Cutoff (2019) - full transcript

An isolated, misanthropic composer finds his sanity beginning to fray when a sinister presence invades his apartment. - stop by if you're interested in the nutritional composition of food
[Ominous Music]

Course, that's what everybody says

That's the dichotomy, everybody separates rock'n'roll
between the Beatles from the Stones

Apollonian, uh, order, and Dionysian, chaos.

Now that rock'n'roll is dead, now that we've
reached the end of its history

who won? Apollo or Dionysus? Chaos and order,
virtue and vice, it all mixed together

the divide disappeared. Once the moment passed,
it was impossible to respresent these elemental forces

any longer. The waters were muddied. And so
nothing merits the kind of obsession these progenitors

inspired. Whether its the legions of guitar players sticking
needles in their arms to chase something Keith Richards

already found, or murderers citing song lyrics to give us a framework
for their madness. Or to give one to themselves. And here we are,

poisoned with nostaliga, doomed to plunder and remodel
the past. To produce pale imitations of sounds and pictures

and words that accessed an energy and a paradigm shift that
we will never expierence but keep reaching for because

we cannot accept that nothing we create will ever have
that power,

that mystique, and that newness ever again.

Are we going out?


Let's go out.

[Foreboding Score]

[Club DJ] Alright guys and gals, comin at ya right now join us up
there on that main stage, this is the beautiful Violet

[music playing]

Why you holding out?

Oh, hey big spender.

She earned it.

Not so chummy tonight, huh?

I was before?

Last time you seemed a little more...up.

What, do you want some?


Jaded prick routine isn't exactly convincing.
Or charming.

Who said I was trying to be charming?

Give me a fucking cigarette.

[Club DJ] Alright guys, don't be shy out there.
Let's hear a hand for the lovely Violet.

Thank you.

That didn't feel quite right either did it?

Well, now who's doing a routine?

What do you mean?

Well, the whole world weary maneater thing?

Don't worry, I'm a fan.

Am I that much of a stereotype?

Well, first of all, everyone out here is a
stereotype. Even in the valley.

Besides, that's why you chose me.

Chose you?

Fat guy, big stack, easy mark.

You pegged me as a submissive.

Wasn't that difficult.

Submission isn't weakness, you know.
Subs have all the power.

I could put this cigarette out on your skin.

But if I let you, then I have control.

Funny way of looking at it.

Seems to me like you don't have much here otherwise.

I walk away and you wouldn't make any money.

True. I wouldn't make as much money.

You'd walk away itching and I'd forget you
by the time I woke up tomorrow morning.

I didn't remember you.

Does that bother you?

I mean, it's kind of your job isn't it?
To be memorable?

Makes no difference if you remember me or not.
I still got you on the hook again.


Is this what you're here for?


You're more fun high.

You or me?


Want something?

What do you want?

I want to know why you keep talking to me.

So you do remember me?

I don't.

But you remember me, so we've talked before.
And herewe are again. Chatting.

So maybe I'm the memorable one.

It's just a different kind of vibe.
Not much more to it than that.

What makes me different?

What makes me different?

You hate yourself.

And that attracts you?

That's not the word I would use.

We'll go with intrigued.

Because it's fun that I let you talk to me that way, right?

You're being a very bad sub.

See, that's where you're wrong.

If you were to say you hate yourself to some random meathead
in off the street, he'd put you through the wall.

But you can say it to me.

You know you can say it to me.

Just like you could put that cigarette out on my skin.

If I let you.

But i might. And that's my hook.

Your hook.

That's my performance.

People who hate themselves learn to perform it.

Cowards try to hide it.

But a true, self-loathing sub--

Like you.

A true, self-loathing sub is an expert on himself.
He is never not watching himself.

So there is nothing you can say or do that will fuck
me up worse than what I hear in my own head.

Want to make a bet?

Point being

the goal of submission is freedom, surrender. Release.

And if you could provide those things I would imagine
it would be pretty fucking satisfying no matter which way you swing.

Alright, let's cut the bullshit.



(water running)

[music playing]


[Eerie Music]

(high pitch tone)

Sure. Why not?


(singular keyboard note repeated)

[Melancholic Music]

[Gurgling Electronic Sound]



Fucking phone.


[Eerie Music]

(Phone buzzing)

What's up?

[Dealer] One?

Better make it a ball.

How's business?

[Percussive Electronic Music]

You can take out the bad frequencies. Boost them.

You can do whatever you want.

You can tweak it to your specifications.

I don't take drugs.

I apply effects to myself.

Mute this frequency. Boost another.

Audio engineer.

Chemical engineer.

[music playing]

Cut the bullshit.

Are you making me an offer, what?

Aren't there rules about that sort of thing?

You kidding?

Well, aren't you afraid to go home with a stranger?

I don't have to be afraid.

Why not?

I have a gun in my purse.

Can I see it?



Is it...?

It's loaded.

Show me the bullets.

It's loaded.

Have you fired it?

How much?

You tell me.

Five hudred.


One hour.


Meet me outside.


Around the corner.



[Club DJ] Coming back to that main stage - this is the sexy Charlie.

[Ominous Tone]


Not what you expected?

I'm not sure what I expected.

At the intersection of narcissism and depression is the
desire to turn yourself into an art project.

See how far you can go.

[Ominous Rumbling Music]






(loud burst of upsetting noise)

What the fuck?

(groaning electronic noise)

What the fuck?

(gurgling, unpleasant sound)

What the fuck?

(electronic grinding sounds)

Where is it?

Where the fuck is it?


Jesus Christ.


(gurgling electronic sound)

[Warbling Ominous Music]

(gurgling electronic sound)






It's still there.

(hysterical laughing)
It's still there. It's still there.

A, A something. F Something.


A something, F something


A something.



[Eerie Music]

(water running)

[music playing]




Loneliness. Circles around when you're flat on your back.
Pulls down like an anchor at the center of you.

Pulls down.

Like an anchor at the center of you.

Weights on your eyelids. Teeth feel heavy and wrong.

Cold creeps up the legs.

Years of ache build up like bile in my stomach and seep
out my pores. Season my sweat.

I should write this down.

I should be writing all this down.

Who cares?

(muffled screams)

Shut up.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Shut up. Shut up.

Shut up.

(booming noise)

[Creepy Music]

At the intersection of depression and narcissism is the desire to
turn yourself into an art project. See how far you can go.

Who said that?

I did.

Of course.


No roommates?

People find me difficult to live with.

Well, I would normally suggest we don't talk about this stuff,
but I'm beginning to think that's what the five is for.

We can start there.

(growling, unnatrual sound)

Because of the noise?


You've got a whole other room over there.

That's it. The noise.

Is this what you do for work?

What do you do?

As little as possible.

How'd you manage that?

Someone died.

There's more, isn't there?

That's it. You want someone to figure you out and then tear you apart.

You're getting there.

So that's why you're paying therapy prices?

I'm assuming you're worth it.

Have you done this before?

Therapy or domination?

A great deal of money has been
spent over the years trying to fix me, yes.

But you're too smart for therapy.

Ah, that's not what I said.

Give me a fucking break.

You're right, that's what I meant.


I'm not going to cross any lines with you here.

We can talk a little if you want to, and I'll
cut you down if that's what you need, but

I don't like the look in your eye.

It's asking for something more than I can give.

You don't have to be afraid of me.

Guys you don't have to be afraid of don't say shit like that.


(unsteady breathing)

[Rising Drone]



Want some?

I can't hear you.

(amp buzzing)

(low rumbling)

(electronic screeching)

I've infected this place with myself.

(electronic rumbling rises)

I can hear you.

I know you're in this room with me.

(electronic Entity noise)

I don't believe in what I can't touch, but
I can feel the vibration coming through the wires

and I know you're there.

(low growling)

Maybe this is the point at which belief aligns

with transcendence?

With God?

I haven't believed in God since I was old enough to jerk off.

(low Entity retort)

So what?

What then?

Messenger from the beyond?

Tell me about the fucking beyond.

(low, quiet droning reply)


(admonishinig Entity sound)

What this?

(Entity rumble)

I'm on the installment plan.

(Entity gurgling, hissing)

You feel strongly about it.

(hissing reply)

Do I need to speak?

(electronic groaning)

Do you understand?

(electronic crackling)

Am I going crazy?

(soft growling)


(Entity mummering)

What about you?

(deep, electronic clanging)

Coy. Quiet. Judgmental. Shadowed. Skittish.

(soft Entity gurgles)

If I crossed the room you'd disappear in a puff of smoke.

(loud Entity buzzing)

Fuck you.

(Entity screech)

Fuck you.

(electronic whine)

What do you know?

(rising tone)

Tell me about where you come from.

Peel my eyes open for me.

(Entity dismissal)

That's exactly what she said.

She didn't believe me, either.

(aggressive retort)

But you believe me.

Don't you?


(hysteric laughter)

No faith in me. Such a disappointment.

What do I have to do to prove it to you?

O, that this too, too sullied flesh

I'm trying my best.

Would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew

Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His canon gainst self-slaughter.

O God.



I can't do it all at once.

There's no room for weakness,
for a lack of resolve.

But you don't know.

You don't know, you can't feel it.
You can't feel anything.

Can you?

Where will it end?

I need your help.






[Melancholic Music]

Almost impossible.

That's more like it.

Tell me why no one loves you.

That's even better.

You didn't answer my question.

No one loves me because I'm impossible.


Why are you smiling at me?

Ah, you can't stop me.

Look, this is how it's going to work. I'm going to handle you,
you're going to obey me, and I'm going to walk out here with

your money in my purse. You understand?

Yes, ma'am.

Yes, mistress.

Yes, mistress.



Look around.

Turn around. Face me.

You smug piece of shit.


You pretentious asshole.

This is your first time.

That's a bold statement coming from someone with their hands tied.

I'm wrong?

If you want to hurt yourself why don't you
just do it all on your lonesome and save yourself the money.

I'm trying to bottom out.

Looks like you're doing fine to me.

I'm afraid of needles, there's only so far I can go.
So are you going to hurt me or not?

Why me?

You could ask the same question of anybody who
pays for a lapdance. Because you'll take the money.

You think I'm trash?

I think you're honest.

So, be honest with me.

Why do you think you deserve this?

I hurt people.

Who did you hurt?

She was in love with me. I ruined everything.

What did you do?

I terrorized her. I held her captive with my sickness...

I don't want to hear another word about her.

Tell me what's wrong with you.

I'm a waste.

I'm a waste of intellect, I'm a waste of space, I'm a waste of potential.

I consume, I eat images, words, sounds.

I take it all in, I internalize it all and I do nothing with it.

I was raised from birth with the literary worship

I have the fucking recitations tattooed on my brain.

I have an entire library of memories collecting dust.

Every film, every book, every album. Every night out,

every drink, every line. It never fades.

It lives as a reminder of what I'm carrying around and won't ever use.

Privileged, and equipped, but completely useless and impotent.

So take that gun out of your purse, put it in my mouth, and free up the space.

Please. I am fucking begging you for what I deserve.



Say it now.

Say it now that this gun is in your face.

Tell me you want to die. I don't believe you.

You need to pull that trigger.

You couldn't. You don't want it.

Try me.





(phone buzzing)


Yeah, I'm

Yeah, I'm sorry it's been awhile. I just haven't had that much to say.

(cacophony of unmelodic sound)

People say men of this generation are fucked up because we didn't go to war.

Most of us, anyway.

That we lack some sort of unifying, generational conflict to take part in together.

Instead, we grew up with endless, secret, shameful wars.

Watching the bottom ten percent of our high school home rooms
get sucked up by ROTC recruiters primsing some kind of direction.

And they didn't eve have the satisfaction of righteousness.

I'd rather turn myself into a monster than let anyone else do it for me.

Of course that assumes that I'm a man at all.

A man has a job. A man has a purpose.
- I couldn't convince myself.

A man has a bedframe.
- I couldn't convince myself that I wasn't in for decades of heartbreak.

So I locked myself away.
- So I locked myself away

to make sure I didn't hurt anyone but myself.
- I locked myself away to make sure I didn't hurt anyone but myself.

Reduced my existence to transaction, and consuption.

Creation seems farther away every day.

I wake up in the morning now.

It's gray. My brain picks at scabs.

I wish it would rain.

Losing all sense of time.

Drugs help keep the time, at least.

Time since the last line, time til the next one.

Do not exceed four doeses within twenty four hours.

Now it's just this continuum.

[Distorted Music]

I wish it would rain.

If it would rain I could believe that something might change.

(electronic manipulation of "If it would rain I could believe that something might change")

[Dark, Ominous Music]

(whirling distortion)

(distorted noise ceases)


(cables skittering)



I need to talk to you.
- No shit.

Why did you say "no shit"?

Because of the way you stormed in and stared at me. What--

- Who?

She works here. Shoulder length dark hair,
pouty lips she - she keeps a gun in her purse.

You know it's not even real.

Well, where is she?

Fuck if I know.

(music escalates)

(pained cry)

[Distorted Percussive Music]

(mumbled ramblings)



(blast of distorted noise)

(coughing, gagging)

This is where he saw you.

From over there?

What was he looking at?

He was watching us.

What did he see?
- What did he see?


Sad and tired.
- We don't know where he came from.

We don't know why he's there.

Do we want to?

- Sick.

Angry. Pissy.

- Entitled. To something that never came.

It probably wants this.

Do you think this is helpful?

I don't know.

(guitar screeching)

[Thrumming Ominous Music]


I wonder how many people died so I can consume these drugs.

No ethical consumption under capitalism.
- You know what they say, there's no ethical consumption under capitalism.

No, don't let yourself off the hook, you're creating the demand.
- I'm creating the demand.

(monologue trails off beneath feedback)

...all of our names are on the explosives.


We're a nation of murderers.

Our whims and impusles dictate the course of history.

The fate of billions



I've got money.

I can buy whatever I want.
- I've got money. I can buy whatever I want.

The righteous thing to do would be to give it all away.
- The righteous thing to do would be to give every penny to charity.

Every penny. I should look into it.
- I should look into it.

I'm the antoagonist of somebody else's fantasy.
- I'm the antoagonist of someone else's worst imaginings.

The ultimate drain on society.
- The ultimate drain on society.

Parasitic. Leech.
- A leech.

Dictating the subjugation of others to fulfill my own diseased fantasies.

Dictating the subjugation of others to fulfill my own diseased fantasies.

But I can't help it. I was brought up to believe

in a loftier fulfillment.

I was raised to live for art.

(pained gasp)


Fuck. Oh, fuck.

Burnt offerings.

(Entity noises)

I was beginning to think you didn't care.

(electronic hiss)

[Rhythmic Beat]