All language subtitles for En.therapie.S01E20.1080p.BluRay.DD+5.1.x264-SbR_track4_[eng]

Sorry, I had to go to the market.

No problem. Come on in.

Can you put this in the fridge?
You have one in here?

Yes, a small one, but big enough.

I don’t want it to go off,
it’s an ox tongue.

Tongue, as in... tongue?

That’s right, from an ox.

IN THERAPY

ESTHER – FRIDAY, DECEMBER 11, 2015, 7 P.M.

You’re looking very elegant.

- Thanks. I’m going out with friends.
- Friends?

- Shrinks?
- Not all of them.

They’ll give me some stick
when I tell them about the ox tongue.

“In which tongue did he want to talk?”
“What did it mean?”

You know what it’s like.

- Do I know any of them?
- Yes, some.

I was joking, of course.

Even if I mentioned
your slightly disturbing gift,

you know I’d never mention your name.

Jean-Pierre Dumont?

- Yes, among others.
- All the faithful.

- Know who I thought of the other day?
- No.

- Flavie.
- Flavie?

Flavie Bastien
of the Freudian Association.

- The Hitchcock blonde.
- Absolutely!

She was odd! What’s become of her?

I haven’t seen her for ages.
She finally had a child on her own.

I remember.

Then she married
that really sinister tax inspector.

- You know she liked me?
- Flavie?

She used to come on to me.

I didn’t risk it.

She was guaranteed to be trouble.

I knew you were sensible deep down.

Even though dangerous women
are very exciting.

- And Flavie was especially sexy.
- Yes.

I’ve never considered sexiness
a necessary quality in a good analyst.

But from your point of view

no one is a good enough analyst.

Shall we talk about last time?

You mean my sudden departure?

To tell the truth, at the moment
I’m having frequent mood changes.

Camille, my young swimmer,

has been very brave.

I think she made a major step forward
this week.

Like an idiot
I left some sleeping pills lying around.

She found them.

She could have taken them,
and it could have ended very badly.

The second thing
was that she talked to me about...

a young man who spoke
very unpleasantly to her, saying that...

she made love like she’d been abused.

Women used to get called sex-starved,

as if it was their responsibility.

And this little dickhead

tells a 16-year-old she makes love
like she’s been abused.

It made me furious.

This cocky little idiot,
a wannabe athlete...

It’s the same logic.

Victim shaming.

It slipped out,
I called him a little dunce.

In front of her.

Looking at it another way,
I’m not beating myself up about it.

I think it’s thanks to these moments
of sincere, unconcealed empathy

that she’s passed a milestone.

I think she finally trusts me.

On the other hand, Charlotte did go
to Rome with her Strasbourg lobbyist.

- Oh, right!
- What a nerve, huh?

But that’s her all over.

Once she’s made a decision, that’s it.

She canceled her classes
and left me to cope at home.

But that’s why I chose her.

Because she’s the opposite of a victim,
the opposite of my mother.

So I’m left alone with two kids.

I don’t know when the cleaner comes
or how much to pay her...

Charlotte’s right,
I’ve been living outside reality.

Inside, I still feel
like a defiant young man.

I dozed off for two minutes,
then woke up in this huge flat,

where I have problems with the staff,

my youngest is almost grown up...

Charlotte seems to have found a good way
of hammering the point home.

You almost seem to be enjoying it.

Let’s not get carried away.

I did call on Charlotte’s mother
for help.

She’s got the children
until Sunday evening.

I’m cooking dishes from my childhood

without suffering everyone’s disgust,
like you showed earlier.

Philippe, tongue!

What?

My grandma used to cook it,
it’s delicious.

Do you want the recipe?

You boil it first,

to remove the skin.

Then you slice it,

and simmer it in a sauce of garlic,

onions, carrots, ginger,

paprika, coriander...

Plenty of liquid, of course.

And at the end you add olives.

Ox tongue.

A Moroccan recipe?

No, it’s not a Sephardi thing,

of backward North African peasants.

On my mother’s side too
they cooked tongue.

Perfectly.

The Finkelsteins.

Highly educated Ashkenazi Jews.

They call it “scarlet tongue”.

You eat it cold,
with a herb vinaigrette.

It really is bright red.

That’s more complicated.

You have to pack it in salt
for several days...

Am I boring you?

No, I’m discovering the range
of your culinary inner world.

I’ll invite you for dinner
and you can taste my ox tongue.

You want to invite me?

I’ll invite Flavie Bastien too.

Without her tax inspector.

You’ll be my alibi,
so she won’t be suspicious.

You want me to taste your dish
or help you seduce a dangerous woman?

Two birds with one stone.

I’m sure the thought of eating tongue
will get Flavie aroused.

This dangerous woman
you want my help to seduce...

Are you sure it’s Flavie?

Isn’t it really Ariane?

Philippe, would you by any chance
be playing with me?

Me? Why?

It’s me you’re trying to arouse
with talk of tongue and dangerous women.

It’s not unpleasant, listening to you
in this jaunty mood,

but where is this banter leading?

This artistic banter!

You see! What’s behind it all?

Yes, you’re right.

It’s banter.

I’m trying to be pleasant.

It comes from the way
Ariane looks at me.

It’s so good to feel desired and liked.

It makes you want
to be desirable and likeable.

I understand. You’re giving me a taste
of the mood that exists between you two.

A taste with the tongue, exactly.
Do you like it?

I’d like to know where it’s going.

Don’t worry,
I won’t show you a lack of respect.

I don’t mean with me. With Ariane.

It’s so long since I’ve been with
a woman who’s really interested in me,

as a man, not as a therapist.

And who is so keen to hold my attention.

And how!

If you knew how well she tells a tale...

She told me
about her night with Chibane.

A real talent for description,
picture-forming, atmosphere...

If you’d heard her

build up the suspense as she talked
about the meal in the restaurant...

a meal made tense by desire,
by arousal...

Then how she jumped on him after,

how he had her
in the lobby of a building...

What a narrative!

Of course it turned me on.

And of course it achieved its objective,
because I was mad with jealousy.

But, you see,

it doesn’t even bother me that much.

When I re-examine it,

it shows how much she cares about me,

the fact that she used another patient
to shake me out of my comfort zone.

You’re starting again.

Why are you so sure it’s aimed at you?

Franck used to call me quite often
after his sessions with you.

He’d say,
“What the hell is that rule all about?

“Why can’t Esther and I sleep together
if it’s what we want?

“Who are they to say we can’t?”

If I refer Ariane to another shrink,
according to the rules,

and we’re really careful,

and we give it a prescribed period,
say six months...

- There is no prescribed period.
- A year?

Neither 18 months nor 18 years.
No prescribed period!

A patient is a patient forever.

There’s nothing
like that in the Ten Commandments.

There is in ours.

It was just a convenient rule.

Sabina Spielrein stirred up trouble
between Freud and Jung,

so, with the legal risks in America,
because of their mania for suing...

Shame on you for using Spielrein

in your disingenuous
and dishonest argument!

Jung got rid of her
by calling her insane!

Luckily she had the courage
to go to Freud!

How can you be so crass? Shit!

Sabina practically invented
psychiatry for children.

Murdered by the Nazis, and now abused
in Philippe Dayan’s dodgy reasoning!

You’re provoking me.

We don’t sleep with our patients.
It’s a fundamental rule.

You won’t get my blessing,
go to someone else!

She’s 20 years younger.

She has a poor self-image,
she’s all about seduction.

You’re infantilizing her...

Where do you get all this?

From what she tells you
about her sex life.

Re-read a few books, it’d help!

How can you forget the fundamentals?

- You’re saying I’m a bad shrink again.
- I’ve never said that.

But I remember a letter.

In which you were inexhaustible
about my failings as an analyst.

When was that? Twelve years ago?

Philippe, please.

I kept that letter for nearly a year.
Do you know why?

I needed to look at it now and then,

to re-read it,

so as not to forget it.

To remind myself that there really are
people who do that?

I should thank you.

By destroying my naive conception
of human beings,

you helped me make a giant step in life.

Probably in my career as an analyst too.

Without that
I wouldn’t be who I am today.

You’ve had your say, I’ve heard you.

Now let’s
get back to Ariane.

“Dayan’s patients generally have
an excellent opinion of their treatment,

“but maybe too good an opinion of him,

“which probably constitutes

“a weakness
in his therapeutic practice.”

See? I know it off by heart.
It’s burnt in here.

In letters of fire.

I wrote that your clinical analyses
were brilliant.

“Philippe has an excessive need
to be liked,

“with the risk that he sometimes leads
his patients

“in avoidance strategies
harmful to the treatment.”

No, not “he sometimes leads”.

You wrote
“he often leads”.

In a word, I’m an incompetent analyst.

Just an independent opinion,
like all monitors regularly express.

An opinion which discredited me

just as the Freudian Association
was looking for a new president

to succeed your husband.

Not true!

Everyone knew
you were his chosen successor.

Balls! I was the favorite
of you both, your little pet,

until I started
to assert my independence.

Then, suddenly, I didn’t show
enough deference to Gaëtan

and the clones of his inner circle.

You couldn’t take criticism.

You were too touchy and brittle
to run the association

with the requisite diplomacy.

You should have noticed earlier,

rather than lauding me
for all those years

before dumping me in the bin!

I didn’t think you were ready, true.

- And your reaction confirmed it.
- Oh, yeah!

I brought it up
at that final session we had.

I cut that short twelve years ago.
Don’t start it again today.

The conflict of a son who didn’t meet
his father’s expectations.

You didn’t think
that was worth closer examination.

You’re forcing a parallel
between him and you.

The problem is that you used
our therapeutic relationship,

our relationship of trust,

to serve your husband’s interests.

That’s what happened twelve years ago
and caused our break-up.

Not my problems regarding my father.

I’m wondering.

When I tried to point you
in that direction,

you stormed out of my office

and broke off all contact
for twelve years.

You know what?
Carry on denying your motivations.

Carry on, I don’t give a fuck!

In fact, it’s doing me good.

The two of you held on
to your little bit of power

in these three streets
of Saint-Germain-des-Prés,

with two “prestigious” reviews
and three sad articles.

You didn’t destroy me!

I kept doing my job as an analyst,
the only one that counts.

I became a better therapist
than all of you.

Better than you.

And everyone knows it now.
That’s the problem between us.

Okay.

So why have you come back to see me?

A good question.

It’s time to settle up.

The Day of Judgment has come.

The world has come knocking at my door
and woken me up.

It’s challenged me, asking if I’m ready.
I think I am.

I’ve come to tell you the news,

to tell you how wrong I think you were
about me and everything else.

I was wrong, really?

I’m wondering about something.

Do you miss your patients?
Your practice?

Talking to them?

Why are you asking that?

To be honest, I don’t think
you’ve ever liked this profession.

You must know better than me.

I’ve only spent 40 years doing it.

I think you learned a profession,

you adhered to its vision of the world,

you seriously applied yourself
to learning the techniques

for applying this vision of the world,

you were an excellent practician...

but you never gave your soul to it.

That’s the difference between us.

You’re not the only one.
It’s why the world is messed up.

What are you talking about?

Compassion? Empathy?

All those reassuring techniques we place
between ourselves and reality,

those cold bars which protect us

but prevent us touching
the flesh of the world.

When more than patching up is needed,

when there’s an emergency and we have
to change things before it’s too late,

we’re incapable of it.

It’s not us who pay the price,

it’s the people
who trust us to help them.

We’re there, in the warm, saying:

“No, that’s not in the protocol,
too dangerous, sorry.”

And we let them die outside,

in the icy cold
or under the burning sun.

Or shot by fanatics.

But for how much longer?

Until reality finally reaches
our naked flesh?

Will we cry out in pleasure?

Or in fear and pain?

So what do you propose
to help our patients?

A few days before I decided
to come and see you,

Ariane finally let her mask drop.

And I achieved that result

because I committed something
of myself, some of my flesh.

That’s how I conduct my sessions.

My patients sense it,
so they open up to me in trust

and make progress.

I admit
I get emotional gratification from it,

otherwise I wouldn’t do this job.

What happened with Ariane
was so powerful and moving,

when she asked me to be honest
about my feelings for her,

that at that moment

I was ready to pack it all in,
take her in my arms,

and love her.

Instead, I came to see you.

I thought that if there was one person

who could use her finicky techniques
and cold analysis to stop me,

that was you.

I told myself that if I could get past
that obstacle, you...

Don’t you think
you’re trying to convince yourself

that acting on it
would not constitute...

Misconduct?

Is that it? Professional misconduct?

Abuse of my power over my patient?

I was thinking on my way here

that if the person
most detached from human affect,

who’d acted in the most emasculating
and destructive way to me...

if I could confront this person
and survive the ordeal,

then I’d finally be free.

I shouldn’t have let you leave
twelve years ago.

This time I won’t shirk it.

I’ll fight to the end.

I won’t let you do something

which you’ll regret
for the rest of your life.

I think we’ve transgressed every limit

and broken almost every rule of therapy.

I’m saying that so you’ll understand
my commitment to you.

Whatever you say or do to me,

I’ll remain here, I’ll be with you.

I love her.

I want to be with her.

I want to be able to talk to her,
listen to her...

I think about her night and day.

She’s 20 years younger than me,
but I don’t care.

I’m ready to pay the price,
whatever the consequences.

I love her!

Do you hear me?

What is it?
Are you shocked?

I think it’ll be better
to talk about this next time.

- Seriously, I need...
- No.

Really.

I think the best thing
is to give it a little time.

See you next week.