Original subtitles

[mournful music]

[light playful music]

[pensive music]

[mournful music]

- [Seriema] But where do I start?

The doctor would have told me, "Speak, my dear."

Since the first time I went to see him in France

he knew at once that I wanted him as my analyst.

That first time I traveled from Brazil with a letter

from my countrymen asking him to send us an emissary,

a French colleague of his, to teach his art.

Why did I take a letter personally

when I could have sent it through the mail?

Obviously, I took the opportunity to go myself,

making it logical for him to consider me

as his future emissary in Brazil.

So, interpreting my message,

he received me imagining pristine lands

with clean air and endless waters where nature is bountiful,

a country where the most fruitful result would come

from teaching its people.

True, at first, there could be no understanding

because the language is different

but I, Seriema, would be there to translate.

It would be enough to plant the flag of the unconscious.

Yes, seeing me, the doctor dreamed with gargantuan appetite.

Obviously, it was I who would nurture the dream.

Actually, I could only provide the equivalent

of several bunches of bananas in solid gold

because in the past my own people served

as beasts of burden,

hauling heavy loads on their backs until they bled,

peddling household items from door to door

from sun up till sundown.

Of course, I wasn'’t going to reveal that to the great man.

I would simply omit the story of those who left Lebanon,

who in France would have been looked upon

as merely Arabs among other Arabs.

Why wouldn'’t I want to hide such a past

to avoid the designation that the nationality

of my ancestors imparted to me?

Was I going to introduce myself by revealing my origins?

How could I divulge right away

what I had always made such a great effort to hide?

Let the doctor imagine the primitive beaches,

the imposing palms and me,

as the native born daughter of natives.

Wouldn'’t his fantasy confer on me the lineage I wanted?

Didn'’t it give me the illusion

of being a woman from Brazil with no ties to immigration?

Dream, doctor, dream and make this granddaughter

of immigrants into the daughter of Brazil'’s founders.

Rid me of my ill-starred identity.

[gentle music]

- [Lacan] But why did you separate?

I still don'’t know the reason, the real reason.

[birds chirping]

- [Seriema] I didn'’t want the separation.

It was Antonio who moved out

after the second miscarriage.

- [Lacan] There were two miscarriages?

- Yes.

I lost a child twice.

After the second time, Antonio went crazy.

He, he smashed everything in, in the house

and he disappeared.

He asked a friend to come back and, and get some things

but he wouldn'’t send any message.

I wanted him back.

I waited for three months. Nothing.

- Three months is a long time.

- After that, I, I did everything

I could to obtain a scholarship.

I got one, packed my bags and went far away.

[birds chirping]

I thought he might change his mind.

That hasn'’t happened so far.

I need to find out why I'’m alone.

Why I lost Antonio.

- You didn'’t separate.

You lost Antonio.

- I also lost Brazil.

I didn'’t know what it means to be a foreigner.

Where are you from? What country?

You speak Spanish in Brazil, right? Portuguese?

Here in Paris, I never know if I'’m speaking correctly.

- Go on. I'’m listening.

- To say in the past tense, even the simplest of actions,

French uses three words.

For "he ate," "il a mangé."

For the simple number 90, "quatre vingt dix."

Here, I am always translating from the Portuguese

spoken by Brazilians into French

or from French into Brazilian Portuguese.

I'’m forced to constantly think.

In Brazil, my mother tongue thinks for me.

Here, it is complicated to even order a coke.

If you don'’t say "cocaaa"

instead of "coca"

and if you don'’t change the definite article

and use "un coca"

instead of "une coca,"

no one understands you.

- Hmm.

What else?

Go on.

- I don'’t know.

- I don'’t know.

She wants and doesn'’t want to do analysis.

If the analyst isn'’t resourceful, he'’s lost.

When he'’s attacked, he has to keep quiet.

If he doesn'’t, the analysis is over before it begins.

And is she gonna go on like this in silence?

She'’s pretty. Straight dark hair.

Could she have some Indian ancestry?

Is there Indian blood in your family?

- What me? An Indian?

What is he thinking?

That I am the descendant of those Indians

who ran around naked

and threw themselves onto European ships

believing they were headed to heaven.

- You need to tell me what goes through your mind.

Is there Indian blood in your family?

- Seriema is the Indian name for a Brazilian bird,

but there is nothing Indian about me.

I'’ve already mentioned

that I'’m the granddaughter of Lebanese.

My grandmother immigrated.

[birds chirping]

She always said, "From Lebanon to Brazil at 15,

then five children, '’maktub.'"

That means fate, destiny.

Literally, "it is written."

"Maktub."

That'’s all that matters. "Maktub"

and she boarded the ship.

"Maktub" and she got married.

"Maktub."

It never occurred to her that a woman could be free.

Could have the same rights as a man.

- What does your grandmother'’s story have to do with yours?

- When I was born, my grandmother said,

"What a lovely child, what a pity it'’s a girl."

- Your birth was a disappointment.

- Mm-hmm. She wanted a male, a legitimate first born.

What a pity it'’s not a boy.

[laughs] How could anyone say that?

One sentence is enough to save

or condemn a person to dig a grave.

- True.

- And then my aunt, she prayed day and night

to conceive a male.

"Hail Mary, full of grace,

the Lord is with you.

Hail Mary, full of grace,

blessed is the fruit-"

She even promised to cross the city on her knees.

Novenas and more novenas.

Her entire pregnancy begging heaven for a son.

- Irrationality.

- An abomination.

- In her family, the pregnancy was torture.

Either the woman gave birth to a firstborn male

or she was looked down upon as if the sex

of the child depended on the mother.

What is the relation between your story

and that of your mother or your aunt?

I'’m referring to the miscarriage, to the miscarriages.

- The doctor said it was the problem of, of the uterus.

- And you didn'’t know about it?

- Not when I lost the first child, no.

- And later?

- I didn'’t think it was anything serious,

that there would be greater consequences.

I didn'’t have an operation

until after the second miscarriage,

when I was forced to.

It was a,

an infection, hemorrhaging.

I almost died.

- You knew and didn'’t get treatment.

Go on.

I'’m listening.

[birds chirping]

- I know it'’s my fault.

- You'’re responsible. Not at fault.

It wasn'’t a deliberate act.

You didn'’t willfully ignore the problem.

- So what?

What good does it do to talk?

What good to lock the house after it'’s been robbed?

- There'’s no reason to despair.

You'’re in analysis.

You can set out on a new path.

Re-invent your own history.

- Are, uh, is it over already?

- Come back tomorrow.

- I, I can'’t tomorrow.

- Then the day after tomorrow, at five in the afternoon.

[door clicking]

[children chattering]

[Lacan sighs]

[children chattering]

[footsteps tapping]

[knuckles rapping]

Enter.

- The book from Alain just arrived.

- Please leave it on the desk.

- Do you want me to place that call for you?

- I'’ll be ready in a few minutes.

I'’ll let you know.

[door clicking]

[birds chirping]

The miscarriage could have been avoided

if she had listened to the doctor.

She both wants to have a child

and for some reason doesn'’t want to.

I hope she reflects on what she said.

The fact of not having gotten treatment,

of ignoring what she knew, the problem.

The passion of ignorance is the worst passion of all.

[Lacan sighs]

Please place the call.

[birds chirping]

Good day, Edouard.

How am I?

It'’s very touching for you to ask me that.

I'’m sure I'm very fortunate to have you

as my physician, Edouard.

My dear friend, let'’s save us both some time, shall we?

It isn'’t what you said you'd hope for.

I appreciate you being sorry,

but that'’s just it, my dear physician...

We don'’t escape the real.

That'’s nice of you to say

but I don'’t want to live that way

no matter what the cost.

A life of constant pain

isn'’t of interest to me...

Being helpless all the time...

Of course I will.

You as well.

[birds chirping]

[phone rattling]

[children chattering]

[upbeat music]

- Where are you, Seriema?

Where'’s your smile?

Your happiness?

Clouds pass and so does sadness.

The husband left but he can return.

Call upon the burning angel.

O lady of the corolla,

plunge into Antonio'’s heart

the flaming sword of passion.

Your Maria is waiting for you.

Come and see my dancing.

Come and see, after the clouds have disappeared,

the flock of birds crossing the sky.

[sirens faintly blaring]

- I'’m listening.

- How can I reinvent myself

when I come from a family like mine?

- Hm?

- [Seriema] My grandmother emigrated from Lebanon

and lived for 70 years in Brazil

as if she were still in Lebanon.

She never reinvented herself.

I don'’t know what she did in her life.

Her fate was arranged

between her father

and her grandfather, Arab style.

- Arab style?

- [Seriema] A style which attempted

to perpetuate itself in our family.

And when I think that it still happens nowadays that-

- What else?

[upbeat music]

- I'’ve been dreaming about Maria since yesterday.

Maria, the Bahian woman who raised me.

"Come back," she told me.

- Nothing else?

- She advised me to call upon the goddess of seduction

and ask her to bring my husband back.

Unfortunately, I don'’t believe in magic.

If I did, I wouldn'’t be here.

- And what else?

- I'’ve been thinking about what you told me.

You'’d like me to have Indian blood.

Then you could tell your analysis colleagues

that you'’re analyzing a savage.

The French love the Noble Savage.

I'’m sorry to disappoint you.

All of my ancestors were immigrants.

- Why is she trying to provoke me?

What does she gain?

It would have been better if she thought

about what she said, "I knew and didn'’t get treatment."

That'’s the reason for the separation.

But it does no good to insist.

Forcing the issue only increases resistance.

That'’s not why I'm here.

Be patient, doctor.

I'’m listening.

- I'’d like to have Indian ancestors.

Indian and Portuguese, like most Brazilians...

And not be the descendant of immigrants.

Why?

- When I was a child, they called me "Turk."

It was derogatory.

In addition to making no sense to me, because my grandfather

left Lebanon to escape the Turks

to avoid having to serve in the occupying army.

- The Ottoman Army.

- Yes.

My grandfather'’s name was changed

when he arrived in Brazil at customs.

What does the name of an immigrant matter?

A nobody...Later as if, as if that wasn'’t enough,

that nobody was called "child eater."

- Child eater?

- My grandfather was a kind of traveling salesman.

He sold merchandise in the small towns.

A 200 pound sack on his back all day.

He would go from place to place without eating,

without anywhere to sleep.

"Cotton, silk, needles, thread!"

[bright music]

- No quick riches.

[pensive music]

- He,

he labored like a slave.

He would greet them with "Ahlo Sahla."

And they would yell, "The Turk! The child eater is coming."

Mothers would grab their children and run away

as if my grandfather really were a cannibal,

just because he spoke another language.

- And now you'’re in a country

whose language is not your own.

French is not your mother tongue.

- That'’s true.

But my, my grandparents were Lebanese immigrants

to them French...France is, is synonymous with civilization.

My, my mother dreamt of speaking French.

"Music to my ears," she always said.

And I studied the language.

- Be that as it may, your mother tongue is Portuguese.

- [Seriema] So?

- You can do analysis

with a Portuguese woman who lives here.

- A Portuguese? Out of the question.

Doesn'’t he know that their language isn'’t the same?

It seems to be, but it isn'’t.

Portuguese is one thing,

Brazilian Portuguese is another.

For sandwich they say, "prego,"

which means nail.

If someone sees me eating a sandwich,

they'’ll say I'm eating a nail.

"Broche" which is brooch

in Portugal means fellatio.

If I compliment her on her broach

she'’ll throw me of her office.

No, it'’s impossible.

From her point of view, I warp, I ruin the language.

She'’d say I need Portuguese lessons more than sessions.

- [Lacan] I'’m listening.

- No, not with a Portuguese.

I'’d rather not do analysis.

- Well then, come back tomorrow. At five.

[door clicking]

Seriema wants to do analysis with me.

And if not with me, with no one.

So it has to be the way she wants.

Why does she insist on doing analysis in French,

in a language that'’s not her own?

In any case, she knows what she wants and doesn'’t want.

[birds chirping]

She may not come.

She insists on doing analysis with me

and then doesn'’t show up.

I suggested a Portuguese analyst.

Could it be she feels rejected?

Not everything she says in Portuguese can be said in French

but maybe that'’s not even the problem.

Maybe it'’s the sex of the analyst.

It may be that she can'’t imagine doing analysis

with a woman.

Medical discoveries.

The heart has a gender.

The differences between the male and the female heart.

Apparently, even in the anatomy of the heart

men and women are different.

[Lacan sighs]

[birds chirping]

Could you place the call?

Hi, Edouard.

I thought about it.

I know.

My daughter wants me to go through with it.

She is very dear to me.

I'’m not going to do it.

Because that'’s my decision to make, my dear friend.

It isn'’t written anywhere that you have to have the answer

for everything,

to know everything.

I don'’t want my life to be about surviving.

Of course, of course.

Very good.

[car horns faintly honking]

5:30. Seriema isn'’t coming.

[birds chirping]

[paper rattling]

- Hi.

- Hello.

[footsteps tapping]

[footsteps tapping]

- [Gloria] He will be here soon.

- Thank you.

[birds chirping]

- [Lacan] Good morning.

I see it.

Please tell the little Brazilian woman to come in.

- I heard you tell your secretary,

"The little Brazilian woman can come in."

- Sit down.

Yes, I said little Brazilian.

In French, the diminutive is affectionate.

- It reminded me of that "little Turk" from my childhood.

I can'’t stand to be labeled, Doctor.

- [Lacan] Shit. Why did I say little Brazilian?

- My grandfather told me that in Lebanon

Christians were forced to wear a patch on their sleeve.

They could only walk on one side of the street.

Anyone walking on the other side would be arrested.

"Ishmael! To the left."

My grandfather has been called a Christian,

a Turk and a child eater.

And I am the little Brazilian woman.

I prefer to be called by my name, Seriema.

- For good reason.

What else?

Speak?

- [Seriema] I don'’t really know why I'’m in France.

- She doesn'’t know why

because she doesn'’t listen to herself.

You said that in your family

France was synonymous with civilization.

- My mother would love to be born here.

Paris. [laughs]

The Eiffel tower, the Pantheon,

Edith Piaf, "The Rights Of Man"

with Sorbonne and the real thinkers.

The City of Light.

Even the Statue of Liberty was sculpted in Paris.

But what do I have to do with my mother?

I don'’t know anyone here.

My room is tiny.

My bed is so soft, I prefer sleeping on the floor.

I grew up barefoot and here I never take off my boots.

I'’m 10,000 kilometers from home.

- It'’s true.

You left your country, your home, your family.

It was

a great dislocation

from one continent to another.

As if you were going to discover America.

- And all for a husband who only wants me

if I can bear a child.

To him, no woman is unique.

He'’s been married several times.

Any woman will do.

I don'’t want to be put on a pedestal

but I don'’t desire to be just like all the others.

- An ancestor who needed to bring a male child

into the world in order to be loved.

She ran the risk of being depreciated by giving birth.

Seriema couldn'’t identify with her

but she could have identified with some other woman

and undergone treatment to carry her pregnancy to term.

Odd.

And she always wears suits

with the same purse on her shoulder.

She doesn'’t use jewelry.

Just that strange pendant.

You said you don'’t want to be on a pedestal

and neither do you want to be like all the others.

What does that mean?

- What does it mean?

[Seriema laughs]

I don'’t know.

- [Lacan] Think about it.

200 francs.

- Why 200?

- [Lacan] For today'’s session and the other one,

the one you didn'’t show up for.

- I don'’t have 200.

I do have 200.

- Excellent.

[children faintly chattering]

[car horns faintly blaring]

Why does she say she doesn'’t have what she owes me

when she has it?

[birds chirping]

[people faintly chattering]

What are you thinking?

- With you staring at me like that, I can'’t think.

Should I say I don'’t like to be looked at that way?

That his staring bothers me.

That I don'’t want to be coveted by him.

- You'’re the age my father would be if he were still alive.

- Hm.

What is it you have around your neck?

- The glass eye?

- Yes, the eye.

Could it be a fetish?

- Fetish?

- Fetish. An object having magical powers.

- The idea never occurred to me.

After taking me for a savage, now he thinks I'’m a fetishist.

It is true that um, I, I only leave home

when I am wearing the eye,

with my body sealed.

- What?

- Sealed body means, um, protected from envy,

from the evil eye, as Maria would say.

- Maria, who is Maria?

- The black nanny who raised me.

You don'’t listen.

I'’ve already mentioned her

because she'’s the one I miss the most here.

The eye is an amulet that she gave me, a talisman.

I can'’t live without it.

- Can'’t live.

- [Seriema] No. Why do you ask?

- For you to become aware of your belief in magic.

- What?

- [Lacan] That'’s right. You believe in magic.

- I believe in Maria who raised me.

She is more than a mother.

She is my protector.

She gave me this talisman to protect me

just as she'’s protected.

Who doesn'’t need protection?

Isn'’t it enough that I'm, I'’m living in this city alone,

living without love.

- Love, that'’s what you want more than anything.

- True.

A man for whom I am unique.

- As unique as a daughter can be to her father?

- My father?

He died so long ago I'’ve lost sight of him.

- I'’ll see you next time.

- Next time.

What do you mean next time?

- Here you can speak freely.

Nothing you say will be censured.

- It never occurred to me that you could censure me,

otherwise, I wouldn'’t be here.

I thought it strange

that you called asking what time I would be at your office.

I'’ve never heard of an analyst doing that.

You must have guessed I didn'’t want to come.

- But you came.

Talk.

- I don'’t know how to say what I want

because in your language, I don'’t know the word.

- [Lacan] What word?

- "Saudade."

Without that word I am not myself.

I miss the language of Brazil.

I miss my country.

"Bonsoir" is strange

because it means good evening.

And we only say good night, because in Brazil,

night falls in the blink of an eye.

Here in Paris,

when I say a word wrong,

the person I'’m speaking to first corrects me

and only then listens to what I have to say.

And it'’s impossible not to make mistakes. [laughs]

In French, the sea

is "la mere," feminine.

In Portuguese, "o mar," masculine.

"Banco" in French is feminine,

"la banque," but no matter

how many times I go to the bank,

I always say, "le banque."

I get it wrong.

- [Lacan] Is she going to go on making a list?

Every session she talks about the language problem.

That'’s how she's able to avoid what'’s really important.

The essential.

- But the worst is what'’s happened

to our samba.

"O Samba" has turned

into "la samba."

Everything is turned around.

Tree, palm, fruit...here they'’re masculine, not feminine.

Even the sex of a ball is different.

- The masculine sex of words, the feminine sex,

sex...

Don'’t cry, my dear.

You didn'’t go to the couch.

You conquered it.

From now on, it is yours.

[Seriema sobbing]

- The couch is mine.

To say what?

That I go to bed alone every night?

That I don'’t remember anymore what sex is like?

Or rather,

I do but,

sex without love is not,

it is not the same.

At least with him-

- With whom?

- Antonio.

With him, at least I had the illusion of love.

I thought he loved me.

And my happiness was as clear as day.

- And now you think you were mistaken?

That he didn'’t love you?

- I don'’t know what I think anymore. [sniffling]

- And?

Speak.

- I remember, I remember something

my father told me shortly before he died.

Don'’t forget that I love you.

It seems like a demand.

- It is.

And you haven'’t forgotten him.

[door clicking]

Well, the face to face is over.

Seriema no longer needs to look at me.

She can lie down and listen to herself.

It'’s a victory.

People live their lives without listening to themselves.

With a tin ear.

Some even die without ever listening to themselves,

eternally deaf to their own speech, to their own body

which screams rather than talks.

A deafness that in itself is enough

to justify psychoanalysis,

if it still needs to be justified.

[dramatic music]

Come, my sister.

[door thuds] [dramatic music]

- I thought you were my father when I saw you.

- Oh.

- I dreamed about my father.

He'’s been dead for so long.

- The dream.

What was it like?

- I was in a judo center

near the house that I lived in as a child.

I was the only girl in the center

wearing white, ready to spar with a yellow belt on my waist.

- [Lacan] Yellow?

- Yes. Yellow is for beginners.

My father was sitting down,

showing me the black belt of champions.

He wanted to watch the fight.

Suddenly, the instructor comes in and demands

that my father return the black belt to him.

I, I screamed and ran out.

My father caught up with me in the street,

took me by the arm

and pulled from his pocket

another black belt, laughing loudly.

- An unbeatable father.

- He wanted me to be unbeatable.

A champion at judo, karate, Capoeira,

everything the boys in the, in the neighborhood did, I did.

My father said, "You were born to be like them.

If a boy can learn, so can you."

Whatever my father wanted, I wanted.

Studies, sports, I was, I was brought up to, to compete,

to win contests, grants.

- [Lacan] That'’s how you got here.

You came on a grant, didn'’t you?

- I won the grant

after I lost my life,

the child I had conceived.

I miscarried instead of giving birth.

It would have been better if I had been born sterile,

not have raised expectations.

- What is the relationship

between having lost the child and your story?

- [Seriema] What story?

- Your childhood, your father.

- My father is dead and buried.

- Buried doesn'’t mean forgotten.

Your dream is proof of that.

- He died after raising me to love only him.

"Don'’t forget that, that you can always count on me.

No one will ever love you the way I do."

Always, never...

- [Lacan] What else?

- When he would pick me up at school, he would ask me

if any boys had spoken to me. I would say, "No."

He would ask me this every day.

And when I would give him the same response

he would smile and then say, "What would you have done?"

I said, "I would have hit the boy."

He said, "Good for you."

He couldn'’t accept that, that I would be interested

in anyone but him.

He wanted me all for himself.

- He definitely did everything he could

to turn his daughter against men.

Half of humanity.

No wonder she'’s in analysis.

What'’s important is you've remembered the story.

- Important? Why?

- Because whoever ignores the past becomes its victim,

goes on repeating it, can'’t reinvent her life.

[door clicking]

She didn'’t want to know about her father

but he returned in her dream.

Ancestors return.

They don'’t cease to exist.

[dramatic orchestral music]

[dramatic orchestral music]

[gentle thoughtful music]

What happened?

Talk.

- What happened is I had a hallucination.

That'’s never happened to me before.

- A hallucination?

What was it?

- [Seriema] What was it?

It was-

- Speak.

[sirens faintly blaring]

- Rats.

I saw, I saw rats in the waiting room.

The other patients said that they weren'’t there

but I saw them.

I saw two.

- Two what?

- [Seriema] Two huge, black, horrible rats.

- Two rats.

- That'’s, that's strange.

- [Lacan] What?

- Uh, when you pronounced the word,

I, I realized that the ra

is the first syllable

of my father'’s name and my great-grandfather'’s.

- [Lacan] What is the name?

- Raji.

Raji is my great-grandfather'’s name.

It was to keep from being executed that he emigrated

so that his children could revere their saints,

live in peace and, and bury their dead.

He died on the ship.

And to avoid the plague, he was thrown into the sea.

His body wrapped into a shroud,

Bible verses...farewell...

- Hmm.

- [Seriema] He left Lebanon, but he never arrived in Brazil.

- He did arrive.

Otherwise you wouldn'’t be talking about him.

- [Seriema] Up until today, I'’ve never spoken of him,

just as I never said the name of my father as a child.

"What'’s your father's name?"

"Roberto...Ricardo..." never Raji.

Why should I run the risk of being called a Turk?

- What matters, my dear, is now you can say the name.

You can speak the truth.

There'’s no way to forever deny one'’s origins...

renounce one'’s ancestors.

Life depends on what we can say.

Your life has changed.

- What about the hallucination?

- [Lacan] You won'’t have it again.

- What, what, what, I-?

- The name you silenced

to hide your origins has materialized.

Materialized in the rat.

Now you can say Raji.

There'’s no cause for hallucinations.

You'’re no longer subject

to unexpected apparitions of your father.

Come back tomorrow.

It'’s horrible not being able

to be Arab, Jew, Black,

not being able to be who you are.

Nothing is worse than racism turned inward.

Seriema is cured of that.

She was cured today, here in analysis.

I'’m the one who needs analysis now

because I can'’t accept my own death.

Never again,

"Good morning, Papa."

[rain drumming] [thunder rumbling]

- I left here in bad shape.

I am paying just to suffer.

I don'’t know if I should continue.

- Why did you leave in bad shape?

- I left feeling ashamed of my father

and I remembered other embarrassing things.

- You can talk here.

You must.

I'’m here to listen.

[thunder rumbling]

- My breasts.

When they began to grow, I, I felt ashamed.

And the nipples that became hard as rock. It hurt

and meant that I had the body of a woman.

Suddenly I was no longer sexless.

- You were no longer sexless.

- Yes. I was no longer sexless.

Before that, sex didn'’t exist.

From that moment on

it was one embarrassment after another.

Pubic hair and the blood every month...menstruation, huh?

I would writhe in pain from the cramps.

And I felt disgust.

Whether I wanted it or not,

I was no longer like my father.

And to be like my mother, that was not something I wanted.

She lived for the church. [scoffs]

To her, everything was a sin.

The word freedom was meaningless.

Fortunately, it was Maria who raised me.

- You were as ashamed of your body, as of your origins.

Your body contradicted your desire to remain sexless.

- "If the boys can learn, then so can you."

I imagined I was one of them.

[laughs] Nonsense.

I only had the right to do as my father wanted.

And when I met my first boyfriend, oh,

he wouldn'’t speak to me.

He wanted to kill me.

- Really?

- If it weren'’t for Maria...

Maria gave me strength.

But my father was devastated

and I lost interest in the courtship.

I wanted to break up with the boyfriend

and in the end he broke up with me.

I didn'’t know pleasure

when I met Antonio.

He inflamed me

and I liked how I felt.

Sex was never the same again.

I put away shame.

The word sin for us was meaningless.

With him, I didn'’t know who was male or who was female.

Each of us could be one or the other.

[thunder rumbling]

If it weren'’t for the miscarriage.

Antonio told me

that I didn'’t want to have his child.

That was at the hospital,

after the hemorrhage and the operation on my uterus.

From then on, nothing went right.

I, I was cured,

but I had lost my husband.

- And you did want to have Antonio'’s child?

[rain drumming]

- I don'’t know.

I say, "I don'’t know," and you get up?

- [Lacan] True.

- You'’re going to leave me with "I don'’t know."

I can'’t stand this way of ending a session,

the sudden and brutal interruption.

- [Lacan] 100 francs.

- I didn'’t withdraw any money.

Then go and get it.

- [Seriema] I'’ll come back tomorrow.

Today, I'’m taking a break from the unconscious.

[thunder rumbling] [door clicks]

- [Lacan] A being without sex is what Seriema wanted to be

because biological sex ran counter to her fantasy.

The fantasy of being like her father.

- [Seriema] I'’m late because Antonio called me.

It was last night.

He said he needed to see me.

I simply said, "I am in Paris."

And he hung up and called me back.

He said, "If you are there, then that'’s where I'm going."

I was puzzled.

- For good reason.

- [Seriema] And now I'’m confused.

- Mm.

- [Seriema] This business of paying

every time I come here bothers me.

I don'’t understand why it is this way.

It would be better if it wasn'’t.

- For you to forget that you pay me?

That I'’m your analyst.

Unconditional love is what you want.

- [Seriema] I don'’t deny it.

It was unconditional love that I wanted from Antonio,

with or without a child.

I wanted to be loved just as I loved.

I got pregnant twice because that'’s what Antonio wanted.

- She got pregnant to satisfy her husband.

How strange.

That'’s what it means to be the object

of desire of the other.

You only wanted what Antonio wanted

just like in your childhood.

- [Seriema] I don'’t understand.

- In your childhood you only wanted what your father wanted.

You never spoke with anyone at school, any boy.

- [Seriema] True.

And later, without being aware,

I lived only to satisfy Antonio.

- Except that you got pregnant and didn'’t give birth.

Your desire to satisfy your husband wasn'’t realized.

Why?

- [Seriema] You only listen

in order to find out something else.

- [Lacan] She'’s evading again.

If she could, she'’d argue analytical theory with me

just to continue in ignorance, to not do analysis.

- You ask questions, but answers

you never give me.

Well today, I don'’t have anything to say.

I can'’t take it anymore.

May I leave?

I would like to sleep.

Last night, after the phone call,

I didn'’t get a wink of sleep.

I kept thinking about what I should do.

[birds chirping]

- See you next week.

- Next week?

- The holiday. Because of the holiday.

- Happy holiday.

- There'’s nothing sexless about her.

That'’s why she loves Antonio.

"With him, I didn'’t know who was man and who was woman.

Each of us could be one or the other."

She has a freedom that I lack.

As if bisexuality didn'’t exist.

Doctor, you have studied a lot

but you haven'’t learned as much as you should have.

[footsteps tapping]

It'’s better to lay down.

- I wasn'’t even going to come today.

- But you came.

That'’s what matters.

And you'’re here on the couch.

So lay down.

I can'’t insist on the correct position.

I can'’t take the chance

that she'’ll leave and interrupt her analysis.

- On Friday, I forgot the keys to my apartment.

Couldn'’t get into the building.

So I stood on the street

until my neighbor showed up at three o'’clock in the morning.

I got sick and spent the entire weekend in bed.

And last night, what I had, wasn'’t a dream.

It was a nightmare.

- I'’m listening.

- I'’m listening.

If I hadn'’t have spoken about my father

I wouldn'’t have had the nightmare.

I woke up so frightened that I cut myself,

hit my head on the glass door in the bathroom.

I can'’t take this analysis anymore.

- What is it you dreamed?

[birds chirping]

- I can'’t tell you.

- You can.

Here you can.

[birds chirping]

- A bubble.

I dreamed that I was in a red bubble,

sleeping on the floor.

Suddenly I heard a whistle

and a voice said, "Time to wake up now."

I wake up and I look at the floor of the floating bubble

and I stretch and get up carefully

so that I don'’t fall.

It'’s like I'm, I'’m walking on a tight rope.

And with each step, I hear the voice saying in Latin,

"Mens sana in corpore sano."

"A healthy mind in a healthy body."

Another favorite saying of my father'’s.

I look at the red and it starts to lighten

and starts to change

into a glaring brilliance.

And suddenly, he appears.

- Who appears?

- My father...

- Why are you ashamed?

- [Seriema] Because of what happens.

- Tell me.

- My father hands me a newborn

that he is holding in his arms.

And he says,

"Take him."”

"“Take our son."

"Our son"...that'’s, that's incest.

The child of, of insanity of, of my father'’s,

my father'’s jealousy and my own submission.

Mens sana in corpore sano.

I wake as if I'’m, I'm leaving hell.

Incest is a crime.

It'’s a depraved act.

I, I, I, I'’m afraid.

I'’m afraid I'm going crazy.

- Stay calm, stay calm.

The fantasy of incest isn'’t incest.

No one goes crazy by wanting to.

- Hmm.

- [Lacan] It'’s true.

An incest fantasy isn'’t innocuous.

- I don'’t understand what you mean.

- If not for the incest fantasy, you wouldn'’t be here.

You wouldn'’t have sought treatment.

You could'’ve had Antonio's child

but the father of your child, to you, isn'’t Antonio.

- Now I understand what you mean less.

- The father of your child, in your fantasy,

was not Antonio

but your father.

The unconscious exists.

We are all subject to it.

Come. You are no longer unaware of what you needed to know.

Come, Seriema.

"My desire will be yours."

A father who enslaved his daughter...

kept her from even imagining a father

for her own child and thus made motherhood impossible.

The unconscious exists.

And it isn'’t the little lamb of a good shepherd,

but Seriema has taken a giant step and broken the shackles.

She'’s no longer the slave of repetition.

Half an hour late?

One step forward, one step back.

- Oh my God!

- Is there anything wrong?

- I lost my pendant yesterday.

Have you found it?

- Sorry. I didn'’t.

- [Seriema] Then I have to go.

- But the doctor is waiting for you.

- But.

Has anyone found my fetish?

Great.

[footsteps thudding]

I'’m in no condition to do the session.

And I don'’t even know if I'’m staying in France.

- Why?

- I lost my eye.

- What?

- [Seriema] Coming out of the telephone booth.

- Did you hurt yourself again?

You lost an eye?

- No, the glass eye, my pendant, my protector.

- How did it happen?

- [Seriema] In the booth.

- Where?

- In the booth where I hack the telephone.

- You "hack" it?

- Yes, to talk to Brazil.

All Brazilians in Paris do it.

- How was it you lost the fetish, the protector?

- I don'’t know. I only know that nothing else matters to me.

- Go back to the booth.

Look for the eye.

If you don'’t find it, call Brazil,

order another one right away.

[door thudding]

[footsteps tapping]

Without the pendant, Seriema won'’t stay.

And I'’m here in order that she'’ll stay.

Look for it, make a phone call, send a telegram,

anything for her to continue analysis till the end.

If it'’s necessary for me to act like a guru,

I'’ll become a guru.

The analyst is an actor

who pretends not to be acting.

He can take on any role.

Just because I'’m French doesn'’t mean I'm not Brazilian.

Even without believing in magic.

- I had a dream last night

that you were dead and in a coffin.

Every once in a while, you would get up

and console the people who were there saying your goodbyes

as if you were a fantasy.

- [laughs] Fantasy.

In what way?

- No, I made a mistake.

I meant to say a phantom, as if you were a phantom,

but I misspoke.

In French, I get confused.

The two languages are so similar and yet so different.

I even think you were dead because-

- Because of what?

- Because if you died,

then I could go back to Brazil. [laughs]

Here, I stumble over words, stumble and fall.

As if the words were stones in the road.

- Stones in the road...

- They are only good for me to communicate. [huffs]

"How much does this cost?"

"Please pass the bread."

They don'’t take me back to anything.

They are opaque.

They are like things.

- What?

- They are opaque.

They don'’t lead me back.

- What about the other words?

The ones in Portuguese?

- I was born and brought up with them.

They have more than one meaning for me.

They take me back to other times, other places.

With them, I can play and find joy.

I feel safe in my language.

I'’ve had enough of living without sunshine.

The French say that the sun shines for everyone,

but here I never see the sun.

Antonio now calls me every day.

He'’s the man I love.

The man I want to have a child with.

- Then you'’ve chosen the father, Antonio.

- I'’ve chosen.

- Now, she'’ll leave.

- I want his child, our child.

A child born there speaking my language.

- What else?

[Seriema laughing]

- You'’re not interested in what I say

but only in what is left unsaid.

- That'’s true.

See you tomorrow.

What interests an analyst is not the part

that'’s left unsaid.

The fact is that a child is now within Seriema'’s reach.

Now she can give life because she can choose the father.

She has stopped being against herself.

Analysis is over.

No, analysis will only be over when Seriema understands

why she chose an analyst whose languages isn'’t her own

since, for her, language is fundamental.

- Hm.

It isn'’t easy to say.

- Hm.

- It'’s time for me to go home.

[birds chirping]

I don'’t want to stay here forever.

And I have nothing more to say.

- I think you do.

- Maybe now you can tell me

why you did analysis in a language that'’s not your own.

- [sighs] I don'’t know.

[birds chirping]

Maybe it was-

- Yes?

Yes?

- Maybe it was to not say everything.

- How so?

- My father always said

that he was the only person I could tell everything.

It was to do as my father wanted that I chose you.

In order to not say everything,

I chose an analyst who didn'’t know my language.

So as to not reveal myself.

Unbelievable! How strange!

- No, my dear.

It was an unconscious act.

- Choosing my analyst to obey my father?

- The unconscious acts and speaks for us.

No one can be held responsible

for what he does without being conscious of it.

- What madness! [laughs]

- Madness...that was the condition of your analysis.

Now you'’re free.

Free of your father'’s desire.

- Free of my father'’s desire?

- Yes. Now you can follow your own path.

- Is it over?

- Like it or not.

Of course, you can'’t gain your freedom

from your father just to be chained to the analyst.

- Analysis is over then. Brazil...

Antonio is waiting for me.

- Adieu...

- Adieu.

[bright upbeat music]

Unconsciously, I had obeyed my father

who didn'’t relegate me to a tower

but wanted me to have eyes only for him.

His little girl who should never display herself

before others or even in analysis,

talk about sex and orgasm.

This is where I had to arrive to put Raji behind me

and unbind myself from the doctor.

To say adieu to the great man and his city.

[bright triumphant music]

[gentle music]