All language subtitles for dan parz

My name is mine!

And you're all full of shit!

Noah Arkwright,
you fucking useless,

miserable piece of shit!

Arrogant, pathetic,

self-indulgent
motherfucking cunt!

Which,

although grammatically
kind of all over the place,

is a pretty accurate
character assessment.

But then Ray is
my best mate.

You'd expect him to
know me quite well.

My name's Noah Arkwright...

and I want my mum.

I'm just supplying
the disease, aren't I?

The rest is just
plain old storytelling.

Look at you,
practicing your pithy quotes

-for the press release.

There you go.

Yeah, hello?

Yeah, it is, yeah.

Thank you.

Kirstin's dead.

I've gotta go.

She's...?

Ray?

Shit my pants.

In just under 25 minutes,

I've got to stand in front of
baggy there

and his unimaginatively
centrally cast,

overeducated middle English
fuckwit pals

and read out loud
from my latest screenplay,

and I'm fucking terrified.

I also feel
a little bit of a prat

'cause I tried to drunkenly
peroxide my hair

at a party last week,
and I've ended up with

this kind of dead ginger
guinea pig thing on me head.

Anyway, fuck it.

Since my last two films,

I've got quite major
cult status at the moment,

so looking weird
probably adds to

the whole rebel aspect
of my coolness.

Hey, I don't make up
the rules.

And being the hottest
new filmmaker

to come out of the U.K.
in years

may be a very
heady epithet,

but can I cut
the academic mustard?

Are they just wasting their
money on some inarticulate fake

whose main credentials are
good art house box office

and critical reviews in
obscure foreign journals?

Always a healthy indicator
of class

if some renowned critic in
Gdansk thinks you're cool.

I am also drunk.

I hit the station bar at
King's Cross big style,

and I've got seven
double vodkas in me.

Very nice vodka, I like it.

Aah... nice one, Noah!
Thanks, man.

You charmer.

In my pocket is
a half bottle of scotch,

and in my head
there are two Valium,

and quarter of
clinically pure cocaine.

I know this condition well.

It's usually
the last scene before

the alcohol and chemical
oblivion scene.

Oh, God...

There's a bench
right in front of you,

you blind drunk bastard.

Anyway, this is where
I met Kirstin.

She was a corn-fed piece of
undergraduate perfection

taking her beautiful breasts on
a gently bouncing journey

across the quad to listen to
me and my genius.

And I was definitely gonna
fuck her.

-Decided that on the spot.

My celebrity status would
take care of that.

It'd be the thing that'd
keep me focused

for the next hour.
Good.

Salvation in the shape of
a surefire fuck.

This was turning into
my kind of gig.

Just what the doctor
ordered.

Up yours, doc.

Aah...!

Stay strong!
Work with me!

We're nearly there!

Now I'm gonna take
an uneducated stab in

the psychological dark that
it doesn't work like that.

Noah, mate.

Take a look at the magazine.

Yeah?

Look, she comes from
the same manor as you.

Her quartet are playing the
Fleming Hall tomorrow afternoon

and you are gonna go
and see her play

and you are gonna take her
out for a nice cup of tea

after the show.

Despite the fact that neither
of us have ever met this girl,

you've decided that
this is a great idea

based on this one
article, have you?

Yes, I have,
'cause I can feel it.

I don't what it is...

but I can feel it
very strongly.

Yeah, I saw that too,

but then I'm
pretty fucked up--

I don't know what
your excuse is.

And this woman is
playing her cello

in a place that floats

somewhere between
heaven and earth.

Fluid alabaster.

I know every single person in
the room saw that smile,

but I decide it's only meant
for me, of course...

Because I'm a wanker.

Totally out of my league.

What the fuck
am I doing here?

Ray, what have
you got me into?

Maybe she never got
the note.

Yeah, they never actually
pass 'em on,

these stage door
jobsworths, anyway.

It's straight in
the rubbish bin

as soon as you're
out of sight.

Good, well,
that's good.

Probably for the best.

Noah?

Noah Arkwright?

I'm Clare Mattheson.

And somehow I knew
in that moment

that she'd be in my life
forever.

Bit pukey-pukey,
I know, but...

Where the fuck am I?

Oh, corn-fed perfection,
it's you.

Things are looking up.

Wonder how I got here.

Wonder if I fucked you.

I wonder how to possibly
ask that one.

Oh, my fucking head.
Oh, Jesus Ronnie H.

Fucking Corbett!

Keep the noise down,
you prick,

you'll wake Gustav.

And who the cunting hell
is Gustav

when he's not propping up
a bar in Kiev?

He's my son, you...
dipso nonhead.

At your service...

Stop staring and say sorry,
you twat.

Hey, did we, uh...

No, we most certainly
did not.

Oh.

How you even made it through
the reading

is a freak
of nature.

Hey, I'm a pro,
what can I tell you?

Oh...

Oh...

Oh, God help me.

Fucking Jesus fucking Christ
help me.

He will if you let him.

Oh, that's all we need,
a divine inter-bloody-vention.

I think you think you're
funny, Noah. You're not.

You're unfunny.
You're an arsehole.

You're an unfunny arsehole.

Well, we're all agreed
on that, then.

Hey, Gus.

Thanks for the crib, man.

I'm... sorry I kind of, uh,
power-puked

on your power men
here a little bit.

I'll make it up to you,
though.

I'll, uh...

I'll, uh, come round and...

uh... bake you a cake
or something.

Oh, Jesus...

You ready for this,
Noah?

I don't even know
what this is, do I?

Didn't even know you
18 hours ago.

You know what this is, Noah.

You have an off-the-chart
drink problem.

How do I know?
I used to have one,

so I know
what they look like.

You were sent to me
so that I could save you.

Oh, wow, look how I won
the top prize.

Shook a seven and ended up
with Mother Teresa's

little fucking helper.

Noah...

yesterday's history,
tomorrow's a mystery.

Is it? Oh, well, I'll bear that
in mind, shall I?

When you get inside, Noah,
just remember,

look for the similarities,
not the differences.

What, like, "Oh, that's bloke's
got the same jacket on as me"?

Oh, I did pack some
spare coke after all.

Oh, Noah, you really are
a clever,

naughty little druggie.

-Ready?
-Yeah.

Yeah, I am, I'm ready.
I am.

And listen, thank you
very much indeed, okay?

Come on.

Come on, let's do it,
shall we?

I'm ready,
let's have it.

Ah...

It is... showtime.

welcome to the
St. Stephen's Thursday morning

step meeting for
Alcoholics Anonymous.

Can we start with
a moment of silence

to remember why we're here,

and those still-suffering
alcoholics

who've not yet made it
into these rooms?

Who the fuck's
he waving at?

He wants fucking loonies
anonymous, doesn't he?

It's a tradition that
we go round the room

and introduce ourselves so we
can put a name to a face.

And remember,
if it's your first time,

just sit back, listen,

try not to be afraid,

and look for the similarities,
not the differences.

Oh, someone else got
the new pages

under her door last night.

Okay?

Hi, my name is Darren

and... I'm an alcoholic.

Hi, Darren.

Hi, Darren.

Hello, everyone, I'm Marion
and I'm an alcoholic.

Hi, Marion.

Hi, my name is Tom
and I'm an alcoholic.

-Hi, Tom.
-Tom the alkie.

Hello, my name's Kirstin
and... I'm an alcoholic.

Hi, Kirstin.

Oh, my go?

My name is mine!

And you're all full of shit!

No point following
the chase, right?

We all know the next bit.

This is where we came in,
as they used to say.

Okay, Mr. Arkwright.

Fuck knows
how I got here.

I'm not even sure
I'm alive.

Could murder a scotch,
though, I do know that.

Or even a cuppa.

Sadly, neither seem to be
on offer here.

I get the feeling I'm in
the "home truths" suite

of the "sit down and
fucking listen" motel.

-And sure enough...
-Let me give it to you straight.

Here it comes.
The state of my union address.

-Your liver is enlarged.
-Uh-huh.

Your prostate is enlarged.

Your testicles are enlarged.

So tempted to go for
the cheap quip here.

Is that a fact?
Big fucking... testicles?

But I don't fancy
a bollocking

from doc eyebrows
in the state I'm in,

so I stay schtum.

There are traces of blood
in your urine.

-Your nostrils are enlarged.
-Really?

And your septum
has more holes in it

than a cheese grater.

Shit, a gag from the doc.
I can respect that.

Your blood alcohol level
is off the scale.

I'd fucking hope so,
the money I've spent on it, doc.

However... your blood
pressure is very low,

almost reptilian.

Who cast this cunt?

Which I suspect is one of
the few reasons

you're still alive.

So, in words of
one syllable, then,

you know, just...

Mr. Arkwright, I am not
in the business of

making fun of ill health.

So instead of indulging you
in your dismissive attitude,

I will be blunt with you.

Do not be fooled by this
semi-healthy outward appearance,

which may fool your
film friends...

Which it does.

Not that I've got that many
film friends,

or any other type of friends,
for that matter.

Let me be absolutely
clear with you.

If you do not stop this
idiotic consumption,

you will be dead
in three years.

Do you understand
what I'm telling you?

Three years.

Be lucky to get
two more films made,

maybe only one.

Please,
someone give me a drink.

I need a drink--
No, you don't.

Yes, I do--
No, you don't.

Yes, I do.

Ask yourself, Noah,

"Am I not sick and tired of
being sick and tired?"

My name is Noah
and I'm an alcoholic.

I want to say it out loud but
I'm too sick and too tired.

So all I can do is...

Oh, fucking hell...

Please say cut on this scene,
please, for fuck's sake?

Will you just fucking cut?
Please cut, cut, cut...

Just fucking cut, will you?

I get it, I get it, I get it,
I get it, I get it,

I fucking get it.
I'm fucked up, all right?

I'm fucked up! I get it!
I fucking get it!

Cut, all right? Cut!
I'm the fucking director!

And I say fucking cut, doctor!
Cut! Cut!

Yes, he agrees
he needs treatment.

He's happy to come
immediately.

No, I'll get him there.

Thank you, doctor.

You were at the meeting, Ray.
How, how? How did you--

What were you doing
at the meeting?

How did you get to
the meeting?

I mean, you live
fucking miles away, man.

What is this, some kind of
a conspiracy or something?

Kirstin found my number
on an old call sheet

inside your pocket.

Called me last night.

I had no idea Ray was
your best friend.

But it shows
another way that

destiny's
trying to help you.

There are no coincidences,
Noah.

And with that sexy little
addition to the sloganography,

they looked at each other with
this strange kind of oneness.

It was pretty sickly,

like they'd known each other
for years, not hours.

I didn't want to freak you
out in the meeting,

so, you know, I just
kept my head down.

Now there's nothing to hide,
is there?

I've been in the program
for a while now.

Ever since Greece.

You know,
the calamari deal.

Remember?

About 18 months ago,

we were down in Greece,
me and Ray.

We'd been picking up some
second unit footage

for a movie of the week,
which we didn't really need.

So after a day shooting
various fishermen

unloading all kinds of
smelly fish,

we settled down for
a hard day's night

of drinking ouzo...
and about anything else

they cared to set
in front of us.

-Oh!

Now, Ray is going at it
for Great Britain,

but I'm pacing myself
because

I think I might be in with old
white blouse over there.

See you later, Ray.

Which turns out
to be correct.

Next morning,
I'm a little bit fuzzy,

but I've been
healthily pumped,

and that always helps
the hangover--

I don't know why,
but it does.

Must be an endorphin thing.

Obviously,
Johnny endorphin

enjoys a good shag
like the rest of us

and he passes on
the good faith by

letting you off in
the hangover department.

Great fucking deal
if you ask me.

Not that I'm surprised.

Ah, kalimera.

Kalimera.
Hey, you seen him?

Calamari!

Calamari!

Then he starts waving
his hands about

like an idiot, yelling...

Calamari!

Kalimerais
"good morning."

This is calamari!

Kalameri. Kalameri.

-Ooh...
-All right, Ray man?

Oh... No, look,
no, no, look,

he's smiling.

Look, kissy...
Give us a kiss.

-Go on, mate, have at it.

Oh, give us a kiss.

And he gives it a great
big smacker.

Which the squid
obviously liked,

'cause he responded
with equal affection.

And that's when I knew
it was serious.

It's like something
out of theAlien.

Ray was shit-scared.
I mean, he couldn't breathe.

And this little fucker
wasn't letting go.

Get off him, man!
Fucking get off him!

Ray, fucking breathe,
man, breathe!

-Fucking--

It was horrible.

Come on, man, get off him!

It took all of
the fisherman's strength

to pull that little bastard
off of Ray's face.

Get off him!

Oh, fuck.

-Ray, Ray, Ray--
-Fuck off!

Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray!

Come here, mate,
it's all right.

Ray, it's all right,
come here.

And he sobbed like I've never
heard a man sob before

or since.

Except myself.

And right now here was Ray
telling me it was that day

he realized he had to
kill the booze

or it would kill him.

And since then, he's always had
a string of ready-to-go reasons

why he couldn't
come out for a drink,

which I never really
questioned at the time.

So, dots were joined.

take care now.

It's the best thing that ever
happened to you, mate, trust me.

Why didn't you
tell me, Ray?

You should have fucking
told me--

You should have
fucking told me!

Sorry.

I love you, mate.

You bet your sweet life
I'm looking for a bar.

Any joint with
a pulse'll do.

don't think I'm going to
the alkie home

without a livener
in me, do you?

For a good 20 high-tension
minutes, there's nothing.

I can feel the panic
rising.

And I resort to the prayer
of the condemned man.

Dear God, just one last time,
please.

Then I'll be good forever
and ever, amen.

Oh, you little beauty!

Pull over here and wait.

Ten minutes,
all that's required.

Ha!

Four tequila doubles
with salt and lime.

Oh, fucking hell!

Oh, fucking hell.

Tequila! Tequila!

I now have four liquid worms
in my gut

and a bush fire
starting in my veins.

And in a typical alcohol-fueled
fit of self-congratulation,

I decide that in spite of
all the woes,

I haven't done bad for a
snake-belted, gray-shorted,

motherless snotty kid from a
council estate in Workington.

When I was seven,

I went to live
with my aunt and uncle,

and one day this gypsy came
and read my palm.

She said I would go far
from this place

and in my middle years
I would become very ill,

and how right she was.

Whatever big city or
high-falutin' situation

I've been in since then,

I've crawled back into
that hole in the road

every night,
drunk, drugged

and feeling that
nameless fear.

If I carry on with
the pattern,

I'll make the second half of
the gypsy's prediction

come true.

Might even go mid-line,
mid-swig, mid-fuck.

Or maybe all three.

Or maybe all fucking three,
mate, eh?

Maybe all fucking three.

What do you think
about that?

I'm going to rehab, mate,
I'm going to rehab.

Fucking rehab
they've sent me to.

Fucking rehab.

I don't wanna go, frankly.

But I must still want to live,
mustn't I,

or else I
wouldn't be in this cab

traveling up the gravel drive
to the funny farm

and all points beyond.

And just then,
a little bit of Becket

pops uninvited
into my head.

I decide to share.

"Perhaps my best years
are gone,

"when there was
a chance of happiness,

"but I wouldn't want them back,

not with the fire in me now."

Oh, my God, Noah,

you pretentious
cunting fuckwad!

Hello, there.

Oh, hello, love.
I didn't hear you come back.

I was bloody miles away there.

I was having a little--
a little reminisce.

Listen, Noah, Etta and I

are going to go to the cottage
for the weekend.

Now, don't be angry.

Why would I be angry?

I am angry.

What the fuck is she going
down there with Etta for?

She knows I'm threatened
by Etta and her,

oh, so safe in the knowledge
of her lot in life

"Second violin. I could have
been first violin,

but I chose
the supporting role"

bullshit she doesn't mean
a fucking word of.

Noah, everything's all right,
isn't it?

You're not keeping
anything from me?

No, of course not, why?

Because you've been pretty
bloody strange recently,

even for you.

Tell her now.
Tell her.

Tell her the cancer's back.

Yeah, I know, I'm sorry,
it's-- it's just these

fucking tossers at
the film council.

You know they like to
play God with you.

It just winds me up.
I'm sorry.

Okay. I'm gonna ask you.

Are you having an affair?

You see, I knew she'd
bloody think this.

No. I am so not having
an affair, Clare, actually,

thanks a lot, no.

Then you must be
drinking again.

No!

Jesus, you are
such a nightmare.

Everything else is all right?

Here's your chance.
Tell her.

Yeah. Yeah, my-- yeah, um,
health's fine, I'm fine.

Well, then, what the fuck
is wrong with you? Huh?

This should be one of the
happiest times of our lives!

Our second child's on the way,
you're well,

I'm sawing,
money's no problem.

Jesus Christ, Noah,
I even want you!

I'm even horny!

Every time I come near you, you
look at me like I'm radioactive!

Don't go to the cottage,
Clare, please.

Oh, it's all arranged.
You get Coral from school.

You know, and maybe
you should think about

going to one of
those meetings

where you do whatever it is
you do to change,

'cause you are fucking
impossible at the moment!

Tell them I told you so!

I love you!

With every inch
of my heart.

Tell her.

I know you do.

But do you understand
what it means?

Yes.

Oh, shit, why didn't I
tell her as soon as I knew?

We'd have had choices then.

But how could I?

Timing just couldn't have
been worse.

Oh, whoopti boopti
fucking boo.

Welcome back, guys.

Missed ya.

Darling?

Got something to tell you.

Yeah, me too.

You first.

No, no, you.

Okay.

I'm pregnant again.

And the scene is
frozen in time

for a hundred
thousand years.

The chemo last year had
basically been a neutron bomb

making instant corpses of
billions of sperm,

and now this,
the against-all-odds one.

Oh, he giveth and he taketh
fucking away, all right,

old God,
I'll give him that.

He's got that fucker down.

Noah, you happy?

Of course I am, darling.

God, that's fantastic!
I'm happy as a sandboy!

-Me too, sandgirl.
-Sandboy, sandgirl.

-Oh, God, that's fantastic.

Oh--
Oh, that's fantastic.

-Go on, your go.
-What?

You wanted to say something.

Oh, God, no, no, no.
Pales into insignificance

in the presence of such
loftiness, darling.

Oh, no, come on, come on.

I don't want to steal
the front page.

No, take it, it's yours,
don't worry about it.

Mine was only on page seven
at the very, very best,

I promise you.

-Oh, oh, I should call Etta.
-Oh, yeah.

-Do you mind?
-No, no, course not.

Go on, call her.

No, she's your mate.
Go and call her.

Yeah, that was the day,
all right.

Not long after
Billy Bob's brother

had given me his present,
I got another one.

I'd got Clare
to come to Morocco

on such a line
of bullshit.

It was only our second meeting
over coffee.

Going to shoot in
Morocco, so...

-Morocco?
-Yeah.

How exciting.

-What's the film called?
-It's called Kobo.

I've been working on it for
about six months now.

Liar.

Um, got a big studio
behind me.

Bullshit,
you fucking big liar.

And a major actor--
afraid I can't tell you who,

'cause of the old,
you know--

wants to play the lead part.

You could be a major actor,
Arkwright,

this is such crapola.

It all sounds great.

You must be very highly
thought of.

Me? Oh, yeah, I'm one of
life's most celebrated

horseshit peddlers.

Anyway, um...

Go on, then, get to
the knicker-wetting bit. Ask her.

I wondered if you might
want to come with me.

Not a good idea.

There's a man who follows
my career very closely.

He sends me a red rose
for every performance.

I've never met him.

What the fuck is she
telling me this now for?

He's asked me to
meet him in Paris.

Okay, you better deal with
this, big boy, okay?

Deal with this immediate
jealousy and anger

you are feeling.

A red rose
every performance,

I'll kill the motherfucker.

Oh, uh, when?

Weekend after next perhaps.

Do it now, dipshit.

Say something magnanimous

or you will blow this
right here and now.

Well, P-Paris is beautiful,
isn't it, you know what I mean?

Even in March.

Absolutely fucking useless,
you twat.

Horrible,
just plain horrible.

Go again, this time
with feeling.

Noah...

Sorry?

Something happened between us
when we first met.

Something
that could become very big.

You felt it too,
didn't you?

Yeah, I felt it, yeah.

Well, then you will know
that I must go to Paris

and see this man and...

And she lets it
hang there.

Bloody, hell, she's good,
I'll give her that.

Classy. And she wants me
to condone it.

But I can't,
I can't say it,

I can't say,
"Of course, you must go

and spend some time
with the rose man of Paris.

Go, go, please,
with my blessing."

I hope his dick is
two inches long

and he has a curious
lupus-type affliction

which manifests itself
by his head falling off

at inopportune moments.

Then I get a rare moment
of inspiration.

Ha! Genius!

Here you are,
Robert Doisneau.

Snap this photo,
you French fuck,

and slap it in your
album de Paris.

Thank you, Noah.

You know,
for a moment there,

I thought you were gonna
handle it badly.

Clare came to Morocco
with me,

and in between Essaouira
and Marrakesh,

we made love
for the first time.

In truth, the reason I'm
still awake is that

I realized that I made love
for the first time...

ever.

More pukey-pukey, I know,
but it's true.

I, Noah the fuckmeister,

the man who in
any emotional storm

would dock his cock in
any vaginal port

had never actually made
love to a woman before.

Penny for them.

I was just thinking,
today's my birthday, you know.

It's April first.

Huh.

Which one of us is the fool
today, I wonder?

Well...

I feel like...

all of the world's fools...

and all of the smartest men
that ever lived...

all in one body.

-Good night, Noah.
-Good night.

-Happy birthday.
-Thank you.

Ah...

Whoa, tilt!

Hey, bartender,
what the fuck is this?

Blood in urine
with a twist?

Hang on-- deja piss.
Why does this ring a bell?

Oh, yeah, the Tribeca twins
a few weeks ago.

What the fuck is that?

"Cranberries."
"Cranberries?"

"Yeah."
"If you say so."

Noah! Come back
and fuck us some more!

Yeah!
What's the matter with you?

Oh...

Oh, finally.

The Tribeca twins?
Okay, I'll tell you.

-Good evening, vicar.

Mind the small one.
Excuse me, can I-- Excuse me!

Ray and I met the twins when
we were shooting some footage

for a film called
Downtown Surf Story.

We were told to get
some footage of

this band called
The Turd Basket

while they were still
raw and bloody.

-Oh, oh!
-And there they were.

Rita and Connie,
the twins.

They're not really twins
but who cares?

Oh, fucking...

Hey, Ray! Ray!

Raymond! Ray!

Very erotic and very aware
of it-- I love that.

Raymond! You got some up
here, you getting it?

You got this, this...

No pretending to be cute.

"We are young, we are sexy,
we are fuckable

and we don't care
who knows it."

Oh, that is top.

Fucking excellent.

We went back to their loft
and they gave us a show.

It turns out they're
graduates from

the London Fashion
Institute and very creative.

I decided there and then they
would design the costumes

for all my films
from now on.

Show us another one, show us
another one, come on.

Oh, that's nice.

And then we shagged nonstop
for the rest of the day,

and from that day on,

I was never turned away
whenever I was in London,

and needy of some
female action of

the "how's your father?"
variety.

Oh... two thumbs up!

I got two thumbs way up.

And here I am again.

Ladies, I am--

I bid you farewell,
all right?

I'm fucking out of here, man,
you know what I mean?

It's been a great ride.

You know that.

As ever.

But something tells me
this is the last time

we will do this.

Good luck, Noah.

Come back and
see us soon.

Yeah, yeah, I will,
I'll come back

and see you soon,
all right see you.

Love you both.
I fucking love you.

Just see you later, right?
Ta. See you later.

"Or you strained yourself.
Burst a blood vessel"

"What?"
"The blood in the piss, Noah.

Probably nothing
to worry about."

"Right. Or cranberries."

Yeah, well...

-Whoa, fuckin' hell.

What's the name of this place?

Come to be an alkie!

Anyone home?

Fuck, you don't look well.

You must be Noah!

Jesus fucking Christmas!

Welcome to
Bramwell Hospital.

-What?
-Kirstin called to say

you were on your way.

We were just starting
to get worried.

Oh?

Oh, God.

Sorry!
Forgot I was wearing it!

It's our "smile revolution"
week.

A smile day
keeps the doctor away.

Uh...

I'm Harry.

Harry, do me a favor.
Fuck off, will you?

We holding hands?

All right.

Oh, here we go.
That's it, it's all right.

Nobody panic.

Fucking Nora, right?
That's all right.

These are the works of
some of our guests.

Wonderful, aren't they?

No, they're shit,
they're fucking shit.

Wa-hey, that one looks
like a vagina.

Is that a vagina?
Big vag' thing going on.

So, is that what I am now
then, Harry?

I'm a guest, am I?
Is that it?

Oh, no, not until you've
processed by Don.

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
forgot about that,

yeah, the old
processing by Don routine.

Yeah, big bad Don
and the processors.

Hell of a band they are.

Whoa! Miss Rabbit Ears,

that is a lot of drugs
you've got going on there.

Where you going with 'em?

Oh, no she's gone.

It's optional.

Yeah, and you know what else
is optional, Harry?

Cutting your own balls off with
a pair of blunt garden shears.

That's optional too.

Where do you think
Miss Rabbit Ears

parks that trolley
over night-time. Hmm?

You don't know, do you?

You'll be fine, Noah.
Don't worry.

We take our work
very seriously here.

Do you?

Let's hope so.

All right.

Oh, for fuck's sake.
All right.

Okay, fuck it.

Hello, Noah.
My name's Don.

Tell us your problem.

Well...

in for a penny
and all that.

Hello, Don.
My name's Noah,

and I am an
alcohol-abusing,

drug-crazy,
arrogant arsehole...

since you asked.

don't be
so hard on yourself.

The next couple of days
are gonna be tough.

Uh.

Tell me a little bit
about yourself.

-I'm stuck.
-Eh?

Can't think of
a single thing, not one thing.

Tequila worms are
busy in my brain,

sucking, vacuuming up
every thought in there.

I don't-- I don't know
what you mean.

Like, what do you mean?
What do you mean?

What about a funny story?

-Funny story?
-Yeah. A funny story.

Not a joke? A story?

Yeah.

Funny story, funny story,
funny, um...

I know loads
of funny stories.

Fucking hell.
I can't fucking think of one.

I did go to the pub
on the way, so hang on.

Sorry, I'm just--
Oh, uh, all right.

Well, I don't know, okay.
Funny to me.

Um...

Ray, he's my--
he's my cameraman, all right?

We met at a Black Sabbath
concert years ago.

That's a--
That's another story.

Me and him, we're on--
we're in the--

on the M6, right,
north of Birmingham,

and we are out of it.

Out of it,
totally out of control.

We've had like a six-pack of
super-strength lager,

we got a couple thinnies of
Zowie Maui sinsemilla dope

and a windowpane
of acid each.

Each.

So, Ray's driving is really
driving steady, you know,

like that, bosh,
like that.

But fuck me if the cars
are not whizzing past

at a serious miles an hour,

just mental, mental,
mental, mental.

And I don't know if it's
just my, you know,

stoned disorientation
'cause they're like fucking--

don't forget,
I'm not exactly,

you know what I mean,

going for me law degree
that afternoon.

So and then suddenly
tap, tap, tap--

Whoa.

On the fucking, on the win--
on the window--

plod.

-Man.
-Fuck.

-Yellow man.
-Fuck.

So Ray winds
the window straight down.

Copper, he says,
"What the--

What the fuck do you think
you're doing?

Ray puts on his, like--
his best, you know,

college blue voice.

He says, "Oh, I'm
terribly sorry, officer."

Were we going
a tad over the speed limit?

He says, "You drugged-up,
hippie piece of...

...drugged-up hippie
piece of shit.

"You ain't doing
any speed, wanker!"

You weren't doing any speed
at all, you wanker!

"You are standing still...

...in the fucking fast lane
of the M-bastard-6!

"Of the M-bastard-6!"

Oh, no, oh, no, no, no.
That's terrible.

We were.
We, we, we'd stopped,

we'd stopped, we'd stopped.

We must have run out of petrol
or-or-or something, you know,

and we were so fucking wiped out
and stoned out of our bonces,

we didn't even realize
we'd stopped.

And I'm-- I'm saying--

I don't know what I'm saying
to this copper.

I'm-- I've gone into--
I'm in another...

Have you got very big feet?

Oh, can I have a look
at your feet?

I'm an eight.

Although nine if you're
on the continent.

If you're incontinent.

I mean, I don't know how
they didn't lock me up

and throw away
the key on that day.

"Ecilop" if you say it
backwards.

Right, you two
out of the car now.

He was not happy.
He was not a happy camper,

this, uh, this copper.

He's cross, he's cross,
he's cross,

-he's cross, he's cross.
-Just stay there.

Okay, I'll stay.
What, here, like this?

Not you. Him. Move it!

Do I stay?
Oh, he's staying there.

-He's staying there.
-So am I still getting out?

You're getting out
of the car now!

This is just--
That wasn't there.

Lookit, um...
my leg's gone to sleep.

Well, fucking wake it up
and get out.

All right.

That's funny, actually.
Did you hear what he said?

-Yes.
-About my leg?

But anyway, so next thing,
cut to, bosh,

thank you very much.

Off you go, see the geezer
for a bit of--

You know, slapping.

So we got a bit of a wrist slap
for the drugs.

Judge is sitting there,
and he says, uh,

"I swear to God,
I don't know..."

I swear to God,
I don't know

what I'm going to charge
you boys with.

He goes, "Ah" he says,
"I've got it."

-He says--
-I've got it.

"I'm gonna charge you..."

I'm going to charge you
with dangerous parking.

"With dangerous parking."

Fucking dangerous parking
we got done with.

That's the funny story, Don.

Obviously not.

Obviously not.

Sign there, please.

I feel a bit awkward now,
Don, I'll be honest with you.

Uh... I don't know
if I want to stay here.

You'll be fine.

How can I be fine
if I'm in here?

How does that work?

We'll make you better.

Ah, fucking hell,
will you?

-Yeah.
-I didn't know if I needed--

I didn't even know I needed
to be made to feel better.

I woke up in this girl's
flat this morning.

I don't know who she Is.

I've never seen her
before in my life.

She says, "Oh,
you're an alcoholic.

Yeah, I-- Yeah, I know
what they look like. I'm one.

Well, every fucker's one.
You're one.

Go on.
Fucking go to rehab."

I mean, rehab, rehab.
I'm in rehab. This is rehab.

I like a drink.
I like a drink.

I like-- Who doesn't
like a drink?

Do you have a drink?
Do you like a drink?

I Don't-- I know.
I didn't--

You'll help me, will you?

It's gonna be fine.

You've just got to relax
and we'll be here to help you.

Right, we'll have it
then, shall we?

We'll have a portion
of rehab, shall we?

-Yeah.
-Me and you and Harry.

Sign there for rehab?
Sign there for rehab?

Me on there for rehab?

You got it.
Give us it.

Give us it. Give us it.
Give us it, then.

Can I use him,
old twizzle?

How fucked up is he?
Look at that.

I think I'm fucked up.
Look at that.

Here you go, Noah Arkwright
fucking checking in.

Thank you very much.
How about that?

-How about that, Don?
-Thank you, Noah.

You're signed and sealed,
and now Harry will deliver you.

All right. Harry!
Come on, son, we're on.

No jokes or tricks on
the fifth floor. House rules.

I never saw a man change
so quickly in my whole life.

Half an hour ago,
this bloke greeted me

like his long-lost brother.

Now the miserable sod
can't even look at me.

Bugger.

And to add
insult to injury--

Oh, that is...

I have to say, I thought
it was absolutely disgusting.

I mean, this bloke's supposed
to be a professional.

You know that was you.

I know that was you.

And all the other people in
this lift know that was you.

Poo.

Thank Christ for that.

That was a real methane
head-breaker, that was.

All right.

First thing I see is this

emaciated bloke
with a pink Mohican

playing table tennis
with himself

and a girl with
no hair on her head at all,

apart from a tuft of peroxide
blonde over each ear.

And I catch a glimpse of
myself in the mirror.

It's like I've accidentally
been cast in

a version of
Cuckoo's Nest

for people with
stupid hairdos.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, all right.
Fucking hell

Oh! Bloody hell.
Hello.

Come on, Noah.
I'll show you to your room.

-Will you?
-Yeah.

Okay, come on then.

Hey, what day does
the hairdresser come?

-What?
-No, I need to know

'cause I want
an appointment.

Oh, dear.
Hey, is it me, right,

or that Harry, is he
a fucking schizomaniac?

Please don't swear.
It's not necessary.

You shut up, you fucking
condescending bitch!

What do you know is necessary
or not, you slag?

Right, I want
a fucking large scotch

on a bloody great rock
of unstepped-on coke,

and if I don't get it
right now,

I'm gonna rip this nurse's
fucking windpipe out!

Get it?

Yeah, this is
the psycho ward all right,

and I'm definitely in
the right place.

How do you do?

I'm James.

I'm schizophrenic suicidal.

How long I stood there holding
James' limp-dick hand,

I have no idea.

I remember getting a whack of
I.V. Librium at some stage,

and then...

next thing I know,
it's nighttime.

I've lost time before,

stacks of times.

But this feels different.

This is--
This is not nice.

And before I know it,

I'm counting like it's
a school contest.

Thirty, 35, 40.

Go on, Jimmy,
get the record, son.

By the time I reach 70,

Jimmy shows no sign
of resurfacing.

Then at just past 80,
his head starts to come up.

Bloody riveted by this.

The stupid bugger's actually
trying to drown himself.

And instead of trying
to stop him,

I wish I had
a Bolex camera.

This is great stuff!

"Help him, Noah."

"Fuck off!
This is not my shit."

Two minutes,
he's still under.

20.
Amazing!

Truly fucking bizarre.

It's like watching a murder,

but with the murderer
and the victim

all rolled up into
one bloke.

At just past
two minutes thirty...

...a murder is thwarted.

My first instinct is to clap.
Don't ask me why.

But then Jimmy starts to sob,

so it seems kind of
inappropriate.

So I do the most unhelpful
thing imaginable.

Here you go.

You all right?

Fuck.

I'd been in there--

I don't know,
maybe four months.

Could have been four years
for all I knew.

It's a "no time" zone.

They were pleased with me,
or so they said.

I'm a little harder
on myself.

I'm a man who never
suffered any pain

except that which
I brought on myself.

A man with the world
at my fingertips

and success in the palm
of both hands

who chooses to piss it all away
every day of my life.

I'm a drunk without
a single excuse.

An addict
without reason.

That isn't true, Noah.

And sitting there...

is my dead mother.

Do you mind if I smoke?

It's not allowed
in the rooms.

So, how long are you
in here for?

But I can't speak,

can't take my eyes off her.

Her jawline so like mine.

Her ears the exact mold
for my own.

This is my mother.

She's come to see me...

and I can't cope.

Noah, try and speak
to me, pet.

It may be a long time before
I get to do this again.

Ask me the question
you want to ask me,

the question
I want to answer.

Why did you die?

I'd been, um,
33 hours in labor.

There had been a mix-up.

My-- My notes
had been mislaid.

My birth canal was blocked.

I should have had
immediate surgery.

By the time I was on
the table, I was...

too tired from the pain,
too full of morphine.

I was sure I could feel
your unborn fingernails

clawing at
the inside of my womb,

desperate to get out of me
before you died.

I heard the surgeon say
he could save only one life.

Wasn't a hard choice.

They, uh-- They dug you
out of me.

I lived long enough to
see you held up before me.

You were sucking in breath,
but you didn't cry.

I was addicted to morphine
in your womb, they said.

I had to be detoxed
at birth.

It was seven days
until I cried.

I didn't know that.

Perhaps I shouldn't have come,
but you were in so much agony,

I wanted to try to
take away your pain.

You have.

Be strong, my son.

I'll leave you with
a promise.

If you're ever suffering
this much again

and I am unable to come...

I will send an angel to you.

Okay, motherfucker.

It's time to rock and roll.

You've been certified
clean and sober.

Now, if you'd do me the honor
of stepping through that door

and into your future.

Ah...

Excellent.

Cheers, son, cheers.

All right, cheers, son.

Cheers.

Oh, that is nice,
that is nice.

Nice like this?
Nice.

What have you got there?
Coffee? Coffee? Coffee?

Cunt.

What am I thinking?

That if I stare at this
innocuous cup of

the strongest
double espresso

this joint can muster
long enough,

then when I put it to
my mouth,

it will turn into
a triple scotch

and take me back
to that place

I left behind
all those months ago,

but that still yearns for me
to re-embrace it

like a long-lost cousin?

Sounds pretty poetic,
doesn't it?

Don't be fooled--
it's horrible.

Painful, nasty,
and horrible.

Painful, nasty,
and horrible!

Six months since I
stepped out of detox

and five since
my last drink.

I know, okay, well,

I'd been out
for about a month,

and I was giving a lecture
on screenplay structure

to a bunch of budding
Stoppards at Cambridge.

One raven-haired beauty
asked me some question

about film language,

which I gave
a suitably creamy answer to.

Then later, after hanging out
with her pals for a while,

we went back to her place,
she drunk and stoned,

me sober and horny,
horny, horny as hell.

So, next morning I planned to
take a piss,

have a sleepy-eyed fuck,

tape a note to the fridge,
and leave.

The piss was uneventful,

but on the way back to
the bedroom,

I had to pass through
the kitchen,

and who should be
sitting there with a huge

"Good morning, Noah,
how's it all going?"

grin on her face but
Auntie Ginnie herself.

I'd absolutely no intention
of touching a drop.

But before I know it,

I'm standing in
a stranger's flat,

naked as the day I was born
with my flaccid penis dangling

like the flag of
a defeated regiment,

guzzling neat gin
like a fucking maniac.

You c--

You cunt.

Cunt!

Since then, I've been in
a kind of low-key hell.

I'm not drunk,
but I'm not sober either.

I like to think I am.
I often say I am,

but I'm not.

Somehow in
the last three months,

I've managed to
put together

a stylish docu-drama
on Jackson Pollock,

so artistically, I'm still
considered very cool.

The current
New York Time Out

carries an article
declaring...

"antediluvian"?

No, me neither.

But basically I'm regarded
as an arbiter of taste

in a tasteless business.

But I'm 200 miles from home and
a billion miles from my soul,

and I am not a happy camper.

Not a happy camper at all.

"So, what's new?"

as they say
in the U.S. Of A.?

Fuck-all.

I've been to meetings,
in detox and since,

A.A.:
Alcoholics Anonymous,

the fellowship,
the club.

I had a deep aversion to it
from the very start

and always passed on
the "how do you do?

This is me" bit,
which they're okay with--

it's not compulsory,
it's a kind of

whenever you're ready thing,
you know?

Hi, my name's Bill.

And looking up at
that banner,

at good old step 2,

which I'd looked
at many times before,

something inside me
snapped.

The resistance cracked
and splintered,

and I'm sitting there
sick and tired of being

sick and tired,

happy to become
a living slogan

if it'll take
the pain away.

Hi, my name is Noah...

and I'm an alcoholic.

Truth at last.

And I was relieved and
pissed off at the same time.

I always thought my first
public declaration

would be floodlit, filmic,

with a soaring soundtrack,
effects,

the lot,
the full works.

Behold!
My name is Noah...

and I am an alcoholic!

It would be a scene that
would prompt critics

on both sides of
the Atlantic

to use up column-feet
rocketing me into

a celebrated orbit to
circle the firmament

alongside the great
truth-telling auteurs of film.

-But no.

My defining moment was
more like a wet, silent fart

than a blast
on a golden horn.

And I had meant it too,
really meant it.

I suppose that's
all that matters.

Will I ever drink again?

Dunno.
I hope not.

I can't say for sure.
Who can?

I know I'll never
enjoy booze again--

that's been taken away.

Guilt will always be
peeking over my shoulder

and whispering in my ear.

Remember, Noah,

it's the first drink which
gets you drunk.

Pressie.

We're so proud of you, Noah.

Six months-- that is a
serious achievement, mate.

-Mean it.
-Really?

It's not easy doing
what you done, you know.

It's your
six-month chip.

Congratulations.

I'll leave you two boys
to talk.

Bye, Noah.

All right, see ya.
Thanks.

-Bye, babe.
-See you later, darling.

I wanna thank you
as well, mate.

What for?

Well, for Kirstin.

I mean, she really is
the most extraordinary woman

I've ever met.
You know, she's beautiful...

Oh, God, he wants me to
say something supportive

about the fact that
during this whole debacle

he's hooked up with
Kirstin and is shagging her

at a frightening rate
of knots.

She's funny,
she's intelligent...

When I wish I was.

He wants me to let him know
I'm pleased for him.

But I'm not.
I'm not pleased for him.

Or with him.
I partly resent it.

I saw her first,
didn't I?

For the first time
in my life, seriously,

I am a fucking happy man!

I'm not pleased for him,

I'm not pleased for him
at all.

I'm very pleased
for you, Ray.

And not only that, I can
fuck her day and night.

Oh, please!
Rub it in, I insist.

Let's get the K-Y
on the go here

and shove it
right up my jacksie!

That's good, good.

Noah, everyone needs
a partner...

to wit.

That is Clare Mattheson.

Yeah, I can see that, big
letters, "Clare Mattheson."

She's a cellist for
the string quartet, Marikos.

So it would seem from
the bloody great big cello

between the legs, unless,
of course, she nicked it.

This woman is
your partner...

for a sober future.

What the fuck are you
talking about?

Well, her quartet are playing
at the Fleming Hall

tomorrow afternoon and
I bought you a ticket.

You are gonna go
and see her play.

And after the show,
you're gonna go backstage,

you're gonna write her
a little note asking her

to join you for a nice cup of
tea and a cheese sandwich--

Have you gone round
the fucking bend, Ray?

Seriously.

Has Kirstin sucked all
the gray matter out

through your cock,
possibly?

I'm not joking, mate.

You are gonna do this.

I can't.

Yes, you can.
Why can't you?

Because it doesn't work
like that.

Well, how does it work?
I mean, you're hardly

the inner London
municipal area spokesperson

for finding
the right girl.com.

I mean, how do you know
if it works?

Well, maybe I'm not, Ray,
maybe I'm not, but, you know,

I'm gonna take an uneducated
stab in the psychological dark

that it doesn't work like that.

Noah, mate, take a look at
the magazine, yeah?

I will send an angel to you.

Love you both, right?
I fucking love you, just--

see you later, right?
Ta. See ya.

I felt bad about going
to the twins that night.

I just felt so horny.

Ray had got me
all worked up

with that Kirstin
bonkography.

I had to have sex.

I also had
a lot of drugs.

And booze.

Okay, I admit it.
Hey! You try it!

You try not touching booze
when you...

Fucking love it!

So I'm feeling like shit in
almost every department.

Falling-off-the-wagon hangovers
are a law unto themselves.

They hurt you in
many harsher ways

than regular ones.

And that cranberry piss
was a bit worrying, too.

Now I've got
a few hours to kill

and get my shit together
before my blind date

with this
cello-playing woman.

Fuck, it's cold.
Icy cold.

Scary cold.
I feel edgy.

And I knowing it's
coming off me,

which is never
a good thing in London--

it exposes you.

The city gremlins
can feel you.

You smell like prey.

You are prey.

Shit, why did Ray have to
bring that article

with that bloody
what's-her-face on it?

Clare Mattheson.

You can do better than that.
Shout it out, laddie!

Clare Mattheson!

Got you!
Ah, your bum!

Got you!
You can't come in here.

This is my zone, my zone,
my zone, got you again!

-That's five, 10, 15, 20--

-Twenty-five. Captured.
-Cheat.

Clare, there's something
I gotta tell you.

I'm an alcoholic.

At least I was, I've been sober
for a few months now.

Tell me everything.

Everything meaning what?

Everything meaning everything
you can remember

from the day you were born,

including the day you were born.

So I did.

My dad was dead by the time
I was seven,

I was living with...

I told her everything
I could remember

about my whole life.

When I was at school,

there was this, uh--
this t-- this art teacher,

and he this Bolex camera,
and it was him

who actually got me into
art college,

'cause he saw a couple of
my short films that I did...

And I woke up in her flat
and I'm puking up,

just puking up
in this kid's bucket,

this child's bucket.

Anyone who wanted a drink--
I'd be like that,

just go,
I'd just be with them.

I don't care what his name is,
what he does for a living,

whether he's a nice bloke,
whether he's a murderer,

whether he's
a fucking pedophile.

It didn't matter,
it didn't-- it didn't matter.

But now I suppose
the thing is to try and--

try and kind of
stabilize everything,

and-- and not be
such a prat, basically.

Because I've been a prat.
I know that.

If I was...

And not once did I get
the feeling she was bored.

'Cause I've been
the bloke who'd get crazy...

And when I got to the part
about that whole crazy day

that ended up with me in
Bramwell Hospital...

And the next thing you know,
you wake up

and you're in fucking rehab.

She just stopped me
and said...

You see? That's just
a small bit.

One day, two days.

Don't let it be the focus.

It's just one small piece, hmm?

Come here.

-Thanks.
-Come here.

Thank you.

And I knew right then
and there that

I would spend the rest of my
miserable time on Earth

with this woman.

And that there was
a good chance

she could actually
save my life.

-Aah! Ooh! Ow!
-What?

-Oh, my God, fuck.
-What is it?

It was like a-- like a bloody
great big stitch suddenly.

Now it's gone.

Boy, that really hurt.

I gotta go for a wee now.

-You all right?
-Yeah, I'm fine.

Just need to go for a slash.
Cor dear, that was horrible.

Don't shoot me, you muppet.
Shoot the kids.

Merci. Au revoir.
Au revoir, les enfants.

Oh, what that was fantastic,
wasn't it?

-Fantastic.
-Oh, it's beautiful, man.

I'm gonna go back and
have a bath, I think.

Oh, okay, I'm gonna go
and see if I can get

a little bit of
refreshment, you know?

No, no, no, not that sort.
Just a little...

you know, maybe?

Is that okay?

Yes. Yes,
of course it is.

Look, look, alcohol
is my problem.

Drugs I've always been able to
take or leave.

-Really?
-Yeah.

Well, I always
thought that...

And you thought right,
Clare, my darling,

that I'm
a walking fuck-up,

so I talk in riddles.

You will come to know this.

No no, no, no.
Joint schmoint.

It's fine,
don't worry about it.

Okay, well,
that would be nice.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

I'll see you a bit later,
all right?

-Yeah.
-Be careful, won't you?

-Yeah.
-All right.

I scored some weed
easy-peasy.

Should I have
stopped myself? Sure.

Can you be high and sober?
Course not.

For your luck.

Should I go back
to the hotel and tell Clare

I have some grass but
I can't smoke it with her?

Again, yes.

Aah, ahh, oh!
Oh, Jesus fucking-- Aah!

Aah! Aah! Aah!

You need to go home,
my friend,

as soon as you can...

for you are unwell.

What are you saying, darling?

What are you saying?

So, cut to
six years later,

as they say
in the movies.

How can you do that?
How do you do that?

Clare and I got married,

had a beautiful daughter
named Coral

who we made on the night train
to Marrakech.

First-time bull's-eye.

Whoa, oh, here you are,
Mum, look.

And sadly the Moroccan
Goliath was right

and I discovered that I did
indeed have bladder cancer.

Big sobs all around.

Hello, who is it?
Oh, it's you, hello.

But I got rid of it.
Couple of times, in fact.

Trouble is,
it kept coming back,

as if it had
forgotten something.

Everybody out.

Like it wanted to chew
a bit more of my insides off,

you know?

Almost. Not bad.

It did look very nice,
I gotta tell you.

Very nice from where
I was standing.

-Fish fingers.
-Again? Hey!

Anyway, touch wood, I've been
okay for over a year now

and decided to make
a film about

the whole experience
in true

indulgent-director-
craves-the-limelight fashion.

Blood and Milk,
I called it.

Seemed to have the right blend
of enigma and pretension.

Trouble is, I keep hearing
that obnoxious Yankee

movie trailer
voice in my head.

This fall,

love and
cancer collide...

Wish cancer
would collide with

that annoying twat.

We kept showing it to people
to get a reaction.

Kirstin lands in ten minutes.

Right, and what are you gonna
do when she gets here?

-Not smother her.
-Good. Very good.

Give yourself a blow job.

Since she went to live with
her family in the States,

Kirstin and Ray have been
having a bit of a rocky time,

but he's convinced her
to fly to London

so they can have
a powwow.

It'll be all right,
don't worry about it.

It'll be all right.

Right, let's do this,
shall we?

All right.

Mm-hmm.

Yes, they did,
I'm telling you.

It played really well,
they loved it,

you fucking
deal with it.

Oh, they were bored,
they were bored, Ray!

Jesus, allow yourself
to feel good for once,

you fucking
non-lugubrious farce.

Take it from me.

You have done an extremely
good job on this one.

You should be
very fucking proud.

I know.

If anything, it's gonna be
cathartic, isn't it?

Oh, what, turn the camera
on meself once?

Not particularly, no.

I'm just supplying
the disease, aren't I?

The rest is just
plain old storytelling.

Oh, look at you practicing
your pithy quotes

-for the press release.

There you go.

Yeah, hello?

Yeah, it is, yeah.

Eyewitnesses said
the Bentley Ray had sent

to pick her up as
a surprise

was cruising at 60
just past Heston services

when a container truck
came down the slip road

like a 40-ton
bat out of hell

and rammed it right into
the concrete bridge support.

Took the fire brigade
2 1/2 hours

to cut Kirstin out of
the wreckage.

And in a small cemetery
outside Queens,

we buried her.

And I said goodbye to
the complete stranger

who helped to
save my life.

We can use this shot.

We pan straight up to the nurse
when she's inside--

Okay, but as long as--
as long as inside of all that,

you've got the little girl...

After that,
we all dutifully tried to be

brave little soldiers

and look on the bright side
of Eric Idle's life.

We were all kind of waiting
for something to come along

and take our mind off it,

and lo and behold--

Ow! Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!

Never wanting to
disappoint the troops

in their hour of need,

I unselfishly supplied
the necessary diversion.

Fucking hell, man.

Oh, you cunt!
You cunt!

Et voila!

Smiling Doc Baker,
that's my consultant,

confirmed my suspicions.

Light claret,

cloudy with no body,
some sediment.

Not a good year at all.

Doesn't look good,
does it?

Could just be
a small regrowth.

And if it's not?

Well, if it's not, we'll--
we'll deal with it, old boy.

More chemo?

Not-- Not an option,
I'm afraid,

no, no,
not after last time.

No, that was a bit severe, hmm?
No, bit severe, no.

Now, how many sessions
did we have?

We? I had ten.

I don't seem to remember
you having any.

-Right, right.
-Right.

And there was multiple
regrowth within the year.

So there was, Doc.

Fuck me sideways,
what a memory.

Fancy me not remembering that.

Mm-hmm.

Complete waste of time,
irony, with this bloke.

I've never known anyone take
anything so literally

that wasn't American.

No, if-- if, um, if chemo's
gonna be effective,

you know,
on the bladder,

it's gonna be
first time around.

Look, I mean, considering
the amount you took on board,

-you know--
-A liter.

What?

The amount I took on board.

Hundred CCs a session
for ten sessions--

I make that
one whole liter,

but then, you know,
I could be wrong.

What do I know?
I'm just the poor fucker

who took it up the dick!

Well, that's it, you see.

I mean, that is it exactly.

You just-- You don't want to
go through that again, do you?

I mean, mind you,
I-- I must say

you took it on the chin
like a champ, my God.

He really does use
these words. Sorry.

You even managed to
laugh about it.

You said something
very funny, what was it?

Kept your--
What was it?

Sense of tumor.

Kept your
sense of tumor, ha!

That's it, that's it, that was
bloody, bloody good, that,

bloody good-- kept us in
stitches for weeks,

that did.

Matter of fact, there was just
one of these hospital junkets,

vascular consulting chum
of mine, he was...

And on he goes,
blah, blah, blah,

about some
mindless anecdote

from who cares when.

But I'm gone.

I'm back in that room,

stark naked from
the waist down

as Dr. Patna shoves
a 20-millimeter plastic tube

up my urethra.

Routine for him,
not for me.

It's only my third
chemotherapy session.

So far it's been
easy-peasy:

no burning, no nausea,
no loss of hair,

a regular
stroll in the park.

So when will I know

when the chemo's
doing its stuff then?

We'll know the chemicals
have bitten deep enough

into the bladder muscle

when you find the pain
is intolerable.

Which, scary as it
may sound,

I can't really relate to,

'cause I haven't experienced
any of those things.

I'll look forward
to that then.

So I feel like the guy's
gonna get away with it.

In fact,

I feel so curiously detached
from the whole thing

that it's like a film
I'm directing

that I feel I'm not
getting enough from.

No, cut, cut, cut.
Hang on a minute.

Noah, listen.

What?

Can, um...

can you just give me
a little bit more, you know?

A bit more what?

Well, you know, fear, pain,
concern, you know.

This is-- This is chemo.
I think we need to--

Yeah, but I'm not--
I'm not feeling

any of those things, am I?

I can't just--

Well, you know
maybe you're not,

but can you just
pretend that--

that it's something,
you know,

'cause it's just, uh--

Well, it's not very good,
and, uh,

I'm not getting very much
from this, you know?

I-- I may have to
cut this scene.

That-- that would be
a shame.

Well, I'm sorry, I can't
just pretend something

that's not real, sorry.

That's just hokum, okay?
I'm not doing that.

That's fake, Noah.
That's totally fake.

I'm not doing that, man,
just not doing that.

Okay, okay.
I hear you, I hear you.

All right, okay.
Good, good, good.

-Hack.
-Fucking actors.

Right, what session's
this again?

Uh, third of ten sessions
altogether.

Ten, all right. Listen,
reset for session ten.

Joe, let's reset for
session ten, shall we?

All right, folks,
let's reset,

we're going for
session ten now,

session ten,
everybody.

But, of course,
it's not a film.

It's not a film at all.

No, fuck off!

Get this out of me!

Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off,
fuck off I can't breathe!

Stay strong!
Work with me!

Oh, God, it's burning,
it's burning me!

-You can do it!
-I can't, I can't, I can't!

I can't, I can't, I can't,
no, no, no, no, no!

-We're almost there.

There's just
a little bit there.

Bigger!
Come on!

Come on, bigger!

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

Miracles do happen.
I didn't die.

And apart from that
minor regrowth

which Doc Baker rather
expertly diagnosed

and then cauterized for me
in fairly short order,

it stayed away again
for another chunk,

lying there in wait
like a snake

in my personal
little undergrowth

until the day Clare told me
she was pregnant again.

Noah, you happy?

Of course I am, darling.

-That's fantastic.
-Go on, your go.

-What?
-You wanted to say something.

And that moment
right there

that I can
never have again...

Oh, God, no, no.

...came and went,

and I've been hiding this
latest treatment since then,

so scared it would

affect her or
the baby or both,

tried so hard
not to be selfish,

put other people first,
do the right thing.

I thought so anyway.

This should be one of

the happiest times
of our lives!

Our second child
on the way,

you're well, I'm sawing,
money's no problem.

Jesus Christ, Noah,
I even want you,

I'm even horny,

but you look at me
like I'm radioactive!

You know, maybe you
should think about

going to one of
those meetings,

because you are fucking
impossible at the moment!

Tell them I told you so!

And I'm getting
punished for it,

like I'm in some tacky TV
docu-drama soap opera

calledFuckup Street
or something.

Clare's been spending
more and more time

with her best mate, Etta.

Would you excuse us?

It was our first
weekend back in London

after our trip
to Morocco,

and who threw a party
to welcome her back

so I could be paraded around
as the new boyfriend?

There you are.
Hello, love.

Hello.

-How are you, baby?
-Good, good.

This is-- This is
the famous Etta,

who is as talented
as she is interesting

as she is lovely
as she is gorgeous.

And this is Noah.

Oh, my God!

He's adorable!
Hello!

You see?
Straight away.

What am I, a fucking
Golden Labrador puppy?

Careful, love,
I might get excited

and shit on your carpet.

It's very nice
to meet you, Etta.

I enjoyed watching you play.

Clare's told me
all about you.

All good, I hope.
He's lovely!

Oh, goodness me,
aren't you cute?

Now you must have
a good stiff drink

and meet all these people.

No, 'cause I'm an alcoholic,
so I can't.

An alcoholic!
Isn't he funny?

What do you think we are,
in Hollywood or something?

But she didn't mention that
you were a tricksy bastard

and I'd have to watch
me back from now on,

but I've worked that out
on me own in five seconds,

so we're off to a flyer.

And the next thing I know,

she's sitting down
opposite me

with her legs
casually open

and she's not wearing
any knickers.

She is presenting her bush
to me full on,

and it's no mistake either--
it's a challenge.

I can feel it,

despite her efforts
to cloak it from the pack.

You're right-- second violin
is more relaxed.

-Well, you have to be.
-Lazy, even.

And completely without
ambition, don't you think?

There, see?

Don't tell me
you didn't see that.

That is a full-on face-off,
or minge-off in this case,

and it's a top-notch minge,
as well,

but my dick doesn't get
the slightest twinge,

despite the fact this is
one perfect vagina.

'Cause otherwise
you get frustrated.

Yeah.

Don't pick up
the gauntlet, Noah.

I think so, I think
we've got to be

a certain type of person.

Why is that?

Because solos scare
the shit out of us.

Don't get me wrong.

We like to be heard
in rehearsal,

but if we don't
get our way,

I don't think
we put up a fight.

I suppose you could say...

you could say
we're easygoing.

I suppose you could
also say that

you're a scary,
manipulative witch.

Are you easygoing, Noah?

Oh, I don't like you,
darling.

-Me?
-Yeah.

-No.
-Not one little bit.

No, I'm not easygoing
at all, really.

What was the name of that...

And with that, the curtain
closes on the muff matinee.

Next show,30.

So, what?
Did I pass that test?

Fail it?
Who knows?

I don't feel like I failed.

One thing I do know:

I despise Etta with all
of my black little heart.

And now,
seven years later,

she's at our cottage
with my wife

weaving God only knows
what kind of magic spells

and pulling all kinds of
weapons of my destruction

from her 9-out-of-10
front bottom.

And she even had
the front to invite me

to go with them to
my own fucking cottage.

"Oh, change your mind
and come...

Change your mind.
Come with us. Please.

Be so much fun.

No, it's all right,
you-- you girls go,

have a good time.

-Drive carefully, darling.
-Mm, I will.

Come on, Ett, jump in.

Is it your cottage
that she is at?

Eh? You know it is,

you know it's
my cottage she's at.

Do you know where it is
and how to get there?

Mate, here, look, this is
what you do, all right?

You drive straight down there
and you surprise them.

What, now?

No, next February,
you fucking maroon.

God, this hamper's
bloody heavy,

I'm sweating cobs here.

So what am I gonna do
when I get there?

I run through a few options
I'd like to do.

Different attitude. Shift--
you have to shift, Noah.

Suddenly, I didn't want them
to know I was there.

I hadn't heard Clare laugh
for ages.

Hadn't made Clare
laugh for ages.

She looked so happy
and relaxed.

I didn't want to
spoil it.

So I left, feeling
very unwanted

and disconnected...

to anything.

Adrift.

I'm Amy.

This is my second meeting
and I guess I'm an alcoholic.

I drove back to London
like a maniac

and next thing I know,
I'm sitting in

a midnight A.A. meeting
in Muswell Hill,

confused, lonely
and pissed off.

As Ray would say, my head's
a dangerous neighborhood

and I shouldn't be
walking through it alone.

Why am I here?
God knows.

Keeping it all in the moment,
like they keep telling me.

And I'm an alcoholic.

God, they look so perky.
Look at 'em:

sober, perky fuckers.

Yesterday's history,
tomorrow's a mystery.

Piss off.

Hi, my name is Fiona,

and I'm a grateful
recovering alcoholic.

Here goes,
and I know this is wrong,

but I can't stop myself.

Hi, everyone!
My name is Noah,

and, yeah,
you guessed it!

I'm an alcoholic too!

And as grateful alkie Fiona

knocks of a quick impression of
Munch's "Scream"...

Fucking have some champagne,
you fucking sober cunt!

You all fucking want it,
don't ya?

You love it, don't ya?

Go on, you fucking
sober wankers!

Just gonna pop out
and get some more.

Is that all right?
Won't be long.

By the way, Peter?
Love the suit.

Did I feel better after
the champagne debacle?

Obviously not.

Did I tell Clare
the cancer was back

when she got home
from the cottage?

No, I didn't.

I know:
weak, coward, wanker,

all three and others,
whatever.

But anyway,
as it turned out...

I mean,
come off it, Clare,

I haven't made a decent
film in ages.

You've almost finished
Blood and Milk.

The rough cut's beautiful.

Oh, it's an indulgence.

I think all films are
indulgences.

There's no cause
in storytelling.

Yeah, that's exactly
what I mean.

I might just fart about
in post-production, you know,

and I take a few meetings
here and there with

fucking disinterested,
fucking untalented

miserable fucking twats.

Apart from that,
I do fuck-all.

You've been very ill, Noah.

It's not your fault.

I know it's not my
fucking fault, Clare!

Oh, my God.
Oh, Noah.

How long have you known?

Why didn't you tell me?

I just--
I don't know.

I just--
I don't know--

Look at you,
all tongue-tied, sweet.

You know what, Clare, why
don't I just fuck off a while

and leave you and Coral?

I'm so obviously just a pain
in the fucking arse.

You know what?
You know what?

Look at me.
Look at me.

When I signed up with you,

I signed up for
the full package,

all of it,
good and bad.

-You hear me?
-Yeah.

Yeah, it's not always
a bed of roses,

but you and I, together,

we can get through
anything, anything.

-You hear me?
-Yeah.

-You hear me?
-Yeah.

Tell you the truth,

I always thought roses were
vastly overrated anyway.

Clare Mattheson...

will you be mine?

Yes, I will.

Will you be mine,
Noah Arkwright?

Yeah, yes, I will.

Oh...

So, everything
out in the open.

Good, thank God.

All hands on the same deck
again. Excellent.

I hadn't felt so normal
in months.

It was a great feeling.

Truth...

best drug on the market.

She found it quite hard
to play with the bump,

but she said she
loved the idea of the music

vibrating through her body
into our unborn child.

I loved her so much
for thinking like that.

Ow! Oh!

Aah! Oh! Aah!

Ow, oh!
Oh, God, Jesus!

Oh. Ow! Ow!

Clares!

Clares!

Jesus, it fuckin' hurts!

Oh, no.

What are you saying, darling?
What are you saying?

I think
this might be it.

I think this might be it.

Shut the fuck up, Noah!
Shut up!

Darling,
are you all right?

Yeah, the baby's coming.

Oh, Lord, what?

My waters have broken.
Can you get someone?

Ah, right. Pregnant woman,
broken waters,

uh, wheelchair.

That's it, yeah,
bring it in, bring it in,

tight ship,
tight ship, that's it.

-Go on.
-Don't you worry about me.

There you are.
Nothing to worry about.

That's it.
There you are.

Be careful with her.

Oh, no, I don't want to
leave you.

I'm fine.
Go and have a baby

and stopping making
such a fuss, go on.

Don't worry, darling.
I love you.

I love you too.
See you later.

Sorry about the attire,
old boy.

Bloody farmers' dinner
this evening.

No time to go home
and change.

Fox steaks?

What?

On the menu tonight,
is it fox steaks?

Oh, Lord.

No, no, no. No,
nothing like that at all.

No, no.
Buggers don't feel a thing,

you know,
at the kill, nah, no.

Spoken like
a true surgeon.

So...

Noah.

Looks pretty bad in there.

It's, um almost all
bloody tumor, you know,

it's hardly any
bladder left at all.

It's, um...

bugger struggled for you
though, you know,

and-- and we've--
we've done our best

to keep the blighter in,
you know.

But it's, uh--

it's come to that time, yes?

And he looks at me
expecting some kind of

resignation or other.

Well, I won't make it
easy for him.

Let him feel some of
the terror of the fox

when he has
nowhere to run...

and nowhere to hide.

Bottom line, old boy,

bladder's got to come out.

Immediately.

So, look, um...

you might want
to make some calls.

Mm-hmm?

Get the affairs in order,
that sort of thing.

And perhaps, uh...

write a couple of letters,
hmm?

You know, to your daughter
and, uh, of course, the baby.

You know, something they can--
they can read at a future date.

What are you telling me?

I'm telling you to write
a couple of letters, Noah.

Shh, shh.

Oh, shh, shh,
shh, shh, shh.

Shh, shh, shh,
shh, shh, shh.

She's got cello hands.

Have to get her
a mini one ASAP

so she can start
sawing away.

Yeah.

Go on, sweetheart.

Say what you need to.

You never know when you'll
get to do this again.

I'm sorry I had to
leave you, Clare.

I tried to stay
as long as I could.

All the King's horses
and all the King's men...

Well, you know what their
track record's like, don't you?

Bloody piss poor.

Oh, my angel.

My angel.

I'll always be here,
darling.

I do get to come
see Clare quite often.

They say it's because

we had a real connection
while I was alive

that you can stay
connected after you go.

Whoever "they" are.

You'd think you'd finally
meet "them"

on the other side.

Looked for them
all over the place,

but no one there seems
to know who they are either.

Turns out they
don't exist after all.

They're simply a figment of
our overactive imagination.

Just another bloody
fairy story.

to be searching

Here's something
for everyone.

Just look at
this place!

You charmer.