Trench (2018) - full transcript

Another
chilly Melbourne night,

another case to crack.

The name's Sam Slade, Private Eye.

Yes, that's actually my real name.

This distressed dame, author
and social commentator,

Becky Holt, is about to become embroiled

in the case of the curious cat.

Her online opinion pieces

have a habit of getting
her into hot water.

- How the fuck did you get in here?

Which is
how I came to this story.



No, I'm not the cat.

Cute as the furball is, Becky
wasn't used to intruders

or things being amiss in a
carefully-arranged apartment.

Which is where I come in.

- Hello?

- Hi, Miss Holt, I'm Sam
Slade, Private Investigator.

I have a--

- I'm sorry, what was your name?

- Oh Sam, Samantha, Slade.

- Sam Slade?

Mmm.

- Mmm-hmm, go on.

- Well I've come to help
you with your problem.

- Oh well I'm sorry Sam Slade,



Phillipa Marlowe's already on the case.

Okay so I
probably left a few things out.

Let's backtrack a bit.

- You're up!

Ladies and gentlemen,
put your hands together

and give your warmest
welcome to Sam Slade!

- Okay.

Ah, so, um,

I feel like I've been a bit,
um, self-obsessed lately.

So, I thought today I
might bounce off you guys.

Just, mix it up a bit.

Um, oh, what do you do for a living sir?

- I'm a comedian, what the fuck do you do?

Oh.

Well.

Um.

Um.

Woo, Sam Slade everybody!

Give it up for Sam Slade!

Okay look, don't go anywhere folks.

We've got a surprise for you

'cause fresh from his sell-out show

at Madison Square Gardens,

and star in his own American sitcom,

the prodigal son has returned.

Give it up for Jimmy fucking Kay!

- She may be my new
favorite female comedian.

Looks good, says nothing.

In fact tell you what, I'm
gonna fuck this set off,

think I'm gonna go backstage and ah,

put a ring on it, you know
what I'm talking about.

Don't know what I'll do,

but I tell you what, I'm a
bit fucking sick of her lot.

- Come to put me out of my misery?

- Aw, could've been worse.

- How?

- I don't know, you could've
bunt the joint to the ground.

- Yeah I've seen the wiring in this joint.

You could've claimed insurance
and gotten a sweet payout.

I'm officially worse than arson.

See, that's funny.

Come on, drink your medicine.

- God damn, that's the good stuff.

- Yeah well, I know the chick

that runs the place, so.

- Um, I think it's time that I quit.

Don't be a fuckwit.

- Didn't you hear?

Silence went out in the 20s.

You can't afford to keep me on.

This place isn't playing like it used to.

The top shelf's gotten smaller.

Disabled toilets have been
out-of-order for weeks.

There's water in the vodka,

cask wine in the cleanskin bottles.

And then all of a sudden,
old mate out there

makes a grand return when
rumor has it you hate his guts.

- Oh thanks for that.

If you need me I'll be hanging myself

in the busted disabled toilets.

- I'm just saying,

you can't afford to waste money on me.

Maybe comedy's not my thing.

I'm 30-some,

and maybe it's time I got a real job.

- Nah, world's full of
assholes with real jobs.

You're just a different
breed of asshole.

Look just, I don't know,
take some time off.

Practice some new shit and
I'll try out some new blood.

Your spot'll be here when you get back.

- Krista.

- Ah, just call it holiday pay.

- Thanks.

- Fuck you.

Fuck you!

Well, it looks like I'm walking home.

Do you have any coats in lost property?

It's freezing out there.

Do you have a time machine
down there as well?

Ergh.

Took off so you're being nice.

Hi Sam it's your mom.

Sorry we missed you, my phone was off.

It's lovely to hear from you

but if you were calling to ask for money,

we can't help you.

I mean we can, it's
just, we don't want to.

You father and I are proud of
you for following your dreams

but it's time you stand on
your own two feet, Samantha.

Why don't you put that degree to use?

You should go into arts admin.

- Are you gonna order anything today?

- Hello, tell me, how much of
a latte would $3.20 get me?

- Our lattes are $3.80.

- Yeah I know, but, if I
gave you everything I had

do you think that your lovely barista

could make me part of a latte?

- Our lattes are $3.80!

- Long black?

- $3.80.

Piccolo?

$3.80.

- Look I'm sorry that
I am completely broke.

Nobody wants to hire an arts graduate

with no discernible skills,

and my power's been completely cut off

and I'm about to get evicted,

and I'm, gah, I don't know how to be funny

and all I need is just one lousy coffee

just to get me through the day.

Please!

Okay what if I could tell
you something about yourself

that I couldn't possibly know?

How much would my coffee be?

- $3.80.

- Your boyfriend's not gonna leave you!

- I'm sorry, who are you?

- Heh, it doesn't matter

but trust me, whatever you feel--

- Is none of your business.

- Yeah I know, I don't care who you are

or what you do when you're not here,

but what I do know is,

well you're generally pretty sharp,

but the last week, the
last week's been different.

Your eyes are bleary,

there's less attention to detail.

You're not clearing tables with
your usual level of, flair.

Which all indicates a
serious lack of sleep.

Did he buy you that?

Looks expensive.

A guy who buys you a timepiece like that

isn't planning an exit strategy.

- Thanks for assuming I'm gay!

Which I am, but that is not the point!

- So I'm right?

The first
sign something was wrong

was when my teapot walked away.

Having
written on this site

and on social media
for a little while now,

I've gotten all too used

to the crazy coming from the other side.

It can be a tad disturbing.

But I add a little
single-malt to my coffee

and I can sleep at night.

What I'm not used to, is
the crazy coming to my door.

It started with things taking
a walk around my apartment.

- How the fuck did you get in?

Then, there's
the frequent furry visitor

with a knack for slipping into

my sealed apartment at all hours.

This may strike you as
harmless, and you'd be right.

Until I saw the teapot,
outside my apartment.

For many reasons, this
was simply impossible.

So either I'm going mad or
someone's trying to drive me

in the direction of the booby-hatch.

- Hello?

Becky open the door.

- Did you leave something behind?

- Only my sobriety.

You throwing a party you
didn't tell me about?

- No.

- I found this in the hallway.

I thought it was either yours
or abstract hallway art.

- I'm teaching it to wee outside.

- House-breaking a
teapot, that is serious.

Is everything alright?

- Five by five, Major.

Just a bit restless is all.

- Well, I recommend Xanax
and a case of vodka.

Or is that vodka and a case of
Xanax, I can never remember.

- I think I'll stick to
whisky in the teapot.

- No wonder it ran away.

- Good night, Simon.

Sweet dreams.

Behind a keyboard

I'm no shrinking violet

but in-person I'm more
likely to duck and cover.

- "Each time the door
opens I am interrupted.

"Am I to be broken?"

So here I am,

a genuine dame in distress.

Was this a troll with my address?

Or something even more sinister?

- Police, please.

Oh hello, I'd like to report
a, well, not a break in.

Someone left a weird note outside my door.

Yeah, I'll just go and,

I'm sorry, I must have
been imagining things.

I am so sorry for wasting your time.

You win, alright?

- Win what?

You were right about everything.

I'm completely paranoid, I
haven't been able to sleep

and I'm petrified he'll leave me, alright?

- Alright.

- Now drink your bloody $3.20 latte!

With no evidence

or anything to show the police,

I'm putting this out to you, hive-mind.

Has anything like this
ever happened to you?

Let a girl know she's not alone

before I do something mad,
like hire a private detective.

- Hey!

Can I get this to go?

- I think she meant solve it online.

In the comments section,
not so much on her doorstep.

Seeing as though weirdos at her
door is sort of the problem.

Besides if she wanted to,

I'm sure Becky would hire a professional.

Who says I'm not?

Oh, ah.

- Becky is a grown woman who
can handle her own problems,

like, try and respect that.

- You seem awfully
reluctant to address this.

Wronged women get more clicks I guess.

- Okay buggy, playtime's over.

- Oh no no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that.

I just, I know I look crazy

but this is the only coat I have.

I just, I really think that I can help her

and what's the harm in
letting me just poke around

for a few clues?

- And I'm guessing that these services

won't come pro-bono, will they?

- Just daily expenses, that's all I need.

- Right.

Well put yourself in my position.

How do I know you're not
just some mad fangirl

wanting to meet Becky?

- I guess you can't really be sure.

You'll just have to take a chance on me,

and my handy knack for deductions.

Because right about now, I'm deducting

that you care just a little bit for Becky.

And if she's not gonna help
herself and hire someone

then maybe it's up to you.

That if there's even the smallest,

infinitesimal chance
that I'm on the level,

it'll be worth it.

Plus, I come real cheap.

All I need is her address.

- If you're such a gum detective,

why don't you track her down yourself?

I mean how can I be sure
that you're not the nut

who's doing this to her anyway?

- Well that doesn't make any sense.

Why would I need her address

if I already knew where she lived?

- Well it's the perfect cover, isn't it?

Pretending to try and help her.

But that's ridiculous.

- This whole conversation is ridiculous!

I mean, what kind of training do you have?

Do you have a license.

Do you have anything going for you at all

besides a hat a coat, fit
for a middle-aged man.

You seem nice enough Sam

but how about we leave
it to the professionals.

If and when Becky wants to hire one.

Now if you don't mind,
my coffee's getting cold.

- Maybe you're right.

I'm sorry for wasting your time.

In this business,

what separates the pros and the pretenders

is the pros know what's worth hearing,

and I heard one thing loud and clear.

If you're
such a gum detective,

why don't you track her down yourself?

Challenge accepted.

And that, dear reader, is how I got here.

- I read your piece online

and I thought that I could be useful.

Your editor, he gave me your address.

- What did you say your name was again?

- Sam Slade.

- Oh, so you're the crackpot.

Thomas.

- Hello, Becky.

- What brings you to this den of iniquity,

oh buddy, old pal of mine?

- Well we had an interesting response

from your curious cat piece.

- Someone sent me a cat?

- Well no, someone--

- People dressed up as cats?

Oh not exactly--

- Oh, the entire cast of Cats,

singing the hits of Cat Stevens!

- No.

Because you issued that challenge,

I had some nutter turn
up to my office today

looking for you.

- The men's rights activists have arrived.

I knew this day would come.

Throw 'em a lads mag

while I telepathically summon my sisters.

- This was a woman.

- The telepathy worked?

- No it was some crackpot
offering her services

as a private detective.

By the name of Sam Slade.

All dressed up like Humphry Bogart.

Well, if Humphry Bogart
shopped at the salvos.

- Oh I get it.

You're messing with me,
you cheeky devil you.

- Um, I wish I was.

- That doesn't sound good.

- She got your address.

- Okay.

- And--
- Hmm?

- You would tell me if you
needed help, wouldn't you?

- I'm fine, doubting Thomas.

Don't you worry about me.

- Okay.

Well, call me later.

Oh and tell the crackpot I said hi.

- Great.

- Sorry.

- So why are you so determined to help me?

- Because I'm sick of
women being fucked with

and not being believed.

Clearly someone is trying
to prove that you're crazy

and I'm gonna prove them wrong.

- I don't think you're talking

from a place of authority there kiddo.

- Fine, be that way!

Jesus, I thought you'd be more grateful.

- Yes, amusing but mad person?

- Stop trying to be brave.

I know that it can't be easy
for you to ask for help.

- What's not easy for me is to believe

that you have no ulterior motive.

As tickled as I am by
the thought of altruism,

you clearly want something from me.

And your only chance of
getting into this building

is to tell me what it is you really want.

So let's start again, shall we?

- I'm an unemployed comedian
with no money or prospects.

I have no skills except for
a knack for solving puzzles

and I just,

thought it would be an easy way

to make an extra bit of cash on the side

'cause fuck knows what else I'm gonna do.

Sorry for wasting your time.

- You coming in or what?

Welcome to Casa del Holt.

What's your poison?

Um, whisky?

- Um, where's your hat?

- I left it at home.

Oh, straight up?

Is there any other kind?

- I guess not.

Could you, um, not touch that?

It's expensive.

So, Sam Slade, broke comedian
and fledgling private eye,

how did it feel to get
that off your chest?

- Um, humiliating.

- Good, now we can be friends.

Here's mud in your eye.

- It's Dorothy Parker, right?

- We're gonna get along just fine.

So, if you're an all-day screw-up
who can't hold down a job

why should I trust you
to find who's doing this?

- Well, ah, I'm glad you asked.

So I did some research on you.

You're a hit novelist,
your readers love you.

You didn't have to take
your act to the online space

but you couldn't stop.

You saw the wheels fall
off the world around you

and you had to call it out.

Believe me, I'm familiar
with that particular impulse.

So, you started writing
about everyday sexism,

domestic violence, reproductive rights,

which of course rattled the
cages of the usual suspects.

Guys with axes to grind instead of dicks.

But one in particular
stood out from the rest.

- I don't think it's wise to
assume our suspect is a man.

- Sure, why not.

One person stood out from the rest.

Oh, I found a bunch of twitter profiles

which all share a poetic
sort of literary style.

I thought you might be interested.

- Oh, this just gets creepier.

I found a note.

Same sort of stuff.

- Where is it?

- Vanished.

- From inside?

- Yeah.

- This is good right?

I mean this is like a real lead.

This could be our guy.

Person.

This could be them!

Do you remember what the note said?

- Something about
something getting broken.

I kind of, blocked it from my mind.

- We could google it.

- Actually, I've got something

that loads faster than google.

- What's she doing there?

- The crackpot actually found a lead.

- So you've decided to keep her.

- Well, she's earned her keep so far.

But something she's
found has led us to you.

We need your super skills you
big old literary nerd you.

- And what super skills would they be?

- Sam found a few Twitter profiles

that may belong to our culprit.

And he, or she,

seems to be the bookish type.

She says they have a
certain cadence, and idiom,

a je ne sais quoi.

Sam said this?

What do you want me to do?

- Well we need you to tell
us who they're quoting

but also--

- If there's any connection between,

like authors, themes,
perhaps their reading list

could help us to profile them.

- I'd really rather you
call the police Becky.

- Tom, I've called the police.

Unless something gets broken or killed,

they can't do anything.

- So it's just up to us Tom.

Just you, Becky and me.

- Fine, just don't use
words you learned on TV,

like profile.

What are the quotes?

Atta boy Wilhelm.

- My middle name is not--

- Shh!

"Dying is an art like--"

- "Everything else, you
do it exceptionally well."

- "I do it so it feels
like hell," Sylvia Plath.

- The poet laureate of
manic depressives herself.

What's the next one?

- "The more solitary, the more friendless,

"the more unsustained,
the closer I will get."

- It's Bronte, I'm sure,
but it sounds misquoted.

I'll get back to you on that.

- I've got the exact same copy.

- Huh.

- You're a little too good at this.

- What did I tell you, nitwit,
Tom is a literary savant.

- So what makes you think
the quotes are connected?

- They left a note.

- A note, okay okay.

This is crazy I'm coming
around, you need protection.

- No, we'll be fine, thanks.

- Was I talking to you Sherlock?

- Children, if you keep fighting,

mama's gonna need a martini.

Thanks for the offer Thomas, but I'm fine.

- I'm here if you need me.

- Talk to you in the morning?

- Goodnight Bec.

- What's up, pussycat?

- Doesn't he seem a
little suspicious to you?

- Secure your weapon, Pepper.

Tom is the one constant I have
in this crazy life of mine.

- So you don't think
that his resistance to me

and his insistence of
coming over right now,

is a bit odd?

- Maybe he thinks you're a bit odd.

I don't know about you, Mary-lou,

but I'd really like you
to get out of my flat now.

Too much excitement for one day.

I'll see you tomorrow?

- So does that mean I'm hired?

- How does a thousand bucks sound?

But it's cash on delivery.

We get our villain, you get your dough.

I'm still not sure if you're
a nut-job or a con artist.

I'll give you 25 bucks
a day expenses, deal?

- Do I have a choice?
- No, see you tomorrow.

- One more thing.

Did you just call me nitwit?

- See ya, nitwit.

Oh!

Ah!

Cut it out!

This is serious.

- Do you realize I had to direct this.

May as well be a plutonium device

for all the good I can do with it.

Yeah I don't know what I'm doing.

Give it to me.

- Yeah well it's not the fuses.

I'm completely out of ideas.

Apart from the fact that you should

think about selling this
off-the-plan wonder.

First the wiring goes,
then the dry rot sets in.

Get out before it falls
down around your ears.

The only way I'm
leaving here is in a box.

- Do you need me to stick around?

We could tell ghost stories!

Oh get out,
before I throw you out.

- Seriously, you're okay?

- Absolutely.

You know me, I look better in candlelight.

- Well you know where I am if
things go bump in the night.

- Okay, that's enough talk of scary stuff,

thank you very much.

- I hope you sleep well.

Like the dead!

- Becky, hi.

- Still not sleeping?

- Well I've counted everything
from sheep to tax receipts.

Apparently my brain likes running

on the fevered psychopath setting.

- Is that why you're wearing trackies?

- Ah no, I've just been out for a run.

Something else I'm trying.

I was actually just nodding
off when you called.

- Such a liar!

- Right, for that I'm
moving you over to Sports.

- Oh, well I have lots
of thoughts on kickball.

Well no one's put their hand up

for beach volleyball championships yet.

- Consider it mine.

- Are you alright?

I can barely see you.

- Power went out.

Can't, get back to sleep.

Did you find that passage?

- Oh yes, yes yes yes.

"The more solitary, the more friendless,

"the more unsustained I am,
the more I will respect myself.

"I will keep the law given
by God; sanctioned by man.

"I will hold to the principles

"received by me when I
was sane, and not mad,

"as I am now."

- Well they've got good
taste, I'll give them that.

Actually let's not talk about this now.

Everything's a bit too gothic as it is.

I know, why don't you read
me a bit of your stuff.

- Hmm, haven't you got enough comedians

in your life?

- Well you're gonna have to do it one day.

- One day yes.

One day that is not today.

- Okay, fine then.

What do normal people talk about?

- Oh, I got to my highest
level on Fallout 4 today.

- I know those are all English
words but arranged like that

it's just a five-car pileup of language.

- It's a video game that I
happen to be a champion at.

- Oh he says, knowing I have
to take his word for it.

- Alright well, let me
set the scene for you.

It's Boston, 2287, a nuclear
war has devastated the land.

- This is perfect.

I'll be off to sleep in no time.

♪ Every morning, every evening ♪

♪ Ain't we got fun ♪

Ready to get busy?

- Is everything alright?

- Sunshine and lollipops.

- Ah, what's happened?

- I want it on the record
that I am not a crazy person.

- I never thought you were.

- I woke up last night in darkness.

I mean, of course it was dark,

it was 2:00 a.m., that's not,

I tried to turn on my
light and nothing came on,

faulty wiring I thought.

But then at 5:00 a.m. I was woken up

by every light in the place going on.

So either I have a ghost

or someone broke into my apartment

with the sole purpose of fucking with me.

And I think it's high time we
found out who that fucker was.

- Hmm, okay.

So let's get started.

There's one creep whose name comes up,

over and over again.

- Heads up chief.

J.B. Symons.

Self-proclaimed pickup samurai.

- We live in a dystopia, gents.

A twisted reflection of
the world we once knew.

Symons has
less acolytes than he wants.

You heard of this Becky Holt?

But
more than you'd think.

So even if he's not directly behind it.

- Gets called a rude word.

He has
the means to instigate it.

- Sends his Facebook page to his boss.

Gets a bloke fired.

Just 'cause, he called her a slut.

How does she get away with it?

Becky Holt, is what we call, a crybully.

Oh the world's too difficult,

I can't deal with a swear word.

And what'd happen if we lost it

every time someone swore at us?

So what can we do?

What choices do we have?

We can't shrink.

We won't be bullied.

We will do whatever the fuck we like.

And do you know why?

Because we,

are men.

- Oh, sorry, hi.

- Hello.

- What are you doing here?

- Just having a quiet drink.

- Oh.

I'm Cherry.

- Cherry, huh?

I'm Jason, well, friends call me J.B.

- Oh, my friends call me thirsty.

- Subtle.

- I'm a girl who knows what I want.

- Ah, can we get, ah.

- Oh a scotch, straight up.

I'll just have a water thanks.

- Thank you.

- Cheers mate.

Well.

Another?

- Mmm, yeah.

So ah, I know you don't I?

- No, do you?

- Have we slept together?

- I'm sure you'd remember that.

- No wait, you're that um,
the pickup artist guy right?

- Yeah, yep, no, guilty as charged.

- Hmm, well we all have to make a living.

I mean it's awfully generous of you

to share you extensive knowledge

with those who are less gifted.

- Well thank you Cherry.

- Most women don't see it like that.

- Hmm, so what got you into this?

- Eh, I wanted to help people.

You know I mean, let's be
honest, most of my clients

are just simple, socially-awkward guys

who are just tired of being steamrolled.

- And you don't think you're
taking advantage of them?

- Not at all.

I just provide a service for
those who need a little push.

- Dude seriously, what's
with all the touching?

You don't like it?

- Is this the kind of rubbish
that you help people with?

Seems like a con-job to me.

- Alright, what's your angle?

- I need to have an angle?

- Everyone has an angle.

Every gesture, a transaction.

- You're kind of shit might
fly with the mastabatory set

but this chick knows what you're up to.

- Oh really, do tell.

- Creating an army of twits with a grudge

to carry out your fucked-up worldview.

- Hilarious, have you met my minions?

If they can intimidate a can of deodorant

it's been a good day.

- So that still doesn't explain why you--

- Sorry did you want another drink?

- Yeah.

No wait!

That's not what I'm.

Has anyone ever told you you
have really beautiful eyes?

- Fuck off asshole!

Why are you after Becky Holt?

- Sorry?

- I've seen the videos.

I've seen you selling Becky
as the big bad to the rubes.

- That, it's just a bit of
fun to rally the troops.

It's just theater!

I call her some names,
she calls me some names,

the internet goes postal.

More people know who I am
and I sell more tickets.

These blokes aren't some sleeper
cell of nefarious villains.

They just wanna get laid.

- And that's what you give them?

- I give 'em a show.

For an hour they can have
their angry worldview validated

and feel a little bit
better about themselves.

What's the problem?

- So you're a snake-oil salesman.

- Let me put it to you like this.

If you have a good voice,
you're paid to sing.

If you can mark, kick a ball,
you get paid to play AFL.

Why can't I do the same?

- You're kidding.

- I've always had the
gift of the gab, Cherry.

Never been alone for long either.

Why not put it to good use?

Men feel like they've had
something taken away from them

that was promised.

I've got the skills and expertise

to suggest that they can have it back.

Now what's wrong with making
a little living from it?

Thank God.

Hello?

Hey honey.

Just finishing up here.

Yeah okay.

You know I'll grab some
ice-cream on the way home.

Okay, yep no I'll be home faster

than you can say "Monash
Freeway."

Alright, okay, love you too.

Bye babes.

- Sir, can I get a bucket?

- Not all alphas are assholes.

- Oh sell it to your latest victim.

- That's my wife!

- Your wife?

What are you doing chatting me up then?

- What are you doing
coming onto a married man?

It's not like I'm hiding it.

- Well, you disgust me.

- Does this mean we can't
be friends anymore, Cherry?

Okay what if, I um, I'll
look through my database

and if anyone seems a bit
weird, I'll let you know okay?

- Sure, okay.

Fine just, call me if you find anything.

- Gotcha digits.

- Hello?

It's Tom Jackman.

- What are you doing here?

- I've brought your hat back.

I've got donuts.

Professional setup you've got here.

- Mmm, I'm just starting out.

- You know something occurred
to me on the way over here.

My parents live in the country,

about 40 minutes out of Melbourne.

They've got a few acres

and it tends to get bone dry out there.

So every time I hear about
bushfires on the news, you know,

my heart leaps into my throat.

Can I get a drink?

- I've only got water or wine, or Berocca.

- Er, water'll do, thanks.

So it's become a side project of mine

to research bushfires.

The cause, effects, and so on.

Those reports scare the
shit out of us every summer.

But most people don't hang
around for the aftermath.

Thanks.

I'm not talking about

the tallies of houses lost, or casualties,

I mean the months later.

How long it takes for
the families to resettle,

towns to be rebuilt.

The guilty to be found and prosecuted.

Did you know, that an unusually high

amount of arsonists are firefighters?

I mean the stats aren't definitive

but research turns it up time and again.

But, and this is crucial,

they tend to be volunteer firefighters.

To be a real firefighter is a tough gig.

You know, you're professionally trained.

Physically, psychologically tested.

But volunteers, all they need
to do is put up their hand.

I prefer the lives of those I love

in the hands of professionals.

I'd think twice about
putting that back on.

Thanks for the drink.

- Who the fuck am I kidding?

No, I didn't order this.

- It's on the house.

You were right.

- About?

- My boyfriend?

What you said the other
day got me thinking.

So I brought it up with him.

Turns out, he thought I
was drifting away from him.

So he started shutting me
out, preparing for the worst.

But because of what you
said, we talked about it,

and got everything out in the open.

We're all good now.

And it's all because of you!

- Happy to help.

- I thought you were a real nutter.

It turns out, you've got a real gift.

Anyway, just wanted to say, thanks.

- Yep.

- Enjoy.

So J.B.'s not out to get me?

- As much as I would love
to punch his stupid face in,

he's motivated purely by money.

He actually wants you to go after him.

The more he's attacked,
the more money he makes.

- So who's next?

Jimmy Kay

is Melbourne's hometown boy done bad,

whose rise to US comedy stardom

has been both inexplicable,

and too indicative of everyday misogyny.

- Is it okay, to fingerbang a
bitch while she is sleeping?

Yes it is.

Is it okay to eat a bitch
out while she is sleeping?

No, it is not.

It is fucking awesome.

- So what did you do to him?

- After I wrote that
review, a woman commented

saying she was Jimmy's ex-girlfriend.

Well we swapped emails,

and she told me, he was a dud lay

who liked to have hot coffee
poured into his ass-crack.

I may have shared that on Twitter.

- Well it seems Jimmy didn't want

such information shared so publicly.

And now he goes out of
his way to attack me

whenever he can.

- Ha ha, mute, cute and ready to root.

Nice surprise seeing you here.

- Aw you're smoking indoors, wow.

Don't stop living the 90s dream.

- Well you know, fame has its privileges.

I'm all about privilege, I'm a white man.

You're a bit chatty today.

What, no sca-wy audience.

- I'm off duty today.

Just wanted to ask you
a couple of questions,

if you don't mind.

- Oh, my next bowl movement's not due

for another ten minutes,

alright step into the orifice.

- Thanks for this.

I really appreciate you taking the time.

- Which I don't have a
lot of, so fire away.

- Okay, does the phrase "Dying is an art,"

mean anything to you?

- Is that a song lyric?

- How about, "The more
solitary, the more friendless."

- Is this a Spicks and Specks audition?

- Ever turn the electricity
off to get a girl's attention?

You've been talking to my ex.

You can quit fucking around.

I know why you're here.

- Hmm, and what's that?

- Well you want career advice, obviously.

But you're afraid to ask

'cause I was tough on you the other night.

I'm not apologizing for that by the way.

I've taken my share of shit from MCs

and other comics around the traps.

It's just a rite of passage.

Here's your first lesson.

Everything is a lesson.

So take all that shit,
turn it into fertilizer

and use it to grow little petal.

That one's free.

Next one'll cost ya a blowie.

- No, no, no, no.

I didn't come here to
beg for career advice,

or stroke your self-esteem,

or suck your stupid dick,
you ego-maniacal fuckhead.

- Why in the actual fanny-farting fuck

are you wasting my time?

- Because you bully women into submission

and I'm gonna nail your
ass to the wall for it.

- I say stupid shit,

that makes thousands of people
piss themselves laughing.

Now laugher may be a
foreign concept to you--

- Look my comedy career, or lack there-of,

isn't the issue here.

Do you know how awful, how
threatened you make women feel?

I'm sorry that you were a
pimply, flatulent, fat kid okay.

That's all in my acts.

I take more piss out of
myself that anyone else.

They're jokes, baby.

People laugh at 'em.

Women laugh at 'em.

And we all go home and
the world just keeps

on turning.
- I know

that you're harassing my
client and it needs to end.

We can trace your tweets,

we can match your handwriting.
- What client?

What Tweets?

Look I don't have time for this shit.

Does Becky Holt ring a bell?

- Did she put you up to this?

- What does that mean?

- She's been trying to bury me for years.

Look the first few
canceled gigs and protests

gave me the shits, but I mean.

- So what?

- It was the kick up
the ass that I needed.

I've been piss-farting
around here for far too long.

So I moved to America.

The rest is glorious fucking history.

- You look like ass.

What are they paying you with, bar tabs?

- Ah well, the road's not all
paved with gold sweetheart,

I mean, venues rip you off.

Chicks take you for a ride.

Checks from the network take
forever to come through.

Royalties are like getting
blood from a stone.

- So that's why you're here?

A cash grab.

- You know, a man's gotta do.

Between tax audits and paternity suits,

life's not cheap for old Jimmy.

So I'll play any shithole that'll have me.

- That's between you and yours Kay.

All I'm asking, is you
stop harassing Becky

or there's gonna be

some--
- You haven't listened

to a fucking word I've said have you?

I've got no time to cyberbully anybody.

I'm on the road 24/7, when
I'm not shooting the show,

or dealing with legal bullshit.

I don't even have time to
write my own material anymore.

Haven't you heard?

I'm Jimmy the dancing bear.

And the network and the
promoters and the fans,

they're holding the whip.

So I just show up.

I do my thing.

Occasionally I get to drink
myself stupid at a fancy party

on the company tab.

That's the bone I get thrown.

You still want in?

The two of you ever consider
that it's not some bloke?

That it's a female rival who'd
probably have more to gain

from fucking with her?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

Now, if I'm not getting a
suck off, you can fuck off.

I've got a slow death to drink myself to.

- So um, Jimmy's a washout.

He's got his own personal
shit to deal with.

But something that he
said has got me thinking.

There really is a
first time for everything.

- Oh wow, everyone's a comedian.

Look, both of these guys

have profited from what you've said.

So, is there someone
that you could have done

some real damage to?

Someone who by the way,

seems to be quoting from
the Becky Holt book club.

- Oh shit.

- Who is it?

- Of course, it makes perfect sense.

Just tell me already!

- The newly elected
Honorable Member for Kooyong.

Bright-eyed journalist
turned tabloid commentator,

turned political starlet.

The weird thing is, we
were actually friends once.

But as her fame grew, she
became more aggressive.

Throwing her weight
behind conservative causes

and heaven help you if you
spoke for the other side.

- Well Barry, if Becky Holt
wants to be the postergirl

for a modern genocide of human beings

who can't speak for themselves,

well then she deserves
all the flack she gets.

I'm up for a dialog
on just about anything,

but Tabitha preferred the
scorched earth treatment.

Flattening anything and
anyone that got in her way.

Keep calm, keep in control,
and keep your wits about you.

You're gonna need them.

- How powerful do I look?

These flags, right?

Have you seen this picture?

Find Wally.

Tabitha Stark.

- Sam.

- Antha Jane Slade.

Stand-up comedian on hiatus,

currently acting as a private investigator

for one Rebecca Holt.

- You've been researching me.

- Of course.

I can't just let anyone into my office.

You may've heard, but some
people don't like me very much.

- Can't imagine why.

- I don't go out of my
way to offend people

but I do call things as I see them.

- You could've fooled me.

- Look, you may have heard that I'm awful

but I am just a woman with an opinion.

You above anyone should know
what society thinks of that.

So, what would you like to ask me?

- When was the last time
that you spoke to Miss Holt?

- I haven't seen Rebecca
in eight or nine years?

But then, few have.

- What does that mean?

- Well she does like to to
fashion an air of mystery.

Ever met her in person?

- Lately, several times a week.

- Hmm.

And in all this time you've
been spending together,

have you ever seen her go outside?

I didn't think so.

Doesn't stop her from churning out

a keenly-honed opinion on public life,

one that she hasn't led for some time.

I wonder how she still
manages to get away with it.

- Becky's not a liar.

- No, you're probably right.

She's more emotional than fraudulent.

When you've been through
the kind of trauma

that Rebecca has suffered, it
tends to destabilize things.

- What?

- Oh, she hasn't shared that.

- Being coy isn't really
your brand, Miss Stark.

- Yeah well if she hasn't
chosen to share that with you,

I'm not one to gossip.

But just know, that the kind of experience

that Rebecca went through

would lead anyone to
substitute reality for fantasy.

Is there something wrong?

- I'm just trying to work out

what you have to gain
from driving Becky mad.

But your insistence on discrediting her,

it really makes you a viable suspect.

- Suspect.

Whatever for?

You know I'm not sure if you've noticed,

but I am a grown-up, with
a fairly important job.

- Mmm-hmm.

An important job that Becky
can make pretty difficult.

Maybe you're about to propose
some kind of legislation

that she'll round up her
readership to contest,

and you know that her fanclub,

well it can be surprisingly powerful.

- Look darling, I don't
know what you're trying

to fit me up for, but be assured,

you don't have it in my color.

- I'm not done.

Maybe you're considering a
run for party leadership,

and you wouldn't mind wiping the memory

of the loudest person
with a key to your past.

- So, I blew an editor or two

behind the printing press in my time.

Darling, it is not going to dismantle

a run for federal office.

- Absolutely not,

but your cashed-up pro-life allies,

they might want to know
about your abortion.

I researched you too.

And yes you've had all the records

really well buried but it is a wonder

what a few drinks with the
right people will uncover.

- Do you honestly think, that
someone in my line of work

could get away with driving
someone mad, as you put it?

I have enemies everywhere.

The media spend their days
praying for me to fall over.

One snap on someone's
phone and I'd be done.

Besides, if I really
wanted to crush Rebecca,

I'd make sure she knew about it.

I'd press my name into the sole of my shoe

and then I would leave
the imprint on her face.

And then, I would issue a press release.

- Oh.

- Miss Slade.

- Ah, who told me about the abortion?

I guessed.

Figured you were a hypocrite.

Your type usually are.

So which one of you Tweedledee?

- "'Well here's mud in
your eye, ' she said.

"The tablets were unpleasant to take,

"dry and powdery and sticking obstinately

"half way down her throat.

"It took a long time to swallow all 20.

"She stood wondering with a
courteous, vicarious interest

"if death would strike her down at once."

♪ Every morning, every evening ♪

♪ Ain't we got fun. ♪

♪ Not much money, oh honey ♪

- Hey Becky.

Hey I've been calling all afternoon.

- We don't want any.

♪ Then rent's unpaid my dear ♪
- Or you okay?

- Nobody here but us chickens.

We don't want to lose our heads.

- Becky are you alright?

- Can't you take a hint?

It's a party for one,
and you're not invited.

- Becky, Becky tell me what's going on.

- That's the end of my secret stash.

♪ Still we got fun ♪

♪ There's nothing surer ♪

- Time for a little Russian Roulette.

- Becky you need to let me in.

- No Sam, I don't think I will.

♪ Ain't we got fun ♪

I'm rethinking this open house policy.

The more I let in the worse it gets.

♪ Don't we have fun ♪

♪ Don't we have fun ♪

- Maybe you're doing
me more harm than good.

- Okay Becky.

Okay, just talk to me.

- Why?

So we can keep playing
this mad pointless game?

What kind of a detective are you?

What have you found out?

What have you actually done to help me?

♪ There's nothing surer ♪

- Becky just let me in!

- Bit fat nothing,
that's what you've done.

♪ In between time ♪

- Becky, just tell me what's happened.

♪ Have fun ♪
- You're a PI.

Figure it out.

- Becky this doesn't make any sense.

Becky!

Becky I'm sorry that I
haven't found anything.

I'm new at this and I'm a bit shit.

I just, I feel like we're so close.

So close to a breakthrough.

We can do this!

I know we can.

Becky I know something happened.

Tabitha hinted at something.

Something that made you shut your door

and just not ever want to come out.

I know that you're terrified of leaving.

You hide it well but,

the person that's doing this,

they're playing on that fear.

You told me that you wanted
me to be honest with you.

Well, I need you to be honest with me.

- Please Sam, just go.

Or I'm gonna have to call the police.

- Alright, okay.

I'm done talking, I've stopped knocking.

You just call whoever you want,

but if you think that
I'm gonna leave you here

then you're crazy.

I'm staying right here until
we catch this motherfucker.

- Hey bud.

- Aw thank fuck, you're okay.

- What are you talking about?

- Well I saw you tweeted all that stuff

and I've been trying to
get onto you all day.

- What stuff?

Tom, I didn't write this.

- What do you mean?

- Well after I hung up from
you I went and had a shower.

Tom my boy, do you ever feel

like you're losing your marbles?

- Only every other day.

- No I mean really.

Someone broke into my flat tonight.

- What?

- When I was in the shower.

I didn't see anybody but I came out

to find my phone swiped out
for a note and a poison drink

and whoever it was must have logged in

and wrote those tweets.

- Where's Sam, is she there with you?

- No, Sam's,

I fired her.

Okay.

I can't believe I'm gonna say this but,

I know I'm not the biggest fan of Sam's

but do you really think it's her?

I mean she's a kook but
everything she's done so far

would indicate that she's your kook.

And she's a terrible klutz

and when she snuck into my
office to get your address,

I mean she left half her wardrobe behind,

and if this stalker is as
slick as you say they are,

then she's not your girl.

- That's right.

She didn't know where I lived, did she?

- No, she didn't.

- And whoever's doing this
started long before she arrived.

- I really wish you had've told me Bec.

- But if she didn't steal my key, who did?

- Somebody's got your key?

Okay, screw it, I'm coming over.

I'm gonna bring my

sleeping bag.
- Tom, it's fine.

- And my hardcover copy of War and Peace.

This is happening.

- No it's.

- I've got Sam standing guard outside.

She's refusing to leave.

- See?

Your kook.

- Hang on, if Sam's outside,

how do you know they're
not in there with you?

- Wow, thanks for the
happy thoughts trooper,

you're a big help.

- You know, I'm not gonna
let you push me away.

If you're not gonna let
me come around there

then I'm just gonna
have to stay on the line

until I know you're safe.

- I dunno Wilhelm, this
psycho's pretty determined.

Could be on the line for
the rest of our lives.

- Fine by me bucko.

- Ah, hey you, ah.

- The party never stops out here.

- Hmm.

- It's Sam isn't it?

- Oh um, you're the neighbor right?

Um, Steven.

- Simon.

For what it's worth,
Steven is the name I use

for charity collectors.

- Oh, sorry.

- You're twisting yourself into a pretzel,

sleeping like that.

- Yeah I shouldn't really be sleeping.

- Is Becky okay?

She's been a bit stressed recently.

I thought she could do with a drink,

which is basically my default setting.

- Yeah I think she's asleep now.

I haven't heard anything
in about half an hour.

- Dear lord, how long have
you been stuck out here?

- I'm standing guard.

Oh, sitting.

- So chivalry's not dead.

I was about to make some coffee.

Would you like some?

- I'm fine.

- I have a wonderful machine from Milan.

I haven't the faintest how to use it,

but somehow the nectar that
flows from it is glorious.

- I really should stay here.

- You can't stand guard
sitting on the floor.

Come on, I'll make you a cup to go.

- Are you sure?

- Andale!

- Ah, ah, no you don't.

- What?

- Well you can't force me to
stay awake to watch you sleep.

This is not fair.

- Didn't you hear Tommy dear?

Life isn't fair, it's more,

something about at box of chocolates?

Ooh.

- Hey, Wilhelm.

- Yes.

- You will stay on the line, won't you?

Even if I fall asleep?

You won't hang up?

- Of course not.

As I said, as long as it takes.

- You're a real sap, you know that?

- So I've been told.

So how are we gonna keep you awake?

- Read me your novel?

- Ah, no.

- You promised.

- Isn't the whole point to keep you awake?

- Come on Thomas.

This might be my last night on Earth.

- It's really not very good.

- First drafts never are.

- Yeah it's not so much a draft

as a collection of random thoughts.

- Stop stalling.

- Fine.

We could do anything else.

- Oh please stop stalling.

- Don't blame me.

"Call me Ismael."

"Some years ago, never mind how long."

- Thomas.

- So this is, um?

- A shoebox with running water.

- I was gonna say, minimalistic,
but that works too.

- Yes I suppose it could
do with a woman's touch.

Or even better a gay man's.

- Thank you.

Oh, you really are a lifesaver.

- I have been called
many things in my time.

Most of them unrepeatable.

But I like that one.

- Whoa, that's the weapons-grade stuff.

- I told you I have absolutely no idea

how that machine works.

There are 72 knobs and the
instructions are in Italian.

I could add some more milk if you like.

- No it's fine.

It'll put hairs on my chest.

- So, why were you relegated
to the hallway, lovers tiff?

- Ah no, we, wait, Becky
and I are not a couple.

- Please, don't be coy.

This is a safe space.

I've been wanting Becky
to meet someone for years.

- No, I mean Becky's lovely

but our arrangement is
strictly professional.

Not, um, Becky hired me as a private dick.

- Uh.

- An investigator.

Aw, I don't know how much Becky's told you

but she's had some troubles lately.

Not that any of that matters

because I just got fired.

- Which is why you were sitting

outside.
- Outside, in the hallway,

yeah.

- Oh, I suppose it's a
dangerous line of work,

always running into dodgy characters.

- I wouldn't know.

This is my first job.

- Booted off your first
case by a feisty dame

who could be in danger.

It's the stuff of pure pulp.

Speaking of which, might I humbly suggest

we go full Bogart?

- Ooh, thank you.

- "But no more of this blubbering now.

"We're going a-whaling

"and there's plenty of that yet to come.

"Let us scrape the ice
from our frosted feet

"and see what sort of a
place this 'Spouter' may be."

Night.

- Ah, I better, head back up.

Oh, oh my god, I can't
believe how tired I am.

- Well it's been a big week, I expect.

Perhaps you should rest here for a moment.

- No I'm fine.

I'll just,

oh.
- Whoa!

I certainly admire your pluck

but you couldn't guard a
flowerbed in your state.

- No I've gotta go and do the thing.

- Bless.

- "I feel certain I am going mad again.

"I feel I can't go through

"with another of those terrible times.

"And I shan't recover this time.

"I begin to hear voices
and I can't concentrate.

"So I am doing what seems
the best thing to do.

"You have given me the
greatest possible happiness.

"You have been in every way
all that anyone could be.

"I can't fight any longer."

Oh, shit.

Fuck.

Please, please just pick up, please.

Virginia Woolf.

- What now?

- Virginia Woolf's suicide note.

The motherfucker sent a
suicide text from my phone

but used Virginia Woolf's words.

- Someone sent a text from your phone?

- Yes!

Sam?

- And they're gonna be here soon.

Probably about an hour or so.

What's up?

- Remember what you said about
the Becky Holt book-club?

You aren't kidding.

Every note, every clue.

They're not just quoting random authors.

Every quote they've used
has come from a book

that's gone missing from my shelf.

That means whoever it is has
been getting in for weeks.

Maybe even months.

- Okay, so let's change the locks.

- It's not just my lock.

They know the downstairs PIN code!

They'll always find a way to get in.

- Okay, so we're gonna get you out!

We're gonna pack a bag

and just get you the fuck out of here.

Somewhere where no one
knows where you are.

What are you doing?

- I'm digging a hole, what do you think?

I'm packing a bag.

- Sam, can you not touch all that.

Sam please stop!

You know I can't leave!

- What's going on?

- Tabitha was right.

This isn't the first time
this has happened to me.

Well not to me exactly.

Someone murdered my housemate
while I was in the next room.

- Oh.

- Everyone plays out danger
scenarios in their head.

What would you do of a
slasher came after you,

or someone tried to grab
you in a dark alley?

How would you react?

Fight or flight?

Everyone but everyone

thinks that they would be a fight person.

That's not what I found out that night.

I stood in the next room
listening to my housemate die

because I didn't want to
end up just another victim.

- That is a perfectly natural response.

- She died because I was
too scared to do anything.

After that I was too
frightened to get out of here.

It was harder and harder to get out there.

I was frightened of everything,
jumping at my own shadow.

So I built myself this
hermetically-sealed cocoon.

Living under the false belief
that in here I would be safe.

After a few years the nightmares faded

and I started to feel a
little like my old self again.

So long as I stayed right here.

Until now.

- Okay, so let's end this.

We've been going around in circles.

It's time to close in on our main suspect.

Tom.

How is that even?

Look I'll just,
cab it to his office

and get some answers.

Sam this is crazy.

He's my best friend.

Take off the blinkers
Becky, everyone's a suspect.

Now sit tight and lock up, be back soon.

Shit.

- Might I humbly suggest
we go full Bogart?

- Fuck!

- Becky, Bec!

What's going on?

Redecorating?

Most overdue.

Where are you?

I know you haven't gone out,

because you never leave, do you.

You can come out now.

I know you've had your troubles

but I'm here to protect you little lady.

No?

I'm not convincing you, am I?

This place is mine you know.

My dear father's.

His will neglected to mention it.

He used to bring his mistresses here.

Couldn't have mother
finding out about that.

Except they died together,
so I was none the wiser.

So when I found out about
it, well, it's my birthright!

Except you just refused
to sell, didn't you?

Whoops!

Butterfingers.

Your agent wouldn't put
me in touch with you

but I get what I want.

I had to do some digging.

And then, the master stroke.

I would move in downstairs

and befriend the person living here.

You didn't think we were
actually friends did you?

You're a fun broad and everything

but the flat is what I wanted.

I certainly dropped enough hints.

I could never tell if you
played dumb or actually were.

So I decided to use my cover
as best pal and drinking buddy

to swipe your keys,
sneak in and out at will

and start messing with your things,

'cause we know how much
you love that, don't we?

I thought enough unexplained phenomena,

enough sleepless night, even
you'd be ready to depart,

but you just dug your damn heels in.

You even said, the only way
you were leaving, was in a box.

So, have it your way.

Box it is.

Of course I couldn't
just murder you, could I?

My flat's as small a
cell as I can deal with,

thank you very much.

So the only solution left,
was to fake your suicide.

Just like those pathetic
literary heroes of yours.

See I was doing you a favor.

You'd get to join the suicide club

and sip martinis with
the prematurely-dead.

And I get my apartment, everybody wins!

Except you proved
annoyingly hard to dispatch.

But like I said, I get what I want.

So if you'd kindly step out of the closet

and slip your head into the
noose I prepared earlier,

I can test the structural
integrity of my new property.

"A cricket sings upon the Hearth;

"a broken child's-toy
lies upon the ground;

"and nothing else remains."

Hey, Charles Dickless!

- Congratulations on being
the worst detective ever!

The truth was truly a wonder to behold.

Case closed.

- Oh, took you long enough.

- You have no idea.

Come here, hey.

How the fuck did I miss him?

- Kid, for a private dick,
you're a damn fine comedian.

From the dark underbelly

beneath Melbourne's charming
European-flecked facade,

Two women found triumph today.

We're confronted with
stories of female oppression

and capitulation on a daily basis.

So I thought, I should write
about a win for a change.

Well
I'm happy to announce

that was my first and last
case as a private detective.

Thought I'd go out on top.

Besides, I'd found my voice again.

Now I hear you asking,

did she get the cash out
of Simon's apartment?

Did she keep her place?

Did she get another job?

Is she homeless?

Christ, it's never enough
for you people, is it?

Can't you just enjoy a
nice, happy kick-ass ending?

Why all the questions?

Don't you have lives?

Oh wait, there is one last thing.

So Becky did finally
go on a date with Tom.

She even managed to make it to
the rooftop of her building.

I might have helped a little.

Becky finally twisted Tom's
arm to read his manuscript.

Turns out he's a nice guy.

It's almost like I never tried
to frame him as a psychopath.

Next week, Becky's gonna take the elevator

to the ground floor for the
first time in six years.

And whether she likes it
or not, I'll have her back,

every step of the way.

And I won't even charge her.

♪ Even if we owe the grocer ♪

♪ Ain't we got fun ♪

♪ Tax collector getting closer ♪

♪ Still we got fun ♪

♪ There's nothing surer ♪

♪ The rich get rich and poor get poorer ♪

♪ In the meantime, in between time ♪

♪ Ain't we got fun ♪

♪ Don't we have fun ♪

♪ Still we have fun ♪

♪ Even if we owe the grocer ♪

♪ Still we have fun ♪

♪ Tax collectors getting closer ♪

♪ Ooh, what fun ♪

♪ There's nothing surer ♪

♪ The rich get rich and
the poor get poorer ♪

♪ In the meantime, in between time ♪

♪ Don't we have fun ♪

♪ Ow ♪