All language subtitles for Faithless.2000.SWEDISH.1080p.BluRay.H264.AAC-VXT

No common failure…

whether it be sickness or bankruptcy
or professional misfortune…

will reverberate so cruelly and deeply
in the unconscious as a divorce.

It penetrates the source of all anguish,

forcing it to life.

With one cut, it slices more deeply
than life can ever reach.

FAITHLESS

Is anyone there?

Only me.

Oh, it's you.
What do you want?

You said we'd play and fantasise.

- Have you forgotten?
- Of course…

We can try.

If we're to enjoy this,
you must describe me.

In detail.

Sit down by the window,
so I can see you.

Not until you've described me.

How shall I start?

You're very attractive.

That's a good start.

How old am I?

How old are you…?

Let me see.

You left drama school
seventeen years ago.

You're about forty.

Am I an actress?

- That was unexpected.
- Sure was.

- Am I married?
- Yes.

You're married to a conductor.

Markus.

He's enjoying
a great international career.

Otherwise I know little
of your private life.

You'll have to help out here.

Any children?

A nine-year-old daughter.

Isabelle.

What do I look like?

Describe me.

You have a good face.

Well suited to both drama
and comedy.

You can look surprised…

even when you're not.

Almost unnoticeable lines
around your mouth and eyes.

Otherwise nothing.

Are you describing Marianne?
Are you?

It's not Marianne! I promise you.

But you need a name.
Marianne's good.

Marianne… Vogler.

"Marianne Vogler, the actress."

Now I exist?

Come to think of it, it's a bit odd.

A few hours ago,
you didn't exist.

Now you're utterly real.

What do you want?

Let's talk about David.

Yes…

Let's talk about David.

David and my husband…

enjoyed working in opera.

David directed
and Markus conducted.

They got on terribly well.

David was a frequent guest
in our home.

He was married —
his second marriage.

It was a troubled marriage.

Two sons, six and eight.

And what were you doing…
when it began?

"When it began"?

We were playing the Bride.

By Ostrovsky. I was the bride.

At the time David was out of sorts —
he drank too much.

He was working on A Dream Play.

He'd left home.
He was living alone.

There were other women,
but they don't count.

I do believe David and Markus
were real friends.

He often came to dinner.

Isabelle loved David.

He listened…

with fascination to her stories.

He swore Isabelle
had a magical personality.

They went to the cinema
and the theatre together.

And that was really it.

Nothing else.

Are you crying?

Perhaps you are crying?

I don't know.

Last performance of The Bride.

They were all congratulating
and embracing each other.

All that emotional twaddle
that goes on in theatre.

We toasted with champagne
and said goodbye,

then toasted again.

When I at last got down to the foyer,
he was there.

David.

- Hi.
- Hi, David.

Hi.

I'm waiting for you.

How are you?

- You look rough.
- I'm not drunk.

- I'm in such pain.
- Do you need a doctor?

It's not that sort of pain.

- Shall we go and get a bite to eat?
- No.

No, thanks.

Go home and talk?
Markus is away, but still…

I'd love to.

So we took my car
and went out to our villa.

I said good night to my
indispensable Finnish nanny, Silja.

We went in to Isabelle.

She was pleased to see David
and offered to tell him a story.

I put on my dressing gown

- and combed my hair.
- David!

I made an omelette
and opened a bottle of wine.

We chatted, David became calmer,
less edgy.

Could you describe David?

David is… David.

Forty.

Talented.

Unpredictable.

Kind…

Thoughtful… when he wants to be.

Ruthless and bloody brutal
when cornered.

Not many friends.

Rather more enemies.

Pedantically thorough.

A perfectionist in his work.

Careless in his private life.

I don't know what to say…

We've known each other for years.

Workmates.

There's lots to say about David.

But my mind's a blank.

A relationship?
Excuse the question.

Relationship? With David?

Nothing like it.

More like siblings.

So there you were…

David had really got going.

He was talking about some project.

Markus could have appeared
at any moment.

We were sleepy, both of us,
and I thought…

it might be bedtime
for brother and sister.

I heard David…

muttering something.

Would you sleep with me?

I heard him,
but asked all the same.

What did you say?

- He turned tome…
- Would you sleep with me?

David, dearest,
how do you think that could happen?

Thanks for the offer.

But I have to be up early,

Isabelle has school,
and I have a make-up test.

Then let's get some sleep,
in separate beds.

In separate rooms.

Can you lend me a toothbrush?

I leant forward
to blow out the candles…

and heard myself saying something
I didn't mean.

If you want to sleep in the bedroom,
that's all right.

If you're sad and lonely.

If you need to,
you can hold my hand.

We got undressed…

as if we were an old married couple.

I lent David pyjamas
and a toothbrush.

I set the alarm
for an hour earlier than usual.

I told David
not to count on breakfast.

He had to leave
before Isabelle woke up.

Well…

So far so good.

And it felt right —
or at least not wrong.

We crawled into the big bed.

I turned out the light — we were still
brother and sister, no sign of incest.

David drew

a couple of deep breaths.

I thought darkness had taken him again,
and gave him my hand.

We fell asleep,
as if we'd always slept together.

I woke up.

I had David's sleeping face
right up against mine.

Then I looked at him.

I looked at him.

I looked at him properly.

I realised…

that I'd not seen this man before.

It was someone…

who would only exist for a second…

and never return.

I would never see him again.

I thought…

No, "thought"
is really the wrong word —

"thought"…

No, I certainly wasn't thinking.

Certain senses —
that's also the wrong word.

I was simply a part,

a tiny part

of something mysterious.

These words sound so peculiar!

I can't explain what happened.

But it was…

something tangible…

that would always be there.

Inside my body.

If you want to place it.

Is this still just a game?

Yes, why are we playing?

A diversion before death.

In the remaining twilight that is left…

something happens because of
mercilessly condensed time.

A pull.

A vortex.

Forgotten emotions
beginning to move.

I'm searching for answers
to questions I never asked.

Frittered away deductions.

I ask Marianne for help.

And so we play,
making greater demands

finding it harder to stop.

I don't understand.

I don't understand
what you're talking about.

I presume you want us to go on?

Let's do that.

Though I'm not happy with my part.

Where shall we go from here?

David's letter, for instance.

David's letter.

If you say so.

I think I have it in my bag.

Here it is.

I received it the day after that…

ominous night.

Here we go…

"Dear Marianne.

"Thank you for taking care of me.

"It was a great help.

"It was kind to lend me your hand.

"Your friend, David."

That's it.

His use of words is rather succinct.

As for me…

I was in a state of chaos
I can't describe.

To be dramatic, you could say…

I'd never felt anything like it.

The question was:

Shall I keep…

all this to myself?

Or…

shall I tell David?

Keep a diary, for Isabelle to read
when I'm dead?

The question was hypothetical.
I'd already decided.

The warning lights were flashing,
but I'd chosen.

Now I'm crying again.

I have to move around.

The sea here is lovely.

Those pines shaped by the wind.

That endless shoreline.

You never see anyone here, do you?

I'd been awarded a scholarship.

Not a lot of money, but flattering.

I had planned a trip to Paris,
to go to the theatres.

Markus was going on tour to Boston,
Detroit and Los Angeles.

Gran stayed with Isabelle.

- Did you meet my husband?
- No, I've never met Markus.

How should I describe Markus?

You know what he looks like.

Charming, to say the least.

His family was Jewish,
upper middle-class.

They were all musically talented.

But only Markus became
a professional musician.

He composed, conducted
and played jazz clarinet

and the piano.

The only problem was
that he had to choose.

He chose to conduct.

He had a love of life.

Joie de vivre.

Music was…

became…

pleasure.

Martha, you're playing this
really well,

but have you thought about
how the cello sings?

Sing the first few bars…

you, who sing so beautifully.

Isabelle sits on my right,
listening intently.

I wonder what she's feeling.

My mysterious child,

with her dreams and stories.

She is very much Markus's child.

They have a special relationship.

Closed to outsiders.

This business with David
came out of nowhere.

I can't give you a reason.

What madness overcame me?

I had just one thought:

I had to get David to Paris.

I bumped into him
in the theatre canteen.

I said I was going to Paris.
David barely answered.

Noncommittal, detached.

- Then he said…
- Let's go to the Thielska Gallery.

- Have you been there?
- I often go.

It's one of my favourite places.

A world lost in itself,

concealed behind thick walls.

We ended up in the tower rooms.

We just sat there, without speaking…

in that massive silence.

We had nothing to say.

Perhaps too much.

Suddenly,
David began to explain himself.

Forgive my clumsy suggestion
that evening.

David, please…

Nice of you to appreciate
the ridiculous side of it.

I mess things up
for myself and others.

I wonder if something's
seriously wrong with me.

Perhaps I need therapy.

I don't have a normal relationship
with reality.

I know how it works.

I've learnt to read people.

But… every honest attempt at contact

ends in failure.

I know this.

I ought to take
the consequences of this.

For Christ's sake, I act the part.

Perfectly, if I say so myself.

Though…

there's always…

an empty second,
if you know what I mean.

That second is decisive.

Then he went quiet, he just sat there.

I had nothing to say.

I was disorientated.

All my plans for Paris were wiped out.

Dusk was falling.

It was Grey.

I leant forward and kissed David
on the lips.

They were cold.

This is serious, Marianne.

This is bloody serious.

We got up together.

We moved towards the door…

but we couldn't cross the threshold.

Something had to be said.

And another thing…

I carry failure around.

I don't mean occasional failures.

My whole life's a wreck.

Sometimes I wonder why I'm alive.

- But suicide isn't in me.
- Another time, David.

Analysis can wait.
Not now, please.

I have to warn you.

I accept you for who you are.

If only I weren't so clumsy,
and so complicated

beyond even comical.

Though no one laughs.

Least of all me.

And then I'm suspicious.

I don't trust anyone.

Probably because
I lack self-confidence.

If you like, I can go on.
No one's as rotten as I am.

Dearest David…

Let's look at this simply.

It's fun.

Yes, it's fun.

It's simple: I've got a scholarship,
and I'm going to the theatres in Paris.

It's perfect: Markus is in Los Angeles,
Isabelle with Gran.

And you, David…

happen to be going,
by a stroke of luck,

to Paris, to meet a scenographer
or something.

Everything's perfect.

Markus will know that we're in Paris
and that we'll meet.

No creeping around, no deceit.

No suspicion or jealousy.

Yes — David!

That's how simple
and exciting it might be.

Life needn't be a series of disasters.

There's affection and tenderness

and other pleasant things.

Markus was working
with the Radio Symphony Orchestra.

The last concert was
on a Saturday afternoon.

We were there, of course,
David, Isabelle and I.

Ovations.

Afterwards, we had dinner at home.

The atmosphere, bright and cheerful.

We had wine

and pralines from Zurich.

Did Isabelle buy that bouquet?

They've got a great programme:
Six Molière, four Corneille and Racine.

Phaedra: Edith Clever
in a Hamburg production.

I've got to see that!

We could see it together.

- Are you going to Paris?
- Yes! That was a surprise.

- I'll be in Paris from mid-June.
- That's great.

We can go to the theatre
and have lovely meals. Fantastic!

- And I'll be stuck in Detroit.
- Cancel your concerts!

Say your wife and best friend are in Paris.
You have to check up on them.

What are you doing in Paris?

I might get French-Danish-Swedish
funding for my film.

I'm meeting Plantier and Wendtland,
among others.

I'll have an Italian cinematographer.

Tullio Pinera. He's in Paris,
filming with Corneau.

He who made
All the Mornings of the World.

Did you see that?
He insists that we use a French lab.

I'm not keen, nor the Danes,
who are providing the facilities.

It's incredibly complicated. If Plantier
gets eight million, we're in business.

The script's based on a short story
by Nicole Verdier, the core of it.

I've set it in
turn-of-the-century Sweden.

- Is Maria going with you?
- Maria…?

- Oh, you mean Maria!
- Yes, your ex-wife.

Are you joking…?
I'm meeting someone special.

All these secrets… Whom, may I ask?

Her name's Yvonne.

- That's all I'm telling.
- Marianne will have to watch you.

That'll be absolutely necessary.

Do you speak any French?

Let's toast to your stay in Paris.

May it be a joy.

Now it gets difficult.

I have to talk about things
I'd rather not mention.

I've told you that Markus and I
had a good sex life.

Markus said sex with me was better than
conducting Stravinsky's Rite of Spring.

Sometimes…

Sometimes? Sometimes what?

Sometimes when we made love,
I lost my head.

And my consciousness.

Do you think it's inappropriate?

Is it inappropriate,
me and David in Paris?

Why should it be?

I don't know, I thought…

I don't really know, I just had this idea.

Sweetheart, I'll tell you what I think.

I just thought I'd ask.

That my Marianne
and my David would…

- Sometimes you're really funny.
- Why?

David's an attractive man.

And I'm not exactly…

You and David?

I'll tell you why that's impossible.

It would be treachery.

And as I know you,

at least I think I know you,

and David even better, almost,

I know there's no treachery
written into your scripts.

- That was well put, wasn't it?
- Very.

So I went to Paris…

on the second of June.

It was summer there.

I had booked a room
at the Hotel Sainte Anne.

An old-fashioned
English type family hotel.

I should state this was the first time.

- What do you mean?
- The first time I was…

actually unfaithful.

A planned and staged adultery.

It was real.

David was coming that afternoon.

I went for a walk

to the Comédie Française.

I picked up our tickets
for that evening's Molière.

I had lunch at the hotel and lay down.

The cleaner woke us,
to prepare the room.

- Room service.
- No, thank you! No!

We got dressed

and went to a restaurant
for a fantastic dinner.

We never got to
that Molière performance.

That night Markus rang.
He talked about a rehearsal

of Brahms' Violin Concerto
with Isaac Stern.

I told him David had arrived
and we'd been to the theatre.

Markus asked if David
was staying at the hotel. I said, yes.

I described my lovely room.

"Send my love to David
and give him a hug from me."

I yawned and said it was
nearly three in the morning.

Markus turned serious
and said he knew that.

Then the conversation ended

with a fat lie.

I put the phone down,
turned to David…

and said Markus sends his love.

But there was Np reply.

My lover was sleeping.

Marianne didn't come the next day.

Nor the day after.

I began to worry.

Had I offended her?

Bored her?

Had we driven the "game" too far?

I missed our meetings.

I felt low and tried to kill
my loneliness with a book.

On the third day, a letter came.

Dear old director.

I won't be coming today.
Nor tomorrow.

I don't know when I'll come.

I have a cold,
and I know you hate sniffles.

But the real reason for my absence
isn't my cold.

It's so hard to rake over your story.

You sit at your desk,
looking at me attentively…

expecting Marianne to do the work.

Like all lousy dramatists
evade the issue by thinking

a gifted actor can give their mess
some shape and drive.

To be honest, I feel tormented.

Or maybe "tormented"
is an exaggeration.

But it's hard to talk about… love.

That jungle of impulses
and attacks of vertigo,

growing like a cancer…

finally becoming impenetrable.

I rush into situations
I'm unable to cope with.

And I wonder…

why I'm not worried.

Although…

there's one exception.

One I can't deal with.

I see Isabelle…

I see Isabelle's little self.

Her face.

And then I'm frightened.

Really frightened.

I come to my senses…

and think of some terrible words…

as if written on a wall:

What am I doing to Isabelle?

What am I doing to Isabelle?

Sometimes I think
that inside Marianne —

the actress I see in the mirror —

inside Marianne
is an other person…

with no name or identity.

Marianne is back.

I'm relieved.

So… Paris, Marianne?

There isn't much to tell.

We were there for three weeks.

Tell me about jealousy.

One afternoon, up by Sacré-Cœur.

The city at our feet…

fading in the heat haze.

David puts his hand on my thigh.

I grow heavy…

and pleasantly sleepy.

Perhaps it's time for a siesta.

Suddenly he asks me
about my past lovers.

He asks…

with a smile…

indifferently.

Like engaging in foreplay
before the real activities.

I don't sense the risk.

I innocently tell him details

of my modest, erotic biography.

David is asking funny,
knowing questions.

We're both laughing.

And I get bolder.

Then, after dinner —

we'd drunk more than usual —

that evening all hell breaks loose.

- Can I do without this?
- Of course you can.

For the first time in our friendship,
David scares me.

His jealousy is mindless.

I'm so frightened I throw up.

I think he's going to hit me.

But he doesn't.

What are you doing?
Let go of me!

David!

Are you out of your mind?

Stop it!

Bloody idiot! Let me go.

Idiot! Listen!

I'm furious…

but struck dumb.

Then he's remorseful.

Anguished.

"Forgive me."

I wonder if that evening
changed our relationship.

But no…

We sink deeper
into each other.

How do we continue?

You decide.

I decide?

You decide.

I decide.

Our journey home.

We'd agreed that I'd take
the morning flight,

David the afternoon flight.

We felt we were
up against a brick wall.

I was miserable.

"I know how you want
to arrange our future," he says.

"This is what you want,
but are too cowardly to say…"

Then he says everything I thought
but didn't have the courage to say.

Nastily.

Outwardly, it will be as usual.

Your marriage remains intact.

We'll meet when it suits…
Suits you.

You want it all, and me as well.

Is that so very silly?

Can't we give ourselves some time?

Can't we wait?

See how it all goes?

David, give us time!

What a rotten scene we're acting.

Many children were playing
in a house.

The walls were red.

And the windows were big.

It was summer outside,

but winter-cold.

We wore winter clothes.

A door opened.

I hadn't seen that door.

A nurse gathered two children.

I saw a big lady inside,

wearing my mother's fur coat,

with a crown on her head…

made of gold.

It was snowing in the room.

I saw piles of children's clothes,

covered with snow.

That scared me.
I understood that the lady

was eating one child after another.

I realised there was no other way out,

and I was very scared.

Very scared.

When we arrived in Copenhagen…

we heard that Stockholm airport
was closed due to fog.

We'd have to stay at Kastrup
for several hours.

There were hotels nearby.

I got a cell with a shower and a TV.

I was still miserable,
and took a tranquiliser.

There was a knock on the door.

It was David.

I cried.

I don't know why.

We were two drowning people.

I couldn't stop crying.

We lay listening to the traffic,

the planes en route.

We held each other,
but couldn't make love.

David's heart
was thumping hard and fast.

He didn't sleep,

and he looked wretched
in the morning light.

He was going to his room to shave,
but stopped in the doorway.

I saw him standing there…

His face was open.

I'd never seen him so open.

I've never felt such pain.

And I thought:

"Must it be this painful?

"Is this how we pay?"

I rang David at four in the morning.

But David didn't answer.

The day went by.

When we sat down to dinner,
the phone rang.

I answered. It was David.

I said we were eating.
He wanted to meet.

"Can we meet at three?"

I said I couldn't
and suggested one o'clock.

David couldn't manage then,
and the conversation ended.

We went on like that for several days.

Then we gave up,
everything went silent.

I got a letter.

I'll read it.

"I can't live like this.

"It's humiliating.

"Upsetting.

"Unbearable.

"There is one solution —
clarity and truth."

I went walking in the forest for hours.

I cried — from anger, not from sorrow.

I had some wine and wrote a reply.

I said he'd ruined any chances
of a continuation.

It was lucky we'd discovered
our mistake in time.

What right had he
to give me an ultimatum?

I told him to stay away,
in short, to go to hell.

I posted the letter,
not even reading it through.

It was pain relief

after a terrible ache.

That night Isabelle
wanted to sleep with me.

I wonder what she was thinking.

She knows so much.

Then we slept.

I slept soundly…

for the first time since Paris.

Normal life resumed.

I was pleased to return to the theatre.

I had a good part in a good play.

Markus came home.

He was a bit worn-out.

But happy with his success…

and to be home.

Markus, when in a good mood,
can be luminous.

On 20th August,
the theatre re-opened.

David and I met

and greeted each other…

with a formal hug in the scrum.

Nothing was said.

In a big theatre
you don't see people

when you're working
on different productions.

But one afternoon…

we bumped into each other again.

We laughed in embarrassment,

and then David asked if we could meet
in his study after rehearsals.

We're heading for disaster.

Here, I mean, at the theatre.

A theatre disaster.

I warned the actors we'd do
anti-theatre with A Dream Play.

It was about time.

Why are you so quiet?

Can't you see I'm listening,
fathead.

Why do I always get things wrong?

Why do I get things wrong
with the actors? With you?

Did something change
without my realising?

My film was postponed, then cancelled.
The row about money.

I've got debts everywhere.

Sometimes it's laughable.

You were going to say something?

Well…?

I almost suggested that we'd meet,
but then I changed my mind.

Invite me to dinner,
like in the old days.

So I can see Isabelle.

And Markus.

There was malicious talk
about David's rehearsals.

He was rehearsing A Dream Play.
I told you that.

I was worried, you see,

and secretly went to see
what he was up to.

As a child, did you hold a shell
to your ear and hear?

I only hear

the roar of the wind.

I will interpret. Listen!

The sigh of the wind.

Born beneath the clouds.

Hunted by Indra's fires.

Down on the dusty earth.

The field's litter soils our feet.

Dust of the roads.

Smoke of the cities.

Evil breaths, cooking fumes
and wine vapours.

May we endure!

On the wide sea…

we air our lungs,

shake our wings,

and wash our feet.

I'm extremely distracted
by Johan chewing gum.

Are you distracted?

Maestro is distracted!

Could you leave your gum
with the stage manager?

- How are you distracted?
- I'm simply distracted.

It's a nicotine gum, on prescription.

I'd rather you didn't munch on stage.

The risk then, is simply

that under present conditions
I'll start smoking again!

What "conditions"?

Didn't you know that I'm
"in a certain condition"?

Would you please be so kind
as to remove your gum?

Certainly.

Thank you, Johan.

Let's continue, Eva.

No, I'm not going through
that shit again.

Anyway, not today.

Not before the premiere.

If I may.

If there is a premiere.

- What do you mean?
- What he says.

What's the point?

David should talk to the boss.
Maybe then he'll listen

to what we've been saying
for eight bloody weeks!

You went to the boss?

I thought… that only Axel…

This conversation makes me ill.

I'll be in my dressing room until three.

Could I be told about
tomorrow's rehearsals.

Isn't it just as well to call it a day?

Right…

Not just as well.

It's better.

I went straight to David's room.

He wasn't there, but I went in.

I didn't know what I was doing.

Or maybe I did.

He came eventually.

Seeing me, he waved me away,
"Not you too!"

I went over to him and hugged him.
I said I'd be at his place in an hour.

I left without looking back.

Four o'clock I was standing…

outside his door, ringing the bell.

No one opened.

David wasn't there.

Just as well. Better.

I was relieved.

I was having regrets.

Real basic regrets.

I was just about to leave

when he arrived.

I didn't ask why he was late.
He didn't say.

It was like a dream…

where what you fear most
happens over and over again.

Strange.

Not in a loving way.

Fumbling.

And aggressive.

David was impatient and inaccessible,
I was frightened.

I kept thinking,
"I don't understand.

"I don't understand!"

We lay naked…

side by side on the bed.

I took his hand.

He tried to break free, but I held on.

No acting, please, Marianne.

It's hopeless if we only
see ourselves as actors.

You can laugh.

Because it's all so squalid.

Squalid?

It's you and me, David.

You and me.

I knew you were up there,
watching that wretched thing.

Sometimes you drape yourself
in misery.

Simple things aren't allowed
to be simple.

Behind every reason
there's another reason.

Is it so strange
that I felt sorry for you?

You look as if you're wondering
how much the fuck cost.

I'm an idiot.

Self-awareness… or posturing?

I mean, if a person like you…

feels affection for a person like me…

I ought to be humbly grateful.

Instead I behave like an idiot.

How stupid can you get?

Turn round, and look at your idiot.

Poor theatre.

There it is, carrying the load
of being a theatre.

Poor David,

who can't stand…

the conspiracy of the theatre
with the poor audience.

What happened next,
with you and David?

We settled down.

We met twice a week…

in his dismal flat.

Usually after my rehearsals.

Sometimes I suffered
from a guilty conscience.

Or, not a guilty conscience,

but simply grief.

Grief?

Yes. Grief.

Something was happening to me…
that I couldn't deal with.

Even worse…

I knew that every day was wrong.

But I couldn't make
a rational decision.

It's hard.
I have no words.

I never talk about this.

How can I talk about that
which has no words?

A person growing into another person.

It's inexorable.

Frightening.

The process can't be halted.

It's almost biology.

David grows into Marianne,
Marianne is frightened.

Doesn't want to expose herself
to what she doesn't understand.

David is different.

He surrenders himself… recklessly.

Without reservations.

He tells me not to feel
responsible for him. Stupid.

Sometimes I get so tired
of his childishness.

He has no insight.

Or empathy.
Oh, what am I saying?

Despite all hurdles,
it was a time of kindness.

Then Markus comes home.

I have two men.

It's easier than I'd thought.

If I weren't so morally indoctrinated,
it would be excellent.

Even enjoyable.

Now it's OK.
I care for Markus.

We've always been close.

I don't think he notices.

He thinks I'm unusually attentive.

Sometimes David visits us,
everything is as before.

I admonish myself,
I should be content.

I try to forget the constant threat.

What I'll tell you
makes me feel uneasy.

It's humiliating.

Silly.

But this is where
the tragedy begins.

I recognised Markus's hand at once.

A brief message.

"I'm sitting outside.
Let me in.

"I'll wait ten minutes,
then I'll let myself in.

"I've got a duplicate key."

How did you get a key?

I went through your handbag.

I found the key there.

I copied it.

It was that simple.

- Shall I take off my shoes?
- No.

So, this is it.

Do you want to know the truth?

If it's necessary,
we want to know the truth.

I knew about your relationship,
or whatever it is, even before Paris.

I got an interesting letter
from one of Marianne's colleagues.

Who, doesn't matter.

I had my suspicions.

When they were confirmed,
I was quite disturbed.

But what could I do?
It had already happened.

I decided to wait.
Yes, it's true.

I encouraged your trip to Paris.

I liked you both.

Christ, you're my best friends!

I thought that if they're only
together for a while…

this passion…
For that's it, isn't it?

… then this bloody,

this bloody passion
would burn out!

And everything will return to normal!

Now it's worse.

Events must run their course.

You mean divorce…?

I don't know what I mean.

But it will hurt.

Are you coming home?
I've got my car here.

I've got my own car.

See you, then.

On my way home,

something like a poison spread
through my body.

First I thought I was ill,
that I would faint. But… no.

This kind of…

poison…

was a horror I'd never felt.

I didn't know what to do.

It was uncontrollably physical.

I didn't know what to do about it.

Didn't Markus have
an afternoon rehearsal?

That was a lie.

And the key? Another lie.

Carefully planned
and thoroughly carried out.

And the threat:

"It's going to hurt."

I don't know…

Gran dropped off Isabelle,
who sensed something was wrong.

She was fretful and clingy.
I promised to read to her.

Markus was in the living room
listening to the news.

He was perfectly friendly,

maybe a little distracted.

My fear, "the hurt", returned.

I tried to read, but no…

That diffuse sense of poisoning
blocked out the words.

I locked myself in the bathroom.

Waited for the morning.

Then a day went past.

And another.

Now I had to talk to Isabelle.

A Sunday morning…

Markus was away,
Isabelle was in my bed.

We had breakfast together.

We sat there, talking.

She drank cocoa and I coffee.

I told her I was moving to David's
for a while.

She'd stay with Gran,
as she'd be closer to school.

Daddy would be away
for two months.

Isabelle kept herself occupied
while I spoke.

I became long-winded.

We would see each other,
Gran was so pleased.

Isabelle stopped playing…

I see her attentive little face.

The tangled childish hair.

Her little body…

is tense…

her thin arms folded across her chest.

God, that it should be like this!

She swallowed…

Her face was expressionless.

I nearly said, "Forget it, Isabelle.

"Forget it.

"I'm talking nonsense.
We'll always be together.

"All that matters is that we're together."

After a moment's silence,

I couldn't think of what to say.

She asks if she can live
with David and me.

And then I tell her
that there's no room.

And think of school…

But David is looking for a larger flat.

What am I saying?

What nonsense!
I can't live without David.

I know it's literally true.

I can't live without David.

Isabelle…

puts her little cup on the tray

and walks into her room
without a word.

Her straight, little back by the door.

She doesn't turn round.

I wanted it all to be unsaid.

Anything, but not this.

Now, at this very moment…

Isabelle's life had taken…

an unforeseen turn.

And I was to blame.

In a letter to Markus
you propose shared custody,

but that Isabelle shall live
with you and David.

I must inform you that Markus
refuses to discuss that option.

He wants sole custody.

Isabelle is to live with him,
with no restrictions.

To give emphasis to this, he says…

We talked about this yesterday.

He indicated that he'll refuse
all international engagements,

and stay in Sweden
for the foreseeable future.

You see, Markus
is completely serious about this.

He'll give up
a brilliant international career

to live with his daughter.

He's talked to your nanny.

He's talked to Silja?

- I haven't heard a word.
- The responsibility is mine.

I asked her not to mention it
until we had discussed the matter.

If you consider that disloyal,
I'm to blame.

- This has gone on behind my…
- Marianne, get your own lawyer.

I'm totally shattered.

I'm so angry…

- We can stop here if you like.
- No, go on. This is fascinating.

Your position isn't particularly strong.

Twenty years ago,
your case would've been thrown out.

"The woman deserted the home",
it was called then.

You'll still have to reckon
on some difficulties.

If things go badly,
Social Services will intervene.

They'll do an assessment
of you and David.

Marianne dear…
This is what I had to say.

I'm only the messenger
with the odious message.

Please don't behead me.
I wanted this to be resolved amicably.

But… I understand
that's inconceivable.

Markus wants to harm me
as much as possible.

What was that?

Markus wants to destroy me.

That's your interpretation, dear.

The threat of a court case
brought us closer,

apart from occasional
outbursts of aggression.

I made repeated efforts
to contact Markus

who remained inaccessible.

One day we were subjected

to the parodic run-through
by the Social Services.

There's no room for Isabelle here.

You'll excuse that
"in the pursuance of my duty",

- I must ask some difficult questions.
- Fire away.

We're ready.

You have two children from before?

How is your access organised?

A sore point.

I presume my ex-wife
has complained.

No, she hasn't complained,
but she's sad you never contact the children,

that you forget their birthdays,

and only sporadically visit them.

The children no longer count on you.

Is that what she says?

- Then we've the heading "finances".
- Skip that, as they're non-existent.

You have large debts.

Four hundred thousand or so.

Four hundred
and seventy-three thousand.

I'm impressed… and overwhelmed.

And the future?

The future…
We're thinking of marriage,

and what you call
"a stable relationship".

I want to add that
I'm very fond of Isabelle,

and I think she is quite fond of me.

We're friends.

Good friends.

I want to talk to Marianne
about your Paris trip.

Three, over three weeks?

Yes.

And Isabelle staying
with her grandmother.

Yes.

Can you describe your reasons?

My reasons?

That long-stay parking of Isabelle
has gone on, hasn't it?

I'd like to know your reasons.

I've spoken to your mother.
She's worried.

Isabelle's behaviour has changed.

"Sleeping badly. Nightmares,
waking suddenly and crying.

"Poor appetite. Restlessness.
Poor concentration at school."

Could you talk about this?

I don't think I can.

- It would be helpful if you'd…
- State the number of orgasms?

Can't you see you're harassing her?

No, but I can't help crying. Oh, hell!

OK, Petra Holst, you leave!

What will happen now?

- I apologise. But I can't…
- By all means…

I'm not asking for apologies.

Goodbye.

It was just that…

I just couldn't…

Goodbye.

David and I realised one truth —

we'd given an unusually
poor performance.

During our aimless talks
we realised we needed a lawyer.

- I remembered an old friend…
- Anna Berg?

… by the name of Anna Berg.

She answered my call immediately.
A good sign.

We met, and looked
at every angle of the problem.

Anna was optimistic.

Either from conviction or experience.

Then summer came…

after that awful winter.

The court case seemed remote.

Unreal.

Some relatives
lent us a summer house.

It was paradise for David and me.

We sank into a comfortable lethargy.

We drank our fill

of the quiet, the seclusion.

Isabelle was with Markus,
and would come in August.

In late July, we discovered
I was pregnant.

Despite everything,

we were full of joy.

Without knowing it,
I must have wanted David's child.

- David.
- Anna.

Nice to meet you.
Did you have any trouble finding us?

- No, not at all.
- Let's go inside.

Anna,
do you mind not smoking inside.

It makes me a bit sick.

Of course.

Forgive me for asking —
are you pregnant?

Well I…

Second month, or so… I'm not sure.

I'm seeing my doctor when he's back.

But I feel a bit sick and all that.

- And you're keeping it? Sorry…
- Without question.

You'll be four months pregnant
when the case comes up.

We ought to keep it quiet.
Keep it out of court.

I have some bad news.

Social Services?

After an unusually long time
considering it,

they're recommending
Markus gets sole custody.

God, no!

On the other hand,
your situation has improved.

You found an apartment
and you intend to marry.

It's not true…!

"Late in the summer,
we moved into the new apartment,

"with its unfamiliar furniture
and smells.

"We made efforts to create
some kind of ordinary life.

"Our lawyer called,
she had spoken to Martin Goldberg,

"Markus's lawyer.

"To her surprise, Goldberg
suggested shared custody

"and an attempt at reconciliation.

"Markus refused,
and declined all contact.

"So what happened two weeks later,

"just before the legal decision,
was very surprising.

"It was a Tuesday late evening,
about ten."

Who the hell's ringing now?
Must be a wrong number.

I'll answer.

Hello, this is Marianne.

It's Markus.

Markus…

Sorry for ringing so late.

That's fine, we were watching TV.

I wanted to say
that I'm tired of fighting.

I want to resolve this…
if you want to.

For Isabelle's sake.

I'm not drunk, if you're wondering.
I'm stone-cold sober.

I think I have a solution

that might form the basis
for an agreement.

"Form the basis for an agreement"?

That's how lawyers talk.

What can I say…?

It would be so… Dear Markus…

Are you serious?

Maybe we should meet?

Of course.
As soon as possible.

I want to meet you alone.

- No lawyers, or David.
- Of course.

Of course…

As soon as possible.

Yes…

Tomorrow at seven?

Sure…

That's fine.

Of course we'll meet,
just you and I.

Good, Marianne.

It will be such a relief
to end this bloody misery.

It was Markus.

He wants to discuss a solution.

We're meeting tomorrow evening.

Tomorrow at seven.

He's picking me up.

You're not seeing him alone.
I won't let you.

You can't stop me.

If you meet Markus, it's over.

Then it's over!
This may be a solution

and you're going to stop it,
out of jealousy!

Can't you see you're risking…
You're so stupid,

meeting Markus alone!

How could you agree to it?

Markus was conciliatory.
Maybe he's had enough!

Maybe someone changed his mind!

Just call me jealous,
but I know Markus is out to…

Take revenge? How?

Can you never take something
at face value?

He sees that Isabelle is suffering!

He doesn't want to harm her
more than we already have!

So he wants a reconciliation.
He's an extremely loyal person!

He's not plotting revenge.

He's as sick of it as we are.

Maybe he tried to hurt me
by taking Isabelle, but it's over!

He's giving up his career,
and that means a lot to him!

You know that, I know that,
and it's that simple.

And his months of silence
don't count?

All that we've been through,
doesn't that count,

because, in a fit of benevolence,
he says he has a solution?

Couldn't he spit that solution out
on the phone?

It's understandable
he wants to see me

without lawyers present, without you!

We lived together for eleven years,
I know him!

You've no idea
who Markus is anymore.

Your trust in him is absurd!

Someone who's so full of hatred,
who totally humiliated you!

And how did we humiliate him?

Think of how we humiliated him!

I've thought about it,
I'm thinking about it now.

We can't expect anything good
from him.

For God's sake, Marianne!

Don't you see the man's dangerous?
You've no idea…

After a sleepless night,
David said he'd be out all day,

and spend the night in his old flat.

A good idea, I thought.

It would spare us both.

No more hostilities,
but we were deeply sad.

David even tried to be kind.

He asked forgiveness
for his harsh words, and…

I try to remember how I felt that day…

but I don't remember.

Yes, one silly thing…

What to wear, as Markus took
an interest in my clothes.

I sat down to read,
but I couldn't concentrate.

I must have been tense.

At ten to seven, I looked out
and his car was there.

I looked in the mirror,

under my make-up I looked awful.

Markus got out of the car,
he seemed pleased to see me.

We attempted a clumsy embrace.

He opened the door, we got in,
and there we were…

after that endless silence.

Markus suggested we drive around…

and decide where to spend
the evening.

We talked about Isabelle,
but not about the problems.

It was dark.

The streetlights came to an end.

Markus stopped on a side road.

He left the engine running…

… and put the handbrake on.

He switched on the interior light
and turned to me.

"Would you like to hear my proposal?"

Yes, I'd like to hear his proposal.

He was…

very slow.

Smiled slightly.

I couldn't see his eyes
in the faint light.

"If you let me fuck you,
you'll get custody."

I sank…

downwards.

Inwards.

I couldn't reply.

I came home at half past one.

Silja had left a message.

Isabelle had been crying,
but wouldn't say why.

I was bereft of thought…

and initiative.

A door opened, it was David.

Motionless.

I thought you weren't staying here.

I was worried.

Silja went home.

I stood by the window looking down —
for two hours or so.

You came at half past twelve.

Then you sat in the car for an hour.

It took a long time, yes.

Was your meeting all right?

Markus has promised me custody.

With no restrictions.
There'll be peace at last.

Sounds good.

Yes… it's a relief.

It sounds rather too good.

What do you mean?

- Did you go to Markus's?
- Yes.

I did.

No friction?

Friction?

We went through…

the practical matters,

and talked about
our present circumstances.

And then?

What do you mean?

Markus was relieved.

That's all?

He mentioned a woman.

He's not living with her?

Apparently not.

Tired?

Desperately.

At seven, you went to Markus's.

You stayed there until eleven thirty.

You sat in the car outside.

You talked until…

half past one?

I didn't sleep with Markus,
if that's what you think.

I'm not thinking anything,
Marianne.

I'm really tired.

We'll talk in the morning.

I'll answer all your questions then.

Uh… just one moment.

I want to ask something of you.

Can't it wait?

Take off your panties.

I said, take off your panties.

You're sick.

Is there sperm on them?

I slept with Markus.

He said if I slept with him,
I'd have custody.

Where did you do it?

In the car.

Markus suggested his place.

But I wanted it over with quickly.

I took off my panties.

He was excited, but…

… he kept delaying.

He bit me.

In the breast, do you want to see?

Then he told me to suck him off.

But he didn't come.

He opened the door
and pushed me out…

He turned me over on my back…

fell over me, and came.

We got dressed.

We went back to his place
and drank some wine.

He said we should be naked.

We undressed

and had sex on the floor.

He took me from behind.

All the time I was scared he'd hurt me.

He wanted me to come.

I tried to resist, but he persisted.

So I had an orgasm…

even though I didn't want to.

I was going to phone a taxi,
but Markus wanted us…

to lie on the bed and hold each other.

Like we used to.

Then he drove me home.

I didn't want to get out,
I'd seen you up there.

I asked Markus to drive
around the block.

He thought you could wait.

Then he kissed me.

And he said, wasn't this
a nice ending to a long conflict?

When I think about how I behaved —
all these years later —

I'm filled with…

shame.

There's no other word.

Now that she's… gone,

I can see —

too late —

that she didn't betray me, I betrayed her
in the most despicable way.

I let her down

at the most important moment
in our life together.

She said, "Can't you understand,
be a little kind?

"It hurts."

But I was beyond reason.

I spent the night
furiously interrogating her.

When I think about it…

and I often do…

it's like…

film images,

clearly etched, and the lines…

I suffer from something called…
retrospective jealousy.

During our intensely erotic
interlude in Paris,

I questioned Marianne, jokingly,
about her previous lovers.

She was trusting,
and walked right into the trap.

She was touched by my interest…

and told me, in detail,

about her relationship with Markus.

How…

under some circumstances
she achieved…

an intensity of feeling
that she'd never experienced

either before or since.

That cut deeply and became a small…

but infected wound.

And that disastrous night…

the wound broke open,
and there was nothing I could do.

I see Marianne.

Her face.

I wasn't shouting or hitting her.

I was calm, almost polite,

but I made her tell me in detail:

"Did you feel desire?
Did you enjoy it?

"Was it like before
between you and Markus,

"like you told me in Paris?"

Didn't you think of the child,

our child…

that you were defiling?

She looked at me,

never flinching, saying quietly:

Don't say that about the child,
it's harmful.

It might harm the child. Please…

But I didn't stop.

I went on tormenting her.

Marianne never defended herself.

She just looked at me.

Steadily.

She must hate me.

All her life,
she would carry the memory

of my words, my voice, my face.

She knew I had let her down
when she needed me most.

I wish I could be…

sentenced to a punishment…

which expunged my guilt.

But my punishment continues.

It's a life sentence…

which I'll never escape, since…

Marianne is gone.

David and I tried
to repair our relationship.

But the joy had gone.

Our affinity lay in our misery.

We grieved what was lost.

It became a friendship in damnation.

Without asking David,
I had an abortion.

He was away for a while.

When he came back, I told him.

He said nothing for a long time.

Then he just said,

"Poor Marianne!"

Poor Marianne!

We clung to each other.

Yet I think we were relieved.

The court proceedings began.

Markus, of course,
ignored our horrible agreement.

Then the verdict came.

I was given sole custody.

The nightmare was over.

But it went on —
obscurely but tangibly.

Markus could see Isabelle
whenever he wanted, but he didn't call.

Isabelle often shyly asked
if Markus didn't want to see her.

Finally I phoned Markus.

He excused himself,
saying he'd been down.

Now he'd like to see her.

Isabelle would go to Markus's
for dinner.

It was a Friday.

I want you to know,
that what I'll say will hurt.

It has to hurt.

Like at the doctor's —

it hurts for you to get better.
Do you understand?

Why does it have to hurt?

Happy the one who triumphs
over adversity.

Here on earth, each has his time.

Power and wealth
are constantly changing.

A thousand hearts

hold a thousand hopes.

Some result in failure for us mortals.

Others in wealth.

He who best enjoys

each passing day…

is truly happy.

I remember sitting there

with my friends at the theatre.

I remember feeling

a deep sense of contentment.

What is true wisdom?

What gift of heaven
should man count as noblest?

To hold one's hand in strength
over the head of enemies?

No.

The eternal good…

is true wisdom.

Suddenly the door opened,
a secretary walked in.

She had to speak to me.

Markus had committed suicide.

He'd probably taken sleeping pills
as early as the Saturday afternoon.

The nurse mentioned…

that a Mrs Danelius came with him
in the ambulance.

She had just left.

I had never seen…

I felt a strange diffidence,
I didn't dare…

This was the nearness of Death.

Loneliness.

Alien.

Alienation.

Loneliness.

Alien.

Alienation.

Then I left him.

All emotions deadened.

I left him and walked
all the way home.

I went in to Isabelle.

I told her that Markus was dead.

A Mrs Danelius
had been in the ambulance.

After the funeral, I called her
and asked if we could meet.

She lived alone in a large villa.

My name's Margareta.

I'm Marianne.

How is Isabelle?

Not too good.

She won't talk to me or anyone else.

Isabelle is a very unusual little person.

You know her?

We haven't met all that often.

But Markus has told me.

He doted on her.

Is it tactless to ask
how you knew Markus?

I've known Markus for twenty years.

You and Markus had a relationship?

Yes.

We were together
during your marriage.

Then you know a lot about me.

Markus never talked about you.

I never asked.

Yes…

When you went to Paris
with your friend.

It was not until he saw
that it was hopeless…

that he used the word "hopeless".

He changed.

- Changed?
- He became harrowed, rancorous.

Frightened.

Were you at the recording
of the Brahms quartet last year?

You were page-turner for Markus.

I remember wondering
who that beautiful woman was.

Markus never mentioned you.

I say to myself…

"I ought to have realised."

I say it over and over again.

I ought to have realised,
and stopped it.

I understand…

I think I understand.

We met Friday morning.

I forgot my gloves.

His housekeeper had the Monday off
as Markus had a concert in Oslo.

I went to fetch my gloves.

I have a key.

He was sitting in the armchair,
facing away from the window.

An empty wine bottle and a glass
on the table.

There was a letter.

"to whom it may concern,"
he'd written.

I rang for an ambulance.

I went home and read his letter.

I have it here, if you want to read it.

He must have been very confused
when he wrote it.

If you like, I can read it.

The beginning is incomprehensible.

"Two old friends,
they had been married for many years.

"They decided not to go on living.

"They took their sleeping tablets,
went to bed

"held hands, and died together.

"I wanted Isabelle and I
to do the same.

"I talked to my daughter
about how we'd do it.

"She wanted to die with me.

"We agreed on Saturday morning.

"She was to come here at ten.

"I waited for several hours.

"Then I phoned and asked
when she was coming.

"She cried and said
she wasn't coming,

"that she was frightened.

"I calmed her, and said it was natural
to change your mind

"and that she mustn't feel bad.

"I also told her that I loved her
more than anyone else."

Now everything becomes
hard to make out… unintelligible.

"Isabelle has been taken from me

"and I'm left with nothing."

This I don't understand at all:

"Essentially, I'm already dead."

No signature.

To be absolutely honest…

I'm not very pleased
with your Marianne.

My Marianne?

David at last got to make a film.

It was set on a desert island.

The team were away
for two months.

David returned with a tan
and a guilty conscience.

He'd cheated on his Marianne,

with the very new leading lady.

David said it would pass.

He asked for patience
and indulgence.

I never want to see you again!

I don't give a shit about you!

I haven't got an ounce of patience left!

Go to hell!

You'll never humiliate me again.

You hear?

I'll live my own life! Just get lost!

It'll be so bloody marvellous
to be rid of you,

after all the misery you've caused!

Take your whore and fuck off!

She screamed so much
she lost her voice.

And then?

Then they became friends for life…

though studiously apart.

Marianne drowned.

Yes.

She died.

The end.

That's how it is.

Thanks for helping.

I'm sure we'll meet again.

- At the theatre, or somewhere.
- God knows…

I've stopped making plans.

I really must go now.

It'll be lonely without you.

Thanks.
It's sweet of you to say so.

Good night.