All language subtitles for Disclaimer.S01E01.1080p.HEVC.x265-MeGusta

No, wait.

Don't come. Wait.

No, wait.

No, wait.

- Uh-huh.
- No, wait. No.

No, wait. No, wait. Wait.

Uh-huh.

Don't come yet.

Wait.

Wait.

- Oh, wanker.
- I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I mean it. You're a proper wanker.

- I'm sorry.
- As in, someone who wanks too much.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. It's the train. I've
never done it on a train before.

Yeah, like I shag every time
I take the Piccadilly line.

- Do you?
- Yes.

Riding in between Oxford Circus and
Bond Street makes me really horny.

- Does it really?
- Yes.

The office workers?

Oh, my God. The office workers.
And those fucking, bloody tourists.

- Oh, the tourists, of course.
- And the sticky floors.

You're such a slut.

Yeah. Uh-huh.

Tickets.

Give me the... Fuck.
Give me the f...

- Jonathan. Jonathan. Jonathan!
- Stop. Stop.

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

I fucking... I can't...

He kept on
staring at my tits,

and you kept on pulling
the fucking blanket.

Yeah, but I had to get
the tickets, didn't I?

- I don't care. Fucking hell.
- And anyway, you've got smashing tits.

Yes, I have fucking awesome tits,
but they're not for everyone.

- Why not? So selfish.
- Wanker.

Beware
of narrative and form.

Their power can bring
us closer to the truth,

but they can also be a weapon
with a great power to manipulate.

In a career that
spans nearly 20 years,

the recipient of
this award tonight

has cut through narratives and form
that distract us from hidden truths

to address some of the most
difficult contemporary issues,

allowing us an unflinching look at
her subjects as they really are.

This remarkable documentarian
has broken through the veil

that has long protected
prominent institutions

and their often
charismatic perpetrators.

But, ladies and
gentlemen, be aware.

In the process of
exposing her subject,

Catherine demonstrates
that they can manipulate us

only because of our
own deeply held beliefs

and the judgments that we make.

And in this way, Catherine reveals
something more problematic and profound:

our own complicity in some of
today's more toxic social sins.

And so, it is now my
pleasure to present

this year's RTS Television Journalism
Outstanding Achievement Award

to a beacon of truth...

- You okay?
- Yeah.

...a woman who's an inspiration
to us all, Catherine Ravenscroft.

I did feel sorry
about what happened.

I really did.

He was only a child after all.

But I was tired.

Tired of teaching.

Tired of repeating the same
lessons for almost 50 years.

But more than anything else,

I was tired of enduring devious
behavior from spoiled, entitled brats.

Mr. Brigstocke?

Yes?

Mr. Banks wants to
see you in his office.

- Now?
- If you please.

5,500 degrees centigrade. That's
right. Now, the outer core...

I wasn't surprised
when Justin called me to his office.

- Mr. Banks.
- Ah.

I'd been waiting for it.

It took longer than expected.

- Mr. Brigstocke.
- Mmm.

Please have a seat.

Mr. Brigstocke, this is Mrs.
Pemberton, Tristan's mother.

Yes. Mrs. Pemberton,
nice to see you.

Mr. Brigstocke, Mrs. Pemberton
has raised some serious concerns

about your comments on
young Tristan's essay.

Mrs. Pemberton, if you would like to
repeat what you were saying to me earlier.

Thank you, Justin. I will.

And I'm... I'm glad
that you... you...

that you call it serious concerns
because that is exactly what it is.

I am seriously concerned about the things
that you have written about my son.

It's hard to
believe that once upon a time,

for several years running, I was voted
Most Popular Teacher of the Year.

But that was years ago.

Back then, I was
committed. I cared.

I should have retired then,

while I still had some embers left
to kindle young people's minds.

- ...that his writing on the...
- Mrs. Pemberton.

Mr. Brigstocke, would you
please just apologize,

and we can draw a line
on this and move on.

I stand by my
original assessment.

Sorry?

I know. Let's save it.

No, Jonathan. I wanna go today.

It's a beautiful day. We're going
today... Oh, shit. I forgot my knickers.

- You always forget them.
- Oy! What you doing?

- Oy!
- You can't help it.

- Give that back! Oh.
- Oh, shit. Oh, hey!

Are
you all right? You okay?

- No.
- Are you sure?

- Still got your knickers.
- Oy!

Oh, my God. Fuck
me. It's brilliant.

Where the fuck do we go?

Um, let's head
for Campo Santa Margherita.

- Best bet for a cheap hotel.
- What, do we, like, swim

or take the Bakerloo
or Circle line?

You can. I'll be taking the,
um... It's called "vaporetto."

It's like their tubes, I think.

- I reckon it's there.
- Okay. Got it.

Wait, wait, wait, wait,
wait, wait. Wait a sec.

- You wanna take a... a picture.
- I do.

- Come on.
- Cool.

So, do boats
also make you horny?

Are you kidding me? Of
course, on account of all the sailors.

- Slut.
- Wanker.

You see, it wasn't awful at all.

- It was actually rather wonderful.
- Ah.

- Nightcap?
- Sure. Why not?

I may have accidentally opened a bottle
of the '82 Latour before we left.

Ah. Robert.

Sorry, I
thought it was Ribena.

- Oh, you shouldn't have, love.
- An honest mistake.

I don't think this is a
special enough occasion.

Not a special enough occa...

- Don't worry, we...
- You love that wine.

we still have two bottles
left for when you win...

Wine is Robert's
thing, particularly fine Bordeaux.

It is something he took
on in recent years.

You can barely taste the difference
between red and white wine,

but you enjoy sharing
your husband's pleasure.

He wouldn't admit it,

but part of his pleasure derives
from being able to afford it.

After all
that cheap champagne,

I wouldn't notice if you
gave me a glass of vinegar.

Well, if my wife
cannot spoil herself,

which she cannot, then
the duty falls to me.

Eyes.

To a beacon of truth,

somebody who inspires
me every... every day.

Thank you, darling. Silly.

- Ooh, that's lovely. What is it? Spices?
- Mmm. Exquisite.

Um, sandalwood.

Cassis.

Banana.

And also these.

This will be it?

- Yes.
- Mm-hmm.

Seven skirts.

These were my wife's.

I'm sorry. Recent?

Seven handbags.

Nine years ago.

Ten scarves.

One hat.

Also the shoes.

- Yes. And the shoes.
- Yes, of course.

Come on.

She had tiny feet.

Size three.

So that is eight pair of shoes
and one pair of slippers.

And there it was.

Nancy's life reduced
to a list of items.

Thank you.

Uh, this
stack has moths.

We can't take clothes with moths, but
we'd be happy to dispose of them for you.

- Yes. Thank you.
- Take it away.

No, wait, wait, wait, wait.

This was my wife's
favorite cardigan.

I see. Thank you,
Mr. Brigstocke.

This is very kind of you.

I remember Nancy wearing
the cardigan in the middle of the night

when she'd get up
to feed Jonathan.

She never let me help her.

Shall we
take it upstairs?

Yeah. Yeah, I'll be up in a minute.
I just wanna check the post.

But you've
just finished a project.

I know. You know me.

Come on, the Latour,

- let's enjoy it.
- I'm just curious,

you know, about what comes next.

Something
world-changing as ever.

- She'll be waiting, as will I.
- Thank you for tonight.

Always happy to
be your plus-one.

Yes.

Stay there. Stay there.

- Beautiful!
- Then take it.

Stay still then.

- You wanna see my knickers?
- Go for it.

- All right, do your tits now.
- No. Shut up.

- I wanna take a picture with you.
- Hey. Oh. Whoa. Whoa, whoa.

Isn't he supposed to be singing
while he does his thing?

Oh, when we go under
the Bridge of Sighs,

you have to kiss me under
it, like in A Little Romance.

Never saw it.

Well, you have to kiss me under it
so that our love will last forever.

Better question, have you
ever shagged under a bridge?

Well, of course I have.

- Under the Battersea Bridge.
- You haven't.

Oh, no, wait, also
under Waterloo Bridge.

Impressive.

- Yes. I am. Wanker.
- Slut.

- Wait, why are we turning?
- Hmm?

Why are we turning?

Oh, mate, no.

- We wanna go straight to the bridge.
- No, no, no. Finito.

- Yeah, the, uh... the Bridge of, um...
- No, no.

Come on, mate. It's
right there. Please.

Give me 40 euros.

- Forty fucking euro?
- Forty euros?

- We already paid you 50.
- Forty euros or we go back.

- I'm not paying you 40 fucking euros.
- No.

- Go out. Go out.
- Fuck no.

Hey. Whoa. Stop it. Stop
it. Please, stop it. Hey.

Wanker.

- Darling, are you all right?
- Yes. No, I'm fine. Absolutely.

It's just a... Probably just too
much to drink, darling, please.

- Are you sure?
- Yes. Absolutely. Go back to sleep.

I'm fine.

You have
seen this face before.

You had hoped never
to see it again.

Your mask has fallen.

I assumed the
pictures were holiday snaps.

I even hoped there might be a
few of our holiday to Cornwall.

I had expected
images I recognized,

but, no, I had never seen
these pictures before.

I knew that woman.

I had known her name for years.

But until then, I had thought she was just
an innocent bystander in my life's demise.

- Hey. Hey, hey, hey. You all right?
- Um, I need to go back to London.

What? Why?

- Um, Rosie...
- Uh-huh.

...my mum's sister, she was hit
by a lorry.

- Oh, fuck.
- Yeah.

She
was riding her bike.

- I mean, she always rides her bike.
- Yeah.

The lorry didn't see
her.

Is she all right?

No, the lorry crushed
her. She's dead.

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

Uh, she was like...
she... she...

she was like an
older sister to me.

She was the person I went to
when I got my first period.

My mum was just
sobbing on the phone.

Rosie was her baby sister.

- It's just so horrible.
- I know. Come here. Come here.

I'm so sorry.

I'm so, so sorry.

After our son died,

Nancy spent most of her time locked
in Jonathan's room amongst his things.

Dressing the place as
if it were a shrine.

Until one day, she
completely moved into there,

only coming out for her meals.

At first, she let
me come inside,

but one day she asked
me not to come anymore.

All I could hear was the
sound of her typewriting.

I could never find what it
was that she was writing.

I had left the place as
she left it when she died.

She had locked the top drawer
and I refused to force it open,

arguing to myself that I
had to respect her privacy.

Now I understand why I
didn't open it before.

I didn't open it because I was
afraid of what I would find inside.

Nancy had written a book in secret,
and I knew that I had to read it,

even if I feared the words on those
pages might actually break me.

What are
you doing? Catherine?

Catherine! Put that down!
Catherine. Put that...

It's about me.

Why are you burning this book?

It was sent to me, and I
think I'm being punished.

- Punished?
- Oh, God.

Oh,
God. I'm being punished.

Yes, you said that, darling.

- Who is trying to punish you?
- I-I don't know. I don't know.

Whoever sent that book.

Punish... Punish you
in what way, darling?

Oh, God. I'm gonna die.

- I'm gonna die.
- Is someone threatening you?

Catherine, why would
anyone wanna hurt you?

Catherine!

Because of something
that happened years ago.

What? What happened to you?

- Is it because of one of your films?
- No. No.

You know, if you really think so, then
we should get the police involved.

- Catherine.
- No, it's nothing like that.

What makes you think
it's about you?

Oh, God. I recognize myself.

- Well, do they name you?
- No.

No, they don't name me, but
they... they describe me.

- De-Describe you how?
- W-White? Uh, blonde?

- Uh, beautiful, gorgeous, successful?
- Stop.

No, I'm hideous.

I'm none of those things,

and something in that book made
me hate myself all over again.

Why on earth would you hate yourself?
You wouldn't even hurt a fly.

- You're a good person.
- Am I?

Of course you are, poppet.

- You are Saint Catherine.
- No, no, no,

I don't know that
I am a good person.

Robbie, I'm not a good wife and I feel
like I have been a terrible mother.

That's absolute nonsense.

No, I find it so hard to live with
myself. I've been so remote with Nick.

Well, that's not reason
to imagine murder plots,

- now is it, darling?
- No. Please, darling.

- Please. Please, listen.
- I'm sorry.

It's just, th-there's s... so many
things that I sh-should have told you.

You know, things that I
really do want you to know,

but I just don't know
how to... to tell you.

I don't know where to start.

With what happened with... with...
with Nick and I. With what I did.

- I know. I know everything.
- I...

- You do?
- Yes.

I know it's never been easy
between you and Nick, but he loves you.

He loves you very
much, you know that.

- I do. It's not that...
- No, no, no,

just because he and I
find it so easy to talk,

don't go misinterpreting that to
mean that he doesn't adore you.

He does.

That book's triggered
something, hasn't it?

- What's it about? Guilt?
- Yeah.

You have nothing to
feel guilty about, Cath.

Nick is 25 years old.

It's about time he moved
into his own place.

You made absolutely
the right decision.

- I don't know that I did.
- Yes, you did,

and I'm sorry that I
was against it, okay?

Right. If it doesn't work out,
he will move right back in.

Sit down. Sit down. Okay.

You know, you're entitled to
live. You're entitled to live.

Yes, you've been somewhat
absent and remote,

but you have been an
incredible example to our son.

And it's about time you turned him
into an independent adult, all right?

So stop torturing yourself, please.

Promise?

Will you... Will you help me?

Of course I will.

You can tell me anything and I
swear I will never ever judge you.

You know that, don't you? Aw.

He is closer
to you than anyone else.

And yet, you have managed to keep
him in the dark all these years.

And now, the act
of keeping the secret a secret

has almost become bigger
than the secret itself.

I get if you're
not free and all that,

but I'll call you and
check up on you. All right?

So this is it, I guess.

Thank you.

Let... Let
me know how everything goes.

It's gonna be shit.

My mum's gonna be
a wreck, isn't she?

Wait.

Say cheese.

- Okay, I really gotta go.
- Okay, bye.

Bye.

- I love you.
- Love you too.

Oh, you can wank thinking of me.

What about you?

I'll just shag someone back
on the Piccadilly line.

Bye.

- Slut.
- Wanker.

Over here.

Cheers.

I read it.

- Uh-huh?
- Yes.

Well, I was well happy when you
said you had written a novel

and very impressed with how
fast you wrote it, matey.

- What did you think of it?
- It's good. It's very good.

Matey, I think you
should publish it.

You're... You're
very kind but, uh,

I-I don't think my little book's going
to be of interest to a professional.

Matey, you publish online,

print a hundred copies which you
can sell yourself, all online.

See how it goes.

I wouldn't know how to start.

I can help you.

How?

Aren't you a little
tied up with running a school?

I'm retiring, my friend.

- When?
- Now.

Are they sacking you?
Is it because of me?

No. No.

It's because of me.

It's because I am old.

We're old.

So, I have some time
and I believe in you.

Thank you, Justin.

You really think it's that good?

Yeah, I really do,
matey. I really do.

I came to understand that
Nancy wanted me to find her manuscript,

just as she had wanted me
to find the photographs.

I knew why this book
had to be written,

and I was in no doubt
as to whom it was for.

What did you think of her?

Do you think she got
what she deserved?

Oh, she was a manipulative cow,

and I guess she, uh, seized the chance
to get away with it, didn't she?

Yes, but you haven't
answered the question.

Did she deserve it?

Uh, well, I wasn't
sorry when it happened.

So, I guess, yeah.
She deserved it.

I was the one who was
going to destroy her in real life,

but first she had to suffer,
like Nancy and I did.

To The Perfect Stranger.

The Perfect Stranger.

How's the flat?

- It's all right.
- Good.

- Flatmates okay?
- Bit nerdy.

What, all of them?

They're all students.

Ah. So they read, do they?

Right.

Obviously, they're all students.

Yeah.

You're still
enjoying work though?

It's fine, yeah.

I'll take this with me.

Nicholas works in the
electrical section in a department store.

This is not quite what you and
Robert had imagined for your son,

but you are relieved
that he is working,

considering there was a
time when you were unable

to imagine him ever being able
to commit to any kind of job.

And Sandy?

Oh. You remember, don't you?

When you could not fall
asleep without hugging him?

- Sandy.
- Just...

You do understand, don't you?

- Nicholas.
- What?

Come on, please. Please.

- You can't do that.
- I'm sorry.

It's just, um, I want you to
understand about the move.

We just didn't need such
a big place anymore.

Right? And you need
to be independent.

Don't you want to
be independent?

Of course,
we're... we're here if, you know...

if you're in any real
trouble, but I just...

It's time, Nick.

Yeah? Isn't it?

If that's what you want to
tell yourself, Mum.

Nick! Come on,
the match is starting!

Hey, come on. Come
on, get it over.

- Come on.
- Come on.

Whoa. Oh, yes!

You have never been
able to bond with Nicholas

the way that Robert does.

And it hurts you.

Hey.

Where you guys from?

English?

Ciao. How's it going?

Dear Mum,

Venice and Florence really
were as magical as you say.

But I'm... I'm bored of ruins
now, so I'm heading to the beach.

Oh, thanks for that
Nikon you gave me.

I've been taking
tons of pictures.

Love, Jonathan.

PS, I'm... I'm alone now.
Sasha had to go back to London.

Christmas had come
and gone. A solitary one for me.

I had to wait until the end of
January for my real Christmas,

the one that would
announce new beginnings.

Yes.

Justin.

Afternoon, matey.
Sorry I didn't call.

No, no. No. Glad to
see you. Anytime.

I wanted
to surprise you.

I knew you'd wanna see them fresh
out of the oven, as they say.

I don't understand why you wanna use
a nom de plume, but, hey, hooked me.

Came out all right, didn't it?

- It's extraordinary.
- Oh, I'm glad you like it.

You know, and your idea
of using that photograph?

Turned out really well.

It's perfect.

But I haven't
offered you anything.

Let me put the
kettle on. Builder's?

Yes, please. A splash
of milk, no sugar.

I've had a word with Tommy... He's
a student of mine, ex-uni now...

to see if he can create
a page for the book,

you know, so that we can
manage the orders online.

Wonderful.

Well, he says he'll be
ready in a few days.

So all we have to do is
create a PayPal account,

and you and I, my friend,
are up and running.

Mmm.

Yeah, I was also thinking,

how about a competition for
old, non-published writers?

You know, then we can
just publish them.

Poor Justin.

He fantasized about future ventures
and becoming an independent publisher.

If only he knew that I had no
intention of waiting for online orders.

...but I really
do think it's important...

There was only
one reader I wanted to reach.

The book would sniff her
out from her hiding place

and chase her into the open.

- I'm off.
- Yeah. Don't forget your laundry.

Still a bit
damp. Sorry, darling.

There's leftovers.

I've read this. I enjoyed it.

- Y-You've read it too?
- Yeah, it's pretty good.

What, you've read
the whole thing?

Yes, I did finish it.
I do read, you know.

- Oh, no. I didn't mean it like...
- Yeah, come on, Nick.

We admire you, mate.

Uh, did you send it to me?

No.

- Are you sure?
- Yes, mine's at the flat.

So, how... how... how
come you've read it?

- I mean...
- Catherine.

No, no. I just meant that it's...
You know, it's a weird coincidence.

It's just been sent to me,

- and I don't know who...
- Mine's a present.

- A present?
- Mmm.

Yeah.

Who from?

A grateful customer. It was left
at the till with my name on it.

That's so great, Nick.

- Isn't it, Catherine?
- Yeah. Yeah.

So, um, who... who was it?

- Somebody Nick impressed.
- I don't know.

I've... I see a million
customers every day.

- I know.
- So, what's the problem?

- Why does it matter?
- It doesn't.

It's fine. Sorry, sorry.

So, wha...
Um, you enjoyed it?

- Yes, I did.
- See, it's fine.

- So, why?
- Why?

- Because it must be shit if I liked it?
- No, no.

I just want to know, you know,

- what you think abou... about it.
- What is this? Fucking A levels?

- No. Your mother just wants to...
- I'll see you guys.

- I'll call you during the week.
- So... Would you please just tell me?

Jesus. She dies!

It was pretty enjoyable too. She
deserved it. She was a selfish bitch.

It's not about you.

Come back, Nicholas.

- Mummy, look at me.
- Nicholas, stay close.

Count with me.

- Three, two, one.
- Three, two, one, jump.

Three,
two, one, jump.

Look at me, Mummy.

Nicholas,
come closer.

Ah. Can't get me.