Original subtitles

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.

- 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. 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.

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

You're such a slut.

Yeah. Uh-huh.

Tickets.

Give me the-- Fuck. Give me the--

- 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.

I'd been waiting for it.

It took longer than expected.

Mr. Brigstocke.

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 glad that 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, 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?

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-- 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 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.

- Nightcap? - Sure. Why not?

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

Robert.

Sorry, I thought it was Ribena.

- An honest mistake. - You shouldn't have, love.

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 day.

Thank you, darling. Silly.

- That's lovely. What is it? Spices? - Exquisite.

Sandalwood.

Cassis.

Banana.

And also these.

This will be it?

Yes.

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.

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. Whoa. Whoa, whoa.

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

Santa Lucia Santa Lucia

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?

Why are we turning?

Mate, no.

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

- Yeah, the Bridge of-- - 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? - I need to go back to London.

What? Why?

- 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.

Fuck, sorry. I'm so sorry.

She was like--

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 don't know. I don't know.

Whoever sent that book.

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 describe me.

Describe you how? White? Blonde?

- 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, there's so many things that I should have told you.

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

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

I don't know where to start.

With what happened 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 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?

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 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.

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 very kind,

but 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?

She was a manipulative cow,

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

Yes, but you haven't answered the question.

Did she deserve it?

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.

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?

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, 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 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.

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

Thanks for that Nikon you gave me.

I've been taking tons of pictures.

Love, Jonathan.

PS, 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. - 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.

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.

- 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.

Did you send it to me?

No.

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

So, 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?

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, 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-- 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 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.

Can't get me.