Original subtitles

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Stones:

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Wider.

Wider, please.

Why?

Sorry, that's what the director asked for.

And you obey her every command?

Jan Stevens: A suggestion more than a command.

But feel free to try something different if you so wish.

Jan Stevens.

Beginning as you mean to go on, then?

I just like to be in control of how I'm portrayed.

Don't we all?

But may I suggest a more conciliatory tone

with our dossierge here.

He's just doing his job.

♪♪

By god, you have strong breath.

Sorry.

Dr. Glock: And an acute case of reflux.

Which might explain the extraordinary stench.

You're just experiencing heartburn

or are there other problems?

Stones: Bloating, perhaps, and...

Maybe wind?

You mean flatulence?

Yes.

How unfortunate.

Well, I can prescribe something,

and we can take a view on how things are in a few weeks.

But I suspect

that one might do well to heed the teachings of hippocrates

in this instance.

What do you think?

You do know hippocrates?

I know the name but...

You're a writer and you haven't read hippocrates?

Stones: I'm just a hack.

And hacks don't read?

Well, maybe I've read something,

but I can't remember right now

with this anxiety and these problems.

"Let food be thy medicine."

Remarkable how such a simple yet profound tenet

can last through the centuries.

But besides a sensible diet,

it might serve you well not to eat too close to your bedtime.

And if you raise your pillow, it might prevent any

excess acid from surging and making you

whispered about unfavorably by your boss.

Thank you.

Dr. Glock: And I trust that this bill will go to her?

Yes.

The life of a hack.

I know several writers who would claim

that such work is beneath them.

You must know some wealthy writers, then.

Dr. Glock: I couldn't imagine anything worse than your job.

Having to humor and indulge a different set

of feckless faux provocateurs each month.

Still, one might argue that it can't be any worse

than peering into foul-smelling orifices for a living.

Sorry.

And who's in residence this month?

Silence from an audience was always my fear.

And anything I could do to break that silence

became more important than anything else.

To hear a laugh, a gasp,

a cry, or even a protest

was validation.

To taste their shock is to be controlled by it.

And, with that, the need to go further and further

into oblivion.

Cooking and performing is always a hazard.

I could tell you about countless accidents

with other collectives here.

This was not an accident.

Stones: Why?

Elle: Because the applause would be ecstatic.

The pain was an insignificance.

You don't see?

I'm not a performer.

Yes, but you write.

You're still looking for validation.

If I hear the sound of a page turning,

I'm content.

Maybe you'd feel differently if it was your work.

Why don't you try?

Some might argue that even an instruction manual

has some imprint from the writer.

So, there is something of you in what you write about me?

And how much of you is in this?

Elle: You mean the performance?

Everything.

And Billy and lamina?

Elle: They're here to realize what's in me.

Stones: And that's how they see it?

Elle: Not quite.

Sometimes they try to put their stamp on things,

especially lamina.

Stones: But you're a collective?

Every collective needs a leader.

And, besides, I could replace them

and nothing would change.

Stones: And you want to replace them?

We'll see.

I love them...

But sometimes love can mean more by walking away.

Stones: Wouldn't it be easier to compromise?

No.

That's what they all say when they come in here.

I thought you believed in creative freedom.

To a degree.

But give anyone too much freedom in anything

and it's often counterproductive.

I wish you luck, director.

I'm not going to steamroller over her,

and I'm not going to give her notes

for the sake of giving notes,

but if I feel something is going in the wrong direction,

I need to voice it.

It's not as if I haven't given free rein

to other Sonic caterers.

Has she decided on a name?

Elle and the fatty acids,

but she wants to sleep on it.

She really has to decide before we go to print.

She can't keep changing her mind like this.

Jan Stevens.

Man: We don't take kindly to being ignored.

They're still not leaving you alone?

Stones:

Stones:

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Stones:

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Jan Stevens.

Man: Nobody rejects us and lives to tell the tale!

"Make sure the table is laid in a tasteful manner

and the condiments are..."

What?

They're waiting for you.

Tell them I'm not ready.

It's just a speech.

It's not like it's a big deal.

Oh, really?

I'll remind you of that when it's your turn.

Yeah. Whatever.

And, Billy...

Applaud with enthusiasm this time.

Okay?

"Always remember to put a beer in the fridge."

♪♪

For a journalist, you don't talk much.

I'm not really a journalist.

I'm just hired to document things here.

So, what would I call you then?

Jan Stevens calls me "the dossierge."

And what would you call yourself?

I don't know.

I write.

Lamina: Write what?

Thoughts, feelings...

Questions.

You mean stories?

I don't know if you can call them stories.

And where can I read those

"thoughts, feelings, and questions"?

You'd have to burgle me to read them.

Lamina: Why don't you get them published?

I tried, but it's not easy.

Meanwhile, I need to make some money, so...

Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?

It gives me great pleasure to introduce

our first after-dinner speech of the residency.

Whilst we mostly encourage the artistic pursuit

of alimentary and culinary salvation

to be done as public performance,

the after-dinner speech offers more relaxed,

convivial surroundings

in which to continue our investigation

into an array of interculinary disciplines

and experiment with anecdotes, or just simple ideas

that maybe wouldn't work on a less intimate canvas.

Elle di Elle's speech, she tells me, will...

Elle: "Speech" is maybe

too reductive a term for what I'm about to do.

For what I will read is found text and it comes

from an old house-making manual that belonged to my mother.

"Edna may's supper school."

"Lively recipes and fun tips to preserve your man's love."

As a child, I wanted to be the model housewife

and this book was my Bible

until I began to question what I was reading.

I once saw my mother wipe away a tear in the kitchen,

and she tried to pretend it was the onions,

but I could see how tired she was compared to my father,

who was often pretending to work upstairs,

but just masturbating to the tennis ladies' annual.

Edna may was what every woman knew

their spouses wanted them to be.

However, it wasn't clear if that woman on the cover

was this mythical edna may

or even if there ever was an edna may,

since the perspective in the book

was very much in favor of a man's comfort,

which made me question who wrote it.

And what if this edna may genuinely enjoyed cooking?

Does that look like a real smile to you?

Personally, I think you're reading too much into it.

Maybe that's her subtle way of subverting those patriarchal

commandments in the book.

A chink in her smile.

That's not a chink.

That's a genuine, heartfelt smile.

You're merely projecting your own resentful ideology

onto the poor woman's face.

Just as thousands of men projected

their bone idle and selfish ideology

onto that poor woman's face,

trying to turn their wives into an edna may.

Generations of us were led to believe by these men, Dr. Glock,

that our role was only in the kitchen.

My mum never cooked.

It shows.

See, just by that comment,

you imply that it's only a woman's job to do such tasks.

I suppose you never read about the minoans?

So I should put a sock in my mouth

just because they tried it the matriarchal way

thousands of years ago?

Both of my parents cooked and they never counted who...

This is an after-dinner speech, not a debate!

If you all allow me to read you

"edna may's ten commandments of the kitchen"

on page nine,

then you can decide for yourselves

whether it was written by a woman or a man,

and, if by a woman,

was that something she really believed in?

Why are you smiling?

Me?

Smiling in appreciation.

Don't let me hold you back.

Be a good chap and pass me the mint sauce would you?

Elle: "One.

Keep a small notepad

in your handbag for grocery lists, chores,

and friendly reminders from your husband.

Two. Get to know your local grocer

so you can be primed for the best quality food.

Three.

Remember to Don a figure-hugging dress for when

your husband returns tired from work.

Four.

Make sure the table is laid in a tasteful manner

and that condiments are within easy reach for your husband.

Five.

Always remember to put a beer in the fridge

for when your husband gets thirsty

after his drive home from work.

Six. Get some fresh air by walking round the block

or call on your neighbor to indulge in some local gossip.

Seven.

Good posture makes you look more attractive when serving food

and lowers the risk of back pain.

Eight.

Time spent cooking is time

in which you can dream about the things you want out of life,

even if they might not be possible.

Nine.

Notice amusing and delightful events during your day

and recount them to your husband during suppertime.

He'll be appreciative.

Ten.

If, after following these kitchen commandments,

you find yourself unable to please your husband,

seek medical advice from your doctor

and take the pills he gives you."

Thank you for listening

to my wonderful after-dinner speech.

Whoo!

Sorry.

Whew.

I'm sorry.

I couldn't take it in there.

Why?

You try living with her for days on end and you'll see.

Ah, there he is.

You missed the review.

All manner of meta

and contra-patriarchal points made in your absence.

The previous dossierge jan hired

would never have been so disrespectful.

I'm sorry. I just needed some air.

Pills not working?

Let's see.

So...

You're still flatulent, old bean?

Flatulent? Who's flatulent?

Nobody's flatulent.

Just some indigestion.

Lamina: You haven't touched your food.

You'd know all about that.

Fasting, are we?

I've noticed three days now and you're hardly eating.

"They say it is three days now that her lips have fasted,

that she has kept her body pure from demeter's grain."

Could you please pass me the bread?

I take it that didn't ring a bell?

- Sorry? - Phaedra's fasting.

"Hippolytus"... euripides.

You haven't read euripides?

What did he just say?

Elle: What happened?

Stones: The mangrove snacks.

Who are the mangrove snacks?

Jan Stevens: They applied for the residency.

They didn't get it.

And this is how they respond?

Jan Stevens: Happens all the time, this kind of thing.

For every culinary collective I offer a residency to,

a dozen others give me hell for rejecting them.

I have a whole folder filled with poison pen letters.

I'm sorry.

I'm used to it, sadly.

Why did you reject them?

I don't like what they do to terrapins.

So, you only chose me because I'm vegetarian?

I'm not going to get drawn on my selection process.

All I will say is it involves

a huge amount of thought and responsibility.

I'll ignore your facile comment

since we welcome carnivores as much as herbivores.

Ultimately. I'd consider the mangrove snacks

if they actually had any talent,

only, for your exclusive information,

they can't even do transgression very well.

If it was me, I'd grab the mangrove snacks

by their shriveled little testicles and...

Can we leave it, please?

I'd rather focus on our trip to the shops tomorrow.

Yes, but we're dealing with rascals here.

If it was me, I'd make a stew out of their lousy...

I said!

♪♪

You're in the shops.

You're looking around.

Items all around you.

Maybe you need some tomatoes for that soup.

Squeeze them to make sure they're ripe.

You're pushing your trolley along,

looking around,

and there's Mrs. Chieveley.

You don't really like her,

but a quick nod of the head will suffice,

and that will allow you to proceed to the dairy counter.

Maybe you could ask the cheese laddie can slice you

a few hundred grams of taleggio and he can wrap it up for you.

He licks his fingers before taking the wrapping

and you don't really like that,

but you're too polite to say anything.

Put the cheese back in your trolley

and head to the spice cabinet.

Some herbes de provence to sprinkle on the soup.

But wait, there's nothing like that here.

Look surprised, look bereft.

A little more bereft.

That's it.

But it's time to move on.

There's a promotion stall and some samples.

Avocado paste on a crispy rye base

sprinkled with piment d'espelette.

You can try one.

Hmm, tastes good.

And you try your luck and take another sample,

hoping the vendor won't make any comments.

But the guilt makes you choke.

Oh, no...

Time for the heimlich maneuver.

That's it. Harder.

Harder.

Harder.

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Congratulations.

Now pay for your items.

♪♪

At what age did you decide

you wanted to be in a culinary collective?

My whole life.

It seemed ungraspable for an underdog like me,

but I had to find a way.

I remember, as a child, when I'd sit with my parents

watching Sonic caterers on the television,

and I was transfixed by the intensity

and the deliberation of sound.

But it felt ridiculous to dream of something

that everyone wanted to do.

It was indoctrinated in us from an early age that certain

callings in life were beyond our reach,

especially if, like me, you went to a run-down school.

And what gave you the conviction?

Elle: Only one thing.

The memory of miss lindenson dying at my birthday party.

She was my kindergarten teacher and she was allergic to nuts,

and the kitchen staff didn't pay attention when making the cake.

A big, chocolate wonder cake.

She went into anaphylactic shock as soon as she ate her slice.

Her face started to swell up

and the other children started to laugh,

thinking how comical it looked.

I screamed for help and she started to gasp for breath.

The other teacher called an ambulance,

but nothing could save her in time.

How something so tasty for me

that could be so deadly for her

completely changed the way I thought about food.

I'm sorry.

All this is in her honor.

Yes.

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I've never been so embarrassed in my whole life.

They'll think we are amateurs now.

I wouldn't be so hard on yourself.

It's your first performance.

But he had it right in rehearsals.

So, it's all my fault, is it?

It's not my thing that went wrong.

Lamina: Yeah, pretending to be a dead pig...

Even a toddler can do that

you try going naked on stage with all those people.

You think it's easy?

Jan Stevens: Congratulations, all of you.

Jan Stevens.

Sorry, we're just trying to work out what went wrong.

Jan Stevens: Why "sorry"?

I thought it was very involving...

A promising first concert.

Wonderful, in fact.

Could've been much better if he knew how to press buttons.

You're on a residency.

Remember that.

The whole point of a residency

is to allow space for trial and error.

It's the last concert that counts.

Everything leading up to that is just practice.

The audience understand.

They liked it?

They loved it.

Isn't that right, stones?

They had a good time, yes.

And now they're waiting to pay tribute.

Really?

Really.

They're outside.

What shall I do?

Send them in.

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Stones:

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Stones:

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Elle: It only occurred to me

when I was caught up in the blender,

but Elle and the artificial additives could be a name.

Lamina: It gets worse with each suggestion.

Billy: Well, what about Elle, lamina, and Billy?

Lamina: So, only you're allowed to be named?

I found the group and, besides, I take the...

No.

That was your fault.

Lamina: How can it be my fault when...

- Billy: Guys! - Lamina: A calamity.

Elle: It'll dry by the morning.

What are you talking about? It's oil!

It's a death trap.

Nobody will be using the stairs tonight.

We can't leave it like this

unless you want to find cracked skulls

and broken necks in the morning.

Maybe technical assistant wim can deal with it?

No, it's late. Let's not disturb him.

Nonsense, that's his job.

- Youngster! - No.

- You deal with it. - Why don't we all deal with it?

Let's find something and clean this up.

Billy: I'll get a mop.

Are you okay?

I don't feel good.

It'll take all night to clear this.

Maybe we could find some other mops

and then it won't take so long.

It's oil. Oil on stairs.

A mop alone is not enough. We need hot water and soap.

A mop is just going to spread...

Okay, okay. I don't need to hear this any more.

What's wrong?

I feel faint.

Don't listen to her, stones.

Anything to get out of a bit of work.

- Look at her, she's... - Stones!

It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.

One of us can take you back.

And what about Billy and me?

If I let go, she will fall.

Welcome to our world.

Jan Stevens: With all the collectives that come here,

my duty is first and foremost to support

and nurture their vision.

The practicalities of realizing an idea in front

of an audience can be a shock to the system.

The Gulf between the head and the reality of the stage

can be forbidding

and often requires shepherding by someone

who can lead the way...

Elle: We are our own harshest critics,

and we have these discussions by ourselves.

Jan Stevens: I appreciate that,

but as someone who is supporting you,

I would very much like to be involved in those conversations.

How?

- By guiding you. - Hm.

I can see you're independent and strong-willed,

and I can adjust my notes accordingly.

We don't need notes.

Jan Stevens: I understand you don't need notes,

but the institute's money is funding this,

and I expect something in return.

What you get in return is this.

Everything we are doing.

I'm just asking for you to engage.

Form your own culinary collective, then.

You go out and do this and see

how you feel when someone else comes along

and tells you what to do.

And how about you don't accept my support

if you don't like the terms?

This is still your vision.

I'm just asking you to change a few things.

So, it's your idea of my vision?

You don't even know what the notes are yet.

Maybe they won't be so unpalatable.

That's not the point. It's the principle.

So, even if you agree with a note, you won't do it?

Correct.

Jan Stevens: I'm not a big note person

compared to my forebears who have held this role.

I respect the artist,

but if I strongly disagree with something,

I will expect you to at least engage.

But you said it was wonderful last night.

Jan Stevens: Yes, it was wonderful,

but that doesn't mean we can't discuss.

I found out what was wrong with the ring modulator.

Jan Stevens: It wasn't the ring modulator.

I'm talking about the first half when everything was working.

It's your use of a flanger I want to discuss.

What's a flanger?

Jan Stevens: It's an electronic device

that mixes two signals resulting in a phase shift.

You didn't like it?

Jan Stevens: I think it should be on a lower setting.

Just fractionally.

Elle: Why?

When you alter the sound that much,

you lose all connection to the activity.

But that's the whole point of what we do.

Why do it if it remains in the culinary context?

And why do it if it's completely divorced from it?

Then it's just Sonic without the catering.

So, you want catering without the Sonic?

The best collectives here stretched the elastic

of their culinary sounds as far as they could,

but there was always a connection

to the source material.

A semblance of what the sound once was.

We can take it out, man.

It only lasted a few seconds, anyway.

No.

Then mix it down?

No.

Are you going to give in that easily?

You hardly notice it either way.

That's not the point.

Lamina: You didn't even know what a flanger was a minute ago.

I thought she said badger.

I'm just trying to protect your vision.

Elle: Can we discuss this another time?

You're ruining my graphic score with all this flanger nonsense.

If that's the case,

stop what you're doing and engage with us.

Come on, Elle.

I'm the boss!

Stones: How much say do you have in the band?

I don't know.

I mean, Elle's the boss.

But she can't do anything technical.

So, that's down to us.

She says what she likes, what she doesn't like.

But sometimes she doesn't explain herself very well,

which leads to things sounding the way they do

because of a misunderstanding.

In fact, I'd say misunderstanding between us

is probably the key to our sound.

And what made you want to be a Sonic caterer?

I don't know.

Something you just fell into?

Billy: I only really knew what I didn't want to do.

My parents sent me to this expensive school

to help with my table manners,

and it wasn't really a world that I understood.

I wanted something else.

Like what?

I don't know, like...

I liked making things.

I liked soldering things.

I like making noises.

It didn't really have much purpose until Elle came along.

And what was the purpose?

Billy: She had ambition.

She had ideas.

It's like she could channel something

that was aimless in me.

And she just... She would make things happen.

She had the confidence to do things one hundred percent-ly.

And she was... she was fun to be around, you know.

In what way?

She would pinch my nipples.

And what happened when she did that?

I don't know, it felt good.

She would say some exciting things and i'd, you know, i'd...

I'd fiddle with myself a bit.

We had... we had this game called the finger game

where she'd fiddle with herself too

and then I'd sniff her fingers.

But it was never anything more than that,

in case it compromised her artistic integrity.

And what about your artistic integrity?

I don't know, I mean...

We got lots made during that time.

I suppose we didn't think about what our behavior

meant until afterwards.

So, it didn't last with Elle?

I mean, we got bored.

I mean, we would, sort of, frisk out when we were bored,

then we got bored of frisking when we were bored.

So...

Was it just the two of you in the band then?

No. There was this other guy who was doing electronics,

but they fell out because of dietary differences.

- Meat? - Yeah.

I mean, anyone caught eating meat in our band is dead.

Dr. Glock: And deep breath.

And hold.

Good.

And again.

And hold.

I can't even see the tail of your pancreas,

what with all the globules of gas obscuring it.

Who would've thought that flatulence could look so dainty?

Stones: So, what now?

Throw away the pills and come in for some more examinations.

Don't look so alarmed.

You just need a few tubes to go down you

and up you if we're going to get to the bottom of this.

If the inflammation carries on like this,

you aren't going to have any bowels left to fart out of.

Am I going to die?

Dr. Glock: Of course you're going to die.

Name me a living thing that isn't going to die.

I mean...

Prematurely.

I'll be okay, won't I?

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Jan Stevens: You're in the shops.

Billy and lamina,

you're a happy couple pushing your weekend trolley

down the aisle.

You bought some nice ingredients for your bourgeois frittata.

But to save time, Billy,

you should head to the check-out soon to reserve your place,

and then lamina can continue the shopping,

pretending she forgot something

and then bring items back to the trolley.

It's a good idea.

You see Elle heading towards you,

and even though she only has a jar of saffron dust

for her amuse-bouche,

you make sure you beat her to the till

with your half-full trolley.

Lamina, you can continue shopping

as long as you remember to look like

you forgot something each time.

Elle, you will roll your eyes now

but maybe give her the benefit of the doubt

when she returns with the gruyère cheese.

Lamina, pretend to look annoyed with yourself

as you remember there is just one more thing to buy.

Go off and find it.

Elle, glare at her

when she returns with the quatre épices spice mix.

She's gone again to grab a packet of party sticks

and a ready-made tarte tatin.

Elle, you've reached boiling point,

but you're still holding it together.

Billy and lamina,

you've paid for your items and bagged them up.

You may now exit the shop

and leave your trolley by the till

for someone else to deal with.

Elle,

the trolley left in your way is the last straw.

Push it towards them

and unleash your rage.

♪♪

Billy: So...

This was on my school field trip.

And I had just turned 14,

and the way I saw things was starting to change.

Because I went to an all-boys' school.

And at home it was just my brother and my dad.

My mum was always away directing and stuff.

So, the whole female idea was a bit of a mystery to me

until I went on this trip,

and at the hotel we were at,

there was this egg station in the breakfast parlor.

And if you wanted an omelet, you would go and you'd queue up.

And you would...

You'd ask this lady to cook one up for you.

And...

She was...

She was blonde and curvaceous, you know.

And she had this uniform which kind of accentuated

her curvaceous figure.

I mean, she was probably about as old as my mum.

And I knew she'd never really be interested in me,

but I thought if I ordered an omelet,

maybe it'll start some conversation.

I never... I never actually got to know her name.

I only...

I only knew her as the egg lady.

And I remember, I remember dreaming about her.

Squatting over my face

and laying an egg into my mouth.

You know, I fell in love.

And I know everyone says that it can't be love

if you've only ordered an omelet, but it was love.

And I've never felt feelings that powerful

since for anyone.

And...

Be a good chap and pass me the mint sauce, would you?

And, yeah, and then,

after, it was on the third day,

I realized that if you asked her

to sprinkle onions on your omelet,

it would involve her bending forward

to scoop them out of the onion tub.

And that was when Tom pithers saw me

looking down her blouse

and told Mr. Rollinson.

There was already some discussion at the table

as to why I was always queuing at the egg station,

but I think this new evidence damned me.

Mr. Rollinson fell out of temper

and he hit me at the table in front of everyone.

I remember he, sort of, got me by the head

and rammed me down...

Five or six times, quite hard.

And I remember seeing Matt hornsley and Glen Rogers

sniggering at the whole thing.

And then, on the last hit,

it knocked over the glass of milk that was on the table.

And it made my ear, this ear, pop

and I lost my balance.

And I've always heard things a bit differently

out of that ear.

And Elle taught me to see it as an advantage.

Dr. Glock: Never mind your ears.

What we all want to know is do you still eat omelet?

No.

A terrible shame, young lad.

All because of a formative psycho-sexual trauma,

you're missing out on a vital source of vitamin d.

- I get it from the sun. - Dr. Glock: The sun?

What about winter?

Unless you're an oracle retiring from the temple of Apollo

during the coldest months, you need your vitamin d

if you don't want your bones to get all rickety.

You do know about the oracles?

You're an oracle of stupid.

Now, everyone.

Oracle of stupidity.

You didn't tell me that was going to be your speech.

So what?

Elle: It'd just be nice to be across these things

in order for us to have a consistency of vision.

Billy: What do you mean by consistency?

What do I mean by consistency?

By consistency, I mean not undermining my speech

which was all about male domestic oppression.

Everything you said dismantled the polemics, the irony, the...

At least mine was personal.

So sexually objectifying women cooking for men is fine

as long as it's personal?

Can we go to sleep?

So, you don't believe there is such a thing

as male domestic oppression?

Of course, I believe there is such a thing

as male domestic oppression,

but what also needs to be spoken about

is Elle-creative oppression.

Elle: "What about," "what about," "what about."

- Not "what about." - You're straying from the topic.

Lamina: Okay, back on topic.

I have another household tip you could've incorporated

into your next after-dinner speech.

Staying up all night mopping up

extra virgin olive oil from the staircase

while the person who spilled it can walk away from it all

without even uttering a thank you.

Ella: Thank you, lamina.

Billy: And Billy.

Thank you, Billy.

And don't forget to thank stones.

What is he doing in there?

Lamina: He practically lives in that toilet.

He keeps denying there's anything wrong.

Well, there is something wrong.

I hear him fart at night.

Whenever he thinks we're asleep,

he lets them slide out, one after the other.

Elle: And you never fart?

- Not as much as that. - Billy: Can you stop?

I'm trying to sleep.

Lamina: How many times do you fart?

Never. I don't fart.

Lamina: Of course you fart.

Have you ever heard me fart?

Lamina: No.

But it's biologically impossible not to fart.

Billy: There's a lot of things biologically impossible

when it comes to Elle.

They say the average person farts around 14.5...

He's coming!

Are you okay?

You know, I was reading about cloves.

They dispel the air from the intestine

in a nice, gentle, and noiseless way.

Stones: I've been talking to Dr. Glock.

And what does he say?

Stones: He wants to do some tests.

Stones:

♪♪

♪♪

Stones:

♪♪

Stones: How did you meet her?

She was balling my dad.

And my mum came back from a film shoot in the jungle

and caught her pinching his nipples.

She tried to pretend she was scratching a mosquito bite,

but my mum saw right through it.

I mean, she knew a thing or two about mosquitoes

after shooting in the jungle.

So, my mum moved out, Elle moved in.

It kind of didn't really matter to me

'cause I never saw my mum anyway

and kind of hated her for it.

And in a way...

In a way, I was happy,

'cause I finally landed myself a mum

who'd be around a bit more.

So, she became your mother?

Kind of.

I mean, she left the cooking for my dad like my mum did.

But the fact we kind of fiddled around sometimes

maybe unmothered things between us.

In a way, I think Elle needed a father figure

after years of being away at boarding school.

She told me she went to a run-down school.

Maybe she meant the hockey changing rooms.

I remember her saying those needed doing up.

And lamina?

She just went to a regular school, I think.

No, I mean, how did you meet her?

Oh.

She worked at a restaurant,

and then Elle got into a fight there,

and they ended up getting involved with each other.

Lamina's really secretive about food,

and Elle found that fascinating,

but then she got too secretive and Elle...

Elle got bored.

But, you know, by that point,

all sorts of things had already happened between them,

and they ended up hating each other.

But that's not really anything new between us.

We all kind of hate each other anyway.

Even though we do need each other.

♪♪

♪♪

Stones:

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Mind if I join you?

How are you finding your time here?

Has Elle decided on a name yet?

And the flanger?

You don't look happy.

It's hard to eat and talk.

Why?

Most people manage.

Maybe I have a small mouth.

Really?

Let me see.

Not now.

Show me.

That doesn't look small to me.

Here...

Let's compare sizes.

You see?

Almost the same.

A perfect match, even.

Haven't you read that thing enough times?

Mind if I borrow it?

Oh, you look a little lost without it.

It's just something to hold.

And what if I gave you something else to hold?

I think Elle's waiting for me out there.

Oh, really?

And you do everything Elle says?

She's the boss.

Jan Stevens: And how does that make you feel?

I just make my noises.

I was reading about you and your noises.

Yeah?

You gave an interview, remember?

Oh, yeah.

I read it with great interest,

and at times I thought to myself,

"this can't be true."

Do you know something?

I always wanted to be an egg lady.

You could queue up for an omelet...

And I'd serve you first.

Cheers.

- Jan Stevens... - It's okay.

It's okay.

I need you, Billy.

Ever since I first met you, I've been thinking about you.

I know I need to be professional,

but I can't stop thinking about you,

and I know you feel the same about me.

Jan Stevens.

Why are you doing this?

I do wonder sometimes if you're perpetuating an archetype

of epicurean toxicity with all this culinary hysteria.

I don't want to give the public the impression

we're espousing any kind of dysfunctional

alimentary ideology.

Elle: So, what do you want?

The happy chefs?

You know, what I would appreciate is for you

to take some of my ideas on board.

Just because I'm not involved in the making of your sacred art

doesn't mean my ideas lack validity.

You don't have to agree with everything,

but to dismiss every opinion of mine out of hand

when I've chosen to fund you and promote you

above dozens of others

reeks of entitlement

rather than your perceived notion of integrity.

Okay, we are all ears.

Jan Stevens: That's all I wanted to say.

There are critical forces beyond me out there,

believe it or not,

and to make you aware of them is part of my job,

even if you choose not to subscribe to them.

- And that flanger... - The flanger is staying.

Jan Stevens: I'm just asking you to turn it down a notch.

You can keep the epicurean toxicity,

but indulge me on the flanger, please.

Stones.

Stones.

Stones: What?

Are you okay?

Stones: No.

Just go back to bed.

There's nothing you can do.

Any news about the tests?

Stones: No.

Maybe tomorrow.

He's got another test planned.

I'm sorry.

Stones: Is it okay to say I'm scared?

It's okay.

Stones: I know.

Stones?

It will be okay.

I know it.

You heard me?

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Jan Stevens: That flanger.

What about it?

Did you talk to her about it?

She's not going to change anything.

Once she decides something, there's nothing you can do.

And if I try and say anything,

she just shouts and accuses me of something.

Maybe you should think about slapping her, then.

Well, don't say I told you,

but a quick slap always does the trick.

It might shock her out of her entrenched arrogance.

And what if you muted the flanger?

Chances are she won't notice anyway

what with all the other noise going on.

You don't know how angry she gets.

And she'll notice now she knows what a flanger is.

Just try it.

I don't know.

I don't want to start a fight and...

Jan Stevens: You will turn the flanger off.

I will turn the flanger off.

Jan Stevens: And you will convince Elle

to do everything I say from now.

And I will convince Elle to do everything you say from now.

Jan Stevens: Good.

♪♪

Stones:

♪♪

Jan Stevens.

♪♪

♪♪

Stones:

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♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

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♪♪

♪♪

Her ability to provoke

for the sake of provocation began to wane.

Once she got a taste of scandal, she became addicted.

And it soon became a distraction

from the work Billy and I were doing,

yet she knew that the shock value

and polemics would make a bigger noise than anything we could do.

Could you survive without her?

Yes.

But Billy and I were always intuitive in our approach.

Elle always did the applications for funding

and always knew how to word things,

which I always envied.

I was always led to believe that the visceral urge I had

about making culinary sounds wasn't valid

unless backed up by theory

or at least the kind of conceptual package

that Elle could pull together.

Sound always excited me and... and transformed me,

but I could never explain why.

What made you want to be a Sonic caterer?

Maybe my mother.

My father only ever went to the kitchen to eat,

and I saw what it did to my mother.

She silently cooked and washed the dishes,

pretending it couldn't be any other way,

and he took her for granted,

never once considering himself it could be another way.

And, besides, he earned the money,

even though she had to brush her own dreams

and ambitions under the carpet to facilitate his earnings.

She later claimed that no woman should live like this,

but...

But when my... my brother's girlfriend moved in with him

and didn't do her share of the cooking,

she resented her.

Jealousy usurped ideology,

and it was clear that my mother expected other women

to work as hard as she did in the kitchen,

even though she knew it wasn't the way it should be.

That struggle in her head

between demanding freedom from the kitchen

and being confined to it

contaminated my... My brother's relationship

and resulted in him leaving his girlfriend.

And then my... my mother picked on my girlfriend,

who turned out to be Elle

and even lazier than my father.

Yeah, I was the one doing the cooking in the relationship.

How did you meet her?

She got into a fight in the restaurant where I worked.

Some creep kept groping one of my colleagues,

and she came to her defense.

I felt awful for not helping, but... that was Elle.

Unlike me, she was... She was fearless

and she would stand up

for vulnerable people, even if she'd lose.

So, she told him to leave my colleague alone,

and he punched her hard in the womb,

but she fought back,

even if it resulted in her being kicked to the ground

by this thug and his friends.

And after that we became friends

and then bandmates then lovers,

only I-I left her for someone I was balling and...

Since then, it's been nothing but mini-punishments from her.

Stones: She told me you were secretive about food.

Sorry?

Just that, she was curious.

How do you mean?

Nothing.

Just...

Doesn't matter.

Woman:

Stones:

♪♪

♪♪

Stones:

♪♪

♪♪

What?

The mangrove snacks.

Looks like one of your installations.

You would say that.

Lamina: But, seriously, we could use this.

But it's a terrapin.

Since when did we do anything with meat?

We've always been about fruits, vegetables, nuts, and seeds.

Don't forget eggs, Billy.

You'll never let me live that down, will you?

You're the one who announced

that you're struggling with an egg fetish.

It is not a fetish!

So, having white dreams about hotel staff laying eggs

is not a fetish?

Not to mention sexually objectifying

the uniforms of the poorly paid.

What was that for?

Stop it, all of you!

Jan Stevens.

The mangrove snacks have paid us another visit.

I've called the police force

and they'll come and take fingerprints.

Nobody is to touch anything.

And whatever equipment was left here will have to be examined.

Why didn't the youngster pack everything?

That was his job.

Technical assistant wim is not your servant.

He does what he can.

But whatever was left here will have to go for fingerprinting...

Including...

This.

You set this up.

Don't be ridiculous.

How convenient for you.

We can live without the flanger.

You're in cahoots.

This is a conspiracy.

Until the authorities say otherwise,

we'll have to put a pause on proceedings.

Get some rest. It'll do you good.

You might also consider the fact

that we're still waiting for you to decide on a band name.

Elle and the gastric ulcers.

See, they always undermine me.

Is that your final name?

Yes.

I don't know. Maybe.

Okay. Sleep on it, then.

But hurry up...

Unless you want me to come up with a name for you.

You know,

when this residency's over...

You'll still have that catalog.

Yeah.

Wouldn't it make more sense to appreciate the things

that might not be around much longer?

What?

You've had your fun and now it's back to the stupid catalog!

I didn't know we were serious.

We're not,

but there's something between serious

and being completely ignored.

I'd just like some affection, or is that too much to ask?

Why did you...

You know...

Why did I what?

Why did you chase me?

Why do you think?

Because I liked you.

Was it because of this flanger business?

There's no flanger business.

So, you'd still allow me in your bed

even if we kept the flanger?

Of course.

Even two flangers.

Would you allow me in your bed after the residency's over?

Yes!

What's wrong?

We can make this work if you want to.

I don't know.

It's just starting to feel...

Heavy... you know?

Look, if this is about the flanger,

we can put all of that to one side.

It's not about the flanger.

Well, I don't know, maybe the flanger's got me thinking.

Thinking what?

We have a tour coming up and...

I can do international love.

Look, I like you, jan...

But...

So, that's it, then?

We could ball each other at one of the orgies.

That's really constructive of you, Billy.

Well, I should probably go.

They're already asking questions.

Do you know something, Billy?

In all the years I've done this,

I've always maintained a distance.

It didn't matter how attracted I was

or how lonely it got in this bedroom.

I've always remained professional.

You were the first person to ignite something in me

to such a degree that I couldn't stop myself.

I really didn't want to be one of those people

using my position to seduce someone,

and I'm sorry.

I'm really sorry.

Can't we try somehow to make it work?

Sometimes love can mean more...

By walking away.

Not the catalog!

No! Don't go, Billy! No!

Billy, I need you! Stay!

No, don't go, Billy!

Please, stay! I need you!

Please, Billy!

It wasn't the flanger, I swear!

It wasn't the flanger.

♪♪

♪♪

Stones:

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Stones...

Stones... Are you okay?

Stones: Leave me alone.

Any news about the flanger?

I don't know.

These things take time.

She did it on purpose.

Come on, you really think she orchestrated the whole thing?

She did it for her advantage.

She didn't take the hob away for fingerprints,

but she took the flanger.

So, what do you suggest?

Elle: Stop that. Shh.

Billy: Yeah, alright.

Elle: Shh.

Elle:

Jan Stevens.

Elle: So, she holds police parties

as well as Billy parties.

I could've told you that one erection

would never be enough for someone like her.

- Sad you weren't invited? - No.

Elle: You always have to spill your night juice

wherever you go.

But to do it to a patron is your number-one disgrace.

You're incorrigible, you know that, Billy rubin?

You've jeopardized our residency with that silly Willy of yours.

You've jeopardized it with your silly...

Elle: Silly what?

See? You can't even touché.

Wait till I write my memoirs.

Elle: Threatening me again.

You write those memoirs.

- I will. - Elle: Okay. Fine.

Just don't forget to write about

that stupid salami you hide in your bed.

Lamina: Stop it!

For all our arguments as a group,

the one thing that united us

was a quest for catharsis.

Maybe we disagreed on... on what we defined as catharsis,

but we were all harboring something that needed purging.

Stones: And could I ask what you were harboring?

Just things.

Could you elaborate?

Does knowing about our demons

make any difference to what you hear?

Only that Elle was very open about hers.

Not as open as you'd like to think.

I know about miss lindenson.

I know what really happened.

The only person laughing at her going into anaphylactic shock

was Elle herself.

A comical looking, puffed-up face, just like in the movies.

But surely she didn't know she was going to die?

But she still laughed until it was too late.

But she was a tiny girl.

But she's an adult now,

and she still can't face herself.

For Elle, it's easier to reinvent the past

to... to gain people's sympathy

than to confront the guilt and... and risk people's anger.

Elle's father was at the party,

and he slapped her hard in the face for laughing.

So, yes, that tragedy did affect her,

but not in the way she'd like you to believe.

♪♪

♪♪

Jan Stevens: You're in the shops.

You're lost in the aisles.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

A thought is troubling you.

Could it be the absence of a gâteau de ménage

that is playing tricks on the mind?

Or the sight of Dan,

the twilight replenishment operative,

coming back from his shift to search for

a mystery chartreuse elixir vegetal?

Or is it something else?

A cake from the past that never leaves you alone

and follows you into the shops.

I certainly hope not.

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

You're feeling tired but you can't leave

until you've shopped.

Your fellow customers are collapsing all around you.

One... by one.

They call it the retail malady.

And, one by one,

you will all succumb to it.

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Stones:

Dr. Glock: So...

Your results are in.

And...

How do I say this?

You have...

Wait.

I think I left something at home.

I could have sworn...

I know I had it by the front door when...

What do I have?

I was going to tell you.

Tell me, what do I have?

Celiac disease.

- What? - Celiac disease.

It's okay.

Your villi are a mess, but you'll live.

What is it?

It's an autoimmune...

Let me go!

Keep talking.

What do I need to take?

You don't need to take anything!

Avoid gluten.

Avoid gluten and you'll be fine.

Tell me more!

It's in wheat.

Avoid bread, pasta,

beer, pastries,

and Christmas pudding.

What?

Christmas pudding.

♪♪

Stones:

♪♪

Blast this thing!

Too tired to say my name?

What do you want?

A peace offering.

So, your policeman friends didn't find fingerprints?

Jan Stevens: Clearly not.

And I thought you'd like it back for your final performance.

So, you're allowing us to use our flanger?

I'll just leave it here.

You decide whether to use it or not.

Elle: This is what I think about your peace offering.

What are you laughing at?

The prospect of giving an after-dinner speech

is somewhat daunting.

Some people relish the idea of having an audience in thrall

to even the most meager of their thought processes,

but the rest of us have no great urge

to communicate with the world

and struggle to do so.

I acknowledge the fact that this is compulsory,

but I can't pretend to find it easy.

In fact,

I resent it.

Sorry.

Lamina, if you're that uncomfortable,

we can forgo the whole thing.

- Any excuse for her to shirk. - No, no.

I can do it.

And I'm going to continue.

I consulted various guides on after-dinner speaking,

and I'm now ready to bring life to this room

with the news that after this residency is over,

I'm going to leave the group.

What?

You don't believe me?

What would you do?

When Hephaestus was thrown off Olympus, he...

Lamina: Not you! Not you.

I don't need your metatextual, pseudo-hellenic,

Alpha intellectual one-upmanship on top of everything else.

There are plenty of things I could do, Elle dearest,

as long as they don't involve being anywhere near you.

In fact, I'm going solo.

Elle: Without me, it's not going to work.

You know that.

No voice, no ideas. No vision.

Technique without visions? No.

Because you think it's going to work without me?

- Elle: Mm-hmm. - You didn't even know

what a flanger was until a few days ago.

Just stay. We can... We can talk this out, man.

You're welcome to join if you want.

Billy, no!

Well, I'm not staying if lamina leaves.

- You set this up! - I did no such...

So, now it's my fault?

I didn't say that.

You don't have to say.

You orchestrated all of this with loving precision.

Have a stupid day.

- Elle! - No, no, no!

- No! - Lamina: Elle, stop it!

- Lamina: Elle! - Stones: Elle.

- Lamina: Hang in there, Elle. - I'm sorry.

Lamina: We'll get you some help!

Billy: Where's Dr. Glock?

Lamina: He's gone! Can't you see?

What did you expect?

I finally have the name for our band.

Stones: Tell us, Elle.

Please tell us.

Elle and the...

Lamina: What was that?

What did she say?

- Stones: Tell us again, Elle. - Billy: Elle!

Lamina: Elle.

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Lamina:

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

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Stones:

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Stones:

♪♪

♪♪

♪ a thousand hands applaud tonight ♪

♪ I sing my songs, my star shines bright ♪

♪ I stop and smile, I take my bow ♪

♪ I leave the stage and then somehow ♪

♪ backstage I'm lonely ♪

♪ backstage I cry ♪

♪ you've gone away and each night ♪

♪ I seem to die a little ♪

♪ out on that stage I play the star ♪

♪ I'm famous now I've come so far ♪

♪ a famous fool, I let love go ♪

♪ I didn't know I'd miss you so ♪

♪ backstage I'm lonely ♪

♪ backstage I cry ♪

♪ hating myself since I let you say goodbye ♪

♪♪

♪ every night a different girl ♪

♪ every night a different club ♪

♪ and yet I'm lonely all the time ♪

♪ when I sign my autograph ♪

♪ when I hold an interview ♪

♪ can't get you out of my mind ♪

♪ come back my love ♪

♪ come back to me ♪

♪ I need you now so desperately ♪

♪ what good is fame, it's just a game ♪

♪ I'd give it all to be the same ♪

♪ backstage I wait now hoping I'll see ♪

♪ your smiling face waiting there backstage for me ♪

♪ your smiling face waiting there backstage for me ♪

♪ backstage ♪

♪ backstage ♪

♪♪

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♪♪

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