01x04 - 66

[bunniefuu]

A ROUND OF APPLAUSE

NO ENTRY

Mrs. Zeynep, Mr. Mehmet,

Metin is unfortunately very weak in math.

I would like to discuss this with you

as the situation

has become quite concerning.

I think it cannot be ignored.

I was lenient towards him last year

and gave him a passing grade,

but unfortunately

the situation is more troubling this year.

It's harder for him

to catch up to his friends.

-He has no friends.

-It's hard with these grades.

Metin's always in his room,

listening to music. He's very into it.

I'm into music as well, Mrs. Zeynep,

but if my math was this weak,

I'd be too ashamed to go out in public.

Don't worry. He doesn't leave his room.

I ask him to multiply three by seven,

and he comes up

with a ridiculous answer, like 110.

"What do you mean?

I said three times seven," I say,

wondering if he's mocking me

at this point.

He thinks again and says, "Is it 90?"

Ninety I tell him,

"Go lower, Metin. Lower!"

-And?

-"Sixty-six."

The kid goes as low as 66 and stays there.

Any lower than that, he won't.

He just can't do it.

Three times seven is 66

as far as he's concerned.

This is where we're at.

He broke mathematics.

Your son broke the system.

Sixty-six.

Three times seven.

-He's not even close to 21.

-Sixty-six is too far.

Yeah.

He's just not gifted at math.

Now, Mrs. Zeynep

Not being gifted at it is one thing,

but 66 is something else entirely.

Sixty-six is indeed absurd, Zeynep.

I'm sorry, but this is abnormal.

Don't label the kid abnormal right away.

You can't say that.

I'm sorry, but you can't say

that he's abnormal.

You're labeling the kid.

I said, "66," Mrs. Zeynep.

And he said 110 at first.

He's just not gifted at math.

Metin has his own way of thinking.

He's an extraordinary kid.

As if I haven't seen

extraordinary kids before

He has his own system,

his own way of thinking.

He approaches it differently.

How differently can you approach

three times seven?

Tell me, for God's sake. Come on.

Not everybody has to be good at math.

Please, don't be so hard on him.

Be more understanding,

ask him easier things or something.

I swear I'll ask him at home.

I swear I'll ask him

to multiply two by two.

Don't get your hopes up.

I mean, 66?

Math is not that essential.

Everyone can multiply three by seven.

Except your son.

My son is talented in other subjects, sir.

It's more important he improves himself

in areas he's interested in.

He's always been very mature for his age,

even when he was very little.

When he was only five,

he used to impress people

at tenant meetings.

He used to mesmerize them.

What was a five-year-old doing

at a tenant meeting?

He was the manager.

And remember how pleased

everyone was with him?

Everyone begged him

to stay for one more term,

but we couldn't convince him.

He said, "I've fulfilled my duty."

"It's time for others

to take responsibility."

And not once did he look back.

That's the kind of person he is.

He always moves forward

and improves himself.

He has no time for trivial stuff.

-Just like that, she solved it all.

-Maddening, right?

Go ahead and side with the system.

Don't stick up for your child.

Let them call him abnormal,

exclude him, insult him.

Enable them as his father!

He said, "66," Zeynep.

Multiply three by seven.

For God's sake,

just try and get to 66 somehow.

Zeynep, for God's sake,

multiply and try ending up at 66.

Sixty-six is extreme, Zeynep.

Shouldn't we get a bit worried?

Don't be like this. I get it.

As his mom, it's hard to accept.

But math is important in life.

He'll always have to deal with math.

We should let Metin decide

what's important to him in life.

He's currently into music.

That's the area he's improving himself in.

He works like crazy.

He doesn't even leave his room.

He's focused on music right now.

He's busy.

He doesn't have time for anything else.

My son's not abnormal. He's just too busy.

People will make fun of him.

They'll ridicule him,

say he can't even multiply three by seven.

You want that?

I spent my entire life

worrying about what people thought of me.

Enough already.

Metin won't care about what people think.

He'll be a free-thinking individual.

My son will make his own decisions,

never letting anyone tell him what to do.

I want a divorce.

Whoa! How'd we get here?

Nah, every conversation ends up here.

Is there anything

you would like to say, Mrs. Zeynep?

We need to achieve absolute transparency

in order for you to benefit from therapy.

We have to speak with

full transparency in this room,

so that we can benefit from

what we're doing together, right?

With all due respect,

I don't see this helping at all.

Why are you here then, Mrs. Zeynep?

I'm not here. I'm at the school.

We were just there at a parents' meeting.

I don't know how or when we got here.

Got anything in mind for tomorrow?

Like what?

A surprise or something.

Were you planning something?

Don't do anything.

I don't want to celebrate.

Please cancel

if you've made any reservations.

Oh sh*t. It's our anniversary, right?

I swear, honey

Honey, I

No, it's not. That was in the summer.

Oh honey!

Right Darn.

Oh my

It's my sweetheart's birthday tomorrow!

Isn't it?

Of course! It's my darling's birthday.

Darn it, for God's sake

Don't be upset.

I'm not celebrating it, don't worry.

Don't be silly. Of course we'll celebrate.

No, we're not.

I'll tell Metin too. He's still young,

he might have forgotten about it.

We'll get you a cake

and a few candles, honey.

I'll have a delicious cake made.

Did you hear me, Mehmet?

I'm not celebrating my birthday!

And don't tell Metin anything.

Don't you dare!

I don't want it, okay?

Good evening, dear viewers.

Tonight's program is on an issue

of both scientific and religious debate.

Reincarnation.

Now, we know there are

differing views in each camp.

While some believe it to be true,

some are vehemently opposed to it.

Tonight, we have a guest

who has studied and published

about the topic in depth for years,

esteemed Professor Dr. Sultan Tarlacı.

-What is she talking about?

-As you know

What's this reincarnation thing?

Psst! Hey, Dad!

It's life after death.

Eat your veggies, dear.

-What?

-Eat up those veggies!

Life after death?

What the hell are you talking about?

Are you insane?

Wait a minute.

What do you mean, life after death?

-It means we'll come back again.

-Where?

Please, no.

Are you people playing games with me?

I was told we only live once,

that life was precious.

That it'd be over when it's over,

and then back to oranges again.

What other lives are you talking about?

How greedy are you?

You just can't get enough of this life.

-Don't stress, dear.

-How can I not?

The lady said they aren't sure.

What an appetite for this life,

what a life fetish, man!

What is this? For God's sake,

be content already. Are you insane?

-Guess what tomorrow is, Metin.

-Mehmet!

What? I'm asking a question.

I'm not saying anything.

We had an agreement.

You two?

Agreed on something?

What, is the world ending or something?

Why would you say that, sweetie?

"Why would you say that, sweetie?"

Don't mock your mother, you insolent brat!

Can I use that?

I'm looking for a stage name.

I won't use my real name on the album.

Can I use "The Insolent Brat"

as a stage name?

You keep calling me that.

It started growing on me.

Why won't you use your real name, sweetie?

What a shame. You have such a nice name.

You like "The Insolent Brat"?

It has a certain ring to it.

It could work.

Can I suggest another name?

I've been trying to find one.

That'd be great.

How about "66"?

Your stage name can be "66."

How do you like that?

-Don't be ridiculous. Stop.

-Are you ordering me in front of the kid?

Do you decide what I say in my own home?

Yes. That's usually how it is.

Son, get your act together!

You're getting on my nerves.

Don't pick a fight with me.

I'll cut your allowance.

I don't really spend that much.

I'd be fine.

Yes, dear. You're always in your room.

How about going out

and spending time with friends?

What friends? Do you have any?

Do you have even one friend?

I don't have any friends.

I'm a psychopath.

I have imaginary friends.

I play with them.

They're my friends.

That's good.

He has a real talent

for impressions, though.

Saw that psychopath impression?

His hands and all.

-I know!

-Interesting.

You're really talented, sweetie.

Are you going to be an actor

when you grow up?

-Are you interested in theater?

-Not anymore.

Of course.

Theater gets old quick.

Oh wow. What a comment.

Cinema?

-Medicine?

-Nah.

-Law.

-He's into music now, honey.

Let's see what's next after music.

You're so fickle.

What did you just say?

Take that back right now.

Did you just call me fickle, Dad? Huh?

Am I fickle?

No, dear. He didn't.

Why would he ever say that? He's

Don't leap to his defense.

Answer me.

Did you just call me fickle, Dad? Huh?

Look me in the eyes and say it again, Dad.

I can take anything you say,

whatever you call me, Dad,

but that was too far.

You crossed the line, Dad.

You crossed the line.

I'm gonna complain about you.

I thought you quit therapy.

Of course I did.

You two forced me to go anyway.

I'm not a loser. I have a world of my own.

I have a thing, a cause,

a purpose to strive for in this life.

I don't need a therapist.

So we're losers because we do?

I don't know. Ask your therapist.

To whom will you complain, then?

The world.

I'll use my music

to complain about you to the whole world.

Whatever.

Oh, I'm so scared.

Narcissist.

Mom.

Mom!

Metin?

Sweetie?

How is it going?

Good, sweetie. How is it going with you?

Good.

Guess what today is.

What is it, sweetie?

Today is your birthday, Mom.

Yes, sweetie.

Today is my birthday.

You didn't forget, huh? You remembered.

Your present is ready.

I'm not 100% satisfied with it.

It still needs work. But I can play it.

Oh, Metin!

You wrote a song for me, sweetie?

I'm not 100% satisfied, but I can play it.

Right now?

We don't want to disturb our neighbors.

It's early.

We won't. Come on.

But your dad's still sleeping.

Forget about him. Come on.

Shouldn't he hear it too?

Not one darn thing is easy in this house!

Wake him up. I'll be in the living room.

-Mehmet, get up. Mehmet!

-What's going on?

You didn't tell the kid

it was my birthday, right?

No. You told me not to.

Oh Mehmet. Metin made me a present.

He wrote me a song.

He didn't forget my birthday

and made me a present.

You taking a jab at me?

Get up and come with me.

He's waiting in the living room.

-Waiting for what?

-For us!

Get up, please. Don't miss this moment.

He says the song is ready.

A song? At this hour?

He says, "I'm not 100% satisfied,

but I can play it."

I hope we don't listen to

a half-baked song now.

You, with the grown-up bodies

Oh, you, with the grown-up bodies

You became addicted

To the sour smell

Always pretending to us

Pretending like you're adults

With your tall statures

And your varied widths

With your cellulite

And your ketogenic diets

With your intermittent fasts

And uninterrupted wars

With fake smiles

Of false peace

Always pretending like you're adults

Oh, you, with the grown-up bodies

Oh, you, the so-called adults

The funeral parade of meaning has started

Congratulations, it's all over now

You all ran away

Without even pouring water on its grave

You don't want flowers to bloom

But to die

And you don't want anyone to know

About this m*rder

The funeral ended so fast

All meaning is now six feet under, alone

And now all streets belong to you

Mirrors on wheels

Are you happy now?

You people's insides

Reek of kids' corpses, Mom

And your biggest guilty pleasure is

Getting high on its scent

The smell is everywhere, oh, Mom

Inhale and keep it in your lungs

My dear mom, my poor mom

I don't know what to call you

How to address you anymore

In your big cities, and in your villages

The zeitgeist is now merely

The mournful intoxication of the smell

Everyone's an urbanite now

Everyone's a villager

Everyone's a fascist now, Mom

Everyone's a leftist

Everyone's the East now, Mom

Everyone's the West

Everyone's smart now

Everyone's dumb

Everyone's Amber now, Mom

Everyone's Johnny

Everyone's Kanye now, Mom

Everyone's the chief

Everyone's Trump now, Mom

Everyone's Shakespeare

Everyone's Chomsky now, Mom

Everyone's Borat

Everyone's Al-Ghazali now

Everyone's all about Barat

Enough with the lies

Sorrow is all around now, Mom

Everyone's a coward

Enough already, enough

Stop all this nonsense

At such a young age

I've become a didactic person

I'm tired, believe me

Tired of this life

Enough already

God damn you all!

If He's there or not

If He's there or not

If He's there or not

If He's there or not

God damn you all!

What do you think?

It was nice.

You didn't like it.

No, it's

It's very good, sweetie.

But you're not crazy about it.

Of course I am, sweetie.

I loved it.

I'm crazy about it.

But?

It's a bit dark, though, isn't it?

What do you mean?

It sounded a bit dark to me.

It felt a tad pessimistic, I mean.

And a bit didactic.

I mentioned that, though.

I mock myself in the song.

I mock myself by saying, "You've made me

a didactic person at such a young age."

And that makes me wonder

if it's an escape.

If you're trying to hide your weaknesses

by attacking and mocking yourself,

sweetie.

But it's really good.

Very dynamic.

Deep.

Yeah, we drowned in it.

You hated it.

What's the name of the song, son?

"The Funeral Parade of Meaning."

Wow.

This is all so dark, sweetie.

But it is dark out there.

I make my music to shine some light.

Frankly, I plunged into darkness

while listening to it.

Whatever.

You don't have to like it, of course.

Not everyone has to get it.

My music is not for everyone

to like and understand.

It doesn't need to be.

Of course, sweetie.

You do what feels best to you.

Don't mind what your dad said.

You should set yourself free.

Your instincts will tell you

what's right, sweetie.

Don't listen to your dad.

But you and I can

go over the lyrics if you like.

As mother and son, huh?

Want to go over the lyrics together?

I'll make you a nice smoothie.

Let's go over the lyrics.

What do you say, sweetie?

Breast milk, baby bottle,

hot cocoa, smoothie

You realize you haven't really

stopped nursing me, Mom.

Oh, such valuable insights,

such meaningful metaphors, sweetie.

Such precious commentaries.

You're such a different kid.

So wise and

You just can't stop with the flattery,

can you?

If you want to praise something,

praise my music.

Metin.

I have a question for you, son.

Psst, son.

Hey, look at me. There.

I'm gonna ask you something,

and I want a completely honest answer.

Promise me.

Think long and hard about it

and answer me properly, all right?

Get on with it.

What's three times seven, Metin?

Well, three times seven.

Three

Seven

Is it 70?

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Sev

Mehmet.

Unbelievable.

He doesn't know. He can't do it. Son!

Forget about rap and stuff!

How old are you?

Figure out your math first!

Math matters, Metin!

You'll always have to deal with math.

My knowledge of math is basic.

"Basic"? It's nonexistent!

You have no knowledge of math!

I'm not really interested in math.

I noticed!

This won't do, Metin.

You should be able to multiply

three by seven. Life's difficult.

Everything is math, dear.

You'll take and give money.

You'll spend life calculating!

If you can't multiply three by seven

by now, this won't do, Metin.

Even a tenth of the attention

you pay to music would suffice.

I'm begging you, dear.

Pay a little attention to math.

I do, a little. I know enough to get by.

You don't know sh*t!

You can't get by at all, Metin,

if you can't multiply three by seven.

-You'll end up unhappy.

-I already am.

You'll be even unhappier.

You'll be shocked. You'll ask God

how you can be so unhappy.

You don't have to be so abnormal.

Find some normality in it, Metin.

This is too much.

Damn it, we've accepted

you being abnormal.

But at least be normally abnormal.

What's two times two, sweetie?

-Four.

-Oh!

You see? That's it. There you go.

My son's not abnormal. He's just busy.

Happy birthday to me.