Allegoria (2022) Movie Script
1
Me, me, maw, maw, me, me, maw.
Me, maw, me, maw, me, maw,
me maw, me, maw,
me, maw, me, maw,
me, maw, me, maw.
Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da,
ga, ga, ga, ga, ga, ga, ga.
Da, da, da, bah, bah, bah,
ma, ma, ma, ma,
rah, rah, rah, rah,
fah, fah, fah, fah,
da, da, da, da, da,
bah, bah, bah, bah, bah,
buh, buh, buh, buh, buh,
me, me, me, me, moo.
Do daily deeds diligently.
Do daily deeds diligently.
Do daily deeds diligently.
I am the king.
I am the king.
I am the king!
Don't ask "Who am I?"
In those late night,
too much tequila, self-serving,
introspective moments
with your eyes glazed over
and your hands gripping
the side of the sink
and your forehead
pressed against the mirror,
don't you dare ask, "Who am I?"
Ask "Who are you?"
Because you means
there is no awareness of self,
and only through
a total and complete
lack of awareness of self
can you find truth.
And what is truth?
And what is truth?
Uh, reality?
Reality is no more truth
than truth is reality.
Truth is an illusion,
a contrivance designed
to make you believe
there is only one
absolute answer.
That's a reference to
the Meisner technique, isn't it?
No.
This is not
"I have a blue shirt,"
you have a blue shirt,
I have a blue shirt,
you have a fucking blue shirt"
bullshit.
No! This is not Meisner.
This is not acting.
This is hell.
And hell is where you are.
Today we birth the monster.
The monster that populates
all of us.
Stand.
Show me.
What?
I'm sorry.
I guess I wasn't clear.
- I'm sorry, I didn't...
- No, no, no, please.
It's my fault.
I take full responsibility
for your utter
and complete lack
of comprehension.
Let me try again. Slowly.
Show me the monster.
Oh. Okay.
Rarr! Rar.
Terrifying.
Don't bother.
Take the stage.
Don't waste my time
with your childhood memories
of the bogeyman
or some Hollywood
rubber suit abomination.
I am not interested in that.
I want more.
I want you to plant
your feet solidly
on the rotting surface
of this earth
and allow the flames
from the pits of hell
to lick at your heels.
I want the hot breath of
a thousand rapists and murderers
to enter you.
Your legs grow heavy.
As the filth rises higher,
your knees swell with pain
as the burning passes through
and up,
ripping and tearing
at your genitals.
This is getting weird.
Silence!
Your guts fill
with the putrid stench
from the bowels
of Satan himself.
And it feels wonderful.
Your chest is hollow.
A cavern,
echoing the cries of
every widow, slave, and cripple
since the dawn of time.
Your heart is black.
A lifeless tumor.
Yes. Yes.
This is the monster
I'm asking for.
This is the monster I crave!
Your neck is a snake
choking on a carcass
twice its size,
stretched and bubbling over with
the hot blood of its victim.
Your face and head drip
with slipping flesh.
Only chips of rotten teeth
and bulging blind eyes
hang on a skull
that is infested with maggots
that have come to eat
what's left of the empty,
useless, pathetic souls
of humanity.
Whoo!
Yeah. Whoo-hoo.
What's wrong, sweetheart?
Too much for you?
Prefer the Meisner technique?
I need you to look at me
when I'm speaking.
I said look at me.
Hm.
Hm.
Okay.
What?
Marcus, it's Benny.
Just calling to check on
the status of the latest piece.
It's Friday, and the client's
getting pretty fucking antsy.
Marcus?
Marcus, can you hear me?
I can hear you.
Okay.
Yeah, well, it's Friday,
and you said that you would
have it done by Friday.
I'm sorry,
I didn't realize my soul
was punching a time clock.
Hey, hey, come on.
Don't act like you don't know
how this works.
Marcus?
Marcus.
Have you ever seen
"The Harrowing of Hell"
by Swanenburg?
Uh, what's...
What's that? Is that on Netflix?
Why don't you go back
to counting your pennies
and let me finish?
Okay. Okay.
But just make sure
that it's big.
The client said
they wanted something big.
Apparently they have
a lot of wall space,
- you know what I mean?
- Fuck off.
Cha-ching, cha-ching, baby.
Fuck off.
I love you.
What?
Wow. As always, could you
sound a little more excited?
I'm having a difficult night.
Okay.
Well, I just wanted to tell you
I got into that acting class.
Cool.
Yeah. It's tomorrow.
He only, like, accepts
a handful of people,
so it's actually
a pretty great deal.
Why are you wasting your time
with that shit?
It's not art.
It's pretend, really,
I mean, you know.
I'm over here
struggling to sketch
the flow that's already intact
within the mind.
And you're playing dress-up.
Yeah, and you're
a fucking snob, so...
Well, if a snob is someone
who pours their soul out
onto the ground to be stepped on
by zombies or dullards,
then yeah, you know,
I'm a... I'm a snob.
Whatever.
Marcus, I just want to act.
You want to be famous.
Alright, yeah, I'm gonna...
I'm gonna go.
Okay.
Fucking fraud.
Who are you, man?
Who are you, man?
Fuck. Who are you?
Fuck!
Others have seen what is.
And they ask why?
No, no, no, no.
Others have seen what it is
and ask why?
I have seen what could be
and ask why not?
Others have seen what it is
and ask why?
I have seen what could be
and ask why not?
Yeah.
Others have seen what it is
and ask why?
I have seen what could be
and ask why not?
Ah, f...
Fuck.
Ah, fuck!
Oh, fuck.
What the fuck?
Marcus, baby, talk to me.
He can pick up
the painting tomorrow.
Really?
Oh, that's great.
I knew if I was a pain
in the ass, I;d get my way.
Yeah.
Yeah. Pick it up tomorrow.
Are you okay?
You seem kind of out of it.
I'm fine.
Okay.
Well, whew, yeah,
I'm just glad we could
get this piece out.
I have some other pieces
I want to talk to you about.
I'll give you the weekend before
I drive you crazy with that.
Let's just say...
all last year
is suddenly calling me
and straight-up kissing my ass.
You remember that
soap opera actor
in NYC I introduced you to.
Get a load of this...
His mom, the rich one,
she wants to meet with you.
Yeah, baby. My numero uno.
Oh, by the way,
I don't think you ever sent me
the commission check
for that art piece
in San Francisco
that we did over the bridge.
Interior, house, night.
Janice and her boyfriend, Steve,
run through the living room
towards the stairs.
They slip and bump into
furniture in a mad panic.
A lamp falls to the floor.
The light bulb shatters, making
the room dim to a dark blue.
The young couple reach
the stairs and look back.
They know The Whistler
can't be far behind.
Steve... "Upstairs!"
He grabs Janice's hand
and pulls.
Janice... "No, he'll find us."
Then a crash in the next room.
It's him.
He's in the house.
Steve... "Come on.
We have to go now."
Interior, hallway, night.
The couple runs,
looking back with fear.
Interior, bedroom, night.
Janice and Steve crashes
into the bedroom
and slam the door behind them.
Steve... "Get in the closet."
Janice... "What?
What about you?"
Steve... "Just trust me.
I have an idea."
A sobbing Janice goes to
the closet and shuts the door.
Then a loud bash at the bedroom
door that shakes the room.
He's at the door.
Steve drops to the floor
and slides under the bed.
The door crashes open.
The silhouette of The Whistler
fills the frame.
A slice of moonlight bounces
from the blade of his knife.
Eddy Park,
you are a fucking genius.
The Whistler steps
into the bedroom.
The floor creaks
beneath his weight.
He takes a few more steps
towards the bed,
just inches from where
Steve is hiding.
Two Whistler slowly scans
the room and breathes in.
Then, as he always
does before killed,
he leans his head back
and whistles
those four sinister notes.
Though before the last note
has a chance to trail off
into the night,
Steve lunges his arm forward.
He's gripping a box cutter.
Steve lets out a war cry.
Aaah!
He slices through
The Whistler's Achilles heel.
The tendons pop and blood
sprays across the floor
and across Steve's face.
The Whistler grabs at his heel
and slips in the pool of blood.
He hits the floor with a thud.
His knife slides
across the room.
Steve pulls himself
out from under the bed
and rushes to the closet.
He swings the door open
and Janice dives at Steve.
They embrace.
It's then she sees The Whistler
on the floor.
She gasps.
Janice pushes off Steve
and moves across the room.
She grabs The Whistler's knife
from off the floor.
Janice goes cold.
She leans her head back
and whistles those four notes.
In a flash,
she plunges the knife
deep into The Whistler's chest.
He stiffens and expels
his last breath.
He is dead.
And fade to motherfucking black.
Well, my friend,
you did it again.
Ahh.
Worthless.
Fucking.
Trash.
What?
I said,
"Worthless fucking trash."
I... I don't understand.
Clearly, there's a lot
you don't understand,
like how to write a decent,
fuckin' violent bloodbath.
What?
First of all,
we need to discuss
this whistling bullshit.
Is that really
the best you can do?
Whistling?
It's... It's just like
a-a-a gimmick, you know?
Like... Like... Like
whistle while you work.
This is whistle while you kill.
Th-That's gonna be the tagline
on the poster.
"Whistle while you kill."
I hate it.
You hate it.
I have a few other thoughts.
Let's imagine that the boyfriend
character...
What's his name?
Steve.
Steve.
Let's imagine that before Steve
makes it under the bed,
I get to him first,
and I grab him
by the back of his stupid
Steve boyfriend head like this
and smash it as hard
as I can against the wall.
Or a desk.
A desk will work fine.
Oh, and the box cutter scene.
I have an idea. Please stand.
This isn't happening.
This can't be happening.
Of course it's happening, Ed.
It's 100% happening.
Now shut the fuck up
and hear me out.
Now, what if the little Stevie
pulls out his box cutter,
he swings, but misses,
and I go for his wrist.
- No.
- Yes.
And I squeeze it
with such force that it...
breaks.
And little Stevie falls
to the floor
like the sack of shit
that he is.
Yes. Just like that.
I really feel like
you're getting the idea.
Really opening up to my vision.
Oh, that's right.
The girl.
I almost forgot about the girl.
No.
Janice.
Oh, God, please.
Don't hurt me, please.
Now, what if,
while little Stevie
lies there helplessly
on the ground,
I take out my knife...
and gut this
poor little thing like a fish.
- No, please, no, please.
- "Please, no. Please, no."
Didn't seem to have any problem
doing the same to me.
Isn't that right, Janice?
With my own knife, no less.
Fucking disrespectful!
We could end there,
but I feel like
we need a button.
Something to bring it all home.
This might be a bit much,
a little bit too gratuitous,
but let's give it a shot.
What if I reach deep
into her body...
and pulled out her heart?
No.
Yeah, you're probably right.
Too much.
Hey, you know what?
This was fun.
I feel like we got ourselves
a pretty good first draft
going here.
You agree?
Yeah, I hear you.
Well, Ed, it's been a blast.
Great working with you.
And I got to say,
I'm already excited
to get going on the sequel.
Sure it's not, um...
Not too late
to keep hanging out?
It's-30.
Well, this is it.
Nice neighborhood.
Yeah.
Yeah.
It's pretty quiet, actually.
Oh.
- Way cool.
- Yeah?
It's a lot neater
than I thought it'd be.
- What? Really?
- Yeah.
Yeah, I thought
you'd be a complete slob
from the way
you ate your popcorn.
Are you serious?
I'm kidding.
Oh. I'm actually
a bit of a neat freak.
Yeah. I can tell.
Hmm. Comfy.
Can I get you
something to drink?
Like a glass of water
or something?
Do you have any wine?
Wine? Yeah. You want wine?
Fuck yeah, I do.
Yeah, I got wine.
Wine it is.
Ivy's an interesting name.
Is there a, um...
Like a story behind it or...
Satan's daughter.
What?
Really?
Do you believe everything
that you're told?
No, I don't believe
everything that I'm told.
But I do believe some things.
Mmm.
Thanks.
- Cheers.
- Cheers, big ears.
What is that?
Oh, it's just something stupid
I say.
It's funny,
because when I was a kid,
people... you know what,
forget it.
Never mind.
So, what'd you think
of the movie?
- I thought it was okay.
- Yeah.
I don't know about
the whistling thing.
That whistling thing
was really scary.
- Really?
- Uh-huh.
I mean, do you really want
to give that much warning
right when you're about to
murder somebody?
I mean, whistle a tune?
Shouldn't it be like, wham,
surprise,
and then you all slit
their throats or whatever?
Wow. You have really
thought this through.
You have no idea.
You are very funny
and very cool.
I'm having a very good time.
And I'm very glad you said yes.
- Mm, yeah.
- I'm actually surprised you did.
I'm pretty much way
out of your league, so...
You are way out of my league.
- Oh, shut up.
- You are.
- You're... You're funny.
- Yes.
- And nice.
- Mm.
Why wouldn't I say yes?
Um, because... because
you are... are deeply cool
and... and beautiful.
And I am funny and nice.
I'm just me.
- You're like an artist?
- Mm-hmm.
That's so cool.
What does that mean?
Does that mean you paint
or you... What do you do?
Uh, no, mostly sculpting.
- Sculpting?
- Mm-hmm.
Oh, like with clay?
No, not exactly.
Well, yes, sometimes I do.
So you're like Demi Moore
in the movie "Ghost," right?
I love that movie.
Uh, I'm pretty sure
that was pottery.
- Oh. That's different?
- Mm-hmm.
- Okay.
- Yeah, I'm...
I think that's
as, uh, different as it gets.
- Oh.
- Yeah.
Well, I would... I would love
to see your work sometime.
- Yeah?
- Mm-hmm.
Well, I have some pictures
if you want to see them.
Yes, yes.
Bring them out right now.
It's right...
Oh, there they are.
- These Polaroids?
- Yeah.
I shoot all my work
on Polaroids.
I like the way it looks.
It's like, uh, capturing a dream
from a different time.
You know?
I'm sorry.
I wasn't expecting that.
Yeah, it's not for everybody.
No, it's... I get it.
It's just, um...
- Can I ask you a question?
- Mm-hmm.
What is this?
- A man's head.
- Yeah. Where's the body?
I don't know. Does it matter?
I'm... I'm sorry.
They're just very realistic.
Anyway, that is what I do.
No, no, no. I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to offend you.
I don't... Look, I don't know
anything about art.
About, like,
visual art and stuff.
Painting, I don't know.
I'm not an expert.
Music I know. Music I love.
When I was a kid,
I wanted to be a rock star
when I grew up.
Can you believe that?
I really did.
I thought that was gonna be...
You're mad. You're mad at me.
You're offended. I can tell.
- I feel like I've offended you.
- No, no, no.
I can't get back.
There's nothing I can do.
I'm completely
100% not offended.
- Really?
- Yeah.
Really.
Okay.
You know, the thing about art
is that it is really simple.
It's not about what you see.
It's about what you feel.
Don't want to leave a stain.
I believe that art is in
everything and everyone.
It's just that not everything
and everyone
is being used properly to
transmit its power.
I... I have no idea
what you're talking about.
Okay. For instance, this table.
- Mm-hmm.
- Give me your hand.
You see it as a table
because you treat it that way.
And you are afraid
of this wine stain,
but maybe this wine stain
is exactly...
what this table needs
to express a feeling
and in turn transform
this meaningless object
into art.
So I should... I should just
spill wine all over the table,
because that's the thing?
I mean, I just...
It's expensive,
so I didn't want to ruin it.
It's not about the table.
It's about how you feel.
Okay. Come on. Come here.
- Yeah?
- I'll show you.
Okay.
Now look at me.
You tell me what you feel.
I feel like you are pretty.
Interesting.
Smart. Funny.
I don't... I feel like
I'm doing this wrong.
Okay. Hang on. Um...
Now tell me how you feel.
What are you doing?
Tell me how you feel.
I feel like I don't like it.
I feel nervous and scared.
Can... I'm anxious.
I don't like it.
C-Can you stop, please?
Can you put the knife down,
please?
Can you put the knife down?
Don't do that.
Can you please stop, please?
Please.
See?
I just transformed into art.
I went from a girl to a feeling.
And you instantly had
a visceral,
emotional response to me.
That is what good art does.
I guess.
And I could transform you
if you let me.
What was that?
Relax.
I was just trying
to make a point.
I wasn't gonna cut open my
throat on your kitchen floor.
I know that. It just...
I-I got, um...
I got a little freaked out.
I got little scared.
Oh, no.
I don't want you to be scared.
I want you to be
the best that you can be.
I see great things in you.
You could be a rock star.
My rock star.
And you could be art.
If you let me help you.
Really?
Yeah. Really.
Oh.
Ah, I should go.
No, no, no, no.
I'm sorry. I didn't...
- No, no, it's fine.
- No, I thought...
I mean, come on.
We were, weren't we?
- I'm not crazy.
- No, we... we... we were.
We are.
It's just it's getting late.
Hey. Is it okay if I call you?
I'd be pretty pissed
if you didn't.
Fuck it.
Wow. You're back.
Yeah.
Rock star.
- This is all your fault.
- What? How is this my fault?
You were his babysitter.
Oh, I was a great babysitter.
And that was like 15 years ago.
Well, apparently,
he has a great memory.
You know, come to think of it,
he was a really bright kid.
Waaaah!
Oh, fuck.
Oh. Oh, no.
We've got to make a run for it.
No, wait,
you've got to stay here.
- He's close. He'll see us.
- You can stay here all you want,
- but I'm gonna get the fuck out.
- No!
Waaah!
Waaah!
Waaaaah!
I just want popcorn.
Please! Please!
Somebody help me! Oh, please!
There's a man-sized
baby thing out here
and he's trying to kill me!
Please let me in!
This might be the greatest movie
ever created.
Are you serious?
It's so stupid.
Somebody help me!
Waaah!
No, Big Baby, no!
Waaah!
No, please, Big Baby! No!
No, no, no.
Please don't. Please. No, no!
Who's the big baby now?
Okay, so he was so angry
about being left in his crib
while his babysitter
had sex with her boyfriend
that, like, 20 years later,
he goes on a killing spree?
Yeah.
Childhood trauma runs deep.
How would he even remember that?
I don't know.
Just... I really felt his pain.
When he cried out like that,
it was just...
Oh, it hit a nerve with me.
- Holy shit.
- What?
- Holy shit.
- What?
Hold on.
No, you can't say "holy shit"
like that twice
and the follow up
with a "hold on."
What is it?
I got in.
To that acting class.
That Robert Anderson Wright
acting class.
- I fucking got in.
- Oh, my God! Holy shit!
- Yeah, holy shit!
- Oh, congrats!
Oh, that's amazing.
Oh! Oh, my God.
This is, like, so fucking cool.
Yeah. You deserve it.
I don't know.
I mean, maybe I shouldn't do it.
What do you mean?
What if I'm terrible?
You're not terrible.
You're great.
Remember that Burger Barn
commercial you did?
- Yeah, I was 12.
- Yes, 12,
but it was
a masterful performance.
I believed it.
I'm kidding. You're great.
And you shouldn't
get into your head.
I should call Marcus.
That's gonna be
a real confidence booster.
Why do you hate him so much?
Uh, I don't know, it's...
He's a dick.
Okay. He's not a dick.
He's just...
He's sensitive, okay?
And he has trouble communicating
in a normal way with, like,
normal people.
Yeah.
That really explains it.
Besides, you know what?
I'm good for him.
I keep him grounded.
His ex, Ivy,
remember I told you about her?
She was a total psycho.
Like, spent time in prison
total psycho.
He needs me.
Do what you got to do.
I'm gonna get more popcorn.
Get me some.
No.
What?
Wow.
As always, could you sound
a little more excited?
I'm having a difficult night.
Okay.
Well, I just wanted to tell you
I got into that acting class.
Cool.
Yeah. It's tomorrow.
He only accepts, like,
a handful of people,
so it's actually
a pretty big deal.
Why are you wasting
your time with that shit?
It's not art.
It's pretend, really,
I mean, you know.
I'm over here
struggling to sketch the flow
that's already intact
within the mind,
and you're playing dress up.
Yeah, and you're a fucking snob,
so...
Well, if a snob is
someone who pours their soul
out onto the ground to be
stepped on
by zombies or dullards,
then yeah, I'm a snob.
Whatever, Marcus.
I just want to act.
You want to be famous.
Alright.
Yeah, I'm... I'm gonna go.
Okay.
That's your man.
What?
And that's your man.
Hey.
Let's go and celebrate.
I can't.
I have band practice.
No.
But when I get back, we can.
And I'll get you ready
to act the shit out of
that acting class tomorrow.
Promise?
Promise.
One, two, three, four
If I were an insect
I'd be a spider
Crawling down the wall
Trying to bite ya
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
If I were an insect
I'd be a spider
Crawling down the wall
Trying to bite ya
If I was a spider
I'd be an insect
Living underground
A human reject
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
Whoo!
Goddamn fucking music, right?
I mean, have you ever
really examined music?
I mean, fucking really examined
it, like it's true power?
Here we go.
No, no, no, no, no.
It's cool.
It's cool if you guys refuse
to go deep like I do.
I just happen to choose
to think about shit
like how music is the soundtrack
between good and evil,
and how good and evil
are, like, inextricably linked
in a metaphysical battle.
I'm sorry, but did you not
finish high school?
No.
No, I didn't finish high school.
I would expect someone like you
to judge me on whether or not
I completed some
antiquated educational system
that teaches kids
more lies than truth.
- Preach.
- Let me ask you this.
What's the happiest chord?
Oh, don't ask me. I play bass.
- D fucking Major.
- MAN - Says who?
It doesn't matter who says,
but you can't deny
that certain chords
or chord progressions
can make you feel happy
or sad or mad. Correct?
Yeah, well, isn't that
the whole point of music?
Yeah, dude. That really isn't
all that deep.
I'll get deep. I'm just dipping
my toe in right now
so you won't fucking drown.
How did I end up
in a band with you?
I fucking love you guys.
Yes, yes, it's a given that
music can produce emotions.
Everyone knows that.
But have you ever really thought
about the magical mechanics
of that process?
Dude, we should call the band
Magical Mechanics.
I love that.
I arrange my flesh and bones
in a certain pattern
and press them against
steel strings,
and these strings have been
tightened or loosened
to such a degree that it creates
a blending of sound
that somehow,
over thousands of years,
we as humans have decided
made sense.
And then that sound travels
through an electric cord,
through a wooden box,
and then out a manmade speaker.
And then the sound travels
through the air
and into your ear,
vibrating a piece
of fucking cartilage,
sending signals instantaneously
through millions,
no, billions of neurons
where... where nerve cells
connect to synapses
and then stimulates
a fucking emotion.
An emotion, you guys.
I cry every time I hear
"Nothing Compares to You."
She cries every time she hears
"Nothing Compares to You."
Okay.
You still haven't said anything
I didn't already know.
Okay, class. What if I told
you that stimulating an emotion
was just the beginning, the most
rudimentary of functions?
You guys ever heard
about the brown note?
Supposedly it makes you
shit your pants.
I'm serious. The military
discovered it or something.
What if I told you
that the power of music in sound
is limitless and I've figured
out how to harness it?
Then why aren't we famous yet?
I'm not talking about writing
a three-minute pop song.
I'm talking about
note combinations
that can transform
consciousness,
notes that can infiltrate
the psyche of a sane human being
and unravel them into madness.
Dude, how fucking high are you?
Wait, how did you figure
all this out?
Okay, well, I-I haven't figured
it out completely,
but I have figured out how to
exactly...
MAN - There it is.
I call bullshit.
I have figured out
a sequence of six notes
that if played it correctly
will manifest evil.
I think Black Sabbath figured
that out like 50 years ago.
That's funny.
Alright. I got to get out
of here, guys.
I'm fucking beat.
I'm with you.
It's been interesting,
as always, bro.
- Mm.
- MAN -
Lightning.
So what are the six notes?
It's not that easy.
I mean, it's complicated.
You have to be... They have to
be played in a particular way.
Like I said, bullshit.
Come on. Just tell me
what the notes are.
Please. Please.
Anybody home?
Brody.
Hey.
Jesus.
What the fuck are you doing
sitting in the dark?
Nothing.
I was, um...
I was just sitting.
What's wrong?
I, um, haven't been able
to get ahold of Marcus.
He's not answering his phone
all night.
Surprise, surprise.
Okay, look.
What if something's wrong?
What if he's hurt or something?
What if he's just being
a petty little bitch?
Hey, don't let him do this
to you, okay?
He's just trying to
fuck with your head
because you have something
important going on tomorrow
that, God forbid,
doesn't revolve around him.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
You're right. Yeah.
Hey.
I'm still down to celebrate.
Actually, I think I'm just
gonna go to bed.
Okay. Suit yourself.
But just a heads up,
I will drink all the beer
and eat all the Froot Loops.
You always do.
Like, every night.
- Mm. Mm?
- No.
- Mm. Mm? Mm?
- No.
- Good night.
- Night.
Stupid.
Brody?
Jesus, Brody.
Are you okay?
I'm fine.
Why?
I don't know.
I thought I heard a noise.
Are you sure you're okay?
Are you okay?
Yeah.
Maybe you were just dreaming
or something.
I wasn't dreaming.
I wasn't doing anything.
Okay.
Well...
Sorry to bug you.
Hey.
You know, I don't think
we'll be seeing Marcus anymore.
No?
No.
Why do you say that?
I think something bad
happened to him.
What are you talking about?
Hope,
do you know who
Gabrielle Berlatier was?
She worked
in a whorehouse
in southern France as a maid.
She was working there
to earn money to pay off
her medical bills
after being savagely attacked
by a rabid dog.
O... kay.
She was also the reason
Vincent Van Gogh
chopped off his own ear.
Why are you telling me this?
He thought
if he offered her his own flesh,
it would help her heal.
That's crazy.
Is it?
Tomorrow,
at the acting class,
I really feel like
I'm gonna shine.
Do something special.
Yeah.
That's... That's great.
Yeah.
I prepared a monologue.
Do you want to hear it?
Well, I mean...
Yeah. O-Okay. Sure.
"The Debt," Ryan Knightley.
At the foot of my bed,
reaching,
but just out of reach,
my flesh
covers bone
shadowing the breaks and cracks.
But not the scars
that rest on top.
Left behind by
otherworldly creatures
masquerading as civilized men.
Death needs more yet,
but needs me more.
I am an allegoria of nothing.
A reflection that refuses
to look back.
A human vampire
with endless time
that's about to run out.
Okay.
Well...
Good night.
Good night.
- This is all your fault.
- What? How is this my fault?
You were his babysitter.
Oh, I was a great babysitter.
And that was like 15 years ago.
Well, apparently,
he has a great memory.
You know, come to think of it,
he was a really bright kid.
Waaaah!
Oh, fuck.
Oh. Oh, no.
We've got to make a run for it.
No, wait,
you've got to stay here.
- He's close. He'll see us.
- You can stay here all you want,
- but I'm gonna get the fuck out.
- No!
Waaah!
Waaah!
Waaaah!
Oh, shit.
Oh, no.
Waaaaah!
Please! Please!
Somebody help me! Oh, please!
There's a man-sized
baby thing out here
and he's trying to kill me!
Please let me in!
No. No, no.
Waah! Waaah!
No! No, Big Baby, no!
- Waaah!
- No, please, Big Baby! No!
No, no, no.
Please don't. Please. No, no!
Who's the big baby now?
Me, me, maw, maw, me, me, maw.
Me, maw, me, maw, me, maw,
me maw, me, maw,
me, maw, me, maw,
me, maw, me, maw.
Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da,
ga, ga, ga, ga, ga, ga, ga.
Da, da, da, bah, bah, bah,
ma, ma, ma, ma,
rah, rah, rah, rah,
fah, fah, fah, fah,
da, da, da, da, da,
bah, bah, bah, bah, bah,
buh, buh, buh, buh, buh,
me, me, me, me, moo.
Do daily deeds diligently.
Do daily deeds diligently.
Do daily deeds diligently.
I am the king.
I am the king.
I am the king!
Don't ask "Who am I?"
In those late night,
too much tequila, self-serving,
introspective moments
with your eyes glazed over
and your hands gripping
the side of the sink
and your forehead
pressed against the mirror,
don't you dare ask, "Who am I?"
Ask "Who are you?"
Because you means
there is no awareness of self,
and only through
a total and complete
lack of awareness of self
can you find truth.
And what is truth?
And what is truth?
Uh, reality?
Reality is no more truth
than truth is reality.
Truth is an illusion,
a contrivance designed
to make you believe
there is only one
absolute answer.
That's a reference to
the Meisner technique, isn't it?
No.
This is not
"I have a blue shirt,"
you have a blue shirt,
I have a blue shirt,
you have a fucking blue shirt"
bullshit.
No! This is not Meisner.
This is not acting.
This is hell.
And hell is where you are.
Today we birth the monster.
The monster that populates
all of us.
Stand.
Show me.
What?
I'm sorry.
I guess I wasn't clear.
- I'm sorry, I didn't...
- No, no, no, please.
It's my fault.
I take full responsibility
for your utter
and complete lack
of comprehension.
Let me try again. Slowly.
Show me the monster.
Oh. Okay.
Rarr! Rar.
Terrifying.
Don't bother.
Take the stage.
Don't waste my time
with your childhood memories
of the bogeyman
or some Hollywood
rubber suit abomination.
I am not interested in that.
I want more.
I want you to plant
your feet solidly
on the rotting surface
of this earth
and allow the flames
from the pits of hell
to lick at your heels.
I want the hot breath of
a thousand rapists and murderers
to enter you.
Your legs grow heavy.
As the filth rises higher,
your knees swell with pain
as the burning passes through
and up,
ripping and tearing
at your genitals.
This is getting weird.
Silence!
Your guts fill
with the putrid stench
from the bowels
of Satan himself.
And it feels wonderful.
Your chest is hollow.
A cavern,
echoing the cries of
every widow, slave, and cripple
since the dawn of time.
Your heart is black.
A lifeless tumor.
Yes. Yes.
This is the monster
I'm asking for.
This is the monster I crave!
Your neck is a snake
choking on a carcass
twice its size,
stretched and bubbling over with
the hot blood of its victim.
Your face and head drip
with slipping flesh.
Only chips of rotten teeth
and bulging blind eyes
hang on a skull
that is infested with maggots
that have come to eat
what's left of the empty,
useless, pathetic souls
of humanity.
Whoo!
Yeah. Whoo-hoo.
What's wrong, sweetheart?
Too much for you?
Prefer the Meisner technique?
I need you to look at me
when I'm speaking.
I said look at me.
Hm.
Hm.
Okay.
What?
Marcus, it's Benny.
Just calling to check on
the status of the latest piece.
It's Friday, and the client's
getting pretty fucking antsy.
Marcus?
Marcus, can you hear me?
I can hear you.
Okay.
Yeah, well, it's Friday,
and you said that you would
have it done by Friday.
I'm sorry,
I didn't realize my soul
was punching a time clock.
Hey, hey, come on.
Don't act like you don't know
how this works.
Marcus?
Marcus.
Have you ever seen
"The Harrowing of Hell"
by Swanenburg?
Uh, what's...
What's that? Is that on Netflix?
Why don't you go back
to counting your pennies
and let me finish?
Okay. Okay.
But just make sure
that it's big.
The client said
they wanted something big.
Apparently they have
a lot of wall space,
- you know what I mean?
- Fuck off.
Cha-ching, cha-ching, baby.
Fuck off.
I love you.
What?
Wow. As always, could you
sound a little more excited?
I'm having a difficult night.
Okay.
Well, I just wanted to tell you
I got into that acting class.
Cool.
Yeah. It's tomorrow.
He only, like, accepts
a handful of people,
so it's actually
a pretty great deal.
Why are you wasting your time
with that shit?
It's not art.
It's pretend, really,
I mean, you know.
I'm over here
struggling to sketch
the flow that's already intact
within the mind.
And you're playing dress-up.
Yeah, and you're
a fucking snob, so...
Well, if a snob is someone
who pours their soul out
onto the ground to be stepped on
by zombies or dullards,
then yeah, you know,
I'm a... I'm a snob.
Whatever.
Marcus, I just want to act.
You want to be famous.
Alright, yeah, I'm gonna...
I'm gonna go.
Okay.
Fucking fraud.
Who are you, man?
Who are you, man?
Fuck. Who are you?
Fuck!
Others have seen what is.
And they ask why?
No, no, no, no.
Others have seen what it is
and ask why?
I have seen what could be
and ask why not?
Others have seen what it is
and ask why?
I have seen what could be
and ask why not?
Yeah.
Others have seen what it is
and ask why?
I have seen what could be
and ask why not?
Ah, f...
Fuck.
Ah, fuck!
Oh, fuck.
What the fuck?
Marcus, baby, talk to me.
He can pick up
the painting tomorrow.
Really?
Oh, that's great.
I knew if I was a pain
in the ass, I;d get my way.
Yeah.
Yeah. Pick it up tomorrow.
Are you okay?
You seem kind of out of it.
I'm fine.
Okay.
Well, whew, yeah,
I'm just glad we could
get this piece out.
I have some other pieces
I want to talk to you about.
I'll give you the weekend before
I drive you crazy with that.
Let's just say...
all last year
is suddenly calling me
and straight-up kissing my ass.
You remember that
soap opera actor
in NYC I introduced you to.
Get a load of this...
His mom, the rich one,
she wants to meet with you.
Yeah, baby. My numero uno.
Oh, by the way,
I don't think you ever sent me
the commission check
for that art piece
in San Francisco
that we did over the bridge.
Interior, house, night.
Janice and her boyfriend, Steve,
run through the living room
towards the stairs.
They slip and bump into
furniture in a mad panic.
A lamp falls to the floor.
The light bulb shatters, making
the room dim to a dark blue.
The young couple reach
the stairs and look back.
They know The Whistler
can't be far behind.
Steve... "Upstairs!"
He grabs Janice's hand
and pulls.
Janice... "No, he'll find us."
Then a crash in the next room.
It's him.
He's in the house.
Steve... "Come on.
We have to go now."
Interior, hallway, night.
The couple runs,
looking back with fear.
Interior, bedroom, night.
Janice and Steve crashes
into the bedroom
and slam the door behind them.
Steve... "Get in the closet."
Janice... "What?
What about you?"
Steve... "Just trust me.
I have an idea."
A sobbing Janice goes to
the closet and shuts the door.
Then a loud bash at the bedroom
door that shakes the room.
He's at the door.
Steve drops to the floor
and slides under the bed.
The door crashes open.
The silhouette of The Whistler
fills the frame.
A slice of moonlight bounces
from the blade of his knife.
Eddy Park,
you are a fucking genius.
The Whistler steps
into the bedroom.
The floor creaks
beneath his weight.
He takes a few more steps
towards the bed,
just inches from where
Steve is hiding.
Two Whistler slowly scans
the room and breathes in.
Then, as he always
does before killed,
he leans his head back
and whistles
those four sinister notes.
Though before the last note
has a chance to trail off
into the night,
Steve lunges his arm forward.
He's gripping a box cutter.
Steve lets out a war cry.
Aaah!
He slices through
The Whistler's Achilles heel.
The tendons pop and blood
sprays across the floor
and across Steve's face.
The Whistler grabs at his heel
and slips in the pool of blood.
He hits the floor with a thud.
His knife slides
across the room.
Steve pulls himself
out from under the bed
and rushes to the closet.
He swings the door open
and Janice dives at Steve.
They embrace.
It's then she sees The Whistler
on the floor.
She gasps.
Janice pushes off Steve
and moves across the room.
She grabs The Whistler's knife
from off the floor.
Janice goes cold.
She leans her head back
and whistles those four notes.
In a flash,
she plunges the knife
deep into The Whistler's chest.
He stiffens and expels
his last breath.
He is dead.
And fade to motherfucking black.
Well, my friend,
you did it again.
Ahh.
Worthless.
Fucking.
Trash.
What?
I said,
"Worthless fucking trash."
I... I don't understand.
Clearly, there's a lot
you don't understand,
like how to write a decent,
fuckin' violent bloodbath.
What?
First of all,
we need to discuss
this whistling bullshit.
Is that really
the best you can do?
Whistling?
It's... It's just like
a-a-a gimmick, you know?
Like... Like... Like
whistle while you work.
This is whistle while you kill.
Th-That's gonna be the tagline
on the poster.
"Whistle while you kill."
I hate it.
You hate it.
I have a few other thoughts.
Let's imagine that the boyfriend
character...
What's his name?
Steve.
Steve.
Let's imagine that before Steve
makes it under the bed,
I get to him first,
and I grab him
by the back of his stupid
Steve boyfriend head like this
and smash it as hard
as I can against the wall.
Or a desk.
A desk will work fine.
Oh, and the box cutter scene.
I have an idea. Please stand.
This isn't happening.
This can't be happening.
Of course it's happening, Ed.
It's 100% happening.
Now shut the fuck up
and hear me out.
Now, what if the little Stevie
pulls out his box cutter,
he swings, but misses,
and I go for his wrist.
- No.
- Yes.
And I squeeze it
with such force that it...
breaks.
And little Stevie falls
to the floor
like the sack of shit
that he is.
Yes. Just like that.
I really feel like
you're getting the idea.
Really opening up to my vision.
Oh, that's right.
The girl.
I almost forgot about the girl.
No.
Janice.
Oh, God, please.
Don't hurt me, please.
Now, what if,
while little Stevie
lies there helplessly
on the ground,
I take out my knife...
and gut this
poor little thing like a fish.
- No, please, no, please.
- "Please, no. Please, no."
Didn't seem to have any problem
doing the same to me.
Isn't that right, Janice?
With my own knife, no less.
Fucking disrespectful!
We could end there,
but I feel like
we need a button.
Something to bring it all home.
This might be a bit much,
a little bit too gratuitous,
but let's give it a shot.
What if I reach deep
into her body...
and pulled out her heart?
No.
Yeah, you're probably right.
Too much.
Hey, you know what?
This was fun.
I feel like we got ourselves
a pretty good first draft
going here.
You agree?
Yeah, I hear you.
Well, Ed, it's been a blast.
Great working with you.
And I got to say,
I'm already excited
to get going on the sequel.
Sure it's not, um...
Not too late
to keep hanging out?
It's-30.
Well, this is it.
Nice neighborhood.
Yeah.
Yeah.
It's pretty quiet, actually.
Oh.
- Way cool.
- Yeah?
It's a lot neater
than I thought it'd be.
- What? Really?
- Yeah.
Yeah, I thought
you'd be a complete slob
from the way
you ate your popcorn.
Are you serious?
I'm kidding.
Oh. I'm actually
a bit of a neat freak.
Yeah. I can tell.
Hmm. Comfy.
Can I get you
something to drink?
Like a glass of water
or something?
Do you have any wine?
Wine? Yeah. You want wine?
Fuck yeah, I do.
Yeah, I got wine.
Wine it is.
Ivy's an interesting name.
Is there a, um...
Like a story behind it or...
Satan's daughter.
What?
Really?
Do you believe everything
that you're told?
No, I don't believe
everything that I'm told.
But I do believe some things.
Mmm.
Thanks.
- Cheers.
- Cheers, big ears.
What is that?
Oh, it's just something stupid
I say.
It's funny,
because when I was a kid,
people... you know what,
forget it.
Never mind.
So, what'd you think
of the movie?
- I thought it was okay.
- Yeah.
I don't know about
the whistling thing.
That whistling thing
was really scary.
- Really?
- Uh-huh.
I mean, do you really want
to give that much warning
right when you're about to
murder somebody?
I mean, whistle a tune?
Shouldn't it be like, wham,
surprise,
and then you all slit
their throats or whatever?
Wow. You have really
thought this through.
You have no idea.
You are very funny
and very cool.
I'm having a very good time.
And I'm very glad you said yes.
- Mm, yeah.
- I'm actually surprised you did.
I'm pretty much way
out of your league, so...
You are way out of my league.
- Oh, shut up.
- You are.
- You're... You're funny.
- Yes.
- And nice.
- Mm.
Why wouldn't I say yes?
Um, because... because
you are... are deeply cool
and... and beautiful.
And I am funny and nice.
I'm just me.
- You're like an artist?
- Mm-hmm.
That's so cool.
What does that mean?
Does that mean you paint
or you... What do you do?
Uh, no, mostly sculpting.
- Sculpting?
- Mm-hmm.
Oh, like with clay?
No, not exactly.
Well, yes, sometimes I do.
So you're like Demi Moore
in the movie "Ghost," right?
I love that movie.
Uh, I'm pretty sure
that was pottery.
- Oh. That's different?
- Mm-hmm.
- Okay.
- Yeah, I'm...
I think that's
as, uh, different as it gets.
- Oh.
- Yeah.
Well, I would... I would love
to see your work sometime.
- Yeah?
- Mm-hmm.
Well, I have some pictures
if you want to see them.
Yes, yes.
Bring them out right now.
It's right...
Oh, there they are.
- These Polaroids?
- Yeah.
I shoot all my work
on Polaroids.
I like the way it looks.
It's like, uh, capturing a dream
from a different time.
You know?
I'm sorry.
I wasn't expecting that.
Yeah, it's not for everybody.
No, it's... I get it.
It's just, um...
- Can I ask you a question?
- Mm-hmm.
What is this?
- A man's head.
- Yeah. Where's the body?
I don't know. Does it matter?
I'm... I'm sorry.
They're just very realistic.
Anyway, that is what I do.
No, no, no. I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to offend you.
I don't... Look, I don't know
anything about art.
About, like,
visual art and stuff.
Painting, I don't know.
I'm not an expert.
Music I know. Music I love.
When I was a kid,
I wanted to be a rock star
when I grew up.
Can you believe that?
I really did.
I thought that was gonna be...
You're mad. You're mad at me.
You're offended. I can tell.
- I feel like I've offended you.
- No, no, no.
I can't get back.
There's nothing I can do.
I'm completely
100% not offended.
- Really?
- Yeah.
Really.
Okay.
You know, the thing about art
is that it is really simple.
It's not about what you see.
It's about what you feel.
Don't want to leave a stain.
I believe that art is in
everything and everyone.
It's just that not everything
and everyone
is being used properly to
transmit its power.
I... I have no idea
what you're talking about.
Okay. For instance, this table.
- Mm-hmm.
- Give me your hand.
You see it as a table
because you treat it that way.
And you are afraid
of this wine stain,
but maybe this wine stain
is exactly...
what this table needs
to express a feeling
and in turn transform
this meaningless object
into art.
So I should... I should just
spill wine all over the table,
because that's the thing?
I mean, I just...
It's expensive,
so I didn't want to ruin it.
It's not about the table.
It's about how you feel.
Okay. Come on. Come here.
- Yeah?
- I'll show you.
Okay.
Now look at me.
You tell me what you feel.
I feel like you are pretty.
Interesting.
Smart. Funny.
I don't... I feel like
I'm doing this wrong.
Okay. Hang on. Um...
Now tell me how you feel.
What are you doing?
Tell me how you feel.
I feel like I don't like it.
I feel nervous and scared.
Can... I'm anxious.
I don't like it.
C-Can you stop, please?
Can you put the knife down,
please?
Can you put the knife down?
Don't do that.
Can you please stop, please?
Please.
See?
I just transformed into art.
I went from a girl to a feeling.
And you instantly had
a visceral,
emotional response to me.
That is what good art does.
I guess.
And I could transform you
if you let me.
What was that?
Relax.
I was just trying
to make a point.
I wasn't gonna cut open my
throat on your kitchen floor.
I know that. It just...
I-I got, um...
I got a little freaked out.
I got little scared.
Oh, no.
I don't want you to be scared.
I want you to be
the best that you can be.
I see great things in you.
You could be a rock star.
My rock star.
And you could be art.
If you let me help you.
Really?
Yeah. Really.
Oh.
Ah, I should go.
No, no, no, no.
I'm sorry. I didn't...
- No, no, it's fine.
- No, I thought...
I mean, come on.
We were, weren't we?
- I'm not crazy.
- No, we... we... we were.
We are.
It's just it's getting late.
Hey. Is it okay if I call you?
I'd be pretty pissed
if you didn't.
Fuck it.
Wow. You're back.
Yeah.
Rock star.
- This is all your fault.
- What? How is this my fault?
You were his babysitter.
Oh, I was a great babysitter.
And that was like 15 years ago.
Well, apparently,
he has a great memory.
You know, come to think of it,
he was a really bright kid.
Waaaah!
Oh, fuck.
Oh. Oh, no.
We've got to make a run for it.
No, wait,
you've got to stay here.
- He's close. He'll see us.
- You can stay here all you want,
- but I'm gonna get the fuck out.
- No!
Waaah!
Waaah!
Waaaaah!
I just want popcorn.
Please! Please!
Somebody help me! Oh, please!
There's a man-sized
baby thing out here
and he's trying to kill me!
Please let me in!
This might be the greatest movie
ever created.
Are you serious?
It's so stupid.
Somebody help me!
Waaah!
No, Big Baby, no!
Waaah!
No, please, Big Baby! No!
No, no, no.
Please don't. Please. No, no!
Who's the big baby now?
Okay, so he was so angry
about being left in his crib
while his babysitter
had sex with her boyfriend
that, like, 20 years later,
he goes on a killing spree?
Yeah.
Childhood trauma runs deep.
How would he even remember that?
I don't know.
Just... I really felt his pain.
When he cried out like that,
it was just...
Oh, it hit a nerve with me.
- Holy shit.
- What?
- Holy shit.
- What?
Hold on.
No, you can't say "holy shit"
like that twice
and the follow up
with a "hold on."
What is it?
I got in.
To that acting class.
That Robert Anderson Wright
acting class.
- I fucking got in.
- Oh, my God! Holy shit!
- Yeah, holy shit!
- Oh, congrats!
Oh, that's amazing.
Oh! Oh, my God.
This is, like, so fucking cool.
Yeah. You deserve it.
I don't know.
I mean, maybe I shouldn't do it.
What do you mean?
What if I'm terrible?
You're not terrible.
You're great.
Remember that Burger Barn
commercial you did?
- Yeah, I was 12.
- Yes, 12,
but it was
a masterful performance.
I believed it.
I'm kidding. You're great.
And you shouldn't
get into your head.
I should call Marcus.
That's gonna be
a real confidence booster.
Why do you hate him so much?
Uh, I don't know, it's...
He's a dick.
Okay. He's not a dick.
He's just...
He's sensitive, okay?
And he has trouble communicating
in a normal way with, like,
normal people.
Yeah.
That really explains it.
Besides, you know what?
I'm good for him.
I keep him grounded.
His ex, Ivy,
remember I told you about her?
She was a total psycho.
Like, spent time in prison
total psycho.
He needs me.
Do what you got to do.
I'm gonna get more popcorn.
Get me some.
No.
What?
Wow.
As always, could you sound
a little more excited?
I'm having a difficult night.
Okay.
Well, I just wanted to tell you
I got into that acting class.
Cool.
Yeah. It's tomorrow.
He only accepts, like,
a handful of people,
so it's actually
a pretty big deal.
Why are you wasting
your time with that shit?
It's not art.
It's pretend, really,
I mean, you know.
I'm over here
struggling to sketch the flow
that's already intact
within the mind,
and you're playing dress up.
Yeah, and you're a fucking snob,
so...
Well, if a snob is
someone who pours their soul
out onto the ground to be
stepped on
by zombies or dullards,
then yeah, I'm a snob.
Whatever, Marcus.
I just want to act.
You want to be famous.
Alright.
Yeah, I'm... I'm gonna go.
Okay.
That's your man.
What?
And that's your man.
Hey.
Let's go and celebrate.
I can't.
I have band practice.
No.
But when I get back, we can.
And I'll get you ready
to act the shit out of
that acting class tomorrow.
Promise?
Promise.
One, two, three, four
If I were an insect
I'd be a spider
Crawling down the wall
Trying to bite ya
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
If I were an insect
I'd be a spider
Crawling down the wall
Trying to bite ya
If I was a spider
I'd be an insect
Living underground
A human reject
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
Eight legs, eight legs
Whoo!
Goddamn fucking music, right?
I mean, have you ever
really examined music?
I mean, fucking really examined
it, like it's true power?
Here we go.
No, no, no, no, no.
It's cool.
It's cool if you guys refuse
to go deep like I do.
I just happen to choose
to think about shit
like how music is the soundtrack
between good and evil,
and how good and evil
are, like, inextricably linked
in a metaphysical battle.
I'm sorry, but did you not
finish high school?
No.
No, I didn't finish high school.
I would expect someone like you
to judge me on whether or not
I completed some
antiquated educational system
that teaches kids
more lies than truth.
- Preach.
- Let me ask you this.
What's the happiest chord?
Oh, don't ask me. I play bass.
- D fucking Major.
- MAN - Says who?
It doesn't matter who says,
but you can't deny
that certain chords
or chord progressions
can make you feel happy
or sad or mad. Correct?
Yeah, well, isn't that
the whole point of music?
Yeah, dude. That really isn't
all that deep.
I'll get deep. I'm just dipping
my toe in right now
so you won't fucking drown.
How did I end up
in a band with you?
I fucking love you guys.
Yes, yes, it's a given that
music can produce emotions.
Everyone knows that.
But have you ever really thought
about the magical mechanics
of that process?
Dude, we should call the band
Magical Mechanics.
I love that.
I arrange my flesh and bones
in a certain pattern
and press them against
steel strings,
and these strings have been
tightened or loosened
to such a degree that it creates
a blending of sound
that somehow,
over thousands of years,
we as humans have decided
made sense.
And then that sound travels
through an electric cord,
through a wooden box,
and then out a manmade speaker.
And then the sound travels
through the air
and into your ear,
vibrating a piece
of fucking cartilage,
sending signals instantaneously
through millions,
no, billions of neurons
where... where nerve cells
connect to synapses
and then stimulates
a fucking emotion.
An emotion, you guys.
I cry every time I hear
"Nothing Compares to You."
She cries every time she hears
"Nothing Compares to You."
Okay.
You still haven't said anything
I didn't already know.
Okay, class. What if I told
you that stimulating an emotion
was just the beginning, the most
rudimentary of functions?
You guys ever heard
about the brown note?
Supposedly it makes you
shit your pants.
I'm serious. The military
discovered it or something.
What if I told you
that the power of music in sound
is limitless and I've figured
out how to harness it?
Then why aren't we famous yet?
I'm not talking about writing
a three-minute pop song.
I'm talking about
note combinations
that can transform
consciousness,
notes that can infiltrate
the psyche of a sane human being
and unravel them into madness.
Dude, how fucking high are you?
Wait, how did you figure
all this out?
Okay, well, I-I haven't figured
it out completely,
but I have figured out how to
exactly...
MAN - There it is.
I call bullshit.
I have figured out
a sequence of six notes
that if played it correctly
will manifest evil.
I think Black Sabbath figured
that out like 50 years ago.
That's funny.
Alright. I got to get out
of here, guys.
I'm fucking beat.
I'm with you.
It's been interesting,
as always, bro.
- Mm.
- MAN -
Lightning.
So what are the six notes?
It's not that easy.
I mean, it's complicated.
You have to be... They have to
be played in a particular way.
Like I said, bullshit.
Come on. Just tell me
what the notes are.
Please. Please.
Anybody home?
Brody.
Hey.
Jesus.
What the fuck are you doing
sitting in the dark?
Nothing.
I was, um...
I was just sitting.
What's wrong?
I, um, haven't been able
to get ahold of Marcus.
He's not answering his phone
all night.
Surprise, surprise.
Okay, look.
What if something's wrong?
What if he's hurt or something?
What if he's just being
a petty little bitch?
Hey, don't let him do this
to you, okay?
He's just trying to
fuck with your head
because you have something
important going on tomorrow
that, God forbid,
doesn't revolve around him.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
You're right. Yeah.
Hey.
I'm still down to celebrate.
Actually, I think I'm just
gonna go to bed.
Okay. Suit yourself.
But just a heads up,
I will drink all the beer
and eat all the Froot Loops.
You always do.
Like, every night.
- Mm. Mm?
- No.
- Mm. Mm? Mm?
- No.
- Good night.
- Night.
Stupid.
Brody?
Jesus, Brody.
Are you okay?
I'm fine.
Why?
I don't know.
I thought I heard a noise.
Are you sure you're okay?
Are you okay?
Yeah.
Maybe you were just dreaming
or something.
I wasn't dreaming.
I wasn't doing anything.
Okay.
Well...
Sorry to bug you.
Hey.
You know, I don't think
we'll be seeing Marcus anymore.
No?
No.
Why do you say that?
I think something bad
happened to him.
What are you talking about?
Hope,
do you know who
Gabrielle Berlatier was?
She worked
in a whorehouse
in southern France as a maid.
She was working there
to earn money to pay off
her medical bills
after being savagely attacked
by a rabid dog.
O... kay.
She was also the reason
Vincent Van Gogh
chopped off his own ear.
Why are you telling me this?
He thought
if he offered her his own flesh,
it would help her heal.
That's crazy.
Is it?
Tomorrow,
at the acting class,
I really feel like
I'm gonna shine.
Do something special.
Yeah.
That's... That's great.
Yeah.
I prepared a monologue.
Do you want to hear it?
Well, I mean...
Yeah. O-Okay. Sure.
"The Debt," Ryan Knightley.
At the foot of my bed,
reaching,
but just out of reach,
my flesh
covers bone
shadowing the breaks and cracks.
But not the scars
that rest on top.
Left behind by
otherworldly creatures
masquerading as civilized men.
Death needs more yet,
but needs me more.
I am an allegoria of nothing.
A reflection that refuses
to look back.
A human vampire
with endless time
that's about to run out.
Okay.
Well...
Good night.
Good night.
- This is all your fault.
- What? How is this my fault?
You were his babysitter.
Oh, I was a great babysitter.
And that was like 15 years ago.
Well, apparently,
he has a great memory.
You know, come to think of it,
he was a really bright kid.
Waaaah!
Oh, fuck.
Oh. Oh, no.
We've got to make a run for it.
No, wait,
you've got to stay here.
- He's close. He'll see us.
- You can stay here all you want,
- but I'm gonna get the fuck out.
- No!
Waaah!
Waaah!
Waaaah!
Oh, shit.
Oh, no.
Waaaaah!
Please! Please!
Somebody help me! Oh, please!
There's a man-sized
baby thing out here
and he's trying to kill me!
Please let me in!
No. No, no.
Waah! Waaah!
No! No, Big Baby, no!
- Waaah!
- No, please, Big Baby! No!
No, no, no.
Please don't. Please. No, no!
Who's the big baby now?