All language subtitles for Canvas.2021.1080p.WEB-DL.A

Obviously, we don't know what...

People are dying
and it's gruesome.

Seventy thousand
in 70 countries...

Undercover...

The terror was real.

The murders, unending.

The culprits, unfound.

After a worldwide
pandemic of Painter murders,

the Congress of
the United States acted.

The world acted.

No more would the average
citizen be terrorized.

No more would we fear.

The Painter Defense Agency
was founded.

Within two years,

the source of these terrible
events were uncovered.

And the occults responsible
were brought to swift justice.

Because of the
Painter Defense Agency,

it is estimated
that nearly five million lives

over 12 years have been spared.

Now there is calm.
Now there is peace.

The Painter Defense Agency.
Forever peace.

You a fan of doubles?

You know I am.

I'm okay at tennis,

but I'm pretty
damn good at doubles.

That's how Jackie and I got
together, playing doubles.

That's how I knew
we'd be such an amazing fit.

It wasn't just her good looks.

I'd begin to go for a ball

or she would, and... and... and

before contact, the other one

would already be where

we needed it to be.

It's not just communication.

It's a quality of faith

beyond reason, beyond trust.

I've always found doubles to

be a good way to look at not

just my own life,
but my kids too.

I hope... I think

I've instilled this idea

of partnership,

this kinship with friends,

family, work,

everything, really.

And, you know,

we still make time

for doubles regularly.

Despite the knees...
Mine, not hers.

But you see,

we can absorb problems
like that.

You're off your game today.

Because we've got
each others' backs still.

- Am I?
- You are.

I don't think I am.

Sweetheart, you are.

You are and I don't know why,
and that's not okay.

You've been off since you
got reassigned to that, um...

Painter Defense Agency.

You were much happier
when you were part of the FBI.

Federal Bureau of Investigation.

You were so excited
when you went in.

I was excited.

So, what changed?

Nothing.

Lying doesn't suit you, George.
It never has.

I'm not lying.
I'm telling you the truth.

So then why,
for the past six months,

does it look like
you've seen the devil?

Because I'm afraid for you.

And I'm afraid for Grace.

Every day now, I'm afraid.

Why?

'Cause...
we know nothing.

What do you mean nothing?

The PDA knows nothing.

A... and it scares me.

It terrifies me.

I don't understand.

What don't you understand?

You went in there
knowing nothing

and you left knowing nothing.

So even though nothing changed,
you changed.

You became afraid.

Now, I'm not sure
that I buy that.

And in fact, I'm not
even sure that you buy that.

So, do you want to start over?

Do you want to get a new story?

You have been
so very honest with me

for so many years.

And you have shared
all your deepest thoughts

and your darkest fears,

and you've never
sugar-coated anything for me.

You've never shirked anything.

You've never said, "I know

you can't handle this.
You're on a needs-to-know...

You're on
a needs-to-know basis."

So for the first time in our
marriage, I know you're lying.

But what terrifies me is
that what you must know

must be so terrifying that
you're prepared to hurt

our marriage
rather than spill your guts.

So what you know
must be pretty bad.

It must be inescapable.

I need your help.

It's about my job.
My new job.

This job.

So what is your job?

Damage control.

Continue.

If you had a student
whose parents were sick...

Let's say
their dad was very ill.

And they were worried about him.

But they believed
that their father

was on the mend,
and so they came to school.

Continue.

But let's... let's say that
the kid came to school

and they went on a field trip
to the Liberty Science Museum.

And you were watching them
have a wonderful time.

And when midday came,

you found out
that the father was dead.

Would you allow them to enjoy

the rest of their beautiful day?

Or would you
tell them the truth?

What if you had diagnosed
the extreme nature

of the disease
but you had no cure?

Oh, so what?
We're switching analogies now?

Help me out here.

I would say ignorance is bliss.

But I would also say
people have the right to

know the truth,
however upsetting.

Even me.

Even when I joined the Bureau

and I'd... I'd have
to withhold things...

I guess we look
at things differently.

...I would withhold,
she'd understand.

There was never lying, you know?

Through decades unbroken,
we maintained faith.

Now, you're telling me
to do something.

I don't know.

To get out of the car.

Walk into the kitchen.

Look in her eyes. Smile.

Tell her about my day.

Lie.

And it's not... it's not about

withholding top secret...

This is...

This is different because...

Because you've put me
in a position

where I have to tell her

everything's okay.

It's not okay.

It's not.

Not... one... bit.

And...

I have no choice.

I can't... I... I can't tell her.

I don't see how it could be

possible for me to...

To share with her
what I now know.

So, I will lie
because I must lie.

You have made me a liar.

Dad!

Hello! Hello!

Dad?

Grace, sweetheart.

You got here so much quicker
than I expected.

You said it was urgent.

So I did.

Come in, come in.

Sit, sit.

I was just
making myself some tea.

Would you like anything?

How long have you been here?

Too long.
It's crazy, as you can imagine.

I'd kind of
like to know why I'm here,

why we're meeting here
and not at home with Mom.

I thought it might be nice

for us to hang out for a bit.

Should we order a pizza?

You know,
with this... this curfew

and everything that
we're going to have to be

at home with the door
shuts by this time tomorrow.

Is there something
you want to tell me?

- Off the record?
- Dad.

I'm just teasing, kiddo.

Are you going to
tell me what's going on?

Breaking news.

Protests have broken out
in nearly every major US city,

after a series
of bombshell articles

by The New York Herald

alleging that
the Painter Defense Agency

has been doctoring their
arrest numbers to the public.

In the most damning piece
by Reila Martin,

she alleges
through classified records

that the PDA has been covering
up Painter murders

as ordinary crimes.

Senators on the Hill
have scheduled hearings

for next week where
leaders from the agency

are expected to testify.

Senate Intel Chairman Casey

has said he will hand down
subpoenas if necessary.

The White House, for its part,
has declined to comment.

You got him.

It wasn't hard.

This fucking piece
of shit's not nearly

as smart as he thinks he is..

This whole cluster fuck is
a little too close for comfort.

You wanna make a call?

I'm not legally obligated

to tell you who I want to call.

Well, it's done.
That's what matters.

Not quite.

How do you mean?

Why did you do it?

You, out of all people,
should know.

The scene's not clean until
every detail's been scrubbed.

Hey, you dumb fuck,

why did you do it?

Because you deserved it.

I've been
sweating this guy all night.

He's a tough nut to crack.

Who are you working with?

Google it.

Let me have a go at him?

Do you know who this guy is?

Hmm?

You see who that guy is?

The guy asking the questions?

Yeah, I do.

Yeah, and what makes
you think that you

could have
more success than him?

I get the point.

Good.

Don't start crying now.

You don't know who
he is you can Google it.

We'll Google
it together right now.

Do you want to Google it?

How's last night's scene?

It's clean.

Do you have a guy in mind yet?

No, not yet.

Why is it taking so long?

Do you know who that is?

Yes.

Who is it?

It's my partner.

This... this Mary Lang woman,
she had a lot of friends.

I don't think that going the
domestic route is going to fly.

Something more random.

My name is Sean Harrington.

Where are you from, Sean?

Richmond, Virginia.

And what about this?

What about it?

This isn't just my mess, George.

How long have
you been working for the PDA?

Little over a year.

It's not my job
to look after the techs.

No, it's my job.

But we both know
why this fucker went

to that bitch at The Herald.

I want you for the job.

Not this one.
Not for the PDA.

Yeah.,
that's obvious.

My mantra has always
been and will always be,

"Stay away
from men with families."

But everyone
had me convinced that you

were devoted
to the greater good.

And yadda, yadda, yadda.

Yeah, you almost fooled me, too.

When you came up with this idea
for cleaning up the scenes.

People deserve
to know the truth.

I thought, "Here's
really great opportunity,

George, for us to keep the
public calm, to work together.

To make the murders
of The Painter a rumor."

That can never happen.

Get me the fuck
out of here, man!

But now look at you.

There's nothing to worry about.

She was only following protocol.

Every part of a scene
needs to be clean

backwards,
forwards, side to side.

Its whole history needs to
be nipped in the fucking bud.

Why are you guys doing this?

It doesn't make sense.

I know there's been
a lot stress for all of us.

So, I'm gonna take care of
the rest of the scene for you.

What are you talking about?

You should get going.

I think I've already found us
a good guy for Miss Mary Lang.

I killed Mary Lang.

Remember when
you were a little girl

and mom went away on a
business trip for a week and...

And that... that Friday I got
called away on an emergency.

And you... you were
just... you were 13.

Do you remember
what I'm talking about?

I remember. I was 14.

Remind me what happened.

We were a little drunk
and a little high,

and we were hoping to get
a little more drunk

and a little more high.

And then what happened?

I was the only one
who had access to money.

You... you were only
14 years old.

How much money
could you have access to?

I had your money.

What did you take?

Fifty.
Two 20s and a ten.

For what?

Couple of 40s. Some pot.

Just a couple?

A few.

But the pot was
the lion's share of the money.

A moment ago,
you said, "We."

Who was the "we"?

- You know her name.
- Remind me.

Reila Martin.

Are you two still friends?

You could say that.

I understand she's
become quite the writer.

You could say that.

Writing about things
that happen to be my specialty.

Things she couldn't... she
couldn't possibly know about.

But she does.

About things that
could hurt a lot of people.

Help me with
this one other thing.

What is the name
of this publisher

who's publishing the shit

that she's writing?

David Horowitz.

David Horowitz.
Who's... who's David Horowitz?

- My boss.
- Your boss.

And you're the one
who's providing

these articles
to your boss, correct?

Yes.

When you took that money,

I never told your mother.

Do you remember
why I didn't tell her?

Do you remember what I said?

The world acted...

I don't remember.

No more
would the average citizen...

I said, "Your mother
would get so upset,

she might smack
the crap out of you."

And I couldn't endure the...

The thought of you getting hurt.

And the occult responsible

were brought to swift justice.

I couldn't bear it then.

And I can't bear it now.

...estimated that nearly five

million lives over 12 years
have been spared.

You know what
you have to do, correct?

Yes.

Good.

You probably hate me right now.

But I will always do whatever

it takes to protect my daughter.

Even if it means
enduring her hate.

If you had asked me

if I want to know this,
I would have said no.

This sucks.

I don't want to break it.

Such a lie.

I know this is...

You don't care.

The Agency doesn't care.

They only care about secrets.

You only care about secrets.

Now,

I only care...

about secrets.

Sam.

I gotta talk to you, man.

Let's do it right here.
It's no rush.

Um, we can't...
Can't continue the operation

as it has been going on...

Are you fucking kidding me?

No, I'm not.
It's not about my daughter.

We have to stop this now.

This is...
This is getting out of hand.

It is getting out of hand?

Right now?

I know.

You're the one who
came up with the idea.

- It was a great fucking idea.
- It's fucking wrong.

There's a higher issue
at stake here.

You're saying this is just
as bad as

The Painter?

Not yet.
It's a matter of degree.

I think there are other
alternatives,

there are other options...

There is no other alternative.

We've known this since day one.

I... I... I understand
what's at stake.

Things would be worse right now.

We have every right to do this.

We've got support as
high as you can imagine.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, not
as high as you can imagine.

- No...
- They support you...

- We have the support.
- You cannot go that high.

We do not have the right.
It will come out.

The public will eventually know.

We just do our job.

It is... it is increasing
at such a rate

that we can't stay...

That's why
we're doing what we're doing.

We're going
to solve it eventually.

Are you telling me
we're not gonna solve it?

Is that what you're telling me?

- I don't know.
- You told me from the

beginning that you believe
in what we're doing.

And now you're
telling me that we're not?

If we lose control
without giving

some trust to the public,

the pandemonium that could
occur will be far, far worse.

I'll tell you right now.

The public are
a bunch of fucking idiots.

This is about everybody
who's taking the fall.

Do you want me to tell them
that the person who came up

with the idea of cleaning
the scene is now saying that

the entire operation
is... it's... it's just done?

And then you want me to
tell them that the daughter

of this person
who came up with this...

Let's take a breath.

I need to trust what you're
doing is the right thing.

Or else I wouldn't be here
right now.

Yeah, I tried to protect you.
I did.

You don't have to protect me.

I am going to put
everything I am...

I'm done.
You're done.

This is done.

George, she's gone.

You heard?
She's gone, she's dead.

George, George!

She's dead.

George!

George.

She's dead.

George. Oh, no!

George! She's dead! George!

George! George!

She's dead.

She's dead.

George!

You know,
I was just thinking about...

the last words
my fiancée ever said to me.

You know what they were?

She said...

She said,
"I hope it was worth it."

Riots have gripped the nation

as PDA leaders have defied

Senate Intelligence Committee
subpoenas.

Despite their actions,

however, a spokesman
for the agency said

that not only do they refute
all claims

made by the New York Herald,

but will be releasing
their own evidence in turn.

You know the
quality I love best about you?

The thing that made me fall
in love with you?

You know the quality
I love best about you?

The thing that made
me fall in love with you?

The thing that made
me fall in love with you?

Hello?

Is this Miss Martin?

Speaking.

Miss Reila Martin?

Yes.

The same Reila Martin
who's writing,

"Only one murder on US soil,

PDA claims credit,
but at what cost?"

Okay.

You have my attention.
Who is this?

What do you want?

There's a phone waiting
for you in the bathroom.

It's underneath the right
side of the toilet, taped up.

It's duct-taped so you'll
need to give it a good tug.

If you don't
answer in 40 seconds,

this conversation is over.

Hello? Hello?

- I'm here.
- Well done.

Now, go downstairs and take
the 1 train, downtown.

Are you gonna
tell me what this is about?

You'll find out soon enough.
Trust me.

Now go downstairs.

So how'd you know
the name of my article?

I've been an admirer
of yours for a long time.

You may want
to use your headphones.

Make talking easier than
holding the phone to your ear.

What the hell is this?

I'm not making another move
until you throw me a bone.

Spoken like a true gumshoe.

You're a hell
of a writer, Reila.

And I want to help you.

I want to help
you with information.

Information that only
I am willing to share.

Information
that you would otherwise

never come into contact with.

This information can help
you put a -sized

hole in your story on the PDA.

Okay.

I'm gonna tell you a story.

A story about
a woman named Mary Lang.

She was a respected
member of the community.

Teacher, mother of three.

She'd been married to Joshua
Lang for nearly 40 years.

He, too, had
a sterling reputation

for his unwavering
compassion and, uh, morality.

It was said by
friends and relatives

that he would profess
his love for Mary frequently.

So it struck everyone as odd

when he told Mary
that he wanted a divorce.

- Damn it.
- Don't bother,

just go through.

So, not only was
Joshua Lang having an affair,

but said affair was going
on for nearly four years.

According to everyone
involved, Mary was devastated.

But, for the
sake of her children,

she gave Joshua
a divorce with little fuss.

Go to the back of the train,
get off at the last stop.

Afterwards, take the ferry
to Staten Island.

Now what?

When you disembark,
walk to Eight Street.

Walk.
Do not take a cab.

- You understand?
- Yes. Then what?

When you get there,

you'll walk
halfway down the block.

On the right,
you'll see a metal fence

with a red stripe
and an envelope underneath.

Then what?

- Talk soon.
- Hello? Hello?

On the morning of March 14th,

Mary Lang woke at
her dining room table.

She had passed out
the night before.

She hadn't been drinking.

There was no
alcohol in her system.

One can deduce
she had sat there all night,

staring at nothing.

Shortly after awaking,
she opened her front door.

A group of young children

playing across
the street waved at her.

Roughly ten minutes later,

neighbors reported
hearing screaming from inside

the Lang house,
in the kitchen area.

When the authorities arrived,
they found Mary's body

cut up beyond recognition.

The next day,
Joshua Lang was arrested

for the murder of Mary Lang.

There were
fingerprints on the weapon

and corroborating
witnesses that placed him

at the scene during
the time of the murder.

There's an interesting
footnote to this tale.

Roughly ten seconds after
the first reported scream,

young Connor Williamson took
a photo with his smart phone.

An hour after taking said photo,

the PDA confiscated said phone.

Which begs the question,
what if...

What if Joshua Lang
didn't murder his wife?

What if it was someone else?

What if it was something else?

Which then begs
the next question.

If the PDA lied,
why were they lying?

Two months before we broke up,

we got into an argument.

It was a big one.

Did you know
about her jealousies?

She was obsessed that I'd be

looking at other people.

That I'd find other people

more attractive than her.

She was always asking me

if I thought she was beautiful.

If I thought other people

were more beautiful.

Sometimes she'd ask
me to compare her face

to other people's faces.

And when
I couldn't answer her right,

she'd get mad.

She'd accuse me
of betraying her,

or lying to her.

So one night,

after apparently,
I had been lying again,

she went into the bathroom.

She stayed there
for a very, very long time.

And after this very,
very long time, she came out.

She got back into bed with me.

I didn't see her, I...
My back was to her.

I... I'd been writing.

And when I turned over to her,
she had the sheet

pulled up to her chin.

I reached out for her,
to apologize, to make nice.

I put my hand on
her thigh, over the sheet.

She screamed at me,
"Don't touch me."

She always used to scream that.

But this time, it was different.

This wasn't just some...

piece of shrapnel
thrown at a lover,

trying to get attention.

She absolutely did
not want to be touched.

You want a glass of wine?
I could use one.

Sure.

I wrapped my fingers

around the matted covers.

She looked me dead in the eye,

and then she said,

"Please, don't send
me back to the hospital.

Please. Please.
I'm begging you."

And I said to her,
"You're not going anywhere.

I just want
to take a little look."

I pulled back the sheet.

And there she was.

My love,

or my fiancé,

as you relished in reminding me.

She'd taken a dull,
rusty pair of scissors

to her thighs,
to her ankles, to her calves,

to her chest,
to her stomach, her arms.

She carved herself up.

She carved herself up real good.

Except for her face.

That face...

that she would stare at,

day after night after day.

Until all she saw was wolf skin.

I helped her up.

I walked her into the bathroom.

I drew her a warm bath.

And as I helped her in,

each time the wound
would hit the water,

she would wince,
cry out a little more.

I washed her.

No soap, just... warm water.

I dried her
and wrapped her wounds.

And I put her to sleep.

Jesus.

You forgot to pour me one?

Excuse me?

Just pour me
a fucking glass of wine.

You forgot this in the bathroom.

- Wait, it's not like that.
- Just stop.

Okay?

You know the quality
I love best about you?

The thing that made
me fall in love with you?

Made me give you this ring?

It's that you were always so
straight up about everything.

It was so...
It was so fucking sexy.

You know what I hate most?

Is your lies.

About all these
fucking little things.

Whether you're
coming home at a certain time

or where you're going.

And I just told myself,
they're just little things.

They're not little things.

They're big things.

And you know what
the worst thing is?

Is that you double
down on everything.

You spin a web, gaslight.

Well, just do me a favor
and don't double down on this.

I was just feeling so tight.

I couldn't concentrate.
I couldn't write.

I... It felt like...
Like it was suffocating me,

around the throat.

And then as time went by,

the air around me just got
thinner and thinner, and I...

I couldn't breathe.

I can't be
who you want me to be.

I can't speak it.

I can't wear it.

I can't be it.

After she fell asleep,

I... I stayed up.

I couldn't sleep.
I refused to.

And the next night.
Couldn't sleep.

And the night after that.

But it didn't matter.

I wasn't strong enough.

Three months later,
she was dead.

Uh...

I don't think it was worth it.

Do you think it was worth it?

Do you feel hate?

I've never felt hate.

Not until recently.

But I feel it now.

Feel it.
I feel hate.

Building inside me.

Raging.

Unbending.

Volcanic, even.

No. Don't.
Don't look at me like that.

Don't look at me
like I'm a cliché.

Like I'm being dramatic.
I'm not. Not dramatic.

You haven't seen what I've seen.

You don't know what
I've been trying to... to do.

You don't get it, okay?
You just don't fucking get it.

Enough.

Just tell me why you're here.

I wanted a drink.

Okay?

I've been doing
this a long time, Reila.

I've had this
place for a long time.

I've spent every
single penny I have into it.

And through those years,

a lot of people
have come through here.

Some are young.
Some are too young.

Some are old.

Most of them are old.

Some are bankers.
Some are cops.

Some are teachers.
And some are just unemployed,

spending money they don't have.

'Cause they just want a drink.

Some want vodka
because you can't smell it.

Some want tequila
because it makes them

want to dance
when otherwise they wouldn't.

And some want gin

because they've
got an itch for a fight.

But they all just want a drink.

Just a drink.

One drink.

No one walks into
High Ends bar for just a drink.

I need your help.

I've got a story.

Source has gone missing.

Do you know where he lives?

No.

Do you know what he looks like?

No.

Yeah.
No, I got... I have nothing.

I thought...

I thought you could
find something on them.

What? What is it?

Where are you going?

I'll be right back.

Come on, Reila.

Sit down.

You're helping him?

He's going to help us.

I'm not here to hurt you.

I figured you'd do
something with that phone.

It's actually fortunate

that I found you,
rather than someone else.

Please sit.

I'll stand.

You seriously
don't recognize me?

What? Should I?

It's pretty clear
who you work for.

No.
But for a... a journalist,

your memory leaves
something to be desired.

I can't believe
I walked right into that.

I gave you my story.

I gave you my source.

No, you didn't.

We were onto your source
before he ever came to you.

I used to be so good at this.

Now what?

I... overheard you saying

that you are full
of rage these days.

Overwhelmed by hate.

Don't become that
which you are sworn to defeat.

I watched far
too many good people

become victims of hate.

I was a... a kid who...
Who read countless stories

about lone warriors,

battling the hordes of darkness.

I'd put on my little cape.

I'd turn out the lights,
I'd say, "Bring it on."

I was a fearless little fucker.

Because I was a good guy.

However,
practicalities replace ideals.

Good guys and bad guys
become labels,

which we assign
as we deem necessary.

I'm done with that, now.

Please.

Let me help you.

Good people...

will make this mess
a little less ugly.

And good people don't hate,
Reila Martin.

Please.

Meet me here in... in three days.

I need three days.

Who is that?

I found it next to me.

What the fuck does it say?

You don't want to know.

Yeah. I do.

All right.

"Dear George, my friend.

We were so very wrong.

Tell the reporter, 'I'm sorry.'

I thought that
if we collaborated,

it would leave.

God, help me.

Sam."

Publish that if you want.

Yeah.

I think we're past that.

Come on.

I'm not done yet.

And I don't quit.

I've still got
some fight left in me.

It's not over.