I Travel Alone

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Jesus Christ!

Jarle... Sh*t, you...

- Sh*t.

- She's a ninth-grader at Sola.

Sh*t! A ninth-grader?!

Oh sh*t.

But... Did I use a rubber?

- How the hell should I know?

- But...

- What are you doing?

- I have to see if...

- I have to check!

Jesus!

Give me a hand.

What are we looking for?

What do you think?

See anything?

No, I can't tell.

Oh my god.

7 YEARS AND 9 MONTHS LATER

There's an article on Bergman.

Comparative analysis of "Silence" -

- and "The Seventh Seal".

- "Who are you?"

- "I am Death. "

How's your article coming along?

- Okay, I guess.

- Finish it. I know they'll print it.

Wow.

You look bright and eager.

Everyone in shape? Sober? Or what?

What does our scholar say?

Carnival, guys.

Bakhtin writes

that Rabelais transposes -

- the structure of the carnival,

turning everything upside down.

Reason just...

...disappears.

The body takes over.

Can you feel it, Norwegian bastards,

can you sense the smell of genius?

The mind sparkle, the body tingle?

And what, in reality,

are we witnessing?

We are here.

We are there.

We are participants.

Participating in the celebration -

- of the huge, bewildering

plurality of organic life.

And we... We become children.

We become children again.

At the carnival, -

- we are all equal.

For we are newborn.

THE PROUSTIAN BODY IS FAMOUS...

Can't I just pop a pill or something?

No, I'm afraid we need your blood.

Klepp. So what do you do, Mr. Klepp?

I'm a literary science student.

I'm writing my graduate thesis

on Proustian onomastics.

Uh, Marcel Proust.

I'm writing on him.

- Will I know the result immediately?

- Sure.

Congratulations.

Let's see... "Name of mother:

Anette Hansen, Skien. "

"Name of father:

Jarle Klepp, Bergen. "

Bloody hell!

F***! This can't be right!

Jeez, I've had sex countless times.

I don't even remember that time!

How many kids do I have out there?

Can she do that? Is it legal?

Just turn up after seven years?

I don't want anything to

do with that kid. Forget it.

Klepp, Klepp, Klepp.

- It'll be okay. Take that off.

- It won't!

Welcome to the prime of life.

You're one of us. Look.

Birte, Beate.

Little Trine with her pacifier.

Huh? Think I've had a vacation

the past eight years?

Been to the movies? Read a novel?

Partied with my old buddies? No!

Does it bother me? No!

This is what life's about.

It's what being a dad is like.

- A daughter?

- Right, a daughter.

Seven years old?

Oh, jelly roll. Thank you.

Jesus. One day you sealed

the tomb of a ninth-grader.

- He means her p*ssy.

- Anette Sola.

- No, Hansen. She's from Sola.

- Whatever.

You're seventeen, drink,

read Bukowski, dig rock.

You've got no idea who you are.

Hasse, please? Please?

So you f*** Anette Hansen from Sola's

brains out while she's asleep...

So to speak...

You don't know what you've left her,

but know you've been a bad boy...

Okay, Hasse!

I'm just trying say that there's

some logic to your life, Jarle Klepp.

Yes. "For all is different

from what you believe. "

"What I believe. The banner waves.

Tiny secrets conceal themselves. "

"Secrets conceal themselves," Jarle.

It'll be okay, buddy.

I have to get back home.

You should reconsider. Jesus!

Look at him. Jeez! He's...

He's a f***ing dad! We're going

out to celebrate your life! Come on!

You're frigging children.

You're the elite.

Crme de la crme. Top of the line.

And you... Jarle.

More than anyone. I'm serious.

Hey, Gothenburg...

A man of your talent, get it?

How far can you go?

I'm serious. Listen to me.

You have to work. Get it?

Work your ass off.

Write, write, write!

Give it all to your talent.

- I've got a kid in Skien.

- Skien, Malmo, Costa del Sol, -

- Stamsund, Gothenburg, Berlin, Faro.

It's you and I.

And Ingmar Bergman. Sh*t, Jarle.

Bloody hell, don't you get it? This

whole f***ed-up planet is like one...

Hi, Jarle.

It's time for you

to stand up and be a man.

I've looked after Charlotte Isabel

for seven years. I need a vacation.

And it's time you met your daughter.

She'll arrive in Bergen

at 11:
45 a. M. On 6 September.

The ticket's bought and paid for,

so there.

Yours, Anette.

She likes white bread and whey

cheese. Her birthday's on Thursday.

- Hi, Jarle!

- Hi.

Feelings are so global. I don't know.

Even though it's far away,

it touches me.

And I really loved what he said.

Look.

- Mom, I can't find my Pokmon cards.

- Take a look in here.

Did you hear the ruckus

in the block last night?

- You didn't throw a party?

- No, no.

- No, not without inviting me?

- No.

That's global.

Hey, are you heading

out to the airport as well?

I'm picking up my grandchild.

Children. The essence of life.

Life is meaningless

until you have children.

- Children are such a blessing.

- Isn't the world crowded enough?

I'm a student. Have no time for kids.

- Really? How exciting!

- I'm writing about Proust.

Suddenly some loony b*tch in Skien -

- decides I'm a father and dumps

her brat into my lap. Look.

"I've taken care of our daughter

for seven years. I need a vacation. "

"She'll arrive in Bergen

at 2:
45 p. M. On 8 September. "

- That's today!

- I know, dammit.

Hence the trip.

That's the problem.

- Her birthday's on Tuesday.

- How nice!

And her name...

It couldn't be uglier!

Will the following passengers

please proceed to Gate 22:

Torger Johanson

and Martin Kristiansen.

You must be Charlotte Isabel?

Well, here's your father.

Enjoy your stay in Bergen.

Darling, I can't follow you

all the way home to daddy.

Right.

I'm like... your dad.

So how was your flight?

Charlotte Isabel?

And what do you have

in this huge suitcase?

Bloodthirsty crocodiles?

My presents.

Right. Your birthday's coming up.

Is it Thursday or Friday?

- Thursday.

- Thursday. That's right.

Exactly.

Right now I'm writing my graduate

thesis on Proustian onomastics.

Which means I'm writing sort of

an article on a new biography -

- about the great French poet

and writer Marcel Proust.

- Marcel Proust.

- Marcel Proust.

Good. Now this -

- is where daddy works.

The university.

The university.

But what do they do here?

Do they make anything?

Well, what they do...

Do they fix stuff?

Jeez, you don't have to nag.

They, like...

They think, Charlotte Isabel.

They think. Now come here.

Daddy! Daddy!

Come!

- What's the matter?

- We forgot the funeral!

The funer? Can't you even

turn on the TV by yourself?

Well, there you go.

There's Prince William.

And there's Charles.

But mom says he's a jerk, because

he loves someone called Camilla.

Look at that guy. Tony Blair.

He's the one who calls the shots.

It's really sad that she died.

It's the media pressure,

Charlotte Isabel. The paparazzi.

Hey, look! There's Steven Spielberg.

He made "E.T."

Have you seen it?

"E.T. Phone home!"

Why do they call her

the people's princess?

Because people like her, I guess.

But are there any princesses

people don't like?

Well, that's a good question.

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