All language subtitles for Baby Reindeer - 01x04 - Episode 4.NF.WEB-DL.H.264-FLUX.English.C.edit.Addic7ed.com

Six months.

It had taken me six months
to report Martha.

Can I help you?

I should have started with Teri,

how Martha attacked her just yesterday,
but I didn't.

I would like to report something.
How does it work?

What would you like to report?

I should have mentioned the grope,
but I didn't.

I don't know how to tell you this,
but I'm, like... I'm getting stalked.

- By a man or a woman?
- A woman.

I should have mentioned her name,
the articles, her previous crimes,

but I just didn't.

Look, I'm... I'm really worried here.

I think she needs help.

- And when the policeman asked...
- Why'd it take you so long to report it?

...it all just came flooding back.

About five years earlier,
I went to the Edinburgh Festival.

It was always an ambition of mine
to take a show there,

to join the hustle and bustle
of street performers and artists

gambling their luck on a shot at fame.

I knew I had to come here one day
and take a chance myself.

Writing, acting, comedy, whatever it took.

I just needed the kind of freedom in life

which only comes from dreaming big
and stopping at nothing to get there.

♪ I sit playing solitaire
By the window... ♪

So as I arrived at my venue
on the outskirts of town

and noticed the grubby windows,
the sticky floors,

the smell of chip fat as I walked in...

it felt like everything to me.

- Hello.
- Yo.

Can you let me know
where to go for the comedy?

Performer or punter?

Performer.

Door over there.

Thank you.

Do you mean, like, a different door, or...

Plug it in in the corner.
Shove the table to the side.

What? This is my stage?
Here? In with the main bar?

That's right.

I mean, do the televisions stay on?

We mute.

- And the punters?
- You can ask them to leave if you'd like.

Oh no, I couldn't do that.

They're here 12 months a year.
I'm only here one.

Can you ask them to leave?

No.

I mean, do they even wanna see comedy?

Only one way to find out.

All right. We'd better begin. Yeah.

Come on!

Fucking Edinburgh Fringe!

Hello, ladies and gentlemen,
welcome to the comedy.

Uh, I'm gonna go behind
that little wall there and change.

When I shout out, you all go mad
and welcome me to the stage.

How does that sound?

- Woo.
- Great. One person.

All right, here goes.

Ladies and gentlemen,
please welcome to the stage

Donny Dunn!

Wa-hey!

Fucking yes! Let me hear ya! Whoo!

So my mum died today.

Really? Nothing?

You see, it's funny opening a show
like that when my mum has just died, no?

Antithesis?

The shows were just awful.

Most days, I had to cancel
due to nobody turning up.

One time, I had to end the show early

when I was caught in the crosshairs
of a stag do.

- Give that! Hey, hey!
- Here!

No, no!

No, please! I need that
for the rest of the month.

♪...of your loving mind... ♪

Some days,
I stood not handing out any flyers

in the hope nobody would come.

I was about a week in, and I felt like
the dregs of show business.

Got circumcised the other day.
Just had to find scissors big enough.

Do you know what I mean? Yeah?

I'm saying I got a big cock.

Nothing? No? Really? Okay. That's fine.

Um... Oh.

Went to the shops for some eggplant.
Came back with this.

Bloody hell! He saw me coming, didn't he?

Yeah? He's just taped some eggs
to a plant.

♪...I'd look, your eyes I'd find... ♪

I questioned if I went home,
whether anyone would notice,

whether anyone would care.

All right, ladies and gentlemen,
that's the show!

♪...sweetest thing, would make me sing... ♪

♪ Ah, but I may as well try and catch... ♪

I'm gonna be standing by the door

with a bucket for your donations.
Give what you think the show is worth.

Thanks for coming.

Thanks for coming.

Thanks for coming.

- Ouch.
- Better than yesterday, I suppose.

What was yesterday?

A button and a condom.

Here, I've got something for you.

Fell out of someone's wallet last night.

It's yours if you want it. I know how much
you artistes love to schmooze.

We had no idea it would ever work
when we shot it.

You know the, uh, the scene
with the tin-can soldiers?

We shot that on a beach in Lancaster
using tinfoil from catering.

We used so much that Benji said
he could feel his fillings coming out.

Uh, excuse me. Sorry to interrupt,
but did you work on Cotton Mouth?

- Yeah.
- Oh my God, I fucking love that show.

- What did you do on it?
- I was on the writing staff.

Holy shit, do I kiss your feet now?

Um, look, I'm doing this show
up at the Hoppy bar.

Come down and see it if you can.

- Uh, "LOL on Cancer."
- Yeah. Yeah, it's a great title, isn't it?

We'll try.

You guys seen anything decent?

- See you later.
- Yeah.

Fuck.

Wankers, aren't they?

Yeah, terrible first impression
on my part though.

Shocking. You'll never work
in the industry again.

Chance would be a fine thing.

- See that guy over there?
- Yeah.

He wrote Cotton Mouth.
It's fucking amazing. Have you seen it?

- Bits and bobs. Not my thing.
- Then you're mental.

Should be illegal for people
to be that young and that successful.

Wanna slip poison in his drink?

Wow, that's dark.

But yes.

- Anyway, the actors made that show.
- Couldn't agree more.

Man, I hate that I care about his opinion.

What do you do?

Uh, I'm a comedian when they laugh,
a performance artist when they don't.

- How were they tonight?
- They came for the art.

- Um, I'm Donny, by the way.
- Darrien O'Connor.

Uh, as in...

Cotton Mouth.

- What? But... But then who's...
- My writing assistant.

Former writing assistant,
now I know he's stealing my job.

I'm so sorry.
All that actor stuff was merely banter.

I knew who you were. The writing
was the best bit about that show.

- Don't worry.
- Fu...

- You just said you didn't like it.
- I don't.

Why would you do a show
that you don't like?

I'm a televisual prostitute.
I'll take whatever anyone gives me.

Well, how about a failing comedian?

Ladies and gentlemen,
please welcome to the stage

the man who puts the LOL in propranolol...

We'll probably cut that bit.

...Donny Dunn!

Wa-hey!

Whoa, whoa!

Whoa, whoa!

Wa-hey! Yes!

So my mum died today.

I guess this is what she would've wanted.
Me to die with her.

Um, who wants to meet my friend Percy?

All right. Yeah, okay.

This is Percy.
We're a ventriloquist double act.

Hi, Percy, how are you?

I'm good, thanks. You?

What have you been up to today, Percy?

Sucking cock.

Oh, wow, great. Thank you.

Oh, cool!

- Thanks for coming.
- Cheers.

Appreciate that.

- Jesus, a 20.
- I didn't get a goodbye last night.

- So I thought I'd come get it now.
- Oh, right. Well, uh, goodbye.

Oh.

No. No, wait. I'm joking. Sorry.

You're strange.

Am I? Shit.

Don't worry.
I don't mind a bit of strange.

Let's talk. Might have a few pointers
how to take this show to the next level.

Wow. Yeah. I mean...
I mean, that would be great, yeah.

- Laters, then.
- Yeah. Laters, uh, cowboy.

What the fuck?

Darrien became involved
in the show for the next few weeks,

giving me advice on bits
that were and weren't working.

...and maintain eye contact.

Rehearsing all kinds of hours
to whip everything into shape.

Look at me.

Three rows across the front.

Soon the televisions were shut off
and the chairs faced the right way.

Even the bar staff dismissed customers
who dared to ask when the football was on.

No, we're not showing it today.
Try the pub down the road.

And the shows just flourished.

Ladies and gentlemen,
please welcome to the stage

Donny Dunn!

So my mum died today.

Yeah, I suppose
this is what she would have wanted.

Me to die with her.

Every night,
I would go out with Darrien

and live life like a celebrity
in the main private members' bar in town,

drinking cocktails until the early hours,
talking endlessly about the show

and what we were gonna do with it
when the festival was over.

We need to get you
performing this show in London.

Darrien was like
no one I'd ever met before.

A self-prescribed...

Buddhist, polyamorous pansexual
with a taste for the finer things in life.

Within two weeks of knowing him,
he'd opened my eyes

to the kind of excitement
I didn't even know existed.

It's hard to yell for help
chained to a radiator

with a ball gag in your mouth.

And as we sat in that private
members' bar and put the world to rights,

I felt like I was gliding
on the winds of change.

Like this man was dangling
some keys to a secret club,

and all I needed to do was take his hand
and let him guide me.

What are we doing in here?

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

- They patrol the toilets.
- Oh.

We need to get you
writing scripts with me.

Yeah. That would be amazing, yeah.

- Are you ready?
- Ready for anything, yeah.

Good. Here.

Fuck.

Good lad.

But all good things
come to an end.

If you think that's bad, I was so drunk,

I ended up putting
the hairnet on my penis.

Darrien went back to London early,

and I didn't hear from him
for the rest of the festival.

Maybe he was taking a break
or on holiday somewhere,

but it felt strange.

And as the flyers got binned
and the posters came down,

the televisions came back on
and the football started to play,

I questioned whether it was
some crazy dream.

Whether it even happened at all.

That's it.

Feel like fire flowing through your veins.

Let it take you where it takes you.

In the months that followed,
I went to acting school in Oxford.

I remember when I got in,
I almost broke down crying with happiness.

But following everything
that had happened in Edinburgh

and despite meeting Keeley,

going back to a life of learning
seemed like a misstep.

And as I pranced around in a leotard,
pretending to be fire...

or doing vocal warm-ups...

...or mimicking animals

and basically doing anything
other than fucking acting,

I felt one of those
impossible-to-articulate feelings

in my stomach.

I missed Darrien.

I missed the confidence he gave me,
the feeling of relevancy,

of hope that one day
my life might actually lead somewhere.

Now, a body in a sea of black,
I felt like a nobody again,

like I was shrinking from the world
just as I developed a taste for it.

Donny.

Coming?

Yeah.

I'm sorry, I gotta take this.

All right, mate? Yeah.

No, it's great to hear from you.

Yeah. Yeah, no, I'm... I'm... I'm loving it.
I'm really enjoying myself.

Um, look, is there a better time to chat?
I'm actually in class right now.

What? Are you serious?
You want me to write with you?

I mean, yes, mate. A thousand yeses.
Of course. I mean...

Donny, what are you playing at?
She's fucking raging in there.

Yeah, I'll be two seconds, okay?
I'll be two seconds.

Look, I've gotta go, but yes, 100%.

Donnie Brasco.

Sinéad O'Connor.

It's good to see you.
You all right?

Yeah. Come in.

Thanks, yeah.

Wow, this place is amazing.

Oh, wow, you've got a cat.

Fergus. We're very much in love.

I'm not surprised.

You're a lovely little fella,
aren't you, Fergus? Hello, mate.

Cup of tea?

Okay, so I've actually written up
a few scenes and stuff.

Um, nothing major.
Still needs a bit of work.

All right.

Sixty pages.

Yeah, didn't take long.

I tell you what.

Why don't you give me the gist?
Be a good lesson in pitching.

Okay, well, it's about
this guy called Nigel,

a high-flying lawyer who decides,
at the age of 50,

to try his hand at professional wrestling.

That's quite niche.

Really?

Yeah. Who watches wrestling anymore
who's above the age of six?

Yeah, no. Not me anyway.

Continue.

Anyway, basically, he gets the bug,
and he starts wrestling more and more.

Soon he is struggling to keep the balance
between his two worlds.

He starts, like, turning up to court cases
with black eyes,

or he... he's forgotten
to take his makeup off and, um...

Well, so he has this choice to make.

Live his life as a lawyer

or Hangman Harry,

the mud-stompin', beer-swillin',
bar-room brawler from Austin, Texas.

Hangman Harry is his wrestling name.

Needs more work.

Oh, but you... you haven't read it.

I'll read it when you sell it to me.

- I could sit in another room and try...
- Do you wanna get high?

- What, here?
- Yeah, why not?

We can go out and grab a drink later.
Be like Edinburgh all over again.

Yeah, sure.

Holy shit, you've worked
with some comedy legends.

- What are they like?
- Average.

No, you can't mean that.
They're amazing.

I mean, some of them would be in
my top five dinner-party guests for sure.

Ever played that game?

You can invite anyone you want for dinner,
but you can only pick five.

Ugh, sounds horrible.
My home's a sacred space.

Takes someone very special
to be allowed in.

Come on, that's a cop-out answer.
Who would they be?

Well, they wouldn't be celebrities.

They'd be leaders,
gurus, spiritually awake.

That, or me around each place.

Six of you at one party. Jesus,
I can imagine how many drugs there'd be.

I'll tell you mine.

Gervais, Sacha Baron Cohen, Julia Davis,

Coogan or Pryor,
and, I don't know, Gandhi or someone

because you need to look virtuous.

- Do you wanna get really high?
- Fuck yeah.

No, like, really high.

Fuck yeah.

- What was their secret, by the way?
- What do you mean?

What did they all do
to get where they are today?

Listen to me.

I'm serious.

They threw themselves
into everything I asked of them.

Wow, that's... that's awesome.

Here. Come sit next to me.

What's all this?

This is a bomb of MDMA.

And this is GHB. It's a relaxant.

- It relaxes you.
- Yeah.

Trust me.
You haven't experienced anything like it.

I haven't experienced anything like you,
that's for sure.

Fucking hell. That's disgusting.

Little pain for a little gain.

The first time I came up
was like nothing I'd ever experienced.

It felt like a beam of divine light
shone down from space,

through Darrien's roof
and into his living room,

exactly where I was sitting,

as warm Indian Ocean waves
passed up and down my body.

And on that couch,
Darrien spoke about my talents

in the same vein
as all my comedy heroes growing up.

You've got a big future ahead of you.

A very big future.

With every sentence he said
and every drug I took,

I started to believe it, smell it,

taste it, even.

That my dreams were quantifiable.

That I could almost grasp them
as they untangled before me.

No time to wait around.

You don't mind, do you?

No.

Oh shit.

What?

What's wrong?

I think I'm gonna puke.

No. Not in the cat bowl.

You okay?

- Let me pat your back.
- Oh, thank you. I'm so sorry.

Oh God. I'm so sorry.

Stop!

Will almond milk do?

There you go. That'll sort you out.

I'm really sorry about that.

It's okay. We'll go slower next time.

I would love to pretend
that's as far as it went.

Hey, mate. How's it going?

Yeah. Yeah.
No, I'm... I'm... I'm... I'm good.

Look, I'm about to go into class,
so if it...

What?

What? The channel have Hangman Harry?

Holy shit. They love it?
That's fucking...

Yeah, yeah, that... that's incredible. I...

Oh, you want me to...

Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah.
No, that makes sense.

Yeah. No, sure, yeah. I'll come.

- That's huge.
- Yeah. That's great. Thank you.

To have a massive channel backing you
this early in your career.

Darrien took me through
everything the channel said,

and I beamed from ear to ear

as he spoke of series commissions
and option periods

and all these fabulous things
I didn't understand,

that by the time he cracked out the drugs,
I said yes without hesitation.

I thought I'd blown it, you know.

What?

This.

When I threw up.

Don't be silly.

It'd take a lot more than vomit
for me to be put off with your talents.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

If there's anything I can do...

Just... keep dreaming.

Oh.

That's easy.

After I'd moved
to London with Keeley,

I started taking drugs at Darrien's house
almost every weekend.

Here. We'll start off
with the usual MDMA.

I had fully drunk
the Kool-Aid of his promises,

of believing that success
was right around the corner.

That I would have my own show by 30.

A millionaire around the same time.

All stuff he said to me

before he spoon-fed me
the latest chemical.

I went from a guy
who had smoked a bit of weed

to week-long benders, high on crack.

Chase the high. Don't be scared.

And meth.

You'll embrace
your creative potential.

And heroin.

You're going places.

When you take enough
to reach that plane

where all thought stops
and euphoria begins,

talk of the future and fame and happiness

feel almost as real as the chemicals
that flow through your body.

It was only
a matter of time now, surely.

I passed out many times in his company.

I would often wake
to find him lying next to me,

his hands and mouth in various places
as he searched around my body.

I would stumble to the bathroom
and find his putrid spit

congealed around my genital area.

Then every Monday
he was back to his cold, callous self,

giving me brutal script notes
and making me do overnight rewrites

on a comedown, for no money,

while I coughed up
my latest throat infection.

And still I went back.

- You're not spending my birthday with me?
- No, I'm going round Darrien's.

What the hell, Donny?
Is this not a little bit strange to you?

I don't wanna go away with your friends.
I can't fucking afford it.

So instead you're going
to an old writer's house to take drugs.

I know it doesn't make sense to you.
But he's helping me with my career.

What's he done? You've worked in a bar
since you came to London.

- You do everything for him for free.
- I don't have time for this conversation.

That night,
Darrien presented me with acid.

I'll take half of one.
You take one and a half.

I'll act as your guide so you feel safe.

Let the music
take you where it wants to.

I sometimes
think back to this image,

me, mid-twenties, sitting high as a kite,

watching this 55-year-old man

dancing this odd Amazonian jig
in front of me,

when somebody asks me the question,

"How did you get into comedy?"

Keep telling me
what you're seeing.

Shimmering colors.
The... outline of something.

So I'm a phoenix right now?

Is that what you're seeing?

It's important that you see me
as something strong.

A phoenix. A knight.

Maybe one of those wrestlers
that you like.

Suddenly, seemingly from nowhere,

this clear, strong thought
entered my head.

- "He's trying to control your mind."
- What's wrong?

"This man is bad.
This situation is bad. Get out now."

Fuck!

- Fuck!
- What's the matter?

What's wrong?

I can't see. All I can see is white.

It's fine. It's fine. It's rebirth.

- I can't see. I can't fucking see.
- You're safe with me.

My subconscious,
that I'd been repressing this entire time,

had reared its head to shine the most
obvious light on a fucked-up situation.

What's happening to you?

- This is bad. I'm being told this is bad.
- It's paranoia.

- Fight against it.
- Turn the music off.

It's off, it's off.

Agh, fuck!

Fuck!

Oh fuck!

The fucking... Oh God! The fucking music!

Agh, fuck!

Have this.

- No.
- It'll help take the edge off.

You've had it before. It relaxes you.

No. No, try to keep it in.

Swallow. Swallow.

That's good. That's good.

That was strong! That was strong!

Okay. Okay.

There.

Breathe into my hand. Breathe.

It's okay.

It's okay. This is part of it.

It's all part of it.

Shh, shh, shh, shh.

Shh.

Relax.

Relax.

It's fine.

No.

No.

How'd you find it?

You should shower.
A wash in warm water will do you good.

Fuck!

Can I come in?

Come here.

I would love to say I left.

That I stormed out and never went back.
But I stayed for days afterwards.

In fact, come Monday,
I got an eye infection

and lay on his floor
as he bathed it in salt water.

On Tuesday, I fed his cat
while he took phone calls.

On Wednesday, I finally went home.

Hey, what's wrong?

Oh, nothing. I just feel bad
for how we left things.

What bothered me most
was the not knowing.

What happened
all those moments I passed out?

Are you okay?

Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Yeah.

Did he ever believe in me, or was
this whole thing preplanned manipulation?

Was he sober the entire time?

And what was he getting from it?
Was it simply a desire to corrupt?

To achieve whatever his sick mind
wanted to achieve?

Was that the turn-on, to ruin my life?

Uh, look, do you wanna watch something
instead? I'm... I'm not feeling it.

No, shut up.

I... I... I'm sorry.
It's... it's... it's just not happening today.

- It didn't happen yesterday either.
- Maybe I need to take a break from it all.

What? A break from sex or from me?

Wow.

Okay.

After Keeley moved out,
I fell to pieces.

Now all that was left to do
was stare at the memory of what happened.

I started to feel
this overwhelming sexual confusion

crashing through my body.

I thought it might pass,
but it became an insecurity,

which grew into
a raging madness within me.

I could never tell whether these feelings
were because of him

or whether they always existed deep down.

Did it all happen because I was giving off
some vibe I wasn't aware of?

Or did what happen make me this way?

I would feel like
everyone who looked at me

could see what I was going through.

Like they were peering into my soul,

seeing the rape
and the doubts and the confusion.

Like my eyes were these windows

onto the most tightly-held secret
of my life.

I would dream of killing him,

chopping his cock off or his tongue out,
whichever had done me the most damage,

and burning his body to the ground.

So after months
of hate and anger and confusion,

I was left with no choice.

Oh, fuck.

I orgasmed quickly,

in such a way that there was no denying
my desires were shifting.

Every day, the laptop called me to it.

I felt confused. I felt angry.

I felt like I was going through puberty
all over again.

Okay, yeah, yeah, yeah.

I started having reckless sex
with people of all genders

in this desperate pursuit of the truth.

I would put myself in fucked-up situations
where I'd almost risk being raped again

in this attempt
to understand the first time.

Like if I'm passed around like a whore,

then I might at least shed this idea
that my body is part of me somehow.

Like who cares
if it happened before?

It's happened a ton of times now,
so what does it matter?

But it mattered.

It mattered
because this is what he wanted.

This is what he saw in me all along.

Then a feeling so bitter
I could almost catch it in my throat.

That he'd been vindicated somehow.

Now I was stuck,

surrounded by pilsner misogynists
so heteronormative

I could do nothing
but crave their approval.

♪ One is the loneliest number
That you'll ever do... ♪

It was the stormiest weather.

So many times I've been to Mallorca.
It's beautiful.

You can have these all-inclusive things
where you just...

Everything is for free. Like, everything.

Dates and relationships
by the dozen.

All of which started off
in the gutter of what happened.

...but I think I'm gonna stick with...

I wasn't interested in love.
I had no capacity for it anymore.

I just wanted these people
to provide fucking answers.

You know in Mallorca, when they ask
if you want to do aqua aerobics?

You don't need to ask me
five million times...

Excuse me, sorry. Can I...
I'm just gonna nip to the bathroom.

I'll be right back, yeah?

♪ The loneliest number... ♪

As I spurned and alienated
every single one of them.

You could do a 360,
screech around the place, just zoom off.

♪ That you'll ever know... ♪

A lot of people,
they've gone back to shooting film now.

I think I'm just gonna stick to digital.

Until I met...

♪ Now I spend my time ♪

♪ Just making rhymes of yesterday... ♪

Hey.

You're cuter in person
than you are online.

Honestly, some of the dates I've been on,

the guys turn up 15 years older
than their profile picture.

She was everything I wanted.
Everything I needed.

Smart, funny, confident, strong.

Come back with me tonight.

But with every hand-hold
or lingering stare

came a crushing sense of anger and shame

that I was falling in love with her,

that I couldn't hide in anonymity anymore.

Just don't tell Tony.

♪ The loneliest number
That you'll ever do... ♪

And, perhaps most bitter of all,

that I might not feel this way
if he hadn't done what he did.

But when Martha turned up,

all that confusion faded...

as she reached, seemingly without effort,

into the darkest pockets of my insecurity
and turned them to light.

Should be illegal to have
your bone structure too.

They should tax you for it. Man tax.

Martha saw me
the way I wanted to be seen.

♪ One is the loneliest number... ♪

So when it came to the point
of going to the police,

I just couldn't stand the irony
of reporting her but not him.

Can I help you?

There was always a sense that
she was ill, that she couldn't help it,

whereas he was
a pernicious, manipulative groomer.

To admit to her was to admit to him.

And I hadn't admitted him to anyone yet.

- So when the policeman asked...
- Why'd it take you so long to report it?

I don't know.

Go home,
look through her emails,

and when you find
something of significance, come back.

Until then, unless we see
some proper evidence,

there's nothing we can do.

And with that,
I was back to square one.

♪ One is the loneliest number
That you'll ever do ♪

♪ One is the loneliest number
That you'll ever know ♪

♪ One is the loneliest number ♪

♪ One is the loneliest number ♪

♪ One is the loneliest number
That you'll ever do ♪

♪ One is the loneliest number ♪

♪ Much, much worse than two ♪

♪ One is a number divided by two ♪

♪ One ♪