Fixing Frank (2002) - full transcript

[MUSIC PLAYING]

[TRAFFIC NOISE]

[DISTANT SIREN]

FRANK: Men lurking in bushes,
in parks, public parks.

Don't they worry about insects?

What if a mosquito,
you know, down there?

And those bookstores, come on.

A hole in the wall,
they don't know who

or what's on the other side.

Like disease isn't enough.

What about splinters?



Not that they care
the way they pierced

holes everywhere, even their--

well, yeah, exactly, I never
even touched myself some places

those, you know, have pierced.

And, yeah, I know, I know.

They're not all like that.

I've watched Oprah.

But the ones that aren't,
you think they're not as bad?

I'm open minded
and all that slop.

OK, I want to wear a
dress, hey, free country.

But some of them, flowery
sundresses, and they

cut beards.

I mean, I seen one of those
parades on-- on the TV.

I saw the parade on TV.



I know every guy's not--

I mean-- I mean, I look in the
mirror and I don't see much.

But I need off--
off-- off it all.

I've been losing
track of things.

Please, tell me what things.

Last week, I kind of sort
of lost count of some pills.

Made me think maybe it might
be time to see someone.

You understand I'm
a psychologist and not

a psychiatrist?

So?

I'd like you to
see a psychiatrist.

I'm that far gone?

Why not you?

No, in addition, a
psychiatrist for a medication

consult for depression.
- Me?

Here?
I'm miles from depressed.

I heard mention of suicide.

I flushed those pills.
They're sewage.

I swear.

Do you still
think about suicide?

I don't think about anything.

I wake up my brain, I
might as well you give in.

Look, I'm not going to kill
anyone, including myself.

Convince me.

That pill stuff, I
kind of sort of lied.

I never took pills.

And you'll kindly
explain why the lie.

What?

You don't ever lie?

Frank, I'm the therapist,
which allows me to answer

your questions with a question.

You, on the other hand, cannot.

Now, why the lie?

Uh-- well, you-- you
asked what I wanted off of.

And I-- I panicked.

Well, then I'll ask again.

What would you like off?

You know.

Yeah?

DR. APSEY: Correct.

So.

DR. APSEY: I can't cure you.

You're suffering
isn't from a disease.

I thought you did
that type of counseling.

DR. APSEY: Frank, would you like
it to be a disease so a pill

would make it disappear?

That pill?

I'd kill for.

The quick fix, huh?

Change requires
more than a pill.

The difficulty of it now
isn't diddly doo compared

to the difficulty of changing.

Do you think you're
up to such difficulty?

I told you.
I don't think.

DR. APSEY: Working with
me requires you start.

I do have other clients with
identity disorder issues,

experiencing similar
pain to yours.

I understand English usually.

So talk it, huh?

Many of my clients,
as we proceed,

discover their interests--

interests of which
you wish to be freed--

lessen and eventually disappear.

So you do--

I help people create
lives that work.

If it disappears, then
many of my clients

seem pleased by the byproduct.

Fuck yeah.

You desire change.

Are you prepared for the most
grueling journey of your life?

I understand English
always, so talk it.

Are you prepared--
- I don't know.

Well, if you ever do
know, feel free to schedule

another appointment.

If not, of course,
I wish you the best.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

[LAUGHS]

Wow.

Whatever vitamin you're taking--

- Vitamin L.
- L?

L, love?

Lust?

Lecturosity?

Lying.

What an aphrodisiac.

Details.

Praise the Lord, I'm cured.

Great.

Then you can delete
your collection

of nude celebrity photos.

It's not a collection.

I just haven't cleaned
up my files in a while.

Yeah, yeah,
whatever, whatever.

So tell me already.

Well, OK, our initial
therapist client chit chat

was of the perfectly
blah blah genre

that you, as a
psychologist, I assume

are excessively familiar with.

Until the good doctor
says pull down your pants.

And I, say excuse me, big daddy,
but you're hardly my type.

But in the name of solid
investigative reporting,

I decided to drop my
very brief briefs.

Then Dr. Frankenstein
slaps electrodes

to my low hanging and
extraordinarily oversized man

balls.

Now, I'm thinking,
oh, my god, how

do I let my dear,
sweet, sonofabitch

Jonathan talk me into this.

He shows me a slide of this
naked toy boy, beauty boy,

I'm thinking, well,
this isn't so bad,

until this electric
shock zaps me.

And suddenly, I'm prancing
around like I'm auditioning

for the city ballet.

He flips off the switch.

And the instant
the current stops,

the hunk around the
slide is replaced

with a slide of an
objectively, rather

uninteresting naked woman.

You know, men equal pain.

Women equal relief.

As if I needed an
electric shock to teach me

that men equal pain.

No dinner till you tell
me what really happened.

Well, I knew I
was in trouble when

he put on their rubber gloves.

Frank.

OK, OK, I'll tell you.

For you, my love,
nothing but the truth.

I pulled it off.

I should have been an
actor instead of a writer.

I was so Butch.

You know, more perfectly butch
than ever dreamed I could be.

Oh, sweety, you can be butch.

But I was petrified
that I would lose control

and my voice would
rise an octave

and the spirit of Judy Garland
would burst from my body.

Now, when has the
spirit of Judy Garland

ever burst from your body?

Exactly.

But what if my first
session was Frankenstein

was the moment when all my
nelliness first surfaced.

You're being a tad
offensive, you know.

That's the point.

I dripped of self-loathing,
so terrifyingly

easy to find in myself.

I was the perfect public service
announcement for fag haters.

We're going to nail this guy.

But get this.

Not once did he utter
the word ga-- ga--

gay.

Like he'd spew
fuzzy green chunks

if the dreaded G
word passed his lips.

So I think next session, chunks.

But what else?

I need coaching.

If you were him, exactly
what would you be expecting?

Well, if I were
he, I'd expect lots

of doubts, lots of questions.

OK, I've got
questions, Dr. Apsey.

I got questions.

I'd recommend asking them.

No Bible thumping.

I don't care what
Jesus thinks of me.

I have no interest in
Jesus's opinion of you either.

This is not Christian therapy.

Anything else?

Unorthodox techniques.

Like torture?

OK, no electric shocks.

No electric shocks.

No funny smells to make
me puke when you flash

pictures of naked individuals.

No punishment stuff.

What you're describing
is aversion therapy.

I promise none of that.

Only direct, honest talk.

So direct he couldn't
even say the G word.

Yeah, couldn't say the word.

Then last week, why
wouldn't you say the word?

What word was that?

The word.

Ah, yes, the word.

You refrain from using it.

So I chose similar restraint
out of respect for you.

Have you ever employed
it to describe yourself.

I've been to a
therapist before.

I said it then.

I'd like to see
copies of the records.

Forging records,
that's inadvisable.

That's impossible.

The guy's died-- or
moved-- or something.

Did this other
therapist use aversion?

I don't remember.

You don't recall if
he used electric shock?

Little electrodes
over your body.

No.
No shocks.

Any form of aversion?

No.

So how are you aware
of aversion therapy?

There are books.

Ah, of course, I've read.

- I've read.
- What books?

"The Recurrent Use
of Aversion Techniques

in the Clinical Treatment
of the Male Homosexual

in the 20th Century."

I don't remember the title.

You're aware of
aversion therapy,

yet your previous
therapist never used it.

You've read, but you
don't remember the books.

If you were I, Frank,
would you believe that?

A good therapist doesn't
insinuate his client is lying.

I don't think a good therapist
calls his client a liar.

Probably not.

- Are you lying?
- No.

Maybe.

Maybe I never exactly
been to a therapist.

Then my previous
question remains.

Have you ever verbalized
the word about yourself?

Could be not.

If you did, what would happen?

Your worst fear.
- Oh, if I said it?

I'd puke my guts.

Fear of vomiting.
Nothing more?

- There'd be more.
- Of course, there's more.

DR. APSEY: Tell me.

- I don't know I got the words.
- Find them.

I got, you know, a life, not a
perfect life, but I'm standing.

And sometimes I think that
one word and my tendons

let go my bones, my muscles turn
to Jell-O, and I'd collapse.

I don't think I can say
that word and still stand.

Do it anyway.

I'm pressing, Frank, because
the first step to change

is accepting what
you want to change.

Hey, I accept it.

I quite doubt a human organism
can accept something he

she won't verbalize.

Um--

Earlier, you said
you had a life.

Yeah.

What type of life?

A supercalifragilistic
life with the man you love.

A life, a life, just a life.

You're not married, correct?

No.

Girlfriend?

- No.
- Boyfriend?

- Husband, please.
- Fuck you.

No, no boyfriend.

Would you like someone
special in your life?

Doesn't everyone?

So is your life working?

My life is not so bad.

So why are you here?

OK, my life sucks.

My life's a fucking nightmare.

Enough?

DR. APSEY: No.

Why?

Because.

Because-- because
I may have tend--

because I have tendencies that
may be-- that are homosexual.

I maybe kind of
sort of messed up.

Instead of forcing
him to use the word,

the session became
about me not saying it.

So, you know, giving him what
he wants, I said homosexual.

Fag seemed too hostile.

Gay, too neutral.

He certainly wouldn't
understand the subtleties

of the word queer.

I don't understand the
subtleties of the word queer.

FRANK: Basic homophobia
101 theories.

He manipulated you into
saying the dreaded H word.

You won't be able to
cope with the truth.

So you'll sink into
self-destructive behavior,

the way we all do
when we're faced

with our sick, twisted selves.

Drink yourself
into oblivion, have

a few unsafe anonymous
fucks in filthy places, rape

a couple of blind
handicapped, 10-year-old boys.

You know, the usual thing.

So next week, you make
up some gooey experience,

so he can convince you what
a twisted worm of a man you

are and pull you out
of the homosexual muck

and into a blissful
heterosexual life

where the sun always shines.

What do you mean make up?

You want to see the
monster's methods?

You got to give
him what he wants.

Talk dirty to him.

I wouldn't do that.

That's not my experience.

Not me.

The me in his office, that
me wouldn't talk dirty.

So talk clean, but the
extracurricular activities,

very, very dirty.

So if you were to, you
know, what would it be?

Sex in bushes?

No, I-- I told him
I don't like that.

Perfect.

He assumes you're lying and
you have a frequent bush

pass for the park.

No.

I'd never have anonymous sex.

I'd-- uh--
- What?

No.

What?

Tell me.

Um-- uh-- a huge club
with pitch black room.

There's lots of men.

And there's-- there's
lots of wandering hands.

A relentless army of hungry
hands, smothering my body.

Pinching fingers,
probing tongues.

So sticky, so wet.

You seem to have given
this a lot of thought.

Uh, huh.

So that's what you'll
tell Frankenstein next week.

Yeah, but I've never been.

He'll know I'm making it up.

OK.

Club Phuque-- P-H-U-Q-U-E, cute.

Group scenes, role playing,
fetish attire required.

Open seven days, 10:00 to 4:00,
refreshments, nonsmoking rooms.

Yeah?

Well, if you can't
fabricate, then fornicate.

Go to a sex club.

Do whatever.

Safe only, of course.

And you got a nice
non-fabricated experience

to tell Frankenstein.

I can't believe you want me
to have sex with another guy.

I don't.

I want you to
write this article.

If we stop one guy from
going to this quack,

you've saved a life.

God, I hate when
you do this, Jonathan.

If I were good fag,
I'd protest with you

at every new cause de jour.

If I were a good
fag, I'd yell louder.

If every a good fag, I'd
throw condoms at the pope.

I can do what you want,
which makes me the good fag.

I can not do what
you want, which

makes me an unenlightened,
apolitical, fucking piece

of selfish shit.

It's OK for you to
contradict that.

What's wrong with
being a good fag?

It's not wrong.

It's just-- it's
very, very hard.

OK, exactly what
sort of depravities

do you want me to make up?

My name is Franklin
Johnston, and I

am a writer, freelance writer.

Nice to meet you all.

I didn't actually make the
choice to go see Dr. Apsey.

It was planned experiments.

I went somewhere last
night, only to watch.

I wasn't going to
take off any clothes,

but everything got taken off.

I guess, there wasn't
much of a fight.

How many times?
How many individuals?

I don't know.

I woke up 6:00 AM,
was naked, curled

up on a damp, concrete floor.

Found a pair of jeans, soaked,
not mine, and shirt, mine,

but covered in, you
know, ew, so I left it.

Walked home shirtless,
shoeless, soulless.

And you undertook
this excursion because?

Last week you said, say it,
say it, say it, say the word.

So I said it, faggot.

And I acted like a faggot.

All male organisms
in your situation

don't engage in such behavior.

You-- you pushed me.

Me?

Have you ever succumbed
to anonymous sex before?

Don't remember.

Frank, your lapses of
memory consistently occur at

ridiculously convenient times.

Say, yes.

Yeah, I guess I've
done that stuff.

Were we acquainted
during his past exploits?

FRANK: No.

So were these previous
encounters because of me?

Of course not.

Then who caused you
to have anonymous sex

these other times?

Whoever.

Your editor.

My boss.

I got fired.

When you were fired,
what were you feeling?

How do I know?

Do I look like a keep a diary?

Upset, angry, humiliated.

FRANK: All of the above.

Last week when we verbalized
the word, you all of the above?

Yeah, exactly.

DR. APSEY: So both times, you
were angry, upset, humiliated,

and what did you do?

Fucked.

I fucked.

So for five fucking
seconds I could fucking

forget who I fucking was.

So who caused you
to have anonymous sex?

Don't take the blame.

You-- and my ex-boss.

DR. APSEY: You had
nothing to do with it?

Look, slap my
knuckles or something.

Let's get on with this.

To punish you?

Last week, you specifically
requested I refrain

from punishment techniques.

This week you're wanting them.

Make up your mind.

He's putting
words in your mouth.

You're putting
words in my mouth.

I am concerned you view
me as a disciplinarian.

And your activities
the other night

were rebellion against me.

Well, no real guy
likes some other guy

telling him what to do.

DR. APSEY: Did I ever
tell you no sex club?

My mind's not a tape recorder.

Mine is.

I've never mentioned sex, not
the word, not the activity.

You're rebelling against
the rule I never made.

So why did you assume
you shouldn't have sex?

Well, duh, that's
why I'm here.

DR. APSEY: Then you've created
the no sex rule, no me.

Perhaps you shouldn't be
so demanding of yourself.

I should do exactly
what I'm trying not to.

I will never tell you
whether or not to be sexual.

But, Frank, desires exist.

Repression always
fails miserably.

Healthy sex is
not an anesthetic.

Mature adult sex
connects to feelings.

If that's easier with a
man, practice with a man.

I'd prefer you build
an emotionally healthy

relationship with a man,
than have anesthetized sex

with men or women.

Well, even Frankenstein
has his surprises.

I'm-- I'm--

I'm-- I'm surprised.

I have a confession to make.

That story about the
sex club, I made it up.

Oh.

Why this lie?

FRANK: A friend put me up to it.

Frank, I'm going
to piss in my pants.

To see if you'd pee
your pants or anything.

Pleasantly, it's been
quite a while since I've

lost bladder control.

Perhaps there's a better
therapist for you.

Great, now you see
what you've done.

I'd be happy to
recommend a few.

- OK.
- No.

- No.
- You view me as your enemy.

Ask to stay.

Please let me stay.

Have you noticed a
pattern to our sessions?

You lie.

You stumble.

You reluctantly come clean.

He wants an apology.

I'm sorry.

Sorry isn't worth doo doo.

FRANK: Please, please,
please, let me stay.

The pain you
radiate blinds me.

I'm a sucker for pain.

You may stay, if you stop lying
and begin with coming clean.

It saves time.
It saves energy.

It saves me pissing my pants.

Agreed?

Thank you.

Now, homework for the week.

No lying.

Lying is toxic.

It's time to develop
healthier habits.

And the truth is a
spiffy habit to get into.

He was lying, but his--

his lies, by his own admission
after a while, were very--

were thin veneer.

It became very complicated.

Well, you have all the records.

So truth is a very
important factor in my life.

I would like to
give all my patients

the benefit of the doubt.

I mean, people lie.

I guess you could
label anything a lie.

But people are just
afraid of the truth.

And that's as clearly
as I can put it.

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't know why told him
the sex club was a lie.

Maybe it's his eyes.

They suck words outta me
and everything backfires.

He's supposed to tell me
I'm bad and he doesn't.

Well, what is he going to say?

You know, good
afternoon, you're bad.

Please pay me $150 an
hour to destroy your life.

He's supposed to
punish me, but he won't.

He knows that you
don't trust him.

So he expresses compassion
to keep you off balance.

He's supposed to
hate my guts, but I

think he actually likes me.

I can't deal with him liking me.

Because you like him?

You are way off.

Clients are frequently
attracted to their therapists.

Are you?
You're crazy.

I've seen him at conferences.

He's not bad looking.

You know, if he
were my therapist,

I might sport a woody.

You're oversharing.

Look, I'm having
a really bad day.

And it would be really
nice if you would just

zip up your deliciously
oversized mouth, nod your head,

mutter a few
therapist's uh, huhs,

and never use the phrase
sport a woody again.

Jonathan, what if I can't?

I mean, it's not
exactly like I've never

done a piece like this before.

Uh, huh.

Is that a therapist uh, huh?

I aim to please.

Jonathan.

You're a good writer.

I'm a writer, not a reporter.

Who am I kidding?

I write about tulip festivals
and antique shows and fall

colors.

But an expose?

What if I'm in over my head?

Then you will rise
and meet this challenge.

Same way you've risen
and met every challenge

I've ever seen you face.

I have complete confidence
in your ability.

You know what?

What?

I have an uncontrollable
desire to kiss you.

Wow.

That is friggin freaky.

I'm experiencing the same
uncontrollable desire.

Oops.

What?

The uncontrollable
desire, it's spreading.

Oh, you have uncontrollable
desire to kiss my nose?

Yeah.
That all right?

Yeah, that's all right.

Oops, your earlobe,
can I kiss it too?

- Yeah, I guess so.
- Oops.

The bulging bag
underneath my left eye.

How did you know?

Faggot intuition.

OK, before you completely
lose site of the fact

that we are in a public place,
Jonathan, I respect you.

You're always right
there, front line.

That's why they call me
super fag, faster than a speed

dial phone tree, able to leaflet
entire malls in a single bound.

Exactly.

But it's not that I'm not
sure if I can pull this off,

but I'm not sure--

I'm kind of thinking--

feeling I maybe sort
of don't want to.

Well, and you don't want
to, you don't want to, right?

Wants change, right?

Wants change all the time.

I mean really all the time,
like-- like when you wanted

to manage our investments,
instead of hiring

a professional, except it
turned out that it was harder

than you thought, so you quit.

We ended up with a 1% return
instead of 10 or more.

Oh, when you wanted
to make extra money

with that multi-level
marketing craziness,

except it was more time
consuming than you thought.

So you quit.

We ended up with 100 gallons of
mud mask and a tax write-off.

Or whatever.

You know-- you know,
you go half way.

Wants change and you bail.

I step aside and I
let you self-sabotage

because it is your life.

And it's usually only money.

But this time it's more.

So grow a backbone.

Visualize manhood.

Pretend you have a brain.

But under no
circumstances, drop out.

Why don't you tell me
what you really think?

Sorry.

Sorry, sorry.

I'm not allowed needs and
I'm not allowed concerns?

Yes, of course, you are.

Tell me your concerns.

Oh, eat it.

If I go back, I do.

And if I don't, I don't.

Well, you're going back.

You are going back.

[DOORBELL RINGING]

JONATHAN: The actual idea
of Mr. Johnston posing

as a client of Dr. Apsey's, I--

I was not involved in.

It was Dr. Baldwin's
idea for me to--

to go under cover.

Prior to the
events in question,

no, I wasn't even
aware of Dr. Baldwin.

As Mr. Johnston
is a reporter, I--

it was not my place to
decide whether or not

it was within the bounds
of his professional ethics.

It's not my responsibility
to make that decision.

DR. APSEY: How was
your lie-free week?

Difficult.

DR. APSEY: Perhaps you'll
share how difficult.

Listen, I can't-- um--

do this today.

I'll pay you.

And therapy may be
a beneficial place

to share these difficulties.

I can't talk about
not lying, because I'd

have to lie to do it.

DR. APSEY: You're more
comfortable with falsehood

than truth.

But changing patterns
is why you're here.

You don't have to
have sex with men.

That's the big step.

Take a small step today.

Earn a couple bonus
therapy points.

Tell the truth.

The friend I told
you about last week,

the one who convinced me
to lie about the sex club,

he's not a friend.

Well, not, of course,
he's a friend,

but a friend I kind of
sort of have a thing with.

DR. APSEY: I assumed.

Now this man, what
should I call him?

His name is Jonathan.

DR. APSEY: And how is not
lying connected to Jonathan?

Sometimes he wants
me to do things

I'm not sure I want to do.

Sexual things?

Personal things.

True friends don't push.
FRANK: Yeah.

He's a therapist, too.

I mean he should
know better, right?

A therapist?

Exactly, what's he
been pushing you to do?

I know you know I
have to lied to you.

It's not only to
you, everywhere.

Every crack in my life I
putty with a lie out of habit

to survive, because
day in and day out,

I got the not so
subliminal message

that I was sick or defective
or pathetic, because I couldn't

hammer in the nail
with a single pound,

or my handshake
wasn't firm enough,

or I couldn't do the 42 push-ups
that the Presidential Fitness

Test said I should
be able to do.

And I knew that something was
very, very, very wrong with me,

because whenever there was
a neighbor or a postman

or a waiter who had that certain
je ne sais quois, you know,

that certain gent
don't want to say qua.

My dad would say that man's
a little light on his feet.

And it scared me,
because somehow I knew

that je ne sais quois was moi.

So another day passed when my
dad wasn't embarrassed by me,

and he didn't know why
except that in the tiniest

corner of his brain I
spoke with a voice so soft

he never listened.

And I would do something wrong.

I would do something.

Dad would hit me on the face.
Hit me.

Not a slap.

But fingers,
definitely fingers hit,

curled with the fist
hit on the face.

And Mom would try to stop it.

Stop, stop, stop, she'd yell.

But words didn't work.

So she hit me first.

You know, softer,
kinder, gentler smack.

Because she figured if she
hit first, then he wouldn't.

But the problem
was-- the problem

was she grew to like hitting,
because the power over me

was the only power she had.

And then they'd fight.
It's my turn.

Then they'd fight.

No, it's my turn.

Honey, I think your
turn was yesterday.

No, I don't think I
would have every given

him that black of an eye, dear.

And because I
caused this fight--

because I caused this fight,
they'd both just gang up on me.

It glued their
marriage together.

No, stop it.

Stop it.

Frank, stop, stop, stop, stop.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

OK, this is the truthful truth.

Mom and dad never
hit me physically,

but they hit me with words.

They hit me with criticism.

They hit me with the
disappointment festering

in their fearful eyes.

And I though I must be very,
very, very bad to make them

judge.

I figured if I lied,
they wouldn't see me,

and they couldn't reject me.

And it continues even today,
no matter how much money I make

or how many articles
they publish--

I'm-- I'm a--
I'm a writer.

Did I tell you I was a writer?

I feel inadequate.

And when Jonathan suggested
writing an expose,

I thought, wow, that's a
serious piece of journalism.

It could fix me.

And I said, yes, yes,
yes, save me from myself.

So I came to be saved, but
not by you, by this article.

But then you surprised me.

You helped me taste clean.

I-- hey, I still get
those bonus points?

FRANK: Say something.

Hate me.

Hit me.

Rip me a second asshole
and scream, fuck you,

fuck you, fuck you.

These options
you have suggested,

many have crossed my mind.

But life ultimately is about
self-control, isn't it?

So before I lose my
professional tolerance

and those options seem
viable, you'd better go.

DR. APSEY: Notice my tone.

The low timbre and
even modulation

indicate I'm not posing a
question or an invitation.

An order, now go.

Are you expecting ugliness?

To see my anger?

I'm afraid I'll have
to disappoint you.

I just--

I just want to interview
you, include your side.

Continue.

I'm going to
write this article

with or without
your cooperation.

I prefer it to be with.

DR. APSEY: Why?

Professionalism.

Professionalism hasn't been
a major force in your behavior.

No, I guess not, but I
was talked into some things

I wish I hadn't been.

How many times have
you lied since we've met?

DR. APSEY: The question
was not rhetorical.

An exact number please.

I don't know--

DR. APSEY: Then estimate.

Six times.

A conservative estimate.

Oh, all right, six.

And not white lies, but
six malevolent falsehoods.

I didn't have to tell
you I was a writer.

I could have-- could have
continued this game if all

I wanted was to trap you.

I don't.

I suppose so.

You're not the first
client who lied to me.

Well, when they lie about their
names, you know it's hopeless.

Let me see your
driver's license.

DR. APSEY: I promise, I
won't laugh at your photo.

[LAUGHING]

Franklin Johnston.

Well, Mr. Johnston, you want
to interview me from my side.

It's a delicate dilemma.

To consent to an
interview with a client

would clearly be an
inappropriate dualistic

relationship, yet in reality
you never were a client,

so perhaps I'll give your
proposal serious consideration.

Now go.

I know sorry
isn't worth doo-doo,

but please accept my apology.

I'm a therapist, not a saint.
Now go.

- Hi, sorry I'm late.
- Hey.

Subway's a mess.

Hey, champagne.

What's the occasion?

Listen, I'm sorry.

Meetings, protests,
fundraisers, I love that life.

You go along with
me sometimes I think

just to earn good fag points--

like I dole them out.

I promise, never
again will I pressure

you to be more political.

You're free, poof.

You don't want to write
this article, it's OK.

I'll find someone else.

Thanks.
- Thank you.

Jonathan, it's
just the pretending

I'm uncomfortable with.

I think I want to
be above board.

You know, tell him
I'm a writer and do

a straightforward interview.

Like he would go along.

And even if I, trusting
him what he says,

the only way to
get the truth is--

Is by lying.

Get the fat free.

If he knows you're a
reporter, he's never going

to give you honest information.

Well, I hope you're
wrong, because-- uh--

Frank.

OK, Jonathan, just don't flip.
OK?

Frank, tell me you didn't.

I kind of sort of did.

Frank.

Frank!

What on earth were you thinking?

I don't know.

I just can't go
through with this.

- After all our planning--
- Your planning--

You sabotage--

Choosing not to do
something your way

isn't the same as sabotage.

Whatever.
Fine.

It's over.

There'll never be
an article now.

Oh, grow up.

Total honesty here.

Hey, just say it.

You don't think I'm good enough.

Asking you to go
undercover was a mistake.

If-- if I always go half
way, it's because you--

you-- you build me up.
You can do it.

You can do it.

Then you shut me down
with your doubts.

OK, no more halfway.

When this article comes out,
I'll be saying I told you so,

I told you so, I told
you so, until you're

investing in earplug stocks.

I very much look forward
to you proving me wrong.

I believe that Dr. Apsey
approach and the basis

of his psychotherapy
is unethical,

inappropriate, immoral, as
well as perhaps malpractice.

His use of language
is very powerful.

He-- he comes across as
sounding quite logical.

I did not realize that
Dr. Apsey would manipulate

Mr. Johnston to such a degree.

Of course, he was in a
dilemma, because he was talking

about someone he
loved, he cared for,

but who I feel was
using him unfairly.

DR. APSEY: To let or not
to let one never truly

was a client, i.e. you,
interview me for a potentially

career threatening
article, the roughly four

inch by four inch area
beneath my solar plexus

currently is experiencing a
not negligible inflammation,

commonly labeled caution.

My caution encourages
me to say N-O.

The 4.1 pounds above my neck--

the average male brain
is actually 3.1 pounds.

I hope you'll excuse me for
being a smidgen overgenerous.

I'm feeling rather vulnerable.

My brain assures me I have
nothing to lose by cooperating.

You'll write the article,
with or without my input.

If you lie, you lie.

If you tell the truth, I can
only gain from an interview.

The single path to
victory is to step aside.

As the history of
humanity and inhumanity

clearly demonstrates,
stepping aside

is, of course, much more
difficult than loading a gun

and shooting it.

How to step aside, make
the correct decision,

I have no earthly idea.

And you're telling
me this, because--

Ah, my analogy eludes you.

Then I'll try again in a
more simple vernacular.

You like Oprah?

Sure.

Who doesn't?

I wouldn't know.

Her people phone me.

I decline.

Talk shows expect
you to be combative.

I'm not.
They expect you to be defensive.

I'm not.

They expect you to
be charming and have

a sublime ability to banter.

Well, OK.

But honesty and integrity aren't
assets during a ratings sweep.

Do you find my condescension
of television arrogant?

Extremely.

But not unjustified.

I'm pleased we see eye to eye.

Now, you must elucidate.

Why would a wise organism
trust the print media

more than the electronic media?

So why did you
ask me here today?

You've initiated a game
I'm powerless to terminate.

So I intend to win.

You and I are
not in opposition.

No?

If I refuse your interview,
what will your article say.

Uh-- I'd say you're a kind
hearted man who's misguided

in his attempts to change us.

Oh, as I suspected.

You'd invalidate me and my work,
yet we're not in opposition.

Then you are naive, which
benefits me tremendously.

I'll win much more easily.

Now, you've unfairly
labeled me as misguided.

How can I prove otherwise?

Prove your therapy works.

DR. APSEY: Prove it doesn't.
- That is not my--

Why not?

Your Dr. Baldwin in his fancy
office claims I'm a fraud.

Do you ask him for proof?
No.

Because what?

He cooks you dinner,
warms your bed.

So his assertions
go unchallenged.

You know his last name?

How?

Oh, I've done a dollop
of research this past week.

Your community is small
and quite talkative.

Information equals strength.

I intend to play your game
from a position of strength.

And you've certainly
gone out of your way

to let me know this.

I wonder, does a man
secure in his strength

go out of his way to
reveal how strong he is?

I like you, Mr. Johnston.

Next question.

OK, why this type of work?

DR. APSEY: If I weren't
so terribly shy,

I'd put it in a brochure.

People ask me so frequently.

My younger brother was
similar to you, my clients.

I thought, I don't
care who cares.

It turned out he cared.

I was 19.

I was away at college.

One day I received
a letter from him

using the corner of a razor
blade as a pen and his blood

as ink.

He wrote, "I won't
live this way.

I'm sorry."

When my clients frustrate
me, I think of my brother.

OK.

And how do I know
this really happened?

Here, I'll show you
the blood drenched

letter I carry in my wallet.

I'm sorry, gay
teen kills self.

It's very tragic.

It's also very convenient.

A dead brother motivating
you to save the poor gay men

from killing themselves.

I am so thoroughly
pleased you were never

a client, because now
I have complete freedom

to say fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Heavens, fuck is a lovely word.

I'll have to remember to
use it more frequently.

Is your outburst
intended to distract

from the question of proof?

March 23, 1971, his
obituary two days later.

Morton, Illinois, "Morton
Herald," Adam Apsey.

You want proof, do
your own research.

Next question.

Oh, I need to
interview your clients

who supposedly succeeded.

DR. APSEY: I
guarantee my clients

complete confidentiality.

That's a convenient rule.

Oh, I suppose your Dr. Baldwin
has allowed you to interview

those clients he stole from me?
- Jonathan--

Do I detect surprise?

Has he never informed you
that stealing my clients

is his favorite pastime?

Your clients?

If you won't let
me talk to them,

then all I have is your
opinion that they've changed.

And if you spoke with
them, would you believe them

or insist I brainwashed them?

FRANK: Some people
would say that, yes.

Yes, some people.

Attack dogs, really.

They bark and growl simply
because my clients had

the courage to assume
control of their lives

and change themselves
to find happiness.

While these some
people are wallowing

in pain over the
same sexual behaviors

they're waving
their flags about.

I'm not in pain
over my sexuality.

Did I say you?

That's your inference, not mine.

Of course, now that
you mention it,

anonymous sex, followed by
guilt ridden drunken binges--

That wasn't me.

I made it up.

Oh, made that up means
your subconscious mind

is barking louder
than your conscious,

which mind hardly matters.

As you've pointed out,
I'm not your client.

So don't try to
psychoanalyze me.

I'm here in a
professional capacity.

How professional?

How determined are you to
find out if my therapy works.

FRANK: Very.

Only one way, go
through the process.

You change, you'll know.

Not possible.

Well, then Mr. Professional
has a professional dilemma.

To write my therapy
works, you need proof.

The only way to
obtain such proof

is to experience the process.

Yet if you write my
therapy doesn't work,

you'll know you
failed to test it.

How unprofessional.

Don't mind fuck me, doctor.

Hardly my style, mister.

I'm merely encouraging
in you a professionalism.

I know you possess.

I've been to the library
to sample your articles.

Would you rise above the tulips?

The world is filled
with weak organisms.

Don't be one of them.

I didn't steal
Frankenstein clients.

Some of his clients
chose to see me.

I think you'd be
happy, now upset.

I'm not upset.

You seem upset.

I'm not upset you're
seeing his clients.

I'm upset you didn't tell me.

I never discuss
my clients with you.

Corners, please.

This is different.

You've got men who've
been through his process.

I need to interview them.

I can't encourage my clients
to talk to a reporter--

any reporter.

They're too vulnerable.

Would it hurt to ask?

Yes.

It's my professional obligation
to protect my clients.

And I am professionally
obligated to find proof

before I write he's a fraud.

My ethics are expendable
and yours aren't?

The proof would be
sitting in your lap

if you hadn't told him
you were a reporter--

You won't let me
talk to your clients.

What do you expect me to do?
- Nothing.

I thought, you write the
article, the board's alerted,

Apsey loses his license.

Me involving you to keep my name
out of it was just cowardly.

I'm going to the board
to file a complaint.

What he's doing is worse
than just unethical.

It's malpractice.

And if there's any justice,
he'll lose his license.

Whoa, whoa, whoa,
you file a complaint,

you sabotage my article.

You think after
Frankenstein's notified

he'll ever talk to me again?

So what?

The goal is to stop him.

From me filing a complaint
or you writing an article,

what's it matter?

It matters.

It matters to me.

You challenged me.

You can't unchallenge.

The other day you
told me not to quit.

Don't get in my way.

[HALTING PIANO MUSIC]

[DOOR BELL BUZZES]

[PIANO CONTINUES]

This isn't a drop in clinic.

I wanted to apologize for
doubting about your brother.

And since you are here,
I suppose more questions.

You do, he'll think your
apology was manipulative.

No, no more questions.

Hm, I'm pleased.

If you had any more questions,
how could I not have doubted

the sincerity of your apology?

Well, since you've no new
questions, yet you're here,

may I ask questions of you?

Uh-- OK.

How would Dr. Arthur
Alexander Apsey--

excuse me, Arthur
Alexander Apsey,

PhD, a spoonful of alphabet soup
following my name steadies me.

When I feel off balance,
my wife scolds me.

My pomposity explodes.

Gee, gosh darn it, I tell her,
good thing you're a saint.

Your question?

Ah, yes, one, is same sex
behavior a clinical pathology?

No, merely undesirable.

Heterosexual behavior
is the superior choice.

Question two, would or
could I force a male organism

to change his sexual behavior?

Never, your process only
works on voluntary participants.

Question three, is
same-sex sex natural?

Homosexual behavior
occurs across many cultures.

But so what?

In every society, human
beings kill one another.

Does that make murder natural?

If so, then nature is
terribly overrated.

Congratulations, Mr. Johnston,
you understand my theories

well enough to parrot.

You've admittedly no new
questions, yet here you are.

Why?

I came to apologize.

DR. APSEY: A letter or a phone
message would have sufficed.

Excuse me for being personal.

Why write such an unlikely
article in the first place?

Why spew such
poorly crafted lies?

So I'd catch you?

For a confession?

Why haven't you
located any of the men

who've completed my therapy?

As though my refusal
to provide their names

would have stopped a
more determined reporter.

And why today have you
no new questions, when

if I were writing the article,
the most important questions

I'd have are still unanswered?

The only answer that makes
any sense is what you want,

you won't admit.

Why do you think it's
so impossible for someone

to like being gay?

I don't care
about, Mr. Someone.

My undivided
attention is on you.

You have no idea what
it's like to be this way

in a world that despises you.

Ah, the blame game.

Society's abuse, the
government's neglect,

always somebody else's fault.
You don't like the way you are.

But just as much of the
world loves you as hates you.

Your books, your
parade, your television

shows all insisting gay is good,
gay is better, gay is best.

So if you don't like
yourself, maybe it's

not because of the world,
but simply because you

don't like yourself.

And given your feelings,
I don't believe

you've never wondered
what it would be like not

to have your sexual desires?

- What gay man hasn't?
- Bingo.

But so what?

Wondering isn't the
same as wanting.

I like being gay.

I like being gay.

I like being gay.

Is my message getting through?

Yes, a message is beaming
through, though not the one

you intend.

Would someone say, I
like, I like, I like,

so fervently if he
really believed it,

or do you mutter it under
your pillow every night,

like a mantra, hoping
repetition creates reality.

Every human organism has parts
of himself he doesn't like.

Exactly.

And survival is finding
self-love, hunting, digging,

scraping it up off the sidewalk,
it that's what it takes,

and allowing it to grow.

You choose only to survive?

What about thrive?

Survival is talking, conning
yourself into self-love.

Thriving is transforming
yourself into the man

you can and do love.

You remember our
first session, I

asked you if you wanted a pill.

Yeah, I remember.

Scientists have been
developing them for years,

secret funding, secret studies.

This tiny pill, can forever
change your sexuality.

Right.

DR. APSEY: It's merely a game.

Play with me.

Not a chance.

FRANK: I don't think so.

Why are you so terrified
of a hypothetical?

Let the world
take a pill away.

Let the world take a pill.

So take those away.

That pill will never exist
short of a nuclear bomb.

The world is here to
stay, because the world

is inside us, inside
our heads, a world

of other people's voices.

Some say you're good, OK.

Some say you're bad or evil.

But liking or disliking
the way you are,

how do you know those
feelings are your own

or response to those voices?

You can't know how you
truly think unless you

silence those voices.

DR. APSEY: Who's
chattering in your head?

No one.

Jonathan.

Oh, I don't know.

I could go on all day.
There are many.

Exactly.

And all together, if all
those voices are telling

you one thing, what is it?

Be a good fag.

Yes, the best little
fag in the world.

Is that truly what you
want or merely a response

to those voices?

DR. APSEY: How can you know
unless you remove those voices?

Do you perform exorcisms?

Quality idea.

From now on, you hear
anyone's voice in your head,

you say out, loudly, firmly.
Out.

Say it.
Out.

No.

- Are you scared?
- Don't.

If you eliminate
those voices, are scared

they'll be anything left?

Don't you dare do it.

Don't give into the fear.

Out.

Good.

Again.

Out.

Out.

I'd be walking around the
streets out, out, out.

If you can't verbalize
it, snap your fingers twice

and think out.

[SNAPS] Out.

[SNAPS] Out.

Snap your fingers.

Quality.

Again.

[SNAPS] Good.

Now say it.
[SNAPS] Out.

[SNAPS] Out.
[SNAPS]

Out.

[SNAPS] Out.

[SNAPS] Out.

[SNAPS] Out.

DR. APSEY: Quality.
Now look at the pill.

It looks like a vitamin.

The most potent medicine
is often very simple.

Lick it.

DR. APSEY: The taste?
- Nothing.

Well, lick it again.
Lick it harder.

FRANK: It's nothing.

You're licking
with your tongue.

Lick with your imagination.

That's chilled raspberries.

Smell it.

A wet forest.

A tiny pill looks
like a vitamin,

but tastes like raspberries
and smells like a wet forest.

What magic.

Now ignore the hate.

Ignore the love.

Ignore the hope.

Ignore the fear.

Ignore the world that
says you're sick.

Ignore the world that
says you are special.

Ignore being the
evil homosexual.

Ignore being the good fag.

Hypothetically,
the big if, if you

could obliterate your same
sex desires, would you?

You hungry?

DR. APSEY: You hungry?
Hungry, hungry.

Every shirt I own
has a button missing.

What do you say after brunch
with your mom tomorrow,

we go shopping?

Have you ever--

if there was a pill to make
you straight, would you?

Not in a million years.
You?

Not in a billion.

I love how I am.

Yeah, me too.

But for guys who don't, is
trying so, I don't know, evil?

Not evil.

Useless.

Yeah.

Of course.

But even if maybe a guy
has the right to try.

Sure, try.

Then in a month or
a year or a decade,

it blows up in some woman's
face or some children's faces.

And everyone has
wounds that burn

for the rest of their lives.

Shirt's ripped, toss or sew?

I don't care.

I'm asking because I'm
thinking of writing if a guy

wants to try that, it's--

I don't know, maybe, kind
of sort of not so bad.

It's a personal choice.

But a false choice.

I mean, for hundreds of years,
they've tried to fix us.

They tried
electroshock, pumping us

full of hormones full of
drugs, cutting our brains,

cutting our--

Apsey doesn't do those things.

Frankenstein uses words.

No difference.

Whatever they try, we're
still here and always will be,

because it never worked.

[SNAPS]

Out.

I can't believe I just did that.

Out?

- Oh, something Apsey said.
- Oh?

You know, if you
and I are arguing

and we come to a
standstill, it's a--

Wait a minute.

You're not talking
to Frankenstein

about our private life, are you?

That's what one
does in therapy.

He's not your therapist.
He's research.

Remember?

Yeah, of course,
he's research.

Frank, promise me
you won't go back.

He's dangerous.

He will open your skull
like cracking an egg.

And he'll reach his hands in
and he will need your brain

like dough, until you won't
even remember you have a penis,

let alone what you
like to do with it.

I've seen it.

I have four clients
who told me how

Frankenstein has
crept into their heads

and destroyed their lives.

Please, promise me
you won't go back.

You've seen the
damage he does.

I haven't.

OK, a new client
started yesterday,

a pickup from Apsey--

Hello.

JONATHAN: He's been
seeing Frankenstein

for about two years.
DR. APSEY: Who?

How?
Don't you wonder how?

Jonathan, we were wondering
with hundreds of gay therapists

in this city, somehow of
all Dr. Apsey's ex-clients

end up saying you.

How do they find you?

You develop a reputation.

Huh.

JONATHAN: This new client,
I could ask about you

getting an interview--

- Double huh.
- If--

- Beware the if.
- If?

If you promise me never
to see Frankenstein again.

You're-- you're-- you're--

He's bribing you.

You're bribing me?

DR. APSEY: Although
technically there's

been no exchange of money.

It's like blackmail.

You're blackmailing me.

Not precisely blackmailing.

I can't believe you.

I just want to be clear here,
because if you're really--

you are resorting to--
- Manipulation.

He's manipulating you.

I'm manipulating you.

How dare you try
to manipulate me.

You ask this new
client or you don't.

No strings attached.

All right, I will ask.

No strings attached.

What a weak organism.

No, if you think
it's unprofessional.

You are stronger
than that, Mr. Johnson.

Do it.
Don't.

Don't ask.

I'm getting whiplash.

You are stronger.

Fuck professionalism.

I have.

Ask.

I don't consider my
therapy conversion therapy.

I consider my therapy therapy.

Dr. Apsey never, never,
never encouraged me to do

anything against my own will.

People come to me.

I do not seek them out.

And I try to make
their lives better.

The repercussions of
Apsey's work were severe.

I believed that I was doing
the right thing for the good

of my clients who have suffered
from this kind of junk science

for far too long.

I've been clear.

Unannounced drop-bys
are unacceptable.

You have severe boundary issues.

Yesterday, that-- that
magic pills so-called game

was so-- so-- so manipulative.

I prefer the label
truth facilitation.

I offer a mirror.

OK, so maybe a mirror,
because swallowing

a pill may be reflect, shows
that-- that some part--

teeny tiny so, teeny
tiny part wants maybe

wants what you have to offer.

OK, but so what?

This-- this change-- supposed
change, you say it's not easy.

You say it's the most
difficult thing you ever do.

But what you don't say is--

the word you don't
use is impossible.

Yes, Dr. Baldwin
and his clones

have worked
tirelessly to promote

the myth of impossibility.

But I know deep
down I was born--

So what?

It's in my genes.

I have no control
over my attractions.

Ha, ha, fully 50 types of bunk.

So maybe a chunk of
your hypothalamus

is bigger than the average
bear's or your mother

dressed you in taffeta or your
father was a weak and distant

or your big brother told
you vaginas have teeth.

Who cares why?

Inside each of us is
the liar, the thief,

the killer, but also the
saint, the healer, the lover.

DR. APSEY: Isn't life about
the parts of ourselves

we choose to cultivate
and act upon?

Isn't America
based on the belief

of bettering ourselves
and picking ourselves up,

rising above, transcendence?

In India, a master walks
across coals 600 degrees

Fahrenheit.

His feet remain unburned.

A yogi locks himself in a
vault with just enough oxygen

for an hour, yet he slows down
his heartbeat so that oxygen

lasts a day instead of an hour.

You tell me the human mind
can accomplish these marvels,

but you can't control where
you want to put your peepee.

I don't think so.

But a man walks on
coals, I can see that.

Yet a man says he's changed
and you refuse to believe that.

But it doesn't
matter whether you

want to believe my therapy
works or not, because you still

have to choose.

A year from now or
five years or 10 years,

there's going to be a
shot or a gene therapy

or a tiny pill that
tastes like raspberries,

smells like a wet forest,
sexual attraction will

change as easily as hair color.

Clinging to the illusion that
my therapy doesn't work merely

postpones the inevitable.

You, everybody like you,
will have to choose.

So what?

What am I going to do?

I'm going to just renounce,
betray just reset my sights

and aim for heterosexuality
because sometime in the future

it will be possible?

I don't care what you choose.

The motives behind my magic
pill game were self-serving.

So you could experience the
view from my client's vantage.

So your journalistic
portrait of me

would be more comprehensive
though the magic pill

was to what manipulate
me into civility?

Well, no more manipulative
than the so-called professional

tactics you've used on me.

Considering the precarious
position in which you put me,

I think I'll be forgiven
if my magic pill

game was self-serving.

Now, no more dropping by.

I don't ever want
to see you again.

Good luck with your article.

Thank you for allowing me
to express my thoughts.

Be well.

Be happy.

Be gay.

You're up late.

You're out late.

Dinner is cold.

I'm colder.

Come warm me up.

You eat?
- No.

- Tupperware.
- It smells good.

Ah, it's the bread.

The bananas were rotting.

I left something out.

It chews like lead.

I'm sure it's delicious.

He said no.

He who?

JONATHAN: My new client,
about an interview.

All the others.

You could ask one, you
could ask the others.

Frank.

Be careful, respectful.

I'll give you a
list of questions.

Frank.

One might be willing
to talk to me--

Frank, I already brought the
subject up as a hypothetical.

They said no.

All of them.

Yeah.

How convenient.

How many?

Four.

All four?

- All four?
- How amazing.

What an amazing
show of solidarity.

Except that they're
not acquainted.

Except that they
don't know each other.

So it's not solidarity,
but a coincidence.

So this is an
amazing coincidence

that all four have so quickly
dismissed being interviewed.

You don't leave me?

Such razor sharp
perception skills.

Why would you lie?

How how long have
we been together?

How patronizing.

Why do you put with this?

Don't patronize me.

You know as well as I do.

In all hours six years,
four months, and 13 days,

yes, I know exactly.

Before Frankenstein
entered your life,

do you remember even
once not trusting me?

I hardly have the power to
make you distrust each other.

Dr. Apsey can make
us distrust each other.

Yeah, he can.

It wasn't till after
all this started,

that I began distrusting you.

You never used to
hide things from me.

I'm not now.

Your editor called
this afternoon.

I asked her how she thought
the article was going.

She said what article?

The article you told me
she was so anxious to see.

She had no idea what
I was talking about.

You had no right.

I asked anyway.

I'm not sorry.

Because I never had a
vision for the article.

I wasn't going to put myself out
on a limb till I was certain.

So you lied to me.

I-- I-- I withheld
minor information.

You never used to
lie to me until you

started seeing Frankenstein.

That absolutely
cannot be pinned on me.

The day we met you asked if
I had plans for Saturday night.

I answered no, then rushed
to the nearest pay phone

to cancel them.

It's not a big lie, but a lie.

What about that
plaid tie you love

and I said it's only mildly
unpleasant, when in fact it's

extraordinarily ugly.

I've lied between the
sheets that the thing

you do with the fur feels
good when it just scratches.

I've lied about liking this
sugar-free fat-free banana

bread lead slop you make.

I've probably lied to
you daily for a month.

I'll make a list.

And, yes, I lied about
pitching the article before I'd

ever set eyes on Dr. Apsey.

So if you didn't believe
in the article, why--

Because I always
do what you want.

Did.
Past tense, did.

And will you
write the article?

- Of course.
- When?

Unrelenting, isn't he?

When I'm ready.

Show me, whatever you have.

Anything?

I haven't even
seen a single word.

It's in my head.

I'll put it on paper when
I complete my research.

And an estimated
completion date?

The banana bread's not so bad.

You're too hard on yourself.

I know you didn't want to
see me again, and I know--

Yes, yes, yes, I
expected you back.

You did?

Yes, of course.

But why?

You can answer for yourself.

I'm here for the article.

The article, the article, the
article, look me in the eye.

Tell me you've
written one sentence.

I thought not.

Now the unanswered question,
was your smokescreen

conscious or not?

OK, listen, if a man--

not me, hypothetical-- if a man
wanted to see you for therapy,

but couldn't--

Couldn't?

Yeah, say he
couldn't afford it.

I'd offer for free.

No, free has no value.

I'd charge $1.

OK, not because he couldn't
pay, but for some other reason,

whatever.

He can't see you,
but he might want

to kind of sort of
maybe work on his own,

what would you tell him?

I would ask this man
when's the last time he had

dinner with a male
organism who didn't

share his sexual leanings?

If it had been
a long, long time?

That would suggest
Mr. Hypothetical lacks

comfort with the male gender.

All men have same gender needs.

If humankind could
accept same gender

emotional needs as normal,
homosexual behavior

would disappear.

But close-minded organisms
label same gender needs as gay.

So if you feel and admit same
gender needs, you're gay.

But you're not, you
have same gender needs.

That's all.

But back to Mr. Hypothetical.

Meet men without his leanings.

Study how they interact,
how they express or repress

their same gender needs.

Become friends with the
type of man he wants to be.

And reading, I'd offer a list
of books-- really, Mr. Johnston,

must we maintain this
pretense of the hypothetical?

Yes, we must.

Would you care
to peruse the list

I'd offer Mr. Hypothetical?

No.

Yes.

No.
Maybe.

If it's handy.

Hi, sorry, I'm late.

Subway.

Subway's been screwed
up a lot lately.

Yeah.

You were out late last night.

Were you staying away
till I was asleep?

Absolutely not.

Well, maybe.

I'm tired of fighting.

Come on, let's play.

You going to tell
me where you were?

I was out walking.

Serve.

You reeked of cigarette smoke.

- I thought you were asleep.
- I wasn't.

JONATHAN: One, nothing.

So?

I went to a sports
bar, you know.

Studied straight men in
their natural habitat.

Research?

How's the article going?

I don't want to
talk about that.

Not going well?

The idea was yours.

But now the article is mine.

From here on,
Apsey's off limits.

Two, nothing.

Why'd you move up
our racquetball time.

JONATHAN: You're
changing the subject.

Yeah, I know.

Meeting canceled.

I didn't want to go.

Jonathan Baldwin not in
the mood for a meeting.

Has the sky fallen?
- Yeah.

It's my serve.

Please tell me you're not
seeing Frankenstein for real.

You've mastered that.

Have you ever considered
communicating with words?

Don't call him Frankenstein.

His name is Arthur Apsey.

Sweetheart, I'm
sorry if you were born

a way you don't want to be.

But you can't change that.

Not I don't want
you to, but can't.

You used to melt in my arms.

Now you repel.

When was the last
time we made love?

That event was not momentous
enough to mark on my calendar.

Five weeks, two days.

Plenty of couples
go five weeks.

You first met
Frankenstein what?

Six, seven weeks ago?

Coincidence?

And those men you
were with at the bar,

if they're so straight, why did
I smell them on your clothes?

Why did I smell one
of them on your skin?

Please tell me you were safe.

I-- I didn't.

No lies.

Yes or no, did you have
sex with another man.

No.

No.

Remember, I told you in
high school, you know--

Yeah, I remember.

I lied.
I was never bashed.

It never happened, huh?

It happened, but not
the way I told you.

The hell hole I grew
up in had a town punk.

Every now and then when the
beer wouldn't anesthetize

the boredom, the town punk
and his gang of punk wannabes

would drive up to Chicago and
set a bar on an open flatbed

of a pickup, spitting
epithets at shoppers

who fell into the category
loosely described as fruity.

One summer night, they
spied a boy who they laughed

was so fruity he could
pose for a still life.

Fruity boy fought back.

The fruity boy got
hit, got kicked,

got a broken beer bottle
ground into his face.

The punk and his buds bolted.

The punk went away to college
and moved as far from Chicago

as he could.

Eventually, the punk became me.

The memory of that
bleeding boy consumed--

consumes-- I see on the
street a face, a scar,

I mean, I know what I did,
but I'll never really know.

This-- this is truth.

I'm sorry.

JONATHAN: I'm sorry.
- You're amazing.

You once were a
self-hating redneck.

And here you are now, super fag?

People really can't change.

OK.

Truth, I was safe with her.

It was a her.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

I'm aware of the
complexity of this issue.

I did not realize that
it would come to this.

I take responsibility for
how my emotional reactions

affected this scenario.

I haven't seen Jonathan--

I mean, I haven't
seen Dr. Baldwin--

uh-- since-- um--

uh-- Dr. Baldwin and I
are not together any more.

[DOOR BELL RINGING]

If you haven't
noticed from your watch,

you may notice from
my attire, this

is a thoroughly inappropriate
time for you to be here.

I was walking by.

At 10:00 PM?

Please.

FRANK: Last night,
I went to a bar,

you know, a regular
bar to study men.

I met-- I met a
woman there, blonde,

curves in all the places I'd
want curves if I liked curves.

I'm trying to figure
out why I didn't care.

She was beautiful.

She catches my stare.

Thinks I want her.

Flirts.

You know, sparkly
eyes, head thrown back,

a deep throaty laugh.

She helps me forget who
I am and invites me home.

I go.

Then the pre-sex dance, men,
women, it's all the same.

You know, the heart's pounding.

It's me and it,
out, working order.

I stick it in.

I do it.

And it was off.

The smells, the tastes were off.

How could such an
ill considered attempt

end in anything but failure?

Which you knew beforehand.
Tea?

So this escapade puzzles me.

I want to believe your mission
to destroy me is terminated,

but I'm aware of the
possibility that you

may still be hoodwinking me.

And quite frankly,
this turn of events

makes me doubt your sincerity.

So now, it's my turn
to demand proof.

Proof?
What?

That I'm with a woman?

A different kind of proof.

I'm filing a complaint
against your Dr. Baldwin

with the psychology
licensing board.

What?

What he's done going
after me is wrong.

Please, no.

And you'll be
expected to testify.

I won't turn on Jonathan.

I'm not asking you to.

Merely tell the truth.

The truth is the
same as turning on him.

If there's one thing
you've learned from me,

isn't it not to lie?

Yes.

And if the board
talks to you, will you?

Please, don't do this.

I'll do anything.

Just ask.

But don't hurt Jonathan.

An acquaintance
of mine at the board

told me your Dr. Baldwin
inquired about filing

a complaint against me.

I'm filing a counter
complaint because, at the risk

of sounding like a
five-year-old, he started it.

If you are able to
dissuade your Dr. Baldwin,

I'd be less inclined to
file a complaint of my own.

I'll stop him.

I imagine you overestimate
your influence on Dr. Baldwin,

but I'll wait one
week to provide

you with the opportunity.

Now, your misguided
sexual attempt, what

was that all about?

- I don't know.
- You don't know?

Of course, not.

Shall we construct
some possibilities?

Perhaps research for a new
article, arousing first person

narrative on how it was to sleep
with a woman in, oh, how many

years?
- Oh, lots of them.

Any reality to this
first hypothesis?

No.

Then hypothesis number
2, this woman found

you so irresistible,
she began shoving

$100 bills down your shorts?

It wasn't that kind of bar.

Well, let me
suggest a particularly

far fetched hypothesis.

Perhaps you slept with a
woman because, gee, gosh,

you wanted to.

DR. APSEY: Ah, no response.

I'm not sure.

DR. APSEY: How could you be?

Clarity is unobtainable as long
as you live with Dr. Baldwin.

I love him.

So?

The great romantic myth is that
love is the highest calling.

It's not.

I once had a client who
justified sex with his dog,

because he loved the creature.

His dog.

Love is no excuse
for poor choices.

The Dr. Baldwin you
love set you up.

He used you for
his own vendetta.

Why didn't he come
to see me himself?

Because he didn't
want to risk anything.

I like you.

But you've been one
dumb dupe, his pawn.

He's not a man to trust.

Your life has no room in it for
a manipulator like Dr. Baldwin.

Clear enough?

I guess.

Good man.

DR. APSEY: Now, be firm.
In control.

Your Dr. Baldwin will
employ all his tricks

to demolish this decision.

Understandably, he's
got a lot to lose.

You.

- Morning.
- Hey.

Out all night?

I'm thinking--

Uh, huh.

I'm thinking
maybe it's time to--

it's time to-- to end us.

More research?

You have the divorce experience
and presto more material

for the article that never was.

I don't appreciate
your attitude.

If I'm ever going to figure
out what life I want,

I need to leave.

I need out.

I will let you
go, no fight, if you

swear you'll never go back.

I-- I can't.

I won't promise that.

I won't let you go back.

What?

You'll time me up?

Hire a 24 hour guard.

Whatever it takes.

Frank, heel.

Frank, sit.

Frank, stay.

Frank, write this article.

No, I won't live with your
demands, with your lies,

with your
manipulations, with you.

I lied once.

With Sebastian.

That's the only time
I've ever lied to you

Behind my back.

A complaint against Apsey,
if that's not a lie, what is?

Yeah, I know.

And he knows too.

And he's going to file
a counter complaint

if you go through with it.

How can I trust you any more.

It's a lie here,
and a lie there.

And they build and
build and build.

All of a sudden there's a
swamp of lies just smothering

our relationship,
a dark, dank sludge

that we're wobbling through.

And I'm sick of a stink.

I'm sick of you.

And I want out.

FRANK: I don't mean
this very moment.

That's mine.

JONATHAN: Yeah.

You're packing for me?

Us.

Us?

Bermuda.

You always wanted to go, right?
- Jonathan.

Fuck.

Fuck.

JONATHAN: How many times
have I told clients you

can't change another person?

Let go.

And yet I can't.

I'm getting you away
from that monster.

We thought you'd pull
something like this.

We?

Where you going

To Frankenstein's castle,
for a heart to heart,

or a fist to fist.

I'll decide which on the way.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

Just-- just-- just
let me talk to him.

Ah, the announced visit
with gays multiplying.

Dr. Baldwin, I presume.
Welcome.

I'm sorry.
I tried to stop him.

It's quite all right.
The pleasure is all mine.

Nobody's.

This war is between you and me.
- Jonathan, please--

Leave Frank out of it.

Shut up, Frank, I'm
doing this for you.

Shut up?
You treat me like a child.

- Then act like an adult.
- I am.

I don't think so.

- You act like an adult.
- I-- I--

I am.
- Gentlemen.

Like was that adult?

Gentleman.

I don't do couples therapy.

Now, Dr. Baldwin, I'm
pleased you're here.

This game of yours has
gone on long enough.

This is a game to you.

This isn't any case.

And your pawn, Mr.
Johnston, is suffering.

I am not a. pawn.

He is not my pawn.

You don't need to talk for me.

JONATHAN: Then tell him.

Listen, I am not--

I was his pawn.

JONATHAN: Frank.

But you don't
have to call me one.

How dare you
call Frank a pawn.

Don't defend me.

Apparently, you need--

I don't need you to.

No, I don't.

No, I don't.
[CLAPS]

Can we stop this
infantile doo-doo?

Heavens, you two
together are a nightmare.

Can we get a collective grip?

JONATHAN: You keep
your sucking strangling

tentacles off of Frank.
- If not?

Because if not, every ounce
of pain that you inflict

upon the man I love I will
turn back on you tenfold

until you withered and broken--

Blah, blah, blah,
blah, blah, blah.

I'm sorry I have no patience
with such dedicated hate.

Hate is not a family value.

JONATHAN: Ding, ding, ding.

Bob, deceit for 20.

Take a look in the mirror.

A mirror?

One of us is reported,
both of us are.

There's no victory in
sacrificing one another.

A truce, no complaints.

No complaints, if--

if you agree never
to see Frank again.

Agreed, if you never again
steal from me another client.

Absa-fucking-lutely not.

What's more important to you?

Mr. Johnston?

Your clients?

Your license?

You're stopping m?

You can't have them all.

Prioritize.

You are pure evil.

DR. APSEY: I am pure nothing.

And neither are you.

Deal.

In truth, to keep
Mr. Johnston, you'd

condemn dozens of
men to my therapy,

which you believe evil?

Do we have a deal or not?

No, my offer was a bluff.

I didn't think you'd accept.

You may be willing to
sacrifice dozens of other men

to save Mr. Johnston.

But I won't sacrifice Mr.
Johnston to save myself.

The only deal I'll agree to,
no complaints, no conditions.

See you in the
unemployment line.

DR. APSEY: Believe it or not,
Dr. Baldwin, I respect you.

Fuck you.

Well, parts of you, the part
that dreams of a perfect world

where everybody is
happy and well adjusted.

That would be lovely.

But in some men's perfect
world, they wouldn't be

OK with their same sex desires.

They simply wouldn't have any.

Do you have a son?

Dr. Baldwin, you've chosen
to fight to change the world--

A nephew?

Fine.

Like a neighbor's boy.

Bang your head
against the wall,

but others don't want to--

JONATHAN: Somewhere
there is someone's life

who you are destroying.
- Fight.

Others want to change
them ourselves.

Let others make
their own choices.

JONATHAN: Don't do that to him.

Step aside.

Yeah, step aside

Hello.
Remember me?

This was about me, wasn't it?

If this is about me, why are
neither of those two voices

I hear mine?

It's like the two of you
are on opposite shores.

I'm drowning.

And you're yelling
this way, no, this way.

Grab my life preserver.

No, come on my boat.
I'll save you.

No, I'll save you.

Screaming so loudly,
I hadn't even

noticed it's the
two of you pissing,

shitting, vomiting in the lake
that makes the water so high.

I don't need to be saved.

I need to be left alone.

Out.

Out.

[SNAPS] Out.

Out.

Out.

I wish I hadn't met Dr.
Apsey, because, though he

was very logical
sounding, he confused me.

I think people don't want
to entertain a possibility--

His work is dangerous.

I believe that it's homophobic.

They do not even want to think
that a certain possibility is

in the realm of possibilities.

And anyone that might even
bring that up is an enemy.

If that is a strike against
me as far as this board

is concerned, so be it.

Why shrink possibilities.

My intent with the article
was not to discredit Dr. Apsey.

Have you read the article.

I just present both sides.

Yes, I understand that this is
an ethics violation over which

I can lose my license.

As a psychologist,
I never set about--

I think it would
be a mistake to--

I think it would be a
mistake if I lost my license.

I don't think I've
done anything wrong.

Come embattled with
another professional.

My record will
speak for itself.

Dr. Apsey doesn't need to--

he doesn't need to--

just be who you want to be.

FRANK: Thank you for
finally seeing me.

I have a job
interview at 2:15.

Talk.

I called because I--

I want your recipe
for banana bread.

I wake up some
mornings and all I want

is a slice of that lousy bread.

Still games?

I'm trying to apologize.

- Get on with it.
- I'm sorry.

That's it?

Two words?

After both you and
Apsey filed complaints

that became the story.

I couldn't write the article
without mentioning you.

I'm sorry you lost your license.

But he's going to lose his too.

What do you do now?

Start over.

Being forced out
of my career, hey,

prevents a mid-life crisis.

That's the silver lining.

Some days that's all there is.

- What you did was unforgivable.
- Yes.

Forgive me anyway.

- You hurt me.
- I know.

You used me.

I know.

We shouldn't have.
We did.

Are we sorry?

Do you remember
maybe our 10th date?

We strolled in this
park, by this fountain.

You stood behind me.

Your arms wrapped
around my chest.

You kneecaps cradled
the back of my knees.

You kissed my ear.

And I thought you were
writing true poetry.

The truth, if it's anywhere
in me, it's in my body.

And my body knows.

It's been designed to love--

One overly ripe
banana, mush it.

I know we can't go back.

But we can go forward
to the future.

Three cups self-rising flour.

Us, no lie.
No manipulation.

Self-rising or chew like lead.

We're capable of
that, aren't we?

Sometimes I forget
the self-rising.

Listen to me.
I'm trying to say--

I know what you're
trying to say.

Stop it.

Don't say it, please.

I'm not ready to
stop hating you--

yet.
- Yet?

I like that yet.

[MUSIC PLAYING]