Life Itself (2018) Movie Script

Subtitles by explosiveskull

Cue "Love Sick," Bob Dylan,

track one, "Time Out of Mind."

♪ I'm walking... ♪

Yeah, that's good.

♪ Through streets

that are dead... ♪

That's real good.

We open tight on a man.

Oh, hold up, hold up, hold up,

hold up, let me rephrase.

We open on our hero.

We push in on his face.

Motherfucker,

I said push in on that shit.

Mid-20s, handsome, gay...

gay in that cool

cat kind of way.

Gay like

"Billy on the Street" gay.

Gay like, "It's who I am,

it's not all I am, baby."

Yeah, that's one

cool cat we got over here.

But right now,

this cat's anything but cool.

This cat's in crisis.

I feel ashamed, I guess.

I know this doesn't

make me look very good,

but it's, uh,

breaking me, and, um...

Let it go, brother,

let it go like a proud asshole.

Let it go, let it go.

I just...

He and I have been

together for so long.

I know it sounds cliché,

but I guess...

I like knowing he's

on my team, you know?

I know, my brother.

I hear you, my brother.

Let it go.

Well, this new guy

has come along.

Hmm, proceed.

He's new, he's exciting,

and he's so much younger.

Aw, ain't no shame, brother.

I know I can't stick

with someone out of loyalty.

And you know this.

Okay, I'm gonna do it.

I'm gonna put Sterling Shepard

in my flex wide receiver spot

and drop Larry Fitzgerald

and maybe I'll pick up

Miami D off waivers, too.

Say what now?

Henry.

You know we've talked about how

obsessing over fantasy football

can't simply replace

obsessing over food.

Okay, my bad.

That motherfucker

is not our hero.

Look at that pretty

therapist over there.

Calming his anorexic fantasy

football-loving ass down.

Push in on her for a sec.

Okay.

I said push in, man! Come on!

Oh, yeah.

Now I'm seeing it.

That's a hero right there.

Amazing smile,

the silky smooth hair.

Let me look at you, girl.

Whoo! That's what

I'm talking 'bout.

Now we in bidness,

ladies and gentlemen.

We got ourselves a hero.

♪ And I wonder... ♪

Now, like any great hero,

our hero wasn't perfect.

She smoked, first of all,

which they normally don't

let you show in movies anymore,

even though we all

still smoke sometimes.

You know you smoke sometimes.

You and the wife

have a date night,

you each have two martinis,

you guys are feeling wild

so you buy a pack of

smokes on the way home

and you each smoke one

in the 7-Eleven parking lot.

Then she makes you

throw out the pack,

but instead of throwing it

out, you hide it in a plant,

and some nights,

you sneak out and have one.

But she smells

that shit on you

like she's

a nicotine detective.

She smells that shit on you

like she's Mariska Hargitay

on "Law & Order: SVU,"

- Hey.

- Marg Helgenberger on "CSI,"

Big fan.

S. Epatha Merkerson

on "Law & Order,"

Angie Harmon on "Rizzoli & Isles..."

What the fuck?!

Oh, my God.

Holy shit!

She just got straight-up

run over by a bus!

Ma'am?

She's gonna be okay, everybody.

Probably a little banged up,

but she's gonna be fine.

She's our hero,

she's gonna be...

Fuck!

Ma'am?

Ma'am, can you hear me?

♪ Just don't know what to do ♪

- ♪ I'd give anything to ♪

- Fuck it, I'm out.

♪ Be with you. ♪

Will Dempsey was 35 years old

when he gave up on his

Sam Jackson Unreliable

Narrator screenplay.

Will was not well,

but you don't need me

to tell you that.

Top o' the morning to you,

good sir.

- Oh, boy.

- What could I get for you?

Double espresso, large cup.

You got it.

- And what's your name?

- Will.

Is that Will with

one "L" or two "L"s?

It's two "L" s.

W-I-L-L.

♪ Light in this place ♪

♪ Is so bad ♪

Fuck you so much.

♪ Making me sick in the head ♪

♪ And all the laughter

is just making me sad ♪

♪ The stars have turned

cherry red... ♪

- Will!

- Yep.

Double espresso, large cup.

Oh, delicious.

Thank you.

Just gonna do a long pour here.

Double.

Thank you. You want one?

No, thanks.

- It's Xanax.

- Still no.

Boo humbug.

It's actually "bah humbug."

That's what she said.

♪ I got nowhere left to turn ♪

♪ I got nothing left to burn ♪

It's Dylan!

"Standing in the Doorway."

Third track on

"Time Out of Mind."

It's his comeback album.

The whole thing's like

a giant fucking Keats poem.

- Sir?

- You're gonna love it.

Just give it a chance.

You're gonna make me leave?

- I am.

- Bah humbug.

♪ I'm strumming on

my gay guitar ♪

Sir? Okay. Strum outside.

Here we go.

- ♪ Smoking a cheap cigar ♪

- Okay.

Here we go.

Thank you very much.

♪ Under the midnight moon ♪

- Sir.

- You got to give it a chance!

- No. Get out.

- Give it a chance.

It's gonna grow on you.

You're gonna love it!

Will hadn't

always been not well.

It had really only been

since his wife had left him.

You know what,

we'll get to that.

Right now, let's just

enjoy them as they were.

Give it a chance. It'll grow on you.

He sound,

he sounds like he's suffering.

He is suffering.

- He's suffering like...

- From a throat infection.

...every

great artist is suffering.

I think it's sinusitis,

is what it is.

No one rocks a sinus

infection like Bob Dylan.

- I'll give him that.

- Just, just...

just, like, just give him a chance.

Well, he ain't

the only one suffering.

Come here, Fuckface.

- Uh-oh.

- Hello, buddy.

Hey, little buddy. What?

- You feeling left out?

- See, Fuckface gets it.

Come here, Fuckface.

Will loved his

wife Abby with an intensity

usually reserved for stalkers.

She was everything a man

could ask for in a wife.

She was nurturing

and she was beautiful,

and she ate any kind of

sushi the chef served to her,

even the uni.

Yes, Will was sure of it:

Abby Dempsey was

absolutely perfect.

At least back then she was.

Listen to this for 30 seconds,

and then try and tell me

Bob Dylan's not a poet.

Okay. Let's listen

to Hoobastank now.

See? No, no, no, no, no,

no, no. Just 30 seconds...

- To Mars?

- Thir...

- Okay, let's pop that in.

- Just 30 seconds.

Baby, we've been

listening to him gargle

Shh.

- ...for, like, a month.

- Because... I know,

- because I'm in a phase.

- I can't hear this, like,

- Chewbacca noise anymore.

- I'm in a phase...

I just want you to just

lean into it with me, okay?

Will you please?

♪ Is just making me sad... ♪

This is an important album.

I mean, this is

the comeback album.

They thought he was done.

Everybody just wrote him off.

They said you don't come

back from the crazy he had,

and then boom.

'97, "Time Out of Mind."

He won three Grammys,

including Album of the Year.

He beat Radiohead

and Paul McCartney.

It was this intense,

unexpected genius.

Just hard and dark and...

and... I mean, he said,

"I'm Bob Dylan, you're not.

Eat a dick."

He told everybody

to eat a dick?

Metaphorically, he told

everyone to eat a dick.

So, listen... like, okay.

Okay, okay.

Shh, just listen to this.

Listen to this.

The man's a genius.

He's pulling from

the poetry of Keats.

He's getting...

Shh. Stop it. Stop.

Shh, shh. Stop.

Stop.

This is important to me.

Okay?

Thank you.

- Come here, Fuckface.

- ♪ Shadows are falling ♪

Appreciate this with me.

♪ And I've been here all day ♪

♪ It's too hot to sleep ♪

♪ Time is running away ♪

- ♪ Feel like my soul has ♪

- Stop.

♪ Turned into steel... ♪

Stop.

It sounds like he has a huge

cock lodged in his throat.

You are an asshole.

No. No, no.

No. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Fuckface, Fuckface, Fuckface!

We're crushing him.

Careful, careful, careful, careful.

Oh, I'm sorry, Fuckface.

- No.

- He's okay.

Hey, we have to get up.

- I have to take a shower.

- What?

And we have to go

to your parents'.

- But you said that...

- We're gonna be late.

You said that we could

listen to Smash Mouth after.

- No, I did not.

- Yes, you did.

Hey.

Are you pregnant?

What's going on here?

Surprise!

♪ The air is getting hotter ♪

♪ There's a rumbling

in the skies ♪

♪ I've been wading through

the high muddy water ♪

♪ With the heat

rising in my eyes ♪

♪ Every day your

memory grows dimmer ♪

♪ It doesn't haunt me

like it did before ♪

♪ I've been walking through

the middle of nowhere ♪

♪ Trying to get to heaven

before they close the door ♪

♪ You broke a heart

that loved you ♪

♪ Now you can

seal up the book ♪

♪ And not write anymore ♪

♪ I've been walking

that lonesome valley ♪

♪ Trying to get to heaven

before they close the door... ♪

You ever gonna

ask me out, Will?

I'm just waiting

for the right moment.

That's good to know.

All right.

I'll see you around.

Abby, I'm waiting

for the right moment

'cause when I ask you out,

there's not gonna be

any turning back for me.

I'm not gonna date anybody

else for the rest of my life,

I'm not gonna love anybody

else for the rest of my life,

I'm not gonna really

care about anything else

for the rest of my life.

I'm waiting for

the right moment, Abby,

'cause when I ask you out,

it's gonna be the most

important moment of my life.

And I just want to make

sure that I get it right.

So, how you doing today, Will?

Will.

Sorry. Did you say something?

Yes, I said,

"How are you doing?"

Uh... you know.

Same.

Okay.

I tried masturbating

the other day.

I tried thinking of Abby, but

I couldn't really get it done,

so then I, um...

I tried thinking of you...

but, you know,

you jerk off to your therapist,

you should be

institutionalized.

You were institutionalized.

Touché.

She left six months ago today.

That's right.

And you've been in a facility

for almost half that time,

and now I, I can't

help but wonder...

Will, are you listening to me?

Okay.

So, I'm just wondering

how you're doing

being back in the world again.

Uh, you know. Same.

I did the writing exercise

you asked me to do.

Really? I'm surprised.

You've been so resistant

to writing down your feelings.

Oh, no, I didn't do that.

I wrote a movie instead.

I did, like, uh, like, well,

like, five pages of a movie.

It was very bad.

Abby and I always talked about

writing a screenplay together.

Like a...

husband and wife

Tarantino, you know?

...I'm "Super Fly T.N.T."

You wouldn't have liked it.

My screenplay.

You were in it, kind of.

Abby wasn't, which, you know,

I know was the whole point.

I met this guy,

when I was institutionalized.

This really sweet guy.

Horrible life.

All he could talk about without

crying was fantasy football,

so he talked about it a lot.

I liked that guy.

Great face.

A movie star face, you know.

Oh, poor motherfucker

was the only guy there

that seemed worse

off than I was.

We'd have dinner

every night together.

And then one night

he didn't show up,

which sucked for him

'cause it was pizza night.

Turned out he'd...

How'd that make you feel?

Happy for him.

Or at least relieved.

I mean, you know,

he was pretty miserable.

And I'm no doctor,

but I don't think he's

ever gonna feel any better.

Okay, well, that brings me

back to my initial question.

How are you feeling?

Uh, you know. Same.

You keep saying that.

I keep meaning it.

Have you spoken to her,

Will, since you've been out?

Abby, please,

can you come back to me?

- I'm sorry.

- This sucks, man.

- This fucking sucks.

- I got to go. I'm sorry.

- I got to go.

- Please.

No.

Have you been to your

parents', like we discussed?

I don't want to.

Will, part of the reason

that you were discharged

and put into my...

I don't want to!

Sorry. That was weird.

Yesterday, you said that

you'd been feeling aimless.

Well, I usually have

pretty good aim, so...

♪ It was a teenage wedding ♪

♪ And the old folks

wished them well... ♪

Thanks, friend.

I ain't your friend, palooka.

- This is for you, Peggy Sue.

- Oh, my.

Thanks, daddy-O.

We'll name him Fuckface.

Sit, Fuckface, sit.

Good, dog.

♪ It goes to show

you never can tell ♪

♪ They furnished

off an apartment ♪

♪ With a two-room

Roebuck sale ♪

♪ The Coolerator was crammed ♪

♪ With TV dinners

and ginger ale ♪

♪ But when Pierre

found work... ♪

Marry me.

Seriously.

Let's get married.

We've been dating

less than a year.

Yeah, I know.

And I feel like I've shown

incredible restraint

waiting this long.

Say yes.

- You want to say yes.

- No, I don't.

You want to say

yes so bad it hurts.

- You're cocky.

- I'm right.

Say yes.

Or I swear to God,

if you don't say yes,

I will shoot this nimrod

on general principle.

Stop it.

Please say,

"Yes, I'll marry you,"

or I'll fucking shoot myself...

- Stop! Will!

- Say, "Yes, I'll marry you."

Stop!

Sorry. That was weird.

I love you.

You're the love of my life,

I'm sure of it.

But sometimes it scares

me how much you feel.

You know?

It's not something

I ever thought I would...

be scared of, but...

I may not be equipped

to be loved this much.

I'll find another way.

- No...

- I'll find another way.

Hey. I will.

I will love you

however you're best

equipped to handle it, Abby.

I will love you...

on odd days of the week...

Baby, I will spend

the rest of my life

making your life better,

not worse.

I want to dance.

I want to win.

I want that trophy.

Ah, what a gyp.

Come on.

Ooh!

Oh!

One... Everybody.

Two...

Three!

♪ Deep inside

I hope you feel it, too ♪

♪ Feel it, too ♪

♪ I'm the one who wants ♪

♪ I'm the one, whoa ♪

♪ To be with you ♪

♪ Oh. ♪

We'd have to get a dog.

Okay.

I mean, I want kids, too,

but not yet.

Okay.

Dog first. Small dog.

Yeah.

My parents died young;

it makes me sad sometimes.

I know.

It'd probably make me

a terrible mother.

I disagree, but... okay.

Mainly, my big

thing is the dog.

Small dog.

I am totally on board

with the dog idea.

Okay, I'll marry you.

- Okay.

You want to meet my parents?

Sure.

Cool.

Thanks.

- How are you?!

- Oh, my God, Abby!

Look at you!

- Oh...

- Oh, you look beautiful!

- How are you both?

- Great.

- Everybody's good?

- Yeah.

- Hey, buddy boy.

- Hey, Pop.

- Look at you!

- How are you, man?

- Good.

- Oh, my...

- You're positively...

- Revolting.

- No! Stop. No.

- Yeah. And gassy.

- You popped.

- She is, Mom. She's really gassy.

- That means it's gonna be a boy.

- Really?

Yeah. I practically

needed a hazmat suit

when your mother was

pregnant with you.

Stop that!

- It's true.

- Farts mean it's a boy!

That almost makes

them worth it.

Anything happening down there?

Linda, I'm afraid to

ask, but did you make that...

Meat loaf is coming

out of the oven right now.

- Oh, yeah!

- I have never craved anything

like this in my life. Lead me

to that meat loaf and...

I hate fucking meat loaf.

...and backhanded

compliment me all day long.

I'm just grateful she didn't

burn down the fucking kitchen.

What'd you do to get the foot

- unstuck from the...

- You just push.

I'm not a big fan of, like,

when the face goes like this...

Dog dishes.

...against the

outside of the belly.

- It's like an alien.

- How do you know it's the face?

- Looks like an alien.

- You actually see the face?

- I'm pretty sure it's a face.

- No, I don't... that's creepy.

Is it possible

that it's clawing out?

This is... Mom.

You're aware that the baby's

not gonna actually live with

- you guys, right?

- I got a little carried away.

- This one's very cute.

- Sue me.

- Isn't that cute?

- Yes.

You better eat some of this

before she gets it all.

- Okay.

- Baby clothes, baby jumpers.

Tell me something,

what the hell's

a baby jumper for, anyway?

Why does a baby need to jump?

All I know is I spend all day

breaking down

the goddamn Amazon boxes.

Oh, shush, you.

Here, honey, a little

bit more. Come on.

He's good. He's good.

- Ay. Ay-yi-yi.

- There's two, there's two of me.

- Oh.

- Oh, piggy-wiggy.

I can't believe

I'm gonna be a grandma!

I still can't believe it.

- All right, settle down.

- Still can't believe it.

- Abby?

- Mm-hmm?

Don't take this the wrong way.

- Oh, here it comes.

- Yep.

But, selfishly speaking,

I'm just so glad

your parents are dead.

- And... boom.

- Oh, stop it.

Abby knows what I mean.

Really, yeah?

She does? You do?

She's gonna explain.

What I mean is...

all I ever wanted

was for Will to marry a

woman with dead parents,

so I wouldn't have to

share the grandchildren,

and, and he did.

I mean, my prayer came true.

Jesus Christ, Mom!

It's okay!

She knows what I mean.

- Hey, Abby, by the way...

- Mm.

...did you get a look at

that book I sent you yet?

No.

It's really good.

It's about preschool

- and anxiety separation.

- Oh, good.

That feels like a first

priority thing.

'Cause when you...

Sorry, I will, I will admit.

I admit, I'm sorry.

Just talk about

her dead parents again, Mom.

Thank you.

- It's about separation anxiety.

- Yeah.

So when you drop 'em off at

preschool for the first day...

...and they, they go

nuts and they go limp.

- Yeah.

- Live your own life!

- Mind your own fucking...

- Shush. Shush.

When you drop

the kid off at preschool,

if they get hysterical

and inconsolable...

Both Abby's parents

died in a car accident

when she was a little girl.

Abby was in the car.

She was seven.

Okay.

"Okay" seems kind of

like a strange response

to that new information.

Well, I was caught

a little off guard.

You don't talk

about Abby a lot.

You don't ask about her a lot.

Will, I ask about

her constantly.

Tomato, potato.

Tomato, to-mah-to.

Let's just call

the whole thing off.

Well, the sessions

are mandated, so...

No. Uh, the...

- ...the song, the...

- What? I... I'm not following.

Oh, my God,

this is some kind of

rhythm we have, huh, Doc?

Maybe this is why

I can't jerk off to you.

Sorry, that was

very inappropriate.

I was institutionalized.

Why don't you just

tell me about Abby.

What, what was she like?

I'd like to hear about her.

You want me to tell

you about Abby?

Well, then you've come

to the right place, Doc,

because I am the foremost

expert on all things Abby.

Or... I was.

No, I still am.

I mean, it's not like somebody

else has learned more about

her in the last six months.

Or I guess somebody could have.

I mean... I've been locked away

and Lord knows what she's

been up to, wherever she is.

- Will?

- Right.

You want to know about Abby.

Let me tell you about Abby.

You got it.

Last one. Last one.

Abby Lesher was

born June 30, 1985.

Legend has it that,

when she was born,

she didn't make a single peep.

For five minutes, little

Abby just laid there

taking in the world around her,

- not so much as a single cry.

- Hi.

In the years to come, her

parents would always say,

"There wasn't anything

wrong with little Abby."

She just didn't have

anything to say yet."

Now keep in mind, I'm

getting all this secondhand.

I've never met any of the

people here, except for Abby.

Her parents died pretty soon.

Long before I come

into the picture.

- No, I know.

- And it's not like

I know the doctor

or the nurses here.

- Why would I?

- Right.

Please continue, Will.

Okay.

By all accounts, Abby's

childhood was a happy one.

Family, I've gathered you

here today 'cause I, I need

to talk about something very

serious, so no laughing.

Uh, as you may have noticed,

I... have developed a bit

of a drinking problem.

Her parents,

Jack and Elizabeth,

were kindhearted and openhearted

and all the other

kinds of "hearted."

They were literally both

elementary school teachers.

That's actually how

they, how they met.

Mind if I sit?

If Abby's mother knew

that she would meet her future

husband at exactly that moment,

you think she would have

taken such a big old bite

of that peanut butter

and jelly sandwich?

Um...

- Would you like some water?

- Mm.

Wow. You fit half the

sandwich in your mouth.

So strange to think about.

How a completely random moment

involving peanut butter,

a moment that happened

way before I was born,

would shape my entire life.

Are you glad it happened?

Ah, well, Dr. Morris,

that is the big question.

Isn't it? Because if

it hadn't happened,

Abby's parents would

never have met.

They'd never have married,

they'd never have

honeymooned in Aruba

where they conceived Abby.

They'd never have seen her

come into the world

without a peep.

They'd never have watched

her blonde hair turn brown

as she got older.

They'd never have watched her

become obsessed with dancing

and then soccer

and then horses and,

of course, Christmas.

Always Christmas.

The lights, the gifts,

and above all, the Rockettes.

So obsessed with the

Rockettes was Abby

that every year,

every single year,

her parents would have

to drive her into town

to watch the Rockettes perform.

Every single year,

except that one year...

Abby's parents died instantly.

Abby was trapped

in the backseat of the car

with them for over an hour

before they got her out.

Her father...

...her father was decapitated

by the steering column.

I know, right?

That's the detail that

always gets everybody.

I mean, the story in and of

itself is tragic of course,

but when you give

someone that image,

that singular image of

a seven year old girl

trapped in the

backseat of a car

with her decapitated father,

well, then it really

just lands, doesn't it?

Anyhoo, you wanted to

know about Abby, so...

I'll continue,

but be forewarned,

her next decade isn't so great.

Abby's parents didn't

plan on dying together,

so there was no will and

there was no plan for Abby.

And seeing as all her

grandparents were deceased,

Abby's Uncle Joe got custody.

Now, Uncle Joe

wasn't a nice man.

And when I say he

wasn't a nice man,

I don't mean like

he didn't hug her.

I mean, he bought her a

puppy and then he killed it

when it chewed up his couch.

I mean, he sporadically

molested her

for the better

part of six years,

until, at 15 years old,

Abby borrowed a gun from

some wannabe gangbanger

from her high school, she

pointed it at Uncle Joe's head

and said in no

uncertain terms...

I'll fucking kill you if

you ever touch me again.

And then she shot

him in the knee,

so he knew she wasn't playing.

Fuck! Ow!

It's like a movie, right?

I always pictured a young

Natalie Portman playing her.

I don't know who that is.

You don't know who

Natalie Portman is?

- No.

- Doc, you got to get out more.

Yeah, I'm sure you're right.

I'll tell you what.

One of these nights,

we'll do, like, a marathon

of early Portman.

Beautiful Girls,

The Professional.

You'll see what

I'm talking about.

- Okay?

- Okay.

Right.

Okay, well, uh...

well, things got

better from there.

Obviously, damage

had been done.

Decapitated father, molesting

uncle, you don't just, like,

bounce back from

that shit, but...

Abby was smart, determined,

a dreamer, a reader.

She hunkered down, she

got herself into college,

started seeing a

therapist on campus

who truly changed her life.

She even made a

very close friend.

You're gonna get me kicked out.

Could you please stop?

I'm so sorry.

Oh, my God, Doc,

look. Oh, my God.

Look.

Oh.

Look at me. This is what

I looked like in college.

I have 491 more pages.

Oh, my God, look

how young I look.

No, no, I think you look

very much the same.

Oh, well, I think I look like

a completely different person.

Yeah, tomato, to-mah-to.

Doc, look at us.

Maybe we have a

chance after all.

Yeah.

Anyway, Abby really came

into her own in college.

My aim.

She engaged in

the outside world,

she became extremely popular,

she even fell in love.

Not to toot my own

horn, but toot, toot!

She graduated top of her class

with an English lit degree.

Yeah, she wrote

her thesis on...

The Unreliable Narrator!

The Unreliable Narrator.

- What's that?

- My thesis.

Hey, guys, what's up?

Unreliable narrators are

considered a device, right?

Don't answer.

They are. They are.

And they don't get a

lot of literary analysis

because it's a

gimmick, it's a trick.

I mean, "Canterbury Tales"

gets a, gets a shout-out

because, you know, it's good,

but then typically, it's used

for popcorn crime novels

and thriller movies, like

Agatha Christie, Usual Suspects,

- so on and so forth.

- Right.

But I'm gonna argue

that every narrator,

by its very definition,

is unreliable.

Because when you tell a story,

there's always an

essential distance

between the story

itself and the telling

of said story, right?

So, therefore, every story

that has ever been told

has an unreliable narrator.

The only truly reliable

narrator would be

someone hypothetically

telling a story that unfolds

before our very eyes, which

is obviously impossible.

So, what does that tell us?

That the only truly

reliable narrator

is life itself.

But life itself is also a

completely unreliable narrator

because it is

constantly misdirecting

and misleading us and

taking us on this journey

where it is literally

impossible to predict

where it's gonna go next.

And that is my thesis!

Life as the ultimate

unreliable narrator.

- What do you think?

- Yeah.

It'll make more sense when

I write it. I love you.

Bye, guys.

I love you.

- You're up.

- I love her, Chuck.

Yeah. Come on.

- Holy shit.

- Your turn.

I love you, Abby!

Hey, before, when I

invited you over to watch

Natalie Portman movies,

you know I was just

being funny, right?

- Yes, I do.

- Okay.

'Cause I'm still married, so...

At least I think I am.

I mean, I haven't signed

any papers or anything yet,

so I don't really know

how the whole thing works.

Will, it's fine. Okay?

Take a deep breath.

And you can tell me

about your marriage now.

You want me to tell

you about my marriage?

Yeah.

So, you haven't, you haven't

really been listening

to me, then, because...

it doesn't matter what

I tell you, don't you...

I don't... Why

can't you lean into this

- just one fucking time?

- You see that, right?

Doesn't matter what I say,

'cause I could tell you

every detail about our marriage.

I could tell you every detail

about the day that

she left me, but...

why, why would my memory

even be remotely accurate?

- I'm going through a phase!

- Yeah, but why do I

- have to listen...

- And I'm asking you, just...

Maybe...

maybe I'd actually

been smothering her for years.

- No. Stop.

- Smothering her with my love

and my dreams and a baby

that she wasn't ready for.

Crushed him.

Maybe I was just

another guy that was in her life

that seemed like I

was gonna save it,

but really I was just

there to ruin it.

Maybe she was really

unhappy and this dream girl

that I created in my

mind's eye was just like

a narrative trick, to get us

through a life, you know?

I mean, this is really some

deep philosophical shit

we're talking about here.

Yes, it is. It is.

Will...

we've been seeing each

other for a while now.

And today, you're talking about

Abby a lot for the first time.

And it's good.

It's really good.

So, tell me about that day.

You had a nice

morning with Abby...

- No, no.

- ...talking about Bob Dylan.

I didn't. I didn't.

That's not what I fucking said.

I just said that it may not

have been a nice morning.

- Okay.

- I said that it could've been

a smothering, horrible morning.

Okay. It could've been a

smothering, horrible morning.

You talked about Bob Dylan,

then you went over to your

parents' house for lunch,

and then what happened?

Then she just left me.

Will, she didn't

just leave you.

She just left. Yes, she did.

Have you seen Abby since

you've been released, Will?

Come

back to me, Abby.

Please come back to me.

I'll, I'll do anything.

- Will?

- Just give me another chance.

Will?

I'm talking to my fucking wife!

But your wife wasn't

there, was she?

I don't know. What am I

doing? What are you doing?

Will...

...you're not well yet.

Okay? You're mixing meds.

You're, you're not yourself.

Tell me about that day.

We talked about Bob Dylan.

Okay.

We laughed.

Okay.

Go ahead.

We almost crushed the dog.

Okay.

We went to my parents' house.

Right.

We ate meat loaf.

Oh, my God, my mom's crazy.

- She's totally fucking nuts.

- She is.

We're never

gonna do that again.

Oh, gosh.

- How you feeling, my love?

- I ate too much.

- You think?

- Just a little bit.

You freakin' ate

the gross national

meat loaf product

of a small nation.

I think we might have a meat

loaf instead of a human baby.

You're giving

birth to meat loaf?

Yeah, we're having meat loaf.

- Cab?

- No.

- Walk it off?

- Yes, please.

All right, let's walk it off.

My heart's on fire.

Not in a good way.

The baby's a girl, Will.

What?

I know we weren't

gonna find out,

but then the nurse slipped up,

and now I feel shitty knowing.

In about three weeks,

you're gonna have a daughter.

Say something.

What?

I know what you

want to name her.

- Yeah?

- Yeah.

Yeah, I think so.

I know you don't like

his music, but...

I love it.

Big fan.

I think it's cute.

I think it's...

I was smothering her.

That's why she left me.

Will, listen, you

suffered a trauma.

It was horrific.

- Can you fucking help me?!

- Horrific.

Help me, please!

You thought

about killing yourself.

You... you were in

treatment for months

to keep you safe.

And now you're,

you're constructing a story

that somehow makes it bearable.

Will... you have a baby.

All right?

Your baby lived.

For whatever reason,

miraculously, she's alive.

Now, Will, wouldn't Abby want

you to be there for that child?

Now, why haven't you

gone to your parents'?

Will, look at me.

Why haven't you seen that baby?

I think it would help you.

- Okay.

- That's why you're out,

and that's why you're

seeing me, to get you there.

I, I think you're ready.

Okay.

I'm gonna go.

No, hang on, Will.

Will, hang on.

No, I don't want you

to leave yet. Let's...

That's not the right story. No.

I'm not really the

hero of the story.

This is, trauma

is vicious, Will.

I'm sorry. You're very nice.

You're very nice.

I don't want to

be here anymore.

Look, just sit

down. We can...

Let me talk you

through this.

Bye.

♪ When the rain is

blowing in your face ♪

♪ And the whole world

is on your case ♪

♪ I could offer you

a warm embrace ♪

♪ To make you feel my love ♪

To say

Dylan Dempsey's childhood

was marked by death

and tragedy would be

the grossest

of understatements,

and also a little bit douchey.

She was literally born

of death and tragedy.

Six months into

her little life,

her father started

locking in the pattern.

And that was just the start.

Dylan lost her grandma

when she was six.

♪ The storms are raging

on the rolling sea ♪

♪ And on the

highway of regret ♪

And her best friend

when she was seven.

♪ The winds of change

are blowing wild and free ♪

♪ You ain't seen

nothing like me yet. ♪

Tell them I'm nice.

Come in.

How you feeling, kiddo?

I feel like my whole

life is gonna be

marked by death and tragedy.

She did not

say this, of course,

but if she could verbalize

what she was feeling

at eight years old,

she would've.

I crave a happy life, Grandpa.

I have a almost

desperate craving

for stability and happiness,

the way fat people

crave chocolate

or lost hikers crave rescue.

I want to live a big,

great, fantastical life,

but I'm concerned that

the tragedy

that seems to follow me,

the tragedy that birthed me

will prevent that

from ever happening.

And I don't know

if I can withstand

another body blow like this.

But what she really said was...

How you feeling, kiddo?

Are you gonna die, Grandpa?

Yes. I am.

Probably sooner than

you'd like, kiddo...

if I'm being honest.

I'm gonna fight like hell

to stick around for you

as long as possible,

to prevent one more death

from coming anywhere

near your doorstep.

I'm gonna get on

the fucking treadmill,

cut back on the red meat.

I'm gonna do my best.

Get you through

your teenage years

without losing

one more goddamn thing.

Gonna do it for

your mother and father.

I'm gonna do it

for your grandmother.

Most of all, I'm gonna do

it for you, granddaughter.

I'm gonna squeeze

out ten more years

from this decrepit old body,

for you, my girl.

My angel.

Again, Irwin

expressed this all with...

No. No more dying

around here, kiddo.

- Okay?

- Okay.

The Dylan Dempsey

transformation years.

The years brought puberty.

Puberty brought sexuality.

Sexuality brought anger

and fear and confusion.

And when the smoke cleared,

where that sweet

little girl once stood,

there remained only a woman

who scared the absolute

shit out of everyone.

♪ You took a part of me

that I really miss ♪

♪ I keep asking myself how long

it can go on like this ♪

♪ You told yourself a lie ♪

♪ That's all right, mama,

I told myself one, too... ♪

Come in.

♪ Still a million

miles from you. ♪

Hey.

Hey. I'm going out.

With who?

Just with some friends.

Cigarettes.

Grandma used to say

it's a nasty habit

of people lighting little

fires under their noses.

Cool.

You aren't even gonna try

and hide them from me?

Aren't we both

better than that?

I don't know.

You hear Vermont's

made them illegal?

Remind me never

to go to Vermont.

- Can I have one?

- No.

Just one?

No, these things will kill you.

Was hoping we could

talk about college.

We talked about it last night.

- Didn't get very far.

- Yes, we did.

We just didn't get

where you wanted it to go.

I'm 21, Irwin.

Give up on the dream.

I've almost saved enough

to get out of your hair.

I promise.

Promise you'll

be home by 11:00?

I'd rather not lie to you.

- Please lie to me.

- I'll be home by 11:00.

Dylan.

Happy 21st, kiddo.

Some sugar.

Mwah.

Peace!

Hey.

Hey, everyone.

We're PB&J.

Yeah!

Um...

Uh, this first song

is kind of personal.

Um...

My mom died

21 years ago today, and...

Take it off!

They tell me she used

to listen to Bob Dylan.

Show us your tits!

Whatever.

♪ When the rain is

blowing in your face ♪

♪ And the whole world

is on your case ♪

♪ I can offer you

a warm embrace ♪

♪ To make you feel my love ♪

♪ When the evening shadows

and the stars appear ♪

♪ And there is no one there

to dry your tears ♪

♪ I could hold you

for a million years ♪

♪ To make you feel my love ♪

♪ I know you haven't

made your mind up yet ♪

♪ But I would never

do you wrong ♪

♪ I've known it from

the moment that we met ♪

♪ There's no doubt in my

mind where you belong ♪

♪ I'd go hungry,

I'd go black and blue ♪

♪ I'd go crawling

down the avenue ♪

♪ No, there's nothing

that I wouldn't do ♪

♪ To make you feel my love. ♪

- Oh, shit.

Hey!

What the fuck?

Hey!

Hey, you owe me

a new phone, bitch.

Yeah. You're right, I'm sorry.

That, uh...

I shouldn't have done that.

Uh, it's just been

a really weird day for me.

Um...

Let me see what I have on me.

Can you hold that a second?

I'm so, so sorry.

You think that's funny?

You fucking filming me?!

Dylan!

I'm fine. I'm fine!

I'm fine.

The baby's a girl, Will.

What?

I know we weren't

gonna find out,

but then the nurse slipped up,

and now I feel shitty knowing.

In about three weeks,

you're gonna have a daughter.

Actually, Daddy's gonna

blow his brains out

before he even meets me, so...

Say something.

I know what you

want to name her.

I know you don't

like his music...

Might want to look

to your right, lady.

I love it.

- Big fan.

- Mom.

- I think it's pretty cute.

- I think it's gonna be...

Mom, Mom, look out!

Are you okay?

Does it matter?

If Rodrigo Gonzalez

had really been

there that night,

he might have told

the stoned young woman

sitting in front of him that

it mattered quite a bit to him

that Dylan Dempsey was okay.

Bueno. Bueno. Hombre.

- No, sir.

- No, right.

No, señor.

Ay, ay ay.

At exactly this moment,

a mere 4,000 miles away,

Abby Dempsey,

then Abby Lesher,

had just finished the first

draft of her college thesis.

"But life

itself proves to be

"the most unreliable

of narrators,

"forever taking us

on a journey

"where it is impossible

to predict

what might happen next.

Life its..."

Okay. This next part gets a

little flowery...

Read, woman.

I know, but I feel

like it's getting away

- from literary crit...

- Read!

Life itself tricks us.

It misleads us.

It paints one man a hero

when he may well be a villain.

Hero or villain?

Villain or hero?

Or maybe neither.

Maybe life is playing the role

of unreliable trickster

yet again.

Maybe those it paints

as the heroes and

villains of our stories

are actually just day players

in a much bigger movie.

Maybe they're simply extras,

filling the frames

so the real heroes

can have bodies

crossing in the background.

And then it sort of says

that over and over again...

You...

...are so much smarter than me.

I really am, aren't I?

Abby's thesis

was a total disaster.

Her favorite and

most trusted professor argued,

as she feared he might,

that she had strayed

from literary criticism

and had veered into

an unwieldy cross

of creative writing and

17th-century French philosophy.

Then Abby's favorite

and most trusted professor

tried to fuck her.

Which, one might argue,

proved Abby's thesis after all.

A continent away,

Javier González was

worried about none of this.

Javier González

didn't philosophize

and he never wondered

what life had in store for him.

Javier González knew

where he was going.

He'd known all along.

Oh.

Isabel Diaz

had been taught from birth

to expect a very average life.

She was one of six sisters

and was openly considered

to be the fourth prettiest.

Bravo.

Ooh.

No, no.

Una...

Dos...

- Y...

- Y tres!

America.

Isabel could

no longer remember

when Mr. Saccione first started

coming over to visit Rodrigo.

She only knew that the visits

had become more consistent,

usually in the

middle of the day,

always when Javier

was in the fields.

- Si, si.

- No, no, no.

No!

Javier González

was a simple man,

but not a stupid one.

And that day,

he began doing something

he'd never done before:

planning a family vacation.

To a place that

he had just learned

his son desperately wanted

to visit with someone else.

- Hello.

- Hola.

Hola. Hola.

Hey, little guy. Look.

Where'd it go? Look.

- Whoa.

- There it is.

Where are you from?

A pregnant woman

eviscerated by a bus.

A grown man

weeping desperately.

Bystanders screaming.

It was only about

20 seconds of footage,

but it would replay on a loop

in little Rodrigo González's

brain for years to come.

Mamá!

Rigo!

Mamá!

- No!

- Rigo.

Hm-mm.

Months passed.

Mr. Saccione's visits

were no longer restricted.

His gifts no longer withheld.

Wow.

Ooh. Hola, Oli.

And now,

in English.

My name is...

Rodrigo...

González.

But I like to be called Rod.

- Or Rigo.

- Yeah.

Oh.

I am from Spain.

Keep going.

I was sad

for a long time.

But my uncle got me a bird,

which helps.

Hola.

If we've

learned anything by now,

it's not to get attached

to new heroes.

They tend to disappoint.

But damn if little

Rodrigo González

didn't look like

the real deal.

Rodrigo...

Ay, ay, ay!

Rigo.

Rodrigo entered

college a visiting freshman,

and as he'd been doing for

most of the previous decade,

he thrived.

He lettered in two sports.

...proportional to the ratio...

His marks were

at the very top of his class.

He even embarked

on a relationship

with a 20-something

from Long Island

named Shari Dickstein.

She made him laugh...

usually not intentionally.

Oh, my God. You've never

been to Whole Foods?

- No. But what is that?

- Okay, I'll take you there.

It's like a dream.

It's like a...

She wasn't his great

love, but she was company.

And great love wasn't

his priority at the moment.

...clean eating, vegan dream.

What's-what's vegan?

Oh, my God, you're adorable.

I love that

you don't know things.

He saved every dollar,

coveted every vacation.

Rodrigo González

had an internal compass,

and it always pointed

in the same direction.

- En Nueva York?

- Si.

- Shari?

- Shari.

Shari Distin.

Shari Dickstein.

- No.

- Si. Si, si, si.

Like so many of

the biggest years of our lives,

it flew by.

But in truth,

that year was just a setup,

a preamble to the biggest day

of Rodrigo González's life.

Where are you going?

I'm just going for a quick run.

- Miarma.

- Huh?

When we first started dating,

you used to call me "Miarma."

You would've said,

"Just going for

a quick run, Miarma."

It always made me feel like

Kelly Ripa.

Shari...

I'm pregnant.

I know. Obvi,

lots to talk about.

Hey, will you

take me for brunch?

There's this place

I really want to try.

It's Vietnamese,

which I'm assuming

is kind of like

dim sum or something.

We can talk at brunch,

at the Vietnamese place.

I really want to try it.

So, I just started feeling

shitty a few weeks ago.

I thought I was just getting

a really bad period.

Ever since I got off the pill,

I have been having

bananas periods, you know?

But it wasn't stopping,

so I went to my gyno,

and he was like,

"Are you sexually active?"

So I told him about you,

and then he did the

test thing and blammo!

I hadn't even thought

to try an at-home test.

For whatever reason,

my brain did not go there

whatso-fucking-ever.

Anyways, I know that we haven't

been together very long,

and clearly this is as

"what the fuck" as things get.

I mean, I don't know what your

deal is with religious stuff,

but I'm thinking that I should

probably just get an abortion.

Are you, like, are you, like,

super against that? Abortion?

I know abortion's a really

big deal for Christians.

There should, like, be,

like, a pill or something

for something like this,

like, unplanned pregnancy.

'Cause if you're

Christian, I'm...

Anyhow, we don't have to

decide any of this right now,

but I would like

to make the call early,

just before

the thing has, like,

a head and stuff, you know?

Oh, hey, there we are!

So, the way I see it,

we have, like, three options.

Option one: we have it.

I mean, a mixed-race baby

with our skin complexions

would be amazeballs.

My family have batshit money,

so we could get

nannies and stuff.

I don't know,

it's probably a bad idea.

Option two: abort.

But again, I would like to make

that call sooner

rather than later.

Or option three:

we can just both agree

that this is all

an insane April Fools' joke!

Ah!

What?

April Fools', bitch!

Wh-What is that?

Seriously?

You don't know April Fools'?

No, I don't.

Well, I didn't know that.

So there is no baby?

Dude! Ew, no.

Of course not.

Oh, come on.

You have to admit, that was,

that was pretty funny.

Shari...

Oh, fuck.

You're gonna break up

with me, aren't you?

He was.

Yes, I am.

I'm-I'm sorry...

Obviously,

nothing thus far

had indicated

that this would be

the most important day

of Rodrigo's life.

No.

Sometimes the most important

days of our lives begin,

and we're not even

there to see it.

Isabel.

No.

Hola, Bella.

Mr. Saccione

was a letter writer.

He always had been.

He believed in the power

of the written word,

the force of

actually sitting down

and writing

to someone by hand.

And with that,

Mr. Saccione's letters

found a new recipient.

A man whose only request

was that he be kept up to date

on those he had abandoned

but still cherished.

Hola, Bella.

Hola.

When critics reviewed

Abby Dempsey's favorite album,

Bob Dylan's 1997 release,

"Time Out of Mind,"

the song

"Make You Feel My Love"

was a source

of much criticism.

Every track on the album

brimmed with unrelenting

melancholy and sadness.

But there,

smack in the middle of it all,

sat an unabashedly

populist hit song,

a love song...

a song that in years

to come would be covered

by Garth Brooks, of all people.

Critics argued that putting

an on-the-nose love song

in the middle of an album

about despair and tragedy

was Dylan's only misstep.

Others argued

that it was his point.

Are you okay?

Hola.

My father,

Rodrigo González,

officially met my mother,

Dylan Dempsey, that day...

the most important

day of his life.

Hi.

They would not

spend a single night apart

for the next 42 years.

They would go on

to have four children,

seven grandchildren.

A love story for the ages.

My grandmother, Abby Dempsey,

argued in her

failed college thesis

that life itself is our

most unreliable narrator.

She argued that no one knows

where their story is going,

nor who the heroes

in it are going to be.

And while it's true that life

has often made it difficult

to pinpoint the heroes

of my family's story,

my parents have always made

it incredibly easy for me.

They found the one

populist love song

in our family's often

very melancholy album.

Unlike my grandmother Abby,

my grandmother Isabel

was neither a writer

nor a philosopher.

But sometimes I wonder

if she didn't understand

exactly what Bob Dylan

was going for.

Spanish does not often

translate perfectly,

but what Isabel said

to my father

the day she sent him away,

it required no translation.

Mamá...

Enough.

Listen to me.

Rigo, you have had many

ups and downs in your life.

Too many.

And you will have more.

This is life.

And this is what it does.

Life brings you to your knees.

It brings you lower

than you think you can go.

But if you stand back up...

and move forward...

if you go just

a little farther...

you will always find love.

I found love in you.

And my life, my story,

it will continue

after I'm gone.

Because you are my story.

You are your father's story.

Your uncle's.

Rigo, my body fails me.

But you are me.

So you go now.

Give me a beautiful life.

The most beautiful life ever.

Yeah?

And if life brings

us to our knees...

you stand us back up.

You get up.

And go farther.

And find us the love.

Will you do that?

I'm not sure whose

story I have been telling.

I'm not sure if it is mine,

or if it's some character's

I have yet to meet.

I'm not sure of anything.

All I know is that,

at any moment,

life will surprise me.

It will bring me to my knees.

And when it does,

I will remind myself...

I will remind myself

that I am my father.

And I am my father's father.

I am my mother.

And I am my mother's mother.

And while it may be easy

to wallow in the tragedies

that shape our lives,

and while it's natural

to focus on those

unspeakable moments

that bring us to our knees,

we must remind ourselves

that if we get up,

if we take the story

a little bit farther...

If we go far enough,

there's love.

Hey.

Goddamn.

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Life Itself (2018) - full transcript