All language subtitles for The.Listener.2024.1080p

Come on.

Hello, this is Beth.

Oh, hey.

How are you doing tonight?

Um, I'm okay.

I just wanted to talk,
if that's okay.

No sleep?

Yeah...

I'm a bit off.

I don't know.

Just haven't found
my rhythm yet.

What do you mean?

Well...

uh, you know,

I got out of prison last year.

Oh.

Congratulations.

Yeah. Yeah, thanks.

Thank you.

So...

big adjustment.

Yeah!

Yes, ma'am.

First, I was sleeping
all of the time,

like too much stimulation,
you know?

I was like a puppy
at the dog park.

Like, as soon as I got home,
I just... I needed sleep.

I can imagine.

But it's all good. I'm blessed.

I'm so happy for you.

Yeah, thank you.

You're welcome.

Wait, am I saying thanks
too much?

Don't worry about it.

You don't need to thank me,
but it's fine.

You're doing great.

So, uh...

You-- You work--
You work nights?

Sometimes I'll do a day shift,

but nights
is when most people call.

Hmm.

You been doing it a long time?

A few years.

This is my last month, actually.

At least for a while.

You gotta recharge
the batteries, or...?

You could say that.

The last year
has been pretty intense.

Yeah, I can imagine.

You know, it's-- It's funny.

I-I-I've been out six weeks
when the 'rona went off.

Everybody was bitching about

having to stay home
and I was like,

"Bro, you're telling me
I can eat what I want

"and sleep when I want
and wear what I want?

That's supposed to be hard?"

That's funny.

I mean, I don't...

Sorry, I don't mean funny,
I just mean...

Oh, it's okay.

I'm the one who said
it was funny.

Right.

You know,
to tell you the truth, it...

It was good for me.

Was it?
Yeah.

In prison, you know,

they got these
transition units.

They give you a little bit
more freedom,

a little bit of time,
you know, so you don't...

You start getting used to it.

I-I-I didn't go through that.

I went straight
from the shoe to the street.

You know, it's probably good
that I got--

I got some time to adjust,
right?

Yeah, I get it.
Yeah, I was--

I was sitting with my grandma
one night and she said, uh...

"Michael, it's so weird.

"The day is so slow,
but then at the end,

it feels like
it lasted a minute."

I know, right?

You know, I told her,
"That's prison time."

The day is slow
because nothing happens.

And when it's gone,

it feels like it never
even started, you know?

You don't even remember nothing
because nothing happened.

Wow.

That's deep, Michael.

You know what was weird,
though?

What's that?

Wearing a mask in a store.

I-I couldn't even get a mask.

I mean, first time,

I had to use this bandanna
my sister gave me.

And I was like,
"I don't know about this."

I mean, because last time
I entered a store

with a bandanna on, I got shot.

I mean, shot and arrested.

She was like,
"Never mind that

because now they won't even
let you in without a mask."

So I go shopping
with this bandanna on.

I mean, I always
had this feeling

that people check me out.

I mean, I know they can tell
I've been inside, so...

I think that's probably
just in your head though, no?

Mm, no, it isn't.

Trust me.

I mean, even if they don't know
what it is exactly,

they can tell there's something
different about me.

It's like they can smell it.

I don't mean literally.

I smell real nice these days,
believe that.

I believe it.

Anyways, I'm already
stressing out

about being around people,

and now I got to wear
a bandanna

like I'm robbing the place.

The guy at the cash register,

I'm thinking he's gonna pull
a shotgun any second.

So I start sweating, you know,
and my heartbeat's up.

And he rings me up and he goes,

"Did you find everything
you were looking for?"

And I'm like, "What?"

I don't understand
the question,

which I actually didn't
because I'm spaced out

and I got
a fucking bandanna on,

and I'm not even used to
hearing this kind of question.

So he repeats the question.

And I'm like, "Uh, yes, sir."

And then I skip a beat,
and then I go, "Thanks."

And then what happened?

Nothing. Nothing.

You know what he said?

"Have a good night."

And then I walk out,
and then I realize...

Damn.

No, I-I didn't find
everything I was looking for.

I was in such a rush
to get out of there

that I forgot like half of it.

That happens to me
all the time.

Yeah?

Oh, yeah.

Unless I have
a written-down list,

I'm always gonna
forget something.

I can't retain
that kind of information.

Yeah, I got used to it, though.

You know, the, uh...

The mask, I mean.

That's good.

People can think
whatever they want.

You know, they can't see me.

You know, I don't care
what they think.

Right.

I'm not a bad person.

I know.

How-- How do you know?

Well, I guess I just mean

that I don't have any reason
to think otherwise.

My father, he went to the pen
when I was 6.

You know, he just died
like three years ago.

Hmm. Sorry to hear that.

We never had a relationship.

I-I was raised by my grandma.

My mom, after he got arrested,
you know, she said to me,

"Look, I can handle
your sisters, but you?

You got to move in
with your grandma."

She, like, shipped me off
like baggage.

That's rough. You were only 6?

Yeah, I was, like,
just about to start school.

I didn't have any friends.

I walked back alone every day.

And then like after a month,

I started taking
a different way.

I cut through this alley
where these homeboys hung out.

And they started
joking with me.

And that's actually--

Yeah, that's actually when
I started noticing stuff.

What-- What do you mean?
What stuff?

Like, uh, the tattoos.

The graffiti.

Like, I've been seeing them
my whole life,

but I never...

Never really paid attention.

And now...

Now they were speaking to me.

Like, I finally understood
the language.

Wow.

You know, that was it for me.

Yeah, I just--
I just saw the whole picture.

Thank you for that.

Yeah, you're welcome.

So...

is there anything
that you need from me?

Anything that
I can help you with?

I don't know.

I'm a little bit worried,
I guess.

Hmm. What about?

Just-- Just stuff out there.

I don't have a lot of skills.

I had this job
at this auto glass repair,

but it went out of business.

It wasn't the greatest job
in the world, but, you know...

Well, I can give you a number
for financial assistance

if you need that.

No, no, I'm--
I'm already doing all that.

Okay.

Hey, look,
worse comes to worse,

I got the bandanna, right?

Uh, that--
That was a joke.

I know.

Wait, you're not tracing
these calls, are you?

Not tracing, not recording.

I'm just sitting here
at home talking to you.

Oh, okay. Sorry.

So listen, I think
that you should check out

this group HandUp.

It's like as opposed to Handout.

Anyways, it's an organization

run by formerly
incarcerated folks

that can help
with jobs, housing...

Yeah, yeah. Is one of the guys
named Jackson?

Well, that I don't know,

but let me just give
you the number.

No, it's all right.

It's all right, I'll find it.

It's okay.

Okay.
You know, I just...

I just-- I just needed to talk,
that's it.

Of course. Anytime.

That was a joke
about the bandanna, you know.

I'm...

I'm not gonna rob nobody.
I know.

Hello. This is Beth.

Hi.

Hey, listen, um...

could you come out?

What do you mean?

I mean, can you come out here
and talk to my wife?

Oh, sorry.

I can't come there.

But if you put her on the phone,
I can talk to her.

No, she's not gonna do that.

I can talk to you both
together or separately,

whatever works for you.

I just can't do it in person.

But if this is an emergency,
I can give you--

It's not that kind
of emergency.

Okay.

What's going on?

I just told her that, um...

That I don't love her anymore.

I see.

Now I'm not sure what to do.

What did she say?

Well, she just went and locked
herself in the bedroom.

Is she okay?

Are you worried
she might do something?

Oh, no, no.
I told you, it's not...

She would never do...

You know, we have kids.

Okay.

I didn't even want this,
you know?

I mean, I didn't even--

I don't even understand it.

What the fuck happened?

Hello. This is Beth.

Oh, hi.

Hi.

How are you tonight?

Like always, I guess.

Is that good?

You know when someone
says something

annoying or even hurtful,

and you just suck it up,

and you go home and replay
the moment in your head

and come up
with a perfect comeback.

The exact thing
you should have said.

Mm-hmm.

Oh, yeah.

Well, that's my life.

A day late and a dollar short.

Hey, I think we all feel
like that sometimes.

Yeah.

I feel like that all the time.

Besides, I don't think Oprah
feels like that.

Or Jeff Zuckerberg.

Right?

Maybe not.

Not the "dollar short" part.

What do you even do
with all that money?

Hmm.

Meanwhile, my husband
got his hours cut.

That's rough.

Our daughter has special needs.

I'm a full-time support system.

I can't even take a break,
ever.

If I got sick, I...

What's gonna happen to her
when I'm gone?

I just...

Just...

I'm sorry.

It's absolutely fine.

I don't usually do this.

It's okay. Don't worry about it.

Please let it all out.
That's what I'm here for.

Hello?

Hello?

Hi there.

You sound old.

Oh, I'm not so young, I guess.

You sound young, though.

I just turned 19.

Happy birthday.
Thank you.

I hate birthdays.

Wait till you get to my age.

Yeah, that's not gonna happen.

Why do you say that?

I... It's--

Whatever. I just--

I've never really
had a good birthday,

except maybe three years ago,
I guess, when I ran away.

That was like my birthday
present to myself.

Where do you live now?

In a very cozy two-person tent.

I see.

Do you have a caseworker?

No, not anymore.

My, uh, boyfriend sort of had
a falling out with him.

He's kind of an asshole.

How long have you two
been together?

Since I left home.

Did you meet on the street?

Yeah, I, uh...

I left my hometown
with another friend,

but they chickened out
after like two nights.

So I ended up hooking up
with these guys.

Uh, they had guitars
and weed and a dog.

I loved that dog.

He, uh died a month ago.

Sorry.

Yeah.

Uh, Justin's not doing
too great either.

Justin's your boyfriend?

For lack of a better word.

What's wrong with him?

I don't know. I...

Like, it's not COVID,

because he got that
and it wasn't that bad.

But I... I think he might
have hep or something.

Did he go to a doctor?

Yeah, no.

No. He, uh...

He gets really paranoid
around doctors.

So I'm not even gonna ask.
He, like, flips out.

He's got major anger issues.

That's no good.

Yeah, I told you, he's--
He's a fucking asshole.

He thinks that I should
make him money now.

What do you mean?

Like, he wants to be
my fucking pimp.

Like, fuck that shit.

Where's Justin right now?
I don't know.

He's probably out
with his buddies somewhere.

Sounds like maybe you shouldn't
be seeing this guy.

Yeah, no shit.

So?

So it's not that simple.

Why not?

It's just not.

Like, do you think that I want
to be out here alone,

or that I can just get on
some fucking homeless Tinder

and find myself a better dude?

Like, it's not like

I don't have my own issues too.

Okay, I'm gonna give you
a number for social services,

but I want to give you
this guy's direct line.

He's the best.

Shit!
What?

I think he's back.

Yup, that's-- That's him.
He's coming up the street.

I got to go. If he hears
I'm talking to you--

Can you write
this number down first?

Fuck, he looks fucking wasted.

Here's the number.

Look, I'm gonna call
you back, okay?

Are you gonna be okay?

Fucking test me!

Hello, this is Beth.

Beth!

That your real name?

Actually, we aren't allowed
to use real names.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Call me Kratos then.

Call me fucking Solid Snake.

That might be a little awkward,
don't you think?

Whatever.

Call me whatever you want.

You can call me Ellis.
That's my real name.

How are you tonight, Ellis?

Great. Fantastic.

That's obviously
why I'm calling, right?

I suppose not.

Want to talk about it?

You don't have to.

I've just fucking had it.

I'm so done with it.

With what?

Just the rejection.

The contempt.

From whom?
Take a guess.

Women?

You think I'm a freak,
don't you?

I don't.

I wouldn't. Just met you.

I've been dealing
with this shit my whole life.

I understand.
No. No, you don't.

You don't understand.

You can't because
you're not wired that way.

Genetically programmed to need
something you can't have.

It's like, I don't even know
how to explain it.

It's fucked up.

You can't not need it.

Nature makes you need it.

Society, it tells you
you must have it.

And then you're denied,
rejected.

The only choice you have

is whether to hate yourself
or hate them.

All the fucking guys,

whoever made you feel like
a piece of shit,

all the girls who mocked you,
avoided you,

looked right through you
like you were nothing,

and threw themselves
at those idiots

who just happened to have
the right look,

the fucking jacket,
the fucking car,

the fucking hair.

Of course, you always end up
hating both,

yourself and them.

Well, maybe hate isn't the way.

Maybe--
You don't...

You don't think
I've tried the other way?

Samantha fucking Robinson.
I would have bled for her.

I would have taken a bullet.

She made me watch.

She kissed that asshole
right in front of me

knowing I was watching,
knowing how I felt.

I had my revenge, though.

I found this porno.

The girl had the same
exact body as her.

I deep-faked
Samantha's face on it...

and I sent it to everyone.

She had to move
to a different school.

You judge me yet?

Go ahead.

Tell me.

I don't like the action
you described.

Yeah, well, it's not even
the worst thing I've done.

I made another film.

Pulled two hours worth
of footage from CCTV cameras

all around the world.

Only the goriest shit.

Sick as fuck.

Splattered children.

I cut it together
to Disney music.

I put it on 300 school
websites.

People went nuts.

Oh, man!

I don't expect you
to understand.

Maybe if you had to endure
all the rejection I have,

you would get it.

If you were a man

who's not allowed
to feel like a man,

you're too short, too soft,
too chubby...

whatever society has deemed
inadequate about you...

...too little hair
on your head,

too broke to buy nice clothes.

But you can't even imagine,
can you?

What do you even look like?

What do I look like?

That's what I asked.

Just average.

That's not very informative.

What, are you shy?

I don't care if you're chubby.

I mean...

I'm hideous.

I bet you're not.

I'm sorry,
I don't want to talk about that.

I thought the whole point
of this line

was to talk to real people.

That's right.

So be real.

Can you even relate
to anything that I'm saying?

Sure.

I was a misfit.

I didn't have nice clothes.

Your family was broke?

Well, I wouldn't say broke,
but struggling.

You had your assets, though.

You could trade on looks.

You were good-looking.
I can tell from your voice.

You probably still are.

Am I right?

I'm not comfortable
talking about that.

Why?

Did I freak you out
with the porn?

I...

I don't even
watch porn anymore.

It's too freaking painful.

Oh, I'll-- I'll get them.

Sorry?

I'm just tired.

I'm going through life
like this, and it's...

I'm an evolutionary failure.

This unloved,
unwanted piece of shit.

Okay, listen.

You can't think like that.

Okay?

I promise you,

you will feel differently
at some point.

Can I ask you
what you do for a living?

I work in IT.

I used to be
a community analyst.

You know what that is?

I don't think so.

Basically,
you sit at a computer

and you screen out
all the sick shit people post.

I did it for about a year,

then they accused me
of posting sick shit myself.

I guess they didn't
get the joke.

So now I just fix network shit.

Okay.

Well, so... you're smart.

What's your point?

My point is,

that's a very big asset.

Now I think that the anger
works against you,

but you can change that.

Backtrack.
Say that first part again.

What do you mean?
After "you're smart."

What-- What--
What was that you said?

I said that's very good.
No, no, no.

That's not what you said.

Just say it
like you said it before.

I don't understand.

Will you please just repeat

exactly what you said?

I think I said
that's a very big asset.

Okay. Yeah, yes.

That was it.

Okay.
Keep talking.

Well, I think that
you're in a cloud right now,

but that cloud will pass.

Okay?

You have a nice voice.
Thank you.

Can you keep talking?

What else can I tell you?

Well, what-- What...

What are you wearing right now?

Oh, sorry.
I'm not playing that game.

Just say that thing again.

I don't think so.

Okay, just...
Just breathe then.

Please just breathe
into the receiver for me--

Have a good night.

Yeah, you know what?
Fuck you too--

Hello?

Hello there. I'm Beth.

I'm mentally ill.
Let's get that out of the way.

All right? I'm mental.

So there you go.

I used to hate that word.
Now I'm like, "Fuck it."

Like, it's a cool word,
you know?

"Mental." It's like, it's cool.
It's like cigarettes.

When you say mental...

Borderline and bipolar
psychotic episodes.

Mainly, I'm just on edge,
kind of like...

if you're alone
in a dark parking structure

and you just have this feeling
that you shouldn't be there.

Like, that something bad's
about to happen?

It's like that.

I see.
I have it right now.

I'm at home,
and I have a feeling

like I shouldn't be here.

I'm probably talking too fast,
right?

That's the other thing.

Words, they just roll out.

Are you taking medication?

Do you know anything
about magnetrons?

What?

The thingies inside microwaves?

I just warmed up a plate
and I left the spoon in,

and then the microwave,
it got all sparky.

And I think I might have
damaged the magnetron

because they have
beryllium inside,

which if you inhale
even a tiny spec,

like, you're done.

It's like weapon-grade shit.

I'm afraid I don't know
much about it.

I don't use the microwave
very often.

Gas can be dangerous too,
you know.

Slow leak,
you won't even smell it.

That's true.

I'm not taking anything.

Oh.

How come?

I lost my health insurance.

It's with the socks now.

I'm sorry?

You know, when you lose a sock,

just one sock.

The other's still there,
but one sock,

every six pairs or so
it's just like

it always disappears, right?

It doesn't matter
where you live.

Doesn't matter
where you do your laundry.

There is a place
socks just like to go.

I liked this guy once.

He was a comedian.

I thought he was funny,
but then one day he bombed

and then he just never
went on stage again.

How long ago--?
He said he lost his mojo.

He became depressed

and he couldn't deal
with my shit anymore.

And that was it.
So he lost his mojo,

and I lost him.

I bet he's wearing
my socks right now.

I bet he got fat.

I lost 10 pounds.
I bet he found them.

When did you lose
your insurance?

Six months ago.
I don't know, maybe seven.

So are you not seeing a doctor?

Oh, yeah. I am, sure.

Whenever I go out,

there is probably
a doctor somewhere.

I meant--
I'm kidding!

No!

I was for a while,

but he moved out of state.

So no meds, no doctor,

no insurance.

Welcome to America, right?

I hear you.

I didn't much like him,
to tell you the truth.

I can put you in touch
with someone--

Uh-uh. Don't even, okay?

I'm not in the fucking mood
for that shit.

The last thing I need is to be
sent to some shitty hospital

with shitty nurses
who just look down on you.

You know, they don't help you.

All they do is fill forms
and talk shit behind your back.

And then they bill you for it.

Yeah, I understand.

Well, maybe we can--

I feel weird.
How so?

I feel like my bones
have turned to snakes.

What do you mean?

I mean, I have snakes
for bones.

Okay? They make my body,
like, move funny.

I think I'm just--

Uh, I think I'm having
an episode.

Knock, knock.

Who's there?
I have no fucking idea.

Okay.

Listen, I'll stay on the phone.

Okay?

I'll be right here with you,

but I think that maybe
we should call--

You know, I don't hear voices.

Everybody always asks that,
you know?

No, I don't!

I see them.

You see them?

Like, your voice.

I can see it right now.

It's blue.
It's got a little green in it.

And I can smell it too.

I can smell you
through the phone.

You smell nice, like...

You smell like a fluffy cloud.

I mean, I got you there,
didn't I?

Yeah, you sure did.

Seriously, though, I can.

Do you believe me?

I...

I'm confused now.

There you go! Do you get it?

Get what?
That's how it works.

You don't know what to believe,

except that it's all
in your own head.

Like you don't know
when you can believe yourself.

But they do have medication
for that.

I don't do well
with meds, okay?

Okay.
I can't moderate.

Either I don't take them,

or I just take
the whole bottle.

So they're all shit anyways.

I mean, they don't work.

If they work,
they make you lethargic.

You don't ever want
to have sex again.

Drugs are a lie.

They just want you on drugs
so you don't know anything.

You don't care about anything.

All the shit happening
in the world.

COVID-19, killer hornets,
computer viruses.

They spy on you
and no one cares.

Secret prisons, child porn,
killer clowns,

fucking ISIS, dioxins,

Epstein, ethnic cleansing,
leaking implants,

honor killings, overbilling,
toxic sludge, man on ledge.

No one cares!

No one cares.

Wow.

I'm sorry.

Brian goes off
like that sometimes.

Brian?

That's what I call my brain:

Brian.

Because it's scrambled.

I'm not even talking right now.

Like, I'm not the one talking.

Like, the thoughts,
they have their own mind.

Like, they talk
right through me.

I can read your thoughts.

I can read the fine print.

But the thoughts
that come out of my mouth?

I don't know them
until they're out.

Hmm. That must be really tough.

Yeah, well, I can't play
society's game,

that's for sure.

I mean, whenever someone tries
that shit on me,

Brian's just like, "Fuck you."

I will look
into the horse's mouth, okay?

I will make mountains
out of molehills,

and I will put all my eggs
in one basket,

and I will teach grandmothers
how to suck them.

I will catch a falling knife,

I will take that knife
to the gunfight,

and I will cut my nose
to spite my face.

How about that?

And I will cross
that fucking bridge

before I get to it because
that's how I roll, baby.

What?

I didn't say anything.

I can smell it.

Oh, I was just thinking.

You know you have a gift, right?

A gift?

I mean, you're...

You're kind of like a poet,

the way that your mind
makes connections.

I don't know, I know you're
maybe just imagining things,

but isn't that what poetry does?

Sort of looks at things sideways
or differently?

I don't know.

I don't mean to romanticize it.
I just, uh...

I just think you're talented.

I like rap.

You should write some lyrics.

Like a-- Like a song?

Like a song or a poem.

Whatever comes out.

Okay. I'm gonna go now.

Hello. This is Beth.

Yeah, hi.

I'm Ray.

Nice to meet you, Ray.

How are you tonight?

How am I?

Well, let's see.

Had a few drinks
before I went to sleep.

Then I had a fucking nightmare.

So now, I'm having
another drink.

Want to talk about it?

What? The drink
or the nightmare?

Either. Both.

No. I'm drinking scotch

and the nightmare is a boot.

A boot?

Yeah.

Like a cowboy boot?

Military.

Are you in the Army?

Nah, Marines.

I was.

I don't like to call
the vet lines,

if that's what
you're about to suggest.

That's fine.

They just follow their scripts

and make you feel like
you're talking

to what's her name?

The robot lady?

Siri?

That's right.

You're always welcome
to call this line.

You sound like
this officer I know.

She was tough.

Once she overheard
a dude call her a Marine

and put him on latrine duty
for a month.

She was cool with me, though.

Where was that?

Afghanistan, Hindu Kush.

Hmm, Hindu Kush.

Hindu Kush.

Baby, I dream of your...

Do you know what
they call an Afghan

who owns a camel and a goat?

What?

Bisexual.

I know. I know. That's racist.

What can I say?
War zones ain't safe zones.

So...

what's up with the boot?

That was Iraq.

Iraq.

That's where I got messed up.

I was about three months
in the first time I got shot.

What happened?

I don't really remember it.

I was in this house.
Someone shot me.

I fell down the stairwell.

Ended up in the hospital,
then back home.

Didn't feel like home, though.

How so?

It's funny.

You miss your bed so much...

and then you're in your bed

and it's dead quiet.

And you can't sleep for shit.

Try to explain that
to the missus.

How much you miss sleeping

in a room full
of dudes and guns.

So...

what about the boot?

Well, after I recovered,
I got redeployed.

One night,
we drove to this farm.

We were supposed
to arrest two guys.

The whole place
was booby-trapped.

Rodriguez got blown up.

Finally, we start
clearing the buildings.

I'm pretty jumpy.

When I see this guy

kind of come up to me
out of nowhere,

I just squeezed the trigger.

It was a 40-year-old woman.

She had five children.

All at once,
it was to be a Jedi.

I'm sorry?

Sure, I mean, you know,
have your country.

You know, yadda, yadda.

And you want the paycheck.

But honestly,
I just wanted to learn stuff.

The secret stuff.

I wanted to be
that guy in the bar.

The guy with the cool tattoos

and the cool stories.

Guess what I learned?

What's that?

I learned what bodies
smell like

after they've been
in the sun three days.

I can look at someone
on the street,

I know what
they'd look like dead.

What do you do
with that knowledge?

I killed four guys.

One of them I can't...

I can't be sure.

So maybe just three.

I'm sure they were combatants.

But then there was her.

They don't teach you
how to live with that.

I'm sorry.

I came back.

They had this big
welcome party.

People buying me beers,
calling me a hero.

No one ever
mentioned her again.

The report cleared me.
No further question.

Everything is forgiven
except...

You sit alone at night.

Do you want to tell me
about the boot?

Right.

Basically,

10 minutes
after I killed her,

I stepped onto an IED.

I was lucky, I mean--
I mean, compared to many,

the bomb just took my foot
clean off, boot and all.

No one could find it.

Jesus.

Didn't see that coming.

Yeah. Me neither.

Anyway, in the dream...

she brings me my boot.

Um...

I think I need some Advil.

Thanks for your time.

Wait.

Can I ask you a question?

Shoot.

If she's just bringing
you your boot,

why is it a nightmare?

Because up to that point,
I have both feet.

When she holds up the boot,

that's when I realize
my foot is gone.

Oh.

You know...

modern people think that dreams
are about things that happened.

The ancients,
they thought the dreams

were about the future.

Like prophecies or advice.

What are you saying?

Well, I'm no analyst,

but... a boot?

What about it?

It's like you're stuck there.

In your heart,
you're still there.

Oh, shit.

Maybe she's telling you
you can walk away.

You think so?

I do.

Hmm.

I'm gonna have
to think about that.

Good.

Maybe you should try
to get some sleep.

Yeah. Good idea.

Good night then.

Good night.

Here you go.

Hello, this is Beth.

Hello? This is Beth.

How are you tonight?

Take your time.

Whenever you're ready.

Okay.

I know this can be difficult.

And everybody just plays along.

They all see everyone else
for what they are.

Wannabes, name-droppers,
fucking...

the crevice dwellers.

But they all tell themselves
they're different.

Well, I am-- I am done.

I had my last
fucking humiliation.

I'm sorry.

Oh! So get this.

So I audition
for a student film.

That's right,
auditioned for a student film.

And I didn't get it.

I don't even know
how I lasted this long.

I hate them all so much.

Like the sharks
and the liars

and the suckers
who fall for them,

taking selfies
on the red carpet.

It's so fucking desperate.

It's so thirsty.

To, like, sneak backstage
into the VIP room,

that secret party where
it will all finally happen.

Where some famous someone
will discover them

and everything will change.

And the more the dream fades,

the more desperate they get
to maintain the illusion,

to look good, to stay fit,
to score the invitation,

to get the fucking likes,

and the whole town's in on it!

Hello, this is Beth.

Angela?

Beth.

Where's Angela?

I don't know an Angela.

Did you ask for her
at the switchboard?

Speak up, sweetie.
I can't hear you.

When you called,
did you ask for Angela?

Are you with Angela?

No, I'm not with Angela.

Jesus Christ.

What the fuck are you
wasting my time for?

Nice.

Hi.

Hello.

What do I call you?

Oh, sorry.

You can call me Beth.

You can call me Chris.

Nice to meet you, Chris.

You lay cops?

No.

Because a lot of people do
these days.

Are you a cop?

Yeah. Sheriff.

It's what I'm calling about.

We have psychologists.

I just don't want
to be seen anywhere near them.

Word gets out you're seeing
a psychologist,

and suddenly everyone thinks
you're a basket case.

Hmm. I understand.

Do you want to talk about it?

Here's the deal.

Last year,
I was involved in an incident.

I wasn't directly involved,

but I saw the whole thing.

I can't get into the details.

Suffice it to say,
there was a review.

Final word was,
the incident was in policy.

Officer issued a command,

suspect didn't comply.

Officer attempted
to arrest the suspect.

Suspect resisted arrest.

Officer applied
reasonable force.

The suspect was
unintentionally injured...

and acquired
a permanent disability.

Thing is, and I can't
get into the details,

but, well, put it this way.

When this stuff happens,

you're not supposed
to work out the story

with your other officers.

But, of course, we do talk.

We talk among ourselves.

We talk with legal counsel,
and the union rep.

And that's how you end up
with certain, uh...

adjustments to a story.

But what if I told you

the officer used the N-word?

What if I told you
he's been doing it for years?

What if I told you
he's in a fucking gang?

Do you know
what I'm talking about?

I think so.

What do you know?

Well, sheriffs have gangs,
regulators, executioners,

grim reapers, a bunch more.

Whatever.

I mean, I'm no snowflake.

The truth is,

we deal with maniacs
every fucking day.

And sometimes you have
a split second to decide

whether to use force.

If you don't use it,
the bad guy might.

So shit happens.

There's no one in the world

that's gonna make
the right decision

100 percent of the time.

No genius, no saint,

and certainly
no judge or lawyer.

Shit is going to happen.

Period.

Sometimes it really didn't
need to happen.

Sometimes it's just fucked up.

And how are you feeling
about that?

Not great.

Not great.

Pretty depressing.

It's an impossible situation.

How so?

I mean...

I can either say
what I gotta say

and destroy another cop's life,

or I can keep my mouth shut

and let it eat away at me.

Either way, I'm kind of fucked.

Yeah, but one way seems like
the right way, don't you think?

I'd be a snitch.

A traitor.

My family could be in danger.

No one! To myself.

Come to bed.

In a minute.

I gotta go.

Can I--?
I don't think so.

Hello.

This is Beth.

Hello?

How are you?

I'm good. Thanks.

How are you?

Busy night?

They always are.

Is that right?

Pretty much.

In fact, it's busier than ever.

Hmm. More calls?

Yes.

How long have you been
doing this?

A few years.

Mm-hmm.

What's your deal,
if you don't mind my asking?

My deal?

Yeah. This is supposed to be
a peer baseline, right?

What do you call it?
A peer mentorship?

Yes.

Kind of like A.A.

Right.

So you're supposed to have

lived experience.

Right.

That's what I thought.

So, what's the experience?

Oh, well...

You need more time?

No, it's just...

It's unusual for me
to be asked.

It feels a little like
a job interview.

Maybe it is.

What do you mean?

I'm sorry if I made you
uncomfortable.

No.

I used to teach sociology.

We ask a lot of questions.

I see.

Well...

I'm not supposed
to go into personal details.

It's against policy.

I will tell you this.

I've done my share of...

drinking and drugging.

And I've been to jail.

Have you?

Unfortunately, yeah.

Not for a long time,
but I have a rap sheet...

that would probably scare off
a few neighbors

if they knew about it.

So now you're trying
to share the wisdom?

Well, I don't know
that I have much wisdom,

but something like that.

Is it hard?

I don't mean difficult,
I mean...

Oh, you know--
You know what I mean.

Yes. Sometimes.

What's the hardest thing
about it?

When the caller hangs up.

Not always,
but sometimes you just...

wanted to keep talking.

And you can't call them back,
so you just wonder,

"Did I upset them?
Did I fail them?"

That they were already hurting.

Yes.

So it was already hard.

Yes.

Does it make you cry?

Sometimes.

But the fact is,
I'm just hearing their stories.

They're the ones living them.

So for me to cry, it feels like,
I don't know,

a bit of a self-indulgence.

It isn't about me, I'm...

I'm just here to listen.

Does it work?

I hope so.

They either kill themselves
or they don't.

That's not the only reason
people call.

Oh. What else?

Anxiety.

Boredom.

Can't sleep.

Loneliness, of course.

Right.

It is amazing, isn't it,

how we crammed so many people
into giant cities,

connected everyone
to the entire planet,

and everyone
is lonelier than ever?

What else?

Well, sometimes
it's just to let me know

how they are
if we spoke before.

And sometimes it's pranks.

Or we call them...

strokers.

Uh-oh, does that--

Does that mean
what I think it means?

Yup.

You're serious?

People call a helpline
to masturbate?

I'm afraid so.
Jesus!

It kind of makes you despair
about the human race.

Well, that is not
why I'm calling.

Well, good.

Don't be so sure.

Are you gonna ask me?

Why I'm calling?

I...

usually don't.

Why not?

It tends to come out on its own.

I may ask...

"How can I help?"

Uh-huh.

I was a professor.

They kicked me out.

What happened?

They said I was traumatizing
the students.

Traumatizing them how?

By telling them the truth.

About?
About their lives.

I'm not a good liar.

I'm not gonna tell them,
"You'll be fine."

When the truth is,

the degree will not
get them a job,

and they'll still be in debt
15 years from now,

and most of them won't be able
to afford a house or a child.

And none of it matters anyway
because the planet's fucked.

By the way, it's not like
I said all that,

I just told them
they will have problems,

problems that might not
be solvable,

which is just a fact.

It's not like I want them
to despair.

And then what happened?

Someone complains.

Dean calls me in,

he tells me it's wrong of me

to impose my politics
on students.

My politics.
You believe that shit?

He never liked me.

He had it for me
from minute one.

So I told him to get
the fuck off my back.

But he kept talking
and I just...

I just snapped.

I punched him in the mouth

and ended up getting fired.

Yeah.
Yeah, it was pretty bad timing.

My divorce had just
been finalized.

Part of the reason
I was at the end of my rope.

So here I am, twice discarded,
unemployed and divorced.

No children, no savings.

No friends, really.

I don't have an urge
to kill myself.

I'm just looking
at it objectively.

I...

understand how you feel.

Yeah, but it's not
about feelings.

It's about a rational outlook.

Are you a religious person?

Not in the conventional sense.

What does that mean?

Well...

I don't worship.

I don't take religion literally.

But I guess
I embrace the mystery.

I find certitude boring.

That includes this certitude
that God doesn't exist.

I used to believe in God.

Over the years, He just started
to look so incompetent.

I mean, it's either
incompetent or evil, right?

Allowing so much wrongness.

Except...
Except what?

Well, isn't a universe
in which wrong things can happen

the only possible
moral universe?

Mm, you could reverse that.

Isn't a universe
where wrong things are routine

fundamentally immoral?

Moral choice still exists.

No one chooses to suffer.

It's random and meaningless
and fucking inevitable.

But isn't suffering just
the other side of happiness?

Isn't loss
just the other side of love?

You could say that loss

is the exact measure of love.

You could say that suffering
makes happiness possible.

Or you could say
it makes it a fraud.

Anyway, like I said,

I look at it
as a practical question.

Sometimes, the energy
required to live

simply exceeds the benefit.

The truth is,
there is no rational argument

against ending your life.

I'm not sure about that.

Come on. Think.

Why do religious people
object to it?

They consider it a sin.

And yet they worship martyrs

because they believed
real life comes after.

So Christians would dare
Romans to kill them,

like suicide by cop
on a mass scale,

Then they became
the dominant religion.

And the priests realized

they better start
condemning suicide,

or Christianity would become
a giant death cult.

And they would all
be expected to die...

Religious people--
...horribly.

I'm sorry, what?

Religious people
aren't the only ones

who commit suicide.

Well, the secular argument
just replaced sin with crime.

It's still a fallacy

because if you can be
the victim

and the culprit
at the same time,

the concept of crime
doesn't make any sense.

The only way
that taking your life

can be considered criminal
or even unethical

is if one assumes
that the life you're taking

is not actually yours.

It belongs to God,
to the king, to society,

to your parents, your children,

the ones you're working for,
responsible for.

But if I am not mine,

is there such a thing as I?

You know, in fact,
that train of thought

just ends up validating suicide

because the only way to reclaim
your life as yours

is to actually end it.

I don't necessarily want
to reclaim anything.

I'm just-- Just suggesting
there's no rational argument

against killing yourself.

That's not an argument for it.

Yeah, you don't need
an argument for it.

Just the realization
that you don't want

to do this anymore.

You don't even know
how to do it.

It happened over a long time,
day by day,

without drums and trumpets.

The unhappiness
just grabbed up on you

like a shadow
ever so slowly

until every corner of your life
was in the dark

and your whole lifestyle
feeling like a--

Like a pantomime.

You play the part.
Stick to the script.

You smile when
you're smiled to.

But eventually, you can't help
catching yourself.

This...

This person,
this character, it's...

It's not you.

Never was.

Someone else wrote it.

You were just cast
in the role

without even asking for it,

and the costume got stuck
to your skin.

You just want to rip it off,
the costume, the mask.

But underneath,
there's just another mask

because the unhappiness
is always ashamed of itself.

I understand.

Do you?

I think so.

So you agree?

I didn't say that.

Well, give me a reason.

Do you need one now?

What do you think?

I'm sorry, let me ask this
more directly.

Have you made a plan
to commit suicide?

Oh, boy, did I ever.

Today?
Why not?

Did you take any steps?
Stop.

I know the drill.
Let me save you the time.

I'm not gonna call
anyone else,

especially at a place
that's gonna trace my call

and send someone here.

So let's just keep this
hypothetical.

Maybe I did.

Maybe I didn't.

But if I did,

what would you tell me?

I would urge you to call--
I'm asking you.

What reason
would you give me?

Tick, tock.

I guess I would just say that...

Just say that everything
means something.

Oh, boy,
everything means something.

No, that's a self-contradicting
statement

because it doesn't actually
mean anything.

I just mean
whatever you care about,

a friend, a pet, that they--

I have neither.

Well, then...

politics, art.

Yoga. Food.

Whatever it is,
it means something.

It's worth something.

Whether it's inherently worthy

or made worthy
by your investment.

Your active caring,
that could be debated.

The point is, if that thing
has value, life does.

The earth will burst
into flames.

Cities will turn to ashes
or be swept away by oceans.

Civilization will tumble
into darkness.

It's when, not if.

Well, you obviously
care about that,

so that's one thing.

Mm, yeah, one thing
I can do nothing about.

The entire human race
has already committed suicide.

The poison is working
its way through the system.

Some people
just don't know it yet.

Maybe.

Maybe it is when, not if.

But isn't 2000 years
better than 100?

To be honest, I'm not sure.

You want to know a story?

Yeah.

There was this man.

Friend of a friend.

Um, his name was Tom.

He lived alone.

Apparently,
he had developed a ritual.

When he felt down,
he would fix himself a drink,

take out his revolver.

Then he would sip his drink

and think
of all the reasons he had

to not kill himself.

For every reason
he could think of,

he would take out a bullet
until the drum was empty,

then go to bed and reload
the gun in the morning.

And he did that for years...

until he ran out of reasons.

There is no free will.

It's just an illusion.

Every choice
has already been made.

Everything we think,
everything we feel,

everything we do is baked in.

We behave in the exact way
we're meant to.

I know this sounds, um,
dispiriting.

But the irony is that we are
programmed to hate the idea

that we're programmed,

to preserve the illusion
that we master our destiny,

that we earn our fortune,

that we can deserve happiness.

We master nothing.

Fortune is random.

All souls are happy,
good people are miserable.

There's no rhyme.
There's no reason.

There's no God's plan.

And there's no fucking escape

other than... you know.

Escape.

Can I ask your name?

Yeah.

Well?

Laura.

Nice to meet you, Laura.

Yeah, you too.

You asked what my deal was.

I did.

My answer was evasive.

How so?

It's weird.

Keeping a secret is a burden.

Being forced to talk about it
is just as bad.

So I find the only freedom
I can enjoy in the matter

is to sometimes
volunteer the information

and sometimes withhold it.

The suspense builds.

My stepbrother committed suicide
five years ago.

He was 25.

I didn't call him back
that night.

He tried me a few times,
but I just turned the phone off.

Did he used to call a lot?

There were periods
when he would call every day.

It was pretty hard.

We had a difficult relationship.

And he was chronically
depressed.

We grew up
in a bad family environment.

The thing is,

my stepfather...

He, uh...

I understand.

Oh, it's more complicated
than that.

You see, my stepbrother
looked just like him.

He even sounded like him.

So when he grew up,

dealing with him
brought everything back,

and not dealing with him
was a relief.

So now you talk
to other people

because you didn't take
that call.

That's part of it.

Go on.

Well...

I struggled
with depression myself.

If your own...

parent...

Uh, anyways,
I fell into drugs

and fucked-up
relationships and...

Then the guilt.

What I'm trying to say
is that I was there.

I had run out of reasons.

I didn't have a plan.

I was just gonna let it happen.

I don't know, I guess I thought
I was bound to overdose,

or to drown,
or to get run over by a truck.

I just didn't care.

And then one day,

I ran into this old man.

He was walking a dog.

He passed me by
and I heard the dog barking,

and I realized
the man had fallen.

So I helped him up
and I walked him home.

He invited me inside and offered
to make me a cup of tea,

and I said, "No, thanks,"
but he insisted.

His name was Jacob.

He's dead now.

He lived in this small house,
and the house was stuffy.

I mean, typical old-man house,
but it was extraordinary.

Books and paintings and strange
objects from all over the world.

He had this framed
emperor scorpion from Africa,

hand-blown glass from Venice,

an ancient chess set
from Russia.

The man had been everywhere,

first with the Navy,

then with the Merchant Marine.

Anyways, he started telling
me all of these amazing stories,

and the next day I came back
to hear more stories.

And after a while,

I realized I had a reason.

And then...

I just kept finding more.

"Beth," you said.

Yes?

Yes.

Short for Elizabeth, I suppose.

Sure.

You don't sound sure.

It's actually not my real name.

Ah.

Why do you use a fake name?

It's mainly a privacy thing,

but also we're supposed
to keep the job separate.

If I do this under
a different name,

it's supposed to help.

Does it?

Not really.

So, what keeps you coming back?

I suppose...

when I'm on a shift,
I'm focused.

I'm not multitasking.

I'm not going through
my to-do list.

I am 100 percent focused

on the person
that I'm speaking to.

And...

I don't know.

I care.

I can see that.

You know something?

What's that?

I have a feeling you would be
very good at this.

That might be the funniest
thing I ever heard.

I mean it.
You're serious?

You think I should be hosting
the Lonely Hearts Club?

Well, I don't call it that,
but yeah.

It's a pretty interesting club.

All kinds of people.

Loneliness is a big slut.

Yes.

I think I'm gonna steal that.

Be my guest.

It's Maggie, by the way.

Oh.

I kind of liked "Beth."

I know. Me too, right?

Well, this has been
an interesting talk.

Good night, Maggie.

Wait.

No. Not tonight.

Shit, I'd probably
botch it now.

Nothing more pathetic
than a failed suicide attempt.

And then having
to tell yourself,

"Don't give up, try again."

I'm joking.

Yes.

Okay. Good.

Good.

Well, call back if...

Well, anytime, really.

For anything.

Ask for Beth.

I might do that.

Good night, Beth.

Good night.

Beth?

Yeah?

It's Sharon from earlier.

Yes. Hi, Sharon.

I wrote one.

A song, or a poem,
or whatever.

Right.

It's not finished, but, um...

I just wanted to get to you
before your shift ends.

Is that okay?

Sure.

You ready?

Hmm.

Here it is.

Illusion, delusion.

Illusion, delusion, confusion

Draw your freaking conclusion

They feed you conspiracies
They prey on your miseries

They rewrite history
Make their crimes mysteries

The secret keepers
The promise breakers

The fake believers
The silent takers

They call your fight treason
They call their lives reason

It's all a mind prison
Can't trust your own eyes

Can't tell truth from lies
Chemtrails in the sky

Crisis actors on site
Their smiles, more lies

Their knives in disguise

Another day dies
Another night cries

All you got is your rage
All you got is this song

All you got is a cage
Because all you got is a bomb

All you are is alone
Because your head is all wrong

But your heart is still strong
And the light is still on

No one has very long
So keep on writing this song.

So that's as far as I got.
I don't know.

Yeah, I don't know.
Maybe it's finished.

It's...

It's amazing.

You think so?

I really do.

Thank you.

Thank you.

All right,
I'll let you go now.

No, I can stay. It's no problem.

No, no, no, no. You got--
You got better things to do.

Have a great day.

You too.

I know, I know.

Hey, good morning.

I didn't wake you, did I?

Yeah, I know.

I know you wake up early.
That's why I...

Nothing.

I was just wondering
if you wanted to get breakfast,

maybe at that place
that you mentioned?

What was it called?

Oh. No, no, no. No problem.

It was just
a spur-of-the-moment thing.

I understand.

No worries.

Yes, absolutely.

Some other time.

You too.

Bye-bye.

Okay.

d One direction
Looks like clear blue sky d

d The other direction
Is gray sky d

d One direction
Looks like clear blue sky d

d The other direction
Is gray sky d

d One direction
Looks like clear blue sky d

d The other direction
Is gray sky d

d One direction
Looks like clear blue sky d

d The other direction
Is gray sky d

d One direction
Looks like clear blue sky d

d The other direction
Is gray sky d

d One direction
Looks like clear blue sky d

d The other direction
Is gray sky d

d One direction
Looks like clear blue sky d

d The other direction
Is gray sky d

d One direction
Looks like clear blue sky d

d The other direction
Is gray sky d

d Everything, everything
Everything, everything d

d Everything, everything
Everything, everything d

d Everything, everything
Everything d

d Everything looks
Kind of okay d