All language subtitles for Doctor P.S01E03

Leave the boy alone!
-You can shut it!

You want to go?
You want to get fucked up?

Is it me
or is this a bit much?

No!

Ah!
-Don't touch me!

Ah!
-Leave it!

Ah!
-Leave him alone!

CHAPTER THREE

THE ANXIETY ATTACK IS LASTING
TEN YEARS LONGER THAN EXPECTED

Well, well, well.

All we have are words.

Group therapy

is what differentiates us
from the narcissists.

We share here,

so, don't be afraid,

we're among friends.

That's why

I've put dim lighting,

I'm smoking my pipe,

I'm drinking my holy water,
a little whiskey,

so we can gradually

delve into the unconscious.

Like you, of course,

you're all the friends
I have here in Spain.

Until I can get back to Cuba,

which will be soon,

when that proletariat
anti-Freudian

anti-psychoanalytic

dictatorship falls.

Anyway, you can't drink,

or smoke,
because that numbs your anxiety

and I want you...

nice and anxious,

hmmm?

So tell us,
share with the group.

''As I think
I've already mentioned,

Portuondo was a doctor,
a psychoanalyst and a psychiatrist''.

Well, I feel dirty.

''But so he says,
he had also been

a semi-professional boxer,

a legendary whiskey drink
in the United States,

an Olympic qualifier,

a projective test painter

and even a presenter
on the first public TV channel

in Santiago de Cuba
before the revolution''.

I was always a great athlete.

I even dreamed

of representing Cuba
at the Olympics.

Ultimately, it wasn't to be

because I started my internship

at La Habana
General Psychiatric Hospital.

But knowing how to box...

Being a good athlete,

helped me deal with

the psychotic
and schizophrenic patients.

There were no pills
back then.

Thank God.

Dammed pills!

But you had to be prepared

to deal with
the patients with force.

I could deal
with the patients physically

and that earned me their respect.

''But first and foremost,

Portuondo was like...

Life is a battle.

...a detective of the unconscious''.

''He embarked on an Agatha Christie
style investigation

in which the guilty party
was always you,

the patient''.

Can I recount a dream?

Well, I don't know if it's a dream
or a childhood memory, really.

Those are the best.

It's like...

Primarily, it causes me real angst.

Oceanic angst.

So vivid.

I remember... my parents
were in their room

and...

and I remember thinking

my father
was killing my mother.

Did you hear screaming?

Yes, yes, I heard screaming.

Mmm!

The primal scene.

Aha.

Yes.

And I remember
when they came out...

of the room
I felt my mother...

was no longer herself,

like she'd been
replaced by someone,

another person
who I could no longer trust.

The paranoia continues.

And she...

in my memory, she...

has died blond hair.

Your mother betrayed
your trust by fucking,

fucking your father, dammit.

That's the primal scene,

but there's something,

something that doesn't add up.

What's that?

The primal scene.

The situation in which the child,
as a good Oedipus,

sees his father fucking,
that's not important.

That's where counter-power
originates,

opposition,

but that happens
to everyone, dammit.

Of course seeing your parents
have sex affects you,

of course it does.

It's where your hatred
of the world,

of society comes from.

Yes.

But why are you telling me this?

I don't know,
oceanic angst.

You're putting up a screen.

You're telling me sincere things

to avoid dealing
with the essential.

In psychoanalysis,

you don't focus
on what the patient tells you,

but rather on
what he leaves out.

Your problem isn't inside,
it's really outside.

And...

Who wears the trousers in your house?
Mother or father?

Erm...

My mother, I guess.

Well, it could be my father too.

At weekends,
it was absolutely my father,

because he played the drums

and I guess that gives
real authority, right?

My father loves rock

and he'd play Miguel Ríos,
Loquillo...

I don't know, a super ego
who plays the drums

is pretty imposing, I guess.

No, no, no, no, no!

You're slipping away from me.

How many siblings do you have?

Only child,
I've told you many times.

Only child,

oceanic angst.

A mother with dyed blond hair,

primal scene,

and a drummer father.

Elementary, dear Watson.

You, alone with mummy

and you, here right now,

alone with mummy Portuondo.

Prancing through life,
but life is out there

and I'm not your mother
and don't fuck your father, asshole!

Oedipal shitbag!

Oedipal poof!

Oedipal coward!

Nobody is guilty in life!

Always looking
for someone to blame!

''Guilty or not,

Portuondo forced me
to go to group therapy''.

''He ran it twice a week
at his surgery and I hated it''.

''The group was like a decadent
Dead Poets Society''.

It was what he liked.

You know?
The tale of the client and the whore.

I was the whore,

and he'd throw 50-euro notes
in my face as we fucked.

Now he gives me an allowance

and of course,
it makes me feel dirty.

Of course,

because that money

reminds you of the humiliation

of the money when
you engaged in your sexual acts.

Have you ever stuck your finger
up your husband's ass?

Mmm... No.
-Has he asked you to?

No.

Some men like it.

Yes, yes, but no.

He never asked you to?
-No, I mean...

Not just a little finger?
-No, no.

Right, I'm actually
talking about divorce.

Some women like to stick
their fingers up men's asses,

often, they're even the ones
who ask to do it.

Yeah, but...
-Do you know what I mean?

Hey? You know?
-Yes, yes.

Eh?

A little finger.

Little finger.

How nice is this,
all of us here as a group?

Isn't it great
when the whole group is here

and we share our stories...

It's delectable.

And you, Black Narcissus,

tell us something,
you're very quiet.

Look at him.

Look closely
at this little man-boy.

He only talks in private.

Alone with his mummy.

When he's in public,
the cat gets his tongue.

Ah!

Speak.

Come on!
-Go on!

Go on, share with the group.

Come on!

He can't.

He simply can't.

Well.

Tell us something. Nothing.

Yeah, but...
-Nothing.

Nothing.

''I was incapable
of talking to the group''.

He's a mute.

''I spent almost a year
without opening my mouth,''

It's like...

''As I began to open up more
in one-to-one therapy

and tell him
increasingly crazy things,

in the group I still felt
unable to open my mouth''.

''It was a very... strange place

and I couldn't get over a resistance
to sharing my conflicts

with people I considered...
well, low-lives''.

''Society's psychological debris,

depressed, hysterical, paranoid,

schizophrenics, maniacs,

well, on the whole,

Portuondo's International
Psychoanalysis Centre

wasn't exactly home
to society's elite,

but rather those who life
has turned its back on''.

''Each of the members
of this group

was a character
more crazy than the last''.

''There was Lola,
who I've already mentioned,

the gallery owner
from San Cugat,

recently divorced
and traumatised by the memory

of the abusive relationship
with Mario, her ex-husband''.

Look, let me make
this very clear,

because I like things
to be clear,

anyone who is not
actively looking to become

a Hollywood star,
is a piece of shit.

''Then there was Ismael''.
-A piece of shit.

Accept it.
-''An real exhibitionist

who claimed his dick
was the size of a boa constrictor''.

How big are your dicks?

How big?

Mine is so big
that when I take a piss,

it hangs down
and touches the toilet water,

that's how big it is.

I have a boa constrictor,
a boa constrictor.

Look.

I can screw two girls
at once with this.

No, no, no, no.

No, no, no, no.

You can sleep
with two girls at once,

but you can only screw one
because you only have one dick.

The boa constrictor can!

Portuondo!

Do you want to see my dick?

I don't care,
I'll show it to you,

I don't care, I'm not shy,

and I'll shut your fucking mouths.

''Ismael was a very peculiar guy''.

''He told us how he'd lived
naked in the wild until he was 30,

in a forest in Andalusia,

shitting in the forest
and fucking the goats''.

''Affectionately,

Portuondo called him...''.

I'll whip it out.
-Ismael, the goat-fucker!

Which of you
has shat in the woods?

Imbeciles.

''For some strange reason,

when he discovered civilisation
at 30 years old,

he was amazed by psychoanalysis

and his dream
was to open a breakfast bar''.

Wait a minute.
-''Only breakfast''.

I've found a spot in Lesseps
for my breakfast bar.

It's fucking great.
-I work close by.

I'll come when you open it.
-Sorry, you can't.

We'll only serve breakfast until 11.

You don't know my schedule.
-We're closed. Sorry.

Do you know how hard
it is to run a breakfast bar?

First you have to bring out
the donuts, everyone wants a donut.

You buy them frozen.
But where do I put them all?

Where do I put so many donuts?

Am I meant to buy 200 rooms
to store the fucking donuts?

And what's the government doing?
Nothing. It's ridiculous.

I'd like to recount
a dream I had last night.

''Then there was Abigail''.
-We were in the forest,

and I was a deer.

''A young girl,
a fan of Paulo Coelho

who wore legwarmer
all year round

and dressed like
an aerobics instructor

and said she experienced
regressions to past lives''.

And then,

I saw, clear as day,
Jordi González was there.

Without his glasses.

''She'd always talk about crazy,
and very, very long dreams

often featuring TV presenters
from Telecinco''.

''She often wore
a raspberry-coloured Kangol hat,

which really made
an impression on me''.

''She had truly terrible taste,

but despite it all, I liked her

I found her...

very attractive''.

''I was fascinated by how she was so
immersed in the world of the mind,

of dreams and psychotherapy''.

''She was interesting''.

''She aroused in me
both rejection and attraction''.

Absolutely, totally.

''Rejection was the Kangol hat

and the attraction, well...

I've always liked eccentric women''.

''Especially those who bend
their legs as they sit,

or who sit in really weird ways

and she would do this
all the time''.

''Hours contorting herself,
it was quite the show''.

Can you stop, gorgeous?

All the time
with that San Vito dance.

''Another of the regular patients
was Josep,

a blind Lacanian
psychiatrist from Girona

who had fantasied for years
about leaving his wife,

but wouldn't do it
for fear of what people might say''.

''It was incredible to have
a blind guy in the group, a Lacanian

who was also cheating on his wife''.

''How did he do it?''.

''Nobody knew''.

I arrived at the hotel,

I'd arranged to meet Luisa,

and I quickly realised

a friend of my wife's
was standing in the hall.

How did you know?

Well, Girona is very small.

I don't believe
you have a mistress.

Why not?

It doesn't add up.

Doesn't add up.

I don't have a mistress,
I have several.

''Then there was Damián,

an accountant from La Caixa Bank

who just like me,
never used to talk''.

''In his case,

because he used to pig out
on roast meat

just before therapy''.

''Portuondo would get
really angry with him

for coming fulfilled, as he'd say''.

Damián,

are you nicely fed, porky?

You look like a pig in the mud.

Tell us something, if you can.

Go on.

''Ah, and there was Dani Tomás, too,

who was some kind
of furniture salesman,

but I never quite got him''.

I'm in furniture.

We don't manufacture.

We buy and sell furniture.

Tomas Furnishings,
my father founded the company

and now I run it

because my siblings
are bunch of morons,

they're idiots,

and they don't have what it takes
to be in furniture.

You have to be able
to value a piece, quickly.

That... that one over there
is worth nothing.

It's worth as much
as the metal in the legs.

But despite my gift,

I'm not interested,
I don't like furniture.

I don't have any at home,
I only have a bed.

I've got my cutlery
and plates in a cardboard box,

I'm not interested.

There's travel, lots of travel.

It's a sector that moves around.

The...

Do you know
the Valencia Furniture Fair?

Yes.

Yes?
-Mmm.

It's the biggest in Europe.

It's huge

and it's very tough
to find furniture.

There's hardly any,
that's not what it's about.

They're more about...

sex.

I mean...
it's easy to hook up there.

So easy.

Not me, eh?
I'm there to work.

I work and go back to my hotel.

So, at the Valencia Furniture Fair,

everyone is fucking except you.

Eh?

Don't you like to fuck?

No, well, that's not my job.

You're just on the prowl.

Well,

hang on...

Do you or do you not
fuck at the fair?

No.

Time for a break.

We'll be back in 10 minutes.

Be on time, please.

Thanks.

Group therapy is the best.

Yeah, I just struggle...

to speak up at times.

Relax, man,
this group is fucking great.

Yeah, sure, yes.

Look, do you know the difference

between individual
and group therapy?

No.

The same difference
between having a wank and a shag.

It's the same.

What's that?

Do you go to swingers clubs?

Swingers clubs.
-What? No.

No?

I go there every week to fuck.

Every week,
and this is 100 times better.

Why? Because we're
all here right now fucking.

We're all fucking right now,
but with this.

With our heads, yeah.

Yes, yes it sounds... yes.

Listen, I've been coming here...

Ten years, right?

I've been coming for ten years.

Ten years? Damn.
-And now, this is going under.

This here, it's going under
and the doctor knows it.

Why?
The fucking Psychology Faculty.

Yeah.
-For a goddamn certificate,

people go
to the Psychology Faculty,

but this used to be the Studio 54
of psychoanalysis.

Three floors.

Three floors full of people.
Not like this, three floors.

Here in this building?

In this building, buddy,

but the Psychology Faculty arrived
and it went to shit. Why?

It's all about the certificate.

Mediocrity.
-Mediocrity.

People are mediocre.
-Yes, yes.

People are mediocre.
-Totally.

Not just here, everywhere.
-Everywhere.

Exactly.
-Right, let's get back to it.

Listen, you know the bad thing
about mediocrity?

You know the bad thing
about mediocrity?

It eats away at everything.

Eats away at it.

Excellence disappears.

It's been eaten by mediocrity.

Look around you.
Do you see excellence?

It's been eaten by mediocrity.

I'm all good, you know...

just...

I mean this from a position
of respect, you know,

I don't know,

the group seems a little bit...

decadent, don't you think?
Like...

like the lobby
at Alcoholics Anonymous.

I don't even drink, to be honest.

I don't know why...

The idea is that people
are better in here...

than out there but this lot...

goddamn, they're terrible.

You can't fight against the world.

All that will achieve
is taking reason to the grave''.

While we're at it, send me to
the docks to work with the loaders,

to shift crates,
like ''On the Waterfront''.

I'd least I'd learn a skill.

Don't be so uptight, dammit.

Alright,

why not take a good old swing
at the world of psychoanalysis?

Eh?

People, the outside

representing

one giant unjust
and shitty super ego.

That's your greatest conflict

and you can only resolve it
by working beyond the individual.

Remember, I'm doing you a favour.

We've just landed here
on planet Earth, puff!

And now you're in this world,
you have a goal.

And what's that goal?

To become a person. A person.

Not Spanish, Chinese or American.

To understand yourself.

Break the chains.

If you become a person,

you'll be embarking
on a revolution,

the only one that's worth it.

A revolution that no society
has ever brought to fruition,

that of a psychologically free
human being,

without chains.

Now, if you don't become a person,

you'll be repeating the same mistakes
as your father, your mother,

your whole socio-cultural structure.

You'll become a psychological dwarf.

Puff!

Stand up straight.

See you later.

Not dad, not mum.

Nobody is to blame
for what happens to us.

We have simply been born

and we have the responsibility
to open up to the world,

to understand each other.

When we will stop
looking for people to blame?

That's right, to blame for what?

For having been born.

Great, let's switch roles.

I'll play an emasculating
authoritarian father,

Lola, you play a schizophrenic mother

and Dani Tomás will be our son,

victim to the family neuroses, okay?

Castrated by
an authoritarian father,

a phallic narcissist who won't
allow his son to grow up, okay?

''The group therapy sessions

were like...
participatory micro-theatre''.

''Portuondo got really carried away''.

''He'd put on full-on
psychodramas with the patients,

they were like
panic theatre productions,

like performances

which brought all
of our conflicts to the stage''.

''Psychodrama was a technique
devised by Jacobo Moreno,

one of Portuondo's mentors,
also from Cuba,

who settled in the United States.

Psychodrama sees people
play different roles

to bring their psychological
conflicts to life''.

Ah, come on in, hello.

Hi.

I managed to get laid
at the Valencia Furniture Fair.

I don't care, everything you do
is for the gang!

Come on, I got myself laid
on the final day of the fair,

just like you told me, Dad.

You should have been fucking

every day
of the Valencia Furniture Fair!

He told me to get laid.
-Not the last one!

Everything he does is
for the furniture gang!

Leave the boy alone.

Shut it, you slut!
-What gang?

You didn't tell me
to fuck every day.

Fuck every day,
do it for the furniture gang!

Do you like to fuck?
-Don't touch me.

You like to fuck?
-Don't touch me!

Don't break character!
-What character?

Don't touch me!
-Do you like to fuck or not?

Leave it! Leave it!

You like to fuck?

Don't touch me!
-That's enough!

Don't touch me!

Leave me alone!

Ah!

I did what you asked!
-That's enough!

Ah!

That's life.

That's life.

Hold up, hold up.

Hold on. This is good, eh?

Now you're all about to see

how things got sorted in Cuba.

I feel as if I were in Cuba.

He knows karate.

Let's not get violent,
please, no fighting!

Ah!

Ah!

Ah!

Ah!

Ah!

Brilliant.

Brilliant.

This is life, dammit, life!

Now,

now we are alive.

This is life, this is living!

Alright, guys.

Alright, guys.

That'll do.

BASED ON THE BOOK ''DOCTOR PORTUONDO''
BY CARLO PADIAL,

PUBLISHED BY BLACKIE BOOKS

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