All language subtitles for Grotesquerie.S01E08.WEB.x264-TORRENTGALAXY

...a significant hurdle
is the efficient delivery of RNA molecules

to cancer cells
while avoiding off-target effects.

It's unstable in the body.

And then there's a high likelihood
of immune responses.

The answer, I believe,

is in developing
ultrasophisticated nanoparticles

to encapsulate and protect
RNA molecules, improving their stability.

Um...

Let's, uh, pick this up
next session, guys, okay?

It's good of you to see me,
Doctor. I didn't think you would.

You're the last holdout
within your mother's inner circle.

Well, Dr. Witticomb,
I'm not really sure what good I'd be,

or even what your approach
to her therapy is.

I mean, how exactly
am I important to this process?

It's controversial, what I do.
Neuroimaging.

Functional MRI and EEG
show patterns of brain activity

that look like aspects of dream activity.

So she was locked in,
rather than comatose?

She was in a liminal state, and at times,
very aware of her dreams.

She has an extraordinary recall of them.

And if we can advance the science
of communicating to people in comas,

my hope is we can find ways
to awaken them.

Well...

I'd feel like an asshole if I didn't help.

Thanks. I should warn you,
it's not an enjoyable process.

You'll hear things you won't like.

Do you mind if I record you?

Fire away.

In her dream, you were in, um,
some sort of reality television show.

What? Television? I hate television.

The only thing I watch is, like,
The Wire on a loop.

So what's the name of the show I was on?

Half-Ton Trauma.

A show in which morbidly obese people--

Try to lose weight.

I told you this would not be easy.

Well, that woman isn't easy.

Your star patient.

To center.

Okay.

Good. Good. Okay. It's okay.

It's okay. Just try it again.

Good. Just...

Oh.

- Shit.
- It's okay.

I couldn't do this before I was in a coma.

Jesus Christ.

What the fuck do you want?

Just wanna see how you're doing.

Fuck off.

You tried to kill me.
I heard all of it. All of it!

- Lois, you hallucinated...
- Mm-mmm.

- ...half of what you heard.
- Mm-mmm.

I wasn't trying to kill you.
I was trying to keep you alive.

I-I am done with all of this. All of you.
I... I wanna go home.

I just wanna go.

Okay. Let me just...

It's okay.

It's okay.
Don't touch me.

- Okay. Just reach out--
- Don't touch me.

Paddles!

- Mom, you better fight.
- Clear!

- I need Adrenalin.
- You fucking bitch. Fight!

You know, I never understood
why you're such a royalist.

Look at them, disasters in the making.

Di, filled with terror and hope.

Charles, grim and loving someone else.

I'm gonna roast a chicken, yeah?

I could use a prep chef.

Um...

I don't really want to move.

I'm not hungry.

It's fine. Yeah.

I could use the activity, actually.

Maybe you'll be hungry
by the time it's ready, huh?

Hmm.
- Yeah.

Always think of the future,
even if it's only in one-hour increments.

That's why I like the royal family.

They're always thinking about the future,

but always in relation to
the traditions of the past.

I guess we need
all the rituals we can get.

Like roasting a chicken.

I'm not staying in it.

She's awake. I'm divorcing her.

I'm done.

Can you do that?

I mean,
can you live with that decision?

You stayed for all of it.

Why would you stay with me anymore
if I didn't leave now?

The ritual of it.

- You being here.
- Hmm.

And, you know,
I think that maybe this is the place

where you're really at peace, right?

Don't do it because you think
you'll lose me if you don't.

I started the process
to get her out of my life.

I saw the lawyer, Mr. Berger.

He's drawing it up.

I hope she has
some sort of life after all this.

That she realizes that
to stay together is impossible

when you know too much about
who you both are.

She knows I want her to die.

I whispered in her ear during visits.
First it was, "You can go."

Then it progressed to...

Please just fucking die.

She heard everything, the doctor said.

Can you imagine the level of stamina
and control, to be in a coma

and never turn off
your fucking satellites and antennae?

Charles.

I always admired him.

She was clearly mentally ill.

He was clearly hardwired for duty.

He kept going.

Living in his duty.

Finally finding happiness
with the woman he always loved.

I think I'll eat now.

Interview one
with Chief of Police Megan Duval.

So you would not describe
your relationship with Detective Tryon

as adversarial?

No. She was a mentor to me.

She was thrilled when I became chief.
I listened to her. I took her counsel.

And what about the case of Andrea Salana?

How do you think she handled that?

She blew it. She totally blew it.

She should have helped
that woman way earlier,

and I was very up-front about it.

Go on.

It was shit police work,
and she was guilty.

She was slipping and she was tired,
and, um...

and I fucking let her know it.

It did result in some tension,
but she was always very up-front with me,

and I had to pay her the same respect.

We did have one fight
right before her retirement party

where I let her know how I felt.

She had sudden qualms
about actually leaving,

and I said, "Hey, babe, it's time."

I had made this punch.

What color was the punch?

Purple.

Violet, really.

It was awful.

- Go to hell.
- Cheers.

Thank you, Chief. One last thing.

The color of the punch, was it more like...

the color of a bruise?

Yes.

Very much so.

And were there bruises on Andrea Salana's
body when she was found dead?

Purple bruises?

She had been beaten to death. Yes.

She looked like a different species
from all the bruising.

You're late.

I'm mad hungry.

Mmm.

Blood sugar must be low or something.
I don't know.

I'm not in the mood for your shit, Justin.

I'll heat up the Chinese.

Is this what you want?

Is it?

You know I'm gonna have
a shiner from your fucking fist!

And they know you at the precinct.

Too many bruises,
too many emotional crying calls.

You want me to just end this for you?

Is that what you want, Justin?

You don't have the fucking balls, Meg.

Just get the fuck out.

It's my house.

My house, my rules.

My--

Fine. Stay then.

Enjoy dinner, you fuck.

Fuck.

Fucking bitch!

♪ An old flame used to show me ♪

♪ Fire don't have to burn ♪

♪ He said, "Baby, don't you worry" ♪

♪ There's only more to learn ♪

♪ Every laugh, every touch, every kiss ♪

♪ Can haunt me at times ♪

♪ I would lie if I said in your eyes
I don't see the signs ♪

♪ Carry on, no longer yours to love
But your memory chimes ♪

♪ Back and forth sometimes
If I stay till the end will I find ♪

♪ Your love ♪

♪ Your love, babe ♪

♪ Is fire in my veins ♪

♪ Slowly burns, slowly burns ♪

♪ Only you can set me free ♪

♪ It's taken a hold of me ♪

♪ Future turns to flashes ♪

♪ Time turns into ashes ♪

♪ 'Cause only you can make me stay ♪

♪ Only your love can make me stay ♪

Hello.

Checking in?

♪ Only you can make me stay ♪

♪ Said only your love can make me stay ♪

Would you like some ice, my dear?

Just a quiet room, please.

Thank you.

So, we finally meet.

Well, we did meet,
but you were barely awake,

coming back from your dream state.

So, are you ready to go
back to the real world?

Uh, I mean, I am.

It's just...

It's a lot to process.

You know? And my dreams were just so real.

And it will take a long time to unpack,
but we can do that together.

If you want, sessions a few times a week,

sifting through whatever you do remember.

I was in a coma for six weeks, and it...

felt like a lifetime.

Then other times,

it just felt like one long...

night of an endless nightmare.

And... And sometimes I feel like I am...
I am still in a coma,

and I'm just in a maze
trying to work my way through.

And I... I feel like that now.

We are both very much awake.

And I think there are very few cases
as valuable as yours, Lois,

in terms of understanding the ways
in which the subconscious

plays a part in activating and healing
and even reawakening the brain and body.

Are you sure?

I was there, Lois.

I saw your brain activity.
I saw areas of your brain light up.

I know the emotions you were feeling,
and I know when you felt them.

I just feel... I just feel

stuck.

All my dreams were very--

- Very violent. I know.
- Yeah.

And when you're able to discuss those,

and what you recollect of them,

the more you'll be able
to put the violence in context

so you can move forward.

Do you remember
any of the conversations we had

where you told me
some of what you dreamed?

Okay.

Put them all together and made one body.

- We did this for several days.
- ...like a Frankenstein.

Mm-hmm.

Let's begin.

Why do you think you put your daughter
on a TV show called Half-Ton Trauma?

You would say
because I felt disgusted by her.

Is that what I would say?
What would you say?

I've seen a lot, you know, in my job.

Enormous shut-ins...

dead of heart disease,

lifted out of their homes by a crane.

In the dream, there were times
when you force-fed Merritt.

This is a safe place to talk about it.

I don't know why I was that angry at her.

In dreams, it's safer to express anger
than in waking life,

or perhaps you aren't angry at all
but ashamed of her,

which could be even harder for you
to process than anger.

Is that possible?

I don't... [stammers] I don't even know
why we gotta talk about this.

I... I just wanna put it all behind me
and move forward.

I read somewhere that-that we're not
even supposed to remember our dreams.

That's why we don't.

May I tell you what I think?

You felt a lack of control
in your marriage,

so you put your husband in a coma.

Uh-huh. What else?

You felt threatened
by your colleague, Megan,

a person who seemed to do everything right

when you were always in the wrong,
a holier-than-thou figure.

So you literally made her a nun.

And what about Grotesquerie?

Does that... represent me?

Grotesquerie is the stand-in, the totem.

For the way the world
according to Lois Tryon now is,

what your work exposed you to,
what you suppress.

The long-term PTSD of the work you did.

I looked that word up.

Grotesquerie.

It means...

"to live in a world that is grotesque
and make-believe."

It was hardly make-believe.

You were a homicide detective dealing
with the most unspeakable crimes.

I've read your case files.

What you dealt with could only be
described as such: grotesque.

I feel like you were
the tip of some spear,

fighting the spirit of evil in our time,

almost someone who sacrificed
themselves in order to combat it.

Maybe.

I have seen the worst

of the worst of the worst,

daily, endlessly,

endlessly.

In my dreams...

I was still a drunk...

which I am not.

Anymore, not anymore.

But dreams of using are very,
very common in addicts and alcoholics,

a way of making sense of the shackles,
trying to free oneself.

Is sobriety not a lifetime
of day-to-day decision-making?

What about Andrea?

Go!

Andrea?

What do you think?

Your guilt, Lois.

Mishandling that case was
the tipping point,

a horrible tragedy, but also the catalyst
for you finally asking for help.

Yeah.

My sponsor, Ed. Merritt's husband.

In the dream, you made him a caretaker.

Fitting.

How did the affair with Ed begin
in real life?

He was just there.

It was that simple, Doctor.

Getting sober is a shock to the system.

You have to relearn how to be a person.

You gonna let me off the hook
for fucking my daughter's husband?

Only you can do that.

What else?

Doctor Mayhew, Charlie.

This is particularly fascinating to me

because it proves that you were
cognizant of your surroundings.

Well, he turned out to be the killer.

You felt powerless.

You were hearing someone
who was supposed to be your ally

talking about ending your life,
taking you off of the ventilator.

So you thrust him with Megan.
They became lovers in your fantasy.

The two people trying
to take your job and your life.

You were so alone.

The only person who cared
about you in the end was--

Marshall's girlfriend.

Whom you cast as a nurse,
in charge of his care.

The person your husband was cheating on
you with became a malevolent archetype.

I didn't hate her.

I mean...

there was some feelings
of bitterness, but...

that woman is goddamn saint
to deal with Marshall all those years.

I mean, God only knows

what would've happened if I
would have had to deal with him by myself.

Maisie, who worked as your housekeeper,
you board her as well, I believe?

What about Maisie?

In your dream,

she murdered children.

I find it interesting that of
the many people who incurred your wrath,

she wasn't one of them.

You helped Maisie, got her
to the hospital, empathized with her,

and in return,
she helped you catch the killer.

You know how we met, Maisie and I?

Choose life.
- Choose life.

Choose life!

Choose life!

She'd chained herself
to an abortion clinic.

- Choose life.
- Choose life!

- Choose life.
- Choose life.

I got called to the scene.

They cut her loose.

She was yelling in my face
all of this pro-life nonsense.

And the more she wailed...

the more I saw myself.

Under the...

layers of grandstanding

was the same stuff.

Love,

fear...

hope.

Most of all, hope.

And what about today?

Do you still feel hope?

It comes and it goes,

hope.

A very wise conclusion.

To be continued.

Yep.

I got it.

Thanks.

Do you know why nobody
was there to pick you up?

I got a pretty good guess.

The affairs.

Everyone was interviewed
by the brilliant Dr. Witticomb,

so they know something about my dreams.

That, and my general unpleasantness.

Let me set you straight on a few things.

I'm not your enemy.

I've only respect for you.

I idolized you.

If you wanna turn me into a killer,
that's your business.

Jesus Christ.

They were the dreams of a woman
in a coma, okay?

They're not binary representations
of real feelings.

Oh. You don't resent me?

You don't feel I pushed you
out of your position?

Usurped you?

Look, kid.

I have enough to feel shitty about
for things that I did in my waking life.

Let's not make me responsible
for my subconscious too.

Y-You think if you had a glimpse
into your mind, you'd like what you saw?

Really like what you saw?

That's exactly the response
of your entire generation.

"We're not responsible for anything."

And you millennials blame us
for everything around you.

Such fucking professional victims,
all of you.

E-Entitled.

Outraged at-- at real grown-up shit.

It's the real world,
not something we did to you.

Well, let's count them.

The selfishness acts.

Doing nothing to tackle
the problems you create.

Leaving us to clean up all your messes.

The way you left me
to clean up the Andrea Salana mess.

Okay.

That's what this is about.

You resent me for that case.

It's not about global warming
or whatever the fuck.

I was your partner. I looked bad too.
And I trusted you.

And I'm named in her family's lawsuit
against the department because of you.

But I'm not your enemy.

Clearly you're not.

I mean, you were kind enough
to pick me up today,

to give me lessons in your virtues.

Typical millennial self-righteousness.

Surprised you ain't sued me and my dreams
for emotional distress.

I should.

Grow the fuck up.

And one more thing.

You may have heard in my dream/coma state

that you were possessed,
foaming at the mouth.

Fascinating. I did not know this.

Also in my dream state,
I distinctly remember you having bruises.

Much like you do right now.

Then, like now,
subconscious or motherfucking reality,

let me be clear, baby girl:

You are being possessed.

Break free while you can.

I see you.

Maisie?

Welcome home, Mrs. Tryon.

Maisie.

I said to that doctor,

"Mrs. Tryon is the person who helped me.

That's who she was
and that's who she has been."

He didn't wanna hear it.
Kept digging for darkness.

I said, "She saved me and gave me a job.

And I don't blame someone
for what they see in their dreams."

Everyone has a shadow,
don't they know that?

Why isn't anyone here for you?

You are.

But...

...dreams.

They are
the closest you get to truth, I think.

Maybe all my anger at everyone...

maybe that is my deepest truth.

That's good.

Ten.

Okay, good.

Eleven. Good.

One more, one more.

Twelve. Good job.

One more, one more.

Come on.
It's too heavy.

Okay, okay. That's good.

You know, you could only do five
when you started. You're up to twelve.

I feel like a kindergartner.

Don't be so quick to compliment me, Jill.

Lois, you're the only
patient that I have ever met

that scoffs at positive reinforcement.

Because I know it's manipulation.

It's how I used to get
my suspects to confess.

One day, you're gonna confess to me too.

Didn't you hear when I was in that coma?

I heard everything.

♪ It ain't necessarily so ♪

♪ It ain't necessarily so ♪

This is not a very good idea, Mrs. Tryon.

Are any of my ideas good?

Hiring me.

That's the only one.

Okay.

I gotta do this, Maisie.

I have to.

Hey.

I figured I'd hear from you.

You've been out, what, a day now,
and you rush over and see me?

We need to talk.

Are you sure you wanna talk to me?

You might wanna talk
to my husband instead.

I can write down his address for you.

If you're looking to pick up
where you left off.

- Sucking his dick.
- Get it all out now,

so we can talk.

You know, there's something
I've been meaning to say to you.

So, avante.

I have an idea
about what you wanna talk about.

The main thing you wanna discuss,
and I don't care.

You really think I'm that unsophisticated?

I mean, your dreams are your dreams.

I'm not gonna castigate you
for how you see me in them.

As a shut-in slob living at home,

dependent on you.

Desperate to go on a reality television
show for the sclerotic obese, right?

Did I... I got that right, right?

That's how you picture me
in your dream life?

Well, Mom, I have
two postdoc degrees in biochemistry,

and I am perfectly prepared
to accept the fact

that in order for you to deal with me,

you had to reduce me to a fat freak
because you're so fucking insecure.

Look. I hate that I felt that way.

I know how wrong it is,

how wrong it was, but all I can say is--

What?
We're not responsible for our dreams?

I know that.

I agree.

But that is not your crime, lady.
That is not your unforgivable sin.

You know that.

So can we please
just cut the deflective bullshit

- and have a real come to Jesus? Please.
- Okay.

You wanna talk about

how I could have possibly slept
with your husband.

It was...

misplaced aloneness.

It was self-pity and...

booze and...

finding myself alone in life.

I mean,
your father had basically abandoned me.

This was not about sex, Merritt.

Okay? It was about...

emotion.

It was about connection.

Most women would find someone
suitable to cheat with.

Someone outside of their orbit.

Their child's own partner?

Most women would find that to be taboo.

But not you.

You're not like most women, are you?

You are...

something else entirely.

You see, all that time spent...

around killers and psychopaths

has rubbed off on you.

Consider that.

They were contagious,
and you caught their diseases.

Why not?

You see, I-I remember...

I remember when you weren't
a fucking insane person, Mom.

I remember when you were a good mother.

Walking me to school, waiting there
until I felt safe before you left.

I remember all the good parts.

All of 'em.

And that's what makes this even worse.

Please allow yourself to understand that...

my husband's betrayal
is totally predictable.

But yours...

...yours broke my heart.

You broke my heart, Mom.

And I wake up every day stunned by it.

Amazed by it.

S-Still unable to process it.

I could only hope that you feel the same.

But I know you don't.

Get the fuck out of my house.

You should go get a vanilla milkshake.

I did tell ya that it was a bad idea.

Yeah.

It's a new beginning.

It's what I need to...

go on.

Let's get a milkshake.

Ow.