All language subtitles for Blind.Revenge.2009.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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To be honest, I don't know
all that much about art.

But I did see your TV shows.
I thought they were bloody good.

I'm a librarian by profession.

I have been now for 17 years.

So naturally,
I'm familiar with your books…

and not just because I've been
stamping them out.

I have a degree
in the History of Fine Arts.

Edinburgh University.
I studied under Bernes.

Roger Bernes?

You know him?

Ah, well,
I've read all your books.

Um, I especially like the one
on Rembrandt. Uh…

An amanuensis.

What the hell is that?

Who is it?

It's Jane Ryder.
You were expecting me.

-Press the door, come in.

That's it. Close it behind you.

Come in.

Sorry I'm a few minutes late.

Come in, come in.
Close the door, would you?

-Just throw your coat anywhere.
-No problem.

I'll sit here, shall I?
And perhaps you would like to sit there.

Feel free to smoke.
Oh, perhaps you'd like one of mine?

Oh, no, thank you.

I'm sorry. Did my nonchalantly
pulling it from my pocket put you off?

No, not at all.

I'm never quite sure whether it's
the height of elegance of vulgarity.

Well, it's just that I don't smoke.

-So, shall we start?
-Yes, please.

I am curious to know
why you answered my advertisement.

You must have known I was expecting a man.

Well, no, you didn't specify that.

-No, I didn't specify very much, did I?
-No.

You've obviously heard of me?

Of course.
I've read everything you've ever written.

When I was at the Royal College of Art,
you were kind of like a god to me.

Aha!

Go on, go on!

Sorry, I'm not usually this dithery.

I don't exactly know
what I'm supposed to say next.

-How old are you?
-Thirty-eight.

Your job? On the telephone, you said
something about stocks and shares.

I work at one of the big banks in London.

What happened to art school?

-I supposed I just didn't have it.
-Aha.

So you have no idea
what this job of mine entails?

No, not at all.

So, now we come to the nub.

How good are your powers of observation?

-What?
-You heard me.

How good are you at observing things

and accurately describing
what you've observed?

I suppose, like most people, I…

consider that my powers of observation
are quite good.

All right. Describe yourself to me.

-My face?
-Mm-hm.

Do you consider yourself beautiful?

I suppose if I'm honest,
I'm considered attractive, yes.

And?

And I have high cheek bones,

bluish-grey eyes, full lips, blonde hair.

-Bespectacled?
-No.

I am sorry, but what…?

Describe my face.

Don't tell me that you have nothing
to say, I know better than that.

Let me tell you at once, Jane Ryder,

you are worse than useless to me

if you cannot,
or indeed will not, describe my face.

Okay.

Your face looks as though it has been
badly scarred in some kind of an accident.

Um, and on your forehead
and your right cheek,

you have these sort of bumps and bulges
with red lines

and sort of a greyish-white colour.

The bottom half and left side of your face
look perfectly normal

and I can't describe your eyes
because you have on dark glasses.

Of course. Careless of me.

Cat got your tongue?

You have no eyes.

Yes, I have no eyes!

And I don't wear glass ones

because I think that would be over-egging
an already rather lumpy pudding.

Congratulations, though I might have
preferred that you described it

with a little less gusto,
although I did goad you into it, didn't I?

I'm sorry if I…

No, no, no, no.
You did exactly what I asked you to do.

I am impressed.

For a man who can't see,
you certainly know your way around.

Ah, yes. I have memorised this room.

I have learned it by heart,
like a poem by Walter de la Mare.

But outside of here, my bedroom,
and the drawing room, I am truly blind.

But here, in this room,
I see as well as you.

Do you like my little Bonnard? Hmm?

Rather voluptuous, don't you think?

And here…

is a first edition
of Thackeray's Vanity Fair.

And this ashtray I bought in Los Angeles

because it reminded me
of one of David Hockney's swimming pools.

-Yeah?
-Yes, I see what you mean.

-I'm such a ham.

Shall we go next door?
It's rather more cosy.

No problem.

No, this way.

Come in.

Please sit down.

Thank you.

Just so that you know,

I lost my eyes and half of my face
in Thailand four years ago.

My car skidded off the road,
and I went through the windscreen.

The whole thing burst into flames.

-Oh, I'm sorry.
-Well, there we are.

The good thing, of course,
about having no eyes

is that you never have to see
what you look like without them.

And of course,
I still can feel these bumps and bulges

that you so vividly described
and the two empty eye sockets.

I didn't what anything to do
with the modern world.

I had no newspapers, television, radio.

I came here and went to ground.

-Does all this belong to you?
-To my family, yes.

I haven't lived here since I was a boy.

-It's magnificent.
-It's a monstrosity.

Anyway, enough chitchat. I expect
you'd like to know what this is about.

I have an idea.
Is it that you want to write a book?

Exactly, Jane.

One last book.
My re-entry into the world of the living.

Of course, I'm going to need
an amanuensis

-who can be my eyes, my fingers.
-I see.

Now, you are currently unattached?

Yes, I'm single.

Well, I would expect you
to live here throughout.

Seven days a week, if you are so minded.

Five if you want to spend
your weekends in London.

You may choose your own bedroom.

Heaven knows how many there are…
I certainly don't.

Have as many as you like.

In case you are wondering,
I am offering you the job.

Perhaps you would like to think about it.

No, it's just that we haven't
spoken about money.

Of course. Remuneration.

I will be prepared to pay you
3000 pounds per month.

-Does that sound reasonable?
-That sound extremely generous.

Plus board and lodging, of course.
A year should do it.

-Then yes.
-Excellent.

I know we will work famously together.

-What exquisitely manicured fingernails.
-Thank you, Sir Paul.

Not at all. I can still pay
an attractive woman a compliment.

And please, not Sir Paul.
Paul will do very nicely.

-Just Paul.
-Paul.

Now, there's something you ought to know.
I am not looking for a nursemaid, hmm.

I have a housekeeper, a Mrs. Kilbride.
She's a Glaswegian, poor soul.

But she does all the cooking and cleaning.
Um…

There's one other thing,
it's rather embarrassing. Um…

I have a terrific fear of the dark.

What?

It is rather extraordinary for a blind man
to fear the dark, but there we are.

I am also dreadfully claustrophobic.

I-- I'd be claustrophobic in the universe.

That is claustrophobic.

It's no laughing matter.

-Oh, I didn't mean…
-No, no, I know, I know, I know, I know.

I insist on the lights
being switched on in this house

exactly the same time
as they would be in any normal house.

Right.

Also, I sleep with a night light on.
Pathetic, I know.

I promise not to leave you in the dark.

-Thank you.
-Is that it?

-No. I walk downstairs backwards.
-Sorry?

I walk downstairs backwards.

It's perfectly logical
if you think about it.

Should I lose my footing,
I will not tumble headlong.

There's one more thing
I should like to know about you.

Mm-hm.

I asked you earlier to describe yourself.

I'd like to check
how accurate that description was.

-May I?
-I'm so--

Thank you.

Only the west wing is heated.
Everything else under dust sheets.

For how long? All four years?

Ah, Jane, there you are.
Dinner will be served shortly.

-All settled in?
-Yes, thank you.

Have you set up
your computer in the library?

Yes. It's a Mac, I hope that's okay.

-Oh, yeah.
-Well, most people use PCs.

No, listen,
if what you're used to is a Big Mac,

then a Big Mac is what you must have.

Where is Mrs. Kilbride? She knows
I like to be served at30 promptly.

What time is it?

-Twenty to.
-Hmm.

She's probably late because of you.

And she serves straight onto the table,
do you mind?

-Of course not.
-Good.

Ah, here she is.

Dear Mrs. Kilbride.

We were wondering what had become of you.

Well, sir, and Miss Ryder, I am sorry,
but I'm not used to doing for two.

I've had to change
my whole way of thinking.

But I'm sure you coped admirably.

Well, seeing as it's a special evening,

I made your favourite.
Steak and kidney pudding.

Ah, but everything you cook
is my favourite.

-Here you are, Miss Ryder.
-Thank you.

And don't you fret.
I know Sir Paul is only pulling my leg.

I know how he talks
about my cooking behind my back.

But he has just got to like it or lump it.

Sir Paul didn't say anything.

Oh, yes, he did!
We go back a long ways, him and me.

Don't we, you?

Don't do that. You know I don't like it.
Have we both been served?

It's all there on the table.

Good. Jane will call you when we're done.

Now don't you let him bully you,
Miss Ryder,

or else he will become unbearable.

Wheesht, woman! Off with you!

Poor Mrs. Kilbride.

In the tragedy that is my life, she has
cast herself in the role of comic relief.

Now, I have to teach you
the clock method. Hmm.

I have in front of me, I know,
steak and kidney pudding,

probably roast potatoes,
and either Brussels sprouts or peas.

Sprouts.

Dear, dependable Mrs. Kilbride.

Now, I know what's there, but I don't
know where it is so…

Let me see if I have it.

Potatoes at twelve, steak pie at three,
and Brussels sprouts at nine.

-Well done, Jane. Well done.

No problem.
Would you like some salt or pepper?

Neither, thank you.

No problem. Okay, bread?

-No, thank you.
-No problem.

And please, can we have no more
"no problems"?

It's a modern cliché
that I absolutely abhor.

It's what I came down here
to get away from, all that, you know.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I wasn't being rude,
I was just being frank.

Frankness is essential, you know,
between collaborators.

So now is the time
to iron out any little wrinkles,

so if there's anything that I do or say
which irritates you, then…

Now that you mention it, there is.

There is? Well, well, well. What?

-Poor.
-Poor?

Yes, the word poor.

I'm sorry, I don't follow.

Well, just a moment ago, you referred
to Mrs. Kilbride as "poor Mrs. Kilbride."

Did I?

I have just never been able to stomach
the word "poor".

-It seems, uh… patronising.
-Hmm.

-I've offended you.
-No, no, not at all.

I'm not offended, no. Merely surprised.
I didn't know I did it.

If I had an eyebrow,
I'd be raising it now.

I shouldn't have spoken.

No, no, no, not at all.
I asked you and you spoke.

Are there any other "hang ups"
that I ought to know about?

-No.
-Did I say something funny?

What?

You're smiling.
Did I say something funny?

You can hear me smile?

I can hear you think.

Bon appétit.

-What would you like me to call it?
-Call what?

The document.
I ought to give the document a name.

Oh, I… Well…

Does your testament have a title?

Oh, I see. I was thinking of calling it
A Closed Book.

Oh, I like that.

Oh, do you? It's rather neat, isn't it?

I'll call it "Book" for short, okay?

-Oh, really? Well, all right.

So how do we go about this?

Well, it's not going to be easy.

I need time to adjust, cos I'm not,
you know.

Of course.

So why don't you just keep typing,
no matter how confused it seems

-and then we can clean it up afterwards.
-Sounds good.

-All right. So shall we start?
-Yes.

Right.

-I'm blind.
-I realise that.

No, no. That's the first sentence.

-Oh, I'm sorry.
-That's all right.

Sorry.

I'm blind. Full stop.

Well, of course full stop.
I just said it was a sentence.

Now, don't bother me
with punctuation.

Just use your instinct,
and hopefully your education.

Right. Sorry.

Ready when you are.

No, don't keep prompting me.

When I know what it is I want to say,
you'll be the first to be told.

Sorry.

And don't keep fucking saying sorry
every two seconds!

It's driving me fucking bananas!

And now it's my turn to say sorry.
I humbly apologise. I'm deeply sorry.

I'm so sorry. I should never have spoken
like that. Please forgive me.

Don't worry about it.
I know this must be awkward for you.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

-So I-- I'll start again.
-Yes.

Um…

-I'm blind. I have no sight.

Equally, I-- I have no eyes.

Um… Thus, I am a freak.

And blindness is freakish, is surreal.

Excuse me. Do you want both
"is freakish" and "is surreal"?

Yes, "is freakish," comma,
"is surreal," full stop.

Blindness is freakish, is surreal.
Oh, God, this is absolute garbage.

What am I talking about? This won't do
at all. It's bloody nonsense.

It's all right, it's all right.

Just you keep typing, don't, don't, um…
worry about my complaints. All right.

Blindness is freakish, is-- is surreal.

Even more surreal is that,
having been dispossessed…

…of not only my sight, but my eyes.
No.

Not only of my sight, but of my eyes, um…

Um…

Work from- 00 to- 30; lunch.

Revisions from- 30 to- 00.

Dinner at30 always…

followed by a walk around the gardens
or else into the village.

Right. Now, Jane, there is absolutely
nothing to shepherding a blind man around.

That's it, just link your arm in mine,
that's it.

Good. Just a little tighter.
That's it, nice and snug.

Don't be alarmed. This is as intimate
as we're ever likely to get.

Now, if we approach something
that I should know about, like a curb…

just exert a little pressure.

-Like this?
-Well, perhaps not quite as tight as that.

Just like reining in a horse. Do you ride?

-No, sorry.
-Well, use your imagination.

All right. Village, clockwise, I think.

Mrs. Kilbride arrives at30 a.m.
and leaves after serving dinner.

Saturday, after lunch.
Doesn't come on Sunday.

The house is alarmed.

Thank you.

-Chin-chin.
-Chin-chin.

You know, having you here…

is the best thing that's happened to me
for a very long time.

Well, thank you, Paul, I appreciate that.

How about you? Have you enjoyed it?
Be honest.

Yes, it's been as interesting
as I had hoped it would be.

Mm.

Good. We have worked well together,
I think.

Yeah, we have.

-So, what's today?
-Friday.

-You're off to London tomorrow.
-Yes.

To see the boyfriend and…

There's no boyfriend,
but I do have to get into town.

Mm-hm.

You did say that I would spend
my weekends in London.

Oh, absolutely, absolutely.
No, I was just wondering something.

-Wondering what?
-Well, if you had an hour or so to spare.

I probably will.

Well, there's a little reconnoitring job
that I'd like you to do for me.

And if you did it on the weekend

then that would mean you didn't have
to go up to London again in a week.

What would it involve?

Well, there's a painting,
a self-portrait,

by Rembrandt in the National Gallery.

And I just happen to think
that it's the best portrait ever.

And I'd like to write about it
next week.

So what I want, um, is a detailed
description of the picture.

Um, perhaps a postcard. I think
you could get one at the souvenir shop.

Actually, actually, what would be best
of all would be a jigsaw.

A jigsaw puzzle?

Yes, yes. Yes, they have them
of some of the paintings.

I know they have the
Holbein Ambassadors, um,

and the Seurat, The Bathers.

-Do you know that one?
-Of course.

I don't expect they'd have
the Rembrandt.

Who would want a jigsaw of a bulbous-nosed
old codger in a smock?

But only if it wouldn't spoil
your weekend, of course.

No, I've got errands to do anyway.

So when shall I see you?

I'll be back Sunday night, but late,
so don't wait up for me.

I shan't.

Hello?

Hello, is someone there?

Hello?

Is someone there?

Hello?

Jane?

-Morning, Paul.
-Morning.

-Sleep well?
-No, I didn't.

Sorry. I hope I didn't wake you
coming in.

When did you come in?

Just after midnight.

I had dinner with a friend in Bayswater,
then I drove straight down.

-You couldn't have been here around00?
-Eleven last night?

Well, of course last night! What the hell
other night could it possibly be?

Don't bite my head off.
I told you not to wait up.

I didn't wait up. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, Jane.
I had a rather eerie experience.

What happened?

Probably my imagination.
How did you get on in town?

-I got the postcard and the puzzle.
-Oh… Oh!

Oh, well done, you! Very good.

I was imagining that you were going
to have to snip bits out of the postcard.

I don't follow.

Well, what I want you to do

is-- is assemble the jigsaw
but leaving out the eyes.

You see, I have this theory that what
distinguishes a truly great self-portrait

is how the eyes are painted.

This may or may not work,
for the cover.

Where's my coffee? Mrs. Kilbride!

Coffee is straight ahead at twelve,
but Mrs. Kilbride's already left.

What do you mean, left?

-I told her to take the week off.
-You what?

I told her to take the week off.

Joe was sick with the flu,
and he had it bad, so I…

Well, that's all very well, but…

I'm not angry, but it's just,
I really ought to be consulted

before you make that sort of decision.

I didn't want to wake you.

Well, couldn't it have waited
until I was awake?

Are you saying that I was wrong
to tell her not to come in?

No, no, no. I probably would have done
the same thing myself.

It's just that I might have thought twice
before burning my boats.

Our boats.

Well, if it's the meals
you're worried about,

I'm happy to cook for the both of us.

-Really?
-I'm not a bad cook, you know.

Oh.

Oh, well, it might be a rather nice change

from Mrs. Kilbride's perennial stodge.

Are you sure you want to cook every day
for a week?

Sure, I enjoy cooking.

Well, then thank you very much. Right.

Um, before we start, um, I'd like you
to make a telephone call for me, please.

Sure. Where's the phone?

Why on earth is it shut away like that?

As I told you, I hate modern gadgetry.

I have to have a telephone,
but I don't have to look at it,

if you see what I mean.

-Who am I to call?
-Oh, my agent.

Um, we've rather lost touch
over the years.

I'd-- I'd like to tell him about the book.

His name is Andrew Boles
and it's 0-2-0-7-6-3-1-3-3-4-1.

What did I just say?
What number did I give you?

-0-2-0-7-6-3-1-3-3-4-1.
-That's right.

Oh, don't tell him it's me.
I'd like it to be a surprise.

Who am I supposed to say it is?

-Well, try not to say anything, just…
-Ringing.

Yes, Andrew Boles, please.

Hello, I'd like to speak
with Andrew Boles.

He is?

Can you tell me for how long?

I see.

No, no, I'll try back when he's in,
thank you. Bye.

-Out?
-Away.

Lucky agents. Where the hell is he?

Touring through Asia
and then back to the States.

I guess he won't be back
until the end of the month.

Ahh! Oh, well. At least the book will have
a real existence by then.

Once a month,
the gardeners arrive on the 25th…

which leaves just two weeks. Not long.

…proving that,
with my eyes closed,

-I continue to see, even if what I see…

…even if what I see is…

-nothing at all.

Right. That'll do for now, I think.

Are you pleased with it?

Well, I may tear it all up
at the end of the day.

-What?
-No, I'm joking, I'm joking.

How about some coffee, hmm?

Maybe something stronger? A glass of wine?

Oh! Oh, no. A writer never drinks, Jane.

That would be as dangerous as drinking
and driving, drinking and writing.

What about Charles Bukowski?

Charles Bukowski? Charles Bukowski?
Rubbish.

Hemingway?

Is that the kind of writer
you think I am, hmm?

Hard-balled, gussied,
liquor-swinging, hmm?

-I'll make the coffee.
-Thank you.

-Paul, you look so elegant.
-Oh, well…

so few occasions to which one may rise.
Do you mind?

Oh, sorry. I forgot we're outside
of your comfort zone.

-Ah, you're wearing heels!
-Yes.

How elegant. What colour is your gown?

-Red.
-Oh, splendid.

Chair is straight ahead at twelve.

Thank you. Twelve, good.

Perhaps another log on the fire.
One can't heat this bloody mausoleum.

Sure.

Careful, your plate's hot.

This is definitely not cuisine Kilbride.

Pheasant at twelve,
sautéed potatoes at three,

-and French beans at eight.
-Right.

Thank you.

Is this… Is this the Chambolle-Musigny?

You're good. I hope you don't mind.
You said I could raid your cellar.

Good choice.

-Is this the 1990?
-Right again.

-To us.
-To us.

-No eyes, but a hell of a nose.

Now…

Mm. Delicious!

Thanks. It's been a long time
since I've cooked for two.

-Oh? Why?
-Sorry?

Why has it been so long
since you cooked for two?

Well, actually, I…

I live alone.

Yes, but why?

I mean, you're young, you're beautiful,
so you told me.

Why would you not want to be married?

-Does there have to be an answer to that?
-Well, I think there does.

I don't know what it is.

Mm. Don't you like men?

Do you mean am I a lesbian?

Well, it makes absolutely no difference
to me.

Here you are in my house,
I know nothing whatever about you.

I may be a freak,
but I'm as nosy as anyone else.

No, Paul, I'm not a lesbian.

You're not married. Are you a homosexual?

No!

Well, you asked me if I was a lesbian.

All right.

I still…

I still find it difficult to believe

that a young and beautiful woman
would want to remain single.

I mean, don't you want to have babies
or anything?

Can we please change the subject?

Yes, of course. Yes.

But should you ever want to talk,
I'm happy to listen.

Thank you, that's very kind of you.

-This is really extremely good.
-Hmm.

How's the bread sauce?

Very good. Very good.

It's quite an unusual flavour,
but that's all.

Hmm.

Hello?

Hello, is so-- Is someone there?

Hello?

Is someone… Jane?

Jane?

Jane, will you come here?

-What's the matter?
-Jane, come in.

Come in?

Yeah, for heaven's sake,
it doesn't fucking matter.

I'm 110 years old, for God's sake!
Come in.

Did… Were you in the room just now?

No, of course I wasn't.

Well, I really don't care
if you came in by accident or what,

but were you?

No, Paul, I wasn't. I promise you.

-Did you see anyone outside?
-No one's gotten into the house.

I locked the front door myself.

-What about the back door?
-It hasn't been open all day.

What-what happened?

Oh, I thought I heard someone
turn the light off.

I-It is on, isn't it?

Yes, of course it is, Paul.

Listen, I…

I've heard that blind people can become
overly sensitised, that they…

Their senses become hypertrophied.

-Is that the word?
-That's the word.

Well, isn't it possible that you…

Your senses have become so strong,

that you're hearing things,
perfectly natural things,

and you end up making too much of them?

I-It's possible, yes. It's possible.

Would you like me to stay?

Oh, that's most, most kind of you.

No, th-this can't be pleasant for you. No.

Thank you, thank you.

-What you need is a good night's sleep.
-Indeed I do, yes.

Thank you.

-Good night, Paul.
-Good night.

The light is on,
isn't it, you said?

Yes, it's.

Thank you.

-Jane?
-Oh.

No, it's me, Sir Paul. It's Mrs. Kilbride.

Oh, hello, I thought you were having
a week off?

I know, but I forgot my sewing basket,

and I wanted to see for myself
everything was running smoothly.

Jane's a nice enough lass, I suppose,

but I cannot see her being that handy
around the house.

So I thought I'd just pop over
before either of you got up.

I see. What time is it?

Ah, it's just gone00.

Did you not hear the church clock?

If I heard the church clock,

would I be asking you
what bloody time it was?

Hmm, someone got out of bed
on the wrong side this morning.

-Ah.
-What are you doing up so early anyways?

Long as I've known you,
you liked to lie in.

No, I had just another bad night.

You're not sleeping properly?

No. How's Joe?

Oh, Sir Paul, I'm that worried.
I've never seen him so peely-wally.

Oh, dear, dear. I-I'm sure
it's just a very bad bout of the flu.

Well…

Is there any coffee?

-Give it time.
-I…

The water's not boiling yet.

No, it's boiling.

What… You don't know
what you're talking about.

-You cannot see it anyways.
-No, sorry. No, I was miles away.

Obviously.

Would you like something hot
for breakfast?

Uh, scrambled eggs?

-No, no, just toast.
-All right, very well.

No, I was-- I was remembering
a little girl.

And we were bathing together somewhere
on the Suffolk coast.

Well, she was bathing, I…

I was dipping my toes in the water.

I said, "It's freezing!"

And she said,
"No, no, it's boiling!"

Isn't that adorable?

I said, "How can it be boiling?
There aren't any bubbles."

But she was too far away to hear me.

You bathing?

That's hard to believe.

I wasn't always the gargoyle
you see now.

Jane not up yet?

No.

Odd.

Just-- I was poking around next door,

I saw that jigsaw on the table
all joined up.

Oh! Oh, really? It's finished?

Oh, good. Excellent. Good.

Something to do with your book, is it?

Yes.

-I hope this is coffee.
-Here.

And here's your toast.

Thank you, thank you. Thank you very much.

-So what's it supposed to be?
-What?

The jigsaw?

Well, you've got eyes, haven't you?

I know, but what's that funny thing
between them?

Well, hazarding a guess,
I'd say it was your nose.

Yes.

Yes. Ha, ha, ha.

No, I mean that funny thing in the jigsaw.

What funny thing?

Well-- Well, it's sort of lying
on the floor between the two men.

What two men?

Now, look at this.

Look at it and tell me what you see.

Well, there's these two men.

-How are they dressed?

Like in olden times.

Uh, the one here looks a bit
like Henry VIII,

except he's a bit thinner,
and the other could be a priest.

All right, and this thing
you're talking about, what is it?

Well, that's just it, I…

I don't know, I tell you, I…

It's not like anything
I can get a grip on.

It sort of looks all squashed
and-and stretched.

-Squashed and stretched?
-Uh-huh.

Could it be a skull?

A skull? No, never.

-Are you positive?
-Absolutely.

Take my finger and place it
in the centre of the thing.

-Your finger?
-Yes, take my finger at the-- That's it.

And place it on the centre of the…

-Is it in the middle?
-Uh-huh.

All right, now le-let go.

Now, bring your eyes
to where the tip of my finger is here

and look back at the thing.

See there?

-Uh-huh.
-What do you see?

Oh, my God,
that is a skull!

Thank you very much.

Thank you, that's…
That's all I wanted to know.

Thank you, Mrs. Kilbride.

-Morning, Paul.
-Morning.

Sleep well?

Not bad. You?

So-so.

I'm not used to finding you
down here before me.

No?

You know I'm not.

-You been up long?
-About an hour.

It was such a lovely morning,
I-I thought it was silly to stay in bed.

It's raining.

Well, what does that matter
if you're blind? Ha!

You must be dying for your coffee.
I'll go put on the kettle.

Do you want some…

What?

Well, there's a pot already there.

Did you make it yourself?

Me? I'm totally helpless, as you know.

No, if you want to thank someone,
thank Mrs. Kilbride.

Mrs. Kilbride was here?

Yes, yes, she-she said she'd forgotten
her sewing basket,

but I-I suspect she just wanted
a little snoop around.

Displaced woman syndrome, I think.

-Did she find anything not to her liking?
-Well, I'm not sure.

We chatted about this and that.
Mostly about the jigsaw.

I was going to tell you.

Oh, really?
W-what were you going to tell me?

Paul, you have to believe me…

You deceived a blind man!
That's a wicked thing to do, you know.

Paul, if you…

I-I don't know what you expected
to gain from this.

If you'll just listen to me!

-I was looking for the jigsaw…
-What, the Holbein Ambassadors?

-Mrs. Kilbride told you?
-Mrs. Kilbride?

Mrs. Kilbride doesn't know the difference
between a Holbein or a whore's ass!

-Then how did you know?
-Because a jigsaw is in Braille!

Didn't you know? I felt it
with my sensitive little fingertips!

-Did you?
-Oh, don't be a silly cow!

Oh, Paul, listen, okay? You were right.

There was no Rembrandt jigsaw
at the National Gallery,

so I don't know why,
but I bought the Holbein instead.

But I had no intention of passing it off
as a Rembrandt!

And then I came home
and I told you I got a jigsaw,

and you thought it was the Rembrandt!

And so, I didn't have the heart
to tell you otherwise because…

But I asked you!

I asked you what it was like
without the eyes,

-and you said that it was dramatic…
-I…

…but it diminished the painting!

And I wrote about that! I wrote about it!

I know! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!

I didn't know what else to do!

And it was stupid of me, okay?
It was stupid, stupid, stupid!

But I was just trying
to please you!

Well, I'm at a loss, I…

Do you want me to leave?

Then you do want me to go.

No, wait, wait, wait.

-Can I trust you, Jane?
-Paul, I…

C-can I trust you never,
never to humiliate me like that again?

-That was never my intention, I assure…
-I-I know, I know.

Look me in the eye

and tell me that I can trust you.

You can trust me, Paul.

Again.

You can trust me.

All right.

One more thing.

-Get rid of the jigsaw.
-Right.

Not just from the table,
but out of the house!

I'll never mention it again.

I won't forget it,
but I'll never mention it again.

Thank you.

No! No, no! No, no!

Oh, no! No!

No, no, just…

No, no, no, no!

No!

No.

No! No, no!

Oh, God!

Jane.

Jane.

What's all the racket?

Jane! Jane?

-Jane!
-Yes, Paul. Sorry, what?

I said, what's that excruciating noise?

I mean… Turn it off!

-Yes, sorry.

-All right.
-Wait, where… Where was it coming from?

Oh, I brought a little portable radio.
Didn't I tell you?

-No.
-Oh, well, I did.

Does it have to be so excruciatingly loud?

I'm sorry, I thought you were in the bath.

No.

Who was it?

Madonna. She's a singer.

I know who Madonna is. I'm not a dinosaur.

I actually once met the woman
at some grisly do at Buckingham Palace.

You two hit it off?

Well, you could say our meeting
was a semi-success.

She hung on my every other word.

This time, I don't hear you smile.

I'm sorry, I'm just trying to get my head

around the idea
of you and Madonna together.

It's kind of a mind-boggler.

Ah, yes, would you like to paw
the hem of my garment?

No, thank you just the same.

-Would you like some coffee?
-Please.

Well, you must have been quite shocked
to hear about her death.

-Whose death?
-Madonna's.

-Madonna is dead?
-Mm.

-Oh, you didn't know, did you?
-No, of course not.

I obviously didn't know.
W-what did she die of?

-She was murdered.
-Murdered?

Yeah. Of course you wouldn't have heard
about it.

Yeah, it happened,
uh, just like a year ago.

She was gunned down by some druggie
outside the Groucho Club.

It was front page news.

Well, I don't see the front,
or indeed any other page.

Madonna, dead. My God.

I'm really rather sorry
in a strange sort of way.

You were a fan?

Don't be grotesque.

It's just that I didn't know,
and that makes me feel stupid.

And I refuse to believe
that a blind man has to be stupid.

Well, if you're afraid
of feeling out of touch,

I'm happy to read the paper to you.

Really? Do you have one?

-Yeah, sure.
-Then read it.

-Now?
-You know, just the headlines.

There's been an atrocity in Baghdad.

It would be news
if there wasn't an atrocity in Baghdad.

OJ Simpson committed suicide.

Good riddance. Next.

Donald Trump has become a Muslim.

Never heard of him. Next.

Princess Diana was sighted in Bhutan.

-What?
-Princess Diana was sighted in Bhutan.

No kidding?

No, apparently, uh,
a group of American tourists

spotted Princess Diana
hovering over a temple in Bhutan,

her hands cupped together in prayer.

She graciously smiled,
and then slowly drifted away.

-That's what it says.

What utter tripe!
What complete fucking garbage!

Well, that's what they think is fit
to print, I'm almost glad I'm blind.

Maybe not.

Hold on, Paul.

Hello?

-Oh, long time no see!
-Who is it?

It's Mrs. Kilbride.

Not too bad, considering.
And you? When do we get you back?

Oh.

Oh. Oh, I see. How is he?

Oh. No, no, no, no, Mrs. Kilbride.
I'm so sorry to hear that.

But you-- You have to stay with Joe
as long as possible.

Is there anything I can do?

That was Sir Paul,
did you hear that?

Yes, of course, Mrs. Kilbride.
No, don't worry about it.

We'll speak when you have time.
Give Joe my very best.

A-and mine.

That was Sir Paul. Yes.

Okay. Bye-bye.

-Is this serious?

-She's afraid it might be lung cancer.
-Oh, my God.

Poor Joe. You know, he's a…
He's a 60-a-day man.

You realise this means we're gonna be
on our own for longer than we expected.

Yeah, well, are you all right
with the cooking?

It hasn't interfered so far, has it?

No, no, no, indeed, no. God knows.

God knows what I'd do
if you weren't here.

But I am here, Paul.

Yes. Yes, you are.

I really feel quite sorry
for Mrs. Kilbride.

But now that means I have the freedom
of the whole house.

Who is it?

Uh, oh, uh, I'm from
the Conservative Party Association.

Never seen a blind man before?

-Oh, yes, lots.
-Lots?

-I don't want you to think…
-All right, come to the point.

Uh, oh, uh, well, I'm from
the Conservative Party Association,

and we're having a by-election
in a few days, and I…

What, you mean you dragged me
all the way to the door

-to tell me of some wretched by-election?
-Oh, I'm so sorry.

Listen, obviously, I really didn't realise
the situation…

No, I know. Uh, wait, wait, wait!
There's something you can do for me.

-Oh?
-Yes, and come on, come in.

-I'm gonna catch my death standing here.
-Well…

-Come in. Come in, close the door.
-I'd love to.

Thank you.
Uh, just for a few minutes then.

-Yes, of course. Absolutely.
-I won't…

Yes, this way, please.

Do come in.

Please close the door.

Oh.

This is a lovely room!

Yes, thi-this is where I work.
We call this the library.

Lovely.

I work here with my amanuensis. Excuse me.

Now, tell me,
this-this Conservative Party of yours…

-Yes?
-Do they have computers?

-Oh, yes.
-Oh, good, good.

-Do you see this computer here?
-Yes.

Do you know how to operate it?

Well, I think so.

It's not, uh, the same model, but…

-But you can operate it?
-Well, yes.

-Yes, of course.
-Good.

Uh, what exactly is it you want help with?

Well, what I'd like…

I'm sorry, but what-what is the perfume
you're wearing?

Oh. It's called Spectacular.

-Oh, by Joan Collins.
-Ah.

It has a pungent fragrance
of maturation to it.

You can look it up when you get home.

Now, this computer, can you switch it on?

Oh, just switch it on?

Yes, I'm alone in the house, you see.
So it would be doing me a great favour.

-What, you want it done now?
-Now would be excellent, thank you.

Uh, well, I presume it's all plugged in.

Yes, it seems to be.

Um, it ought to just switch on here.

-Yes, yes, that's it. It's on.
-It's on?

-Yes, it's on.
-Good.

And so, I'm going to be on my way out.

-Oh, one more thing, if I may.
-Oh, ah! Ah!

Excuse me, excuse me. You're hurting me.

-I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

-Well, you're hurt…
-I do apologise, it was not my intention.

-Please sit down.
-You know, I'm terribly--

-I really…
-For the merest of moments, please.

-I'd be so grateful. Thank you.

It can't be for long.

What do you see?

-What?
-On the screen. What's on the screen?

Um, just a list of documents.

Is there one called "Book"?

Yes.

-Would you open it, please?
-Oh.

-Well, you know, I really…
-No, please, please.

There's nothing to fear.
It's not pornographic or anything.

Just please.

Yes, it's opened.

-Would you read it, please?
-All of it?

No, no, just-just the first few lines.

"I am blind. I have no sight."

"Equally, I have no eyes. I am thus a…"

"Freak."

Please don't be embarrassed. "A freak."

Um, "I am thus a freak."

"For blindness is freakish, is surreal…"

Is surreal. Thank you, that's enough.

-Well, glad to have been of service.
-Everything seems to be in order.

-Sorry?
-No, I think I've had a nagging a-anxiety.

Thank you.
Would you mind switching it off?

Thank you very much.
You read it very nicely.

-Oh, thank you. Could I go now?
-Of course.

I mean, I have a lot
of other constituents to see, and, uh…

-Certainly.
-Yes.

I take it, uh, you're a Conservative?

Uh, I've never voted in my life.

Oh, well… Thank you.
Ah, you should have told me before.

Well, you've done a blind man
a very good turn.

Well, we're not the Girl Guides, you know.

-Oh, yes, you are. Yes, you are.
-So I can't count on your vote then?

Absolutely not. Oh!

-Can I just…
-Oh, ow! Ow!

Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.
I'm so sorry.

Um, Madonna was murdered, wasn't she?

-Who?
-Madonna.

The woman whose photo
is always in the paper?

Well, I'm hardly likely to know that,
am I?

-But she was murdered, wasn't she?
-Uh, yes. Yes, yes!

And OJ Simpson committed suicide?

Uh, absolutely, absolutely!

Oh, and I don't mind…
It's really nothing… Oh, there we go.

Thank you. Thank you so much. Goodbye.

Uh, what about Donald Trump,
is it true that he became a Muslim?

-What was he before?

Roman Catholic, or was it
probably a Scientologist or something.

-Ah, stupid cow!

Oh, bastard! Fucking bastard!

Fucking, fucking bastard!

Bloody wooden bastard!

What happened?

Oh, this stupid bloody latch thing
doesn't work.

Uh, this thing swings open,
and I walk into it, the bloody…

Has it happened a lot?

-Oh, a few times.

-You're crazy.
-What?

You're crazy not to have it repaired.

A thing like that I could fix
in about 10 minutes.

-Really?
-Yeah. You want me to?

Yeah, well, why don't you?
Yeah, that's very sweet of you.

Okay.

Ready to get to work?

Yes, today we're going to go
on a bit of a jaunt. Oxford.

Any particular part of Oxford?

Yes. Hertford, my old college.
Writing for the book.

So you're finally ready
to start dealing with the past.

Yes. Why do you-- Why do you ask?

No particular reason.
Let me know when you want to start.

All right. Thank you.

Bastard.

So, this is my old college.

Haven't been here for 40 years.

Have they torn it down
and put up a plastic one?

-No.
-It's not very good.

All right, onward
to-to our very own Bridge of Sighs,

which should be here somewhere.

-Are we near the corner?
-Yes, curb.

-Curb?
-Mm-hm.

-Where?
-Mm, right to the left.

Oh, I see, right, right.

Right, now, in the middle of this bridge,

there should be
a coat of arms of some kind.

Can you see-- Can you describe it?

There's two cherubs holding aloft a crest,

stags surrounded by stars,
two other stags' heads,

and a crown on top.

Ah, that's… That's vaguely
what I remember, I suppose.

All right, now next door…

-Next door?
-Yes.

-Next door, there should…

-There should be a…

-Was that a child?
-Yes.

-A little girl?
-Mm-hmm.

Oh, how nice. What was she wearing?

A big woolly coat and a pink hat.

-With a bauble?
-Yes.

Oh good, lovely.

Mittens?

Yes, why?

I just think it's very sweet,
mittens dangling down under their sleeves.

-And now, this house…
-There's a few of them.

I dare say.

Um, this one was lived in
by someone famous.

Um, someone-- Something to do with… No.

Um, Halley! Halley!

Halley of comet fame! Are we here?

-Yes.
-Yes.

He might have discovered Halley's Comet,
but it's dedicated to a James Watt.

James Watt?

Inventor of the steam engine.

-But Watt was a Scot!
-So what?

A-are you sure it's Watt?

-Sorry, Paul…
-Uh, no, no, no!

-Listen, it's not really that important.
-Oh, never mind.

Never mind what?

Paul?

-Paul, are you awake?
-Yes, what-what is it?

I'm going shopping.
You need anything?

No, no. See you later.

Okay.

He still seems uneasy about Oxford.

Something tells me it's now or never.

Stupid fucking bitch!

Stupid fucking bitch!

That sick bitch. What…

What are you doing?

You've done this before,
so just bloody well get on with it.

-Right, 63133…

…41.

-A-ha.

Mr. Boles' secretary speaking.

A-Andrew Boles, please.

What is the matter regarding?

It's personal,
just put me through, please.

I'm sorry, caller,
but I'm afraid I have to…

No, I-I-I can assure you
that Andrew will want to speak to me.

You just put me through, thank you.

Nevertheless, before I can disturb
Mr. Boles, I have to know…

As I have said, Mr. Boles will take
the call, he knows me!

Now just, please, madam,
stop fucking about!

Who shall I say is calling?

It is none of your
fucking business who's calling!

Just put me bloody well through!

Hold the line, please, caller.

Thank you.

Hello, Andrew.

Good Lord, it is you!

Paul, how are you?

I can't believe it's you.

And you haven't changed a bit,
you old devil.

I'm sure you'd like to know I've
one extremely distraught secretary

on my hands.

Oh, why, I was nothing more
than my sweet, reasonable self.

I bet.

Anyway, the important thing
is here you are after all these years.

-I can't quite get over it.
-Yes, it has been a long time, Andrew.

Paul, I did try to contact you,
I hope you know that.

I mean, I tried to call you
several times just after…

Yes, of course, I-I do know,
and-and I'm sorry I didn't take that call,

but, um, well, you can imagine.

Of course I can imagine.

But I want you to know that I have thought
about you a lot these last four years.

Thank you, I appreciate that.

And Susan's dying to see you again.

Oh, well, she may think she's dying
to see me, but I'm not a pretty sight.

You never were, old boy.

Listen, I-I don't suppose
that the reason you're calling

is because there's another book
in the pipeline?

Actually, yes, I am. My autobiography.

Oh, that's marvellous news!

Well, don't get too carried away,
I've only just started it.

-What, you've already started?
-Of course.

Paul. I'm hurt.

Oh, come on!

No, really, I'm hurt.

I mean, why is it only now that
I'm hearing about this new masterpiece?

Well, I did try to call you
about three weeks ago.

-So why didn't we talk?
-Oh, you were away.

-What? Out of the office?
-No, out of the country.

Well, I haven't been out of the country
since the Frankfurt Book Fair last year.

Oh, really?
And what about your trip to Asia?

-Paul, I have never been to Asia.
-What?

Never?

Paul?

What is it?

Paul, what's that sound I'm hearing?

It's the sound of scales
falling from my sockets.

Scales? Who…

I-I'm going to go now, Andrew.

Look, Paul, what's going on?
Suddenly you seem…

I'm going now, Andrew.
Don't call me, I'll call you.

Paul, wait!

Goodbye. Goodbye.

Oh, my God.

-Oh, God!

Get what you wanted?

Eventually.

Did you bump into that wardrobe again?

Yes, I bloody well did.
I can't imagine how it came to be open.

-Want a cup of coffee?
-Not unless you're having one.

-No, I got one in Chipping Campden.
-Ah, Chipping Campden. Mm-mm.

Something the matter, Paul?

Who are you?

-Why do you ask?
-Well, I spoke to Andrew.

-Who?
-Andrew, my agent. Remember?

It seems he never quite got to Asia.

And you told him all about me.

No, no, I didn't, actually.

I could have, but I-I wanted to know
what this was all about.

-It makes me feel sick.
-What does?

That I feel sorry for you.

Do you? Why?

-Because now, you truly are blind.
-What?

"Make yourself at home, Jane."

"Don't forget the semi-colon, Jane."
"I can hear you smile, Jane."

Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?

-Oh, God!

-God, what the fuck…
-Shut up!

God, I can't fucking stand
the sound of your voice!

I swear if you say another word,

I will stick my fingers down your throat
and rip it out!

Who the hell are you?

Jane Ryder Renault.

Mrs. Ralph Renault.

Remember Ralph?

He killed himself.

You do remember.

Somehow I didn't think that you would.

Um, of course, you've destroyed
a lot of careers in your life,

but not so many lives, right?

I mean, you haven't actually left
a trail of corpses behind you, have you?

No. I think Ralph was special.

That's probably what you hated
about him the most.

What an incredible honour it was

for him to have his first major show
at such a young age at Tate Gallery.

And ingenious, surreal, and disturbing…

-They compared him to Balthus, Magritte.

All the critics loved him.
Except for you, of course.

Then again, you hated everybody.

For you, the history of art
ended with Rembrandt.

I told Ralph a good review from you
could have been the kiss of death.

No, no, just stop it.

Are you deaf as well as blind?
I told you, shut up!

Why wasn't it enough for you
to just destroy his career?

And why did you have to destroy him?

-I…
-Do you remember what you wrote?

No, no.

Child abuse by proxy.

No, I didn't, absolutely didn't…

You might not have used
those libellous words,

but that's exactly what you insinuated!

That he painted little girls
because he couldn't fuck them!

No, that's absolutely outrageous,
I absolutely…

-Shut up!

Do you know the police came
and questioned Ralph?

They confiscated his computer
because they were looking for kiddie porn!

I can't be responsible…

My beautiful, brilliant Ralph
killed himself

because of a review that took you, what,

ten minutes to write?

-I…

And then you moved on.

But I couldn't.

-I read your books. I watched you on TV.

I read all of your columns in the paper.

You were a star, Paul.

A national treasure.

And then one day I read,
"Famous art critic in car accident."

And you know what's so strange?

You'd think
that I would have been thrilled.

Right? But it wasn't what I call revenge.

It might have been good enough for God,
but it wasn't good enough for me.

Except for you vanished.
I couldn't find you.

I didn't know where you were
or what you were doing.

You disappeared.

Till I saw your ad in the Times.

And then I realised

that someone had to destroy you, Paul,
the way you destroyed Ralph.

I-I did a terrible thing to you
which can't be undone.

But I'm a wealthy man.
I'm a wealthy man…

It's curious, you know.

Your mouth is covered
and you have no eyes,

but I can still see fear in your face.

-And one day, I realised…

This wardrobe, you walked into it today,
you've walked into it before.

Even Mrs. Kilbride
knows about your wardrobe door.

And you walked into it for one of those
silly silk ties that you always wear,

and you got locked in, Paul,
and I was in London.

It was my weekend off,
and you were locked in,

like you'd be locked in the pages
of a closed book!

Help! Aah!

Oh, what…

Bang.

Don't move.

It's loaded.

Kneel down.

-Kneel?
-Yes, kneel.

Thank you.

I have to know where you are,
you see, so I want you to keep talking.

I'm good, but I'm not infallible.

What am I supposed to say?

Oh, anything, uh, recite a poem
that you learned at school or something.

"Jenny kissed me when we met."

"Jumping from the chair she sat in."

"Time, you thief, who love to get sweets
into your list, put that in…"

Finish it. Go on.

"Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,

say that health and wealth
have missed me."

"Say that I'm growing old,
but add, Jenny kissed me."

Interesting choice.

How'd you get out?

Ah, it's quite a funny story,
actually, um…

I was terribly upset, you know,
after I had spoken to Andrew,

you remember, m-my agent,

um, that I slipped the phone
into my pocket without realising it.

But I heard you screaming.

Oh, yes. No, I…
I screamed and screamed, yes.

Yes, a claustrophobic man locked inside
a small dark space is beyond terror.

So I screamed, yes, and banged,
and clawed my fingers.

But then I noticed there was--
There was something in my pocket.

It was the phone!

Ah, yeah, it was there all the time! Ha!

So I-I called Mrs. Kilbride,
I told her I'd locked myself in,

and she came right over.

-You told her you locked yourself in?
-Oh, yes.

No, I-I didn't give you away, Jane.

Why?

Why did you come back so soon?

-I just… I couldn't…
-Yeah.

Fancied yourself as a killer, but…
you ain't got it, right?

Jane, I-I should never have written
that review.

Not because it was untrue.

-Because it was true.
-What?

No, you know it was true.
Don't deny it, Jane. Don't deny it.

No!

Jane, you knew him! You loved him!

-You knew it was true!
-No!

Nobody, nobody kills himself
because of a bad review,

not even one of mine.

That review ruined our lives!

Oh, yes, I know the police came around,

and God knows
what your friends must have thought,

but he didn't kill himself
for that reason either.

He killed himself
because he knew I was right.

No!

He saw something in his paintings

and wouldn't acknowledge it
until I pointed it out.

-No!
-He knew it was there.

And you knew it, too!

That's total fucking bullshit!

-It's not bullshit, Jane, you knew!
-Yes…

Jane, you knew it was there!
Why don't you admit it to yourself?

What are you gonna do, be burdened by this
for the rest of your life?

Just admit to it!

You knew it was there!

Ralph committed suicide

because he couldn't stand
the truth about himself…

any more than I could stand
the truth about me.

Yeah, you were right.

It wasn't just Ralph's secret
that I saw in his paintings.

It was mine, too.

Are you telling me it wasn't an accident?

Well…

I hope it wasn't, but…

actually, I have no memory of it at all.

Look at me, Jane.

You can kill me if you like.
I really don't care.

But am I worth the trouble?