The House That Jack Built (2018) Movie Script

May I ask you something?
I can't promise I'll answer.
R... right, that's exactly
what I meant.
Um, are you allowed to speak
along the way?
I was thinking
there might be rules.
Let me put it this way
very few make it all the way
without uttering a word.
People are overcome with
a strange and sudden need
to confess on these trips.
And not all of it
can be said to be
of great rhetorical quality
but do carry on merrily
just don't believe you're
going to tell me something
I haven't heard before.
I will tentatively
divide my tale
into five randomly
chosen incidents
over a twelve-year period.
So I'm standing here
holding this jack
crap's not working.
Do you, uh, do you have a jack
I could borrow?
No, I'm sorry.
- No?
- No
- No?
- No
That's odd,
I thought everyone had a jack.
I don't.
Perhaps you could
have a look at my car?
Well, I don't have to
have a look at your car.
The issue with your jack
is it's broken.
So, uh, what's a person
like me supposed to do?
Well, I suppose
I could, uh, drive over
to Sonny's repair shop
and call for roadside
It's about, uh,
five miles from here.
What kind of repair shop is it?
It's... it's..
Sonny's a blacksmith, very good one.
Well, maybe this Sonny can
repair the jack?
You'd have to talk to Sonny
about that.
Perhaps, I could entice you
to drive me there?
- Please.
- Um..
Oops, that was a mistake.
Me getting in this car
with you.
What was it one's mother
used to say
about not getting into cars
with strangers?
I wouldn't know what
your mother said.
You might as well be
a serial killer.
I'm sorry but you do kind of
look like one.
You'd like me
to drive you back to your car?
No, no.
I can take care of myself.
I'm sorry,
were you offended
that I called you
a serial killer?
It's of absolutely
no importance to me.
Maybe it's just the van.
It's the kind one might expect
to be kidnapped in
or used to transport corpses.
But if you really were
a serial killer
I guess the easiest thing
would be just
to bury my body back up there
by those trees
but you'd have to remember
to dig six feet down
so the foxes couldn't
dig up my grave.
What would I do?
What would I do to keep you
from getting away with it?
Of course, I'd just
pick up that jack and hit you
over the head with it.
A jack like that can do quite
a bit of damage
don't you think?
I'm not a medical examiner.
It'd do quite a lot of damage.
Don't forget this.
Good luck with Sonny.
Um, would it be too much to ask
for you to drive me back?
If this Sonny is as fast as
you say he is?
I'm sure Sonny is perfectly
capable of giving you
a lift back to your..
As... as I told you before,
I don't like
driving with strangers.
Well, I'm just as much of
a stranger as Sonny is.
Oh, getting along just fine.
I'll just go speak to Sonny,
just take a moment.
Hi, Jack.
How's it going?
Well, I was working
on Miller's tractor
but this lady is being
really persistent.
You don't say.
Big mistake.
The reason serial killers can roam around free in our country
is that they have no connection
between themselves
and their victims.
So, you just made
a big mistake
letting Sonny see
the two of us together.
You know..
I have more important things
to be doing with my life
than messing around
with this crap.
You... you said
he was really good.
Yeah, well,
I'm sure Sonny was just
distracted by your
goddamned blabbering.
Now I have to go,
I have an appointment.
what appointment?
That's none of your goddamn
business now, is it?
You're not just gonna
leave me here.
In fact, yes, that is kind of
what I was thinking.
I'm sure there will be another
serial killer passing by
who can give you a lift
back to Sonny's.
That is, unless he decides
to kill you first.
Even if I was to beg you
to drive me back?
Just a last time?
Pretty please.
You know,
I take it all back
what I said earlier about you
looking like a serial killer.
No, no, no,
you don't have the disposition
for that sort of thing.
You're way too much
of a wimp to murder anyone.
Oh, dear,
you are a dangerous man
smacked her with a jack,
did you?
Honestly, I've heard of
more murders
than I can count.
And by the way,
what does this ridiculous man
have to do with anything?
It's Glenn Gould
one of the greatest piano
players of our time.
He represents art.
So a jack in the face of
an admittedly unbearable lady
was great art.
Is that what I'm to make of it?
Dear Mr. Verge,
please give me a chance
to cast some supplemental light on the story of the jack.
The old cathedrals often have
sublime artworks hidden away
in the darkest corners
for only God to see
or whatever
one feels like calling
the great architect
behind it all.
The same goes for murder.
When I say cathedrals
it is first and foremost the gothic buildings we admire.
Here elegant, pointed arches
have replaced the earlier
more primitive rounded arches.
The art of engineering is first and foremost about statics
that is so things remain
standing in spite of
the various forces that impact
the buildings.
In this way, the pointed arch
created a possibility to build
much higher
and with much more light
but most importantly
with less use of material.
I often say that
the material does the work.
In other words it has
a kind of will of its own
and by following it,
the result will be
the most exquisite.
So the material was the jack
and it jumped into the lady's
face on its own.
Art is many things.
Very convenient and unusual
in the pile of bad excuses.
But all of that
is of no interest whatsoever
unless you're an engineer.
I am an engineer.
My mother was of the opinion
that becoming an engineer
was the more financially
viable choice
but my really big dream
was to become an architect.
Right before the lady
and the jack
I purchased a building lot
and since
I was my own developer
due to a substantial
no one could keep me
from drawing up
my own plans
for my own house.
Engineer or architect
what I see is an OCD patient
in full bloom.
Ordnungszwang Jack
to use a good German word.
Yes, perhaps, it is
in any case true
that I suffered from
compulsions as a child.
I was completely hysterical
about cleaning
and could never leave
a room that wasn't
perfectly neat and clean.
A standard that was
difficult to maintain
in the walk-in freezer.
The walk-in freezer?
The walk-in freezer
on Prospect Avenue.
The sign has been broken
for forever
so no one really knew what
the name of the street was.
I bought the pizzas
from the former owner
of the walk-in freezer.
He claimed it was a great deal
but of course I never managed
to sell them
so it all became
too much for me.
I only ate one of those
shitty pizzas.
Pizza, pizza!
And then there was a door
to another room
which I never managed to open.
A fucking neurotic riddled
with obsessive compulsions
and a pathetic dream
of something greater.
And what about the police?
I imagine they started
coming around a lot.
No, call it luck
if you will.
I had attempted
to hide her car..
...but to my great annoyance
you could still catch a glimpse of it from the main road.
You know, without realizing
where I had parked the car
was a stroke of genius.
You see, the small brook
defines the state border
and the local police,
per definition
can't see across state lines.
It's not their jurisdiction.
So I had no inquiries
from the police.
And by the way,
I don't even know if Sonny
had told them about me.
We met up quite
a few times since
but never spoke of it.
Hang on.
Who are you?
Did something happen?
Oh, no, no, no
luckily nothing exactly
has happened as of yet.
I understand that
you are fond of
shopping at
Carlson's Supermarket.
Why? Did something happen
at Carlson's?
No, uh, however
we'd like to, uh, prevent
things from happening
to businesses in the vicinity
like Carlson's Supermarket.
Yeah, may... may,
may I come in?
I'd like to see
a police badge.
So would I.
Unfortunately, that today
is going to be a bit of
a problem.
Now, ahem..
...I can tell by your expression
that you think it's a bad thing
that I don't have my police
badge on me.
Well, I'm here to tell you that
it's a, it's a good thing..
...for the police department
and I'm not going to
lie to you, okay?
It also happens to be
a good thing for me
on a personal level. Yeah.
You see my... my badge
it's, uh, at the silversmith.
Yeah, it's at the,
the silversmith.
They're... they're shining it up
and, ah..
...adding a few additional
citations to it.
I've been promoted.
- Okay.
- Right.
So now you're..
Now... now what are you?
Like, what's your,
what's your rank now?
We're not at liberty
to discuss that.
Ah, that's considered
classified information.
However, I think this is safe
to say that
it's a considerable..
...leap up the ladder.
- Uh, ahem, now may I...
- No.
Not without a badge.
Bravo, bravo, bravo,
that's excellent.
That's exactly just the type of
response we like to see.
- You say no, that makes my day.
- Right.
Of course, everybody's always
talking about security
but what... what is actually
anybody doing about it?
No, is quite
the correct answer.
Yeah, it's quite
the correct answer indeed.
Of course you'll never allow
somebody in your home
just because they say,
"Oh, I'm a police officer."
No. No, no, no.
You don't do that.
You wait until they show you
the proper..
- Badge.
- Yeah. The badge.
- Yup.
- That's correct. Yeah.
May I, uh, ask you a..
...ah, somewhat
personal question?
Um, when exactly
was it that you lost your,
your husband?
It was just over
six months ago
that my husband passed..
Where are you going with this?
Oh, I'm just thinking
about your..
Your pension, yeah.
I bet with a simple phone call
to one of my colleagues
down in headquarters,
I could get you a, ah..
...considerable increase
in your pension.
I bet that I could,
I could double
what you're currently receiving.
Wait a minute.
You could get me
double my pension
from the police department
by calling people?
Uh, forgive me, uh, uh..
...I, I've tricked you, a bit.
In fact, as it, as it stands
I'm not,
I'm not a police officer.
I'm an insurance agent, lady.
The, the whole story
that I told you about the badge
that's, t-that's something
that we've been asked to do
by the authorities,
it's, it's for statistical
purposes or something.
- Hi, Glenn.
- Hi, Claire.
- It's my friend Glenn.
- Glenn. Yeah, great guy.
- You know Glenn?
- Yeah, sure.
Uh, listen, are you interested
in this, this increase,
uh, the money?
Well, if you can double it.
It won't take more than
a few minutes of your time.
Alright, listen,
you can come in.
This damn door sticks.
I mean, what the heck's
the worst that could happen
as long as you can
double my pension.
Damn it.
Something wrong?
This is so damn humiliating.
You know being forced
to, to stand out there
exposed, time and time again
have to be
put in these situations
I don't know why.
Listen, I'm sorry,
uh, I-I.. I was jus..
You know
how humiliating it is?
I am constantly being
put in these situations.
It's just not fair.
- No.
- Do you think it's fair?
- No.
- No.
Do you want me
to get you a cup of tea?
Nah, nah, nah.
Don't worry about it.
Ow! Fuck.
Ow! Fuck. Ah, fuck. Fuck.
The hell do you think
you're going?
Oh, no. Oh, no.
Put this under your head.
I'm sorry. Ow.
I'm so sorry.
What can I do
to make this good again?
- What can I do?
- Ugh!
How can I help you?
What can I do
to make it better?
- Speak to me?
- Talk..
- Can't talk? Okay.
- Can't.
Hold on a second.
I have something else I think
you're gonna like quite a bit.
Do you like donuts?
Have here..
Here we go.
Yes, chamomile.
It's good for you.
Jesus Chri..
A murderer with OCD.
It's almost ridiculous
but how unfortunate
for you, Jack.
And to top it off,
with cleaning compulsions.
Please get out of the car, sir.
Do you mind if I take a look
in the van please, sir?
- I'd be a bad guy if I said no.
- Alright, open her up, please.
I'm sorry, sir, but there's
been a minor break-in
down the street just now.
I'd like to ask you
a couple of questions
about anything you may
have seen or heard, yeah?
Glenn said you were
visiting Claire.
I'm sorry y... you said something ab...
about a break-in?
- Uh-huh.
- Well..
Well, unfortunately
I think you've got
a more serious problem.
Claire, she's disappeared.
Clair Miller has disappeared?
Yeah, I've been,
uh, sitting out here
for the last two hours
in my van waiting for her.
You see, ahem,
I contacted Claire
because, uh, her late husband
was a dear friend of mine.
We worked together
for number of years
on the railroad
and, uh, I'm a collector.
Yeah, I collect.
Uh, I collect Trax.
- Trax?
- Old issues of Trax.
It's a, uh, publication
owned by the railroad
and, uh, Jerry, uh
I know, I happen
to know for a fact
that he also subscribed
and was an enthusiast
such as myself.
So Claire said
she'd run inside
and see if she could rustle up
a couple of back issues for me.
She didn't ask me in.
Better safe than sorry
when an oddball like myself
just turns up, right?
- Yeah.
- Yeah, yeah.
So I knocked several times
and, uh, she hasn't answered.
Sir, I'm gonna ask you
to stay right here.
I'm just gonna go take a look.
Claire, it's Ed.
- Maybe the door is open.
- What?
Or maybe not.
Claire, you here?
- Is she up there?
- No, she's not up there.
Maybe she went out
through the back.
I, I think
I would have noticed that.
Uh, this is really,
really strange.
If you ask me, I'd say
that this needs to be
thoroughly investigated.
Right, well
I'm not askin' you.
You know, I have to say,
also, that I heard
uh, some noises coming
from... the living room.
- Noises?
- Yeah, some noises.
I, I, of course, I can't be sure
but it sounded
a little bit like a..
Like a scuffle of some kind.
No, no, no. You're gonna have
to put that back down, now.
Sir, that kind of investigation,
that's for police, don't.
Right, right.
Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you
to leave the house.
- I'm sorry?
- Sir, now!
- Okay.
- Mm-hm.
You know, I'm gonna
do so under protest.
I, I feel like
that my observations
well, they could be of use
in an investigation.
As a tax-paying citizen,
someone who is fully aware
of my constitutional rights.
O... officer, please
allow me to finish
I'm just trying to be
of assistance, okay?
You've got one minute, sir.
I would like
to recommend one thing
and it's within my right,
that this room
is inspected impeccably.
With a magnifying glass
if you catch my drift.
- Get out.
- Have a nice day, officer.
Get out, sir.
Don't the police officers
in your story
seem exceptionally naive?
Is that the point?
No, but here it comes,
the point that is.
I can hardly wait.
The great rain!
It washed away the long track
from my escape.
Now, I don't consider myself
a decidedly
devoted man of faith.
Which, of course, is a
totally crazy thing to say
our present situation
but I must admit..
...I experienced the rain,
the fiercest I have ever seen
as a kind of a blessing.
And the murder
as a kind of liberation.
I felt I had
a higher protector.
And in the reality you were
just a terrifying
perverted Satan.
But, did you understand,
or even better, did you accept
the connection
to your own personality?
That you yourself
were a psychopath?
Well, I'm not stupid.
That's rather unusual.
The psychopath
will never accept
his own diagnosis.
But I did!
For instance,
the psychopath's
lack of empathy.
I went to great lengths
to fake normal empathy.. order to hide
amongst the masses.
Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes.
Very, very disappointed.
And the reeds?
I was a very sensitive child..
afraid of playing.
For example, hide and seek.
In the case of hide
I always chose to run
in near panic
into a field
of reeds to hide.
I see something
other than a scared kid.
I see a kid with a more
mysterious goal.
The choice of the dash through
the reeds was an escape
but also an open
invitation to the pursuer
because of the clear path
of broken reeds left behind.
Was there an element
of come and catch me
in you as a child?
Or perhaps, more importantly
in you as a person?
Was there never a tiny grain
of disappointment
about the great rain
that washed away
your tracks so you
couldn't be caught?
More like amazement..
...when I think about all the things I've done in my life
without it, in any way,
resulting in punishment.
I loved when the men
from the village
cut the meadows
with their scythes.
Back then one spoke
of the breath of the meadow.
Everyone working in rhythm
exhaling when they mowed,
and inhaling when they pulled
the scythes back.
It was as if the meadow
lived at its fullest
in my consciousness..
...when I listened
to its breath.
Stop that.
Stop it.
Stop it!
Stop it!
Experience had taught me
how to strangle correctly
and for long enough.
Bravo, Jack!
You certainly
are clever and tough..
...just like
all the other criminals.
The fact is, when,
after several more murders
I felt my OCD diminish
I started to take
greater chances.
This time I was completely
dissatisfied with the pictures
so I decided to take new ones.
Fuck. Fuck! Fuck it!
It struck me like lightning
from a clear sky.
I couldn't resist running
that little old lady over.
It made my already rather
daring plan of bringing
the first body back
to the scene of the murder
in order to take
some more inspired photos
a great deal more dangerous.
I now had a severely
hemorrhaging body
and another body in a bizarre,
frozen position on my hands.
Could you elaborate a little
on why the old lady had to die?
I can't explain it all,
but perhaps I can describe it
as the kind of blood frenzy
an ermine experiences
in a hen house.
Do you know Blake's poems..
...about the lamb
and the tiger?
I do know Blake superficially
but I'm afraid I won't escape
a comprehensive tutorial.
God created both
the lamb and the tiger.
The lamb represents innocence
and the tiger represents
Both parts are perfect
and necessary.
The tiger lives
on blood and murder
kills the lamb..
...and that is also
the artist's nature.
You read Blake like
the devil reads the Bible.
After all, the poor lamb
didn't ask to die
in order to become even
the greatest art.
The lamb has been bestowed
with the honor of living
forever in art,
and art is divine.
But still the same red van.
Now all bloody.
Somewhat reckless,
I should think
if you don't want
to be found out.
Now, that's exactly
what I thought..
...but I didn't have
the strength to change it
and besides, everything was
still going remarkably well.
Sometimes the best way
to hide is to not hide at all.
But now, as I said,
the OCD was on decline.. I took deliberate risks
and didn't remove the blood
from either the bedroom
or the car.
It was actually quite liberating to reach that point.
It turned out the little old lady who was merely an accident
added a great touch of humor
to my staged photographs.
And I was very pleased
with the outcome.
Mr. Sophistication? Of course!
Your narcissism
knows no bounds.
I sent the picture
to the local paper
which usually distinguished
itself by running stories
about missing, not to say,
uh, stolen garden gates
and so, might do well
with a story with a, you know
little more bite.
For me though, what was really
sensational about the work
with the photo,
it wasn't the image
but the negative.
When I was ten years old,
I discovered
that through the negative,
you could see
the real inner
demonic quality of the light.
The dark light.
But what about
repentance, Jack?
The ones I deal with tend
to repent all over the place.
I repent nothing
no matter how long
we have to walk
but I did think
of something the other day.
Imagine a man
walking down a street
underneath the street lamps.
Right under a light
his shadow is the densest
but also the tiniest.
Then when he starts to move
his shadow grows
in front of him.
The shadow becomes
bigger and bigger
while it thins out
and the shadow behind him
from the next lamppost emerges
and becomes
shorter and shorter
until it reaches
its ultimate density
as the man stands directly
underneath the light.
Let's say that the man standing
underneath the first lamppost
is me
when I've just
committed a murder.
I feel strong and content.
I start to walk and the shadow
in front of me grows bigger
like my pleasure,
but at the same time
pain is on its way,
represented by the shadow
behind me
from the next lamppost
and at the midpoint
between the lampposts
the pain is so great
it outweighs my pleasure.
And with every step forward
pleasure dissolves
and pain
intensifies behind me.
Finally the pain
is so unbearably intense
that I have to act,
so when I reach the point
with the next lamp in zenith
I will kill again.
I know you want
to be someone special, Jack
but let's face it,
this illustration can be used
for any addict's tale of woe.
The alcoholic empties
the bottle at the zenith
et cetera, et cetera.
But what about the family?
I understand that your
occupation didn't leave
any room for a family
in your life.
No, why?
Well, it could be,
despite everything
that speculating about this
might have triggered
just a tiny bit
of human feeling.
For example, a variation on what those of us less clever
might call need.
Need? Because
I never had a family?
No, I can't say that it did.
But the concept of family
actually inspired
one of my greatest works.
Okay, hats for everyone
you are to keep
your hats on at all times.
- Thank you.
- Safety procedures.
Can we go up there, mom?
Of course we're gonna go up.
Smile, grumpy, it'll be fun.
I don't think so.
It's for your sake we've come
all the way out here.
I told you I didn't wanna go.
You wanna see the weapons?
This, George, is a rifle.
This rifle has the capacity
to hit its target
at a distance
of several 100 yards.
And kill larger animals.
Have you killed
any large animals?
Well, yes, I have.
But that's not something
that I'm proud of.
If I'd killed
some large animals
I'd be proud of it.
I guess that's where
you and I differ, Georgie.
This here is a shotgun.
It's what they call
a smoothbore weapon.
This is not as precise
as the rifle
but it's more effective
when the animal is closer
and moving.
You can touch it if you want.
Can I?
Are we going hunting?
Hunting is such
an unpleasant thing.
I used to hunt quite a bit,
but I've stopped.
To be honest,
I find hunting distasteful.
For example, if I wanted
to shoot some of the crows
up in that tree,
we'd be talking about
what is known as culling,
which quite simply means
you want to determine which
animals you are going to allow
to live in your forest.
The crow has no value as prey
but can be culled because
they are seen as something
of a threat to animals
you wanna cultivate.
Culling, it's also such
an unpleasant word.
It has a tinge of ethnic
cleansing about it.
The very sick
and twisted act of hunting
has been ritualized
to such an unsettling degree.
The battue, for example
where a row of beaters
scares the living daylight
out of an entire forest.
Not to mention the trophy
parade, practiced primarily
in Europe
at the end of the hunt
as a final insult
in which each species
has its own traditional place.
We want to go up
in the tower, mom.
Shh. George, wait.
Yep, we are going up.
Okay, George,
you want to shoot?
I'll aim.. pull the trigger.
To fell an animal of this size
you have to be sure
to hit it in the vitals
which is to say here,
in the area of the lungs.
As you can see,
this one was hit here
in the hind quarter.
An animal could run
a great distance
with an injury such as this.
That's why typically
a good hunter would have
a Schweiss-dog, that's trained
in following a blood trail
so you can track the animal
down and finish the job.
Schweiss, well, that's
the word we use for blood trail.
Congratulations, young Georgie,
you hit the animal.
So you had found yourself
a family?
Yes, that's also how
I like to see it.
But it's all so much
simpler with animals.
What do you mean?
The order is important.
The hind will typically run in
the front with the largest fawn
following the smallest last.
You'd typically shoot
at the deer
starting with the rear one
based on the fact that the two
older animals can survive
without the young one
whereas, if you shot
the mother first
and didn't get the others
both fawns would probably
not survive.
So in this manner,
you then shoot the bigger fawn
and then the mother last.
Stay down!
Stop! George!
My family was moving
in the wrong order.
I have always taken
ethical hunting rules
very seriously.
On that point,
I think of myself as a bit of a gentleman.
A gentleman, really?
Or a Mr. Sophistication even?
No! No!
George doesn't seem to have
much of an appetite.
Perhaps he'd like
some of that pie.
You know, when I was a boy,
I never got enough pie.
Why don't you do as I say..
...and give the youngster
a little piece of pie?
It's if have no say
in the matter.
This was supposed to be
an enjoyable picnic.
This has been a good day.
An excellent day.
Do you have a favorite number?
Any number?
Everybody has
a favorite number.
That's an excellent number.
Very good number indeed.
Picnic's over.
You can go ahead.
I'll take care of the kids.
Do you expect me
to praise you or applaud?
You know, I'm sad
that you're
so judgmental, Verge.
Don't look at the acts,
look at the works.
The whole notion of trophies.
No. No, no, no!
You're constantly
trying to manipulate me.
And with children
the most sensitive
subject of all.
I'm also sensitive, Verge.
I cannot sleep on a sheet with even the smallest wrinkle.
The hunt, after all,
is a metaphor for love.
And that is your weakness,
So much has happened
during those days
let's call it signs
in the sun and the moon
which claimed my presence
for yet another work of art
and roused my aggression.
First, the eclipse.
Then the volcanic eruption
of Mount St. Helens
which I could see
from my lot.
I had just then decided
that using cinder blocks
was totally, totally wrong.
So I decided
to change the material.
The divine material.
Love, Jack.
Love is also an art.
Not to mention intimacy.
The Iceman always inhaled
his victims' last breath.
I'm here, Jack.
I don't feel so good, Verge.
There's a sour taste
in my mouth.
You want me to show you the way to the next whiskey bar?
It's the acid
you are starting to taste.
It appears at this depth.
I'm afraid you are going
to have to get used to it.
I placed Grumpy
in the anteroom..
...and left him there
until rigor mortis
had disappeared.
I had a plan
for little Grumpy.
What does that mean?
Those who are really good
at taxidermy
can make the animals
look alive
by changing their expressions
and positions
so it becomes
a whole little scene.
I discovered that if I worked
around rigor mortis
and worked before
the corpses froze
then I could manipulate
their expressions
and positions with
steel wire, pins, tape
and things like that.
And then when they were frozen
remove it all
and have a nearly
credible human being.
Grumpy was grumpy no more.
Was that what you were after?
A completely credible
human being?
Without becoming too romantic,
might one say
that exactly that
is reminiscent
of a kind of desire
for love?
I had a romance.
Where did the crutch
come from, Jack?
You hadn't hurt yourself,
had you?
A very useful little trick
if you wish to look harmless.
In general, if you carry some
luggage and a crutch
people come running
to assist
and then you force them
into the car with a weapon.
What does that
have to do with love?
I really had strong feelings
for this one
much stronger than a psychopath should be able to have.
Talk to me.
I can't.
I hate the way you look at me.
The way I look at you?
Can you tell me
what's on your mind now?
I just don't know
where I've got you.
Are you trying to leave me?
I feel like you're trying
to leave me.
I'm not going to leave you.
I'm right here.
You feel that?
I'm right here,
on the other end of the line.
Hang up for a second.
- Hello.
- Who am I speaking with?
You know who
you are speaking with.
You know I'd never leave you.
Now what do you say?
Don't you think we deserve
a drink?
I'll be over shortly
for cocktails.
You know I hate it
when you call me Simple.
My name is Jacqueline.
Did old Mr. and Mrs. Simple really
have that vivid an imagination?
I bet they got that
right out of "The New York Times"
crossword puzzle.
To me, your name is
Simple, simple.
Hey, you've got great tits.
Why do you always
have to be so crude?
Is that being crude?
I don't think
I was being crude.
Have you figured out
the difference between
lions and tigers?
Tigers have stripes.
And where do they live?
And the difference between
an architect and an engineer?
Architect draws houses?
And an engineer?
Also draws houses?
You call that a difference?
An engineer reads music,
an architect plays music
if that's something your
limited brain can process.
Why do you always
have to be so cruel?
I'm not completely stupid.
That fucking depends on your
definition of "Completely."
Can we just talk
about something normal?
- Like..
- Like?
What you do,
something like that?
Information about what I do.
In simple terms that
a simpleton can understand
is that right, Simple?
I kill.
I've killed 60 people.
I'm a serial killer, Simple.
You're weird.
I'm weird?
Why, because I'm saying that
I've killed 61 people?
You said 60 before.
If you weren't as dumb
as a fucking doorknob
you would be familiar
with the term "Updated."
Just because the number
was 60 an hour ago
doesn't mean that
it can't easily become
61 in just
a couple of minutes.
Well, I'm not dumb
as a doorknob.
Maybe I haven't
read as many books as you.
Simple, come on.
You're as dumb as fuck.
Now why don't you be
a good little dreamboat
and go get me a magic marker.
Could you bring me
a magic marker?
Red or black?
E... either one's fine.
You're fucking weird.
Excuse me.
- Officer.
- Yeah.
My friend is, like,
totally weird
and he said he killed
60 people
or maybe even 61.
Have you been drinking?
Um, yeah.
Then stop.
Everything that this woman
has said.. true.
I have killed 60 people!
Sixty people!
I'm a serial killer.
Please help me.
I've also been
a horrible human being.. this woman right here..
...Ms. Jacqueline.
Miss, would you be kind enough
to sweep up your friend here
and take him back inside?
I can't order you both
to stop drinking
but I would recommend it.
I can never make it up to you.
Never be able
to make it up to you.
Can you forgive me?
I forgive you.
Come on.
Let's go inside.
You need some pills.
I've got a friend
who's got some good pills.
Are you leaving?
I was just gonna go
get some pills.
Do you have my... my keys?
I'm not gonna take
some random pills.
You know, I really think
I deserve better than this.
I'm gonna hang on to the keys.
It's a bad habit for you to
go rushing downstairs
every time
we start to have,
have a good time.
You're walking
without your crutch.
And you weren't
using it downstairs either.
You're Mr. Sophistication,
aren't you?
If you feel like screaming..
...I definitely think
that you should.
You call that screaming?
Help! Help!
Yes, help!
There's a murderer
in the building!
It's Mr. Sophistication!
Shh! Hey.
Hey. Hey.
Do you hear?
Do you hear anything?
Do you hear anybody
running downstairs to help?
Some neighbors you have.
You want to try the window?
I just want my keys.
I just want my keys.
I want my keys.
Help me!
Please help me!
You know, maybe I'm mistaken,
but.. far as I can tell..
...not a single light
has gone on
in any apartment or stairwell.
You know why that is?
'Cause in this hell of a town.. this hell of a country.. this hell of a world,
nobody wants to help!
You can scream..
...from now until Christmas Eve
and the only answer
you'll get
is the deafening silence
that you're hearing right now.
Can't we talk?
There's a time for talking
and a time for being quiet.
Open your mouth.
Open your mouth!
Okay, Simple.
Oh, I'm sorry,
Ms. Jacqueline.
Now, it's time..
...for you to choose a knife.
All you have to do is nod.
What about this one?
You don't like
that one either?
How about this one?
...that's an interesting
choice, Simple.
You know..
...there is something that has been
bothering Mr. Sophistication..
...for quite a bit.
And perhaps it's more
interesting to him..
...than it would be to you.
But to be honest
he gets pretty fuckin' pissed
when he thinks about it.
Why is it always
the man's fault?
No matter where you go
it's like you're some sort of
wandering guilty person.
Without even having harmed
a single kitten.
I actually get sad
when I think about it.
If one is so unfortunate.. to have been born male..
...then you're also born guilty.
Think of the injustice in that.
Women are always
the victims, right?
And men, they are always
the criminals.
Told you before,
this is private property.
I want you to leave.
All the king's horses
and all the king's men
couldn't put Simple
back together again.
Why are they always so stupid?
Who's stupid?
All the women you kill strike
me as seriously unintelligent.
Come on.
I've also killed men.
But you only talk
about the stupid women
unless you think
all women are stupid.
Well, the stories I've told
were selected at random, but...
You feel superior to women
and want to brag?
It turns you on,
doesn't it, Jack?
No, no,
but women are easier.
Not physically, they're
just easier to work with.
More cooperative.
To kill, you mean.
If you like.
Mr. Sophistication believes
in that theory.
So, Mr. Sophistication
is, uh, the theoretician?
I can tell
you're lapping it up
when I tell you about
Mr. Sophistication.
"So Jack hears voices
"that order him
to do this or do that.
Jack must be psychotic."
I loathe diagnosis you can just write down in letters.
That's not fair,
the letters are clear.
They look after us
and create boundaries
between good and evil,
and they carry religion.
Religion has ruined
human beings
because your God teaches people to deny the tiger in themselves
and turns us all
into a throng of slaves
too shameful to acknowledge it.
Oh, Jack, you should have read
the right letters in your life
but you didn't want to.
The collection of corpses were
mostly frozen
shortly after death
however, I think a handful
of them, by chance
had reached, uh, at least, a
certain degree of putrefaction
before I managed
to get them on ice.
Can you say if putrefaction
is good or evil?
Most people would say,
it's the natural breakdown
which, in the end,
is a reaction of matter
which is the basis for life
on earth.
Thereby, it's neither
particularly good nor evil
and that a human being must be
perceived as alive
if you're to describe
that person's qualities
and identify that person's
ultimate goal.
But this is where
Mr. Sophistication
has a very different opinion.
He argues quite well
that the ultimate goal
for the human being
is not prior to death
but after.
You reduce everything human
to matter
and that way life disappears
and along with it art
which you value so highly.
Verge, you're a bitter
old bastard.
You kill art by imposing
your moral ruler on life
which I want to free
because art is so immeasurably
than we will ever understand.
May I illustrate now?
There is no avoiding it,
is there?
I don't have a handle on
how many processes take part
in the decay of a dead human
but I know a bit
about dessert wines.
In order to achieve
the most sublime sweetness
and the greatest wines,
nature has provided us
with various methods.
The three most common forms
of decomposition are
...and a fungus
with the enticingly
mysterious name,
the noble rot.
The first method is the one
that in Germany
is used to produce "Eiswein."
The method
quite simply entails
leaving the grapes on the vine
for so long
that they are exposed to frost
for a certain number of nights
before they are pressed.
This method increases
the sugar content
in the wine dramatically.
It is very risky, as the grapes must have certain qualities
in order to be able to
withstand the process.
On top of that,
there can be uncertainty
about whether or not the first
night's frost
lives up precisely to the
expectations, et cetera.
The second method
is called "Trockenbeeren"
in which the grapes are allowed to hang on the vine
until they dry up and very
nearly become raisins.
The last method,
which, for example
is essential for the production of Sauternes
is a kind of mold
that causes grapes
to be very full-bodied
and have an explosively high
sugar content.
You could say about
all three processes
that it's the breakdown
that lifts the living grape
up to be a part of an artwork.
You can view the processes
that start in a human being
after death in the same manner.
Says you! And I still say that
without love there is no art.
It's not up for debate.
The thing you are talking about with the grapes
is just nature's
method of decomposing.
If decomposition
is a way to salvation
then what about your house?
By God, you cannot convince me
that the idea of your first
house being torn down
was, in any way, satisfying.
Do you claim that
it was built to be torn down?
No, of course it wasn't ideal
and I'm sorry to say
that it happened
no less than three more times
that I started construction
and then became doubtful.
It was difficult to create
the house
that I had dreamed of.
The material didn't do
what I wanted it to do.
The houses I had drawn
had already
at the very first detail,
something banal
not to say ordinary,
about them
Isn't that what in art
you would call epigonism?
Your great talent
only reached so far
you, artist of all times.
When you were writing,
didn't you yourself plan
the destruction of your most
popular literary work?
"The Aeneid"
was a commissioned work
where the ruling power and
its ideas were glorified by me
to the point
where it was no longer art.
But if glorification
could demean a work..
...why should destruction
and demolition
not be able to do the opposite
and create art?
Albert Speer invented
"The Theory of Ruin Value"
by examining the Greek
and Roman ruins
and constructed his buildings
using both weaker
and stronger materials
so that they, in a thousand
years, would appear
as aesthetically perfect ruins.
Which fortunately
were smashed to atoms
in mere few years
after their construction.
Hubris is punished by nemesis
if I may use an old-fashioned
But an artist must be cynical
and not worry about the welfare of humans or Gods in his art.
This talk about
the value of ruins
makes it too obvious, not to
mention, another subject.
The value of icons.
The Stuka
without a doubt the world's
most beautiful airplane
and to top it off featuring an
eerily sophisticated detail.
I'm sure you know
what I'm talking about.
No, by God
that has never interested me
but do tell me about it.
The Stuka was a dive-bomber.
They say that the pilots
actually passed out
for a brief moment
during the actual dive.
But the detail per favore.
Notice the sound
when the plane dives.
The screeching sound.
A result of poor design
if you ask me.
Poor design, please.
On the contrary,
the screeching was intrinsic
sirens were attached to
the undercarriage of the plane
purposely designed as a
psychological act of war.
No one who heard it in action
will ever forget that sound.
It made the blood run cold
in everyone's veins.
Known as Jericho's Trumpet.
Sadistic, but in your eyes
probably a masterpiece.
No, more than a masterpiece.
An icon.
The person or persons,
who conceived the Stuka
and its functions,
were icon-creators.
What I'm getting at is this
as disinclined
as the world is
to acknowledge
the beauty of decay
it's just as disinclined
to give credit to those
no credit to us
who create the real icons
of this planet.
We are deemed
the ultimate evil.
All the icons that have had
and always will have
an impact on the world
are for me extravagant art.
The noble rot.
Stop it... you Antichrist!
I don't recall ever having
a so thoroughly depraved person as you, Jack.
Since you have now apparently
set your heart
in mass extermination
let me make a brief comment
about the Buchenwald camp
that emphasizes my attitude
towards art and love.
In the middle of this concentration camp stood a tree
and not just any old tree,
but an oak
and not just any oak,
but the one Goethe
when he was young,
sat beneath
and wrote some of humanity's
most important works.
Here you can talk about
and the value of icons.
The personification
of humanism, dignity
culture and goodness
was by the irony of faith
suddenly present
in the middle of one
of the all time
greatest crimes
against humanity.
Some people claim
that the atrocities we commit
in our fiction
are those inner desires
which we cannot commit in our
controlled civilization.
So they are expressed instead
through our art.
I don't agree.
I believe heaven and hell
are one and the same.
The soul belongs to heaven
and the body to hell.
The soul is reason and the body is all the dangerous things
for example art and icons.
Let me finish
with a curiosity.
I've always considered it
when I've heard about the
serial killer's
favorite trophy.
Here you are, Jack.
And yet I let myself be
tempted to not let
Simple's other breast
go to waste
but have it prepared and sown.
Also a small icon.
Thank you, sir.
Do you wanna fucking die?
- No.
- Then do what I fucking say.
Do what I say!
Unlock it.
Drop the keys.
Turn around.
Kneel down.
We're freezing.
One of the others
fainted earlier.
We're dying of cold.
We're dying.
Really? "We're freezing."
I guess I owe you gentlemen
an explanation.
During World War II
on the eastern front
German soldiers had large
programs of executions
but were in short supply
of ammunition
so they experimented with the
execution of several individuals
with one,
just one single bullet.
Now as a tribute
to that, uh, ingenuity..
...I'm going to conduct a small
experiment of my own.
I'm going to use..
...a full metal jacket bullet
which has the capacity
to pass through each and every
one of your heads.
That's not something
that I would be able to do
with basic hunting ammunition.
Wait, wait, wait,
wait, sir, sir.
I... it's a
misunderstanding, sir.
- I hear that a lot.
- No, sir.
W... what I mean is
that you are wrong
about the ammunition, sir.
That is not full metal
ammunition, sir.
I'm a military man,
and I know, sir.
You're right!
This is a hunting round.
This box, it's... it's
completely mislabeled.
Forgive me, gentlemen,
I'm gonna have to, uh
step out for a moment.
I know it's not
an ideal situation.
Don't die on me guys, okay?
I've never yelled
at you before, Al
but I'm about to now.
What does that look like to you,
what does that say there?
Uh, thirty odd six..
- Thirty odd six, that's correct.
- Yeah.
It also says full metal jacket.
And when I look inside..
Get me a goddamn box, Al,
and this time
make sure it's got full metal
jacket bullets in it!
Is it too much to fucking ask
that the contents of the box
match what's written
on the label?
I can, I can see
that the, you're right
the label doesn't
quite match the..
...uh, content.
- W... well, that's correct.
- Yeah, but..
The thing is that
what I can't see
is that the... the..
...the box was bought here
in the shop.
Well I buy all my shit here.
I have, for 20 years.
I'm in here
almost every other week.
What's wrong with you, Al?
I'm sorry,
I need to see a receipt.
- Receipt?
- Yeah
Well, I don't have a fuckin'
I don't ever recall getting a
receipt here.
Now I'm in a fucking hurry.
Let me buy a new box.
But this time make sure
it contains
full metal jacket bullets.
Okay, uh, c... can I just see
some ID first?
Don't fucking do this, Al.
The thing is, the... the law
requires that I have...
How about this..
No doubt about
your... your identity...
Sell me just one full metal
jacket bullet.
Can I, can I just ask..
...why just... one?
Well, that will be none of your
fuckin' business.
- That... that's right. I'm sor...
- Okay?
I do business here because you
don't ask stupid questions.
I'm... I'm sorry, Jack.
I'm... I'm sorry.
- Shut it down, Al, go home, have a sandwich.
- Okay.
You've lost
your fucking mind, Al.
Yeah. I'm sorry. I'm so..
Fuck you, Al!
Al's gone totally bonkers.
I need a full metal jacket
the police visited Al
and then me
with lights and sirens
to get you.
It's over now, Jack.
What's over?
They know what you've done.
Alright, what have I done?
The robbery.
You guys better
fucking get it together.
I haven't robbed anybody.
This is ridiculous.
I'm gonna call the police, Jack.
Give me your gun.
I don't run around
with guns on me.
This is, this is crazy.
Sit yourself down, Jack.
This is S.P.
I wanna get ahold of Rob.
Well, when you get hold of him,
you'll tell him
to get over here straight away.
I've caught Jack.
I'm kind of glad that you are
the one that caught me.
Perhaps you don't know this..
...but I think of you
as my best friend.
Now that might not be
a big deal to you..
...but you've meant
a great deal to me.
It feels quite nice
knowing that it's all over.
Somebody had to free me
and stop me from stealing things
that don't belong to me.
And that someone
turned out to be you.
Do you remember the time you
took down that eight pointer
that I'd been tracking
for four days?
It was on my territory
for sure.
No one's questioning that.
You've always been
a great shot.
Now would you, uh,
quit pointing that gun at me?
Kind of hurting my feelings
a little bit.
I'm not going anywhere.
After all you know me, S.P.
I know you.
And you've never lied to me.
Just as fast
as I always was, huh?
You wouldn't make it
to the door.
What have I done?
You got him, S.P.
Well, I'll take it from here.
Can we agree on this?
Is that a full metal jacket
Yes, sir. That is..
That is a full metal jacket
rifle cartridge.
Oh, please, please
please, don't do this, please.
- Alright, come on.
- Don't do it, please!
No, no.
I can't focus.
It's too close.
Who are you?
Call me Verge.
How did you get in here?
What do you want?
As I see it,
it's you who called me.
I've been with you for a while,
you just didn't notice me.
So, did you come here
to stop me?
I haven't come here to stop you
from anything.
I just have one question.
What's the question?
Wasn't there something about
you building a house?
Wasn't Jack going to
build a house?
I... I... I was..
...but I didn't get very far.
This is the police.
Come out with your hands
where we can see them
I can see it's going to be
a bit difficult
to get that house built,
but perhaps another one.
Think, Jack, after all
you are an engineer
and call yourself an architect.
I've been told you have an
interesting theory
about the material
which you claim
has its own will.
Find the material, Jack
and let it do the work.
Your house is a fine little
house, Jack.
It's absolutely usable.
Are you coming, Jack?
I'm here... Jack.
May I ask you something?
I can't promise I'll answer.
R... right,
that is exactly what I meant.
Um, are you allowed to speak
along the way?
I was thinking
there might be rules.
Put it this way
very few make it all the way
without uttering a word.
People are overcome
with a strange
and sudden need
to confess on these trips.
And not all of it can be said
to be of great
rhetorical quality
but do carry on merrily
just don't believe you're going to tell me something
I haven't heard before.
Do you hear a buzzing sound?
And I don't think
you want to know
where it's coming from.
I wanna know everything.
For thousands of years
human beings
have tried to localize hell.
Among other methods
by seeking the sound
it generates.
One shouldn't focus on
extracting screams and wailing
because the cries of pain
of so many millions
of individuals together..
...becomes what you have
just heard.
A buzzing sound whose intensity
will increase
as we get ever closer
to the presence of suffering.
I'm here, Jack.
I don't feel so good, Verge.
There's a sour taste
in my mouth.
You want me to show you the way
to the next whiskey bar?
Those are the Elysian Fields.
We don't have access here.
That's how deep
the deepest hell goes.
It's actually not here
I'm to deliver you..
...however improbable
that may sound..
...but a couple of circles
higher up.
I took you down here
as a kind of a favor..
...because you did after all
give me a little to chew on
with your story,
and I understood
that you wanted to see it all.
When you are done looking,
we'll turn back.
Where does that path lead?
On the other side.
It leads out of hell and up.
As you can see
there was once a bridge
but that was before my time.
Isn't it possible
to climb all the way around?
This way..
...and make it over
to the other side?
Quite a few have tried,
but I have to say..
...never successfully.
I wouldn't recommend it
but the choice
is entirely yours.
I'll take my chance.
Bye, Jack.
Bye, Verge.