Original subtitles

All's fine at the paper.

You know what I can do?

No! I can't go to Washington.

Nor to Baghdad or Bosnia!

Not even to The Hague.

You know what I can do?

I can interview Katja! Have you heard of Katja, Theo?

Katja has the finest tits in the world. I don't know who she is...

...but all the mags say, she's got TITS!

Super tits!

The government falls tonight, but I can interview two mindless, speechless tits!

But okay...

Hey, Theo?

Remember that whore in Sarajevo?

She had huge tits!

A huge scar on her belly!

"I have pain in stomach."

Then she said: "No, it was a grenade."

It wasn't sexy either.

I, eh...

Let's go.

Don't be afraid.

Don't be afraid.

Yes, I'm here!

No, her ladyship isn't! Still with the plastic surgeon?

The world is her's, like all of us!

Or she's still on summer time, Thijs!

Why? Because I have to interview a plastic cunt...

...instead of the PM, bastard!

You came to interview me? - Yes!

Sorry, oh shit!

Sorry, I was caught in traffic. - Me too.

No way out! - Me neither.

That's why I'm late. - Me too!

Thanks.

Welcome!

I haven't even introduced myself.

I won't take it. - Go on.

No... - Your phone's ringing.

The machine will take it. - Pick it up.

Katja speaking...

Can I call you later?

I'm in an interview.

I'll call you back later, dear.

Or call me later, dear.

I have to hang up.

Okay...

Is your name Peer?

Pierre Peters.

I don't know you.

From the showbiz desk?

We don't have one.

You do! Albert Verlinden, who died of AIDS...

...did showbiz, didn't he?

He was on the arts desk.

You're his successor?

Don't get AIDS like the rest of your reporters!

It's more like Gay News!

I'm a political columnist.

I'm Minister of Road Safety.

I'm the queen of the silver screen, so you can interview me.

Nice house...

Nice house...

Thanks, sorry...

I'm used to Albert or his type... Some screaming queer.

I didn't know they'd send a political columnist!

Why's that? - He's ill. I'm replacing him.

I don't follow the news, but the cabinet's resigning.

That's right and I... - It's okay. I only have a few minutes.

You're well prepared.

The government is... - Never mind. I don't blame you.

We could scrap the interview.

I'd prefer that.

Sorry, I never...

I don't know you.

Sweet of you.

I don't know your films.

You're a darling.

You treat all men like this?

No...

Only the unprofessional ones.

I think I should leave.

Fine.

There's no point. - No. I agree.

You can find the door?

Listen, Peer!

Yes, Cuntja...

Go fuck yourself, Mr Political Columnist!

Is that how you prepare an interview with the PM?

Or with a minister?

How dare you!?

I'm sorry, but you're not taking me seriously.

I don't take you seriously?

I don't take you seriously?

You don't take me seriously!

Peer Peters, the Political Pundit!

You didn't do your homework, Peer Peters, Political Pundit!

I spent an hour. No, even longer...

...waiting in the car for you, Mrs Film Star.

Held up by your curlers?!

I'm sorry I'm a star, not a minister.

I'm sorry I didn't prepare.

I never interviewed a film star.

Let's start afresh.

Okay...

Why... did you become a film star?

If I were a politician...

...what would you ask me?

I'd ask you...

I'd ask why you always played in crap commercial films.

You're only in it for the money?

You think they're good films?

You think you're any good in them?

You can't relish only appearing in B movies.

Good question.

Nine million people have seen my films.

That's half the population of Holland...

...who have appreciated my films.

I have enjoyed entertaining nine million people.

But to be perfectly honest...

I don't know whether I'm a good actress.

I want to become a good actress.

I hope the answer helps.

I saw your film "Blind Date II".

Why on earth did you take that role?

Why did you lie?

No, you said...

...I showed no respect if I...

If I hadn't done my homework.

Now I show I did prepare...

...you don't answer my question.

You won't understand, so...

So I repeat: Why on earth did you play that role in Blind Date II?

May I ask you something?

How old are you?

45...

45...

I'm 25...

I'm a popular actress...

...but not very hard boiled...

...or very clever.

I do my best.

I have to work hard.

What do I care about Peer Peters...

...or any other reporter from the gutter press?

"Katja does it with Kees!"

"Katja does it with Henk Jan!"

"Katja cries for Kees."

"Katja mad about Theo van Gogh."

"Katja has breast implants."

"Katja has her buttocks lifted."

"Katja in gun crime." "Katja can't get pregnant."

You know how many scrapbooks I have about me?

No... - None!

You know why?

No...

Because no one...

...no one at all...

...has ever said anything nice about me!

Never!

Not once...

I could have been your daughter.

Imagine, what if... D'you have a daughter?

Yes...

How old is she?

She'd have been twenty.

Would have been?

Yes she died, when she was 9.

I'm sorry...

You couldn't know.

Is there a?

Over there, by the sliding door.

Don't get your fingers trapped.

It's Katja. I'm not going tonight...

I can't talk now. No!

My wife skidded and hit a tree.

I'll hang up now.

Your wife?

She was all right.

And you?

I was on assignment in Bosnia.

How did you hear? - Your phone...

How did you hear? - Pick it up.

Why don't you answer?

I was called at the hotel.

And then?

I didn't come to talk about that.

You can ask what you like.

I was called at the hotel.

My wife said Lisa died...

...I was drunk and asked if she dyed her hair.

She said no, Lisa died.

I'll turn it off.

Don't you see why I want you to take it?

Hi...

Hi darling, how are you?

Really?!

Really?

When?

It's Ellen, I have to take it.

Picollo... Albertien said so too!

Darling, put yourself first.

How did you hear it?

Put yourself first, Ellen!

With your mother?

What does he have to offer?

What is love?

What the fuck is love?

I don't want Frank.

I don't want to fuck Frank.

No...

Sweetheart, don't do it.

Really, just don't do it.

That's that: Don't.

Of course you can be sad.

I'm sad too... What are you on?

Why not ask for a sleeping pill?

Or ask Frank for that slimming cure. It's really good.

I can't feel a thing with Frank inside me.

Or without him.

I feel so hopeless.

It's a waste of time.

I'll come round tomorrow.

Okay, love...

He's dead. Dead everywhere.

He's dead in me. Dead everywhere. Dead in me.

Pierre?

Pierre Peters?

Would you turn on the TV?

Now you're on TV.

Now we're in the house of the famous TV star Pierre Peters.

Pierre...

Do you have breast implants?

Yes...

Why did you have the implants?

I had fairly small breasts.

It was better for my career...

...and since they've been done, I have more self-confidence.

You fuck Frank Ebing, don't you?

Frank?

Frank, I read it yesterday in a magazine.

Yes, I do it with Frank Ebing...

How is Frank, as a fuck?

He's not that great.

You're lying, or you wouldn't do it with him. One more question, Pierre: -

Can we see your breasts? - No!

Come on! Everyone wants to see your tits!

Just unbutton your blouse! - No!

Your tits are driving Holland crazy!

You've had them enlarged so of course we want to see them!

Come on, open your blouse!

You can see, I had a breast job.

Unusual spot...

I didn't know.

You couldn't know.

Let's start the interview seriously.

Turn on your recorder...

It was a grenade fragment in Bosnia.

Fire away!

Anything!

You're beautiful.

That's why I play the lead.

Sorry. Is beauty important for you?

Without it, I wouldn't play the lead.

Is it important for your personality?

Is journalism important for your personality?

Yes. - How?

It has made me a better person.

Just a few questions, old man!

Firstly, how bad were you as a person?

Secondly, how do you know you are a better person now?

Thirdly, why haven't I noticed it?

If I hadn't become a journalist, I would be a failure.

At the age of 45, you can interview Katja, film star...

Journalism is good for your personality, or you'd be a failure.

Right, lady! I'm a failure and you're a success.

You have a house, you're 22 and beautiful.

You have a chauffeur-driven car.

You can have who you like. The world's at your feet!

You have friends and you have a great personality!

You're in the mags I don't read every week!

I'm a failure with no personality.

I was in Bosnia when my girl died.

Her mother was run over...

I was drunk...

I was drunk because there was no medicine.

Alcohol was the only pain killer for the grenade fragment in my side.

And to stay alive, I had to move three children's corpses...

I had to move a decapitated woman who was lying on her husband.

Her head was beside him.

I'm a failure because I had to write about it.

And I'm a failure because our minister of foreign affairs read the articles...

...yet made the wrong decision.

And...

I'm a failure and you're not.

A success. How much do you earn?

Pierre, I didn't say you were a failure.

You said that yourself!

You said that...

You said journalism made you a better person!

What can I see? - A failure.

No, I see a scar!

But that's my breast enhancement, Katja.

Maybe I have no personality and no idea what to ask you!

I don't know!

Get it? You're my daughter, you said.

What if I was your daughter?

I see you're a success.

You have a house, a nice body, money, independence, tits...

She's with her father and sees his scar...

What a lovely domestic scene!

Father and daughter have a nice chat!

I'm not your daughter. - That's right!

She's dead.

I regret to announce that in recent days...

...that there is a crisis of trust with several LPF ministers in the cabinet.

What's up?

The government has fallen.

Hello, Matthijs!

The government fell.

Who is where?

Peer is here!

It's happened exactly as I predicted two weeks ago.

That's exactly how it went.

No, it's my piece!

Mine, not by Felix!

My piece!

You can go and drop dead, Matthijs!

Hey, you look just like my father.

Give him my regards.

I shall...

He's dead.

Can you turn to RTL4? - No, I want the news.

You don't believe in love.

Hello?

It's just being unfaithful for you.

No Frank, I'm still in the interview.

I only see you.

I don't know, Pierre... something.

It's all over!

I'll hang up now.

Yes... creep!

I'm pregnant.

Whose is it?

I wish I could say it was yours.

I'm good at crying...

...I must admit.

Twice in each film and three times an episode in soaps

That's just sorrowful.

And Johan always wanted the howl.

That's the first time you laughed.

You're beautiful.

And you've told me twice.

A man has never told me that before.

Boys always say I'm beautiful.

Then I bring them home and they want me...

But they then can't.

I must be too famous for them.

Or they respect me too much.

Or I always choose impotent wankers.

Or they're nobodies who want to humiliate me.

Watch out if men say you're beautiful.

But you are.

Yes, I'm beautiful.

As if there's only the outside.

You have a lot of outside.

I have plenty of outside.

Men want the outside.

I feel like a wall people piss against.

Is there an inside too?

There's more inside than out.

What's in there?

Most journalists think there's hot air in there.

Air here and here...

Inside me, it's all sawdust...

...or air or silicon.

I have silicon brains too.

It went from my tits to my blood...

Then it seeped into my brains.

It took over everything!

Now it's a pile of air, sawdust and silicon.

Eat up.

I laughed because I thought you said something true.

That I have silicon brains?

That's not really true!

That's my tits. They're silicon.

My brains are flesh, just like my old tits!

Are you on coke?

I...

What?

I kind of like you.

Why did you do that?

Otherwise I can't feel anything.

I don't feel anything, but I bought fishnet stockings...

Lovely ones. You like fishnet stockings?

Yes...

Why do men like fishnet stockings? - Women look good in them.

Why do men like women in fishnet stockings?

I'll explain. The fishnet stockings are a net...

...and the woman is imprisoned in the net.

...like a fish...

How about that?

And what about high heels?

They make walking difficult...

Nothing is more attractive to men than women on high heels in fishnet stockings!

The man thinks: The woman has trouble walking...

...and she's imprisoned in that net, so...

...she's easy prey.

All silicon thoughts. I know everything.

What makes a man attractive?

Filthy pizza, eh?

What makes a man attractive? - I can order something else to eat...

What makes a man attractive?

A scar...

Why?

Because most women have one too.

Where?

On their soul...

Scars recognise each other.

Silicon tits greet each other.

Are you good at seducing men?

What do you think?

I asked whether you could seduce men?

I said: You can best answer that.

I think you're a good seductress.

I'm not going to seduce you, Pierre.

I don't want to bed you either.

Me neither, Katja.

Really?

Homo!

I am a fucking good film star...

...with the world's greatest tits who's been to bed with...

...all the handsome men in the world...

...and Pierre Peters asks if I can seduce?

Take a jump...

Take a jump!

Ask me something, ask ME something!

This is like a drama school exercise!

Ask me... ask me... ask me...

You know what? Stop that fucking melodramatics!

You spend all your time acting. Your life is one big act!

With your fake tits and film-star face!

Stop playing that role in your fucking soap-series crap!

I ask the wrong question, you give abnormal answers!

I'm a reporter, you're an actress!

There are no bad questions, but you avoid all of them

You shirk every answer, duck and dive!

You gripe about your brains and inside and about your...

...your fake tits and all men this and that!

I'm trying to take you seriously, but you won't let me!

No, I don't have silicon brains.

I have brains of flesh and blood...

...and maybe they're overheated by all they've seen and been through.

And I lie here with all the world's women... You heard me.

...all the beautiful women. No! I lie in bed with whores!

I pay 10 dinars for a wank!

I let a guy in fishnet, high heels and too much lipstick jerk me off!

I only find out later...

...because he needs the money.

He most reminds me of you.

But he was more honest that you.

He was one big act too!

But he knew why: He had to.

But you don't with your pert ass!

Listen to me, Katja...

Your inside is air, sawdust and silicon!

That's your inside.

Thanks, dear Dad!

"I'm good at crying, I must admit."

You looked after me so well... - I cry twice in every film...

...and at least three times an episode in soaps.

My darling Dad, who wasn't there.

Silicon tears on your doll's face!

When I died...

...and you were drunk...

This hurting...

...is just because you're a spoilt brat.

Dearest Katja, my daughter.

You're a spoilt brat and take your feelings from a script.

A whore...

Call me a whore...

A whore in Hotel Gainsbourg in Sarajevo...

...fell in love with a friend of mine.

She had a huge scar from a grenade. She said it was an operation.

And this friend fell in love with her.

They loved each other and wanted to go to Holland.

And oh dear me, the whore got pregnant.

And just as they were to leave, the whore was captured by soldiers...

...led by Olec Mihalovich...

...who is now facing charges in The Hague.

Olec first gave the whore to his men...

...then he had her himself...

...and he tortured her and whatever...

...then he cut open her belly and took out the 18-week foetus...

...put it in a pot and sent it to my friend.

You know why Olec did that?

Because he was in love with that whore too, Katja!

What has journalism done to your personality?

You said you were now a better person.

When they healed that whore... and they did.

Then they told her about the foetus.

How they put it in a pot and sent it to my friend.

Tintin in Bosnia! - Then Olec said to her...

Listen girl, you can kill your boyfriend.

If not, we'll do it for you and then your family and then you!

She was given a grenade, went to our hotel...

We were talking to locals at the bar. She took out the pin.

Six dead, including a few children.

Long live suicide bombers.

There was nothing left.

Teeth, a hand with two fingers... and oh yes!

Her thigh!

You know what it had on it? Katja?

Some skirt and fishnet tights.

Anyway! Fishnet...

I went to hospital with a fragment in my belly.

My friend wasn't dead.

That made Pierre Peters a better person.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I hurt you.

I was indeed acting like a spoilt brat.

I should have poked out your eyes.

Feel like a dessert? - No thanks.

I have foetus in syrup.

Why are you such a bastard?

Lying to serve the truth better!

I have a headache. Can I lie down?

Well...

Not only is that the first question you asked...

...it's also the best I ever had from a journalist!

Please do lie on my sofa!

Do you have an aspirin?

An aspirin?

Another good question...

I'm afraid I do have an aspirin...

...but no arsenic.

That would clear your headache much quicker.

Here you are.

Thanks.

Okay, I'm not a good person.

I'm a failure.

Journalism's not for me.

What about your friend?

One suicide attempt after another.

After three attempts, you should be taken off.

He's tried six times.

Why does he keep failing?

They keep him alive in a clinic.

And what about you?

Guilt...

Do you realise that you're unpleasant?

It's not my job to be nice.

It's your job to be a bastard? - Maybe...

Why?

Who's interested if I'm nice?

I would appreciate it.

I'm your father...

Why are you insecure?

I... - Because you don't feel anything?

Well played, Dr Freud...

It's strange...

You're insecure and feel nothing, you say.

How d'you know you're insecure?

Is that a feeling?

You "feel" insecure.

How does that feel?

If you're insecure, what does that involve?

You're not so insecure that you won't talk to me.

You don't have a problem with...

...showing your tits in films. You have friends.

You're not that insecure.

If you couldn't feel, you couldn't hurt either.

You're very good at hurting.

You know exactly where to put the boot in.

And I can hurt you too.

Because you just cried.

Or was that playacting?

You do feel something.

What you said even sounds nice.

Probably calculated to be nice...

You still despise me.

But still...

...nice...

...all those words...

Political pundit...

You're talking to me. Is that a failure?

I'm the best...

...actress in Holland, certainly in sales terms...

The tastiest chick in Holland, they say.

I give two interviews a year...

...and you have one of them.

How much of a failure are you, if you can talk to me?

To get me mad.

You know how many people would want that?

And then your nasty streak...

That may result from the fact...

...that you demand a certain quality.

You seek truth, you say.

You want honesty...

...you say.

Those aren't nasty wishes.

So you are nasty...

...because you want to be nice.

So you can't be that nasty.

You need a lot of words for that.

I meant to be nice.

It is nice.

Do you ever fuck?

What did you say?

Do you ever fuck?

No? - Yes I do.

Whores...

D'you think I'm beautiful?

I won't go to bed with you.

Not on your life.

You couldn't seduce me.

I just asked if you think I'm beautiful.

Yes...

I told you a few times already.

Yes... yes...

I get a million men more enthusiastic than your "yes".

You're not my type.

You aren't mine either.

Would you kiss me?

Would you give me a French kiss? - No.

Why not? - I told you. You're not my type.

Kiss me...

No.

Kiss me...

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!

Why? - Because you don't understand.

I hear a bell, the phone?

The front door. Don't open it.

Why not? - It's probably Frank.

Oh, Frank. Frank?

He can come in.

He's my latest fiance. Only for two weeks. He's a doctor.

Then open the door. - No. I won't.

Why not? - He'll see I cried.

Why did you cry?

Because I had to cry.

Why's that?

Open the door. - I won't.

And nor will you. It's my house.

I won't. - Make him leave.

Me or him? - All of you must leave.

How can I leave if I can't open the door?

I want peace.

I want peace. - What about me?

Your phone...

That's Frank. He can hear us.

How do you know? Pick up the phone!

He wants to come in.

Do something! - No!

You? - No thanks.

Yes, it's coke.

Write it down, roving reporter, for your fine paper.

Hang me on my own rope.

Why didn't you open the door?

Because we're talking. - I thought you'd had enough.

An ideal opportunity to end our talk.

Christ!

Christ almighty!

Fucking hell!

There's nothing wrong with your feelings!

Bastard!

Now I know why that whore wanted to blow you all up.

You're hysterical. What did I do?

If I had a grenade, I'd stick it between your balls!

In your rusty whorehouse ass!

What did I do? You're hysterical.

I won't explain.

Tell me what I did wrong, please.

Please tell me, I don't know.

There's only filth in your mouth.

I didn't say a word. - Your mouth is filled with filth.

What did I say? - You know how I know?

I kissed you! Remember?

I already kissed you. Kissed you...

...on the mouth.

I rolled my tongue around in there.

Remember?

Apparently not.

Everything is a lie for you. - I lied again. What did I lie?

Your whole life.

You never went to Yugoslavia.

What did I do wrong?

You kissed me...

...and ran away.

What does that mean?

Your fiance rings the bell.

I'd be happy if I was with someone I hated.

But you didn't let him in.

Then we both have to go. Him, me...

And you don't know why you didn't let him in.

Because we're talking?

Who's crazy?

Who's cracked up?

Who's hysterical?

And what is this talk we're having?

There's six minutes on the cassette and all quarrelling.

And then I am cruel.

Why? Because I'm a liar. I lie, and what do I lie?

I haven't been to Yugoslavia?

I lie about myself, my wife, my daughter?

You want to go to bed with me?

You want to?

I say "no". What do you do?

You kiss me.

Then you run away.

Yes, I'm lying.

And I lie because I say that I kind-of like you.

I kind-of like you.

I don't get you.

Not at all.

You aren't my type.

And you're not my type either.

Didn't you notice, Mr Reporter...

...that I asked you more questions than you asked me?

Didn't you notice that...

...maybe I recognised something in you?

I put the words in your mouth.

With your tongue, I suppose.

There you go again.

With my tongue too, darling.

With my tongue too.

I thought I recognised something.

Scar recognises scar...

You know the scar I have?

No...

Have you asked? No!

You only fight a war.

I've seen war.

Yes, Tintin!

You've seen war.

You crawled over corpses.

It wasn't difficult.

All too easy.

There's this very nervous Serbian with his pistol at your head.

He doesn't speak English or German.

Nor Russian. Nothing.

He asks you important questions in Serbian.

So you don't understand him.

You hear the pistol click.

You see his finger from the corner of your eye.

It's shaking.

Then you're nervous, insecure.

Your insecurity is different. I wanted to tell you that.

It's quite different.

You want to rob my feelings too? - No.

I'm trying to tell you you feel better than anyone.

How do you know? - You wouldn't know me otherwise.

Do you love that Frank?

Yes.

You're lying.

How come? - Because you don't love him.

I do love him.

You're lying.

How do you know?

I just do.

That's really mean. - Why?

It's mean to tell someone they're lying...

...when they're not and not prove it! - I know you're lying but can't prove it.

You're mean. - Why?

I said I love Frank!

So how can you prove...

...that I don't?

I can...

Is this some kind of word game?

I know you don't love him.

This is crazy!

You can go to bed with me...

...if you can prove, really prove...

...that I don't love Frank.

I'll suck you off.

And God knows, I'm good at that!

Better than you ever had.

If you're right...

I don't gamble.

It isn't a wager.

I do love Frank.

No you don't.

"I don't want to fuck Frank. I can't tell him I don't love him.

"Why does he want me all the time?

"I can't feel anything with Frank in me. Or without him."

So now I can open my zip?

It's a good thing we didn't bet...

You're lying...

I proved it. I have given the only proof I could give.

And you're guilty of lying.

He read the diary...

...and he's still here in my house.

And he's proud too!

He's proud he read the diary!

He's not ashamed.

On the contrary.

Is there any point in saying you're sick?

Is there any point in saying you should see a shrink!?

And would you now...

- I hope you understand why -

...get out?!

I think I have enough. Frank, doctor, diary, coke...

...pills, silicon brains...

You're a great journalist.

Great... my compliments.

Close the door quietly behind you.

Or loudly, if you like.

Maybe you want to rape me before you go?

You can if you like.

You already did, but you can do it again.

I won't use those things, you know that.

You know any more about me? - Yes...

What, may I ask?

You write pretty crappy poems.

"It is heavy, my secret's heavy

"I have a mask, who can I ask?

"Share my blame...

"...share my pain?"

Nursery rhymes!

You could sue me.

You know why I like you now?

I'm sure you won't believe me if I say...

...that I don't like you.

But I like you.

I know what I did was wrong. I know. I admit it.

But I read this and something else that made me...

...made me like you.

Well I never.

You read more?

Take a pen. What did you read? What do you want to know?

"There is death. Everywhere. Death in me. Death...

"Everywhere. Death in me. Death...

"Death in me..."

In the cellar of humiliation...

...there was a pitfall...

...and I just fell in it! - I don't use anything.

No? - Even if you don't believe me.

But I would like to know the secret, about death, death everywhere...

I'd like to know about that.

Why?

Why on earth?

Because I recognise myself in you.

Bastard!

Finish me...

I'm already dead.

Finish me off!

A grenade, please!

It's really crazy.

I really need a snort.

It's gone.

The bad dream.

The nightmare.

I can sleep in peace.

What terrible dreams people can have,

Listen Katja...

It's as if he's still here.

I can hear a ghost...

I have a proposition.

Oh dear!

The nightmare must want to fuck me.

Or I have to suck him off.

Or I have to be his whore. Who knows?

Listen, Katja.

Hello?

Hey, hello, darling!

No, he's gone.

Thank goodness.

A very nice man...

Pierre Peters...

PP to his friends!

You know him?

No, he isn't a political pundit. He does showbiz news.

He was first to expose Laurentien as a transsexual.

Yes... no!

No, not a bastard!

No, very sweet.

Very nice.

Just like all the others.

No, darling, I can't come round.

No, I can't. I have to learn my lines for tomorrow.

Okay... Kisses.

I hereby proposition Katja.

She tells me why she wrote about death all around.

So you can ruin me in the paper. - Wait a minute!

I haven't finished. She tells me the secret...

...why there is death everywhere. And she can decide whether I use it.

I want you to get lost.

Get out! Disappear...

Die! Be destroyed.

Explode...

Is that clear?

I want you to dissolve...

...to be gruesomely murdered...

That they find you being gnawed by rats.

With rabid dogs tearing your brains from your skull.

You're not so great. You exaggerate.

Be yourself. If you know what that is.

I'll call the police.

Let me explain why I want to know. - Don't bother! Go!

I can break you, you know.

I already am.

Listen, I won't do it.

I want to know your secret because I feel close.

I feel the same as you, what you feel.

I swear by all that's dear to me. I swear by...

...Lisa, my dead daughter. You and me...

Don't link your name with mine! - You and I have something in common.

Okay, listen...

Give me something.

Scar meets scar...

I see you're recording everything.

Never tired of yourself?

Tell me your blackest thought.

Why is there death all around you.

What do I get in return?

What do I get for telling you what no one knows.

Why should I tell you what I'd rather forget?

Yes, why should you?

And why haven't you kicked me out yet?

You know why I haven't called the cops?

I really want to hurt you.

I want to harm you.

I want to get my own back on you.

I'm not a sadist. Not until tonight.

I have the feeling that you, with your war...

...used Gestapo methods on me.

There's nothing I want more...

...than to hurt you as much as you hurt me.

So get your own back.

I don't know how!

What do I get in return...

...if I tell you my secret?

Tell me what you really want to know about me.

Tell me your deepest secret.

You have one?

Yes...

I do.

That's a good deal.

It has to be a real secret.

I have a secret.

How do I know it's a real secret?

You can only decide when you've heard it.

But it is very secret. No one knows.

Apart from... no... No one knows my secret.

You'll be the first.

And then you can break me.

I accept your proposition.

But I don't know why.

But I can't just tell you.

That would be too hard.

I'll read it from the diary.

Fine.

Okay.

It's really hard.

I understand.

If only I knew why you wanted it. - To prove I'm not an evil person.

That we share something.

You may be right.

Maybe there is.

Can we start?

I'll turn the tape over.

I, eh...

I'll read a day...

...to make it clear.

It's so hard! - I understand!

Monday 15 December.

Today judgement was passed.

I have cancer.

The X-rays were clear.

Abrahams...

...my doctor...

Abrahams said X-rays and blood tests were clear.

I have cancer.

I asked: "Will I die?" Abrahams said nothing.

I asked again. "Will I die?"

"It's not that far," he said.

"We have to check for secondaries...

"See how you are."

Abraham was sweet. He asked if I wanted to call anyone.

Or if I wanted to now any more.

"Tell me everything," I said.

"Do my tits have to go?"

"Certainly the left one." "Can anything be done?"

"No."

"Is my career finished?"

"No," said Abraham...

"And if you find secondaries?"

"Then you're finished..."

"What should I do?" I asked. "Live a healthy life."

"I won't," I said.

He said: "Don't smoke, drink...

"I know I can't stick to that."

"What is the probability of secondaries?"

"I don't know," Abraham said.

Then came the lines you read.

"There is death. Everywhere. Death in me. Death...

Terrible...

There's more if you want to hear.

How are you now?

I had tests yesterday and today...

The results come next week.

What do you think?

I stopped thinking.

I'm sorry.

About everything.

You don't have to be sorry. We're mature adults.

What on earth happened tonight?

What do you mean? - Why do we behave the way we do?

Maybe it's the medicine...

...combined with drink and coke...

I'm sorry, Kat...

Can I call you Kat?

You didn't know.

Was it worth it? Was this what you wanted to hear?

Why we are similar? - No!

I'm deeply ashamed.

Death has been a scourge around me.

Literally. All that was dear to me died.

Maybe I'll be dead in a year. - Don't say that.

What do you think of me now?

I'm ashamed for thinking so badly of you.

Can you turn it off?

Leave me alone.

I'm a little confused.

Why do we hurt each other?

You hurt me so. - It was a misunderstanding.

It always is...

Human relations are a misunderstanding.

Relationships too.

Everything, men, women...

It's all a misunderstanding.

Ellen always rings now.

Take it. Maybe it's a good thing to talk to a friend.

I'll go.

No, I don't... Please stay.

Stay...

Does anyone else know your secret?

No one...

No one at all.

You...

But you can trust me...

What will you write?

Darling, I won't write anything.

I have to go.

I knew it.

What?

We made a deal. You're not sticking to it.

I know, but... - What?

My story is nothing compared with yours...

I know you're unreliable.

But stick to it.

My story pales alongside yours.

You promised!

You don't have to keep a promise, but you swore...

All right.

Now.

I had to come back from Bosnia to Holland...

...to attend Lisa's funeral.

In the plane, my wound opened.

It was bleeding. I went to hospital from the airport.

A piece of grenade in my belly.

It was infected. I'd been careless.

I couldn't go to Lisa's funeral.

My wife didn't come to see me either.

The accident was her fault.

She was driving.

I was hurt. She didn't want to show her face.

A colleague came to see me and told me what happened.

My wife was drunk at the wheel. Blind drunk.

One day she came to the hospital.

Not to tell me what happened or comfort me.

But to say it was all over between us.

She said Lisa's death was a good time to start afresh.

She wasn't interested in what had happened to me. That's that.

One week later I was discharged.

I returned to an empty house.

Just a bed and desk but nothing else. No kitchen things, sheets... nothing.

No photo of Lisa, nothing. Just a note from Marian: "This is better."

And her address.

I went straight there.

It was the house of a friend. She was out. We'd been there before.

I went inside. Marian was sitting at the table, paralytic.

I wanted to talk to her.

Impossible! She babbled she wished I had died instead of Lisa.

Then she fell on the floor and I saw the carkeys. I dragged her into our old car.

We set off.

You murdered your wife.

I knew the area.

I drove into the woods to a lake which we visited with Lisa.

I put her behind the wheel.

She was so drunk she was out of it.

I jumped out and pushed her into the lake or something...

I was on the bank.

I knew she would drown. She was out cold.

I called for help.

I don't know if I wanted to kill her.

But I wanted revenge.

I was crazy. I saw the war in Bosnia flash past.

I called out and help came.

I said we'd had an accident. Too much to drink.

And the man waded in the water after Lisa...

I mean to save Marian.

He got her, but it was too late. She was dead.

I told the police we were drunk and had crashed.

We were on our way to hospital because my wound was open.

I scratched it open on the bank.

I was in hospital when Marian was buried.

The police investigated, but found no evidence of murder.

So they couldn't prosecute.

The police even apologised for investigating.

The psychiatrist said I was stressed and traumatised.

But was that enough for murder?

On the contrary.

Yes, I murdered my wife.

It's late.

Too late...

I kissed you... - Why did you kiss me?

Because for a second or less...

...really felt I loved you.

But hate won out.

We really loathed each other.

Had... - I don't hate you any more.

I have to take my medicine.

You have to go. - Can I say something?

What is there to say?

I know it's unusual and wrong...

...and out of order and pointless and irrelevant...

...but I want you to know. - What?

I love you.

I don't love you.

I'll just go and take my medicine.

I'd better go.

Yes...

I'm exhausted.

Look after yourself and take care of the tape.

If I break you, you can use it.

I think this evening changed you.

I trust you.

Have you changed?

Yes...

One thing, before I go.

What do we have in common?

We don't believe in relationships.

You're right.

There's no equality.

There's always a winner.

I hope you won this evening.

Can I conquer death?

Did you win?

What's the deadline?

Here's the headline, ready?

Hurry!

Katja has cancer.

Dutch megastar Katja Stuurman has a malignant tumour.

She reveals all in an interview in tomorrow's paper.

At 25, about to break through internationally, her career ends.

Not news?

Christ! Put me through to Matthijs!

Forget it, I'm on my way!

Pierre...

I forgot to tell you something. - What?

You see this?

Your diary!

I forgot to say...

What? - It's not my diary...

It's Ellen's! I was reading her diary. She has cancer.

And this is the tape with your murder confession.

This tape is going to the police who are on their way.

Translated by Martin Cleaver