The House That Jack Built (2018) 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.

There.

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 assistance.

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.

Blacksmith.

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.

Mistake?

Me getting in this car with you.

What was it one's mother used to say about not getting into cars with strangers?

Well..

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?

No.

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.

Sonny.

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..

...honestly, 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.

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 inheritance 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.

Hi.

Hi.

Who are you?

Police.

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.

Right.

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.

No.

You wait until they show you the proper..

Badge. Yeah. The badge.

Yup. That's correct. Yeah.

Um..

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.

What?

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.

Here.

Put this under your head.

I'm sorry. Ow.

I'm so sorry.

Oh..

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?

Shh.

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.


Shit.


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.

Okay.

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.

Right.

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.

Right.

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.

Okay.

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?

Claire?

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.

Scuffle?

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.

What?

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 considering 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..

...in order to hide amongst the masses.

Smile.

Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes.

Disappointed.

Very, very disappointed.


And the reeds?

I was a very sensitive child..

...profoundly 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!


Shit!

It struck me like lightning from a clear sky.

Fuck!

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.

Goddammit!

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 savagery.

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..

...so 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.

Sophistication.

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?

Yeah.

Are we going hunting?

No.

Hunting is such an unpleasant thing.

I used to hunt quite a bit, but I've stopped.

Why?

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..

...you pull the trigger.

Fire!

Excellent!

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!

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?

Hmm.

Or a Mr. Sophistication even?


No! 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.

Twelve.

Twelve.

That's an excellent number.

Very good number indeed.

Picnic's over.

You can go ahead.

I'll take care of the kids.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.


Schweiss.

Exactly.


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, Jack.

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.

Jack!


Verge?

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.

Smile.

Hey.

Talk to me.

I can't.

I hate the way you look at me.

The way I look at you?

Okay.


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?

Sure.

I'll be over shortly for cocktails.

Simple?

You know I hate it when you call me Simple.

My name is Jacqueline.

Jacqueline?

Did old Mr. and Mrs. Simple really have that vivid an imagination?

Jacqueline.. 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?

What..

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?

Africa?

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?

Yes.

I kill.

Okay.

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..

...is true.

I have killed 60 people!

Sixty people!

I'm a serial killer.

Please help me.

I've also been a horrible human being..

...to 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?

Yeah.

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.

Right?

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!

Help!

Yes, help!

There's a murderer in the building!

It's Mr. Sophistication!

Help!

Help!

Shh!

Shh! Hey.

Hey. Hey.

Shh!

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!

Help!

Help me!

Please help me!

You know, maybe I'm mistaken, but..

...as 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..

...in this hell of a country..

...in 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.

No?

What about this one?

You don't like that one either?

Okay.

How about this one?

Hmm.

Well..

...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..

...as 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 vaster 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 frost..

...dehydration..

...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 expression.

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.

Fantastic.

Incomparable.

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 escorted 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.

Goethe.

Here you can talk about masterpieces 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 ridiculous 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.

Cuff.

Cuff!


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.

Fuck.

You're right! This is a hunting round.

This box, it's... it's completely mislabeled.

Goddammit!

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.

Uh..

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' receipt.

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 cartridge.

Yesterday, 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.

We..

Alright, what have I done?

The robbery.

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.

Yeah.

I know you.

And you've never lied to me.

No.

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 cartridge?

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.


Perfect.

Jack!

Jack!


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?

Yes.

I... I... I was..

...trying..

...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?

Yes.

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.


Verge?

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.