Apocalypse After (2018) - full transcript
An abandoned seaside resort. The shooting for a fantasy film about the end of an era wraps up. Two women, both members of the film crew, one an actress, the other a director, Apocalypse and...
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---
APOCALYPSE AFTER
Cut.
It's cut.
I'd like to film you naked,
your body covered in lizards.
What'd you say?
Apocalypse.
Let it go.
The film's done.
- Apocalypse.
- And call me by my real name now.
Stay longer, until sunrise.
You got what you wanted.
Apocalypse!
Kiss me instead.
It's too painful.
Don't pretend like
you don't want to.
It's over.
You got what you wanted,
so let me play now.
Kiss me one last time
before it all explodes.
I'd like this kiss to last forever
Apocalypse.
It's over.
I want to drink from your mouth
until the sun sets us on fire.
This is the last time, Joy.
Hi Gisou...
Are you coming to Ulli's birthday?
We've prepared an ultra cruel event.
More cruel than...
More cruel than the Pope.
Let me tell you about my next film
Apocalypse.
Stories of girls at sundown.
Let yourself go Apocalypse.
Be guided by my words.
See that?
Gisou's showing the way.
Even dead he can still move.
Gisou's truly cool.
The only one I'll miss
when it'll all be over.
Gisou?
- Gisou?
- Leave him be!
What'd you tell your Giger?
I told him to stop with the hands.
He stinks of glue, like all decorators.
I think he looks like
an over-used elastic.
- Who're you talking about?
- Giger.
But I never really saw him naked.
Body doubles do not like to age.
They hide their sadness
in fresh whipped cream.
Here she is.
I didn't imagine her like that.
She's possessed.
Sorry, what did you say?
I said Ulli is possessed.
- By her costume?
- No.
By the demon of lost years.
How long have you known Ulli for?
Each year, at the same date,
the same hour,
her lost years possess her.
She regresses without end,
hidden in her costume.
What're we doing here,
apart watching her dance in the dust?
Light the last candle.
To release her demon.
She's a bit twisted, no?
She's regressing.
She can regress
to the anal stage, then fetal.
Every year's the same.
Really?
What's before fetal?
An empty "al",
an abysmal "al".
The end of "me"
and the beginning of "you",
Big Bang and Milky Way.
It's eerie to see her like that.
Is she suffering?
Quickly, light it.
When the circle of fire appears,
the demon will dissipate.
She'll become old again,
hidden in her costume.
- Why not regress?
- That'd be too easy!
She must age like everyone.
That bitch,
she should have surgery or exercise
if she wants to stay young.
I'd like to regress.
You're not serious?
Yes.
For the last minute seeing her like that
makes me want to.
It's cruel.
For whom?
The others,
the ones on the side of the road.
- Those that age...
- That's Paradise, right?
To be able to regress
to a drunken state.
A dirty paradise.
It's not true.
Don't believe the candles.
I'm much younger than I look.
Much younger.
Cut! Perfect.
You were perfect, my darling.
Let's move on.
Quickly, the sun is rising.
Can we do it over?
I'd really like to do it over.
I think I wavered on "dirty paradise".
Ulli was an actress without reserve.
She could sound the depths of herself
to attain grace.
Like a jump into the void.
Possession.
A haunted actress.
I'll film them with my tongue out.
The humid tip that palpitates.
Like this.
You like it?
- Do you like it?
- Yes.
So...
I'll film them,
while touching myself.
That's it.
I'll film the children...
while touching my nipples, OK?
Yeah, I'm into it.
The vulgarity.
You must magnify the vulgarity,
Ulli my darling.
So...
I'll put out the fire
by spitting on it.
I'll splash them in my spit,
while touching myself!
That's what you want, right?
Flesh, death,
and debauchery.
Yes.
Let me see the most possible.
I want the spectators' hearts
to turn in their thoracic cages...
Your inside out heart makes me laugh.
No heart anymore, just an empty cage.
The heat is burning me.
I can feel the sweat
dripping down my legs.
It's pearling.
It's pearling down my legs.
Soon I'll be able to put out the fire
between my moist thighs.
Hold tight against my sex
your two angels burnt to the marrow.
Their boiling flesh will pour into me.
Perfect.
You are perfect.
How old are you beauty?
Tell us.
I've never really known.
I'm 10 years old.
I'm 10 years old and...
I'm watching a forbidden film
in secret
on my 10th birthday.
I'm burning with desire
for this vulgar sequence.
Continue, you're turning me on.
I'm 10 and...
I'm in the hall of my house...
I'm moving, slowly...
along the sombre hallway.
Emmanuelle And The Last Cannibals?
There on the TV...
Blue Holocaust?
- I see... a beach at sunset.
- Rape In The Tropics?
Mondo Erotica?
- Burnt bodies...
- Orgasmo Erotico?
- A beautiful woman, half naked...
- Amore Sporco?
Hard Sensation?
...eats the burnt bodies.
I'm 10 years old.
And I'm turned on by what I see.
My father watches TV alone.
A VHS rental.
His back is to me, I am silent.
I look.
My eyes drink in all they can.
They gobble the firm breasts,
the burnt bodies.
The long thighs,
the pubic hair.
My eyes gobble silently.
I'm 10.
I gobble,
and I burn of desire and disgust.
I am the most hated filmmaker
of my generation.
The tribal pornographer.
The scavenger of the genre.
Who will remember me?
Who will write about me?
I dreamed of being
Max Ophuls
but I am Joy d'Amato.
A-M-A-T-O
with the particle, I insist.
My father sees me.
"What are you doing?
You're not in bed?
Go back to bed."
"Where are the toilets, Sir?"
I answer.
Suave Agony Towards
The Exit On Your Right.
How could you have seen that film?
I haven't made it yet!
Love hides under the slashes.
Knowledge lies buried under the wounds.
All make-up artists know this.
You know what Ballard
said to Sternberg?
Those two knew each other?
Anticipation is a small world,
no larger than a village street.
They all know each other, say hello,
observe each other,
even hate each other.
Anticipation.
Science-fiction, you mean?
Science-thrill. Science-fusion.
Science-titillation!
Nothing better to define it.
"Cosmic urine"
my father used to say.
"Fantasy astride chance"
said mine.
"The hysteria of the future."
Vul.
I wanted to answer your SMS.
I also liked it
when you put make-up on my penis.
Do you know what Ballard said
to Sternberg 50 years ago today?
No, I don't.
He said,
"Our opinions won't make it to Mars."
"Our opinions won't make it to Mars."
It's beautiful.
But at the same time,
I'm not sure what he means.
You'll see.
"Our opinions won't make it to Mars."
But you, my child, where are you going?
What's my surprise?
Are you stuck?
I'm completely wasted,
I'll break my neck.
Bunch of idiots!
It's disgusting.
With mayonnaise, I hate it!
You were hungry my darling.
Mom?
Are you there, Mom?
I don't want you to see me like this.
Too late darling.
Where are you?
Why is my mother here?
Mom, are you here?
Stop, this is horrible.
Where are you?
Will you mate now, Vul?
Mate with men?
Mom are you here?
Show yourself.
Elsewhere, I am elsewhere.
Where am I?
On Mars.
We decided to send you there
to avoid the world's misery.
It's your birthday present my darling.
Where're my friends?
The crew?
They're watching with me.
They miss you very much.
I want to come back.
Stop this!
I want to come back.
It's not funny.
It's impossible.
You're there to stay.
There's no risk on Mars.
You won't have to work
on these horrible films.
Stop this thing.
I make a living as I like!
It cost your father and me
money to send you to Mars.
Do you want to mate with a man?
You didn't answer.
I'm confused.
I can't stay here, it's a joke.
I want to know
if you'll mate with men.
Mom...
Now is not the time.
I can't stay in this desert.
- I'm scared.
- Exactly.
Men to mate with have been foreseen.
If you like of course.
No obligation.
We thought it might be better
for your equilibrium.
It's an option.
You have time to think.
My equilibrium?
This, on my 23rd birthday!
It's a nice present.
Your father and I thought
it was the best present.
It's the worst thing that could happen.
What will I become here?
What will I do?
Live without worry.
Far from worldly horrors,
while we look on with love.
I want to live with the others.
This is what you see, Mom?
Your daughter raped on Mars!
What would please you, Miss?
Let go of me.
It's the weightlessness.
We have to hold you down
and decontaminate your clothes.
What would please you?
To leave.
A snack? A meal?
A sandwich? A book?
A massage? Caresses? Penetration?
To be far from here, in a truck.
A fast-rolling truck.
By the seaside.
In a truck with all my dead friends.
To love them.
To hear them say:
"Fight!
Fight, young woman in flower."
Mom?
The dead sometimes wish
to pleasure us.
A physical pleasure.
Konstantin Raudive
taped voices from afar.
Near the end of his life,
he could pick up the phone
to talk to the dead.
Here is the conversation he had
with a certain Frieda Boher.
Hello?
Konstantin Raudive?
Who are you?
I am Frieda Boher,
dead 76 years ago today.
I need proof, my dear Lady.
- My voice is not enough?
- For me, yes.
But you know how people are.
Cartesian, skeptical...
Skeptical.
Could you give me
some concrete elements that I ignore?
You will die in one year.
I mean about you.
I am completely shaven.
No, less intimate...
That's enough. I will hang up!
No... speak to me...
speak to me about yourself.
It's my birthday today.
I was born in Berlin in 1918.
Very well.
I am honoured that you chose me.
It's the only available number.
I had no choice.
Cocteau advised me to call.
You know Jean Cocteau, the poet?
Yes, he already spoke to you.
He pretended to be Stalin.
I thought...
No. It was Cocteau.
Stalin hates the living.
I am honoured.
It's not about choice,
your number is the only one.
You knew Cocteau well?
Yes.
Jean contacted me about a film.
You were an actress?
Muse.
A muse for film?
Films are monkeys
that fuck their muses,
blinded by the light of projectors.
That's one way of putting it.
You cannot understand.
Jean wanted to make
a dirty, modern film.
Men covered in muscles
with superpowers amused him,
drawn by Americans.
Comics are unfamiliar to me.
I find them vulgar.
Hulk!
- Pardon me?
- Hulk!
He's the incarnation
of the masculine erection,
you idiot!
Is it pornographic?
No more than you are.
Touch her!
Yes! Caress yourselves!
Cocteau wanted to make
a splendid film of necrophilia.
- More eroticism!
- Necrophile?
I need more eroticism!
The story of an angry sculptor
who could tear off his clothes
by flexing his pecs.
Virility in all its splendour.
Flowering flesh,
bouquets of muscles.
I need more eroticism!
In the story
the sculptor was crushed
under an incandescent block of marble.
His heart burnt in his thoracic cage...
The story does not end there.
The sculptor's body lay in a tomb,
on a lost southern shore.
On nights of the full moon,
troubled men or women
would lie down on the tombal stone
in the hopes to embrace
the cadaver's flexed muscles
and miraculously intact skin.
Here Lies The Cock.
It was the title of the film.
I know that Max Ernst...
Stop interrupting me!
Cocteau called me one evening
in Berlin.
He heard I had been
with a ripped, dead man.
I told Cocteau some intimate anecdotes.
He was so pleased
he died the night of our call.
The same night of our call.
Turn around now!
Discover her.
You...
were necrophiliac?
I still am.
I can't control it.
- I am speechless.
- You're a writer and poet?
Yes...
modestly.
He who does not embrace death
cannot be a poet.
My poetry...
it flows!
That has nothing to do with poetry.
You don't know the taste of corpses.
You must touch to know.
Touch flesh and muscles,
smell skin and pores.
I want to touch... Madam.
Before hanging up, I'd like...
to tell you something important.
What?
Madam...
The Hairless Mother.
Unique Eunuch. Sex Salsa.
Claws Of Death.
Inverted Future.
Vulvar Sauna.
Car Chills.
Anal Opium. Blind Dust.
Outside The Children Burn.
More Cruel Than The Pope.
Dirty Paradise.
Suave Agony Towards
The Exit On The Right.
Our Opinions
Will Not Make It To Mars.
Fight!
Young Woman In Flower.
Apocalypse After.
And above all...
Ultra Pulp.
The cinema
is a monkey with bright eyes
who claws a caress.
You see Gisou,
youth has turned its back on me.
I can't hold on to her,
with my stories of women at sunset.
What world?
It's the end of my story.
She is what interests me now.
I could care less about film.
I'll undress but turn your back.
I have my decency.
Like Tetanus?
I won.
I won many years of life.
Who were you speaking to?
My lost years.
Apocalypse...
I have no more tears.
APOCALYPSE AFTER
---
APOCALYPSE AFTER
Cut.
It's cut.
I'd like to film you naked,
your body covered in lizards.
What'd you say?
Apocalypse.
Let it go.
The film's done.
- Apocalypse.
- And call me by my real name now.
Stay longer, until sunrise.
You got what you wanted.
Apocalypse!
Kiss me instead.
It's too painful.
Don't pretend like
you don't want to.
It's over.
You got what you wanted,
so let me play now.
Kiss me one last time
before it all explodes.
I'd like this kiss to last forever
Apocalypse.
It's over.
I want to drink from your mouth
until the sun sets us on fire.
This is the last time, Joy.
Hi Gisou...
Are you coming to Ulli's birthday?
We've prepared an ultra cruel event.
More cruel than...
More cruel than the Pope.
Let me tell you about my next film
Apocalypse.
Stories of girls at sundown.
Let yourself go Apocalypse.
Be guided by my words.
See that?
Gisou's showing the way.
Even dead he can still move.
Gisou's truly cool.
The only one I'll miss
when it'll all be over.
Gisou?
- Gisou?
- Leave him be!
What'd you tell your Giger?
I told him to stop with the hands.
He stinks of glue, like all decorators.
I think he looks like
an over-used elastic.
- Who're you talking about?
- Giger.
But I never really saw him naked.
Body doubles do not like to age.
They hide their sadness
in fresh whipped cream.
Here she is.
I didn't imagine her like that.
She's possessed.
Sorry, what did you say?
I said Ulli is possessed.
- By her costume?
- No.
By the demon of lost years.
How long have you known Ulli for?
Each year, at the same date,
the same hour,
her lost years possess her.
She regresses without end,
hidden in her costume.
What're we doing here,
apart watching her dance in the dust?
Light the last candle.
To release her demon.
She's a bit twisted, no?
She's regressing.
She can regress
to the anal stage, then fetal.
Every year's the same.
Really?
What's before fetal?
An empty "al",
an abysmal "al".
The end of "me"
and the beginning of "you",
Big Bang and Milky Way.
It's eerie to see her like that.
Is she suffering?
Quickly, light it.
When the circle of fire appears,
the demon will dissipate.
She'll become old again,
hidden in her costume.
- Why not regress?
- That'd be too easy!
She must age like everyone.
That bitch,
she should have surgery or exercise
if she wants to stay young.
I'd like to regress.
You're not serious?
Yes.
For the last minute seeing her like that
makes me want to.
It's cruel.
For whom?
The others,
the ones on the side of the road.
- Those that age...
- That's Paradise, right?
To be able to regress
to a drunken state.
A dirty paradise.
It's not true.
Don't believe the candles.
I'm much younger than I look.
Much younger.
Cut! Perfect.
You were perfect, my darling.
Let's move on.
Quickly, the sun is rising.
Can we do it over?
I'd really like to do it over.
I think I wavered on "dirty paradise".
Ulli was an actress without reserve.
She could sound the depths of herself
to attain grace.
Like a jump into the void.
Possession.
A haunted actress.
I'll film them with my tongue out.
The humid tip that palpitates.
Like this.
You like it?
- Do you like it?
- Yes.
So...
I'll film them,
while touching myself.
That's it.
I'll film the children...
while touching my nipples, OK?
Yeah, I'm into it.
The vulgarity.
You must magnify the vulgarity,
Ulli my darling.
So...
I'll put out the fire
by spitting on it.
I'll splash them in my spit,
while touching myself!
That's what you want, right?
Flesh, death,
and debauchery.
Yes.
Let me see the most possible.
I want the spectators' hearts
to turn in their thoracic cages...
Your inside out heart makes me laugh.
No heart anymore, just an empty cage.
The heat is burning me.
I can feel the sweat
dripping down my legs.
It's pearling.
It's pearling down my legs.
Soon I'll be able to put out the fire
between my moist thighs.
Hold tight against my sex
your two angels burnt to the marrow.
Their boiling flesh will pour into me.
Perfect.
You are perfect.
How old are you beauty?
Tell us.
I've never really known.
I'm 10 years old.
I'm 10 years old and...
I'm watching a forbidden film
in secret
on my 10th birthday.
I'm burning with desire
for this vulgar sequence.
Continue, you're turning me on.
I'm 10 and...
I'm in the hall of my house...
I'm moving, slowly...
along the sombre hallway.
Emmanuelle And The Last Cannibals?
There on the TV...
Blue Holocaust?
- I see... a beach at sunset.
- Rape In The Tropics?
Mondo Erotica?
- Burnt bodies...
- Orgasmo Erotico?
- A beautiful woman, half naked...
- Amore Sporco?
Hard Sensation?
...eats the burnt bodies.
I'm 10 years old.
And I'm turned on by what I see.
My father watches TV alone.
A VHS rental.
His back is to me, I am silent.
I look.
My eyes drink in all they can.
They gobble the firm breasts,
the burnt bodies.
The long thighs,
the pubic hair.
My eyes gobble silently.
I'm 10.
I gobble,
and I burn of desire and disgust.
I am the most hated filmmaker
of my generation.
The tribal pornographer.
The scavenger of the genre.
Who will remember me?
Who will write about me?
I dreamed of being
Max Ophuls
but I am Joy d'Amato.
A-M-A-T-O
with the particle, I insist.
My father sees me.
"What are you doing?
You're not in bed?
Go back to bed."
"Where are the toilets, Sir?"
I answer.
Suave Agony Towards
The Exit On Your Right.
How could you have seen that film?
I haven't made it yet!
Love hides under the slashes.
Knowledge lies buried under the wounds.
All make-up artists know this.
You know what Ballard
said to Sternberg?
Those two knew each other?
Anticipation is a small world,
no larger than a village street.
They all know each other, say hello,
observe each other,
even hate each other.
Anticipation.
Science-fiction, you mean?
Science-thrill. Science-fusion.
Science-titillation!
Nothing better to define it.
"Cosmic urine"
my father used to say.
"Fantasy astride chance"
said mine.
"The hysteria of the future."
Vul.
I wanted to answer your SMS.
I also liked it
when you put make-up on my penis.
Do you know what Ballard said
to Sternberg 50 years ago today?
No, I don't.
He said,
"Our opinions won't make it to Mars."
"Our opinions won't make it to Mars."
It's beautiful.
But at the same time,
I'm not sure what he means.
You'll see.
"Our opinions won't make it to Mars."
But you, my child, where are you going?
What's my surprise?
Are you stuck?
I'm completely wasted,
I'll break my neck.
Bunch of idiots!
It's disgusting.
With mayonnaise, I hate it!
You were hungry my darling.
Mom?
Are you there, Mom?
I don't want you to see me like this.
Too late darling.
Where are you?
Why is my mother here?
Mom, are you here?
Stop, this is horrible.
Where are you?
Will you mate now, Vul?
Mate with men?
Mom are you here?
Show yourself.
Elsewhere, I am elsewhere.
Where am I?
On Mars.
We decided to send you there
to avoid the world's misery.
It's your birthday present my darling.
Where're my friends?
The crew?
They're watching with me.
They miss you very much.
I want to come back.
Stop this!
I want to come back.
It's not funny.
It's impossible.
You're there to stay.
There's no risk on Mars.
You won't have to work
on these horrible films.
Stop this thing.
I make a living as I like!
It cost your father and me
money to send you to Mars.
Do you want to mate with a man?
You didn't answer.
I'm confused.
I can't stay here, it's a joke.
I want to know
if you'll mate with men.
Mom...
Now is not the time.
I can't stay in this desert.
- I'm scared.
- Exactly.
Men to mate with have been foreseen.
If you like of course.
No obligation.
We thought it might be better
for your equilibrium.
It's an option.
You have time to think.
My equilibrium?
This, on my 23rd birthday!
It's a nice present.
Your father and I thought
it was the best present.
It's the worst thing that could happen.
What will I become here?
What will I do?
Live without worry.
Far from worldly horrors,
while we look on with love.
I want to live with the others.
This is what you see, Mom?
Your daughter raped on Mars!
What would please you, Miss?
Let go of me.
It's the weightlessness.
We have to hold you down
and decontaminate your clothes.
What would please you?
To leave.
A snack? A meal?
A sandwich? A book?
A massage? Caresses? Penetration?
To be far from here, in a truck.
A fast-rolling truck.
By the seaside.
In a truck with all my dead friends.
To love them.
To hear them say:
"Fight!
Fight, young woman in flower."
Mom?
The dead sometimes wish
to pleasure us.
A physical pleasure.
Konstantin Raudive
taped voices from afar.
Near the end of his life,
he could pick up the phone
to talk to the dead.
Here is the conversation he had
with a certain Frieda Boher.
Hello?
Konstantin Raudive?
Who are you?
I am Frieda Boher,
dead 76 years ago today.
I need proof, my dear Lady.
- My voice is not enough?
- For me, yes.
But you know how people are.
Cartesian, skeptical...
Skeptical.
Could you give me
some concrete elements that I ignore?
You will die in one year.
I mean about you.
I am completely shaven.
No, less intimate...
That's enough. I will hang up!
No... speak to me...
speak to me about yourself.
It's my birthday today.
I was born in Berlin in 1918.
Very well.
I am honoured that you chose me.
It's the only available number.
I had no choice.
Cocteau advised me to call.
You know Jean Cocteau, the poet?
Yes, he already spoke to you.
He pretended to be Stalin.
I thought...
No. It was Cocteau.
Stalin hates the living.
I am honoured.
It's not about choice,
your number is the only one.
You knew Cocteau well?
Yes.
Jean contacted me about a film.
You were an actress?
Muse.
A muse for film?
Films are monkeys
that fuck their muses,
blinded by the light of projectors.
That's one way of putting it.
You cannot understand.
Jean wanted to make
a dirty, modern film.
Men covered in muscles
with superpowers amused him,
drawn by Americans.
Comics are unfamiliar to me.
I find them vulgar.
Hulk!
- Pardon me?
- Hulk!
He's the incarnation
of the masculine erection,
you idiot!
Is it pornographic?
No more than you are.
Touch her!
Yes! Caress yourselves!
Cocteau wanted to make
a splendid film of necrophilia.
- More eroticism!
- Necrophile?
I need more eroticism!
The story of an angry sculptor
who could tear off his clothes
by flexing his pecs.
Virility in all its splendour.
Flowering flesh,
bouquets of muscles.
I need more eroticism!
In the story
the sculptor was crushed
under an incandescent block of marble.
His heart burnt in his thoracic cage...
The story does not end there.
The sculptor's body lay in a tomb,
on a lost southern shore.
On nights of the full moon,
troubled men or women
would lie down on the tombal stone
in the hopes to embrace
the cadaver's flexed muscles
and miraculously intact skin.
Here Lies The Cock.
It was the title of the film.
I know that Max Ernst...
Stop interrupting me!
Cocteau called me one evening
in Berlin.
He heard I had been
with a ripped, dead man.
I told Cocteau some intimate anecdotes.
He was so pleased
he died the night of our call.
The same night of our call.
Turn around now!
Discover her.
You...
were necrophiliac?
I still am.
I can't control it.
- I am speechless.
- You're a writer and poet?
Yes...
modestly.
He who does not embrace death
cannot be a poet.
My poetry...
it flows!
That has nothing to do with poetry.
You don't know the taste of corpses.
You must touch to know.
Touch flesh and muscles,
smell skin and pores.
I want to touch... Madam.
Before hanging up, I'd like...
to tell you something important.
What?
Madam...
The Hairless Mother.
Unique Eunuch. Sex Salsa.
Claws Of Death.
Inverted Future.
Vulvar Sauna.
Car Chills.
Anal Opium. Blind Dust.
Outside The Children Burn.
More Cruel Than The Pope.
Dirty Paradise.
Suave Agony Towards
The Exit On The Right.
Our Opinions
Will Not Make It To Mars.
Fight!
Young Woman In Flower.
Apocalypse After.
And above all...
Ultra Pulp.
The cinema
is a monkey with bright eyes
who claws a caress.
You see Gisou,
youth has turned its back on me.
I can't hold on to her,
with my stories of women at sunset.
What world?
It's the end of my story.
She is what interests me now.
I could care less about film.
I'll undress but turn your back.
I have my decency.
Like Tetanus?
I won.
I won many years of life.
Who were you speaking to?
My lost years.
Apocalypse...
I have no more tears.
APOCALYPSE AFTER