All language subtitles for Where.to.Land.2025.Hal.Hartley.WEB-DL.1080p_track3_[und]

I'll get out here.
Thanks.

Can I help you find somebody?
- No, thank you.

Are you Leonard?

I'm looking for work.

Here in the graveyard?
- I live nearby.

The superintendent
of my building is Oliver.

Oliver!

Rodriguez.

He hasn't been arrested yet?
- Not yet.

He said I should come by
and talk to you.

You are Leonard, right?
- I am.

So...

What, you hard up for cash?
- No.

Sorry, you seem a bit
overdressed for this line of work.

Oh, yeah.

I have an appointment
with my lawyer later on.

Mixed up in bad business?

It's just about
my last will and testament.

So you're dying.

No, it's just something
you do at some point in life.

I guess.

So you don't have a will?

Oh, sure.

I keep it right here.

If I'm dead,
call the following number.

Please make sure my face is clean
and my mouth and eyes are shut.

Done.

That's my last will and testament.

Here, hold that.

So is it true?
Do you need help over here?

Yeah, but church runs this place.
They can only afford one man.

I don't need to get paid.

Is this some kind
of charitable impulse?

No, I don't think so.

Got to watch out
for charitable impulses.

They could be a mask for vanity.

I suppose.

And complacency.
- No doubt.

So why do you want
to work in the bone yard?

I just need something to do.

Are you a recovering drug addict?
An alcoholic?

Is there a substance abuse issue?

No, I'm sort of semi-retired.

I have time on my hands.
I'd like to work outdoors.

You're having yourself
a midlife crisis, son.

Maybe.

What did you do before this?

I directed movies.

Really?
What kind?

Romantic comedies.

Romantic comedies?

Yeah, mostly.

Of course, I ain't the one
who does the hiring.

The church up there
owns and runs the cemetery.

A woman named Alice.

She's up there in the afternoon.
I'll tell her you're coming.

What's your name?
- Joe.

Joseph Fulton.

I have raked leaves.
I've mowed lawns.

There's more to this than
raking leaves and mowing lawns.

This is all out husbandry.

Husbandry.

The care, cultivation and
management of natural resources.

You see these trees,
these hedges, this grass?

Let it get out of control,

pretty soon you got nothing more
than a small patch of wilderness,

a wasteland, an abandoned garden.

The surest sign
of a bankrupt civilization.

Understood.

The real work around here,
day in day out,

is clearing fallen branches
and undergrowth choking young trees.

Then there's the regular mowing
and trimming and raking, of course.

But the real hassle
are these plastic bags.

How do you deal with that?

There's often collateral damage.

Someone's windshield or whatnot.

And you have
to choose the right stone.

One with wide flat surfaces.

So it doesn't tear a hole
in the offending plastic bag

but catches it,

gains some purchase on it
and brings it down.

And look, the thing to keep in mind
is what every farmer knows:

no matter how often
you cut the grass

it's going to need
to be cut again.

Same with the leaves

and these fucking plastic bags.

A last will and testament
is a legal document

designating
individuals or charities

to receive your possessions
when you pass away.

These individuals or charities
are called beneficiaries.

Okay, so far so good.

Also, a last will allows you

to name a guardian
to care for your underage children.

I have no children.
- That you know of.

What are you trying to say?

Only that one needs to be careful.

You weren't always the quiet
and unassuming elder statesman

of American romantic comedy, kiddo.

I seem to recall
a lot of broken hearts.

I just want to be sure of
no skeletons in the closet,

no disgruntled scions
loitering in the halls of justice.

Why even make stories up at all?

Life itself is so rife
with contention!

Tell me about it. There'd be nothing
for us lawyers to do.

Listen, the main point of a will
is to ensure your wishes,

not the default laws of the state,
will be followed upon your death.

How do we begin?

The paperwork is pretty standard.
I can get started with that.

You need to go home,
list your possessions and property

and the individuals or charities
to leave them to.

Still married?
- No.

Formally divorced?

I paid the state what they were owed
and I have a receipt.

How is she?
- Clara?

Your wife.
- My ex-wife.

I so liked her.
How could you blow that?

We were young.

We were in love.

We changed.

You're still dating the superhero?

Muriel, yes.
- What are her expectations?

Her expectations of what?

I know Muriel Hoffman is a very
famous and wealthy television star,

but it's not all about money.

Most important
are the rights to your movies.

The intellectual property.

And these rights can be left
to designated beneficiaries.

Clara, Muriel?
Both? Neither?

All or just some?
None at all.

The potential for scandal
and heartbreak is endless.

Wow. Is that all this comes down to?

I'm afraid so.

Somewhere along the line,
you generated a list of assets

that people might
want to fight over later.

Here's a list of things to address.

Go home. Think about it.

Hey Joe.

Hey Anna.
A double espresso, please.

Okay. Season two, episode one.
They're back together again.

Really?
- It's just an idea.

I think the network
wants something more bleak.

Less comforting?
- Yeah, darker.

It's still
a half-hour comedy, right?

Yeah, sure, just, they're not
into likeable characters.

We've got to skew towards
recognizably selfish,

unreliable types.
It's more realistic.

More natural.
- Don't mix things up.

Right.

Have you heard
of the second law of thermodynamics?

Vaguely.

All energy is in the process
of burning itself out.

Heat is the dying of energy.

You can create a third energy
by destroying two others.

It's the same with relationships.

Two people come together
to form this passion, love, trust,

polyamorous transgender
confusion, whatever.

But in so doing,
they destroy one another.

But this mutual destruction
yields a new energy.

The story!

More specifically: season two.

Yeah, that's how it is.
People destroy one another.

It's really just physics.
- Got it.

Oh, wow.
- What?

Is that... It is.

That's Muriel Hoffman!

This is just something
an adult is supposed to do.

Make a will.

My lawyers have been telling me
to do it for 25 years.

But why now?

If not now, when?
I have the time.

You know something, don't you?
- No.

I'm a perfectly healthy
fifty-eight-year-old guy.

Frank Zappa died at fifty-two.

Really?
- And Brecht at fifty-eight.

Don't remind me.
- Dickens...

London was an unhealthy,
smog-laden place in the 1860s.

Moliere!

That was the 17th century.
He was an old man by then.

What about me?

I don't want to assume anything
but are you okay?

Am I okay?

How can you ask me that?
No, I am not okay.

The man I love
is busy making his last will...

Anything for you, Miss Hoffman?
- Yes, thank you. Tea. Earl Grey.

What's really troubling you?

Is there a future for us?

I hope so.

I need an anchor.

If that's Muriel Hoffman,
that guy's got to be...

What's his name?

I know him.
- He made that film.

About the guy.
- The girl he loves.

Works in a factory.
- Hand grenade.

Really?
- I think so. Maybe not.

Whatever. Yeah! Look!

Joe Fulton.

He's won awards and shit,
apparently.

That's Joseph Fulton!

Lucky bastard.
He's too old for her.

There's no justice
in this world, Mick.

Come on.
We need to talk.

I have a photo shoot.
There's a car waiting.

Will I see you later?
- Come to the apartment.

Okay.

Are you staying?

I have an interview in ten minutes.
Somebody writing a book.

Don't exhaust yourself.
- Muriel, I'm fine.

You're pale.
- Am I?

Preoccupied, distant...

Enough, please.
I love you.

Are you kidding me?
- My mom raised me alone.

I never knew who my father was.
She never told me.

But when she drank too much,

she'd get sentimental and go on
about having had this big affair,

with this film director
named Joe Fulton.

In New York?

Yeah, she was an actress
back in the day.

It's got to be him, man.

Fuck.

Why so down?
Go talk to him.

He might be loaded,
you might get an inheritance.

Is he worth anything?

He has a long resume.
He's dating Muriel Hoffman.

See the last episode of Allura?
- Genius!

When the guy...
- Tries to kill her with the thing.

At last minute...
- In the outfit from season 3.

She's awesome.

I wrote that series for her.
- About the nun?

With psychic powers.
- The convent?

Where they make beer.
- And shelter illegals

from capitalist aggression?

I could tone down the controversy.

No, no.
Controversy can be useful.

But anyway, wow!
She'd be perfect.

Right?

Now she's like your aunt.

Keith, don't mess with me!

Come on, you've got
direct access to Muriel Hoffman

because she's like
your dad's main squeeze.

You really think he's my dad?
- It's worth asking.

I'm writing a book about your films.

I'd like to invite you
to a series of interviews.

These will amplify the issues
and points I make in the text.

I don't think so, but thank you.

Thanks for wanting
to write about my films.

It would really
make the book special.

But it's your book about my films.
You don't need my permission.

I wouldn't want my contribution
to seem to endorse your ideas.

Your ideas about my films
are your ideas.

Good luck.

But there are many
other books about your films.

To interest the publisher,
I need to make this one different.

Yes, I understand.

But have no sympathy?

Look, it's tough all over.

Like I said, I thank you
for being interested in my work.

I appreciate your frankness
about the situation.

But I can't help you out there.

Yes, you make
great use of frankness.

As a technique
of ironic comment in the films.

Do I?
- I explain it in a footnote

to chapter four, section three.

It's ironical, satirical.

Your films demonstrate

a sinister dexterity
in relation to the audience.

The comic attitudes

deal in double meanings
and insinuation.

It's a long footnote.

A glass of red wine, please.

Thank you.

Okay, Mom.
No problem.

I'll see you in a few weeks.

Yeah. Bye.

What’d she say?
Is Joe Fulton your dad?

She doesn't remember.

She doesn't remember?

She dated Joe Fulton
a number of times.

But there was also an actor
from a commercial.

And a teenager who worked on a boat
owned by a big record executive.

But she's pretty sure
it's not the executive.

So that leaves the teenager,
the actor or Fulton.

Fulton?

Joe Fulton?

Yeah, why?
You know him?

He applied for a job
over there today.

Leonard here works in the graveyard.

Graveyard?

No, it can't be the same guy.

Nicely dressed, late fifties,
educated somewhat.

But it's been a while
since he's handled a rake.

Why would he apply
for a job in a cemetery?

Well, he ain't doing it
for the money.

That's suspicious.
- Nor for charity.

So he's like doing it
for his health?

Maybe.

Mighty suspicious.

I think it's a spiritual thing.

You mean...

You mean like a man...

Like a man at the end of his life.

Keith, shut up.

Trust me, I've seen
stuff like this on YouTube.

People near the end of their lives
seek closeness to nature!

I saw that one.
16,000 views.

He's dying, I'm sure.
We got to make a move.

He's still over there?
- He's with that professor woman.

Maybe you just
gotta go ask him yourself.

If he's dying?

If you're his son.

I don't look
nothing like him anyway.

Its comedy lies
in showing what's obvious

to any thinking person.

Thoughtful people laugh.

It's a shock to be reminded
how the obvious is avoided daily.

Unthoughtful people
are a little unsettled.

Not sure if they understand,
perhaps even threatened.

But being uncertain
is the beginning of thinking.

The films are, if I may say so,

sincere propaganda
against ignorance

rather than ironic commentary
about devious intelligence.

Interesting.

Finally, Mister Fulton...

Thank you!

Finally, I think I agree with you.

You have no strong or compelling
notions about your own work.

And I mean that in terms
of hermeneutics

in a positive way.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

So you don't need to interview me?

I'm afraid not, sorry.

No harm done.

I got to go.
Good luck with your book.

Hola Octavio.

Joe, where will it end!
Tell me, please.

You've got to stop
watching the news.

It's no good for you.

You tell him, Joe.
He's addicted.

One needs to know
what's going on in the world.

What difference will it make?
What are you going to do about it?

Do you think these terrorists
and politicians will ask you:

'Octavio, what's your opinion
about all this stuff?'

What's this?
- Extra Ultra Lights. New.

Only 62 calories per bottle.

Any good?

My wife, she says
nothing else, no more for me.

The end of the world.
Nine dollars.

Affordable!
I'll try it out.

Watching your figure now?
- Somebody has to, Alejandra.

You have a pretty girlfriend.
You should work hard to deserve her.

No sympathy here, Señor.

None?
- Okay, maybe just a little.

Okay.

One table.

Thirty-four by seventy-eight inches.

Wood.

Come in.

Hey, Oliver.

Joe, you got hot water?
- I did this morning.

No, nothing.

Those slobs got to face facts
and get a new boiler.

This can't keep happening.

What's this?
- Extra Ultra Light.

Only 62 calories per bottle.

It's the new thing.
- Beer-flavored water.

Have one.
- Thanks.

Can you sign my petition?
I'm running for city council.

For real this time?
- For this district.

As an anarchist?
- At least strongly socialist.

I'll see what I can get away with.
We have to stop the gentrification.

My mom and her sisters will be
out on the street next Christmas.

This ain't half bad.
- Property.

It's all about property, man.

"Ownership is bondage."

Who said that first?

Proudhon, I think.
French, mid-nineteenth century.

Anarchist?
- The original.

How do you spell that?

Proudhon.

There's some of his stuff
on the shelves.

Where's he at?

On the right somewhere,
in the middle.

Six dinner plates.

Four smaller plates.

Two soup bowls.

Where did this silverware
come from?

Wow, this shit is real.

How do we acquire so much stuff?

What stuff?

You got nothing but books
and tools to make a living.

I do own the place.
- But you live here.

Not like these rinky-dink
would-be real-estate tycoons

who buy apartments
to let them out short-term,

then charge enough
to escape rent control.

I spent my life
since the age of thirty

trying not to be possessive.

Why?
- The love of a girl, mostly.

Her beauty, companionship, etc.

I made myself sick for a year
because I couldn't possess her.

I wanted her undying devotion,
to tell the world she was mine.

Your emotional life
was corrupted by the profit motive.

Could be.
- How'd you get over it?

I met another girl

whose expectations I took
advantage of myself.

I hurt her feelings badly
and I realized

I'd done to her what
this other girl had done to me.

Laissez-faire capitalism
of the soul.

Every man for himself! Dude,
you're lucky you survived.

Here. Sign there.

I live with it still, that sin.

She got me that clock
on a trip to Amsterdam.

Having a conscience is fine,
but don't get masochistic.

It's a good clock.

Put your shoulder to the wheel.
Labor with gratitude.

That is the whole of the law.

I'll see you later.

Uncle Joe.
I'm here.

Are you decent?

There you are.

You're early.

Afternoon class was canceled.

So what is this Oliver's saying?

You're retiring?

If only I were allowed.

You are not allowed.
I insist.

Listen to this, I found it today.

To be happy,
learn how to do something.

See, I told you so.

You did?
- One way or another, always.

Last thing you learned to do?

How to remove
plastic bags from a tree.

I thought it would
involve your phone.

I still can't turn it on and off.

What's the subject of your essay?

Do we learn more from our mistakes
or from our successful actions?

What do you think?

Successful action. We learn
more from success than failure.

That may be true,
but it's not the question.

Failure is not mentioned
but mistakes are.

Are mistakes not failures?

Okay, that's interesting.

But I've got an appointment
at the church.

Work on it.
We'll continue on Friday.

The church?
Are you getting married?

No, it's about the cemetery.

The offices of Mr. Fulton.
How may I direct your call?

Who's this?

Who may I say is calling?

Muriel.

Hi Muriel.
It's Veronica, Joe's niece.

Hello, Veronica.

For a minute, I thought
Joe had another woman in his life

and was taking terrible
advantage of my affections.

Not at all. It's just me.

Is he there?

No, he's gone
to a meeting at the church.

The church?
- Something about the cemetery.

I knew it.
- Excuse me?

He hasn't said anything to you,
to your family?

About what?
- His health.

No. Is there something
we should know?

Veronica, are you seated?

No, wait. Hold on.

Okay, I'm seated.

Your uncle is having his last will
and testament drawn up.

It's true. Though he pretends
it's just a formality.

And now he's gone to the church.

To discuss the cemetery.

Which means...
- A burial plot.

His final resting place.

Veronica, I have to go.

We must talk more.
Come to me.

So why do you want
to do this kind of work?

I want to do something
useful and perennial.

Perennial?

Yes, some service or labor

that is constantly
and forever required.

Continually recurring.

I know what perennial means,
thank you.

Aren't you overqualified
for this position?

As assistant groundskeeper?
- Yes.

No. In fact,
I think my 30-year career

as a writer, director
and producer of motion pictures

qualifies me perfectly to be
an assistant groundskeeper.

Well, I'm in no position to know.

But are you religiously observant?

No.

But I've been called
spiritually curious.

By whom?
- Le Monde.

Le Monde?
- French newspaper.

I see.

Are you?

Am I what?
- Religiously observant.

I'm observant.

I wonder more and more
if I'm religious.

I'm comforted by the routine,

the ceremony, the arcane gestures,

the very uselessness of them.

It stops time somehow.

It lets me breathe.

But I tend to lose interest
when I listen to the liturgy.

The spell gets broken.

So I attend high mass
in Latin on Sunday morning.

I don't know Latin.

So it all remains mumbo jumbo,
as my husband says.

But it remains beautiful.

Because of its unintelligibility

and practical uselessness.

Still, I feel a peace within me

and around me at those times.

Well, I'll submit your application
at today's council meeting.

I will let you know our decision.

Thank you.

Miss Fulton.

Hi, Mr. Webster.

Is everything okay?
You look concerned.

It's about my uncle.

I was surprised
to see him leave church.

Yes.

He had a meeting there
to discuss the cemetery.

The cemetery?

And there's a letter
from the hospital.

Good God.

He's such a stoic.

Miss Hoffman,

can we expect a 14th season
of The Invincible Allura?

I don't know.

But it is hugely popular.

One of the most successful
television series in history.

Yes, and I'm grateful.

But I might want to do other things.

Why?
- Being a female superhero

with an adoring worldwide fan base
can take up a lot of space.

Space?

In my life.

You've famously said
your work was your life.

Yes, yes, I know.
But...

Maybe there's a time when one's life
must become one's work.

I don't know.

What other things would you do?

It's been a long time
since I've played someone

without the strength of 100 men,

without the sex appeal
of a fashion model

and the mental capacity
of a mobile device.

So it would be interesting

to play a regular human being.

With problems, of course.

Like a mom.

Like a single mom.

Like a single mom
with a drinking problem.

Like a single mom
with a drinking problem and...

a certain talent for,
say, solving crime.

You know,
something normal like that.

Excuse me...
- Or maybe,

Yes?
- I could be a woman.

A woman who loves a man.
A man whose life she shares.

And whose life
he too shares in return.

A couple, so to speak.

Moving through life together
side by side.

Arguing, of course.
Struggling.

But with the knowledge
that they are inseparable,

bound to each other
by things larger and more intimate

than their differences.

Marriage?
- Perhaps.

But more dynamic, more fluid.

There would be tragedy, of course.
Missed opportunities.

Moral complexities
too unexpected to reconcile

without a collapse

into profound solitude
and introspection.

But funny too!

Muriel, the photographer's here.
And your guest.

Veronica!

Who is it?

Elizabeth, you look great.

What?

I said you look very good
for someone

who is one hundred years old.

Admit it, you expected me
on my deathbed.

Don't flirt with me.
I know how you are with the ladies.

I brought you a cigar.

You're a good one, Joe.

I'm not allowed
to smoke them anymore.

I figured as much.

But I like having them around.
Sit down.

I may need a character reference.

You?

Who is questioning your character?

The church near me.

I want to work there
as an assistant groundskeeper.

Interesting.

I think so.

Tell me about yesterday's
UN climate report.

What do you know?

It's bad.
We've got about 20 years

before we're streetfighting
for clean water.

Inland will become desert.

Mass migration.
The breakdown of civil institutions.

The works.

Boy, I wish I could
be around to see that

but I probably won't.

It won't be pretty.

I was kind of hoping
I'd be dead and gone myself

before it got that bad.

Now it looks like
I'll be an eighty-year-old

tagging along with the young folk,
hoping to be useful somehow.

Why wish to hang around

to see society
devolve into barbarism?

Change is always interesting.

And there will be
a reaction to barbarism too.

I wonder what it will be like,
this time.

I made some of my best friends
as a teenager in Europe

fighting the fascists.

And 25 years later I got arrested
with a bunch of students

here at Columbia University.

Still fighting fascism in a way.
But differently.

The brutality was less overt.

Unless, of course,
you happened to be a black person.

What was I saying?

Change.

Yes.

And it's always technological.

How so?

Our technology evolves.

Not our ethical or moral selves.

All things considered,
there's not much difference

between the ancient
Babylonians and us.

Our ethics adapt to our technology.

As the Swiss philosopher said...
- Rousseau?

The other one, 20th century.
No matter.

"Who needs a plastic cup?
Who needs an atomic bomb?"

Say what you will.

How you answer these questions
says a lot about yourself

and your expectations of others.

I'm sorry, Joe,
I should know this,

do you have children?

No, I have nieces and nephews.

Are you saddened by what you think
they'll have to face?

Yes.

Is that why you want
to work at the graveyard?

Somehow.

"Self-Emptying
and World Maintenance."

Someone gave it to me
years ago. A rabbi.

Maybe it's got
something to do with it.

World maintenance, yes.

Being merely useful,
sustainable, is not enough.

It misses the point somehow.

I don't want to merely exist.
I want to...

Yes, change.

I met a fascinating person earlier.
Alice, she works at the church.

She used a lovely phrase:
'Practical uselessness.'

That's the self-emptying part.

How do you mean?

We've got to be practical.
Of course.

We must do
what we need to, to live.

Where is my cigar?

In your hand.

But the notion that all we do
must amount to something else,

something more valuable,
something transferable,

something profitably
disposable, that, in fact,

it should accumulate capital.

This is the opposite
of self-emptying.

This is to think of oneself
and one's work

as tradable material goods.

But a lot of us suspect
we are more than material.

That we are in fact
ephemeral, passing,

fundamentally immaterial.

And it is in this
practical uselessness,

this engagement with reality,

without the imperative
to gain thereby,

that we really do engage with life.

And burn like the flame
of a candle and so on.

Okay.

And the rest,
as someone once said,

is just plumbing.

Now, how do I say that
to my twenty-year-old niece

and be understood?

You still worry
about being understood?

Maybe not.

Sometimes.

You outgrow it.

Enjoy their ingenuity,
the young.

Encourage them.
But stay out of their way.

Bad times are coming, yes.

But good things do get done.

We are on the outside.

Those of us without children.

And it's a choice,
I'm sure, somehow,

to resist too much involvement,
too much dedication to individuals.

So we can see
more clearly, perhaps,

so we can remain uncompromised.

I worked for twenty years
in a dry cleaners'

while I was writing
my first book.

Starched shirts and pressed slacks

may seem a long way
from self-emptying

and world maintenance,
but it helped.

Are you still dating the superhero?

Elizabeth!

When did you see him last?
- Today. An hour ago.

And you didn't think
he looked wistful?

Wistful?
- Melancholy?

Melancholia is his thing.
He's made a career out of it.

He always says so.

Of course.

But he's been pensive recently.

Like a man...

Like a man paralyzed
by the fleetingness of life.

Struck dumb by an awareness
of his final absence,

his inevitable passing.

He talks about the terrible beauty
of nature's disregard for the human.

Exactly!

Hold that! Perfect!

This heartbreaking preoccupation

with the meaninglessness
of human endeavor.

He wrote something the other day

about the grandeur of organic
life's patience and fortitude.

I'm not sure I get it,

but I love hearing him
go on about it.

Exactly, facing death,

finally, Joe sees life

in all its terrifying immensity
and beautiful detail.

Wow.

How am I going to tell my parents?

We must all be brave.

But first,
we must get him to admit it.

Admit what?
- Well, that he's...

At least he has to open this letter
and tell us what's going on.

I've never lost anyone before.
No one close.

Loss enriches one, Veronica.

It's sad, but true.

Come on.
We must go to him now.

Is your phone not working?

No, it's here.

You have to turn it on.

Oh wow, okay.

How is Elizabeth?
- Well.

What did you need
to discuss with me?

What do you
expect from me after I die?

What's wrong? What do you mean?

I'm fine.
Laura's drawing up my will.

I need to decide
what to leave to whom.

It's called estate planning.

Nothing, you have no obligations.

We're divorced.
I'm with someone else.

You're still my best friend.

What about Muriel?
- She's everything else.

What does she expect?

It's hard to tell.

She thinks much faster than I do.
I think she wants to get married.

Really?

She asks if there's a future for us.
She says, she needs an anchor.

Do it.
- Really?

Don't you need an anchor?

Maybe.

But maybe not one outside myself.

Your opportunities
are not limitless.

You're almost sixty.

Muriel is smart, hardworking.

She's talented, rich, and famous.

She's very pretty.
And you do like them pretty.

She's age appropriate, barely.

She once famously said
her work is her life.

Just like you,
twenty years ago.

Yeah.

I'm sorry.

I neglected you.

I should have known better.

I was infatuated with your activity,

your achievements,
your reputation.

I only really came
to know and love you much later.

Once I no longer depended on you.

What is this about you
getting a job in a graveyard?

I want to work outdoors,
with my hands, around nature.

I want to be physically tired
when I get home in the evening.

No more romantic comedies?

The world does need
romance and comedies.

And you are not bad at those.

Sure, if a project comes along.

Anyway, I'm not as in demand
as I once was.

Still, I feel like
I'm supposed to be working at...

Working toward something else.

Like what?

Peace, quiet and reconciliation.

See, that's what happens

when you let lawyers
talk you into making up wills!

You get all philosophical
and otherworldly.

It's not otherworldly, though.

I just want to know
where to land in this world.

You land wherever you are.

On your feet.

Wherever you find yourself.

Well, right now,
I find myself in a place

where I'm interested in husbandry.

Right. So marry Muriel.

No, 'husbandry'.
Listen, I wrote it down.

Husbandry:

The care, cultivation
and management of natural resources.

Such as?

Trees, hedges, grass and so on.

In a cemetery?

It's close by.
I don't want to leave the city.

You're hopeless.

Where did all that silverware
in my kitchen drawer come from?

From your father,
when we got married.

Why didn't you take it?

I was changing my life.
Taking charge.

Shedding my past.
No time for fine silverware.

It's wasted on me.
- You don't need forks and knives?

There's enough for,
like, eight people.

Yeah: company!

I want this one.
If we're still friends when you die.

Hey, Clara.

How'd you get in here?
- The door was open.

Play something nice
for a change, Eric.

Something peaceful,
quiet and reconciling.

Here it is.

Black Les Paul to Eric.
- You got a case for this, right?

Yes, I'll write it down
to avoid heartbreak or scandal.

How long are you planning
on sticking around?

My dad lived to be ninety,
for 32 years after he retired.

So he retired when he was our age.

After 30 years as a skilled
union worker with a pension.

Jesus, that's a whole second life.

It's exciting to think
a man our age,

might turn and step away
from his career,

his accomplishments,
his professional reputation,

and set his sights
on other things at our age.

Don't listen to him.

Have you done your will?
- No. I should get on it, though.

You'll leave everything
to your wife and daughter?

Everything?
- Something.

There's not much.

The house.
- And its mortgage.

Savings?
- My daughter wants graduate school.

So another student loan
is on the horizon.

What's she want to study?

Post-Feminist Critical Theory
and Gender Studies.

A degree which will
secure her a job

as a cashier in a supermarket.

Come on in.

Hey, Tom.
- Heard the news, had to come over.

What news?
- Hi, Eric.

You know Clara, right?

I'm afraid not.
- The ex-wife.

I live across the hall.
- Nice to meet you.

This all needs to be soaked
in hot water and polished.

I understand that you're preparing.

That you are...

I'm sorry.

That you are preparing for the...

The end.

Who have you been talking to?

I met your niece on the street.

Yeah?
And what did she say?

The will. The cemetery.

I myself saw you in church.

Your ex-wife is absconding
with the silverware, for God's sake!

Tom, look, I'm perfectly fine.

You're very brave about all this.

I'm just making my will.
It's called 'estate planning'.

If something happens to me

someone's got to know
what to do with all this stuff.

So you're not dying?
- No.

What were you doing at church?
- Applying for a job.

Still, this lets you
examine your soul

and make peace with God.

I don't believe in God.

Don't allow yourself to get
tripped up by mere terminology.

There's an underlying ground
to all existence and you know it.

I do?
- You made films about it.

You should talk to the woman
who's writing about him.

I'm sure she'd agree.
- I don't think so.

She's convinced
his entire body of work

is a demonstration of the bad faith
typical of human relationships.

But she thinks that's a good thing.

Tom, could you use my library?

What would I do with all of this?

My eyesight, you see…

I can hardly see my hand
before my face anymore.

This ain't half bad.

It's open.

Hey Eric.
Tom, you got hot water?

Not since yesterday.
- Shit.

So what's this I hear,
you're dying?

This is really getting out of hand.

Anyway, many of your
characters are religious.

Or they are struggling with religion
as a way to make sense of things.

Which may show
his ambivalence toward belief.

Or a dissatisfaction
with religious emotionalism.

Hi, this is Joe.
- Mr. Fulton?

Yes.

Mr. Fulton,
I think I'm your son.

What?

My friend Keith
thinks I might be your son.

What's up?
- Some punk claiming to be my son.

You got kids?
- No.

Don't call this number again.
I do not have a son.

Tom, sign my petition.

See, word gets around you're dying.
- I am not dying.

Whatever. They'll all come out
hoping for a part of the legacy.

That's how the unseen hand
of a liberal economy operates.

We're standing in Joe's legacy.
How big is this joint anyway?

The B line is 435 square feet
depending on the hallway variance.

Eric, come on.
Sign my petition.

Laura, I just got a crank call
from some kid claiming to be my son.

See, this is what I'm talking about.
I'll be right over.

I also have to state
what I want done for my funeral

and how to pay for it.

You have to pay for that too.

A capitalist scam to keep you
in debt even after you're dead!

What does that even cost?

Standard casket and wake
type thing is about 10,000.

At least.
- It's open.

Well, I'm getting cremated.

They'll charge you for that too.
- They get you coming and going.

Mr. Fulton, I really think
I might be your son.

Oh, man!

You're Mick's biological dad,
admit it!

Go sit down.

Is that him?
- That who?

The pretender, the plaintiff,
your unknown son?

That's him over there.

I just need an introduction
to Muriel Hoffman.

Is this blackmail?

What?
No, I just...

Settle down, have a beer.

It's not so bad, right?
- Who's your mom?

Joe, I'll handle this.
Who's your mom?

Marta.
- Marta who?

The film in Stockholm,
the moped girl.

With the tattoo?
- Right shoulder.

Pirate type chick thing,
quite explicit.

Exactly.

She gave me that clock.
- That's your mom?

Hey lady,
everyone's young once.

Last name?
- Bjorkman.

Recently Chinowski,
though she's since divorced.

We can settle this with a DNA test.
Though it will cost money.

Listen, you talk to her?

My mom?
- Yeah. What did she say?

She thinks it's unlikely.
- But still!

Man, you had intimate relations
with the guy's mom.

Who is consensual.
- So what?

It was before
he was even born.

Still, you owe him something.
- What do I owe him?

I'm okay, actually.
- Mick, shut up.

What do I owe him?
- Introduce him to your girlfriend

so she'll read the miniseries
he's written for her!

Is that all?
- It would be awesome.

What do you think, Laura?
- Old-fashioned extortion?

I'm all for it.

Less expensive than litigation
or the DNA option.

Laura!
- Clara.

So you guys
are named Mick and Keith?

Yeah, so?

Like the Stones.

The who?

No, the...

Never mind.

Run down to the bodega

and grab some more
of those Extra Ultra Lights.

Wasn't there a band
called the Stones?

They did that song.
- About Jumping Jack Somebody...

A street fighting man.
- Exiled on Main Street, shattered.

My dad had that on vinyl.
I sold it to get this tattoo.

Leonard!

The door was open.
- Hey, Leonard.

Come on in. Sit down.

What's going on?

The church council
decided to hire you.

Can you start Monday?
- Sure.

You have to fill out
the insurance papers.

Leonard, sign my petition.

What's it for?
- I'm running for city council.

Sign right there.

Nice place you have here, Joe.
- Thank you.

No ink in this pen, Rodriguez.

Can't believe this is happening.

Believe it!
We played this perfectly.

We're gonna be rich,
powerful and influential.

But we can't be hysterical.
We must be supportive.

Supportive of Joe dying?
- No, of his decision.

He's clearly accepted his death
and is preparing for it

in a very handsome
and graceful way.

We don't want to interfere
with the dignity of this.

Where is the cranberry juice?

Here it is.

So Joe is dying!

He's not your father, after all.

Not literally, but considering
all that's happening.

You're about to meet the actress
who can get your series financed.

So focus, come on.

Who's the girl?
- What girl?

Remember, no hysterics.
- Right.

Calm, reasonable, but resolute.

Okay.

Are we concerned Joe's philosophy
books are in the bathroom?

He likes to pursue
the life of the mind

close to the brute facts of life.

Yes.

I imagine that would
keep things in perspective.

Joe's not a terribly
clever man, is he?

No, but he's often inspired.

Yes and he's patient.
- Hardworking.

I've billed him
for more hours of legal work

than any other client.

Really?

He trusts people so much.

My job is to substantiate that trust
and it's not always easy.

As a boy, he was asked what
he wanted to be when he grew up.

He couldn't decide
and he made a list.

Carpenter,
baseball player, priest.

Or something that let him
be all these things at once.

Like a director
of romantic comedies?

Apparently.

My god, these friends he makes!

You don't want a funeral?
- No.

Not even a wake?

I'll leave money for a party.

Pizza and beer type thing?
- Exactly. And no speeches.

Wow. Hard core.

Joe, heaven has room
even for those of little faith.

You have no doubts at all?

About what?

Well, God, for instance.

How can I?

Look at those trees up there.
The birds, the buildings,

the children
playing in the courtyard.

My own hand.
I'm astonished constantly.

So you believe in hell too,
I suppose?

Muriel, are you okay?

She'll be okay.
She's just upset.

No more talk about last wills
and testaments and graveyards.

I'll deal with this mob.

Muriel.

I'll survive.

You'll survive what?

There's no need
to pretend for my sake.

I'm not pretending.

We have the letter.

What letter?

From the hospital.

It's a receipt
from a donation I made.

Apparently, it's tax deductible.

Why didn't you just tell us?

Uncle Joe,
you are so difficult.

You're really not dying?

No, but if you want me to, I will.

Don't say that.

Listen, since I'm
on my knees already,

will you be my wife?

No.

No? Really?

I'm sorry.

So you no longer need an anchor?

Not one outside of myself, no.

That's very brave of you.
- Thank you.

May I continue to hope?

Of course. It will lend our lives
urgency and suspense.

I'm not going to do season 14
of The Invincible Allura.

Wow.
- I'm done being a superhero.

Millions of viewers
will be heartbroken.

I'll be replaced. Soon forgotten.
They'll love somebody else.

But what now?

I don't know.

Do you have any ideas?

There's a young hustler out there.

A TV writer. Your biggest fan
in the Tri-State area.

Has a script about a Catholic nun.
- A nun?

A youthful mother superior
of a convent in Brooklyn

where they make beer
to support their spiritual aims.

I like this.

Sisters!

Sister Bernadette, good morning.

What's going on here?

We're building a brewery.
- You're what?

We'll make beer and market it
to support ourselves.

Good God in heaven.

What's to become
of your holy church on earth?

Sister Bernadette,
I'm aware you are unhappy

with the bishop appointing me
as mother superior.

But we must make the best of it.

I should never have agreed to this.
You're not mother superior material.

You're... I'm sorry, but...
too charming.

It's your sophistication,

your progressive views,
your joie de vivre.

Are you wearing lipstick?
- Sister!

There are two parts to our vocation,
prayer and action.

But prayer comes first.

Maybe, but we cannot pray
if we do not eat.

I love it.
It must be done.

Of course, Joe should direct it.
- Would he?

Terms will need to be negotiated,
but it’s likely.

She will remain an activist.
- Of course.

And get rid
of that psychic power thing.

Done!
- You sure?

A vehement radical
with deep and complicated passions.

I love it.
- Controversial.

Wanted by the law.
- Everywhere.

Kinky, competitive, treacherous!

No, just idealistic, unselfish.

You know, common decency.
That kind of thing.

This could be hard to sell.

I'm sure we can make it work.

Veronica, you can
take the books, right?

Uncle Joe, this is a fire hazard.

It's great. Will you direct it?

This thing about nuns?
- Nuns who start a brewery!

We'll get financed in a heartbeat.
Think about your pension plan.

No, I figured it out.

If hell exists, it works like this:

Wait!

That's a work of art.

This is?
- It's by...

What's his name?
He's terribly famous.

He did that piece in the Whitney.

With the car and the raw meat.

He married the girl in
that rock star and scientist movie.

Who get lost in the woods?

What's it called?
- It won awards.

Oliver, continue.
- Desecrate the artwork?

Sure. It's conceptual anyway.

I think it's like this.

If there's such thing as hell

it's got to be the moment of death
when you're still cognizant enough

to feel fear,

regret and anger.

You just made this up?

No, I've been working
on it in the evenings.

So one's moment of death should be
free of fear, regret and anger?

To die happily.
Yeah, that's the idea.

Because those last moments when
you're helpless to change anything,

that's a... it's a...
what do you call it?

An eternal present.

That's it.

An eternal present.

And that's gotta suck.

Lying there dying,

knowing you should have apologized
to your kid for being a jerk.

Or that lie you told your wife.

You know she knows it's a lie
but she hasn't said anything.

And you still feel like shit.

Eric, is everything okay at home?

You have to live
your life like that.

Like what?

You have to live
so you don't regret anything.

Every day?

Every moment of every day.

That's insane.

Yeah, I think, basically, that's it.

The eternal present.
Right there.

I'm still working on it, though.

I got a 3D model of it
down in the toolroom.

You guys are nuts.

Anger makes the world go round.
Everyone knows that.

Competition, aggression.
It's natural.

The measure of a person's worth.

Regret, that's just the cost
of doing business.

I say, don't care
about anything or anyone.

Let other people
look after their own happiness.

Am I right or am I right?

Sorry, I was checking my email.
Excuse me.

I'll need to play 25,
at least some of the time.

Easy.

Thank you.

Silverware's back in the drawer.

You'll need it.
They ordered food delivered.

What was that lullaby you used
to sing us when we were little?

I sang lullabies?

It was the saddest thing imaginable
but we loved it.

About a horse.

Oh, that!
A song I heard somewhere.

Sleepy horses

Something something.

Silent sunlight, welcome in.

Hold on.

Silent sunlight...

Silent sunlight...

Welcome in
- Welcome in

There is work we must now begin

There is work we must now begin

Something, something...

Something, something...

Sleepy horses

Sleepy horses...
- Heave away

Sleepy horses, heave away

Put your backs to the golden hay

Don't ever look behind
at the work you've done

For your work has just begun

There'll be the evening in the end
- There'll be the evening in the end

Until that time arrives
- Until that time arrives

You can rest your eyes
- You can rest your eyes

And begin again
- And begin again

And begin again