God the Creator...
Oh!
The doctor lives.
"The doctor lives."
Ja.
Just call him.
Tell him you can't come.
London'll be bedlam.
No one tells
a man like him anything.
But today is dangerous.
Stay here with me,
and we'll wait for news.
Bad news will find you anywhere.
Don't leave, Jack.
We've survived one w*r, Janie.
We will again.
Right, that's me.
Children's
evacuation train
on platform one
will be leaving immediately.
All aboard now, please.
This is London.
There is still
no official response
to the prime minister's
ultimatum
that all troops be withdrawn.
We've just
received confirmation
the Slovakian troops have
joined the German invasion.
We return
to the BBC Symphony Orchestra
until we can bring you
more news.
Uh...
I'm not going in.
I called institute.
The students expect you.
They will be fine
with a free period.
They'll need routine today
of all days.
I can take care of myself.
Dr. Schur will be here with
the morphine within the hour.
Or was that yesterday? Ja.
Also, uh,
an Oxford don
is coming here to see me,
who needs an education
in punctuality.
-Who's this?
-Huh?
-The Oxford don. Who is it?
-Professor Lewis.
C.S. Lewis.
-The Christian apologist?
-Ja.
He has a lot to apologize for.
Papa, I would like to
bring Dorothy back with me.
On a day like this,
no one should be alone.
We won't be alone.
I'm certain that Dorothy will be
more comfortable
in her own home.
And perhaps next week.
And then next week,
and next week.
How many times
do I have to ask you?
You remember
Professor Einstein's visit?
-Of course.
-Ja.
A discussion about the true
indication of insanity...
as doing the same thing
over and over and over and over
and expecting different results.
So, the surest indication
of sanity...
would be the ability
to change your mind.
Ja.
Professor Lewis?
Uh, yes?
-Anna Freud.
-Ah!
-Nice to meet you.
-And you.
Good luck.
Jofi, do you hear someone
at the door?
Jofi?
-Dr. Freud.
-Professor Lewis.
I'd given you up for lost.
Or dead.
What kind of a dog is he?
He's a Chow.
He's highly intelligent.
His name is Jofi,
and he's my personal assistant.
-Really?
-Yes, really.
Ja. He stays with me
through all my sessions.
He's also
my emotional barometer.
How so?
Well, if a patient is calm,
Jofi always stretches out
at my feet.
But if a patient is agitated,
Jofi stands at my side
and he never takes his eyes
away from the patient.
What shall I make of his
running away at the sight of me?
Well, he's also
a fanatic about punctuality.
Come in, please.
Fortunately, for her, my wife
is traveling with her cousin,
so I've sent out
our housekeeper, Paula.
Paula? She's gone.
I sent her out to stock up
on canned goods or canned food.
Or tinned, as you say here.
'Cause you must always be
prepared for
and expect the worst. Correct?
Yes, yes, of course.
Yes, I'm terribly sorry
for being so late.
All the trains
were filled with children
being evacuated
to the countryside.
Bless them.
Ja.
I take it you've been
listening to the radio.
Ja, ja. I always
listen to the radio.
I find it most convenient
to be warned
before getting bombed or sh*t.
I have
several engagements today,
so our meeting must be brief.
Ah. Well, perhaps
we should postpone.
Postpone? Postpone until when?
Tomorrow?
Do you count on your tomorrows,
Professor? 'Cause I do not.
-Of course.
-Of course. Ja.
You British always say,
"But of course, old chap."
I wonder why.
What does that mean?
I don't know. Habit, I suppose.
Ja. Interesting. Habit.
Ja.
Well, you have a wonderful home.
Thank you.
How long have you lived here?
Oh. One year and four months.
My daughter, Anna,
tried her best
to replicate our home in Vienna.
You also are not
a native of this country,
am I correct?
I was born in Belfast.
But I've been here since
I was sent to boarding school
at the age of nine.
Ja.
We all try so valiantly
to leave our past
and our childhood memories,
do we not?
But they will never leave us,
will they?
Ja.
Not the sorrows of the world.
Hmm.
Well, I'm afraid this will...
never be my home.
No.
Never be my Vienna.
Ah!
They've never
given the Goethe prize
to a psychoanalyst before.
They've never had psychoanalysts
in Germany before.
Here's my prize
with whom I am well-pleased.
Good...
Ja.
-Dr. Freud, are you all right?
-Ah!
Here is my prize
with whom I am well-pleased.
-My favorite flower... azalea.
-Oh.
Wait one moment.
Ja.
Ah!
Ja!
-Das ist gut.
-Thank you.
Since we have so little time,
we should talk about
why I wrote you.
Oh, yes, yes, my book,
Pilgrim's Regress.
Oh, yes. It was
a satirical parody based on,
uh, The Pilgrim's Progress,
was it not?
By... What's his name?
Don't tell me, don't tell me.
-John Bunyan, correct?
-Yes.
Ja. Ah, John Bunyan.
Now, he was a true genius.
Ja. And I think your satire
would've been quite splendid.
That is, if anyone
still reads John Bunyan.
It's my understanding that
what I have written offends you.
Offends me how?
Well, my satirizing you
with the Sigmund character.
Bombastic, vain, ignorant.
Oh.
Perhaps I was
a little overzealous.
I'm sorry if you took it
as a personal att*ck.
But I cannot apologize
for challenging your worldview
when it fully negates my own.
Which is?
That there is a God.
That a man doesn't
have to be an imbecile
to believe in him. And those
of us who do, are not suffering
from an obsessional neurosis.
Oh, really? Oh.
Well, most interesting.
Good.
Interesting. See,
I've never read your book.
"As I wandered through
the wilderness of this world,
I lighted on a certain place
wherein I found a den,
and in that place,
I laid me down to sleep,
and as I slept,
I dreamed a dream."
John Bunyan.
Ja. Professor Lewis,
forgive me,
but I must ask you this.
Why would you come here
to see me
if you disagree so passionately
with my views?
Well, not all of them.
When I was a student,
we devoured your every book
to discover
our latent perversions.
I was shocked when I read that
you declared
Pilgrim's Progress
a work of genius. Seriously?
A clash between God and Satan?
Ah. But I did not say
whose side I was on, did I?
You've always insisted
that the concept of God
is ludicrous.
-Yes.
-So, why do you care
what I think if you're satisfied
in your disbelief? Why...
Why am I here?
Why?
Uh, curiosity.
Why someone
of your supreme intellect
would suddenly abandon truth
and then...
...then embrace a ludicrous
dream, an insidious lie.
What if it isn't a lie? Hmm?
You ever considered
how terrifying it would be
to realize that you were wrong?
Ooh!
Not half as terrifying as
it would be for you, my friend.
No, no.
You said earlier that
you challenge my worldview.
You challenge my belief
in disbelief.
-Is that correct?
-I do, yes.
Good. Wunderbar.
Welcome to my den.
Oh. One moment.
Hello? Anna?
Have you frightened off
your professor yet?
Not yet.
Soon, perhaps.
You go back to your lectures.
-Das ist gut.
-All right.
Have a good day.
His daughter?
I don't pay tuition
to listen to her opinions.
She's not even a doctor.
Why should I waste my time
listening to her lecture?
You shouldn't, Mr. Hensell.
You're right.
You'll learn nothing.
I'm sure you know
all there is to know
about adolescent narcissism.
Did you speak
to your father about tonight?
You do know we are
about to be at w*r, don't you?
Well, that's nothing new
for him.
Never met anyone more bellicose.
-You used to find him charming.
-Did I?
I hardly remember.
Dorothy, be reasonable.
I'm in England, aren't I?
With you.
"Reasonable" would be
that we at least shared
the same roof. We did in Vienna.
Children don't even understand.
Didn't know your father had
such delicate sensibilities.
I have a lecture. Find me later.
I always do.
-Good morning, gentlemen.
-Good morning.
Shall we begin?
Sit, please.
Not there.
That's the transformation couch.
-You be careful.
-Of course.
A colleague of mine,
Erik Larson,
he telephoned me this morning
to tell me he knows a colleague
of yours, Mr. Tolkien.
Yes. Yes, we're close friends.
Oh. John Tolkien?
Mm.
Brilliant. Genius.
So, tell me,
what exactly are the Inklings?
That's what we call
our literary group at Oxford.
We discuss each other's work.
Mostly fantasies?
Often, yes.
I've spent most of my life
examining fantasies,
trying to make sense of dreams.
And yet, at my age, I don't...
I don't know
what I think anymore.
And given what little time
I have left
in this strange house,
perhaps I should start
by trying to make sense
of reality. Whatever that is.
Maybe it is all a dream
in the end.
Spooky, spooky, spooky.
Would you like a drink?
Ooh. No. Thank you.
Well, I'm going to have one,
'cause I need one.
Ja.
Are you sure?
Whiskey.
Whiskey it is. Whiskey, ja.
-Thank you.
-Ja.
"All that we see or seem
is but a dream within a dream."
Edgar Allan Poe wrote that.
And he went mad,
so you be careful.
Ja.
Calm.
So, tell me, was it your parents
who injected you
with this fairy tale of faith?
No.
My faith ended
with my childhood.
I buried it with my mother.
She d*ed when I was young.
Ah.
Go on.
My father was
consumed with grief,
unable to process it,
or to take ours into account.
His only solution
was to send us off to England
for boarding school.
It was perhaps
my life's greatest trauma.
More so than the w*r.
It was all sea and islands now.
A great continent had sunk,
like Atlantis.
Jack, can't wait
for you to see this.
On my next birthday,
my brother, Warren,
gave me the most wonderful
present I'd ever been given.
A new world.
A toy forest he created
in a biscuit tin.
I thought it was the most
beautiful thing I'd seen.
Moss, twigs,
tiny stones, flowers.
The moment I saw it,
it created a yearning...
I never felt before.
I called that feeling joy.
I still do.
Ja. And do you think that was
an inherent desire
for a creator?
-Yes.
-Ja.
You said you were led to joy
by a biscuit box.
Or a biscuit tin.
Is that correct?
Thank you.
-Ja.
-Yes.
Ah. Interesting.
Prost.
Yes, our deepest cravings
are never satisfied, are they?
Or even identified.
See, in German,
it is called "Sehnsucht."
Means "longing."
I experienced that longing,
that desire,
when I was a young boy.
The strong desire
to walk in the woods.
Sigmund!
Sigmund, stoppen!
Sigmund!
I was never frightened.
I was never sad that my father
had vanished or disappeared,
because finally I was alone
in the dark woods.
Those dark forests...
to which I'd always been drawn.
Where I was most at peace
with myself and with the world.
Ja.
Ah.
Would that my father had
walked in the woods with me.
Thus your search
for a divine father figure.
If anything,
it made me determined
to avoid father figures.
A normal
father-son relationship.
A boy's love, worship
and adoration for the father
transformed into a recognition
of the father's imperfections
and into an even stronger desire
to displace and k*ll
the old bastard.
Right?
And your relationship
with your own father?
Ah...
Well, at best, it was a...
bitter disappointment.
Same anger you feel toward
a God that does nothing.
The wish that God doesn't exist
can be just as powerful
as the belief he does.
Ah. Good.
Gas mask.
-I can't breathe in this.
-Come on!
-I can't go on.
-Well, I'm not leaving you.
-Don't be a fool.
-Give me your arm.
Let go of my arm.
I'm all right.
-Come on.
-I'm all right!
All right.
Down to the cellar, please.
This way to the cellar.
Keep moving.
Keep moving.
Down to the cellar. Thank you.
Come on.
Professor Lewis?
Are you all right?
You were in the w*r, ja?
In the w*r?
-Infantry.
-Breathe in.
Deep breath in, ja?
Focus on me, ja.
Focus on me. Focus on me.
There. Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
That's good. Good.
False alarm.
We're all clear.
Dare I say that
you look rather at home?
Ah. It's called
art appreciation.
For me, it is like studying
cave painting. Who is that?
God pronouncing to Joshua
that he's delivered Jericho,
prior to it happening.
Ja?
The story of the Good Samaritan.
And?
St. Roch and his leg.
-And his dog.
-Oh.
This?
I'm afraid I haven't a clue.
St. Brigid.
Patron saint of nuns.
-No, it is not St. Brigid.
-Who is it then?
Saint Dymphna.
You should know that.
Thank you, Father.
Return to
your homes. False alarm.
Apologies. There are no bombs.
What? I don't understand.
"Apologies. There are no bombs."
Ja?
What would he do if there were?
Send sympathy cards?
Ja.
This is how we forget.
This defensive humor.
-I wrote a book on humor.
-Yes, yes, I read it.
We English take our humor
pretty seriously.
I find English humor
is like
a foreign language to me.
-Yes, I would agree.
-Ja.
Your examples were
somewhat clinical.
Jokes pinned down
like dead frogs.
And then dissected.
Are you saying
my methodology is flawed?
No, no, no, no, no. No.
Your jokes were.
They aren't funny.
But I used
classic illustrations.
Let me think. Uh... Oh, yes.
-Two Jews before a bathhouse.
-Ja.
One Jew says to the other,
"Have you taken a bath?"
And the other...
He says...
He says...
What does he say?
"Why? Is one missing?"
That's right!
Ja, ja.
Meaning, to take a bath,
meaning bathing,
and, "Have you taken a bath?"
meaning stolen one.
Ja, it's an example of mimesis.
You know, conflicting.
Our thoughts conflicting action.
About as funny as a hanging.
What?
Come on.
I feel insulted.
You say I have no humor?
Hello?
Max?
How late?
That's quite severe.
Ja, I'm in terrible pain.
I'm in pain. I need medicine.
Max?
Ma...
Is there anything
I can do to help?
No, thank you.
With the destruction
of the entire Polish air force
by the Luftwaffe,
m*llitary and civilian
casualties
are already estimated
to be over 20,000.
We return
to our musical program.
Switch it off.
Twenty-thousand k*lled
in just two days.
It's almost impossible
to take in, isn't it?
Must be more
of God's mysterious ways.
I wonder what your Inklings
would say to that?
Utter nonsense, Weldon.
There is no such thing.
It's a physical ailment.
I feel it
every time I step inside.
Library terrors? Stop yourself.
Doesn't anyone else feel
while entering a library
and it grips you...
terror at the number
of unread books?
-No. No. Quite the reverse.
-Moving on.
-Who's reading?
-Well, I have a new chapter.
Ah.
Tolkien, then.
Chapter 48.
I move that we order
another round first.
A miracle. My brother is buying.
Warnie.
-Gentlemen, same again?
-Yes, please.
Tolkien, have you been
indoctrinating my brother again?
Me? No, never.
What about Weldon?
Ah.
-He's always been an atheist.
-He's a rabid one.
How could he, of any...
How could he, of anyone,
take the Bible literally?
It's a fictional anthology
of myths and legends.
Jack, when you read myths
about gods
that come to earth
and sacrifice themselves,
their stories move you,
so long as you read it
anywhere but the Bible.
That's nonsense,
and you know it.
Pagan myths are born
through God expressing himself.
But the myth of Christ,
that is God expressing himself
through himself.
And what makes it
more than myth is that...
Well, Christ actually
walked the earth among us.
His dying transforms myth
into truth.
And it transforms the lives
of all those who believe in him.
John, you're a scholar.
Don't you have
an obligation to the truth?
Yes. The same as you.
So, do your research.
Examine the evidence.
Hmm.
Which I did.
No book was safe,
from current scholarship
back 1,600 years,
starting with
the "Codex Sinaiticus,"
the oldest surviving manuscript
copy of the New Testament.
"Matthew, 400 A.D."
-Jack?
-Hmm?
Bedtime.
Good night.
What are you reading
that's so fascinating?
-The Bible?
-Yes. Have you read it?
It's been quoted at me.
It's often a w*apon, isn't it?
The Creation.
Adam and Eve?
You don't really believe
all of that, do you?
That they were real?
I believe it doesn't
really matter what I think.
That's a relief,
'cause I'm sure it says
right there that man
should not be alone.
Come along.
Do what your good book says.
You're scaring me, Jack.
There's nothing to be scared of.
It's just
a little bit of homework.
I'm perfectly convinced
that whatever the gospels are,
they aren't myths.
They aren't... artistic enough.
They're clumsy.
Most of the life of Jesus
is left completely
unknown to us,
and writers building a legend?
Wouldn't allow that to happen.
You're convinced
of Christ's existence
because of bad storytelling?
Christ's existence isn't up
for debate, only who he was.
The man was chronicled
by his contemporaries
and historians. Even H.G. Wells,
whose skepticism
rivaled mine own,
admitted, here was a man.
This part of the tale
could not have been invented.
Ja, that Christ was a man,
I don't argue.
Like, Muhammad or Buddha.
I'm sorry. What was that?
I said I have no doubt
that Christ was a man,
like Muhammad or Buddha.
But only Christ
claimed to be the Messiah.
Oh, God.
He even claimed the power to
forgive sins. Absurd, isn't it?
Professor Lewis,
please help me up.
-Are you all right?
-Oh, yes.
Never felt better.
Danke. Ah!
Oh!
Oh, Professor Lewis,
perhaps you could
help me understand something.
It's a conundrum,
a puzzle that has kept me
terribly confused
for a long time.
Of course, yes.
Why should I take Christ's
claim to be God more seriously
than the numerous patients
I've treated over several years
who claim to be Christ?
I mean,
please enlighten me because,
in my humble scientific opinion,
those poor,
wretched patients of mine
were all raving lunatics.
So I must conclude that
you yourself and your friends,
and, yes,
the good carpenter of Nazareth
must all have been a little...
But this is only
my humble scientific opinion.
What do I know?
Ah.
Well, allow me to retort.
Did you find a single person
whose concept of reality
was otherwise sound?
No.
Hello?
Anna?
Ja. Thank you.
Chamberlain.
...stating that unless we heard
from them by eleven o'clock,
that they were prepared at once
to withdraw their troops
from Poland,
a state of w*r
would exist between us.
I have to tell you now
that no such undertaking
has been received,
and that, consequently,
this country is at w*r
with Germany.
And so it begins.
Again.
It is evil things
that we shall be
fighting against.
-Brute force, bad faith...
-The talks broke down.
...injustice, oppression
and persecution.
Against them, I am certain
that the right will prevail.
That is the end of
the prime minister's statement.
Anna?
You all right?
Thought we would be safe
when we left Vienna.
Well, we don't know
how h*tler will respond.
Leave the country now. Tomorrow.
Let me help you while
there's still time. Please.
-Where would I go?
-Come with me to London.
I don't know.
I have Anna to think of.
He will never
leave Vienna.
And you will never leave him.
What about you?
Well, it's time, I'm afraid.
For the children.
Though, I have to admit, I'm
in agreement with your father.
New York does
little for me either.
What I wouldn't give to see you
on Madison Avenue,
in proper society.
Would you come to London?
Good evening.
Sigmund Freud?
Don't.
My name is, Dr. Ernest Jones.
I'm a British subject.
I'm a personal acquaintance
of Chancellor von Schuschnigg.
-Step aside.
-I'm Sigmund Freud.
-No. No, no.
-Anna!
-What?
-My father is a very sick man.
-What are you doing?
-Take me instead!
I know everything he does.
I'll be more helpful.
-All right then.
-Wait. Be quiet now.
If they take you,
nobody will be safe.
Here.
If there's no hope.
Miss Freud, shall we?
Ladies. Gentlemen.
Till we meet again.
Fire!
Ja, 12 hours we waited.
-I wonder why they let her go.
-I don't know.
Perhaps she wasn't useful
to them, to the Gestapo.
She's quite an innocent person,
you understand.
After she was released, I bribed
all the necessary people
to leave the country
immediately.
And I mean immediately,
'cause something had
taken me by the throat
and dragged me
so close to
a personal family tragedy,
that finally, I was awake.
I awoke
when I suddenly recognized
the face of the beast.
The monster.
History is littered
with monsters.
Oh, I agree, I agree.
And they all live
happily and contentedly
within each and every one of us.
Do they not? Ja.
The dybbuk.
The beast in the darkness.
And the bogeyman.
Oh, hush, hush, hush.
Here comes the bogeyman.
Don't get too close to him.
He'll catch you if he can.
But it is too late, my friend.
Because we've chosen
to live our precious lives
in the stifling smoke
of the burning of the books
and the smoldering embers
of our hate.
No, there's no...
There's no escape
from the beast, my friend,
because our moral certainty
is the beast.
We are the pestilence.
We are the famine and death.
We are the apocalypse.
Ja.
And at my exalted age,
I'm mightily grateful
that I shall not live
to see another Adolf h*tler.
Thank God.
I'm sorry. What did you say?
Oh...
Ah.
I was raised
by a strict Catholic nanny
who took me to church
every Sunday.
She was like a mother to me.
My father,
he was equally devout
in his beliefs.
Ja.
The battling bibles, ja?
"Let us love our neighbors
as we love ourselves."
I have here a paper signed by
the German chancellor,
Herr h*tler.
You just heard him on the radio,
your beloved prime minister,
Mr. Chamberlain.
Ja. He said exactly
the same thing last year,
just after the Munich crisis.
You remember that?
He'd told us all to go back
to our beds and sleep in peace?
Yes. Thank you, ja.
"Let it be understood, there
will be peace in our time." Ja.
Oh!
Oh, thank you, yes.
So, let us love our neighbors
as we love ourselves.
What a wonderfully
simple-minded,
imbecilic impossibility
that was.
Well, I wholeheartedly disagree.
Well, of course you disagree.
You have to disagree, don't you?
Otherwise, the entire structure
of your childish faith
would collapse into rubble,
would it not?
Just as the whole of Europe
is about to collapse
into rubble, ja?
What should we do now?
We should, you know,
turn the other cheek.
The Polish people welcome
the tanks and the Gestapo, yes.
And the planes as they,
of the Luftwaffe,
as they b*mb their buildings
and they butcher their children.
Yes, why not?
Turn the other cheek. Please.
I don't know
if it's a coincidence,
but, it seems to me,
I think, that Jesus himself...
Yes, the good carpenter
of Nazareth commanded...
It says it here
in the good book, the Bible.
Matthew, chapter 18.
"Verily, I say unto you,
unless you become
as little children,
you shall not enter
the kingdom of Heaven."
Wonderful.
"Suffer little children
to come unto me."
It seems to me, Professor,
that we've never matured enough
to face the terror
of being alone in the dark.
But religion...
For one bright, shining moment,
religion made the world
our nursery,
a little playpen.
I have only two words
to offer humanity,
grow up.
Oral darn surgery.
Badly fitting prosthetic.
I'm always afraid
that I might...
sneeze out my teeth.
And I need my medicine.
It's this prosthesis.
Anna calls it "The Monster."
But...
I have to clean it, and then...
call her to come
and readjust it.
When will your wife be home?
Anna's the only one
who can touch it.
-What, not even your doctors?
-No.
Not my doctors.
Especially not.
Papa.
Sigmund.
Sigmund!
If it wasn't for him,
most certainly
I would have d*ed.
Ja.
I find a terrible humor in that.
Dr. Sigmund Freud,
with his oral obsession,
finally rendered speechless.
Now, that is a joke.
Can there be a better one?
Maybe not.
But if it was a joke,
who do you think made it?
Ah! You made a joke yourself.
Your first one.
Hello?
Dr. Schur.
Where are you?
Children aren't necessarily
afraid of w*r.
Instead of running away,
they might run toward it
with primitive excitement.
The real danger isn't that
a child might react with shock.
The real danger is that
the v*olence of the world...
might meet the v*olence
inside the child.
It's your father.
Thank you.
Ja, Vater?
Dr. Schur's not coming.
He blames the traffic.
Can't get into town.
He says
he'll call my prescription
to a pharmaceutical
chemist shop.
And do you want me to come home?
Of course.
I want you here.
That's why I'm calling you.
It's just...
Before, you didn't say--
I'm in terrible pain.
I need medicine.
Papa--
Think of me for once,
instead of her.
Ja, Vater.
There is an emergency.
Can someone
dismiss my class, please?
Out of five scheduled lectures
in the last two weeks,
you've canceled two,
and today you're leaving
halfway through your third.
It's unavoidable. My father's
in great pain and he needs me.
As do we!
Surely, you can bring in
a nurse.
He doesn't want that.
With all respect,
does your father always get
everything he wants?
Doctor, you as much as anyone
know the importance
of my father's work,
beside his creating
your occupation and mine.
So, yes, he gets
anything he wants.
-If you've a problem with it--
-The problem is yours.
It's called
an attachment disorder.
Idolizing one's parents past
adolescence isn't a virtue.
It's a compulsion.
Well...
thanks for the analysis.
Oh.
So your daughter teaches.
Yes. She also had
a private psychoanalytical
practice for children.
At first, I was afraid that
by following in my footsteps,
Anna would leave
no mark of her own.
I hoped that was
my own narcissistic fear.
Oh, the tangled webs we weave...
when first we practice
to deceive.
Yes, Anna's dedicated
to the science.
And to you, it seems.
Do you have a photograph
of your wife?
Of course. But not in here.
-Why? Are you married?
-No.
Oh. Do you live with someone?
A woman or a man?
I beg your pardon?
I said, do you live
with someone? A woman or a man?
Or does h*m*
offend you? If so, why?
h*m* is not immoral.
Why so?
Moral sense in a man
is created by fear,
and that fear comes from
the castration complex.
-So women have nothing to fear?
-Precisely.
Without this fear,
these impulses
cannot be countered.
Then, how are they countered?
Through
traditional relationships
with husbands and fathers.
You are a walking contradiction.
Well, I'm human.
I'm inherently flawed.
And I'm deeply damaged.
And no doubt,
I'm damaging to others.
Anna?
You all right?
Yeah. It's nothing.
Tell me.
I'm worried about my father.
I have to find a chemist.
-Well, is your mother...
-She's away.
He has no one.
-There must be someone.
-Me.
Chemists are closing early
like other businesses.
-Let's make some calls first.
-I will find one on my way home.
Then we'll go together.
Absolutely not.
Bernbridge isn't wrong,
you know.
If your patients showed
this kind of codependency,
you'd diagnose 'em
with an attachment disorder.
This is my duty.
Why can't you see that?
Duty is not the same thing
as cringing servitude.
Dorothy, he is my father.
Yes.
And what else?
Doesn't smoking
aggravate your mouth?
Mm-hmm.
It does.
It aggravates everything.
'Cause I'm dying.
I'm rotting away. I'm decaying.
We're all dying,
rotting away and decaying.
But I'm determined
to relish and revel in the only
sexual pleasure left, right?
So, I bid farewell to thee,
my phallic and a**l stage,
and I regress to thee,
my oral stage, whatever that is.
Extraordinary. We've been
talking this long,
and this is
the first mention of sex.
Bravo. Well observed.
Yes.
But I think...
I think your definition
is far too narrow,
'cause I apply the term "sexual"
to all interactions that, uh,
bring pleasure, ja?
The infant sucking
on its mother's breast.
The great Sigmund Freud sucking
on the nipple of a cigar. Ja.
Sexuality is the font
of all happiness, my friend.
There's much more
to happiness than that.
Sex is only one of many
God-given pleasures and...
and, frankly,
not the most lasting.
Ah. Took you less than a minute
to bring God into sex.
Fascinating.
But despite
your church propaganda,
I think we made
considerable progress
uncovering and overcoming
our repressions today.
Progress?
We've gone from sex being
the subject never spoken of
to our not being able to talk
of anything else.
It's as if we invented it.
Well, perhaps we did. Ja.
Yes, psychoanalysis
is inherently sexual.
Oh, yes, we infantilize it,
turning it into the lie
that sex under any circumstances
is perfectly normal and healthy.
There is a sexual code
running through the Old
and New Testaments:
sex is to be shared
between two people
who are committed to each other.
Well done. Good.
I think your Bible
is a bestiary of sexuality.
Ja, a bestiary.
An encyclopedia of it.
Help me tie
these apron strings, will you?
Ja, a bestiary.
Ja.
Where's my cigar?
I left a cigar somewhere. Um...
You know, it's interesting
because you good people,
you always pick and choose
those special Bible verses,
the ones that support
your own virtuous bias.
Isn't that correct?
Like, "No sex, please,
before marriage," ja?
It's ridiculous.
Not only naive,
but I think it's a mindless,
sadistic cruelty, really.
Like sending a young man
to perform his first concerto
with a great orchestra,
when he's only played
his piccolo
when alone in his bedroom.
Ja. Put these things
in the sink.
They aren't going to
wash themselves, are they?
I would have thought
that needing to depend on men
would cause women
to give up sex completely,
especially as you say
h*m* isn't immoral.
Well, perhaps lesbianism
is different.
-How so?
-I don't know.
Perhaps unchecked, it becomes
progressively more unstable.
But not h*m*?
No, their conditions
have a different source.
I don't understand.
What's the source
of a woman's lesbianism?
Her father.
And what about your father?
Ah! It's too late
to turn back now.
My father and I...
Now, there's
an interesting tale.
Uh, my father and I...
Uh,
made our peace before he d*ed.
He was...
a good man.
Ja?
What he couldn't afford
emotionally,
he made up for financially.
-He supported my life's work.
-Uh-huh.
Yes, and, well, I now live
with my... my brother, Warren.
Warnie, we call him.
We call him Warnie.
Just your brother?
It's complicated.
Yes, it usually is, isn't it?
-I told you I was in the w*r.
-No, you didn't tell me.
You showed me you were
in the w*r.
It's always going back
to the w*r, isn't it?
I don't know.
Ja.
Mm.
Jack, are you all right?
Steady.
Radio's out.
We need to move forward.
I suppose I should have
some starlet's pic.
It's just my mom.
If I still had my mom,
I'd probably do the same.
There goes dinner.
Lewis,
make me a promise.
If something happens to me,
take care of my mother.
And if anything happens to you,
I'll do the same
for your father.
That's an order.
So, how much of that day
do you remember?
Little to none. I was...
It was chaos from the outset.
It was my last time
over the bags.
Jack, are you
all right? Come on!
Paddy and I made it
into no-man's-land.
Jack!
Jack! Jack, we can't stay here!
Hel...
Help!
Help! Please help!
Help!
Please help!
-Lewis?
-Yes. He's over there.
Well, I was going
to take you out dancing.
I think we'll have to settle
for a picnic here instead.
Mrs. Moore?
I'm so sorry.
Right.
I can't tell you
what your visit means to me.
The letters you wrote to me
after Paddy's death,
they keep me close to him.
He carried this with him.
The shrapnel that k*lled him,
part of it is...
still in my chest.
It's too close to my heart
to remove it.
Now, Jack, um,
we need to talk about
something quite serious.
You told me about the promise
that you and Paddy
made to each other.
-Mm-hmm.
-It's a lovely gesture,
but... I don't need anyone
to be my guardian angel.
I might look ancient
to you, but--
No, you...
Quite the opposite.
The right reply.
Not to mention
that I don't believe in angels.
Or depending on anyone
but myself.
Let's not look at it
like a guardianship then.
Let's call it a friendship.
Agreed.
A friendship.
Your friend's mother.
-I made a promise.
-Hmm.
How long have you had
this relationship?
I wouldn't call it
a relationship.
Any bond between two people
is a relationship.
How old is she?
Mrs. Moore was in her early 40s.
Oh. Hmm.
Does Mrs. Moore have
a first name?
Janie.
Janie. Ooh.
Tell me, did you find Janie
an attractive woman
-when you first met her?
-She was my friend's mother.
All the more reason
to find her more attractive.
Often, men who lose
their mothers at an early age
are drawn to more mature women.
I resent the implication,
and my personal life
is really not your concern.
-Oh, really?
-Mm.
But your conversion is.
It fascinates me.
Ja.
You lived with her, with Janie,
in your days as an atheist,
so I would like to know
whether your conversion
or your battle trauma
caused you a newfound virginity.
I won't discuss this
any further.
My private life
is precisely that. Yes.
As you wish.
Hmm.
But I consider what people
tell me far less interesting
than what they choose
not to tell me.
Well, bully for you.
Let me.
Hello. Can I help you?
No one can today, I'm afraid.
Is Miss Freud in?
No, I'm afraid not. No. She's--
Who is it?
Oh, it's, it's Ernest, Sigmund.
Hi, Ernest.
Dr. Ernest Jones.
Jack Lewis. Pleasure.
I should leave you
to your doctor.
He's not my physician.
I'll take a walk around,
get some air. Yes.
That's good.
Take Jofi with you.
Come in.
Right.
Let's go into the garden
before it gets dark.
Autumn evenings
are drawing in now.
Yes. Thank you.
There we go.
So, Ernest,
to what do I owe the honor?
I've been told about a...
a first-rate
psychoanalytic facility
being established
in a town called Bury.
It's near Manchester.
It's going to be
a teaching hospital.
You don't... You don't
expect me to travel
in my condition, do you?
-No. No, no.
-Oh.
I was thinking about Anna.
Oh, ja?
-They'd love to have her.
-Huh.
-She'd be safer there.
-Ja.
That's one thing.
What's the other?
Well, they've
asked me to join the faculty.
Oh, ja?
Ah.
Are you seeking a professional
relationship with Anna,
or is it a personal one?
Well, that would be
Anna's choice, don't you think?
What do you think?
Please. My father's having
a medical crisis.
He needs help immediately.
Sorry, the pharmacist
has left for today.
Can you call him back?
My father's Dr. Sigmund Freud.
The sex doc?
Good luck to both of you.
I'm sorry, ma'am.
Has Anna given you
any indication
that she would be interested
in a relationship?
No, I've... I've spent...
very little time
with her socially.
-Ja?
-I just think she would
only benefit from a...
a wider circle of professional
and personal acquaintances.
Besides myself?
Well, no, I...
I didn't mean to imply--
No, of course not.
Well, perhaps we could
talk again when you've
had some time to think.
That's not necessary.
I can speak with her then?
No.
-Can I ask why?
-Yes.
Anna and I have an understanding
that she will not consider
any relationship
until we both feel
it is suitable.
You're 20 years older than Anna,
she's still a young girl.
She's far too young
to experience
any sexual feelings. That's why.
Sigmund.
What?
-What are you saying?
-Huh?
What are you...
What are you saying, Sigmund?
Anna spent years in treatment
for... for a complex.
A complex which proves
she is capable
of normal sexual behavior.
I don't want to talk about it.
A complex that most often stems
from an unhealthy
paternal attachment.
I don't want to talk about it!
I don't want to talk
about anything!
Go!
That was 20 years ago.
Please wait here.
Dr. Schur.
Dr. Schur.
It's Anna Freud.
I need your help.
-Anna.
-All the chemists are closed.
I had nowhere else to go.
He needs his medicine.
Come in.
Thank you.
Dorothy. Perhaps next week.
Thank you, Dr. Freud.
Don't.
What could I possibly ask?
My therapy sessions
are mine alone.
Find your own therapist.
You do look a bit flushed.
I wonder what you could've
talked about.
Must be convenient to live
upstairs from your therapist.
And I could say the same
of you, having me so close.
Very convenient.
But I do wonder
what could have aroused
such a physical response.
Everything to do with you
and nothing at all.
So then he knows.
He knows.
Sophie, look
how he's walking.
Sophie, look at him walking.
She's going to catch you.
Let's try it one more time.
Oh, yeah, those can fly.
Yes.
Huh. He's inescapable.
This way, Jofi.
-Has Jofi finished walking you?
-Yes.
We saw the notice
for your lecture.
Postponed indefinitely.
Come on. Komm zu Papa.
Jofi.
Sorry. I thought he'd...
No, it's, my mouth, you see.
Ja, I have oral cancer,
and the smell of decay
is not so good.
Ja.
No, he did not
run away from you.
He ran away from me. He ran
away from the stench of death.
I'm afraid I'm no longer
his best friend.
Ja.
Hey! I want
to show you something!
Give me a hand. Thank you.
I want to show you Momus. Ja.
-Do you know Momus?
-Momus? No.
Momus is a god.
The Greek god who chastised
all the other gods of Olympus.
He laughed at them, mocked 'em
for their absurd--
their stupidity.
For creating us,
for creating humanity.
So they banished him.
They banished Momus
to live with us.
To live with humanity.
-Ja.
-Familiar theme.
Ja.
He became the sad god.
The god of satire and irony.
Such as this?
Look at this.
What would you call
a confirmed nonbeliever
whose desk,
whose den is guarded by
-a myriad of gods and goddesses?
-A collector. That's what I am.
I'm a collector. That is
the sad irony of my life.
I am a passionate disbeliever
who is obsessed
with belief and worship.
Ancient beliefs and worship,
yours included. Ja.
Hmm. All sharing
similar concepts.
Right and wrong, good and evil,
choice between them.
-Ja.
-Yeah.
Ja.
I need more handkerchiefs.
Are you all right?
So, what were we saying?
Oh, yes...
Yes, the good is to be chosen.
And your God, who created good,
or whatever that is,
He must also have created
the bad and the evil.
Ja?
He allowed Lucifer to live.
He let him flourish.
But, logically,
he should have destroyed him.
Am I correct?
Think about it.
God gave Lucifer free will,
which is the only thing
that makes goodness possible.
A world filled
with choiceless creatures
is a world of machines.
It's men, not God,
who created prisons
and sl*very and...
...bombs.
Man's suffering
is the fault of man.
What?
Man's suffering
is the fault of man!
Ja, I hear you, I'm not deaf.
So is that your excuse
and explanation for pain
and suffering?
I mean, did I bring about
my own cancer?
Or is k*lling me God's revenge
for my disbelief?
-Tell me.
-I don't know. I don't know.
You don't know?
Professor Lewis, I am shocked.
I am shocked.
I don't know and I don't
even pretend to. It's...
It's the most difficult question
of all, isn't it?
If God is good, then he'd make
all of his creatures
perfectly happy. But we're not.
We're not.
So, God...
God lacks goodness.
Or power.
Or both.
I don't know.
You don't know.
Well, finally, finally, finally.
We're making progress.
What if God wants to perfect us
through suffering?
Make us realize that happiness,
real happiness,
eternal happiness,
can only come through him.
If... If pleasure
is his whisper,
pain is his megaphone.
Oh, ja.
Yes.
Well, I'm sure that
the cherubic little altar boy,
Adolf h*tler,
who served in his church
every Sunday morning,
I'm sure he'd agree with you.
Ja. Absolutely. Totally.
I'm afraid
I cannot agree with you.
We speak different languages.
You know, you believe
in revelation. Fine.
I believe in science
and the authority of reason.
There's no common ground.
There is also
the dictatorship of pride.
Why does religion
make room for science,
but science refuses
to make room for religion?
Oh, please. You're breaking
my heart.
How capacious and comfortable
was Galileo's soul
when he told the Pope
that the sun does not
move around the world,
but the other way?
The stupidity of church leaders
is an easy target.
Precisely! 'Cause they hide
behind their ignorance.
You hide behind your ignorance!
I hide behind mine!
We all do
from time to time. So...
'Cause we're human.
'Cause we have lost our nerve
and our confidence in ourselves.
How often do we say
to ourselves, "God is a mystery.
He... We are small,
he is mighty.
It is written by God.
It is God's plan."
Ja, I'll show you something.
God's plan.
That was...
That was my daughter.
Sophie.
She... She was the apple
of my eye.
And she d*ed from
the Spanish influenza
at 27-years-old.
She was a mother.
And a wife.
And my little grandson.
He was plucked from us.
k*lled by tuberculosis
at the age of five.
Five years.
Ja.
What a wonderful plan for God...
to k*ll a little boy.
I'll tell you something.
I wish that cancer had
eaten into my brain
instead of my cheek and my jaw,
so that I could hallucinate God
and seek my bloody vengeance
on him.
Bloody hypocrites!
There's so much pain
in this world.
And that is God's plan?
It's the same fantasy
I always have.
We are on horseback.
His family hates mine.
He's avenging them.
I cannot escape.
The knight
is coming closer. Closer.
Then he kisses me...
everywhere I am bleeding.
His face to mine.
His lips near my lips,
red and dripping.
He whispers...
"Tell me your family secrets."
How advanced is your cancer?
It is inoperable.
And it's only a matter of time.
How much time?
That is for me to decide.
Dr. Schur and I have a pact.
And don't you look at me
like that, Professor Lewis.
I know what you people think
of su1c1de, that it is wrong,
and it is a sin.
-It is.
-Ja.
Look in there.
You see, hell's already arrived.
-Have you told your wife?
-No.
She shares your superstitions.
Anna?
Anna? No, she knows
I'm going to die, ja.
That you're planning
to k*ll yourself?
No. Why should I cause her pain?
You're protecting her,
or you're afraid
she'd talk you out of it?
You really are persistent,
aren't you?
A true convert,
like a reformed alcoholic.
You have any more questions?
'Cause I'm tired.
Yes,
actually.
It's all right.
-Is Anna married?
-No.
I'm surprised.
It is not an easy task for any
of us to choose the right mate.
You mean for Anna to choose.
Do you have a question for me,
Professor Lewis?
Dr. Jones today...
Dr. Ernest Jones?
Yes. He asked to see Anna,
not you.
He did?
Yes.
But why would she need a mate
when she has
all the stimulation she needs?
-Do you have a question for me?
-Yes, is she seeing someone?
Man, woman, both?
Since we're
intrinsically bisexual.
With her teaching
and her practice,
she has no time
for relationships.
Except for you.
Well, you're very fortunate.
Especially, considering
she's the only person
that you'll permit
to touch your mouth.
She's a professional.
A physician?
I told you, she's a member
of the Psychoanalytic Society.
Don't members need
to be doctors?
Well, there's special cases.
He takes my hand,
makes me touch him.
There...
and there.
Anna presented a paper
that was very well-received.
It must've been.
What was the subject?
Hmm?
Sadomasochistic fantasies.
I escape,
but the knight is too strong.
He catches me.
I tell him to punish me.
Only now I am a boy.
These fantasies,
were they based on
Anna's patients' treatments?
Based on her own analysis.
And who was her analyst?
Hmm?
I asked, who was her analyst?
I was.
The knight takes the boy
in his arms.
No.
Please.
No more knight.
You're not a boy or a girl.
You're my daughter.
My daughter. Do you understand?
-Why?
-We must stop this.
It's too painful for you
and for me.
I cannot help you with this.
You would send me
to someone less than you?
-No, I cannot help you--
-Papa, I need you.
-Stay calm. No.
-I need you. I need you!
Anna, you do not need me.
-Listen...
-Please.
-I need you!
-Please.
I need you.
I need you.
Please.
Yes, all is well.
There.
Good.
Das ist gut.
That's my girl.
Good.
I need your help.
All is well.
Do you have any more questions?
Oh, yes.
But I won't presume to ask them.
I'll only remind you
of your earlier observations
that psychoanalysis
is inherently sexual,
and what people say is less
important than what they cannot.
You do that every time,
you know?
I'm waiting
for the next news broadcast.
Why not just turn
the music down? Why off?
Because I object
to being manipulated.
All music sounds like
church music to me. That's why.
My objection to church music
is that it trivializes
the emotions I already feel.
I think that you're afraid
to feel them at all.
Wow.
Is that your final diagnosis?
Fascinating.
Not all of it. No.
I also think that
you're terribly selfish,
putting your own pain above
the pain of those who love you.
You lie to yourself,
thinking that
you can control death...
the way you control your world
and your daughter.
You believe that you can...
outthink your fear
by hiding behind your desk
in your den of gods.
But...
truth is, you're terrified.
Understandably.
But terrified, nonetheless.
Ja.
We're all terrified.
Ja.
You... Earlier this afternoon
when the air raid warning
sounded,
do you remember the siren? Ha!
You most certainly
did not behave like a man
who took great comfort
in his last days
in this terrible,
terrible world, did you?
Ja, so where was
your great faith?
Where was your precious joy
of meeting your beloved Creator?
Disappeared.
Why?
Because you know, beyond
all your self-protective lies
and your fairy tales,
that he does not exist.
Ja.
You see, you bury your doubts.
You bury your memories
of the w*r.
But at the core of your being...
you are a coward.
We're all cowards...
before death.
Oh, God...
-Oh, God.
-I'll phone a doctor.
No. No hospital. No doctors.
-Just get some towels.
-Towels? Yes. Yes.
Uh...
Get this damn thing out. Here.
It's the prosthesis. Get it out.
-Just...
-I--
-Put your fingers in. Ja.
-I...
-Ja.
-It's not coming.
Ah, just pull.
It's...
I've got it.
-Oh, God. Get some water.
-Yes.
Look at that.
Oh.
-Would you like to lie down?
-Ja, danke. Ja.
Well, "The Monster" nearly won.
Little bastard.
Damn it all.
What can I do?
Just go.
No. I'll stay with you
until someone comes.
I want you to go, please.
-Don't talk.
-You'd like that, wouldn't you?
No more talk.
Oh, my God.
Bombers.
Ah...
Transport planes. Ours.
Oh. I was afraid.
So was I.
What were we thinking?
It was madness to think
we could solve
the greatest mystery
of all time.
There's a greater madness:
not to think of it at all.
Ah.
I'll call you a taxi.
No, no, no, please.
I'd rather walk to the station.
Get some air.
Is that the same statue
we saw in the church?
Ja.
You have a Catholic saint
on your shelf.
Yes, Saint Dymphna of Ireland.
She was the patron saint
of the mad and the lost.
Makes sense.
Well, there's a train
back to Oxford in an hour.
Good.
Yes.
Well, I'm terribly sorry
to have disappointed you.
No, no. The offense was mine.
I didn't say offended,
I said I disappointed you.
My idea of God,
it constantly changes.
He shatters it again and again.
But still I... I feel
the world is crowded with him.
He's everywhere, incognito.
And his incognito
is so very hard to penetrate.
The real struggle
is to keep trying.
To come awake.
Stay awake.
One of us is the fool.
If you're right,
you will be able to tell me so.
But if I'm right,
no one will ever know.
Give me a hand up.
Of course, yes.
Oh!
Ja.
Death is as unfair as life.
Goodbye, Professor Lewis.
We will meet again, perhaps.
God willing.
Before you go,
I want to give you something.
I have a book for you.
Thank you.
Right.
Don't open till Christmas.
Good.
Well, my friend,
auf Wiedersehen.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
His Majesty, King George,
speaking from
Buckingham Palace.
We now return
to the BBC Symphony Orchestra.
Professor!
-Miss Freud?
-I hurried.
-You okay?
-I have his medicine.
He's waiting for you,
but he's fine, really.
No need to worry.
I'm so glad you were here.
It looks like you survived
your visit.
"In the fell clutch
of circumstance,
I have not winced,
nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings
of chance,
my head is bloody, but unbowed."
"Beyond this place
of wrath and tears,
looms but the Horror
of the shade.
And yet the menace of the years
finds and shall find me
unafraid."
Well, cheers to us both.
I have to go.
He's waiting for me.
Anna.
I'm sorry.
Are you sure we should do this?
From error to error
one discovers the entire truth.
Freud's Last Session (2023)
Moderator: Maskath3