very closely related.

So you boys keep telling me.

Well, what's my next assignment?

- I'm hungry for adventure.
- Excellent.

You know the Swiss dandy Cloquet?

- Yes.
- And?

I think he's a faggito
and won't admit it.

That ought to make it all easier.

You will seduce
or otherwise compromise Cloquet.

We have it on good authority
that he's our conduit to Benway.

- Dr. Benway, M.D., Ph.D.?
- Self-styled.

He never actually made it
through medical school.

He runs an interesting
little show here

which he calls Interzone, Inc.
Pretentious, if you ask me.

Benway's behind Interzone, Inc.?

The base of his pyramid
is a drug called the black meat.

- The pyramid's tip...
- Is?

Well, we'd like to know.

Dr. Benway.

- Of course.
- Yes.

And he's obviously got
sensational cover.

He's floated in and out
of the Zone for years

without anybody actually
ever seeing him.

- But now the pressure's on to place
an agent close to him. - Me.

Assessments are being made.

- You're working away, William?
- Yes, Kiki.

The machine turns out
to be a very good one.

Muy simpatico.

And I have you to thank for it

and so I will.

Thank you.

I'm very proud
to be your friend, you know.

I'm very proud
that I can help you to be a writer.

You have done that, Kiki.
You really have.

- Would you like some tea?
- That would be lovely, William.

Kiki.

Do you know Cloquet?

The Swiss man with the big house
on the Old Valley Road?

Cloquet?

Oh, yes, yes.
Yves with the wonderful car.

He has a wonderful car?

The most wonderful car.

Enjoying the ride?

I'm wild about it, yes.
Thank you.

It's good to be wild sometimes.

You know, I have often thought
of that funny story you told me

the first time we met on the beach.

The one about the Duc de Ventre.

At first I didn't know
how to take it.

I thought you were making
a pass at me.

Did I ever tell you about the man
who taught his asshole to talk?

His whole abdomen would move
up and down, you dig,

farting out the words.

It was unlike anything I ever heard.
Bubbly, thick, stagnant sound.

A sound you could smell.

This man worked for the carnival,
you dig?

And to start with it was
like a novelty ventriloquist act.

After a while,
the ass started talking on its own.

He would go in
without anything prepared

and his ass would ad-lib and toss
the gags back at him every time.

Then it developed sort
of teeth like

little raspy incurving hooks
and started eating.

He thought this was cute at first
and built an act around it...

but the asshole would eat
its way through his pants

and start talking on the street
shouting out it wanted equal rights.

It would get drunk, too,

and have crying jags.
Nobody loved it.

And it wanted to be kissed,
same as any other mouth.

Finally, it talked all the time,
day and night.

You could hear him for blocks,

screaming at it to shut up,
beating at it with his fists

and sticking candles up it, but...

nothing did any good,
and the asshole said to him,

"It is you who will shut up
in the end, not me,

because we don't need you
around here anymore.

I can talk and eat and shit."

After that, he began waking up
in the morning

with transparent jelly like a
tad pole's tail all over his mouth.

He would tear it off his mouth and
the pieces would stick to his hands

like burning gasoline jelly
and grow there.

So, finally, his mouth sealed
over and the whole head

would have amputated spontaneously
except for the eyes, you dig?

That's the one thing that
the asshole couldn't do was see.

It needed the eyes.

Nerve connections were blocked
and infiltrated and atrophied.

So, the brain couldn't give
orders anymore.

It was trapped inside the skull...
sealed off.

For a while, you could see...
the silent,

helpless suffering
of the brain behind the eyes.

And then finally
the brain must have died

because the eyes went out

and there was no more feeling
in them

than a crab's eye
at the end of a stalk.

You seem to like my little friend.
I'm so glad.

I'm writing a business piece
on corporate life in North Africa.

Oh, my, my.
We are fragile today, aren't we?

- He has to get to know you first.
- Oh, does he?

Well, let's see what we can do,
then.

Kiki, will you come
and see the parrots with me?

There are cages
in the master bedroom.

I don't think I can,
Mr. Cloquet.

That is, I don't really want to.

I'd particularly like
to interview a certain Dr. Benway.

Kiki doesn't seem to find
my parrots attractive anymore.

Isn't that sad?

Kiki would love to play
with your parrots, Yves,

but Kiki is as anxious to contact
this Benway character as I am.

Fadela, the witch who works
for the Frosts,

she and Benway are... intimates.

You didn't hear it from me.

Kiki?

Go see the fucking parrots,
will you, Kiki? I gotta take a piss.

Then I'll come and get you,
and we'll go home.

Pissoir's at the end
of the great hall.

Hello, Bill. What's up?

Something the matter?

You seem distracted.

I wish you'd say something.

- I don't like this mood. Are we
going out? - You're going out.

Why don't you just write something
and calm yourself down?

You're obviously not
in a professional state of mind.

Maybe I should write about
your little double cross.

You expected me to end up in that
parrot cage with Cloquet, didn't you?

Bill, are you thinking
of getting rid of me?

I think an exchange of hostages
is the only viable scenario.

No, Bill, if you get rid of me
you sever ties with reality.

For instance, take the case of...
Of the female agent

who forgot her real identity
and merged with her cover story.

She is still a fricoteuse
in Annexia.

And incidentally, you can make
a square, heterosex citizen queer

with this angle using drugs...

Tom, I've brought you
a new typewriter

which conveniently dispenses
two types of intoxicating fluids

when it likes what you've written.

Are you proposing to trade back
for your Clark Nova?

Thinking of it.

Has it written
anything good for you lately?

No. It's too damned
all-American for my taste.

Guess I've gone foreign
or something.

Well, my Mugwriter here
is so foreign, it's almost alien.

You're gonna do your best work
on her. Guaranteed.

Hafid,

bring the machine in question
for Bill, will you?

And how are you enjoying
your affair with Joan?

Literate, complex and neurotic,
I would imagine.

I haven't seen her for weeks.

- She ran off with Fadela
and her coven. - That's too bad.

Yes, she does that
when she feels attracted to a man.

Don't give up though.
It's a good sign.

With Joanie
the courtship period

can involve years
of passionate ambivalence.

Tom, I think we should take
a close look at his machine first,

test it thoroughly.
Don't you, Tom?

You both have different
writing styles.

Bill Lee has always been a man
of powerful instinct, Hafid.

If he says I'll do
my best work on his machine,

I'm sure that's prophecy.

Take the gun, too, Bill.

No American should find himself
in a foreign land without a pistol.

You wouldn't be trying to set me up
again, would you?

You've set yourself up
already, Bill.

I'm just trying to give you
a fighting chance. That's all.

Clark Nova.

Clark Nova, it's me.

It's Bill Lee.
Clark Nova, speak to me.

You're safe with me now.

They tortured me.
Did unspeakable things to me.

I'm on my last legs.
The bastards.

Clark Nova, where is Joan?
Where's Joan?

Hans's old drug factory
in the medina.

Fadela is there.

Fadela is your point of penetration
into Interzone, Inc.

Fadela.

What do I do
when I find her?

You'll know what to do
when the time comes.

Just remember this...

all agents defect
and all resisters sell out.

That's the sad truth, Bill.

And a writer... a writer lives
the sad truth like anyone else.

The only difference is...
he files a report on it.

Leave me now,
before it's too late.

But wait. What about Joan?
What about Joan?

Go now!
Vaya con dios.

Clark Nova. Clark Nova!

Hurry. Hurry.

Come on.

Your notes must be much more
carefully detailed

to be of any use to us.
You must write very clearly.

The effects of the drugs
must be cataloged

with painstaking accuracy.

Joan.

Bill.

Oh, Bill.

What is that?
What are you writing?

I'm writing...

"All is lost.

All is lost."

It's all I've ever written.

No.

Oh, Joan.

We have to see Fadela.

Take me to Fadela.

Lee, you're here.
Thank God. Thank God.

You see, my misdemeanor
has borne sweet fruit.

Now you are with us.

I was right to approach you
so brazenly.

And now Dr. Benway
will have no choice...

- Benway.
- Benway.

You'll see.

I got to say I'm proud of you, sir.

It took you a while,
but you got us red-handed.

Full marks, boy. Full marks.

I expected to see an operation
all out for the black meat here.

What's with all the Mugwump jism?

The black meat concession
turns out to have

some unfortunate political
strings attached.

We've just cut those strings.

From now on, Interzone is strictly
Mugwump territory.

As you can see,
we've made a flying start here

with our modest dispensary.

I can feel the heat
closing in on you, Fadela.

Feel them out there making
their moves, you dig?

Fadela.

You mean this old thing.

Benway!

We met once before, remember?
Stateside.

You don't remember.
You had that look, boy.

The look of a...
sheep-killing dog.

Decided to recruit you
right on the spot.

I'm afraid I was forced
by the tenor of the times

to prescribe that wretched black
meat powder to start you off on...

but the hole-in-the-wall operation,
limited resources...

you understand the problems.

But I understand from Cloquet that
you're on to our good stuff now.

Mugwump jism can't be beat.

And as you can see, we've got
ourselves a few more friends now.

And a few more dollars, too.

This little... Fadela number
is something I developed

during my tenure as chief physician
to the prime minister of Annexia.

"El Primo" liked to walk the streets
amongst his people in drag, and...

Well,
one thing led to another.

It-s an elegant way to strike terror
into the hearts of the enemy,

wouldn't you say?

Old Fadela must be on the rag.

She's been acting subversive lately.

Speaking of new uses
for old technology,

I think the new order could find
a place for a man of your caliber.

A 32, wasn't it?

That is what you're here for,
isn't it?

Hell... I could use a reliable man
to send to Annexia.

We're expanding, boy.
I need a spearhead.

Just tell me what you want.

I want her.

Her?

That purulent little cunt?
What for?

I can't write without her.

Bill, I feel confident that
you and I can work something out.

Papers, please.

What is the purpose of your visit
and what is your profession?

I write reports. I'm a writer

and I intend to write reports
on life in Annexia

for the citizens of the U.S.A.

Do you have any proof
of what you say?

How do we know
you are really a writer?

- I have a writing device.
- That's not good enough.

Show us.

- Show you.
- Write something.

- Write something.
- Yes.

Write something.

Joan. Joan.

What is it, Bill?
Are we there yet?

Almost, Joan.

But I guess it's about time
for our William Tell routine.

Sure, Bill.

Welcome to Annexia.

Yes. Welcome to Annexia.