All language subtitles for The House That Jack Built 2018

May I ask you something?

I can't promise I'll answer.

R... right, that's exactly
what I meant.

Um, are you allowed to speak
along the way?

I was thinking
there might be rules.

Let me put it this way

very few make it all the way
without uttering a word.

People are overcome with
a strange and sudden need

to confess on these trips.

And not all of it
can be said to be

of great rhetorical quality

but do carry on merrily

just don't believe you're
going to tell me something

I haven't heard before.

I will tentatively
divide my tale

into five randomly
chosen incidents

over a twelve-year period.

So I'm standing here
holding this jack

crap's not working.

Do you, uh, do you have a jack
I could borrow?

No, I'm sorry.

- No?
- No

- No?
- No

That's odd,
I thought everyone had a jack.

I don't.

Perhaps you could
have a look at my car?

Well, I don't have to
have a look at your car.

The issue with your jack
is it's broken.

There.

So, uh, what's a person
like me supposed to do?

Well, I suppose

I could, uh, drive over
to Sonny's repair shop

and call for roadside
assistance.

It's about, uh,
five miles from here.

What kind of repair shop is it?

It's... it's. .
Sonny's a blacksmith, very good one.

Blacksmith.

Well, maybe this Sonny can
repair the jack?

You'd have to talk to Sonny
about that.

Perhaps, I could entice you
to drive me there?

- Please.
- Um. .

Oops, that was a mistake.

Mistake?

Me getting in this car
with you.

What was it one's mother
used to say

about not getting into cars
with strangers?

Well. .

I wouldn't know what
your mother said.

You might as well be
a serial killer.

I'm sorry but you do kind of
look like one.

You'd like me
to drive you back to your car?

No, no.
I can take care of myself.

I'm sorry,
were you offended

that I called you
a serial killer?

No.

It's of absolutely
no importance to me.

Maybe it's just the van.

It's the kind one might expect
to be kidnapped in

or used to transport corpses.

But if you really were
a serial killer

I guess the easiest thing
would be just

to bury my body back up there
by those trees

but you'd have to remember
to dig six feet down

so the foxes couldn't
dig up my grave.

What would I do?

What would I do to keep you
from getting away with it?

Of course, I'd just

pick up that jack and hit you
over the head with it.

A jack like that can do quite
a bit of damage

don't you think?

I'm not a medical examiner.

It'd do quite a lot of damage.

Don't forget this.
Good luck with Sonny.

Um, would it be too much to ask
for you to drive me back?

If this Sonny is as fast as
you say he is?

I'm sure Sonny is perfectly
capable of giving you

a lift back to your. .

As... as I told you before,
I don't like

driving with strangers.

Well, I'm just as much of
a stranger as Sonny is.

Oh, getting along just fine.

I'll just go speak to Sonny,
just take a moment.

Sonny.

Hi, Jack.

How's it going?

Well, I was working
on Miller's tractor

but this lady is being
really persistent.

You don't say.

Big mistake.

The reason serial killers can roam around free in our country

is that they have no connection
between themselves

and their victims.

So, you just made
a big mistake

letting Sonny see
the two of us together.

You know. .

... honestly,
I have more important things

to be doing with my life

than messing around
with this crap.

You... you said
he was really good.

Yeah, well,
I'm sure Sonny was just

distracted by your
goddamned blabbering.

Now I have to go,
I have an appointment.

Appointment,
what appointment?

That's none of your goddamn
business now, is it?

You're not just gonna
leave me here.

In fact, yes, that is kind of
what I was thinking.

I'm sure there will be another
serial killer passing by

who can give you a lift
back to Sonny's.

That is, unless he decides
to kill you first.

Even if I was to beg you
to drive me back?

Just a last time?

Pretty please.

You know,
I take it all back

what I said earlier about you
looking like a serial killer.

No, no, no,
you don't have the disposition

for that sort of thing.

You're way too much
of a wimp to murder anyone.

Oh, dear,
you are a dangerous man

smacked her with a jack,
did you?

Honestly, I've heard of
more murders

than I can count.

And by the way,
what does this ridiculous man

have to do with anything?

It's Glenn Gould

one of the greatest piano
players of our time.

He represents art.

So a jack in the face of

an admittedly unbearable lady
was great art.

Is that what I'm to make of it?

Dear Mr. Verge,
please give me a chance

to cast some supplemental light on the story of the jack.

The old cathedrals often have
sublime artworks hidden away

in the darkest corners
for only God to see

or whatever
one feels like calling

the great architect
behind it all.

The same goes for murder.

When I say cathedrals

it is first and foremost the gothic buildings we admire.

Here elegant, pointed arches
have replaced the earlier

more primitive rounded arches.

The art of engineering is first and foremost about statics

that is so things remain
standing in spite of

the various forces that impact
the buildings.

In this way, the pointed arch
created a possibility to build

much higher
and with much more light

but most importantly
with less use of material.

I often say that
the material does the work.

In other words it has
a kind of will of its own

and by following it,
the result will be

the most exquisite.

So the material was the jack

and it jumped into the lady's
face on its own.

Art is many things.

Very convenient and unusual

in the pile of bad excuses.

But all of that
is of no interest whatsoever

unless you're an engineer.

I am an engineer.

My mother was of the opinion
that becoming an engineer

was the more financially
viable choice

but my really big dream
was to become an architect.

Right before the lady
and the jack

I purchased a building lot

and since
I was my own developer

due to a substantial
inheritance

no one could keep me
from drawing up

my own plans
for my own house.

Engineer or architect

what I see is an OCD patient
in full bloom.

Ordnungszwang Jack

to use a good German word.

Yes, perhaps, it is
in any case true

that I suffered from
compulsions as a child.

I was completely hysterical
about cleaning

and could never leave
a room that wasn't

perfectly neat and clean.

A standard that was
difficult to maintain

in the walk-in freezer.

The walk-in freezer?

The walk-in freezer
on Prospect Avenue.

The sign has been broken
for forever

so no one really knew what
the name of the street was.

I bought the pizzas
from the former owner

of the walk-in freezer.

He claimed it was a great deal

but of course I never managed
to sell them

so it all became
too much for me.

I only ate one of those
shitty pizzas.

Pizza, pizza!

And then there was a door
to another room

which I never managed to open.

A fucking neurotic riddled
with obsessive compulsions

and a pathetic dream
of something greater.

And what about the police?

I imagine they started
coming around a lot.

No, call it luck
if you will.

I had attempted
to hide her car. .

... but to my great annoyance

you could still catch a glimpse of it from the main road.

You know, without realizing
where I had parked the car

was a stroke of genius.

You see, the small brook
defines the state border

and the local police,
per definition

can't see across state lines.

It's not their jurisdiction.

So I had no inquiries
from the police.

And by the way,
I don't even know if Sonny

had told them about me.

We met up quite
a few times since

but never spoke of it.

Hang on.

Hi.

Hi.

Who are you?

Police.

Did something happen?

Oh, no, no, no

luckily nothing exactly
has happened as of yet.

I understand that
you are fond of

shopping at
Carlson's Supermarket.

Why? Did something happen
at Carlson's?

No, uh, however
we'd like to, uh, prevent

things from happening
to businesses in the vicinity

like Carlson's Supermarket.

Yeah, may... may,
may I come in?

I'd like to see
a police badge.

So would I.

Unfortunately, that today

is going to be a bit of
a problem.

Now, ahem. .

... I can tell by your expression

that you think it's a bad thing

that I don't have my police
badge on me.

Right.

Well, I'm here to tell you that

it's a, it's a good thing. .

... for the police department

and I'm not going to
lie to you, okay?

It also happens to be
a good thing for me

on a personal level. Yeah.

You see my... my badge

it's, uh, at the silversmith.

Yeah, it's at the,
the silversmith.

They're... they're shining it up
and, ah. .

... adding a few additional
citations to it.

I've been promoted.

- Okay.
- Right.

So now you're. .

Now... now what are you?

Like, what's your,
what's your rank now?

We're not at liberty
to discuss that.

Ah, that's considered
classified information.

However, I think this is safe
to say that

it's a considerable. .

... leap up the ladder.

- Uh, ahem, now may I...
- No.

Not without a badge.

Bravo, bravo, bravo,
that's excellent.

That's exactly just the type of
response we like to see.

- You say no, that makes my day.
- Right.

Of course, everybody's always
talking about security

but what... what is actually
anybody doing about it?

No, is quite
the correct answer.

Yeah, it's quite
the correct answer indeed.

Of course you'll never allow
somebody in your home

just because they say,
"Oh, I'm a police officer. "

No. No, no, no.
You don't do that.

No.

You wait until they show you
the proper. .

- Badge.
- Yeah. The badge.

- Yup.
- That's correct. Yeah.

Um. .

May I, uh, ask you a. .

... ah, somewhat
personal question?

Um, when exactly

was it that you lost your,
your husband?

It was just over
six months ago

that my husband passed. .

Where are you going with this?

Oh, I'm just thinking
about your. .

Your pension, yeah.

I bet with a simple phone call
to one of my colleagues

down in headquarters,
I could get you a, ah. .

... considerable increase
in your pension.

I bet that I could,
I could double

what you're currently receiving.

Wait a minute.

You could get me
double my pension

from the police department
by calling people?

Uh, forgive me, uh, uh. .

... I, I've tricked you, a bit.

In fact, as it, as it stands

I'm not,
I'm not a police officer.

What?

I'm an insurance agent, lady.

The, the whole story
that I told you about the badge

that's, t-that's something
that we've been asked to do

by the authorities,
it's, it's for statistical

purposes or something.

- Hi, Glenn.
- Hi, Claire.

- It's my friend Glenn.
- Glenn. Yeah, great guy.

- You know Glenn?
- Yeah, sure.

Uh, listen, are you interested

in this, this increase,
uh, the money?

Well, if you can double it.

It won't take more than
a few minutes of your time.

Alright, listen,
you can come in.

This damn door sticks.

I mean, what the heck's
the worst that could happen

as long as you can
double my pension.

Damn it.

Something wrong?

This is so damn humiliating.

You know being forced
to, to stand out there

exposed, time and time again

have to be
put in these situations

I don't know why.

Listen, I'm sorry,
uh, I-I. . I was jus. .

You know
how humiliating it is?

I am constantly being
put in these situations.

It's just not fair.

- No.
- Do you think it's fair?

- No.
- No.

Do you want me
to get you a cup of tea?

Nah, nah, nah.
Don't worry about it.

Ow! Fuck.

Ow! Fuck. Ah, fuck. Fuck.

The hell do you think
you're going?

Oh, no. Oh, no.

Here.

Put this under your head.

I'm sorry. Ow.

I'm so sorry.

Oh. .

What can I do
to make this good again?

- What can I do?
- Ugh!

How can I help you?

What can I do
to make it better?

- Speak to me?
- Talk. .

- Can't talk? Okay.
- Can't.

Hold on a second.

I have something else I think
you're gonna like quite a bit.

Do you like donuts?

Shh.

Have here. .

Here we go.

Yes, chamomile.

It's good for you.

Jesus Chri. .

A murderer with OCD.

It's almost ridiculous

but how unfortunate
for you, Jack.

And to top it off,
with cleaning compulsions.

Shit.

Please get out of the car, sir.

Do you mind if I take a look
in the van please, sir?

- I'd be a bad guy if I said no.
- Alright, open her up, please.

Okay.

I'm sorry, sir, but there's
been a minor break-in

down the street just now.

I'd like to ask you
a couple of questions

about anything you may
have seen or heard, yeah?

Glenn said you were
visiting Claire.

I'm sorry y... you said something ab...
about a break-in?

- Uh-huh.
- Well. .

Well, unfortunately
I think you've got

a more serious problem.

Claire, she's disappeared.

Clair Miller has disappeared?

Yeah, I've been,
uh, sitting out here

for the last two hours
in my van waiting for her.

Right.

You see, ahem,
I contacted Claire

because, uh, her late husband
was a dear friend of mine.

We worked together
for number of years

on the railroad
and, uh, I'm a collector.

Yeah, I collect.

Uh, I collect Trax.

- Trax?
- Old issues of Trax.

It's a, uh, publication
owned by the railroad

and, uh, Jerry, uh

I know, I happen
to know for a fact

that he also subscribed
and was an enthusiast

such as myself.

So Claire said
she'd run inside

and see if she could rustle up

a couple of back issues for me.

She didn't ask me in.

Right.

Better safe than sorry

when an oddball like myself
just turns up, right?

- Yeah.
- Yeah, yeah.

So I knocked several times
and, uh, she hasn't answered.

Okay.

Sir, I'm gonna ask you
to stay right here.

I'm just gonna go take a look.

Claire, it's Ed.

- Maybe the door is open.
- What?

Or maybe not.

Claire, you here?

Claire?

- Is she up there?
- No, she's not up there.

Maybe she went out
through the back.

I, I think
I would have noticed that.

Uh, this is really,
really strange.

If you ask me, I'd say

that this needs to be
thoroughly investigated.

Right, well
I'm not askin' you.

You know, I have to say,
also, that I heard

uh, some noises coming
from... the living room.

- Noises?
- Yeah, some noises.

I, I, of course, I can't be sure

but it sounded
a little bit like a. .

Like a scuffle of some kind.

Scuffle?

No, no, no. You're gonna have
to put that back down, now.

Sir, that kind of investigation,
that's for police, don't.

Right, right.

Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you
to leave the house.

- I'm sorry?
- Sir, now!

- Okay.
- Mm-hm.

You know, I'm gonna
do so under protest.

I, I feel like
that my observations

well, they could be of use
in an investigation.

As a tax-paying citizen,
someone who is fully aware

of my constitutional rights.

What?

O... officer, please
allow me to finish

I'm just trying to be
of assistance, okay?

You've got one minute, sir.

I would like
to recommend one thing

and it's within my right,

that this room
is inspected impeccably.

With a magnifying glass
if you catch my drift.

- Get out.
- Have a nice day, officer.

Get out, sir.

Don't the police officers
in your story

seem exceptionally naive?

Is that the point?

No, but here it comes,
the point that is.

I can hardly wait.

The great rain!

It washed away the long track
from my escape.

Now, I don't consider myself

a decidedly
devoted man of faith.

Which, of course, is a
totally crazy thing to say

considering
our present situation

but I must admit. .

... I experienced the rain,
the fiercest I have ever seen

as a kind of a blessing.

And the murder
as a kind of liberation.

I felt I had
a higher protector.

And in the reality you were

just a terrifying
perverted Satan.

But, did you understand,
or even better, did you accept

the connection
to your own personality?

That you yourself
were a psychopath?

Well, I'm not stupid.

That's rather unusual.

The psychopath
will never accept

his own diagnosis.

But I did!

For instance,
the psychopath's

lack of empathy.

I went to great lengths
to fake normal empathy. .

... in order to hide
amongst the masses.

Smile.

Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes.

Disappointed.

Very, very disappointed.

And the reeds?

I was a very sensitive child. .

... profoundly
afraid of playing.

For example, hide and seek.

In the case of hide

I always chose to run
in near panic

into a field
of reeds to hide.

I see something
other than a scared kid.

I see a kid with a more
mysterious goal.

The choice of the dash through
the reeds was an escape

but also an open
invitation to the pursuer

because of the clear path
of broken reeds left behind.

Was there an element
of come and catch me

in you as a child?

Or perhaps, more importantly

in you as a person?

Was there never a tiny grain
of disappointment

about the great rain
that washed away

your tracks so you
couldn't be caught?

More like amazement. .

... when I think about all the things I've done in my life

without it, in any way,
resulting in punishment.

I loved when the men
from the village

cut the meadows
with their scythes.

Back then one spoke
of the breath of the meadow.

Everyone working in rhythm

exhaling when they mowed,
and inhaling when they pulled

the scythes back.

It was as if the meadow
lived at its fullest

in my consciousness. .

... when I listened
to its breath.

Stop that.

Stop it.

Stop it!

Stop it!

Experience had taught me
how to strangle correctly

and for long enough.

Bravo, Jack!

You certainly
are clever and tough. .

... just like
all the other criminals.

The fact is, when,
after several more murders

I felt my OCD diminish

I started to take
greater chances.

This time I was completely
dissatisfied with the pictures

so I decided to take new ones.

Fuck. Fuck! Fuck it!

Shit!

It struck me like lightning
from a clear sky.

Fuck!

I couldn't resist running

that little old lady over.

It made my already rather
daring plan of bringing

the first body back
to the scene of the murder

in order to take
some more inspired photos

a great deal more dangerous.

I now had a severely
hemorrhaging body

and another body in a bizarre,
frozen position on my hands.

Goddammit!

Could you elaborate a little

on why the old lady had to die?

I can't explain it all,
but perhaps I can describe it

as the kind of blood frenzy

an ermine experiences
in a hen house.

Do you know Blake's poems. .

... about the lamb
and the tiger?

I do know Blake superficially

but I'm afraid I won't escape
a comprehensive tutorial.

God created both
the lamb and the tiger.

The lamb represents innocence

and the tiger represents
savagery.

Both parts are perfect
and necessary.

The tiger lives
on blood and murder

kills the lamb. .

... and that is also
the artist's nature.

You read Blake like
the devil reads the Bible.

After all, the poor lamb
didn't ask to die

in order to become even
the greatest art.

The lamb has been bestowed
with the honor of living

forever in art,
and art is divine.

But still the same red van.
Now all bloody.

Somewhat reckless,
I should think

if you don't want
to be found out.

Now, that's exactly
what I thought. .

... but I didn't have
the strength to change it

and besides, everything was
still going remarkably well.

Sometimes the best way
to hide is to not hide at all.

But now, as I said,
the OCD was on decline. .

... so I took deliberate risks
and didn't remove the blood

from either the bedroom
or the car.

It was actually quite liberating to reach that point.

It turned out the little old lady who was merely an accident

added a great touch of humor
to my staged photographs.

And I was very pleased
with the outcome.

Sophistication.

Mr. Sophistication? Of course!

Your narcissism
knows no bounds.

I sent the picture
to the local paper

which usually distinguished
itself by running stories

about missing, not to say,
uh, stolen garden gates

and so, might do well
with a story with a, you know

little more bite.

For me though, what was really
sensational about the work

with the photo,
it wasn't the image

but the negative.

When I was ten years old,
I discovered

that through the negative,
you could see

the real inner
demonic quality of the light.

The dark light.

But what about
repentance, Jack?

The ones I deal with tend
to repent all over the place.

I repent nothing

no matter how long
we have to walk

but I did think
of something the other day.

Imagine a man
walking down a street

underneath the street lamps.

Right under a light
his shadow is the densest

but also the tiniest.

Then when he starts to move

his shadow grows
in front of him.

The shadow becomes
bigger and bigger

while it thins out
and the shadow behind him

from the next lamppost emerges

and becomes
shorter and shorter

until it reaches
its ultimate density

as the man stands directly
underneath the light.

Let's say that the man standing

underneath the first lamppost
is me

when I've just
committed a murder.

I feel strong and content.

I start to walk and the shadow
in front of me grows bigger

like my pleasure,
but at the same time

pain is on its way,
represented by the shadow

behind me
from the next lamppost

and at the midpoint
between the lampposts

the pain is so great
it outweighs my pleasure.

And with every step forward
pleasure dissolves

and pain
intensifies behind me.

Finally the pain
is so unbearably intense

that I have to act,
so when I reach the point

with the next lamp in zenith

I will kill again.

I know you want
to be someone special, Jack

but let's face it,
this illustration can be used

for any addict's tale of woe.

The alcoholic empties
the bottle at the zenith

et cetera, et cetera.

But what about the family?

I understand that your
occupation didn't leave

any room for a family
in your life.

No, why?

Well, it could be,
despite everything

that speculating about this
might have triggered

just a tiny bit
of human feeling.

For example, a variation on what those of us less clever

might call need.

Need? Because
I never had a family?

No, I can't say that it did.

But the concept of family
actually inspired

one of my greatest works.

Okay, hats for everyone

you are to keep
your hats on at all times.

- Thank you.
- Safety procedures.

Can we go up there, mom?

Of course we're gonna go up.

Smile, grumpy, it'll be fun.

I don't think so.

It's for your sake we've come
all the way out here.

I told you I didn't wanna go.

You wanna see the weapons?

This, George, is a rifle.

This rifle has the capacity
to hit its target

at a distance
of several 100 yards.

And kill larger animals.

Have you killed
any large animals?

Well, yes, I have.

But that's not something
that I'm proud of.

If I'd killed
some large animals

I'd be proud of it.

I guess that's where
you and I differ, Georgie.

This here is a shotgun.

It's what they call
a smoothbore weapon.

This is not as precise
as the rifle

but it's more effective

when the animal is closer
and moving.

You can touch it if you want.

Can I?

Yeah.

Are we going hunting?

No.

Hunting is such
an unpleasant thing.

I used to hunt quite a bit,
but I've stopped.

Why?

To be honest,
I find hunting distasteful.

For example, if I wanted
to shoot some of the crows

up in that tree,
we'd be talking about

what is known as culling,
which quite simply means

you want to determine which
animals you are going to allow

to live in your forest.

The crow has no value as prey

but can be culled because
they are seen as something

of a threat to animals
you wanna cultivate.

Culling, it's also such
an unpleasant word.

It has a tinge of ethnic
cleansing about it.

The very sick
and twisted act of hunting

has been ritualized

to such an unsettling degree.

The battue, for example

where a row of beaters
scares the living daylight

out of an entire forest.

Not to mention the trophy
parade, practiced primarily

in Europe
at the end of the hunt

as a final insult

in which each species
has its own traditional place.

We want to go up
in the tower, mom.

Shh. George, wait.

Yep, we are going up.

Okay, George,
you want to shoot?

I'll aim. .

... you pull the trigger.

Fire!

Excellent!

To fell an animal of this size

you have to be sure
to hit it in the vitals

which is to say here,
in the area of the lungs.

As you can see,
this one was hit here

in the hind quarter.

An animal could run
a great distance

with an injury such as this.

That's why typically
a good hunter would have

a Schweiss-dog, that's trained
in following a blood trail

so you can track the animal
down and finish the job.

Schweiss, well, that's
the word we use for blood trail.

Congratulations, young Georgie,
you hit the animal.

So you had found yourself
a family?

Yes, that's also how
I like to see it.

But it's all so much
simpler with animals.

What do you mean?

The order is important.

The hind will typically run in
the front with the largest fawn

following the smallest last.

You'd typically shoot
at the deer

starting with the rear one

based on the fact that the two
older animals can survive

without the young one

whereas, if you shot
the mother first

and didn't get the others

both fawns would probably
not survive.

So in this manner,
you then shoot the bigger fawn

and then the mother last.

Stay down!

Stop! George!

George!

My family was moving
in the wrong order.

I have always taken
ethical hunting rules

very seriously.

On that point,
I think of myself as a bit of a gentleman.

A gentleman, really?

Hmm.

Or a Mr. Sophistication even?

No! No!

No!

George doesn't seem to have
much of an appetite.

Perhaps he'd like
some of that pie.

You know, when I was a boy,
I never got enough pie.

Why don't you do as I say. .

... and give the youngster
a little piece of pie?

It's if have no say
in the matter.

This was supposed to be
an enjoyable picnic.

This has been a good day.

An excellent day.

Do you have a favorite number?

Any number?

Everybody has
a favorite number.

Twelve.

Twelve.

That's an excellent number.

Very good number indeed.

Picnic's over.

You can go ahead.

I'll take care of the kids.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

Schweiss.

Exactly.

Do you expect me
to praise you or applaud?

You know, I'm sad

that you're
so judgmental, Verge.

Don't look at the acts,
look at the works.

The whole notion of trophies.

No. No, no, no!

You're constantly
trying to manipulate me.

And with children

the most sensitive
subject of all.

I'm also sensitive, Verge.

I cannot sleep on a sheet with even the smallest wrinkle.

The hunt, after all,
is a metaphor for love.

And that is your weakness,
Jack.

So much has happened
during those days

let's call it signs
in the sun and the moon

which claimed my presence
for yet another work of art

and roused my aggression.

First, the eclipse.

Then the volcanic eruption
of Mount St. Helens

which I could see
from my lot.

I had just then decided
that using cinder blocks

was totally, totally wrong.

So I decided
to change the material.

The divine material.

Love, Jack.

Love is also an art.

Not to mention intimacy.

The Iceman always inhaled
his victims' last breath.

Jack!

Verge?

I'm here, Jack.

I don't feel so good, Verge.

There's a sour taste
in my mouth.

You want me to show you the way to the next whiskey bar?

It's the acid
you are starting to taste.

It appears at this depth.

I'm afraid you are going
to have to get used to it.

I placed Grumpy
in the anteroom. .

... and left him there
until rigor mortis

had disappeared.

I had a plan
for little Grumpy.

What does that mean?

Those who are really good
at taxidermy

can make the animals
look alive

by changing their expressions
and positions

so it becomes
a whole little scene.

I discovered that if I worked
around rigor mortis

and worked before
the corpses froze

then I could manipulate
their expressions

and positions with
steel wire, pins, tape

and things like that.

And then when they were frozen

remove it all
and have a nearly

credible human being.

Grumpy was grumpy no more.

Was that what you were after?

A completely credible
human being?

Without becoming too romantic,
might one say

that exactly that
is reminiscent

of a kind of desire
for love?

I had a romance.

Where did the crutch
come from, Jack?

You hadn't hurt yourself,
had you?

A very useful little trick
if you wish to look harmless.

In general, if you carry some
luggage and a crutch

people come running
to assist

and then you force them
into the car with a weapon.

What does that
have to do with love?

I really had strong feelings
for this one

much stronger than a psychopath should be able to have.

Smile.

Hey.

Talk to me.

I can't.

I hate the way you look at me.

The way I look at you?

Okay.

Can you tell me
what's on your mind now?

I just don't know
where I've got you.

Are you trying to leave me?

I feel like you're trying
to leave me.

I'm not going to leave you.

I'm right here.

You feel that?

I'm right here,
on the other end of the line.

Hang up for a second.

- Hello.
- Who am I speaking with?

You know who
you are speaking with.

You know I'd never leave you.

Now what do you say?

Don't you think we deserve
a drink?

Sure.

I'll be over shortly
for cocktails.

Simple?

You know I hate it
when you call me Simple.

My name is Jacqueline.

Jacqueline?

Did old Mr. and Mrs. Simple really
have that vivid an imagination?

Jacqueline. .
I bet they got that

right out of "The New York Times"
crossword puzzle.

To me, your name is
Simple, simple.

Hey, you've got great tits.

Why do you always
have to be so crude?

What. .

Is that being crude?

I don't think
I was being crude.

Have you figured out
the difference between

lions and tigers?

Tigers have stripes.

And where do they live?

Africa?

And the difference between
an architect and an engineer?

Architect draws houses?

And an engineer?

Also draws houses?

You call that a difference?

An engineer reads music,
an architect plays music

if that's something your
limited brain can process.

Why do you always
have to be so cruel?

I'm not completely stupid.

That fucking depends on your
definition of "Completely. "

Can we just talk
about something normal?

- Like. .
- Like?

What you do,
something like that?

Information about what I do.

In simple terms that
a simpleton can understand

is that right, Simple?

Yes.

I kill.

Okay.

I've killed 60 people.

I'm a serial killer, Simple.

You're weird.

I'm weird?

Why, because I'm saying that
I've killed 61 people?

You said 60 before.

If you weren't as dumb
as a fucking doorknob

you would be familiar
with the term "Updated. "

Just because the number
was 60 an hour ago

doesn't mean that
it can't easily become

61 in just
a couple of minutes.

Well, I'm not dumb
as a doorknob.

Maybe I haven't
read as many books as you.

Simple, come on.

You're as dumb as fuck.

Now why don't you be
a good little dreamboat

and go get me a magic marker.

Could you bring me
a magic marker?

Red or black?

E... either one's fine.

You're fucking weird.

Excuse me.

- Officer.
- Yeah.

My friend is, like,
totally weird

and he said he killed
60 people

or maybe even 61.

Have you been drinking?

Um, yeah.

Then stop.

Everything that this woman
has said. .

... is true.

I have killed 60 people!

Sixty people!

I'm a serial killer.

Please help me.

I've also been
a horrible human being. .

... to this woman right here. .

... Ms. Jacqueline.

Miss, would you be kind enough
to sweep up your friend here

and take him back inside?

I can't order you both
to stop drinking

but I would recommend it.

I can never make it up to you.

Never be able
to make it up to you.

Can you forgive me?

Yeah.

I forgive you.

Come on.
Let's go inside.

You need some pills.

I've got a friend
who's got some good pills.

Are you leaving?

I was just gonna go
get some pills.

Do you have my... my keys?

I'm not gonna take
some random pills.

You know, I really think
I deserve better than this.

I'm gonna hang on to the keys.

It's a bad habit for you to

go rushing downstairs
every time

we start to have,
have a good time.

Right?

You're walking
without your crutch.

And you weren't
using it downstairs either.

You're Mr. Sophistication,
aren't you?

If you feel like screaming. .

... I definitely think
that you should.

You call that screaming?

Help! Help!

Help!

Yes, help!

There's a murderer
in the building!

It's Mr. Sophistication!

Help!

Help!

Shh!

Shh! Hey.

Hey. Hey.

Shh!

Do you hear?

Do you hear anything?

Do you hear anybody
running downstairs to help?

Some neighbors you have.

You want to try the window?

I just want my keys.

I just want my keys.

I want my keys.

Help!

Help!

Help me!

Please help me!

You know, maybe I'm mistaken,
but. .

... as far as I can tell. .

... not a single light
has gone on

in any apartment or stairwell.

You know why that is?

'Cause in this hell of a town. .

... in this hell of a country. .

... in this hell of a world,
nobody wants to help!

You can scream. .

... from now until Christmas Eve

and the only answer
you'll get

is the deafening silence
that you're hearing right now.

Can't we talk?

There's a time for talking

and a time for being quiet.

Open your mouth.

Open your mouth!

Okay, Simple.

Oh, I'm sorry,
Ms. Jacqueline.

Now, it's time. .

... for you to choose a knife.

All you have to do is nod.

No?

What about this one?

You don't like
that one either?

Okay.

How about this one?

Hmm.

Well. .

... that's an interesting
choice, Simple.

You know. .

... there is something that has been
bothering Mr. Sophistication. .

... for quite a bit.

And perhaps it's more
interesting to him. .

... than it would be to you.

But to be honest

he gets pretty fuckin' pissed
when he thinks about it.

Why is it always
the man's fault?

No matter where you go

it's like you're some sort of
wandering guilty person.

Without even having harmed
a single kitten.

I actually get sad
when I think about it.

If one is so unfortunate. .

... as to have been born male. .

... then you're also born guilty.

Think of the injustice in that.

Women are always
the victims, right?

And men, they are always
the criminals.

Told you before,
this is private property.

I want you to leave.

All the king's horses
and all the king's men

couldn't put Simple
back together again.

Why are they always so stupid?

Who's stupid?

All the women you kill strike
me as seriously unintelligent.

Come on.

I've also killed men.

But you only talk
about the stupid women

unless you think
all women are stupid.

Well, the stories I've told
were selected at random, but...

You feel superior to women
and want to brag?

It turns you on,
doesn't it, Jack?

No, no,
but women are easier.

Not physically, they're
just easier to work with.

More cooperative.

To kill, you mean.

If you like.

Mr. Sophistication believes
in that theory.

So, Mr. Sophistication
is, uh, the theoretician?

I can tell
you're lapping it up

when I tell you about
Mr. Sophistication.

"So Jack hears voices

"that order him
to do this or do that.

Jack must be psychotic. "

I loathe diagnosis you can just write down in letters.

That's not fair,
the letters are clear.

They look after us
and create boundaries

between good and evil,
and they carry religion.

Religion has ruined
human beings

because your God teaches people to deny the tiger in themselves

and turns us all
into a throng of slaves

too shameful to acknowledge it.

Oh, Jack, you should have read

the right letters in your life

but you didn't want to.

The collection of corpses were
mostly frozen

shortly after death

however, I think a handful
of them, by chance

had reached, uh, at least, a
certain degree of putrefaction

before I managed
to get them on ice.

Can you say if putrefaction
is good or evil?

Most people would say,
it's the natural breakdown

which, in the end,
is a reaction of matter

which is the basis for life
on earth.

Thereby, it's neither
particularly good nor evil

and that a human being must be
perceived as alive

if you're to describe
that person's qualities

and identify that person's
ultimate goal.

But this is where
Mr. Sophistication

has a very different opinion.

He argues quite well
that the ultimate goal

for the human being
is not prior to death

but after.

You reduce everything human
to matter

and that way life disappears
and along with it art

which you value so highly.

Verge, you're a bitter
old bastard.

You kill art by imposing
your moral ruler on life

which I want to free

because art is so immeasurably
vaster

than we will ever understand.

May I illustrate now?

There is no avoiding it,
is there?

I don't have a handle on
how many processes take part

in the decay of a dead human

but I know a bit
about dessert wines.

In order to achieve
the most sublime sweetness

and the greatest wines,
nature has provided us

with various methods.

The three most common forms
of decomposition are

frost. .

... dehydration. .

... and a fungus
with the enticingly

mysterious name,
the noble rot.

The first method is the one
that in Germany

is used to produce "Eiswein. "

The method
quite simply entails

leaving the grapes on the vine
for so long

that they are exposed to frost
for a certain number of nights

before they are pressed.

This method increases
the sugar content

in the wine dramatically.

It is very risky, as the grapes must have certain qualities

in order to be able to
withstand the process.

On top of that,
there can be uncertainty

about whether or not the first
night's frost

lives up precisely to the
expectations, et cetera.

The second method
is called "Trockenbeeren"

in which the grapes are allowed to hang on the vine

until they dry up and very
nearly become raisins.

The last method,
which, for example

is essential for the production of Sauternes

is a kind of mold
that causes grapes

to be very full-bodied

and have an explosively high
sugar content.

You could say about
all three processes

that it's the breakdown
that lifts the living grape

up to be a part of an artwork.

You can view the processes
that start in a human being

after death in the same manner.

Says you! And I still say that
without love there is no art.

It's not up for debate.

The thing you are talking about with the grapes

is just nature's
method of decomposing.

If decomposition
is a way to salvation

then what about your house?

By God, you cannot convince me

that the idea of your first
house being torn down

was, in any way, satisfying.

Do you claim that
it was built to be torn down?

No, of course it wasn't ideal

and I'm sorry to say
that it happened

no less than three more times

that I started construction
and then became doubtful.

It was difficult to create
the house

that I had dreamed of.

The material didn't do
what I wanted it to do.

The houses I had drawn
had already

at the very first detail,
something banal

not to say ordinary,
about them

Isn't that what in art
you would call epigonism?

Your great talent
only reached so far

you, artist of all times.

When you were writing,
didn't you yourself plan

the destruction of your most
popular literary work?

"The Aeneid"
was a commissioned work

where the ruling power and
its ideas were glorified by me

to the point
where it was no longer art.

But if glorification
could demean a work. .

... why should destruction
and demolition

not be able to do the opposite
and create art?

Albert Speer invented
"The Theory of Ruin Value"

by examining the Greek
and Roman ruins

and constructed his buildings
using both weaker

and stronger materials

so that they, in a thousand
years, would appear

as aesthetically perfect ruins.

Which fortunately
were smashed to atoms

in mere few years
after their construction.

Hubris is punished by nemesis

if I may use an old-fashioned
expression.

But an artist must be cynical

and not worry about the welfare of humans or Gods in his art.

This talk about
the value of ruins

makes it too obvious, not to
mention, another subject.

The value of icons.

The Stuka

without a doubt the world's
most beautiful airplane

and to top it off featuring an
eerily sophisticated detail.

I'm sure you know
what I'm talking about.

No, by God
that has never interested me

but do tell me about it.

The Stuka was a dive-bomber.

They say that the pilots
actually passed out

for a brief moment
during the actual dive.

But the detail per favore.

Fantastic.

Incomparable.

Notice the sound
when the plane dives.

The screeching sound.

A result of poor design
if you ask me.

Poor design, please.

On the contrary,
the screeching was intrinsic

sirens were attached to
the undercarriage of the plane

purposely designed as a
psychological act of war.

No one who heard it in action
will ever forget that sound.

It made the blood run cold
in everyone's veins.

Known as Jericho's Trumpet.

Sadistic, but in your eyes

probably a masterpiece.

No, more than a masterpiece.

An icon.

The person or persons,
who conceived the Stuka

and its functions,
were icon-creators.

What I'm getting at is this

as disinclined
as the world is

to acknowledge
the beauty of decay

it's just as disinclined
to give credit to those

no credit to us

who create the real icons
of this planet.

We are deemed
the ultimate evil.

All the icons that have had
and always will have

an impact on the world

are for me extravagant art.

The noble rot.

Stop it... you Antichrist!

I don't recall ever having
escorted

a so thoroughly depraved person as you, Jack.

Since you have now apparently
set your heart

in mass extermination

let me make a brief comment

about the Buchenwald camp

that emphasizes my attitude
towards art and love.

In the middle of this concentration camp stood a tree

and not just any old tree,
but an oak

and not just any oak,
but the one Goethe

when he was young,
sat beneath

and wrote some of humanity's
most important works.

Goethe.

Here you can talk about
masterpieces

and the value of icons.

The personification
of humanism, dignity

culture and goodness
was by the irony of faith

suddenly present

in the middle of one
of the all time

greatest crimes
against humanity.

Some people claim
that the atrocities we commit

in our fiction
are those inner desires

which we cannot commit in our
controlled civilization.

So they are expressed instead
through our art.

I don't agree.

I believe heaven and hell
are one and the same.

The soul belongs to heaven
and the body to hell.

The soul is reason and the body is all the dangerous things

for example art and icons.

Let me finish
with a curiosity.

I've always considered it
ridiculous

when I've heard about the
serial killer's

favorite trophy.

Here you are, Jack.

And yet I let myself be
tempted to not let

Simple's other breast
go to waste

but have it prepared and sown.

Also a small icon.

Thank you, sir.

Do you wanna fucking die?

- No.
- Then do what I fucking say.

Do what I say!

Unlock it.

Drop the keys.

Turn around.

Cuff.

Cuff!

Kneel down.

We're freezing.

One of the others
fainted earlier.

We're dying of cold.

We're dying.

Really? "We're freezing. "

I guess I owe you gentlemen
an explanation.

During World War II
on the eastern front

German soldiers had large
programs of executions

but were in short supply
of ammunition

so they experimented with the
execution of several individuals

with one,
just one single bullet.

Now as a tribute
to that, uh, ingenuity. .

... I'm going to conduct a small
experiment of my own.

I'm going to use. .

... a full metal jacket bullet

which has the capacity

to pass through each and every
one of your heads.

That's not something
that I would be able to do

with basic hunting ammunition.

Wait, wait, wait,
wait, sir, sir.

I... it's a
misunderstanding, sir.

- I hear that a lot.
- No, sir.

W... what I mean is
that you are wrong

about the ammunition, sir.

That is not full metal
ammunition, sir.

I'm a military man,
and I know, sir.

Fuck.

You're right!
This is a hunting round.

This box, it's... it's
completely mislabeled.

Goddammit!

Forgive me, gentlemen,
I'm gonna have to, uh

step out for a moment.

I know it's not
an ideal situation.

Don't die on me guys, okay?

I've never yelled
at you before, Al

but I'm about to now.

What does that look like to you,
what does that say there?

Uh, thirty odd six. .

- Thirty odd six, that's correct.
- Yeah.

It also says full metal jacket.

And when I look inside. .

Get me a goddamn box, Al,
and this time

make sure it's got full metal
jacket bullets in it!

Is it too much to fucking ask
that the contents of the box

match what's written
on the label?

I can, I can see
that the, you're right

the label doesn't
quite match the. .

... uh, content.

- W... well, that's correct.
- Yeah, but. .

The thing is that
what I can't see

is that the... the. .

... the box was bought here
in the shop.

Uh. .

Well I buy all my shit here.

I have, for 20 years.

I'm in here
almost every other week.

What's wrong with you, Al?

I'm sorry,
I need to see a receipt.

- Receipt?
- Yeah

Well, I don't have a fuckin'
receipt.

I don't ever recall getting a
receipt here.

Now I'm in a fucking hurry.

Let me buy a new box.

But this time make sure
it contains

full metal jacket bullets.

Okay, uh, c... can I just see
some ID first?

Don't fucking do this, Al.

The thing is, the... the law
requires that I have...

How about this. .

No doubt about
your... your identity...

Sell me just one full metal
jacket bullet.

Can I, can I just ask. .

... why just... one?

Well, that will be none of your
fuckin' business.

- That... that's right. I'm sor...
- Okay?

I do business here because you
don't ask stupid questions.

I'm... I'm sorry, Jack.
I'm... I'm sorry.

- Shut it down, Al, go home, have a sandwich.
- Okay.

You've lost
your fucking mind, Al.

Yeah. I'm sorry. I'm so. .

Fuck you, Al!

Al's gone totally bonkers.

I need a full metal jacket
cartridge.

Yesterday,
the police visited Al

and then me

with lights and sirens

to get you.

It's over now, Jack.

What's over?

They know what you've done.

We. .

Alright, what have I done?

The robbery.

Robbery?

You guys better
fucking get it together.

I haven't robbed anybody.

This is ridiculous.

I'm gonna call the police, Jack.

Give me your gun.

I don't run around
with guns on me.

This is, this is crazy.

Sit yourself down, Jack.

This is S. P.

I wanna get ahold of Rob.

Well, when you get hold of him,
you'll tell him

to get over here straight away.

I've caught Jack.

I'm kind of glad that you are
the one that caught me.

Perhaps you don't know this. .

... but I think of you
as my best friend.

Now that might not be
a big deal to you. .

... but you've meant
a great deal to me.

It feels quite nice
knowing that it's all over.

Somebody had to free me

and stop me from stealing things
that don't belong to me.

And that someone
turned out to be you.

Do you remember the time you
took down that eight pointer

that I'd been tracking
for four days?

It was on my territory
for sure.

No one's questioning that.

You've always been
a great shot.

Now would you, uh,
quit pointing that gun at me?

Kind of hurting my feelings
a little bit.

I'm not going anywhere.

After all you know me, S. P.

Yeah.

I know you.

And you've never lied to me.

No.

Just as fast
as I always was, huh?

You wouldn't make it
to the door.

What have I done?

You got him, S. P.

Well, I'll take it from here.

Can we agree on this?

Is that a full metal jacket
cartridge?

Yes, sir. That is. .

That is a full metal jacket
rifle cartridge.

Oh, please, please

please, don't do this, please.

- Alright, come on.
- Don't do it, please!

No, no.

I can't focus.

It's too close.

Perfect.

Jack!

Jack!

Who are you?

Call me Verge.

How did you get in here?

What do you want?

As I see it,
it's you who called me.

I've been with you for a while,
you just didn't notice me.

So, did you come here
to stop me?

I haven't come here to stop you
from anything.

I just have one question.

What's the question?

Wasn't there something about
you building a house?

Wasn't Jack going to
build a house?

Yes.

I... I... I was. .

... trying. .

... but I didn't get very far.

This is the police.

Come out with your hands
where we can see them

I can see it's going to be
a bit difficult

to get that house built,
but perhaps another one.

Think, Jack, after all
you are an engineer

and call yourself an architect.

I've been told you have an
interesting theory

about the material

which you claim
has its own will.

Find the material, Jack

and let it do the work.

Your house is a fine little
house, Jack.

It's absolutely usable.

Are you coming, Jack?

I'm here... Jack.

May I ask you something?

I can't promise I'll answer.

R... right,
that is exactly what I meant.

Um, are you allowed to speak
along the way?

I was thinking
there might be rules.

Put it this way

very few make it all the way
without uttering a word.

People are overcome
with a strange

and sudden need
to confess on these trips.

And not all of it can be said

to be of great
rhetorical quality

but do carry on merrily

just don't believe you're going to tell me something

I haven't heard before.

Do you hear a buzzing sound?

Yes.

And I don't think
you want to know

where it's coming from.

I wanna know everything.

For thousands of years
human beings

have tried to localize hell.

Among other methods

by seeking the sound
it generates.

One shouldn't focus on
extracting screams and wailing

because the cries of pain
of so many millions

of individuals together. .

... becomes what you have
just heard.

A buzzing sound whose intensity

will increase
as we get ever closer

to the presence of suffering.

Verge?

I'm here, Jack.

I don't feel so good, Verge.

There's a sour taste
in my mouth.

You want me to show you the way
to the next whiskey bar?

Those are the Elysian Fields.

We don't have access here.

That's how deep
the deepest hell goes.

It's actually not here
I'm to deliver you. .

... however improbable
that may sound. .

... but a couple of circles
higher up.

I took you down here
as a kind of a favor. .

... because you did after all
give me a little to chew on

with your story,
and I understood

that you wanted to see it all.

When you are done looking,
we'll turn back.

Where does that path lead?

On the other side.

It leads out of hell and up.

As you can see
there was once a bridge

but that was before my time.

Isn't it possible
to climb all the way around?

This way. .

... and make it over
to the other side?

Quite a few have tried,
but I have to say. .

... never successfully.

I wouldn't recommend it

but the choice
is entirely yours.

I'll take my chance.

Bye, Jack.

Bye, Verge.