All language subtitles for Ned.Rifle.2014.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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Defend me, O God, thy humble
servant in all assaults

of the enemy, that I, surely
trusting in thy defense,

may not fear the power
of the adversary,

that the words of my mouth,
the meditation of my heart,

be always acceptable
in thy sight.

O Lord, my strength
and my redeemer.

Hi, Clair.

Excuse me, Reverend.

The news is on.

- Good morning.
- Morning.

Well, the big news of the hour
is, once again,

you guessed it, Fay Grim.

Look, Ned.

It's the lady terrorist,
Fay Grim.

Hey!

Gotta make it look like
you did some work

around here today, Derek.

The suburban single mom
from Woodside Queens convicted

of treason and sentenced to
a lifetime in prison without

hope of parole
is finally being transferred

from a secret U.S. military
detention center

and placed in a
Federal penitentiary

in Upstate New York.

Should've killed that
slut when they found her.

Save the taxpayers
a whole lot of money.

So, Lisa, what's the
feeling there on the ground?

Well, Bob, there's a sizable
crowd of protestors out by

the road chanting for Fay's
execution, but by and large,

the community here
is simply curious.

I say being in prison
her whole life long...

best thing that ever
happened to that girl.

She goes out on the streets,
somebody's bound to hit her

in the head with
a baseball bat or something.

Chet, can you see what
the problem is

with the girl's
lavatory?

Right away, Reverend.
Right away. Just on my way.

You ladies have
a nice day now.

The poor woman.

Mary, pull yourself
together.

She's a traitor to the nation,
an international terrorist.

She's Ned's mother!

Yes, well, of course this wouldn't be
the first time

that a perfectly decent,
God-fearing, sober-minded

person like Ned has risen up

and escaped
from such moral ruin.

I think she's innocent.

She's been convicted, Mary.

Mistakes have
been made before.

Anyway, Ned's been
traumatized by all this.

It's a miracle he's as
well-adjusted as he is.

- Has he decided yet?
- I believe so.

He's 18 today.

He's free to leave
witness protection

if he chooses.

What do you suppose
he's thinking about?

- Me.
- Keep dreaming, Clair.

He smiled and said hello.

You're the minister's daughter
for crying out loud.

He lives in your house.

I bet he's had sex
and everything.

No, he's chaste, I'm certain.

Do you really think he'll
leave, now that he's 18?

I hope not.

But, Mama, why is Ned in
witness protection anyway?

Clair, you know we can't
discuss those things.

This plate is chipped.
See if there's another one.

Not even now, now when
he's about to leave?

Oh, really?
Is he leaving?

That's what everybody says.

What everybody says,
I see.

Well, why don't you
ask him yourself?

Here he comes now.

That was great, Mrs. Gardner.
Thank you.

There's more.

No, thanks.
I'm stuffed.

Derek, what did I tell you?

No mobile devices
at the table.

They let that
lady terrorist go today.

You mean Fay Grim.

They didn't let her go.
They just moved her.

Enough!

Derek, help your sister bring
out the coffee and dessert.

I'm sorry.

At least I know
where she is now.

So you've decided?

Yes.

Are you sure
you want to return to that...

well, that life?

She's my mother.

Happy birthday!

Wow! Thank you.

Clair made it.

Thank you, Clair.

I don't know if
it'll be any good or anything.

- I'm sure it is.
- It's chocolate.

What should I wish for?

No, it's gotta be a secret.

- Does it?
- No.

Clair,
that's just superstitious.

Alice, what do you say?

"The secret things belong
unto the Lord our God."

Clair?

"Ecclesiastes"?

No. "Judges."
Sit down. Go ahead, Ned.

Wish away.

I wish...

I wish this family
the peace, the happiness,

and the security it has
provided me these past 4 years

forever and ever.

Amen.

Dad.

Oh, yes, Ned,

this is just a little something from all
of us.

Don't open it now.

Happy Birthday.

Thank you, all.

It's a Bible.

Derek!

"Our thoughts go with you
and our hopes also."

Wow! Clair!

I wish you wouldn't leave.

I know that.

You're an important
and loved member

of this community.

Besides, there is work here
for you if you want it,

a career,
maybe even the ministry.

I believe you have
a true calling.

I've prayed on it, Reverend.
I'm not sure it's for me.

I know, as you do,

that I've made
mistakes, indiscretions.

That young lady
from Florida, in particular.

We're all human, sir.

Temptation exists.

Yes, but I owe you my life
for your help in covering up

that disgraceful
and tragic episode.

Make your peace
with God, Reverend.

You're too good a man to
be brought low by a mistake

of that kind.

In any event,
your secret is safe with me.

Don't spend it all
in one place.

Thank you, Reverend.

I'll pay this back
in time.

No rush.

You'll retain your new
identity, your new name?

Yes.

What are your intentions?

I'm going to find
my father.

I see. Of course.
And what then?

What will you do when
you find your father?

I'm going to kill him.

I'm going to kill him for
destroying my mom's life,

for leading her astray,
away from the light,

and the power,
and the glory that is God.

I learned it here, sir,
and I thank you

for the knowledge.

I was going to say
"Go in peace."

I'm sorry, Reverend,
but that's not likely.

Hold it, son.
No sudden movement.

Appropriate
physical contact only.

Right?

You're so tall,
and you've got color.

Your hair is darker.

Do you have a girlfriend?

Maybe.
I don't know.

Ha! Playing the field, good,
be careful though, okay?

I'm chaste, Mom.

You're what?

I'm a virgin.

It's what God wants.

We should remain
chaste until marriage.

Mom, it's okay.

You're religious?

There's a better way
to live.

Yeah, well,
tell me about it.

But how are you?

Oh, well...

this place
is a barrel of laughs

compared to where I was.

At least you're allowed to
see people, talk to people.

I do yoga.
I'm starting a book club.

Oh, and a big
publishing company

paid me a million dollars
for my autobiography--

you know, suburban-single-
mom-terrorist sort of thing.

They're sure it'll be
a best-seller.

Are they allowed to do that?

Well, no. I'm not allowed
to earn money myself,

but they've set up
an account for you.

Simon has all the details.

So you're writing
the story of your life?

Not me exactly. No.

They send this graduate
student chick over once a week

who's supposed to be
a genius or something.

She asks me questions
and records it all.

She does all the work.

Mom, forgive me, but you're
not a terrorist, right?

How can you ask me that?

You're just, like, totally falsely
accused, correct?

Yeah, well, of course.

But...

I did some stupid things.

I was confused.

I lied about-- about...

Well, you see, Ned,
there was, you know, a bomb.

Mom, it's okay.
I believe you.

God, I'm such an idiot.

No, you're not.

Oh, what my life
might've been

if I'd never met your father.

I know.

I mean,
apart from having you.

Where is he now?

- Henry?
- Yes.

Russia, I guess.
Odessa, I think.

After that, who knows?
Who cares?

Forget about him, Ned.

He deserves to die for the
trouble he's caused you.

Oh, don't talk like that.

Who deserves to die?

There's a woman here--
Florence. She shot and killed

her husband and
two little girls.

Most days, she wants to die,
but more and more, she's just

this kind, little woman
who's happy to work all day

in the laundry.

What gets into people?

The devil, probably.

Fay, time's up.

Go see your Uncle Simon.
He's got the information

about the publisher
and the money.

- Okay.
- You'll come back soon, right?

As soon as I can, I have to
take care of something first.

Don't forget me in here.

I may have to be
away for a while.

- Okay. Call me.
- I'm sorry, young man.

- Time's up.
- Okay.

Between 7:00 and 9:00
on Wednesday.

I'm always here.

Hi. I'm here to see a friend
of mine. Mr. Simon Grim?

Is he expecting you?

I believe so.

Yes, sir, someone's here.
A Mister...

Edward Rifle.

Mr. Rifle.

Of course.

It's the elevator
to the 4th floor, room 423.

It's the street side.

Ned, nice to see you.
Thanks for visiting.

I'm just revising
my new material.

A new poem?

No, I'm through
with all that.

Working on
my stand-up routine.

- You want to be a comedian?
- Yeah, why not?

Am I not funny?

Well, it's been a while,
Uncle Simon.

That's right.
It's been a while,

and real-life experience
has taught me much,

that perhaps I'd overlooked
as a poet laureate

and cultural touchstone.

People want a good laugh
now and then, Ned, trust me.

Good old-fashioned slapstick
humor, naughty innuendo,

a few well-placed
fart jokes,

enough with the
earnest reflection,

the tragic
but unifying elusiveness

of the human spirit in
modern times and so on.

I'm through with it.

Only now, after all this
heartbreak and controversy,

only now, am I able to
confront my inner clown.

Look, Uncle Simon, my mom said you had
some money for me.

Oh, yeah, here it is.
That's the bank card.

The pin number's on
the Post-It note.

Thanks.

So where exactly
do you do this?

- Do what?
- Your stand-up comedy routine.

Right here in front
of the computer.

I have a weekly video blog.

I'm about to post a new one,

but I can't seem to
get this joke right.

Ah! That's Zach,
my comedy coach.

Excellent.

Think funny.

Hi, Zach.
Come on in.

Zach this is
my nephew, Ned.

- Ned, Zach.
- Think funny.

Hey, you know,
you guys have work to do,

and I have to go
get a room.

I'll leave you to it for now.
Talk to you later, Simon.

See you later, kid.

Have you got a room free?

How many nights?

Two, three, maybe.

Yeah, I can do that.
A single, right?

Right. Can I leave
my suitcase here?

Sure.

Wow, that's a lot of money.

Hey.

Hey.

Are you staying
at the hotel?

Oh, I just sort of
hang around there.

Oh, well, I'm sorry but,
I'm not interested.

In what?

In whatever it is
you're selling.

Do you think
I'm a prostitute?

What do you want?

To meet Simon Grim.

Oh, that's why you
hang around the hotel?

He never leaves
the building.

I've been here for weeks.

I did my graduate
thesis on his poetry.

Susan.

Edward.

He claims he's over poetry now and wants
to do

stand-up comedy.

Of course. All the poets
are doing that now.

It's the new thing.
Have you seen his blog?

- Not yet.
- Don't.

It's bad, huh?

It's perfectly harmless,
mind-numbingly attuned to

the lowest common denominator
of consumer entertainment.

What do you want to talk
to him about then?

Are you familiar
with his work?

- Grim's?
- Yes.

A little, I, uh,

sometimes work for
his comedy coach, Zach.

He's a jerk.

Zach?

I asked him
to introduce me to Grim,

and he insisted on
sexual favors.

No!

And afterwards, he still
refused to introduce me.

You're not well.

I got caught in
the rain yesterday.

Where do you stay?

Oh, around.

Do you have a room
for my friend here?

She's your friend?

Yes, I'm paying.

He thinks I'm a prostitute, too.

No, you're the poet
laureate stalker.

Ex-poet laureate.

She wrote a book about him.

I have no singles left.

This place doesn't
seem so busy.

Still, no singles.
You got the last one.

I do have a double, though.

Does that mean two beds?

Two single beds.

That okay with you?

Where's that comedy coach
of yours?

- I fired him.
- Yeah?

I don't think Zach knows the first thing
about being funny.

And you do?

You appear to doubt
my comic chops.

Simon, what are you doing?

I want to be popular and
liked, like everybody else.

But you're not popular,

and it takes most people a while to get
to know you

before they like you,
and once they like you,

they tend to love you.

Yeah, but I can change that.

- Why?
- Have you read my poetry?

Yeah, well, no,
not really.

But I'm not that into poetry.

But that's just it.

Shouldn't I be doing something that a
hip, young guy

like yourself is interested in?

Am I hip?

Well, I don't know.
Aren't you? You're young.

Simon, if you're all set
on chucking poetry,

don't waste your time trying
to be a stand-up comic.

Set you eyes on the
straight and narrow,

and give yourself to Jesus.

You're not just trying to
be funny now, are you?

No, of course not.

Well, this is new.

You've found God?

Look, I have a friend downstairs who
wants to meet you.

- Is this an intervention?
- A what?

Am I gonna be baptized
or something?

No.

She knows all
about your poetry.

She wants to give you
a copy of her dissertation.

It's the least you can do,
I think, really.

Okay.
Bring her up.

Tomorrow.
She's sleeping.

Now, any ideas about where
my father might be?

Seattle.

Hundreds of people follow my
blog, and many of them write

in and post comments.

Henry, who seems to work at,
or used to work at a certain

bookstore in Seattle,

writes in weekly,
and assassinates my character

in increasingly
elaborate ways.

I think more people
follow my blog to read him

than to see my stand-up routine,
honestly.

You're not going to try and
save Henry for Jesus, are you?

And what if I am?

O Lord, give unto thy
servant that peace that the

world cannot give, that my
heart may be set to obey

thy commandments,

That through thee I
remain constant of purpose

and fearless of the enemy.

Lighten my darkness, O Lord,
I beseech thee, and by thy

mercy defend me from the
perils and dangers of this

night, for the love of
thy Holy Son, our Savior,

Jesus Christ.

Amen.

He said 10:00?

Any time after 10:00.

How do I look?

Great. What are you
all dolled-up for?

You're just going to be talking about
poetry and literature.

I don't look like a slut, do I?

- No.
- Really?

Yeah, it's just...
I don't-- well...

I don't know anything
about literature.

That's right, you don't.

See you this afternoon.

Good luck.

She went up to the poet
laureate 10 minutes ago.

We're okay with
the room, right?

- Two more nights.
- Okay, thanks.

Want me to tell her anything?

No. Make sure she
knows the room's hers.

- La Guardia Airport.
- Okay.

I've always read the poems,

even and especially,
the later ones,

as an evocation of the joys
and sorrows of influence.

The evolution of one's
own manner of perceiving

and inevitably expressing
the world to one's self

and to others

the sadness of breaking with
the cherished attitudes

inherited from the friendly,

encouraging,
but ultimately limited sources

that must be outgrown.

Please go on.

I recognize that voice--
the tempter, the challenger,

the seducer, the friend.

Yes.

I use the term "antagonist"
to start with,

but it's
more fluid than that.

I could never find
the right word

for how he feels to be with.

It's actually more like
being inspired by the wind,

the rain, a sickness,

some other uncontrollable element--
demonic.

You seem to know Henry
better than I do.

It's expressed better in
the body of the text itself,

but that is, I think,
it generally.

It was difficult to get out
from the shadow he cast.

There was always something apt
about his most unreasonable

ranting and raving that
kept me from dismissing his

input entirely--

his own failures, his own
ineptitude, his delusions.

These, I came to see,
were my lens onto the world.

It provided a material out
of which to shape an image

of that world
as I endured it.

Endured it?

I merely endured the world
until my friend, Henry,

showed me
one could do otherwise.

It was the same with me.

Excuse me?

I mean, of course,
through the reading

of your poetry,
how you rendered him

and his influence upon you.

I'm moved by how intimately
you've engaged in my poetry.

It means the world to me,
and I was so afraid

I might be totally mistaken.

What do you want?
A documentary?

A YouTube feed?
A series of Tweets?

Whatever you want,
just ask.

Stop doing your blog.

Oh.

The stand-up thing
is awful.

Wow.

Decisive, committed,
admittedly obscure work

indifferent to mainstream
approval and unafraid

of confrontation with moral
and aesthetic absolutes.

This, more than you might
imagine, is what keeps people

from jumping out
windows and under trains.

Adding to mass-cultural
self-congratulation is,

of course, its own reward--
cheap, immediate,

and disposable, as it is.

Sorry.

So you think it's okay
for me to be unpopular?

Oh, I think it's necessary.

You're an unusual person.

I have few friends.

I hope I haven't
hurt your feelings.

No.
Thank you.

I hope we can talk again soon,

but I have to ask,
are you religious, as well?

As well?

As Ned, my nephew,
who introduced us.

- You mean Edward?
- We call him Ned.

Young Mr. Rifle?

That's my mother's
maiden name.

He was advised to
remain incognito.

- The son of Fay Grim?
- And Henry Fool.

- You're leaving?
- Oh, I just...

forgot I have to do something.

And no, I'm not religious.

Sorry. Thank you so much.

- Come back soon.
- I will.

Where's my friend
Mr. Rifle?

Your room is paid for
for the next two nights.

Where has he gone?

- I saw him hail a cab.
- And?

He might've said something
about La Guardia Airport.

Thank you.

What are you doing here?

My meeting with
Simon Grim was amazing.

Thank you so much
for setting it up.

Sure, sure,
but you didn't have to come

all the way out here
to thank me.

I mean, the room's paid up
for a couple of nights.

- I know, but I like you.
- Oh, man.

- Do you have a girlfriend?
- Stop.

I know I'm a little older
than you, but I'm fun,

and I know a bunch
of different languages,

and I don't do drugs, and--

Why Seattle?

I have some business to
do there for Simon Grim.

You don't work
for Zach anymore?

No.

Dad?

Toothpaste, soap, shampoo.

Look at these towels.

You look fine.

Really?

You have no clothes
but what you're wearing?

No, but I can get
these laundered here.

Is that okay?

Go buy yourself some things.

I have to go meet someone.

Tomorrow, you can take
me to the bookstore.

How long will you be?

Hard to tell.
Don't wait up.

- Fay.
- So, listen, wise guy,

like I was saying last week--

- Fay, hold on.
- What?

Did Ned come
to see you yet?

- Yeah, he did.
- Hasn't he gotten tall?

He's, like, you know,
a man and everything.

- And he's Christian.
- Yeah, right?

Where does he get
that from, I wonder?

Apparently, he's lived with
a devout family

these past four years.

You see, Simon,
that's what I mean.

He's so damn
impressionable, that kid.

But anyway, I think it's
you he gets that from.

Me? I haven't been inside a church since
you married Henry.

Yeah, well, it's how, like,

people discuss you
and everything, you're this--

this weird kind of
moral compass in a society

half-convinced of its
own worthlessness.

You don't sound
like yourself.

Who have you been
talking to?

Oh, this graduate student
the publisher hired

to write my autobiography
was here the other week.

She's got a truckload of ways
to say how you've influenced

the zeitgeist and
everything, Simon.

Really, I was impressed,
but then I told her how

I always had to get you out
of fights in high school and--

Fay, listen, I need to talk to you about
something important.

Oh, and, like, my autobiography
is not important?

No, of course it is, but, Fay,
did Henry ever tell you about

the girl he went to prison for having
sexual relations with?

You mean, the 13-year-old
girl he sexually molested?

- Well, okay, yes.
- No.

- Her name was Susan.
- Do I really have to hear this?

Yes, because I believe I met
this girl, Susan, yesterday.

What?

I mean, she's a woman,
now, of course.

She's written this remarkable
study of my work, or least,

that aspect of my work which
she feels, and I must admit,

she's onto something here,
that aspect of my poetry that

centers on my
friendship with Henry.

- That's odd.
- Not really.

Unusual, yes,
but an original and provocative

reading of these poems and--

No, I mean...
I mean,

this graduate student who's writing the
story of my life.

Her name is Susan, too.

What does she look like?

Early 30s, skinny,
addicted to lipstick.

And the lipstick is not on,
you know, correctly.

Exactly.
She's kind of helpless.

- Where did you meet her?
- Well, that's the thing.

She was introduced
to me by Ned.

- Uh-oh.
- My feelings exactly.

Are you sure it's her?

Fay, she sat here and talked
about my poems in a way that

only a person could if
they knew Henry intimately.

You said she was with Ned?

He introduced her to me.

And, were they,
like, together?

I think so.

You know
he's chaste, right?

Chaste?

Yeah, it means,
you know, that, like--

I know what chaste means, Fay.

Well, what do you
think she's up to?

It's hard to say.

I hope she's not a
psycho killer or anything.

I was really enjoying
our time together.

I'll talk to your publisher
and see what I can find out.

I'll be over in Erotica
if you need me.

Whatever.

Yeah?

Looking for a friend of mine
who I think used to work here.

An older guy named Henry.

- Henry?
- Loudmouth.

- Troublemaker?
- Drunkard.

- Thief.
- Egomaniac.

- Sex fiend?
- That's him.

We fired him.

He's not allowed in
the store anymore.

- But he's around?
- As far as I know.

He's always at the topless bar down the
block

with his pal, Bud,

who's also not allowed
in here anymore.

You gonna buy that?

This is it, I guess.
Wait here.

There's no way
you're 21, buddy.

Oh, wait, I just need to go
in and find somebody.

No matter, man.
I can't let you in.

I'll go.

- What's his name?
- But she can go in?

Dude, it's a
gentleman's club, okay?

Smokin' babes are
always welcome.

- I used to dance here.
- No, when?

You were just a child.

- Talk dirty to me.
- What's his name?

- Bud.
- Bud?

You're looking for Bud?

Right at the bar.

- Bud?
- I can't. Not now.

I'm working.

Dude, it's nothing personal.

- What?
- It's just the law.

There's a law
higher than the law.

Really?

You think I'd ever want to go into a
place like this

if I didn't have to?

I see. I was mistaken.
Sorry, man.

Ned, this is Bud.

Bud, this is Ned.

You wanna talk to me?

- Yeah.
- About what?

Henry.

Buy me lunch.

No problem.

And, like, I'm gonna
need some booze.

I send him his reading
material, books I steal from

the library over here.

Where? Where do you send
the reading material?

He took this job as a,
I don't know,

test case
for some drug company

or something down
outside of Portland, Oregon.

Do you have the address,
the name of the place?

Ashbrook Pharmaceuticals.
Hey, you ain't, like--

he don't owe you money
or nothing, right?

No.

He didn't impregnate
your sister or nothing?

I'm a friend.

'Cause he's my teacher and shit.

I gotta watch his back.

Yeah?
What did he teach you?

He taught me to write.

- Poetry, I guess.
- Damn straight.

I was just a garbage man
before Henry came to town.

Listen, thanks
for talking to me.

- I have to go.
- What about my booze?

My friend will be here
with it any minute now.

She your girl?

No.

Because I think
she sorta digs me.

Yeah, I think so, too.
So, just wait here.

And listen, don't tell her what
we talked about, okay?

- Done.
- Or where I'm headed.

Double done.

- Mr. Grim.
- Yes, hello. Simon.

Such an unexpected
pleasure, really.

Thank you for seeing me
on such short notice.

Not at all, please,
come on in.

- Simon Grim.

- I thought he was dead.
- I know.

Wow, you're a sight
for sore eyes.

Where's Ned?

Ned? Ned who?
Who's Ned?

Come on, Bud.
We're friends, right?

Oh, yes; I've been writing
a poem about you even.

So you have to tell
me where Ned's gone.

But this poem, you see,

requires a certain
creatural detail.

The currency of lived
experience, so to speak.

What's it about,
this poem?

Your thigh.

Which one?

Wow, now there's an idea.

Bud, concentrate.

This one.

- You want to touch it?
- I have to.

How long?

60 seconds is the
structural prerequisite

of my poetic expression.

A formalist.

Interesting.

But where has Ned gone?

Ashbrook Pharmaceuticals,
Portland, Oregon.

Okay, let's do it.

I'm interested in the young
woman you've hired to

ghost-write my sister's
autobiography.

- Susan.
- It's come to my attention

she's written a quite thorough analysis
of my own work.

Ah, yes.

Well, so you know
about this then?

I was impressed.

Really, you've read it?

Yes, I'd like to
know more about her.

She'd been writing movie
reviews for a small,

city-wide entertainment guide.

She developed quite a
following because, well,

because no matter what
she was reviewing,

it always came around
to a discussion of your poetry.

I see.

It's quite hilariously
obsessive.

But well-written?

One couldn't fault the grammar,

but the irony was a bit too intense for
me.

Nevertheless, she became
popularly associated

with you and Fay,
the infamous Grims.

So when I had this idea
for the Fay autobiography,

I thought, of course.

Get this well-read,
fringe iconoclast to ghost it.

That turned out to be more
difficult than I anticipated.

Why?

Because she was,
as I should've expected,

in a mental hospital.

Ah.

Olive, tell Simon
here about Susan.

She, um,
presented her dissertation

at Columbia University and--

Go ahead.

Well, Mr. Grim,
it was, of course,

a dissertation on your poetry.

I understand.

They refused outright to grant
her diploma, and apparently,

she had a nervous breakdown

and stabbed
her academic advisor.

So, she's violent.

Turns out, she's been in and out
of psychiatric care

since she was 13.

The charges
were eventually dropped.

She's a loaded pistol,
Simon, and I like that.

Comes across in her prose.

Biting, precise,
and, well, yes, obsessive.

When will you see her next?

Us? Oh, we never see her.

She transcribes her interviews
with Fay each week,

reworks them into chapters,
and emails them to me.

We're about a third
of the way through the book.

- It's incendiary.
- It'll be huge.

We're negotiating
with the penitentiary

to get a photo shoot done
with Fay.

"Esquire's" on board,
maybe "GQ," "Vanity Fair."

And the controversy is more
than likely to generate

a renewed interest in
even your work, Mr. Grim.

Good thinking, Olive.

Simon, who are you with
these days?

Anyone?

Fay, you have a visitor.

Please have a seat.

My name is Daniel.
Reverend Gardner.

Ned may have
mentioned me to you.

Yes.

If I may say so, Fay,
Ned is like a son to me.

Me too.

Fay, I believe Ned intends
to do something terrible.

Oh, man.

He loves you very much.

Of course he does.

What do you mean by that?

It means he'll kill the man
he thinks is responsible

for your incarceration.

Henry?

Fool.

- With an "E"?
- Could be.

The man you describe
is here.

Can I see him?

- You say he's your father.
- Yes.

He's been here for a
little over a year.

He replied to an ad we
placed asking for volunteers

on the testing of certain
drugs we were developing.

However, we were advised to
cease experimenting with these

particular medications,

but by then, unfortunately,

Henry had begun to exhibit
side effects.

Like what?

Well, there are certain
physio-optical manifestations.

- He sees things?
- Yes,

which, of course,
is not entirely unusual

under the circumstances
of the experiment, but...

Well, anyway, he has no legal right to
compensation

in that regard.

However, there is the issue
of his delusions, typically

a symptom of mental disorder,
which, honestly, we should've

done due diligence in
detecting before we agreed to

have him participate.

This, you see,
could expose the laboratory

to legal action.

And what's his delusion?

He believes, apparently
with perfect sincerity,

that he is...

well, the devil.

- Are you okay?
- It's all right.

Yes, sir.

Have you seen
that young woman around,

the young lady who hangs out down here?

That would be
your stalker, Mr. Grim.

Well, yeah, I guess so.
Susan.

She left yesterday,
following the young man.

- Young man?
- Mr. Rifle.

- Where?
- Uh, to the airport.

In fact, Mr. Grim,
you have another visitor.

As delusions go,
it's a remarkable narrative.

To be perfectly accurate,

he claims he's the devil's number-one
assistant, or was.

He was born into the human realm in 1591
to run riot--

Can you throw him out?

No, our lawyers have indicated
that would cast

a bad light on our situation.

Let me talk to him.

I'll convince him
to leave on his own.

You don't look so good
all of a sudden.

Oh, man.

Is this a problem?

I'll be with you
in a minute.

What are you doing here?

I'm supposed to help you.

I didn't ask you to.

I'm sorry.

You don't look good.
What's wrong?

I was up all night driving.

I haven't slept.

What happened to your hand?

Look, my father's
a patient in here.

I haven't seen him since
I was a little kid.

Okay, I'll stay here.
Do what you have to do.

I'm okay right here.

Mr. Rifle, they're ready for us.

Don't be taken in.

He's a great tragic actor.

The drama never stops.

Just wait here.

Auf wiedersehen,
mademoiselles.

Dr. Ford.
Is it Thursday already?

Henry, who were those women?

Local pilgrims
seeking wisdom.

Whoa, hold on.

You dismantled the alarm
on the fire door again.

Look, I have to smoke someplace.

I know where you live, asshole.

Who's the winsome tart with the
humorless youth over there?

Henry, please.

Doctor, I can't work
under these conditions.

My point exactly.

Why do you insist on
remaining here?

Thank you
for this information, Reverend.

Of course.

Hopefully, we can reach
him before he does

anything irreparable.

It's him.

You sure?

- Yes.
- And you'll talk to him?

I'll come back tomorrow.

I'll only tell him
to expect a visitor.

I'll leave the rest to you.

Come on.

They gave me the name of
a motel down the road.

I'm sorry, we actually only have one
single room available.

Okay, a double is okay.

Yeah, we don't have
any doubles either.

In fact, we just have
the one room, a single.

Come, get some sleep.

No, I have to--
I have to go.

You have to go pray?

Yeah.

You'll have to tell
me about that one day.

What's to tell?

How it feels to have
someone listening.

Defend me, O God,
thy humble servant

in all assaults of the enemy,

that I,

surely trusting in thy defense,

may not fear the power
of the adversary,

that the words of my mouth
and the meditation of my heart

be always acceptable
in thy sight.

O Lord, my strength
and my redeemer.

You want to come in
and take a shower

and brush your teeth?

What? Yeah. Sure.

You should've slept
with me.

I wouldn't have done
anything scandalous.

Promise.

Got the key?

I've got your purse.

How, may I ask,
have I offended thee?

Why ask me that?

It's just something
written here.

A lovely phrase, I think.
It speaks to me.

Where's the young lady?

What is all this?

History, European mostly,
Renaissance and some

remarkably incriminating
correspondence between

The Vatican and the Spanish king
from the early 16th Century.

No one's ever thought
to put it all in order.

Some local antiquarian died,
and his moronic heirs

donated it to this place.

Imagine.

You don't recognize me?

No. Should I?

I'm your son.

Listen, kid,
I have lots of offspring.

They're, you know, legion.

You gotta do
better than that.

I'm Ned.

Fay's kid.

Yeah.

I suppose
you've come to kill me.

I hear she's got
a life sentence.

No parole, all that.

Why did she come
looking for me?

She thought
your life was in danger.

People were trying to kill you.

You should've talked
her out of it.

She thought she was
doing it for my sake.

- For your sake?
- Yeah.

Like I needed a father figure
or something.

I'm a wanted criminal,
a known felon, a murderer.

I mean, I'm not apologizing,
but really, I know why.

I mean, really, why.

I hope I don't offend you, son,

but your mother
has very complicated,

perverse, and deeply repressed
sexual needs

which, I, in my generosity,
was able to intuit and satisfy.

She's never gotten over it.

Sue me.
You gonna drink that?

You, as it turns out,

are the fruit
of that liberation.

A son of the devil.

You've been talking
with Dr. Ford.

Listen, Ned--
can I call you Ned?

I've got these mercenary quacks
by the cojones

like nobody's business.

I mean, really,
these guys are stinking of sin.

You?

I am, in fact,
suffering certain,

definite side effects

from this amalgamation of chemicals they
were feeding me,

the constituent elements
of which are not even--

Did you see that?

No.

The point is,
this is not really a bad place.

What with the library here,

and the park
and the regular meals,

all I've got to do is pretend I'm insane
once or twice a week

and tell them
this cock-and-bull story

about being the devil
or whatever.

This cache of Renaissance lit has
provided me with

a treasure trove of
dates and places and names.

These assholes are terrified.

Look, mom wants me
to get you out of here

and bring you home.

Home?
How can we have a home

when she's in prison
the rest of her life?

She wants me, you,
and Uncle Simon

to live nearby
and go visit her all the time.

I'm sorry, I'll do anything
for Fay,

but I can't live with Simon.

That man is a disgrace.

A publisher has paid her
to write her autobiography.

She wants your help.

Really?

Yeah, she said so herself
that Simon couldn't have

written a thing if not for you.

Well, that's right.

Exactly.

That ungrateful climber,

and now with this blog
and the sketch comedy.

Where will it end?
It hurts to witness this.

Who does he think he is?
Jerry Lewis?

I've got-- wait a minute.
Hold on.

Fuck.

I've got a passage in here
somewhere about, you know,

about Simon's passive-aggressive
will to power,

and-- here it is.

No, well, it's not about Simon, but it
pertains.

Anyway, I need someone to
help me get all this in order.

Can you type?

No.
So are you coming?

How will we get there?

I am, as it were,
a wanted man.

- We'll drive.
- Cross-country?

Yeah.

Will the young lady
be coming?

Probably.

Is she your girlfriend?

We're just friends.

I'm warning you, kid,
exteriors notwithstanding,

girls just sorta
can't resist me.

That must be a major hassle.

I just don't want any
unnecessary resentment,

if you know what I mean.

This all you got?

I'll need my own room.

Fine. Come on.

Wait up.
I gotta get dressed.

Where are we?
I thought you said

the motel was just
down the road?

- It's not far.
- To be fair,

Simon's third and
fourth books were pretty good,

and I hadn't seen him in years.

I read them in translation,
of course,

being in exile and everything.

It's clear he allowed
himself to be influenced

by the dynamics of his own
notoriety, so to speak.

Can you hold that
farther away?

- Don't you agree?
- About what?

Simon's third and fourth books.

- I don't read poetry.
- What do you read?

I read what really matters.

Oh, you mean, like,
The "New York Times"?

No.

No, shit, you're
a God-fearing man?

- You got a problem with that?
- Find someplace to pull over.

What?

Gotta pee.

"Coffee product."

It's free.

The donuts are
fresh this morning.

Hi.

Oh, this is quaint
in a desperate sort of way.

Ah, we meet finally.

That's a fetching ensemble.

- There's free coffee product.
- Is there?

- And semi-fresh donuts.
- Excellent.

Ned, are you gonna introduce us,

or did your mother teach you
no manners at all?

- This is Susan.
- Fascinating.

Come on. We're leaving.

Soldier of God or not,
that kid's got a hair

across his ass.

Yes, he's very devout.

Maybe we should get
some donuts for the road, huh?

Can I hold that for you?

Guard it with your life,
young lady.

Is this the confessions?

I see my reputation
has preceded me.

I did my graduate dissertation
on the work of Simon Grim.

Is that so?

Yes, and because
of that, I guess,

I was hired to ghost-write
your wife's autobiography.

Oh, you're practically family.

That's not sugar.
That's Sweet 'N Low.

The sugar's right there.

Well, that's good.

Fay can't spell
to save her life.

- Do you type?
- Very well.

And I'm
a great copy editor.

I can use some help
with this.

I'd love to.
I mean, if that's okay.

Good, it needs some--

Oh, did you see that?

No.

You remind me of someone.

Okay, okay!

He hates me, of course.

So embarrassingly oedipal.

Come on.

So, it's like this: In the infinite
amplitude of his love,

God wants to create
the largest number

of best elements that can exist together
in one cosmos.

Okay, that's a spin on Leibniz, but the
important part is next.

- Do I write that?
- No, hold on.

In an instantaneous
calculation made in eternity,

God computes the best
possible world and creates it.

Okay, fine.

This decision,
as it were, by God,

is uncontingent and eternal,
rather than temporally

or ontologically sequential.

- Mmm...
- What?

Do you think that's
the right word?

Temporally?

No, ontologically.

What do you suggest?

It's just that the nature of
being is already the subject

of the passage itself.

I think you should move on
from the idea of temporality

to something more
materially concrete.

Spatiality, right. Or--

We'll stop here for the night.

Anyway, the point, Susan,
it is impossible for every

perfect good to be compatible
with every other perfect good.

The holiness of the mountain
needs to be contrasted

with the profanity of the
used condom on the sidewalk

- so to speak.
- Good image,

Should I write that?

The good of free will must
entail real choices for sin.

Something like that.

We'll continue tomorrow.

We need three
single rooms please.

Uh-oh, I'm afraid we only
have one single

and a suite available.

A suite?

Two rooms, a full kitchen,
and a jacuzzi.

A class establishment,
obviously.

I once participated in the
most fantastic group sex

in a hot tub outside in the mountains
while it was snowing.

Where was that?
Doesn't matter.

- How about you?
- He'll have the suite.

- We'll take the single.
- I'll be in the bar.

What?

You're flirting
with my father.

Am I?

He's... he's fun.

Are you kidding me?

He appreciates my ideas.

I like the way
he thinks.

He's a degenerate.

Give him three minutes alone,
and he'd rape you.

I don't think you know
what you're talking about.

Yeah, well, maybe you're
right, seeing as I don't know

what you're
capable of yourself.

What's that
supposed to mean?

Give me the bullet.

What bullet?

That's all the cash I have.

Take it. Get lost.

You're not traveling
with us.

- Is there a church around here?
- Lots.

Catholic, Methodist, Baptist, Seventh
Day Adventist, a mosque.

It doesn't matter.

Catholic's right
across the parking lot.

I was wondering how long

you'd be able
to stand that guy.

Get dressed, you have
to get out of here.

What are you talking about?

The young, Christian
gentleman's paying for it all.

There's a jacuzzi upstairs.

The young Christian gentleman
has every intention

of killing you.

Here's his gun.

This is the bullet.

I didn't think he
had it in him.

He does.

I've heard him
say his prayers.

- God's on his side, I suppose.
- Apparently.

And so, you mean to say,

Fay doesn't need my help
with her memoir?

Is that what he told you?

- That's low.
- You got any money?

Yeah, I stole his bank card.

He's got his pin code
written on a Post-It note

and everything.

- Very generous of him.
- I know, right?

You'd think a religion would
help teach people how

the ungodly operate.

Let me get dressed.

Take all the good stuff
from the mini bar.

What have I done?

I might've killed a man
but for this woman.

Have you sent her?

Placed her in my path
to keep me from sin?

I'll set everything right.
I'll make amends.

Jesus, I don't want
to kill anyone.

Wow.

Lots?

He's loaded, but we can
only withdraw $400 a day.

I really can't believe
that sanctimonious

little church mouse is my son.

- Forget about it.
- Where are we going, anyway?

I mean,
New York, right?

All points on the globe are
equally dismal for me, Susan.

Unwanted, unappreciated,
despised even by my own son.

We can make it in maybe
three or four days,

depending on when
Ned unplugs our credit line.

I called ahead and reserved
a motel room

just this side of Spokane.

Do they have a restaurant,
you think?

No, but the rooms have kitchens.

- Ned.
- Simon...

I almost did a real bad thing.

Your mother thought
you might.

Mom? How?

She received a visit
from the Reverend Gardner.

Oh, man.

Have you found Henry?

- Yes.
- Is he with you now?

No, I lost him.
He disappeared again.

He ran off with some woman
I was traveling with.

Susan?

Yeah.

Ned, how much do you know
about your dad's early years?

More than I want to.

Well, he spent some
time in prison.

Right, that much I got.

Do you know why he
was in prison?

Mom said he hadn't paid
his taxes or something.

No, Henry was in jail for
7 years because he was

caught in flagrante delicto

with, as he once told me
in confidence,

an ugly and mean-spirited 13-year-old
girl named Susan.

You think this is that Susan?

I'm certain of it.
I've read her dissertation.

It's a long, wild,
passionate encomium to Henry.

A what?

And she's ghost-writing
your mom's autobiography.

No way! That's her?

She's obsessed with Henry.

Oh, damn it.
Then let them be.

They're both nuts anyway.
He's an idiot, she's a floozy.

They both read too much.
They're made for each other.

- I'm coming home.
- But she might do him harm.

You think?

She's been in and out of
psychiatric hospitals her

whole life, and she stabbed
a man in college when they

refused to let her graduate.

What was your impression?

She's armed.

Is she?

Ned, you've got to find them.

I know.

Susan's brilliant,
and she's a good person,

but she's totally fucked up.

I know.

We could probably say the same
thing about your dad,

but I suspect you don't want
to hear that right now.

You're right, Uncle Simon,
I don't want to

hear that right now.
Listen, I'll call you tomorrow.

Stateside Mutual Customer
Service, how can I help you?

Yeah, my bank card
has been stolen.

Would you like me
to cancel the card?

Yes, and wait--

Excuse me?

Will you be able to tell me
where the card was last used?

Of course,
the exact time and location.

Okay, don't cancel
the card just yet.

- Really? Are you sure?
- I'll call back in a few hours.

A lot of damage can occur
in a few hours, sir.

I know.

We should get
some booze.

Can you get me
some rum, please?

There's a liquor store
across the parking lot.

- Rum, huh?
- And whatever you're drinking.

- I'll get something to cook.
- What do you smoke?

Whatever.
Fairport Lights are okay.

An embarrassment of riches!

We'll need a knife.

All set?

Anything else?

Ice cubes.
I'll get napkins.

Oh, and lemonade.

Susan?

Rum, lemonade,
and Fairport Lights.

These were your
preferred poisons at 13.

Why didn't you
come back for me?

- What?
- I waited.

They put me in jail
for seven years.

But I was 20
by the time you got out.

I wasn't allowed into the
state of Ohio without written

permission from some office
of the governor,

and only then if I could prove
I had gainful employment.

Look, Susan, I paid dearly for
our little afternoon of bliss.

I really did think my parents were away
for the weekend.

I had no idea they
would come back.

Aw, Susan.

Susan, what my life might've
been if I'd never met you.

- I'm sorry.
- Please don't apologize.

What's done is done
and I shouldn't have done it.

- I wanted you to.
- You were 13.

You didn't know what you wanted.

I did.
I did know what I wanted.

Susan, it's like I've
been trying to get at.

There is sin in this world.

I haven't worked it out
perfectly yet,

but if there is
such a thing as sin,

it comes down to this.

Taking advantage of innocence.

I was not innocent.
How dare you say that.

You were the only
one I wanted.

Yes, the only one stupid
enough to succumb to the

advances of an overweight
and perspiring adolescent

with bad teeth.

What happened?

I grew up.

Well, you've got a nice ass.

I had braces
until I was 26.

You could use
a few pounds, though.

I was anorexic for a while.

No.

I'm okay now,
but it wasn't so bad,

because I was in
a hospital anyways.

What kind of hospital?

The kind for crazy people.

- Oh, no.
- No, it wasn't like that.

They thought I was crazy
because I was in love with you.

Well, they were right.

I was the janitor at
your junior high school.

You turned me on to Lautreamont.

- Did I?
- And Verlaine, Rimbaud.

- Really?
- All the French symbolists.

Of course, I outgrew them,
but they were formative.

Yeah, well, but still,
there are limits.

I mean,
there are laws even.

Hi. It's me again--
Edward Rifle.

Oh, yes, Mr. Rifle.

The card was used near
Spokane 45 minutes ago

at a supermarket on Route 47.

That was the best day of my life.

It was astonishing.

I mean, at least,
until your father

was standing there
and the police arrived.

I remember every moment of it.

I put myself to sleep at night
for years replaying it again,

and again.

Every touch.

Each thrust.

The taste of your dirty
fingers in my mouth.

How I clutched the bedspread
and drooled.

And now we can be together,
you and me finally,

without any interference.

Is that what you want?

More than anything
in the world.

Henry: I'm not an easy man
to live with, Susan.

I could just follow you,

yours whenever you want me.

- You're incorrigible.
- Thank you.

Woman: Outrageous!

You people
are disgusting!

Why, a man your age ought to know better
than to--

Come on! Come on!
It's not our business.

Pervert!

And so you stabbed the guy?

All semester long he's
encouraging me to revise

and to annotate and insisting
we meet after class to discuss

and, well, of course, fuck,
and then he totally goes along

with the other department
heads and dismisses

the dissertation as not
worthy of consideration.

- What's this for?
- The tomatoes.

- You still hungry?
- Not really.

Give me your glass.

These self-satisfied pundits
who, themselves received

master's degrees for writing
college papers on post-Marxist

third generation feminist
apocrypha or whatever,

now have these high-paid
tenured positions lock-step

with college policy, pushing
only commercially sustainable

mass-cultural phenomena,
proudly detailing the most

profitably, impermanent
trends as critically relevant

societal indicators for the
next really cool Facebook ad,

et cetera.

I mean,
am I repeating myself?

God, I love it when you
get all fired up

and indignant like this.

Fuck me.

Hello, ladies.

Welcome to the first meeting
of the Penitentiary Book Club.

Since we're all gonna be
here for, well,

like, the rest of our lives,

I figured we should start out with some

really big books like these.

"Don Quixote"
by Cervantes, 941 pages.

"War and Peace," Tolstoy,
1,443 pages.

"Les Miserables."

They made a musical out of
this one by Victor Hugo,

1,232 pages.

Older man, young woman.

Yeah, high heels,
that's right.

Dad's home!

Good morning.

You ought to be
ashamed of yourself.

Are you, by any chance,

headed toward
the city of Spokane?

Well, yeah, sort of.

I'd appreciate a lift,
if you'd be so kind.

- Absolutely not!
- Amelia, please.

Just drop me anywhere along
the road in that direction.

Thanks.

Look, young man, we don't want any
trouble around here.

I'm just looking
for my friends.

- Henry!?
- I can't do this to her again.

I'll get off here.

Man: There's nothing
here for miles.

Yeah, but I gotta
take a shit.

Amelia:
Dear God almighty.

The filth that comes
out of his mouth.

Let him go. Let him go!
Let him go.

Ned: I don't want to
cause any trouble.

I'm just gonna wait here
in the car

till my friends wake up.

Okay?

Dad.

Save her.

No, please.

Run.

No.