All language subtitles for En.therapie.S01E22.1080p.BluRay.DD+5.1.x264-SbR_track4_[eng]

Adam!

Adam, you’ll be late!

There you are.

- Has your sister gone already?
- Dunno.

What does she have this morning?
Science...

How do you know
if it’s week A or week B?

In any case, you’ve got PE.

- Shouldn’t you be in your kit?
- I’ll change there.

You haven’t eaten anything.

- I’m not hungry.
- Eat something.

- Breakfast is...
- ...the most important meal of the day.

Mom’s not here,
you don’t need to nick her lines.

You need the strength, for PE.

I hate PE.

It’s the subject I hate the most.

I always get picked last
for the teams.

Don’t worry.

School doesn’t last your whole life.

A good thing too!

Have a good day.

Hello, yes?

This is the high school.
Your daughter hasn’t come this morning.

I don’t understand.
I’ll try to get hold of her.

Thank you.

Hi, this is Liza. Leave a message.

Liza, it’s Dad.

Call me when you get this message.
Thanks.

IN THERAPY

ADEL - TUESDAY, DECEMBER 15, 2015, 10 A.M.

Hello.

It’s over.

With Ariane, it’s over.

But I screwed her,
and properly this time!

We met again.

She was being teenager flirty.
“Let’s meet for coffee.”

I said I’d meet her at her place.

I took some gin, her favorite tipple.

It can always come in handy.

We do some shots, talk bullshit,
I make her laugh.

We know where this is heading,
so we cut to the chase.

We kiss, then I pick her up

and carry her like a feather
to the sofa.

I undress her.

I won’t go into details, but this time
it’s me who took initiative.

Bam! First score.

Then bam! A second time.

A decent performance, right?

And I don’t think she faked it.
She was really up there both times.

- Personal satisfaction, then?
- Yeah.

And mutual, Doctor.

Mutual.

It was all fine to that point.
What followed is less so.

But...

you can probably clear it up.

I’m listening.

So I left.

She didn’t ask me to stay the night.

I was fairly pleased with myself.

You said I don’t like
being the object of another’s fantasy.

So I was okay here.

I was in charge, from start to finish.

The operation was well-prepared
and accomplished.

That’s rare in human relationships.

That’s true.

Anyway, next morning my phone rings.
I see her name and think, “Bingo!”

I answer confidently.

She tells me what a nice time she had,
how she likes me, all that crap.

But that she’d rather leave it there.

I’m not hooked on her.

She’s beautiful, but too mental for me.
Not my type.

It’s just that...

she took me by surprise there.

Because at the end of that evening
she was...

- Fulfilled?
- Yes, exactly!

A double orgasm!

But she’d rather look elsewhere.
Do you understand that?

Since the invention of your science,
this psychoanalysis,

has anyone worked out
what women want?

No, right?

Even you.

After all your studying, all the books
you’ve read, you still don’t know.

Come on, admit it!

Come on, tell me!
It’ll go no further.

Professional confidentiality!

What do women want?

For Freud it was one
of the main questions of psychoanalysis.

There’s no indication
that he came up with an answer.

So we’re all pretty much lost.

Don’t worry, she won’t be long.

Whom do you mean?

Your wife.

You don’t do my job
without learning to read signs.

Signs?

I have qualities, Doctor.
Which you scorn.

For example, I’m observant.

I have no doubt about your qualities.

And there’s no place here
for a sentiment like scorn.

You don’t understand.

I can read a face.

I can read a body.

I see things.

I did hundreds of interrogations
before joining this unit,

hundreds of hours of surveillance...
It taught me a lot.

It’s in my blood.

Growing up opposite a face
as closed as my dad’s helped too.

And you.

I’m sorry, but...

compared to my dad you’re a joke.
A real open book.

There... I can see it moving.

What?

Your Adam’s apple,
when we talk about Ariane.

Swallowing is a sign.

I see your fixed expression,

that frozen face,
when you try to appear indifferent.

Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?

Fucking a patient?

You have, haven’t you?

Or you soon will.

Aren’t there some fucking rules
about that?

Did you want to seduce Ariane because
you feel you’re in competition with me?

You think
everything revolves around you!

I screwed Ariane because she’s hot!

She came on to me,
she was eager,

and I was available.

There!

You remind me of a spider.

A spider in the middle of its web.

You trap us in it and watch us struggle.

Ariane’s a pretty butterfly
caught in your web.

You sit here all day long,
doing your experiments on people,

saying some little phrase
to gauge their reaction,

manipulating us, manipulating her!

That’s too easy.

She’s put you on a pedestal.

You’re everything to her, but you’re
just some old guy sitting there!

I’ll analyze you.

You’ve never dared live.

Your fantasies are our stories.

You’re a coward, passive!

There’s nothing worse
than being passive.

It’s the cause of all the evils
of our collapsing civilization.

It’s because of the passive,
the spectators. You’re a spectator!

Whereas people like Ariane and me
are trying.

Okay, we don’t get everything right,
but we’re active!

We’re trying!

We’re involved in life!

You’re very angry.

But is it really against me?

Don’t try to wriggle out of it.

You judge us from your position
of righteousness, so sure of yourself.

But you don’t anything about real life.

You’re one of those who applauded
the cops after the Bataclan.

You’re not going to spit on us
just after calling us to save you.

Well, not right away.
How long do you wait?

How long? Three weeks?

Is three weeks enough?

After we risked our lives
like stupid twats for you!

Three weeks later,
you’re chucking bricks at us,

whining about freedom,
whining about the cops!

It’s already forgotten.

We’re your enemy again
just three weeks after the slaughter!

Stop fucking staring at me like that!

Say something, for fuck’s sake!

Insult me if you like,
but say something!

And stop staring at me!

You want me to say something
like the man you arrested the other day?

The imam, whose gaze was unbearable,

and who in the end insulted you.

What are you on about?

I think that subconsciously
you want to be demeaned.

Like by that man.

You’re discovering

that that is what will lead you
on the path to your past.

Why are you talking about that now?

You want to talk
about my childhood again?

Do you want to?

About my dad?

Go on, then.

You can sum him up in two words:
living dead.

A carcass.

He looks human, but inside he’s dead.
A void.

You see it in his eyes, hear it
in his voice, there’s no intonation...

Sometimes I hear his voice in my head,
killing all possibility of happiness.

When have you felt this?

Happiness being prevented
from developing.

I don’t know.

All the time.

Whenever.

I told you about the bird.

Sometimes as a kid I wanted to tell him
something that had made me laugh.

Just his look stopped me dead.

That was his lesson: don’t want to!

But you did want to.

I wanted to be strong, to be a hero,
to be loved.

My mom loved me, of course,

but she didn’t shout about it.

But he looked at me as if I was...

a subcategory.

I realized I’d never be Hercules,

I’d never be one of the superheroes
that I idolized.

One day I saw some cops
running past our baker’s.

One was on his walkie-talkie,
I didn’t know what was happening,

who they were after.

But it was a vision.

They were young...

running...

And they were together, so...

my thinking changed.

I realized superheroes
were always alone,

and I wanted to be together.

I decided I wanted to be a cop
when I was... nine or ten.

When I told my dad,
do you know what he said?

He said no.

No?

Yeah. Just no.

My dad doesn’t say much.

What did he want you to be?

Nothing.

I don’t know, he never said.

He had no expectations,
he was disappointed in advance.

When I was 18 I passed the exam
to get into police school.

I started and...

was boarding, so I thought that...

away from them, maybe I could be happy.

At the end,

depending on our grading
we could choose our posting.

One guy whose dad was a cop

told me not to choose somewhere
named after a flower or...

because all the troubled areas
have pretty names.

I chose The Lime Trees in Blanc-Mesnil.

That’s what I wanted, a real shithole.

That must make you laugh,
it’s not an intellectual approach.

But that was my goal,

I wanted to be useful,
to somebody, to my country.

I spent five years on the streets,
and got to see the limits of it.

So I aimed for the intervention unit.

And I gave it my all,
I worked really hard.

A whole year in the gym
and at the firing range.

I felt like nothing could stop me.

At the end of the selection process
there was a trial by combat.

I climbed into the ring,

and there was this big guy.

One of the best of the group.

He was sure to be selected.

Know what happened, Doctor?

I lost.

Not only did I lose
but like a dunce I broke my collarbone.

I even heard the crack as it broke.

It was almost beautiful.

Then everything went dark,
I was on my knees,

my sweat was icy on me...

The ref asked if I wanted to keep going,
I said yes.

I kept going.

I kept going until the time was up.

I lost but I saw it through.

I gritted my teeth as the pain
shot through me with every movement.

I saw it through.
But of course I wasn’t selected.

I went to hospital, they operated,
and I stayed for three days.

I came out in a splint,
with a load of painkillers.

I was depressed. I went to see my folks,
I don’t know what I expected.

Comfort?

Tenderness?

Yeah, well...

great comfort I got!

It was the evening.

They were in the kitchen,
in that silence of the tomb

that reigns whenever my dad is around.

My mom dished up some gratin.

I wasn’t hungry.

I told them about it.

My mom didn’t say anything.

She always left it to my dad,
and he said...

“I’m not surprised.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Don’t look so woeful.

I was off for three weeks,
I did my physio,

I started training again...

My mom died and I worked even harder.

I tried again the following year
and I got in.

I partied with my colleagues.

And at one point
there I was, raising my glass...

and I thought about my dad.

I imagined him,

all alone in his flat,

where nothing had changed.

And I was saying,

“Well, Dad, have I surprised you now?”

Why did you choose that particular unit?

To serve.

To serve and protect, yes, but...

whom did you want to save?

Who do you want to save?

Why did you want to become a shrink?

To fill poor sods’ ears
with all your bullshit?

When I see the disaster of your life
I wonder why I accept advice from you.

I told you she wouldn’t be long.

Flight 783 from Rome,
landed at 8:25, no delay.

If you factor in waiting for luggage
and getting a taxi...

she’s right on time.

Go and welcome her home.

I won’t count the time lost.

No penny-pinching between us, huh?

No, you’re not going?

Your cowardice is limitless.

Your wife’s back from being fucked
by her lover in Rome,

and you do nothing.

You even let her go. Why?

Why do you do nothing?

Why are you like that?
Immobile, incapable, cowardly!

The Hotel Campo de Fiori!
Did you check the website?

You should. Sauna, steam bath...
I bet they had a good time.

Can’t you manipulate her?

I don’t suppose she’s as easy as Ariane.

It’s harder to manipulate someone
who knows you.

It’s all fantasy with Ariane.

When you behave like a shit
she always has an excuse for you.

She makes a ridiculous effort
to portray you in a flattering light.

It’s not you she loves.

It’s a creation
of her sad little girl’s imagination.

Doesn’t that work with your wife?
Not any more?

Ariane never stopped talking about you,
so I wanted to know more.

Her starry-eyed admiration annoyed me,
so I wanted to find out more.

It’s easy.

A few clicks online,
and you can learn a lot about someone.

I tapped a few keys
and I found a photo of your daughter,

half-naked with a bunch of lowlifes.

You just let that happen?

But you’re no better as a son
than as a dad.

Your father, in that shitty care home!

You salve your conscience
by paying for it, but you never visit.

You know how they’re treated,
especially those going soft in the head?

I see you, Mr. Dayan!
And what I see isn’t nice.

And now you’ve fallen
for a nympho patient.

As a distraction from your shitty life.

What are you going to do?

You make me ashamed.

You’re right.

My life is probably
a catastrophe right now.

What you say is correct.

I can’t stop those I love
doing themselves harm.

I don’t know how to protect them
as they deserve.

I can’t even talk to them.

But there’s one thing
you’re wrong about.

I do not feel scorn for you.

I’ve never looked down on you,
I’ve always wanted to help you.

Because you need help.
I’m certain of that,

and you know it too.

That’s what your rejection
of my help is all about:

knocking me from the pedestal
that you’d put me on and laying into me.

It won’t help with your suffering.

And you are suffering.

Your anger and anguish
betray a deep distress.

What happens to us
conforms to what we’re like.

What’s happened to you
is that you’ve encountered,

time and time again,
violence, and then horror.

Every path you take, every choice,

takes you back to an initial violence.

You’re right, I’m an imperfect man.

Pathetic even, if you like.

But don’t use my weaknesses
as an excuse not to listen to me.

I’m here.

Deathly silence.

What are you thinking about?

Where was I?

It was my Aunt Malika’s wedding.

Yes.

In my grandmother’s house
there were these louvred shutters.

The sun’s rays came through
onto the tiles.

The room was cool.

Afterwards we never phoned her.

Mr. Chibane.

I have to go.

Yes?

I’m back.

Is everything okay here?

The school called, Liza wasn’t in class.

Adam’s never picked for teams in PE.

I know, he wanted to be excused.

Is that a solution? I don’t know.

Philippe.

It’s over.

With him.

It was over from the first night.

All I could think about was you, us,
what’s happening to us.

I went to a different hotel, to think.

Alone.

We have to do something,
we can’t let it crumble away.

We deserve more,
our story deserves more.

We could go together.

For therapy.

We could go together.