Ventoux (2015) Script

Peter.

Peter.

Happy birthday to you Happy birthday to you Happy birthday...

No.

-Oh, no, no, no, no. -Hip, hip, hurray.

Happy birthday, Dad. This is for you.

That's sweet.

Oh, great. And exactly my size.

By the way, Dad. Who is Laura?

Laura?

-"Dear Bart..." -Happy birthday.

It'd be lovely if we could all get together again.

I have a play at the theatre festival in Avignon end of July.

Maybe we can celebrate my birthday then. Lots of love, Laura.

I can't believe it.

Never got in touch for 30 years. And now...

What?

Look.

She's very pretty.

These are my friends from secondary school.

-Is that you? -Yes.

I've known him since we were toddlers. Dré Tankink.

Better known in the media as André T.

Got involved in a dodgy trade.

Mr Tankink?

I'm here for my father. Gerrit Tankink.

-What about that tall guy? -That's Joost.

Joost Walvoort.

A string is a one dimensional object... moving through a higher dimensional space.

Our professor. A proper genius.

One question before we break for coffee. Which I urgently need.

What is the maximum number of dimensions in superstring theory?

-Think carefully. -Twenty-six.

No.

-And the one next to him? -Which one?

-The nerdy one. -David.

He's changed the least of all of us.

He still lives in Zutphen.

-We're closed. -I'm sorry.

That's okay.

And who's he?

The quirky one.

That's Peter.

Hey, David. What if...

What if someone takes a strings and wraps it around the earth.

Someone else does the same, but not along the ground but one metre above the surface.

How much longer would that second string need to be?

-Ten thousand kilometres? -Too much. It's only six metres.

What if we did the same, but this time around your dick.

That's about this wide? Maybe smaller.

We tie a string around it. Plus a second one at a metre's distance.

-How much more string would you need? -As if I'd tie a string round my dick.

-That too would only be six metres. -Guys.

Look.

SWEET LADY JANE RIVER SAUNA

Let's go help him.

Gentlemen.

-Give us a hand? -Sure.

Mind your head.

Segers.

Willem Segers.

And this is the Sweet Lady Jane.

My son.

Hi. Peter.

It's paint and eggs.

In Kampen they're not too keen on boats like ours.

-So it's not a sauna? -Yes, it is.

-Kind of. -A sex sauna.

With whores?

We don't call them whores. We call them "girls".

Are they pretty?

Of course. Otherwise we'd get no customers.

-Do you get to go for free? -I don't get to go at all.

Shame.

If my dad had a garage, I'd be all over his cars and wear them out.

Of course you would, Joost.

Who's he?

That's David.

His father runs a travel agency.

He doesn't say much, but what he says is spot on.

-Correct. -See?

You alright?

-You'll take care of my bike, won't you? -Sure.

-What are you wearing? -Looks ridiculous.

Wow.

-Where did you get that? -The bike's my dad's.

-The shirt was a present. -You spent all your savings.

Use a low gear to go uphill. Rest your arms on the handlebars on the descent.

Hi, guys.

As a future Nobel Prize-winning physicist I've worked it all out.

Sorry, still getting used to the toe clips.

-Shall we go? -Yes.

Good luck, son.

We're dealing with aerodynamic drag, slope resistance rolling resistance and mechanical drag.

I've looked at the formulas for all those types of drag.

If we know their values, we can calculate down to the last decimal how long it'd take us to climb Ventoux.

That mythical mountain. The Giant of Provence.

Shut up, Joost.

From the village of Bédoin, it's a 1600 metre climb.

-The distance to the summit is... -Joost, stop it.

Nice, David. Are you okay?

"Writing poetry is like climbing Mont Ventoux.

Where Tommy Simpson died.

In such tragic circumstances.

The world champion pushed himself too far."

Nice.

Not my words, you twit.

That was written by another poet. Jan Kal.

I think we should all go there together.

Where?

-To Mont Ventoux. -Yes.

Yes.

I told you.

Our Spinoza laureates conduct excellent and ground-breaking research which resonates far and wide.

They represent some of world's leading scientific minds and have gained international renown.

It is a great honour to award professor Joost Walvoort this prestigious prize for his ground-breaking work in string theory.

Professor, will you please step forward?

Thank you.

I am very grateful to receive this award.

For a scientist, this is a gift from heaven.

It enables me to focus on my research rather than on finding the means to finance it.

Because there are doubts as to the use of string theory.

Will future generations remember our time as one that brought forth

scientific pioneers? Heroes.

Or as an age of failure and time wasted?

I believe the former.

But ask me in a hundred years and I will be certain.

-Managed to find a seat, Tankink? -Sure.

-Carry on, Joost. Sounds good. -Thank you.

I would ask you not to all turn around at the same time but there in the back of the room are my three oldest friends.

David, Bart and André.

Not the handsomest of men. My apologies.

I haven't seen them in 30 years.

David, please.

We went to kindergarten together in the Achterhoek where I laid the groundwork for my future career.

I am very pleased they're here today.

By their presence here, they have created a bridge across time.

As if it indeed does not exist. Thank you all.

This is great.

Bravo.

-People, please. -Show-off.

-Geez, André. -Big change.

Weird, right?

But your eyes are still exactly the same.

-You've turned grey. -Overnight.

No thanks, Miss. No snacks for me.

A picture of true love.

Joost.

Bart. How's the old cock?

Hard as a concrete marker on Nova Zembla.

Joost, congratulations.

We go back such a long time.

Thank you. Water, please.

Nice that you mentioned us.

Two and a half million. What will you do with it?

I'm required to put it towards new research.

Spinoza? Wasn't that Winnetou's old horse?

Yep. That's right.

-Could I talk to you for a moment? -Sure.

I'll be right back.

That's his bit on the side, right?

It's got to be. You saw that miserable wife of his.

She's giving him the choice. "It's either me, or the wife."

-You think? -What else?

A note book? So she can use his words against him?

Bits on the side don't write things up.

Not his fuck buddy. She's a journalist. But her name's slipped my mind.

Guys, what a load of crap.

What's her name again? That journalist.

-Do you know her? -Yes.

Hate the lot of 'em. So polite, but always out to screw you. Right, Bart?

-Absolutely. -Here you go.

So nice to see you.

Dammit.

Her again? Just deny everything.

Laura.

"Congrats. With you in spirit.

Hope to see you soon. Laura."

Oh, guys. Look.

Just look at Peter.

-A great poet, hopeless on the descent. -Yes.

-We're going back. -Oh, come on.

-Cycling? In that heat? No way. -Sure.

-Come on, man. -You're not serious.

Forget it. I'm not going.

A: I have no bike. B: I suffer from high blood pressure.

C: My doctor says I can't exert myself. And certainly not climb Ventoux.

-Where's your passport? -I have high blood pressure.

Arrhythmia. I'm overweight.

So what does your doctor want you to do with your life?

All you have been doing so far is not exerting yourself.

That you're still here is a medical miracle.

Here.

-Is Van Spankeren still in business? -How am I supposed to know?

My set of knives?

Come on.

A full kit. No clip-in pedals. Preferably black.

The black one. And shorts in XL. Nice.

Yes. Fine.

-Look here. -Wow.

-An original. -And ordinary pedals.

Two men have broken away. Stefan Mutter and Jan Raas...

Hey, Dave. I'm subjecting you to the punishment for sodomites.

Gerard Reve style. You like that, right? Smack, smack.

You like that, don't you? Yes, you do. Smack, smack.

He has Roger de Vlaminck sitting on his wheel...

See that?


Look at Dré.

I want to be that ball.


Dave. Your turn.

Ice cream.

Chocolate?

Lovely.

Peter. I'm Peter.

Joost.

Class, this is Laura van Bemmel.

I see a free seat over there where you can sit.

I'd like to begin. I've marked last week's mock exams.

And the results were hopeless.

You alright?

Remember us?

Bert.

-Bart. -Bart, I knew that.

David, André and Joost.

Where are we?

Pieter, do you know how to calculate this tangent?

Go get it.

Stop it.


Want some?

After my exams, I'm going for trials at FC Twente.

Forget it. We'll be climbing Ventoux.

"That I might traverse in spirit that other road for which I long day and night even as today I overcame material obstacles by my bodily exertions."

Petrarch.

Right.

He climbed that mountain in 1336.

-On a bike? -On your Raleigh.

-Are you really going up Mont Ventoux? -Sure.

We're borrowing David's dad's van.

Can I come?

-Yes. -Okay. Deal.

But I have to go now, or it's hell and damnation for me.

Shall I take you?

Great.

You can sit on the back.

Oh, sorry.

You alright?

I've been redeemed.

And I cannot break free.

She's just perfect.

My muse.

She understands my poems.

What are you wearing?

Laura's idea.

-Four A's. -Four A's?

-How did you that? -Yes, yes.


-What? -Come on, man.

-Yes, yes. -Okay.


Don't ever forget this, Bart.

Really, don't ever forget.

I won't forget.

-It's over, dammit. -Really?

-Who's coming in? -Are you...

I don't want it to be over.

Pete.

Beer.

Come on.

Laura, come on in.

Come on.


Dive bomb.


Sure. I've got to go now. Keep me posted.

-Who was that? -My lawyer.

Beer. Yes.

Bart, you old sewer rat.

-Good that we're here. -Cheers.

Back in Bédoin. Town of dreams and illusions. Of blood, sweat and tears.

Where once Tommy Simpson downed a large glass of calvados before starting his ascent of Mont Ventoux only to meet his fateful death.

What did your lawyer want?

Not now.

What are you doing, man?

Gentlemen, here we are.

The Beaujolais Nouveau has arrived.

We're placing things in a musical perspective.

Is this our tape?

The one he threw out of the window 30 years ago.

Everything gone.

-Van Morrison, The Clash, TC Matic. -The Jam.

It's always quite a drive.

As if you do Zutphen-Bédoin every week.

I thought I'd let old Gerrit join the fun.

Great.

-Hello, Mr Tankink. -Hello.

Well, okay.

White wine, please.

And a water. How do you say that? -De l'eau.

Why have you brought three bikes, Dré?

The black one's David's. I'll be training on the Pegoretti.

And on the day itself I'll be going up on the old Raleigh.

With Peter on the crossbar and old Gerrit here in my bidon.

So much hassle. And what for?

Why?

He was in the hospital when his dad died. But couldn't see him.

His dad didn't want a criminal attending his deathbed.

So it will be the three of you on the bike.

-Did you check the tyres? -And the brakes.

-What are you using? A triple? -That's for sissies.

I'm going up on the outer sprocket.

Fifty-two teeth. No bullshit.

-You're not scared of that mountain? -No.

That thing is way too high.

Even higher than 30 years ago, if you ask me.


Look at that.

Great.

Well done, Dave. Our tour operator.

Wow, guys.

Nice, at least 23 degrees. Feel that.

Stop it, dammit.

-Pity riders are not allowed to swim. -What a load of rubbish.

Bart, you're used to a simple life. You take the couch.

Fine.

Dave, I'm sure you still snore. And jerk off.

If you sleep here, you'll bother no one. Mind your head.

-Dré, how about that couch? -I don't think so.

Then it's this Spartan cell. Should take you back.

-I'll make do. -Wait a minute.

-Let me guess. -There it is.

Of course. The largest room, the biggest bed.

-The loudest mouth. -The biggest dick.

-A true rider only fucks in winter. -Not this one.

-I swim and screw around all year. -Is that so?

Don't.

-Sorry. -Now look what you've done.

Can't be helped.

Stop, wait. Cut it out.

You're drilling a hole in a prize villa. There goes my deposit.

Calm down. I'll fill it up before we go. No one'll notice.


Yes.

Right. Now we have Peter with us too.

Dré, catch.

See you later. Have fun.

-Where are you off to? -The shops.

Come on.

Let me pass.

Alright, Dré. You go.

-Coming? -No.

Shave your legs, Dave.

Shave your legs. You'll go faster.

-This is great, man. -You're doing fine.

Oh, crap. Will we have to come back up this way later?

Yes.

Damn.

I'm at 172 already. I have to stay below 162.

-Shift to a lower gear. -Can't go any lower.

Dear, oh dear.

-Can we stop for a bit? -Stop talking. Bad for your breathing.

We've got to carry on now.

Steady on.

We'll take the lead.

Guys, he's stopped.

-My heartbeat. Too fast. -Yes.

Stop looking at that meter. Keep pedalling.

-You're not going to die on us, are you? -I wouldn't mind dying here.

And give us another trauma to deal with? Can't have that.

Should I die here I will sign a statement that it's nothing to do with you.

-And no small print. -No small print.

-At your own speed, you said. Right? -Yes.

I will crawl up that mountain like a snail.

Don't leave a trail.

Looking good.

-Nice work. -Good pace.

Come on, guys. Let's go get him.

It was here, right?

Yeah, it was here.

If I craned my neck, I could just about see Ventoux.


So where's our girl?

Our girl is still too busy in Avignon.

You think she'll do it again?

I wouldn't be surprised.

When a women asks you and you seem a bit too eager, she splits.

That's how it goes. Every single time.

Yeah, you would know.


Hey, dopehead. Move over.

-Come on. We're here. -Where?

Where do you think? Look.

-You alright? Take it easy. -Yeah.

Here, tent poles. Bart, your tent.

If you pitch yours over here, Dave and I will go there. Alright, Dave?

What were you doing in Arnhem?

After two hours on the field with those fanatics I'd had it.

No talent. That's what the trainer said.

So we went to Arnhem to see this band in Musis Sacrum.

First time I smoked fermented Afghani hash. Heavy stuff.

-Lost three days. -Tankink. Action.

I want you and I will But you don't see me I have nothing to offer Without a degree and without a job I want you and I will Come over here and hold me Are Laura and Peter out screwing somewhere?

I suppose.

Guys, I'm off to bed.

-Early training session tomorrow. -Sure.

-Really? -So don't stay up too late.

-Why not? -Because it's a dumb plan.

-Shush. -Don't shush me.

-Ouch, prick. -Cow.

Night.


Nice going, David.

Peter is acting weird.

He's crazy. That's what my dad says.

Poets.

Bart, my man.

Keep it up. Or you'll never make it up Ventoux.

I'm a slow starter.

Come on. Your mind's stronger than your legs.

Come on.

Speed it up. I'd outpace you easily.

Speed it up.

You alright?

-It's way too hot. -Just pop your bike in the back.

Guys, watch and learn.

-Monsieur Jean? -Yes.

We'd like six cooked ham sandwiches, please.

-With a bit of mustard, if possible. -Alright.

Thank you.

-Good work, Dave. -Guys.

Tomorrow we'll be climbing Mont Ventoux.

So I thought I'd read to you from The Rider, by Tim Krabbé.

To give you an idea of what we're doing.

Right.

"I've made my way up Ventoux by bike seven times.

There are two routes up the mountain. I always start out from Bédoin.

The first five km you traverse gentle slopes that seem to take you away from the summit.

A pale yellow wasteland capped by a single landmark."

-That's six sandwiches. With mustard. -Thank you.

"A pale yellow wasteland capped by a single landmark.

The observatory.

The wood's the worst.

Slopes of varying gradients for over ten kilometres.

But all over ten per cent. You can't find a steady pace.

Standing up on your pedals doesn't help, nor does staying in your saddle.

Then, suddenly, you're clear of the woods.

You've reached Chalet Reynard.

That's where the yellow rubble plain begins, for six kilometres.

Before you reach the top, you pass by the Simpson monument.

He died there in 1967, in an attempt to win the Tour de France.

I don't choose the side of Bédoin because of Simpson but because the time trial in 1958 started there as well.

My personal best would have gained me third last position.

Please note: No. 92, Krabbé. one hour, 21 minutes and 50 seconds."

Are you finally done?

Okay guys, let's go.

I'm not coming. Cycling is not my thing. I'm going canoeing.

-Might be something for my dad's tours. -I'm coming with you.

So it's just us then, Barbapapa.

I'm not coming either. I'm taking a break.

We're just going for some exercise. Nothing strenuous.

I'm not coming.

Alright. I am going, though.

I'll go with you.

I'm going up that mountain with you tomorrow.

-So I need to get some practice. -Alright.


You need to shift to a low gear straightaway. It's a bit of a slope.


Hey, Bart.

Hey.


Hey.

-More trouble? -No.

It's too quiet. I can't sleep.


That journalist the other day...

She's chasing me.

What does she want?

What do you think? Journalists sniff things out. Mistakes.

If they're worth their salt.

So what does she suspect?

That I've committed fraud and do not deserve the Spinoza Award.

Is she right? Is it true?

True?

What is true in string theory?

Next thing it'll be in your paper tomorrow.

Joost, come off it. I'm your friend.

-What happened on the 6th? -The 6th?

You know what I mean. Six July 1982.

We cycled to the top, Peter read his poem...

Okay, the 5th.

You went cycling, or canoeing.

-Cycling. -Whatever.

Peter had gone with you.

And I was alone, with her.

And she took me into her tent.

In her red bikini.

She was so goddamn beautiful.

I was crazy about her.

We were all crazy about her.

-You just wanted... -Absolutely.

But I loved her.

I even tried to write her poetry.

Trying to out-do Peter.

-Did Peter know? -About my poems?

No, you twit. About you and Laura.

Of course he knew. That's why he wanted to come to the summit.

And down again.

He chose to fall. That bastard.

Do you realise that for 30 years I've not dared to come back here?

For 30 years.

A no-go area.

When Hinke wanted to go on holiday near here I had to persuade her to go somewhere else.

Anne wanted to be an au pair. In Aix-en-Provence or Avignon.

I kept hoping it would fall through, so I wouldn't have to visit.

I simply couldn't face it. Not for 30 years.

That's sick, isn't it?

Yeah. You're a lucky bastard though.

-Because? -You did get to fuck her.

Right?

I'm off to bed.

Shite.

We should manage it in less than two hours.

-I'm sure of it. -At least I will.

Better be careful.

Tommy Simpson downed a calvados before climbing Ventoux.

-And he... -I'm not Tommy Simpson.

Because I'm immortal.

-I finished my poem. -Let's hear it.

At the top.

Here come the matadors of this Tour de France.

Set to climb the dreaded Mont Ventoux.

It's a magnificent sight to see these Dutch riders battle it out on this French mountain.

We're just pulling up beside Bart Hofman.

Can I ask you some questions? What is going through your mind right now?

I feel good. Very good.

I would like to say hi to my uncle Henk. It's his birthday today.

Many happy returns.

He's remained so amazingly down-to-earth.

Best of luck. See you at the summit.


Right, my man.

You thought you could win this?


-Come on, Peter -Just go.

TOP OF MONT VENTOUX 1910 METERS Come on, Bart.


You can do it. Come on.

This is allowed. They do it in the Tour.

Here.

Smile.


A bit closer. Perfect. Alright.

-Guys, five seconds. -Mont Ventoux.

"Today I made the ascent of the highest mountain in this region.

Which they call "the windy one". Ventosum.

Not improperly so.

All things are full of labour.

Sweat and tears. Laughter and pain.

Love and hate.

I pledge myself to Lady Jane.

Sweet Lady Jane.

The world at my feet.

I am God here."

Alright.

Peter, what are you doing?

Where are you going? Peter, wait.

Peter.

Fingers on your brakes.

Did he take my bike?


Peter.

Dammit.

Peter.

Fucking hell.


Peter.


-You alright, Dave? -Fantastic.

Thank you.

Surprisingly good rosé. Nice.

Isn't there anything more quaffable?

"The quality of the wine rarely surpasses the beauty of the landscape."

-Snob. -It's what the Larousse wine guide says.

Plus, what's wrong with sharing some interesting facts?

For example, I discovered last night, who, in 1982...

-Zoetemelk? -No.

Who, besides Peter, was Laura's resident dick.

This guy didn't tell us about having slept with the prettiest girl ever to grace Ventoux.

That's no way to treat your friends.

I told you in confidence. But there you go.

That's all very well, but is it true?

I'll take that as a yes.

The day before our ascent.

That's why he had such good legs, even though he kept moaning he wasn't fit.

Tell me, Bart. What about Laura? Did she have good legs?

-Did she wrap them round your neck? -Was she wet?

-Guys. -Yes, she did wrap them round my neck.

I'm getting a bit jealous here.

-Come on, Bart. -Tell us, how was it?

-How horny was it? -Guys.

Just to be clear. She invited me into her tent. It was her idea.

-What about Peter? -He wasn't there, was he?

-He didn't know. -I think he did.

He was a very sensitive guy.

I'm sure he was aware how our friend here banged his muse.

So that's why he crashed on the mountain.

Jesus, guys.

I don't recall ever holding back anything from my friends.

Apart from the fact that your whole academic career is a fraud?

That has not been proven.

-So why is that journalist after you? -Bullshit.

-Why does she keep calling? -She has no proof.

-Why don't you answer the question? -This is about you and Laura.


Bastard. Goddammit.


For Christ's sake.

I always thought you were gay.

I always thought you were gay.

Yeah, I've thought the same thing myself.

I tried it out.

With men, and with women. I tried all kinds of things.

But it was just tiring. It bored me.

So what did you do instead? Wank over those travel brochures of yours?

No. Sex is just not really my thing.

That's alright, isn't it?

Shit happens.

The thing is that time doesn't exist.

That there aren't just three dimensions but possibly 12, or more.

Time is an illusion.

But lots of people don't know... Don't understand...

He's so far gone.

-Some pussy? -Or little willies?

I need a wash.

Early day tomorrow.

Come on, guys. Listen.

Dave, I'm sorry I never responded to all the letters you sent me... over the years.

I did read them all.

But somehow I was too embarrassed.

And now?

I don't know.

A fresh start, perhaps.

Other leg.

You're quite hairy, aren't you?

-Does it all have to come off? -No, up to here.

-How many, Dré? -Thirty-three, thirty-four.

-Thirty-five. -That's a lot.

Some croissants. Enjoy.

Guys, a text message from Laura.

She'll be here for lunch tomorrow.

Why is she texting you?

I thought... She has a matinee in Avignon. What do you say?

What? In this glaring sun?

It's just an idea. Beats all that bloody cycling.

-Is Avignon within cycling distance? -I should think so.


A full house.

No grandstand?

Ever been to the theatre before?

"today I made the ascent of the highest mountain in this region which they call 'the windy one'. Ventosum Not improperly so.

All things are full of labour sweat and tears laughter and pain love and hate.

I pledge myself to Lady Jane sweet Lady Jane whom I made love to on the windy mountain."

Christ almighty.

-You think so? -Surely she would have said.

It would explain why she took off on her own.

He looks like he's about 30. So it's possible.

What we saw, was an actor.

They memorise their lines. That's all there is to it. Believe me.

Don't say anything. Just eat and you'll be flying up that mountain tomorrow.

Bart.

-Joost. -Thanks, man.

There you go. Some wine?

Dré.

Perfect, perfect.

SPINOZA AWARD WINNER COMMITS FRAUD


Just look at him, guys.

The new Lance Armstrong.

He lied about everything and forced others into silence.

I didn't.

The Spectator clearly begs to differ.

Of course I relied on the work of others. Everyone does.

That's how science works.

Maybe I forgot some quotation marks here and there.

Well, pardon me. It's not my fault.

It's that constant pressure to publish and bring in funds.

Welcome to academia. It fucking sucks.

So what does this mean?

That I'm finished.

Didn't you have a shrewd lawyer?

They'll gut me. They'll have my balls. I'm dead.

Now piss off.

Joost.

Joost.

So what if you copied it all?

To us it's all new.

Dré.

So you hit a spot of bother and you leg it?

Yes. I have to get home.

We're in this together, Joost.

Valerie says she doesn't want to see me for a while. She's going to America.

She's even talking about divorce.

I keep seeing a man who's lost his job, his reputation is shot.

His wife and kids are across the ocean and have forgotten him.

-That man will then sell his house... -To rent a flat over a hairdresser's.

Drinking sour Gewürtztraminer all day at three euros a bottle.

And at night he drops his pants, tries to find some porn, but has no Wi-Fi.

-Stop feeling sorry for yourself. -Too right.

It's important, you know. A clean chain.

I've seen my dad do this a thousand times.

I just love the smell of petrol.

That's exactly how not to do it.

Cleaning your chain with petrol. You take away all the grease.

And you'll never get it back.

-One of your pet theories again. -You wish. It's a fact.

Your father didn't have a clue.

Anyone with any sense knows that you clean a chain with white spirit.

And a soft, lint-free cloth.

What would you know, man?

What would you know? The master of spokes theory.

I'm trying to help, you twit.

What did you say?

What did you say?

I was trying to explain that opinions differ on how to clean...

-What did you say? -Jesus, Dré. I'm sorry.

It was a slip of the tongue.

You called me a twit. I remember now.

You always called me that. Don't you have any copying to do, mate?

-Excellent. -Yes.


-Joost not back yet? -No.

-Should we be worried? -No.

No, Joost is not the type to top himself.

No dive bombing, okay?


I've brought a hitchhiker.

I never go with strange women. But then I saw who she was.

-Laura. -Hey.

Hi, guy.

Hi, Bart.

-This is Fabio, my son. -Enchanté.

-We already saw him. -Oh?

Well played, mate.

-What is he saying? -Well played.

Well played!

We were in Avignon.

-Son of...? -Peter.

Cake?

Twit.


We went to the campsite. Trois Rivières.

-They have a swimming pool now. -Really?

You know, I don't think I need to see the campsite anymore.

Some things need to stay exactly as you remember them.

Bart?

What did you think when you got my message?

She still exists.

I thought you'd forgotten about us.

Laura...

Why did you simply disappear?

You didn't even come to his funeral.

Now you arrive here with a son we didn't even know existed.

Calm down, okay?

Surely you asked us to come down here for a reason?

I trust I'm not the only one who feels this situation is, to put it mildly rather complicated?

No, of course not.

-Hope I'm not interrupting? -Not at all.

Bart, are you coming for a ride?

What about Fabio?

-He's all gung ho. -Really? Great.


Bien?


-Break a leg for tonight! -Alright!

-Will you be alright? -See you on Saturday. No problem.

-Thank you. -Thank you.

-Service. -Yes.

Have a nice journey.


Oh, guys. I've missed you all.

I divorced my husband last year and came back to visit Holland and Zutphen.

I also visited Peter's grave.

Since then I started dreaming...

Not really dreams. More like nightmares.

I see him lying there...

I've never had nightmares about it. Really.

I never have nightmares.

-I've blamed myself for his death, though. -We all have.

-Yes. -Yeah.

He'd never descended a mountain before.

No, not even a bridge.

But the crucial question is, Laura... Oh, sorry.

Thank you.

The crucial question...

What we all want to know is, did Peter's death have anything to do with what happened between you and Bart the day before?

No.

No. I'm sure.

Really. Some things just happen for no reason.

How can you be so certain?

You and I...

That was all planned.

Excuse me?

It was a set-up.

Peter was obsessed with love triangles.

And...

He dragged me into... I let myself be dragged into his world.

It was exciting.

As if things weren't real.

Maybe not for you. But they were for me.

So Peter was just using me?

That's what you're saying.

I told you I loved you.

Remember?

I was 17, Bart.

Seventeen.


Here you go.

Good night.

What a complete dickhead.

Selfish bastard.


A night under the stars, Bart?

Time to get changed.

It's already way too hot.

And where's Joost?

I'm not going up that mountain.

Joost.

Joost.

I'm so sick and tired of this.

All your moaning about Valerie and that Spinoza bullshit all day long.

Professor this, professor that.

All that elitist shit. Shove it up your arse.

Come on. Just tell 'em.

Just say it.

Repeat after me.

Louder.

Dammit, man.

Right.

Guys, no race this time. Okay?

No, we'll just see who gets to the summit first.

-Good luck. -Thanks.

Okay, pick up the pace, a bit faster today.


Keep up, Dave.

Alright. Let me help you. Just for a bit.

-I should have gone for clip-in pedals. -It's too late now.

Excellent, mate. You're doing fine. Keep it up.

Shall I give you a push?

-Alright, guys. You go on ahead. -Are you sure?


This is madness.

-Shall I give you a push? -No.

No?

-Want to come with us? -Keep it up, Dave.


How are you?

Bloody hell.

This Raleigh's rubbish. I'm going down on the Pegoretti.

Hey. Good job, man.

-How did you do? -Alright.

Bart, good job.

I'm okay.


Well, old man. There you go.


David?

-Dave. -David, hey.

Come on.

Come on, Dave. Keep going. Almost there.

Come on.

Come here, you.

Peter. Old friend.

In a fit of total madness we have climbed this bold mountain in honour of your passing.

We've missed you for 30 years.

And the happiness that surrounded us then.

Peter, our favourite composer of poetic verse we wanted you to be a part of this.

So I brought you something.

You've never heard of it, but I bought this on Ebay.

Give me a hand, Joost. Let's hang it up.

-Like this? -Wonderful.

-Photo. -Yes.

-Hang in there, Peter. And smile. -We're all here.

Here we go. Three, two, one. Smile.

Yes.

Nice. Perfect.

So are we finally done with this fucking mountain?