THE DINNER
You could say that this is the story of someone...
who is trying to hold on to happiness.
But that's not really allowed, because it violates the laws of the world.
We all get our own share of happiness.
But woe to him or her who asks more for more.
Still, We all do it.
Because how exactly do you judge what your share is.
That evening we were asked out to dinner.
My brother Serge had made the reservations.
Because we needed to talk about our children.
18 MONTHS EARLIER
So far we've always been very pleased with Michel.
But recently he wrote an essay for his history class...
that came to the attention of my colleague Mr. Halsema...
About the death penalty. - That's correct.
If I may quote...
'The inhumanity of state-implemented death penalty is such...
'it makes you wonder...'
'whether for some perpetrators it wouldn't be more humane...'
'to intervene at a much earlier stage.'
Yes, I'm familiar with the passage.
Is that your advice, Mr. Lohman?
Or did your son come up with this all by himself?
I have to admit that Michel may have been influenced...
by my opinion in these kinds of issues.
I have rather strong views on what should be done with suspects of certain crimes.
And it could be I might have subconsciously or consciously...
foisted some of these notions on Michel.
Like throwing suspects out of the eighth-floor window of the police station.
Is that still in there?
That was intended as a joke, of course.
You know... boy talk.
I understand you also worked in education.
Yes, for a number of years.
But you were suspended. - Not quite.
No, it was my idea to step back a bit...
and return when things had settled down.
But in fact you never did go back. You've been unemployed for some years.
Temporarily. If I wanted, I could get another job tomorrow, in fact.
It says here that you insulted a student.
No, sorry. That you disparaged the victims of WWII.
The incident you refer to was about this:
I asked my students to solve a simple problem.
How many jerks are there in a group of 100 people?
How many dads who beat their kids? How many morons? How many assholes?
How many lowlife slackers griping about non-existent injuries.
Just look around you and you see that one family member of yours.
That uncle and his bullshit, or that ugly cousin who kicks his cat.
Wouldn't you be relieved if that cousin stepped on a mine?
Or was hit by a bomb?
So consider the thousands...
No, the tens of thousands of victims we'd miss like a hole in the head.
The horrible injustice lies in the fact...
that even the jerks get a mention on the war monuments.
Really?
I just wanted to give them food for thought.
I always tried to make the subject as interesting as possible.
I've never tried to flatter them with politically correct nonsense.
I kept in mind what I liked.
What I found interesting when I was at school.
That was my whole point.
What was your specific interest? - Well, the Egyptians.
The Greeks, the Romans, Julius Caesar.
Cleopatra, Hannibal, Alexander the Great.
The campaigns with the elephants, the chariot races, the gladiators.
The Trojan Horse.
But there are also a number of great books about the everyday Roman.
I couldn't care less about the everyday Roman.
My students come home every day to the everyday Roman.
My students want to drool over spectacular murders...
Caesar's 23 stab wounds...
slit wrists in a hot bath, the eruption of the Vesuvius...
the beauty of the temples, the frescoes...
the bathhouses and the mosaics.
Isn't it all of an eternal beauty?
It's because of those colors that we are still drawn to the Mediterranean...
rather than to Bremen.
Bremen?
Christianity comes, everything collapses.
To tell you the truth, I'm glad that those so-called Barbarians...
smashed the whole thing to pieces.
To be honest...
I must say I am starting to get a bit worried about Michel.
Is that right?
Yes, because it says here that it depends on a psychiatric evaluation.
What?
Whether or not you are allowed to go back to work.
So the decision is not really up to you. - It's no big deal.
I don't need a certificate of good conduct to do my job.
But it says here... - May I see that?
Do let me finish.
I happened to talk to a former colleague about job related stress in teaching.
Is that right? - About burn-outs and so on.
And he mentioned your name. - Burn-out? I've never had a burn out.
It's just a fashionable illness, a bunch of nonsense.
I'd really like to...
No! Help!
Come on, man! What are you doing?
It's OK, it's OK.
It's OK.
Just try to act normal for once.
It's OK. are you OK?
PRESENT DAY
Yes, everything is a statement.
That's true for ripped jeans as well as an ironed shirt.
If you don't shave for a day, you're lazy.
Don't shave for two days and people wonder if it's a new look.
But a three-days growth and you're about to go to dogs.
But if you do shave...
people think the evening mattered so much to you...
you took the trouble to shave.
In fact, by shaving, you're one nil down.
This one or this one?
This one.
Serge: Running late.
Your brother, I guess. - Well, believe it or not, they'll be late.
These heels, or black heels?
Black boots. - This dress with black boots?
No...
Just black boots.
Ah, I get it.
Black boots, fishnet stockings, garters.
Why do you always ask me what to wear?
You always wear what you want anyway. - I like the ritual.
I just did my hair.
He's not home.
Sure?
Hi, mom. - Hi, sweetie.
Hi, dad.
We're too early.
Or rather, we're very much on time.
And that's not chic. - No, better too late than too early.
There we go.
It's so great that Michel still thinks...
I'm the kind of father who knows where the valves are.
Where were you? He was looking for you. - In the bathroom.
Think there's something going on with a girl?
No.
No, I don't think so.
He's been acting odd lately. Well, not odd but...
different, a bit distant.
Don't you think? - Yes, could be.
Did he say anything to you?
We talk about different things than you guys.
That's why I thought it was something about a girl.
Something he finds it easier to tell you.
If only that were true, something about a girl.
Wouldn't that be great? Like a normal family.
Mom, can Chantal, Charleen, Charize stay the night?
Sure, but only if Chantal's, Charleen's, Charize's parents say it's OK.
It's just that this year is tougher than he thought.
You might be right.
But we do have to be careful that he doesn't suddenly stop trusting us.
And that we get used to that.
Of course.
It's just that at this age he's entitled to a private life.
Shampoo and something else.
Something warm.
The smell of happiness.
The smell of something you can lose from one day to the next.
What's this? - It's supposed to be the Dutch 'Noma'.
Good evening.
Hello.
Serge Lohman.
Did you say Mr Lohman? - Yes, Lohman.
But you aren't Mr Lohman. - Aren't I?
No. - I certainly am.
I'm his brother.
Please go on through.
Good evening.
Would you rather have a view of the exit? - No.
Tonight I only want to see your face.
At least Serge can look at himself all night.
Usually, I want to be able to monitor everything.
I sit with my back to the garden, or the wall, or the open kitchen.
Claire sacrifices herself.
There's something in her, a kind of inner peace or power...
which allows her to be content with walls and open kitchens.
My own Dalai Lama.
What makes you say that?
Don't know. Popped into my head.
Did you see that guy? Isn't that woman too young for him?
Calm down. Do you work for the vice squad?
We're here, so let's try to enjoy ourselves.
Enjoy ourselves? - Sure.
You seem to be much more alert lately.
In every department. Am I right?
You stopped taking your pills.
So?
I love the old Paul. - The dangerous Paul.
Greek olives from the Peloponnesos with a light drizzle...
of the new yield of North Sardinian extra virgin olive oil.
Finished off with rosemary from our own garden.
Finished off? - Finished off with rosemary.
That means... - I know what finished off means.
I know that the olives aren't finished off...
as in shot or stabbed.
Sorry, I never looked at it that way.
What about that suit? - Honey...
It's weird. A green suit? Makes no sense.
Hold on. Let's see if I can deduce the green suit theme.
Maybe it corresponds to the olives.
Maybe it's... - Peloponnesean green.
Wonderful.
But with a faint note of sun deprivation.
What's with that guy's pinky? - I wouldn't get excited about it.
Maybe he just wants to act posh.
Maybe it's arthritis.
Or a sports injury. Could be possible, right?
From a baseball. Or a cricket ball.
They're as hard as a rock. - Here they are.
Doesn't look like a sporting type though.
They're here. - I'm not going to watch.
I'll tell you. People are bowing and scraping.
A man in a white turtleneck, possibly the owner has joined them.
They're coming this way.
Jesus“. - What?
Looks like Babette's been crying. - Tell me he's not signing autographs?
Crying? Jesus.
It's getting out of hand. - What is?
This race for Prime Minister...
always at the expense of the family.
Hi, Sifi, good to see you.
Frans! This is my wife...
Good to see you.
Very good.
Chef! Knock yourself out!
Hi.
You look good.
I actually feel a bit fragile - You don't look it.
Paul. - Serge.
Why are we stuck in the middle?
Perhaps because you only reserved this morning.
Only Roger Federer rakes his fingers through his hair more than Serge.
He didn't used to have a solid handshake.
But he has taught himself to make a strong impression on the people.
Because people don't vote for a limp hand.
Thank you, Tonic).
I'll come right out and say it. You know me, I don't mince my words.
Let's talk right away about why we are here.
Right. And what's the reason?
Didn't Paul tell you? - I'd love to hear it from you.
Serge, let me catch my breath, or I'll leave right now.
This is fun.
I looked at them like a poker player trying to guess his opponents' cards.
Serge knows something, or we wouldn't be here.
The purpose of the evening is to try to figure out how much he knows.
Babette also knows something, or she wouldn't be crying.
I hope she doesn't say anything to Clair. She knows nothing.
And sadly I know everything.
Stand over there. - Dad?
Lady Bang-
Hi, dad. What are you doing? - Nothing. Wondering where you were.
Do you know where we keep the valves?
Valves? - Yes, bike valves.
Ask your mom. - What are you doing here?
Nothing. Just...
You were looking for me? Why? - I was just looking for you.
The aperitif of the house is pink champagne.
That's kind of you.
The aperitif is 14 euros, sir.
The aperitif of the house?
Then you'd think you're giving it to us.
When it's on the house you get it, don't you?
'May we offer you a drink?' That means it's free.
14 euros?
Let's turn it around. Would we order that bland, pink champagne...
if we knew it was 14 euro?
May I see your wine list? - Of course, sir.
They have a wonderful Chablis.
I can't even remember when my brother pronounced himself a wine connoisseur.
It all happened rather suddenly.
One day he grabbed the wine list and started mumbling about...
the earthy finish of Portuguese wines of the Alentejo region.
Excuse me. I'll go and get another bottle.
Home
Do you have Michel's phone?
I don't think so.
Dammit! Fuck!
Well, at least it's not fattening.
Betteraves et fromage chévre, tomme de chévre.
Various textures of beet and walnuts.
We know, because that's exactly what we ordered.
The goat cheese is from the petting zoo where the goats are free range.
I just joined a new gym. - "Joining", also takes a lot of exercise.
I will go, you know. - Where is it? I want to do Pilates.
They do Pilates. - With a table? Otherwise it's fake.
Table? - With cables and springs.
Who's calling all the time? - I'll turn it off.
I really can't take that god-awful music. What's it called?
House. - No, these days it's dub step.
That music drives me insane. That's why I started running outdoors!
Oh now you're running too? When I started running 20 years ago...
you called it: "My kid brother's fad".
You always remember those things so well.
I lost track. Did you or didn't you see that new Woody Allen movie?
He's such a crap director. - I think he keeps getting better.
You're the only one in the entire world who still thinks so.
He tells us that life is tough.
Say Lady Bum. - Lady Bum?
Lady Bang, say Lady Bang.
Lady Bang. - No, Lady Bum.
Lady Bum is better.
I don't go to the movies anymore. I only watch 'Keeping Up With the Kardashians'.
Really? You watch that?
He thinks is the sublime example of a proper Roman family.
Well, it is. That Bruce is great. He's an elderly child. An ex gladiator.
And that woman, Chris, she's a born madam.
She'd have had a brothel in antiquity.
And those daughters... It's just wonderful.
Isn't there one with a huge ass? - Yeah.
I think the gentlemen consider that a plus these days?
If that's true, I'll stop spinning.
Those Kardashians are so wonderfully pagan. No guilt whatsoever.
They don't give a shit.
So that movie is at least 6 years old?
Yeah, where that painter tries to pick up two girls.
That's Serge's dream. Right, Serge? - We know what it's about.
What's that one girl's name?
Who? - Rebecca Hall.
Rebecca Hall, Serge. That's that other girl's name.
Sir Peter Hall's daughter.
No one is as well-informed as my brother Paul.
He's such a dick.
What he means is: I'm far too busy in The Hague...
but Paul has time to flip through the movie magazines.
What's Babette doing with that moron? 18 years.
How do you like that Chablis?
I think Chablis is a feeble wine, actually.
It's the kind of wine people order when they've lost their courage.
It's like ordering chicken. - I couldn't agree more.
Do you mean that? You always love it in France.
By the way, how's Beau doing?
Beau's so hip-hoppy lately.
They all are.
Beau is the adopted son of Babette and my brother.
But Michel and their biological son Rick never call him that.
As Minister of Public Health, my brother was involved...
in a vaccination program in Burkina Faso.
Hey, Faso. - A.k.a. Faso.
Isn't it aka Faso? - Loser.
Babette had gone along and they fell in love with an orphan called Beau.
Was Beau/Faso a kind of accessory?
Like an iPhone or a Birkin bag?
Anyhow, it worked out well for Serge.
It gave him an identity. Serge Lohman, the politician. The man of New Left.
The man who's going to vaccinate our daughters against HPV.
Whether we want him to or not.
Yeah, Serge Lohman with that cute African kid.
She selIs shells by the seashore. The shells she sells are surely seashells.
Whoa, even I can't say that.
All day long it's motherfucking this and bitches that. Awful.
Yes, but that's Michel and Rick. That's what's so amusing.
Rick? - Pardon?
What are your thoughts on Syria?
I have no thoughts on Syria. - Of course you do.
Maybe I'm just not interested in it.
What's that Assad family like?
It's not as nice there as here. - Don't be silly.
What kind of family is it? They're a powerful family.
The Prime Minister told me that Assad is a total kleptomaniac.
Nothing is safe from that guy...
Not that much. It will lose the nose.
I'm sorry, sir. - We'll drink it.
Shall we leave that to Mrs Lohman?
It's OK. How old are you? Can you vote? - Nineteen.
Shall we agree that if you vote for the proper party at the elections...
we'll forgive your wine-pouring ability?
This is a loo moment.
Boyz in Black: The Unmasking?
What's 'The Unmasking'? Why does it have to be in English?
That guy with that much-younger woman.
Please don't stand next to me.
It's the kind of stream that is full of its own importance.
A stream that wants to testify to its own indestructible health.
The stream of a man with a young wife.
Isn't it awkward sometimes for your friend to be in a restaurant with his famous face?
He's not my friend. - Oh, sorry. You're sitting together, so...
We, my daughter and I... - What?
Your daughter? Oh. - Yes.
My daughter and I were wondering whether it might be possible...
Well, my daughter and I believe that this country needs change.
She's studying Political Science. - That's such a misnomer.
Pardon? - Political Science.
What's scientific about politics? But continue.
Can I take a picture of her and Mr Lohman?
Doesn't need to take long. Private moments are precious, I know.
No problem. Mr Lohman enjoys being in touch with his constituents.
We're having an important discussion right now, but...
Keep your eye on me. When I give a sign, it's picture time.
Babette... - Honey, wait.
Well, what a fabulously varied evening.
Hormones.
He takes Claire's seat.
Through fabric of his trousers, he's no doubt...
feeling the warmth left behind by my wife's ass.
This thought enrages me.
But you're not allowed to say it. - Really?
One moment she's hot and throws open the windows.
The next moment she's in tears.
But isn't Babette too young for the menopause?
Sorry, I forgot you're a gynecologist as well.
Could you please get back to your own chair.
From the chef.
Terrific.
Why do you get that and we don't? - He likes to spoil me.
Paul, listen...
Serge, it probably took that guy hours to prepare that.
I'm hungry. - So why didn't we go to Burger King?
We really ought to be talking about something else.
Is that right? - Your son.
And mine. - Yes, that's what you said on the phone.
Rick told me everything.
Everything?
Yeah, it's quite something.
The Rickster. - What?
That's what he calls himself. His street name, baby.
Excuse me, your...
This gentleman... - This gentleman?
Assured me... - You better be careful.
He's a dangerous man.
Who are you? - Naomi.
That's a beautiful name. Right? It means 'sweet' in Hebrew.
You're taking the picture?
Very good. OK.
Apparently lobsters do actually feel pain.
And it takes them a minute to die in boiling water, but they don't scream.
At least, not the kind of screaming our ears pick up.
Claire? Oh, Michel.
Where are you?
In the restaurant. We told you, didn't we?
I'm...
I'm sorry, son. I took your phone by mistake.
Your dad's getting old.
When Claire and I first saw the footage, Michel was upstairs in his room.
It'd already been in the papers.
But the surveillance camera footage changed everything.
The perpetrators now had a face.
Or rather a non-face because of the poor image quality and the high-angle...
people now had something to grab onto.
These two boys are responsible for a heinous act...
resulting in a dreadful outcome.
An apparent chance meeting with a 47 year old woman from Amsterdam.
We have to warn you that the CCTV footage is shocking...
On Saturday morning at about 1:00am...
two young men between 17 and 25 years of age...
approach an ATM to withdraw some cash...
Nice boys.
The kinds of boys we all know, like our nephew...
like our son.
I know the exact moment in that footage...
when I recognized my son.
Maybe it was his silhouette, the way he moved...
Something about parents...
enables them to pick out their own children from a crowd of thousands.
The worst was the end.
There was just a flash.
I held my breath.
Or rather, I took a breath to be the first to say something.
I didn't yet know what words to use...
but I did know that they would change our life forever.
Want some more wine?
No, thanks.
She didn't recognize Michel, thank God. It surprised me.
She probably couldn't connect the images to her beloved son.
I looked at it with a little more distance.
After years of being unemployed, I finally had a job again.
The job of holding onto our happiness.
From: Michel, to: Dad Subject: LADY BUM
I heard the rattle of a bike.
A sound you only hear in Holland.
The rider was still only a silhouette.
But even in the dark, I'd recognize my child in a crowd of thousands.
Hi, dad.
Jesus, Michel.
Your phone. The battery is nearly out.
Here. - Thanks.
You watched? - Yes.
What did you see? - The ATM.
Shit. - I agree.
What the hell happened there? - It was just a joke.
A joke? - It started out as a joke.
It really was a joke. - Too bad about that jerry can.
I didn't know you had a Zippo.
It's just for lighting a girl's cigarette or a joint.
Of course. - It's a missed opportunity.
Gosh no, you wouldn't want to miss an opportunity. Imagine that!
You always act weird when you're angry. - I'm not angry.
We passed that station a while back.
Boyz in Black Ill? What the fuck are you doing?
Shut up! - I'll shut up.
I'm listening. - Act normal for once.
You never do.
Act normal for once. Act normal for once.
That phrase paralyzed me.
I've never acted normal, of course. Why didn't I do anything?
Why didn't I hit him? Why didn't I drag him to the police?
It's all my fault.
It's not your fault.
The psychologist at the school where I taught...
had advised me to wear sunglasses.
He said I was overly sensitive to stimuli.
This way I was able to filter those out.
So this is what you broke?
Good afternoon.
This is the perpetrator. He wants to offer his apologies.
It was bound to happen.
They play football day in day out in front of my door.
They kick the ball "accidentally" against the window.
I want to pay for the damage.
Sooner or later, the ball has to go through. It's just a matter of time.
It's exactly what that scum wants.
My son isn't scum. He's eight years old.
You know what the English say? - No. What?
You're judged by the company you keep.
Shut up, man.
Pardon? - You heard me, prick.
I come here with my son to offer to pay for that fucking window.
It's just a ball through a window, asshole.
That doesn't give you the right to call my son scum.
I won't be insulted by you. - Yes you will.
Is that right?
Stay where you are. Right now it it's just a window.
Just settle down now.
How much is that window? - 100. 150 euro.
Plus labor.
That's what I came here for and not to listen to your sick shit.
Don't be sad.
That guy's just a jerk and that's what I told him.
You didn't do anything wrong. It was an accident. These things happen, right?
That's why he can't call you scum. Get it?
Hey, want to go to mom?
OK? Shall we go to mom and tell her everything?
OK? Come on.
Dad? ' Yes?
Were you going to hit that gentleman? - He's no gentleman.
He's a piece of trash and trash needs to be taken out.
Let's not tell mom about the pump. Let's keep it a secret?
Bump?
Later that afternoon he went clothes-shopping with Claire.
I have to admit that my own house, my living room and especially...
my presence in that house and living room...
started to frighten me.
Why did you put that footage online? - We don't do that.
Boyz in Black Ill. What the hell are you doing?
And what is the unmasking?
Are there clips I haven't seen yet?
If you're not putting it online, who is?
Rick? - No.
So who? - Faso.
Faso?
Yeah.
What about the last clip? Lady Bum.
Is Faso putting that online? Is that the unmasking?
Yes.
How did he... - Just...
What just?
I e-mailed it to Rick. - You e-mailed it? Are you crazy?
Faso saw it.
He downloaded it off Rick's computer and now he's threatening to put it online.
He's blackmailing you? - Yeah.
He wants a Vespa.
So it's all about a Vespa?
How much is a Vespa? - 3000 euros.
If we gave him 3000 euros will this stop?
And Uncle Serge?
You leave Uncle Serge to me.
I'll give you the money tomorrow.
OK.
This is my son.
So beautiful.
Wow, he looks like Claire.
What are you doing here, sweetie? - I took his phone by accident.
After all?
Time to go, Michel. OK?
See you.
Babette told me about Rick's confession.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry. I wanted to spare you.
We'll talk about it later.
We have to go in. They are wondering where you went.
Don't tell Babette and Serge that Michel was here.
Why not? - None of their business.
How are things inside? - Fragile.
Fortunately, lobster doesn't go cold.
Aren't you hungry, Paul?
You haven't eaten anything yet.
You don't see Lobster Thermidor that often these days.
But with a new kind of sauce. It's good. - I don't know.
I'm not crazy about lobster.
What's the point of their existence?
Blind bottom feeders.
I find them both sinister and pathetic.
A bit like Stevie Wonder with hedge trimmers.
They have fabulous desserts here.
Blackberries from our own garden.
Homemade-chocolate parfait. These are almond slivers.
I don't want it. - Pardon?
Not for me. - Mmm, good.
Take it away. - But you ordered it.
I know what I ordered.
These blackberries are from our own garden.
I'll have them. - Stay out of it.
Take it. Should we get Tonio, if it's that hard to take back a dessert?
That won't be necessary. I'll discuss it with Tonio.
We will offer you an alternative... - I don't need "an alternative".
What the hell are you laughing at?
Jesus, what a prick. - Babette, please.
What? - You can't do this.
You're afraid we won't get a table next time.
That's not the point. - So what is?
It's not fair. Waiters can't do anything back.
They can spit on your fries. It happens.
It's got nothing to do with that. It's about you being a coward.
You're such a limp dick!
You're afraid of what Tonio might think.
Tonio! He's real name's Tony or Anthony. He thought that was too common.
I don't want to eat here ever again. I'm going home.
I am done... - Serge! Sit down.
Paul, we have a problem.
With your brother.
I hear you're disappointed with the blackberries.
No problem. We can...
Tonio... Ton.
Not now.
Ah well, he'll vote Liberal anyway.
OK.
By now, we all know what has happened.
We're all familiar with the facts.
Paul? - What?
I assume you're aware of the facts.
Who wants a beer? - Me.
Go to the ATM.
Who wants a beer? - Pay for it yourself.
I paid yesterday, man.
Well, what is a fact? - Oh, come on!
How do we deal with this?
How do we go public? - Public?
Let me have my say and then it's your turn.
Take that hand away. Now!
I know what you're thinking. It's your turn soon.
Shit! Somebody's in there stinking up the place.
There's an ATM over there too. - That's so weak.
We're not going to another ATM. Come on, man.
Babette and I spoke to Rick this afternoon.
We get the impression that he feels terrible.
He finds it horrific, what they did.
Get up!
Wake up! - Get out of that sleeping bag.
No, man. I'm leaving.
No, you're staying here, man. - Faso!
It literally keeps him awake at night. He looks terrible.
His grades are suffering.
Bro, wait. - See you at home.
Hold on.
Come back.
Crap.
This is quite aside from any political goals I might have.
Please don't make me laugh.
I'm concerned about Rick's future, first and foremost.
Look, it's quite possible that this case might never be solved.
But can you live with that?
Can Rick live With that?
And can we live with that? Right? Can we...
if you say 'can we live with that' again, I'll lose my mind.
But that's the question, dear boy. - I'm not a dear boy.
I can just see myself as Prime Minister and a reporter says: 'Mr Lohman...'
'Are you involved in the murder of a homeless person?'
It's about: Can you live with it?
I think 'murder' is a step too far. Ten steps too far.
So what would you call it, Claire? - An accident.
Wake up. This is an ATM. Get up.
Goddammit. Get lost!
It's just a bitch.
An accident. Think a judge will see it that way?
After what Babette told me, I think it's an accident.
An unfortunate chain of events. - I'm stunned.
You watched Most Wanted. - Claire didn't recognize the boys.
Neither did you, did you? You watched it after Rick told us.
No one in their right mind could think...
that the boys went out to intentionally kill a homeless person.
You little bastards...
Stop that, man.
But they aren't.
It looks like that on the surveillance tape and that's what everyone saw.
Fine, if you don't want to call it murder, call it manslaughter.
But that woman didn't do anything.
They throw a lamp, a chair, a jerry can at her. In that order.
What was she doing in that ATM? - Who cares?
The homeless are all over the place, sadly.
They sleep where it's warm and dry.
But she was in the way. What if she's been in your hallway?
Can we try to stick to the main issues? - These are the main issues.
I'm sorry, but Serge makes her sound like she's some a sad little bird...
that fell from the nest.
We're talking about an adult who chose to sleep in an ATM.
I'm just trying to put myself in someone else's shoes.
Not in that homeless woman's shoes, but in Michel and Rick's. Our sons.
They weren't drunk or using drugs. They wanted to get some money.
But there's a some stinko crashing at an ATM cursing you.
Your first response would be: Goddammit. Get lost.
That wouldn't be my response, nor would it be most people.
What would your response be? - Find another ATM.
Such a depressing acronym ATM?
Find another one. Yes, of course.
We can always give everything a wide berth. I mean...
What would you do, Serge?
You open your front door somebody's sleeping on the step. What do you do?
Creep back inside?
Or someone's pissing against your front door.
What do you do, Serge, dear Serge?
Gently close the door, go and live somewhere else?
That would be weak.
A: Your examples are absurd. B: And any event I'd call the police.
I Googled it.
She had a choice of three or four shelters she could have gone to.
Do you mean that?
You researched it?
Dude, she's just a bitch.
I believe that the fact that it was a woman...
enraged my son and his cousin.
As if an dirty, stinking bag lady...
clashed with their image of women.
But that doesn't mean you can just set fire to that poor woman?
Poor woman, poor woman.
Michel said she sounded posh.
Why are you so fixated on this idea that she wasn't just a normal homeless person?
As if such a thing even exists.
I don't care if she'd been the Duchess of So-and-So. What does it matter?
How far along are the police, you think? - The police are quiet.
That usually means they know more than we think.
And that terrifies me.
The police know nothing. The boys are unrecognizable.
I studied it in-depth.
Unfortunately.
I became a regular visitor at internet cafés.
I watched it at least 30 times, but miraculously...
they were and remained unrecognizable.
I don't think you can live with this kind of secret in the long run.
It's already tearing Rick apart. And me.
Babette, you can't smoke here. - Fuck off, Serge.
Anyway, I based my conclusions on my son's future.
When all this is over, he has to move on.
I want to emphasize that the decision is mine alone.
Babette doesn't agree with it.
I only told her this afternoon. - Decision?
I'm withdrawing as a candidate in the interest of my son.
You can't decide that on your own.
Do you have any idea for how long I played hostess...
to your retarded constituents?
Hello, Serge Lohman! For 20 years, OK?
How much fun is that? - That's not the point.
That's why I wanted to discuss how we're going to do this.
You're not discussing anything. You're issuing a communique'.
At this crucial moment when I had be so alert...
I felt my concentration slip.
I wanted to go home. To bed.
To bed with the Kardashians.
Something in me began to whisper that my thoughts were running away with me again.
I knew I had to stop thinking but I never could.
Maybe meditation would work, but I didn't think myself the man for that.
I wondered about time.
Time passing.
And I thought about happiness.
Its fragility.
Your decision just happens to wreck my son's future.
Come on, Claire! Whatever happens, that future is already wrecked.
It has nothing to do with whatever I decide.
Do you like anal sex?
What kind of ridiculous thing is that to say?
Or rather, does Rick like anal sex? - That's what happens in jail.
Especially to a gentle boy like Rick.
It won't happen to Michel that readily, but to Rick...
The two of you are so awful.
Nonsense! That's sheer nonsense. This isn't America.
I was in Prison Health Care for 8 months.
It doesn't happen anymore.
Oh, well then, you've really put me at ease.
Babette, Serge told me that he personally got rid of those kinds of practices.
Perhaps he had a premonition. Be assured that Rick...
will be returned to you in the same perfect shape he left in.
That's such a relief, Serge!
The same for Michel too, right?
Oh, I venture Michel will experience jail differently from Rick.
Rick can stand up for himself. - Sure. And he does.
But it's not as if they'll put the privileged boys in a different section.
I have to say something to your husband.
What is your objective here Serge? Punishment?
Atonement? It won't bring that bag lady back.
That they can redeem themselves and move on with their lives.
I see. Redeem themselves in jail? Gosh.
Even though you were on the Commission...
which I remember as being called "Healthcare and incarceration"...
I don't think jail is the place to find, in your words, redemption.
To learn to smoke crack through a toilet roll, now you're in the perfect place.
No one's going to prison. No one.
These sorts of things blow over. It's already starting to happen.
People get all up in arms, but life goes on.
They'll have forgotten all about it in two months.
We just have to hope for a Dutch 9/11. - That won't be possible.
I'll be announcing my resignation at a press conference tomorrow.
It will be broadcast live at noon.
I think you'll regret it.
I'm going to call Michel.
What time is it? I don't want to wake him up.
A quarter past eleven.
Hi, sweetie. Were you asleep?
Yes, I thought so.
We'll be home in an hour. You had dinner, right?
It was obvious we were watching some kind of act.
Didn't we just meet our son outside?
I bet anything he wasn't even at home.
Would you like some coffee? - The check, please.
I'd like an espresso. - Won't that keep you awake?
No never bothers me. And a grappa. - Same here.
We have seven varieties from aged to cherry wood.
The ordinary transparent variety. - Two espressos, two transparent...
Oh, it's the great leader himself.
It's about tomorrow.
Darling Michel home alone all night.
He's almost 16 and acts so tough.
But he's still a child.
A child? - Yes.
They always say he's so big and broad-shouldered.
But he's still very young.
Well...
He's not too young for some things, Claire.
I think we sometimes forget how young they really are.
To the outside world, they've all of a sudden come of age...
because they did something...
that's judged at as a crime by us adults, but...
I think they rather went about it like children.
If I'm honest I've always known that Claire lacks empathy.
Just like certain North American tribes lack the enzyme that breaks down alcohol.
That's what I tried to explain to Serge.
That we don't have the right to steal their childhood from them.
Solely because, by our adult standards...
they committed a crime.
I'll be right back.
Go inside.
Dickhead, go stand beside her. - Why?
Stand beside her!
What do you want from me?
Say Lady Bum.
Say Lady Bang.
Lady Bang. - No, Lady Bum!
Lady Bum is better.
Lady Bum. - Louder.
Lady Bum! - I can't hear you.
Lady Bum!
The thought I had been trying to hold off suddenly overwhelmed me.
That homeless person... That lady...
had been someone's Michel once.
She'd come home with her report card, her heart pounding.
Who also loved to have spaghetti around the kitchen table.
Had been part of a family of three, or four, or whatever.
And there she was.
What was she thinking about?
Her husband? Who'd left her for the company secretary?
A son or daughter who'd died screaming of cancer in a hospital?
Because she hadn't been born in that ATM, of course.
She'd ended up there.
No doubt she thought she wouldn't be sleeping there tomorrow.
That after her chat with that nice therapist...
she'd find her way again.
Bastards.
Jesus!
Babefie.
What are you doing here?
Just seeing how you are.
You're crying. - I'm not.
There's something in my eye. A speck of dirt or something.
There's no one here.
Where's Claire?
She's on the phone with Michel again.
She's not at all concerned with what we're getting up to.
Are we up to something?
Serge has himself and Claire has Michel.
It's just us girls.
Don't you think it's odd that Claire looks at her phone...
and asks us what time it is? - There's lots of odd things about Claire.
Where's Rick tonight?
At home with Beau. - You're sure?
As sure as one can be of anything in this era of the mobile.
How I loathe that word.
Somethings gone.
What's gone?
His innocence. - Rick's innocence?
Gosh, that's a shame.
He's fretting, Paul. - Is that right?
Well, perhaps there's reason to fret.
Does Michel worry?
I don't know.
I'm not really sure how well I actually know Michel.
And Claire?
No, not Claire. Claire is...
fret-proof.
So to speak.
I think Claire is supplying Michel with an alibi.
Do you and Claire still do it sometimes?
Jesus. - Is it still fun?
Or more like a piece of Saturday night duty?
What are you doing?
Why don't we get together?
Once a week.
In a hotel.
No strings attached.
Stop it, Babette.
I know. The fabulous Claire told me everything.
What? - Rick and Michel will talk to Beau.
They'll talk to Beau? - Talk, yes.
I mean, after everything we did for him...
Just talk?
They might slap him around a little. But you're known to use similar methods.
And you think that's all it will be a slap. Have you seen that film?
Your son is standing beside that lady's body!
Who put him there? He wanted to leave, OK?
Why did he go back to stand next to that sleeping bag?
Because". - Be honest.
Because Michel bullied him. Yes...
I know.
It's not just your fault. Honest.
But you have to stop protecting your wife.
We're all going to hell.
So next week we might as well...
Next week we'll be at the police station.
I settled the bill.
Thank you.
Who was that on the phone? - The Prime Minister.
Did you tell him? - Not yet.
Well...
love of my life.
Since when did you know?
Since that evening.
So you did recognize him on Most Wanted?
You mean the evening itself?
Yes.
He asked me what he should do.
So Michel called you...
So what did you advise him to do? I'd like to know.
That he had to stay calm and wait for us at home.
That things would be fine.
They went back to film it. Do you realize that?
All boys do that now I didn't concern myself with the details.
Just one small detail, though:
Cooking up a fake alibi for Michel for this evening...
so the boys can get away with teaching Faso a lesson.
What are you talking about, honey?
Is your mind running away with you again?
Easy.
I called Michel.
Serge and Babette saw that I talked to him at exactly 11:15.
That can be checked on my cellphone.
What kind of bullshit is this? This isn't a TV series. This isn't LA Law.
Where are the boys now? - They're going to change Beau's mind.
I told Michel they have to take care of it among themselves.
And if they can't...
that he should do what seems best.
Michel and I spoke about telling you... - 'Michel and I spoke about it.'
You're good at other things.
No one's good at everything.
Fine...
You call Michel right now, while I am here...
and tell him to drop this insane plan.
Or I'll call the police.
That would be a mistake.
Let's not talk about mistakes or we'll be here a while.
Call him now.
Is this what you want?
Call him, Claire. Call him!
Sweetheart, listen.
I'm here with dad.
And he's nervous again.
Sweetie, he wants to call the police.
Yes, sweetheart... the police.
Because he's afraid.
He's afraid that the talk with Beau will get out of...
Bye, angel
Yes, of course.
See you soon.
He says you don't need to worry.
That thing with Beau is cool.
But he finds calling the police weak. Very...
weak.
Claire!
Serge?
Jesus, Serge. Hold on. I'll...
I'll go get someone. - Never mind.
Your wife drank too much. I don't want to turn it into a thing.
Did Claire do this? - Yes.
You're bleeding like a pig. - I called a cab to take me to the ER.
Shall I tell them I went through a window?
It doesn't look like that.
It was as if a lunatic attacked me. - You can say that again.
Maybe I shouldn't go to the hospital.
I'll go to Job Hamel. - Yes, good idea.
He won't call the papers, at any rate.
God, you were right. This has spun totally out of control.
Shouldn't we just go to the police? - Let's discuss this tomorrow.
What did dad always say? - Dad said a lot of things.
Haste makes waste. - Exactly. So?
Let's talk to a lawyer first. - No. I need to borrow your car.
What? - Your car. Now.
Why?
Come on, quickly.
I've got the keys somewhere. Here.
Oh, my God. - We're going to Job Hamel.
So where's he going? - Don't know.
Paul! - Goddammit.
You'll be all right.
I went looking for them. But where to go?
I tried to put myself in a young murderer's shoes.
My son.
Faso? Beau? It's Uncle Paul. Call me back. Please.
Get away from here. Hey, get away from here.
I'll give you money.
I'll give you money for a hotel. Hey!
Hey, what are you looking for, man?
Get your white ass back to easy street.
I couldn't find them and I began to pursue every thought to the bitter end.
For instance, I thought about the metal in Serge's car.
How it had probably been part of various stars before they exploded...
before coming together to become Serge's car.
Actually, with all those thoughts I was simply trying...
to push away one overwhelming thought.
That I... That I was powerless and drowning in my own world.
I'll make tea.
I don't think there will be a press conference tomorrow.
No.
No, he's too vain for that.
You're connected...
Hi, sweetie. Were you asleep? I thought so.
Hope you aren't bored. We'll be home...
Message deleted. There are no more messages.
Sometimes I think we go out just so we can come back home.
I'm going upstairs.
I'll wait for Michel.
Are you hurt? - No.
Just my hand.
Has it been taken care of?
Yeah.
Sweetheart...
Sweetheart, why are you acting so odd?
Dad...
Paul...
Dad?
Let's just talk, sweetheart. - Come on, dad.