Original subtitles

Sorry, I didn't even notice you there!

No, no, no, no, don't apologize!

Don't apologize!

Continue!

Keep dancing.

I must look crazy.

It's just great to see somebody

loving the rain so much.

Well, don't you just love it?

No.

What?

No!

You hate the rain?

Yes!

How could anyone hate the rain?

Well, I'm afraid I might shrink.

No, you have to become one with it.

Just melt into it.

Don't resist.

It's cold!

Can I have one?

Yeah.

Got a lighter too?

Yeah, I do.

Be careful.

Don't burn yourself.

Got it lit?

So you're that writer, aren't you?

Yes.

From New York, right?

Yes.

Can I ask you a question?

Yes.

Why would you leave New York to come to this hole?

I needed a change of scenery.

But New York...

I mean, I would do anything to visit New York!

To... soak in the architecture,

the people...

see the shows on Broadway.

Ha-have... Do we...

do we know each other?

No.

No, but everyone knows who you are.

You're the famous author living in Goose Cove.

Yeah.

I gotta go.

Don't tell anyone I smoke, okay?

Okay.

Goodbye, Mr. Author.

I hope I'll see you again sometime.

Me too.

What's your name?

Nola.

Sommerdale Police, how can I help you?

It's Deborah Cooper in Side Creek Lane.

I...

Come quick! Right now!

You heard prowlers again, Mrs. Cooper?

No, no, it's a girl!

She's being chased in the woods by a man!

I-I was making an apple pie,

heard a scream, and looked out the screen door.

She was wearing a red dress.

She's...

she's running through the forest,

and he's chasing her.

I'm sending a patrol car over

right away, Mrs. Cooper.

Please stay where you are.

Hurry!

Anyone who says success is overrated

isn't doing it right.

This is me, Marcus Goldman.

At the age of 26, I had written my first novel,

which sold over a million copies,

propelling me onto everyone's must-read list.

I was suddenly a celebrity.

My book, "G is for Goldstein,"

was heralded far and wide

as the work of an original and rare talent,

even by the toughest of New York critics.

Suddenly, everything I said

was of interest and hilarious.

No more dining on ramen.

It's now Peking duck at Mr. Chow,

prepared by the chef himself.

No more squinting to watch the big game,

but enjoying it on a 110-inch plasma screen

with Douglas Claren,

my agent.

I even hired a secretary named Denise,

who I think might have had a little crush on me.

For the first six months

after the publication of my book,

life was a writer's wet dream.

There were book signings

and a contract for my next two novels,

with a little advance thrown in there

for good measure.

Wow. Thank you!

Success does have its drawbacks,

like what to say when someone asks you...

So what's your next book about?

It had been over a year

since the publication of my first book,

and I still had not written a single word

of the next one.

Not that I didn't try.

Inspiration had abandoned me,

and I was scared shitless,

because where I come from, failure is not an option.

Even in high school,

Marcus Goldman always found some way to come out a winner.

I figured out pretty early

the best way to stand out in a crowd

was to pick the right crowd to stand out in.

My strategy was so successful,

I soon became known as "Marcus the Magnificent."

See, the trouble is, the more you win,

the more terrifying it is to lose,

and I was on the verge of losing everything.

I tried everything to get unblocked.

I escaped to the desert for solitude,

to reconnect with my inner voice.

I even returned to my old room in New Jersey

hoping for inspiration...

Shh! He's writing!

The trouble with being hailed as a genius

is that now everything you write

is expected to be a literary gem,

some timeless insight into the human condition.

The pressure to live up to the hype

froze me.

There was only one person I knew

who could help me cut through the bullshit

and bring me back to reality,

Harry Quebert,

best-selling author, my former college professor,

and one of the greatest writers of the 20th century.

Marcus!

Is this really you?

Yeah, yeah.

- It is? - Yeah.

- Incredible. - Yeah.

I know, I'm...

sorry, Harry.

I've been completely off the grid.

I haven't heard from you

since you became a star.

I tried to call you about a month ago.

Your assistant said

you weren't taking calls from anybody.

I'm...

totally blocked, Harry.

It's been over a year, and I got nothing...

except a deadline I'm not gonna meet.

Yeah.

That second one is always the toughest.

Yeah.

A lot of expectation out there...

and creativity just does not thrive

when there is a deadline.

It's like sex,

but there's no little blue pill for a writer.

You know, why don't you come to me?

Just get out of New York.

Have a change of scenery, you know?

Really?

Go for a run on the beach,

get your creative juices going.

You know?

Let inspiration come to you.

Okay.

Yeah.

It's a deal. I'll... I'll see you this weekend.

All right.

I loved driving to Maine.

I knew Sommerdale well,

having visited Harry there several times as a student.

I loved this little town forgotten by time,

its churches,

peaceful neighborhoods of painted wooden houses,

the shops,

and Clark's, the town's historic diner

where Harry and I would eat

and spend hours talking about life,

and books, and...

and what it meant to be a writer.

Harry was living a few miles away,

isolated amongst the tranquil wilderness

of the coastal forest

in a beautiful stone and solid pine house

with an ocean view

and a deck overlooking an endless beach.

Marcus the Magnificent!

Hey, Harry.

You made it!

- How are you, man? - It's good to see you!

It's good to see you too!

Welcome back.

It's good to see you, man.

This is new.

This is new, it looks good.

I painted it.

Welcome.

Please. Thanks, man.

God, it's good to be back.

First, get good at being patient.

The more patient you are, the more likely it is

your muse will pay you a visit.

But you know me, Harry.

Patience has never been my strong suit.

Especially now.

And stop trying to write the Great American Novel.

That will only paralyze you.

You can't write from fear.

Then what do I write from?

'Cause right now, fear's the only thing I got.

That and terror.

You have to write what matters to you.

Screw all the voices in your head,

the ones judging you,

telling you what you should or should not write about.

Go with your gut, the idea that excites you.

And what if I change my mind

halfway through?

You can always change your mind,

go in a different direction.

The point is to write,

pen to paper.

The words are immaterial, it's all about the idea.

Is that helping?

It's pretty simple, yeah...

No, it's not helping.

He needs some inspiration.

What can you say to him?

Well,

it helps if you sit where he's sitting.

Just for good luck.

Thanks, Jenny.

Thank you, Jenny.

Yes...

Okay, I'm off.

My last class is around 500,

so let's have cocktails on the deck

at 600 sharp, okay?

Okay, great.

Yeah, listen, if I'm not here,

my body will probably wash up on shore

in a few days' time.

Not going well?

No.

No, are you kidding? It's extraordinary.

It's, yeah, completely unpredictable.

Can't wait to find out what happens next.

You haven't written anything at all.

Not... not entirely true.

I, texted Sofia.

Well, sexted her.

That's probably the appropriate nomenclature, but...

it's actually the best writing

I've done all year.

All right.

Just tell me how you did it, man.

You sat in a diner day after day?

You wrote a masterpiece in one summer?

Okay.

Write what interests you.

Or yet, better yet, you know, just don't write at all.

Live.

Don't make...

life about your work.

Or you'll end up like me.

600, drinks.

Yeah.

So, what's the next

Marcus Goldman masterpiece about?

Give us a little hint.

Well, you know, the writing process

is a very fragile thing,

you know, much, much like an unborn child.

It needs to incubate until it's fully formed,

and then, much like childbirth itself,

it can be a painful process to see through...

You're so full of shit.

How the hell did he do it?

Hey.

What the hell do you think you're doing?

Um...

Just...

What, are you spying on me, Marcus?

No, no, no, Harry, I just, um...

Um...

You go through my personal things?

I'm s... I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, I shouldn't have opened it.

She was someone I once knew.

It's complicated.

This needs to stay...

between us.

Do you understand me?

Yeah.

Yeah, you have my word.

Don't be a stranger.

Yeah.

Yeah, you too.

Thanks again, Harry.

You listening?

Well, how are things looking?

So, we got Joe Fryman, the top litigator in the city,

to review your contract with Schmid and Hanson.

And?

You're totally screwed.

Either you deliver up a new draft

by the agreed-upon date,

or they take everything you own.

Okay, what if I sign everything over to my parents?

Like, including the condo.

The repo men will just go after them.

Probably lock them up for collusion.

For how long?

What?

Nothing.

Nothing, never mind.

Hey, listen...

I got another call coming in, okay?

Just talk to me when you've got some good news.

Prick.

Hello?

She's...

she's dead.

She's dead, Marcus.

Who? Who's dead?

Nola.

Nola's dead.

It's all my fault.

What did I do?

What did I do, for God's sake?

H-Harry? Harry, what are you talking about?

I don't...

Harry!

God dammit.

This is Harry. Leave a message.

Shit.

Okay, um...

I have to get my shit together.

Hey, what do you mean, it's all your fault?

I don't...

Hey, are you watching this?

Doug? Doug! Sorry, man.

I thought you were, um...

Turn on the TV.

What channel?

Take your pick.

Sommerdale, Maine,

that author Harry Quebert was arrested today

after police discovered human remains on his property.

The discovery was made early this morning,

when a landscaping crew

hired by Mr. Quebert

to plant a flower bed of hydrangeas

uncovered the remains

buried less than 100 feet from his house...

It's insane.

According to police,

this may be the body of 15-year-old Nola Kellergan,

a local girl who disappeared from her house

in August of 1975.

You still there?

The evidence found with the body

seems to implicate Mr. Quebert,

one of the most respected American writers,

whose book, "The Origin of Evil,"

fascinated millions,

in the murder of the young girl,

as well as in the death of Deborah Cooper,

a witness who was shot and killed in her residence

at the edge of the forest...

Marcus, you okay?

No, no, no, no, no, no, this doesn't...

This doesn't make...

Why? What, he's gonna bring someone in

to dig up a place where he supposedly buried a body?

This makes no sense.

This is... this is a mistake, man.

Look, there was a corpse

buried in his yard,

however you look at it.

Hi, Mom?

Sweetie,

please tell me you're not on your way

to visit that horrible, terrible man.

No, Mom, I'm not stupid enough

to get myself in the middle of all that.

I always had this "!" feeling about him.

Yeah, well,

you shouldn't believe everything you hear on the news, okay?

He's a classic borderline.

The man is an animal.

With boundary issues.

He's not an animal, Ma, he's my friend.

How... close a friend, sweetie?

Look, Mom, I gotta go, okay?

I'm, I'm meeting someone for coffee.

A girl? Or a boy?

I love you too, Mom. Bye.

We are here at Goose Cove

at the gate

of author Harry Quebert's seafront property,

where the famous writer was arrested yesterday.

Shit...

The rumor spreading among journal...

Here he comes! Here!

Marcus!

Hey, it's Marcus Goldman!

Did you ever suspect that...

Why are you at Mr. Quebert's house?

Hey, Roth, get in!

Thank you.

Keep... keep driving.

Step on it. You're late!

I told you to meet me here half an hour ago.

Time is money.

Mr. Goldman!

How's Harry?

He...

He wanted me to...

Come on, get outta here!

He wants you to go home

and focus on your goddamn book.

And he wanted me to tell you that he's innocent.

Okay, how's it looking for him?

Not good.

They found a manuscript of his "Origin of Evil"

buried with the dead girl.

That's insane, man!

And that cannot get out, under any circumstances.

Well, can you get him released on bail?

Are you fuckin' nuts?

We're talking about double homicide!

That's 25 to Life on each count.

Where are you staying?

'Cause, you know, Harry said that if you refuse to leave,

which he predicted you would, because you're...

a stubborn son of a bitch, yeah.

That you could stay here.

But like I told him, I mean, this is a crime scene now.

Aw, look, they've spawned!

Great, more jackals!

Holy shit!

Come on!

Come on, come on, come on.

Hey, you know this is private property, right?

Private property! Do you hear that?

No comment.

Leave him alone! Leave him alone!

The local boys really fucked up

by not sealing off the house,

because now, if they find anything inside,

we can claim that they planted it.

Okay, so technically, I can stay in the house, yes?

Thank you, everybody. Thank you.

Back off.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

I'm, supposed to remind you to feed the seagulls.

Bunch of flying water rats, if you ask me.

Mr. Roth, can we get a statement?

Just go home, guys. Go home.

No comment. Thank you.

I know we're all very excited

about what's been going on in Washington at the moment.

In the entire history

of the United States of America,

there has been two reasons

for terminating a presidential term of office

Criminal wrongdoing,

à la Richard Nixon,

and dying,

but now, a third one may be added to the list.

Mr. Clinton revived a failing economy,

governed expertly

with a Republican majority in the senate,

made Rabin and Arafat shake hands,

and all anyone will remember

is the Lewinsky affair,

because America, ladies and gentlemen,

is obsessed with sex and morality.

Scandal sells.

We pretend to be shocked, but we love it!

We love it

when someone gets caught doing something bad, don't we?

Excuse me.

Sorry,

why... why are blowjobs bad?

I just, I'm just personally,

I'm a big fan. I don't know.

Really, is that so?

Well, my brave young man, please stand up.

Identify yourself.

Okay.

Afternoon, um...

My name is Marcus Goldman,

and I stand with the president.

Um... that said,

I do believe in gender equality,

so I think it's important to give as well as receive.

I'd like that on the record.

Now, you see?

This poor boy will never be seen the same way

ever again.

Now every time we look at this man,

we will see and think of him

as Mr. Blowjob.

Or would you prefer Mr. Fellatio?

It's a little more refined...

Thank you.

Yeah, no, thank you.

Would you like to just express to the group

why you decided to... state this?

Because, Professor Quebert,

now that I have everyone's attention,

I have the pleasure of informing you all

that I write very good short stories

that appear in the literary magazine,

issues of which will be on sale for only $5.00

after class.

Sorry, we're sold out.

How'd it go?

We almost sold out.

Congratulations.

Thank you. As they say,

any publicity is good publicity, right?

And, like, 10 girls

gave me their phone numbers.

It pays to advertise.

Here, I saved the last copy for you.

Well, I look forward to reading it.

Thanks.

I really hope you like my short story.

You're, um...

Yeah, you're the reason I'm here, Professor.

You're what I aspire to be, sir.

Okay.

It's gonna be $5.00.

I'm sorry?

For the magazine.

A-ha!

Mr. Goldman,

I have no doubt

that you're going to be a huge success.

Why, thank you.

Whatever happened to

innocent until proven guilty?

I can't just leave it there.

The whole thing makes me wanna puke.

Shit.

Go back to New York, Marcus.

Stay far away from all this.

Does that mean you won't serve me

your famous pancakes and sausage?

You better leave one hell of a tip.

Yeah.

I, saw you on TV last night.

Yeah?

Are you...

you moving here?

Yeah.

Yeah, maybe.

How come?

I can't believe he did that.

It's unthinkable.

Well, you don't think he actually killed her, do you?

She was...

She...

She used to come into the library after school.

Such a sweet girl.

I can't believe how many times I sat on the deck

having a scotch with Harry,

and all the time, the body of that poor girl...

Marcus!

Good to see you.

Hi, Travis.

May I?

Please, yeah.

Here you go.

I'm...

I'm sorry, son.

I know you're very close to Harry.

This can't be easy for you.

How come I never heard of Nola Kellergan before,

all the time I've been coming here?

Until we found her corpse,

it was all ancient history,

the kind that people don't like to remember.

Well, you were on the force then, right?

Yeah...

and, Mrs. Cooper used to call us a lot back then

about something or other prowling around her place.

She'd get spooked

living in such an isolated part of town.

Now, I'd only been on the job for less than a year

the night she called.

You know, a real rookie.

I was the only officer on patrol in Sommerdale

at the time,

so I went to her house immediately.

I'm glad you're here.

What's going on?

Now, she said that she'd seen a young girl

wearing a red dress

being chased by a man into the forest,

so, you know,

I searched the area where she'd seen the girl,

and I found a torn scrap of red fabric.

So I called Chief Pratt,

who was Sommerdale's Chief of Police at the time.

He'd just gone off duty, but he came right away.

Come with me.

I saw blood, blonde hair...

It was getting dark.

We found strands of blonde hair,

another piece of the red dress,

and traces of blood.

Then, suddenly, we hear a gunshot

coming from Mrs. Cooper's house.

Afterwards, we found out

that Mrs. Cooper had called the station again

while we were in the forest

to say that the girl she'd seen earlier

had come to her house to take refuge.

She was covered in blood and needed help,

so all available units from the area were called in

to assist in the search.

We'd have dug up the whole countryside

if we could've, but, you know,

we hit one dead end after another.

After a while, the bigwigs in the state police said

it was all costing too much,

and felt that continuing the search was pointless, so...

This is insane.

But you guys, you guys know Harry.

He couldn't have done something like this.

If I've learned one thing as a cop,

it's that you never know what people are capable of.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't answer that at this time.

Let's see how the investigation unfolds.

Why would I tell you my strategy?

Quebert's manuscript was found with the body...

The manuscript doesn't prove a thing!

Writing isn't killing! Write that down.

Even your writing.

Excuse me, guys. Sorry.

No comment! No comment!

He's got no comment!

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen!

Thank you!

Now, listen to me!

I got two words for you "Shut the fuck up!"

The slightest thing you say can...

can be used against us

and ruin my defense.

What is your defense?

Deny, deny, deny!

The relationship,

the kidnappings, the murder.

It's all circumstantial.

We're gonna plead not guilty,

Harry's gonna get acquitted,

and I'm gonna counter-sue for millions of dollars.

Yup?

Thanks, man.

Talk to the nice townsfolk.

Those hicks are potential witnesses.

Find out who's got a drinking problem,

who beats his wife, who owes money,

because a witness who drinks

or beats his wife

is not a credible witness.

Find all the dirt you can.

A bit of a despicable approach,

don't you think?

You want your best friend to go free?

Roth. Go.

CNN called.

Holy shit...

My God.

Hey, we're gonna get you out of here.

Okay?

Yeah, it's just...

Don't show it to Roth.

Yeah.

It's going to be okay, Harry, okay?

Well, I've been watching the news.

I know what they're saying.

My career is over, my life is over.

It's the big fall. I am falling.

Yeah, well, you know, a wise man once told me

that you should never be afraid of falling.

Yeah, not so wise after all,

but thank you for coming.

Yeah, of course, of course.

I'm staying at Goose Cove.

Right? I fed the seagulls.

You should go back to New York.

Look, Roth is gonna get you off, okay?

But until he does,

I'm gonna stay and do whatever I can to help.

What about your novel?

Don't worry about the novel.

Listen, what you said on the phone when you called me?

You asked what you had done to Nola.

You said it was your fault.

Yeah, well, it was just the emotion, and...

and you were the only one who knew about Nola, so I...

All right, look, a lot of... a lot of rage,

and innuendo,

but... no hard evidence

that directly implicates you in the girl's murder.

Yet.

I don't like surprises.

Is there anything that you haven't told me

about you and Nola?

Because I need to know everything

if I'm gonna represent you properly.

The police asked me what I was doing

the evening of... August 30th.

I told them I was out of town,

I was in Boston.

I wasn't.

I was in a motel off of Shore Road,

the By the Sea Motel.

By 900, she hadn't arrived.

That was unlike her,

because she was always on time.

"Room 8 at 800."

Then away forever.

"Love, N."

I don't know what time I fell asleep waiting for her,

but I woke up to the radio,

and that's when I...

I found out she was missing.

She was wearing her red dress.

She wore that for me.

It was her favorite dress.

Good morning! It's 630,

and the forecast is sunny for this Sunday, August 31st.

And now, an urgent report.

Police issued a general alert

in the Sommerdale region

after the disappearance of 15-year-old Nola Kellergan

yesterday evening around 700 p.m.

Police would like to hear from anyone

with information about the girl's whereabouts.

At the time she disappeared,

Nola Kellergan was wearing a red dress.

So, you were meeting.

You were meeting to...

We were gonna leave town.

Okay...

and that's why

you said it was your fault?

I know how it looks,

but I didn't kill Nola.

I loved her,

and if I hadn't have asked her

to meet me at that motel,

she might still be alive today.

I don't think you get it.

It's a fucking disaster.

If the prosecution gets hold of this,

Harry is screwed.

Shit...

"On my desk, there's a porcelain pot."

Inside is a key to my locker at the gym in Montburry,

203.

Everything is in there.

Burn it all.

"I'm in danger."

It's "The Origin of Evil."

It's Harry's original manuscript.

Holy cow...

I knew what I was doing was illegal,

that by burning all this incriminating evidence,

I was suddenly an accomplice.

But I also knew Harry,

and he was my teacher, my mentor.

He was my friend,

and I had to help him.

There was no way he could have done

what he was accused of doing.

Then,

as I watched the flames turn paper to ash,

a chilling thought crept over me...

What if I was wrong?

Was I in danger myself?