Brand New Testament, The (2015)

[bunniefuu]

In the beginning
you don't know it's the beginning;

that things are just starting.

Then all of a sudden they're off.

Things become altogether
different than you thought.

At first there were only
twelve apostles.

That was before I found my six apostles.
Before the world got better.

I should tell you the story from the
beginning, when I still lived with my parents.

THE BRAND NEW
TESTAMENT

God exists. He lives in Brussels.

He's an assh*le. He's horrible
to his wife and daughter.

There's a lot of talk about his son,
but very little about his daughter.

His daughter is me.

That is my father. He's God.

Even before the creation of the world
my father was already bored.

So, he made Brussels.

[GENESIS]
- Voila.☻

He'd made a few things;
a few other creations,

but they didn't work out.

Something's not right.

So, he created man in his image.

With him, he could do as he pleased.

Ah, much better! Much better.

Enoch begat Irad.
Irad begat Mehujael.

Mehujael begat Metuskael
Metuskael begat Lamech.

Et cetera, et cetera...

That's when it all started.

He set one against the other.
In his name.

For God!

For Allah!

For Baal!

Voila, now you know exactly
how it came about.

That's me. I'm called Ea.

This is where I was born,
and where I was stuck for ten years.

It has no entrance
and no exit.

Three room apartment,
fully equipped kitchen and laundry.

And my father's office,
where no one is allowed.

It's forbidden to watch anything
but sports on TV.

This is my mother, a pitiful woman,
100% certified browbeaten.

She never says anything.

When she's not embroidering flowers,
she looks at her baseball card collection.

...and that makes eighteen.

It's complete.

Ea, we eat at the table
and as a family.

Do as you're told!
You're in MY house, here!

What? I'm your father.

Put that fourth plate away,
it won't bring him back.

You never know.

Not at my right hand.

I told you before, it bugs me.

Stop that.

Stop! You're not your brother.

Just because you can't do it...

Because I don't need to be able to.

My father lived in a crappy place,
which he never left.

He had a crappy life,
had never loved his wife

and couldn't make things
with his hands.

SILENCE! I'm working!

He needed something to relax
and forget all that.

That's when he got
the idea of humanity:

All his toys, that he could
watch suffer and struggle.

A lot of misery and a little
happiness, to give them false hope.

It took him 8 years, but
after all, it worked pretty well.

My father attained a certain
degree of virtuosity.

Since then, he spent his days

inventing new Laws of
Universal Pain-in-the-assness.

I need to formulate this right.

Law 2127:
The quantity of sleep, needed,

is always ten more minutes.

Law 2129:

When a body is submerged in a bathtub

the telephone rings.

2125:

A slice of bread always falls
jam side down,

otherwise the jam is on
the wrong side.

Law 2126: dishes never break

until after they've been washed.

Law 2218:

The next line always moves faster.

Law 2231:

pains in the ass
never come one at a time.

Why are you looking at me like that?
Lower your eyes.

It's disgusting what you do to people.

What?

You don't even know them, you just
amuse yourself by harming them.

- You've been in my office?
- Anybody could do better.

I've forbidden you to go in my office.

- You got nothing to say to me.
- C'mere!

See what I have to say to you? Look!

See how furious you make me, huh?

That's no good!

Just at that moment I decided
to do something.

Maybe ten years, is the limit
of what one can put up with, I dunno.

Anyway, I knew exactly
what I wanted:

to do better than my father.

But first I wanted to hurt him.

I wanted to make him suffer.
To wreck his life like he wrecked mine.

You could call it, anger.

But once I'd done it...

I'd have to leave.

EXODUS

Psst! Hey, J.C.

- Hi, sis. - Hey, J.C. I need
your help getting outta here.

- I hear you. What did mama say?
- Nothing for fear of getting smacked.

It's about time she woke up.

I wanna do like you; split this joint.
Find some Apostles to give me a hand.

Apostles are a good idea,
I tried 12, but it got a bit messy.

I thought 12 was a good number,
like a hockey team.

Mama's number is 18.
She says you can play baseball with 18.

How many apostles should I get?

Try six. With my 12, it makes 18,
like mama's baseball players.

How should I choose the apostles?

Go with your feeling.
You don't have to justify it.

Choose any six from papa's archive,
give'em a little miracle, and you're set.

I can't make miracles.

Just a small miracle,
something you can handle.

Then with your 6 apostles,
write a Brand New Testament.

- I don't want'em talking about me.
- Make it about them.

A Brand New Testament in which
the apostles talk about themselves.

- That'd be so totally new!
- You know, I can't write well.

Delegate to someone who can.
You think I wrote mine by myself?

To escape,
I hacked the washing machine.

Set it on 'synthetic fibers'

40 degrees, 1,200 rpm spin cycle.

It'll open a passage.
In a few hours you're out.

Thanks, J.C. you're cool.

Don't forget, without his computer
papa's nothing.

(1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6)

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