Finsterworld Page #4

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It can't be that we're living our lives

in a meaningless, dead universe.

No. There is a secret.

A profound mystery. But we forget.

Life goes by so fast...

You blink once... and you're old.

Oh Claude...

you're wonderful.

Could you bring a tissue please?

Georg, where are you?

What are you doing here?

Georg.

Georg.

What are you doing?

What...?

He was watching you pee.

- What? When?

- Just now.

- Nonsense, I was walking.

- Shut your trap, you despicable voyeur.

- Georg, stop it!

- It's unbelievable.

Why would I lie in wait

in the middle of nowhere in order to

to observe older women...

Sorry, Madam.

I mean only in comparison to myself.

to observe older women pee?

What else were you planning on then?

I'm lost, okay?

Hahaha, I know what I saw.

Georg!

Pull yourself together now.

This isn't the Vietnam war!

Georg, Georg!

Wait. Are you hurt?

Where?

I'm so sorry. He's just so...

protective of me.

I don't want the little sh*t in our car.

- You hurt him, Georg. You really hurt

him. - Do you think he can sue me?

Not just that.

How can you be so aggressive

towards a child?

Don't be ridiculous, he's no child.

We'll take him along for a bit

and lose him at the next gas station.

Everybody's happy, alright?

Okay.

I don't expect you

to walk appropriately, but

please bear in mind that

our own grandparents did this.

People we're related to,

people we know.

My grandfather was in the resistance.

I'm not talking about

our individual grandparents.

There is a collective guilt. Absolutely.

Didn't the English invent those camps

in the Boer War?

Maybe not quite as extreme, but...

I will not tolerate, not on this

occasion, your historical relativism.

- I won't tolerate it.

- I'm sorry. It won't happen again.

How can one people assume the right

to extinguish another people?

The pictures of the liberation

of the camp in 1945

are the pictures before our eyes

when thinking of German crimes.

Corpses piled on top of each other.

Decaying human bodies

everywhere you look.

The barracks overflowing with

emaciated prisoners.

in all stages of

consumption and disease.

People who had lost everything.

Their physical and spiritual dignity,

that is...

their very right to be human.

Let's talk about your impressions.

So... what are your thoughts?

I know I went on for quite a while, but...

what are your feelings?

It's important to talk about this.

56:
18-56:20

Maybe that was a little much.

- Sh*t, man. I think I left my

scarf there. - Come again?

When we were in there, I still had it.

Now it's gone.

I know you'd like to be like me,

but I'd never be such an imbecile.

Your scarf, my ass. That was my scarf,

you borrowed it, you moron!

- I'm sorry.

- Shut the f*** up!

When I was little,

we had a Colombian nanny.

We used to hate it

when she cut our fingernails.

She was really smart though and

made it into a kind of children's party

with chips and coca cola....

And so cutting the fingernails

wasn't so bad anymore.

Our parents

never allowed chips and Coke.

Claude, what are you doing?

That feels so...

unfamiliar.

It's been so long

since somebody touched me.

I touched you. Many times.

Every time I touched your feet,

I imagined kissing them.

Really?

But...

- they're old and ugly.

- No...

You have the most beautiful feet

I have ever seen.

I was consumed by desire

to kiss them, like now.

I collected the skin dust off your feet

and took it home with me.

Like an origami bird made out of

tissue paper, next to my pillow.

I couldn't sleep.

Night after night, month after month.

What do you think the secret ingredient

in the cookies was?

- Cookies? - The cookies

I baked every week with love.

Those were your

oh-so-sweet skin shavings.

I don't understand.

- Didn't you feel it?

- Feel it?

I made cookies which we ate together.

Both of us, together.

- Help!

- I'm so sorry.

Sorry, I am so sorry.

Sorry.

People don't feel comfortable

in their own skin.

They would prefer to be someone else.

That's how I feel too.

The only thing I want,

is to not finish this film

and that's that.

Just imagine you could be someone else.

- But you'd still be yourself.

- I don't understand.

Take my uniform, for example.

When I put it on,

I'm no longer Tom for others

but this uniform.

I'm talking about

being something completely different.

Take the animals in Africa,

- they have such soft paws...

- Yeah right. Africa,

brilliant idea.

Just doing what everybody else does.

Best go to a war-torn country,

take out the camera,

film the despondent squalor people

live in

- and let them talk to the camera.

- Hang on...

No, you hang on.

You can't just got to Rwanda,

film the poor Africans and show the

film there. It won't change anything.

People will only feel that others

are worse off than themselves.

Can we talk about us

and not your films for just one second?

Or at least about me?

There's something important I'd like to...

People in Rwanda just tell you

what you want to hear,

because they've been through hell,

and that then is considered authentic.

- I just want to... - Misery is just

paraded in front of the camera.

It's horrible!

Do you realize we've become like that

street corner in your favorite film?

Where nobody shows up in the end?

I just want to talk about my problems.

That's really uncalled for, Tom.

I'm sorry.

You're so egocentric at the moment,

what's going on with you?

- I am egocentric?

- Absolutely.

You don't even notice, do you?

Can you even imagine, in your

I- get-a-fat-paycheck-every-month

and-sorry-officer-

I- ran-a-stop-sign-world?

Can you imagine that there are people

who want more from life?

Who want to create something?

And next month

or next year,

once you've been promoted,

you might even be allowed to handle

aggravated robbery. Congratulations!

And then he smokes a spliff back home

to escape his own pitiful bourgeoisness.

I went shopping for you,

I cooked for you.

I keep executing

your directorial commands.

Remember the red onions and the mango.

Not the mango from the supermarket,

but the good one... do this, do that.

All with a wink because I was sure

you didn't mean it like that...

as vicious and as condescending

as it sounds.

I wanted to tell you something

about myself, about my true feelings.

You want to talk to me about feelings?

You're completely insensitive, Tom.

And you are what you are:

a miserable pseudo-artist, eaten up by

ambition, superficial and frigid,

who has never made a film

that anyone has ever been interested in

except for your

fifty hipster film friends.

Do you even see me?

Want one?

Sandberg.

That's awfully expensive.

If you'd finally introduce flat beds

in business as promised,

one could actually fly with it. As it

is, your business class is a disgrace.

Just let it go and book it already.

Ciao.

I hate Germany.

Bad, is it?

Nah, not really.

It really must have looked as if...

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