Murder Me, Monster (2018) - full transcript

Good evening.

Rural police.

Excuse me.

Captain.

Okay...

Tell me.

Where's the head?

Tell me how you killed her.

Who, Sir?

Your wife.

She is your wife, isn't she?



Can I ask you something?

Did you love her?

You don't know, either.

I saw a stranger
walking up to the refuge.

He was completely lost.

He's the one you need to ask
where the head is.

Cruz, stay here
and wait for Forensics.

And try to find the head.

On you go, Chilean!

Is there any Pinot Noir
left in the Jeep?

No, Sir.

Forensics!

Did I wake you?

Yes. What is it?



Your husband's been seen
in the mountains.

- Heading for the refuge.
- Really?

I asked permission
to go and look for him.

But the snow makes things
complicated.

Are you sure it's him?

He's probably dead.

What are you saying?

I thought
that's what you wanted to hear.

Help me, please.

If I go it's for your sake.

"For your sake".

You're so cute, Cruz.

Why do you care about this guy?

He's already made his choice.

It's his problem if he wants to die.
It would solve everything for you.

Let the military take care of him.

It isn't our business.

We're just the spare wheel.

We're the back-up army, Cruz.

I'm going up.

The captain gave me permission.

It's a stupid thing to do, Cruz.

Leave him to die.

Thank you.

Did you think you'd hold on for long?

Do you think I will?

I feel alone.

It's not easy to explain.

They stun me.

What do they say?

Answer me.

It's me.
I want to understand.

Why do you talk about voices?

Because I can hear them.

I've heated some water for you.

Did it hurt you again?

That'll do.

How much longer will you mother him?

It's compassion.

It isn't love.

What am I doing here with you?

Returning a favour.

You're a piece of shit, Cruz.

I know.

You know what I love most about you?

Yes.

Do it.

I'm not going to dance.

You are. Know why?

Because I'm asking you to.

It's David.

Stop.

David?

David!

Don't move.

Don't worry.

We'll call Forensics.

Take the day off.

Forensics!

Tongue out.
Up. Down.

Tongue out.
Up. Down.

Tongue out.
Up. Down.

Tongue out.
Up. Down.

Will you ask me why I killed her?

I can't explain it.

I've fallen into a ditch
between words.

How do you feel with your medication?

Has the voice quietened down?

Yes, but it does speak.

Whose voice is it?

Do you recognise it?

Is it a familiar voice?

No.

It's a word.

Or a sentence

which suddenly appears
and asserts itself.

The problem is that
it's easy for it to master me.

It's a linguistic attack
that makes me violent.

Violent in what way?

Violent.

Not physically.

Inside.

When something gets close to me

I get violent

inside.

I'm cursed.

Accursed.

Are words the only things
that are aggressive?

Images can also be full of horror.

But it's impossible to express.

Tell me about those images.

It's what Medicine calls cinema.

Shall we talk about the monster?

Is it a phrase or an image?

Which comes first?

This is the one you found.
No news of the other head?

No.

Have they sent the report?

The guy beat her and fucked her hard.

With a stick, maybe.

He didn't just decapitate her.

After, he added some dirt
to mislead.

What about the cuts on her neck?

I've no idea.

I went to see Francisca.

In both cases,
the victim's head was bitten off.

The first woman
had a tooth in her skull.

So he's not just a killer
and a bastard,

he's a cannibal too.

And what if he told the truth?

What if he didn't kill her?

You know what you're afraid of?

There being no revelation.

It all being as violent and simple
as a rock.

He said a monster had killed her.

A monster...

Get it?

You were screwing someone else's wife.

Everyone screws someone else's wife.

That's all.

I have a few theories.

It's a good thing you have, Cruz.

But they need a real basis.

Risperidone, aripiprazole
and olanzapine. Anything else?

Bromperidol and pimozide.
Did you see Sandrito?

Yes. He told me
you wanted to crucify him again.

He's cut himself

so you can't crucify him
at the football field.

He thinks he's the Christ of penalties.

Didn't you see he had got worse?

How long have you been here?

I know the list of medicines he took
by heart.

I've made them into a song
for the end-of-year party.

- Let's hear it.
- I'm not going to sing, doctor.

I'm not asking you to.
I want to know what he's being given.

Chlorpromazine,
levomepromazine, thioridazine,

haloperidol, bromperidol, pimozide,

zuclopenthixol, clotiapine, clozapine,

risperidone, olanzapine,

quetiapine and aripiprazole.

We'll stop the quetiapine
and carry on with aripiprazole.

Sorry. I'm nearly done.

Can I ask you a question?

Of course.

Did he say how he killed her?

No.

I didn't ask him.

Shall we continue?

Do you feel better?

Tell me about the scary voice.

Is it a particular sentence?

Sometimes, yes...
And it shames me...

Why?

Some people are sensitive to my words
and that frightens me.

Do they only understand you
through telepathy?

No. But I can't live in society

as long as that transmission is there.

What goes through my brain
can easily be picked up

by certain receptive telepathists.

Can you hear the voice now?

David?

What is it saying? Want to tell me?

It's a repetition. A silly voice...

What is it saying?

It's saying:
"Murder me, monster."

A silly voice...

What is it saying?

It's saying:
"Murder me, monster."

Is that all?

It also says, "Murder."

That repetition is what shames me.
That repetition.

That repetition.

Cruz.

What's it say?

It says,

"Murder me, monster."

But that doesn't mean anything.

What do you mean?

Your wife was killed by a monster,
wasn't she?

70% of our colleagues are on treatment.

A policeman's life isn't easy, Cruz.

Take these tablets.

Maybe they will turn off
Devil's radio.

You are anxious.

The boredom is killing you.

You know where boredom leads?

No, Sir.

To horror, Cruz.

To horror.

Do you think you're special?

You aren't.

Everyone is afraid.

Do you know what gephyrophobia is?

A fear of crossing bridges.

There are stupider ones than that.

Gynophobia.

Fear of women.

Cheimaphobia.

Fear of cold.

Sacrophobia.

Fear of religious symbols.

Latrophobia.

Fear of doctors.

And trichophobia.

Fear of hair.

Most trichophobes commit suicide
in the end. Crazy, isn't it?

Shall I go on?

No, Sir.

Tropophobia.

Fear of moving.

Antophobia.

Fear of flowers.

Verbophobia.

Fear of words.

But there are two that are dreadful.
Hear this...

Pantophobia.

Fear of everything.

Phobophobia.

Fear of fear.

That's the worst of all.

You can't get rid of that one.

We each fall into a category.

What's this?

Funny way of investigating.

Are you an artist?

Not many people
like menthol cigarettes.

An ex got me hooked on them.

Know what her name was?

No, Sir.

Adela.

Adela Guzmán Vegas.

She was my great love.

Do you know why
she was my great love?

Because with her
I was no longer myself.

With her

I became her.

I thought like her.

I felt everything like her.

I smelled like her.

If I'd put on her clothes
people would have thought I was her.

You've had a great love too,
haven't you?

I don't know, Sir.

I'm sure you have.

Same as everyone.

Even imbeciles have received
as a gift from God

a woman's heart.

Cruz.

I like you very much.

Me too, Captain.

Aren't you going to ask
how I killed her?

With a chainsaw.

No.

That's not it.

Not with a chainsaw.

With a motorbike.

I threw her on the ground

put the bike chain around her neck
and accelerated.

I thought you'd like to have it.

What does it mean?

What?

"Murder me, monster."

Do you hear it too?

It's a phrase and an image.

M,

M,

M.

I only have the phrase.

If you had the image
it would be simpler.

What are we looking for?

You or me?

Both of us.

Get me out of here.

You can't do it on your own.

Stammerer.

Try and find
the missing part of the head.

Kid.

Call Forensics.

They'll think we're taking the piss.

I feel incompetent.

An incompetent moron.

I must be.

These walnuts are delicious.

They'll kill us all in the end.

One after the other.

All of us.

Cows always calm me down.

Look at them.

They are stupid and lovely.

That's why Buddha meditated on a cow.

It was a tiger, Sir.

Was it?

I'm not sure.

Forensics!

It's like being trapped
in a dream that isn't yours.

Someone else's dream.

It's mine.

But I'm trapped in a sensory prison.

That exchange transfers to the body
and there it remains.

Is there a link to the solitary circle
you told me about?

Yes.
In that circle, I'm completely free.

But a circle implies a limit.

You're seeing things
in geometrical terms. Not me.

I want to express that within my prison
I can be completely free.

Tell me about Francisca,
your wife.

Tell me about that love.

The first headless woman

was found
with a tooth stuck in her head

on July 22 in La Remonta,

on this side of the river.

As for us,
we're here.

Six days later, on the 28th,

we found the second victim.

Francisca.

Was she that pure love?

On the other side of the river.

That love had a body.

You are here because your wife is dead.

It wasn't a fact.
It was an interpretation.

I couldn't explain well.

The motorbikes appear again
in those images.

Do the motors talk to you?

No, those motorbikes can't talk.

They are blind.

And since they're blind, they can't...

On September 17...

They can't what?

On the motocross circuit

we found the third victim.

On this side of the river.

And so?

It's a pattern.

An equivalence between two worlds.

A repetitive diagram.

If you draw lines
between the crime spots on a map

it makes three Ms.

I'm always on the edge.

My imagination is in constant risk
of taking flight.

How does an image develop

out of a series
of mechanical procedures?

Those kind of practical connections
always touch me.

The idea obsesses me a little bit.

What idea?

How can you move from a biological fact
to a spiritual fact?

Three mountains.

Three Ms.

The one in the middle is upside down.

Look at this drawing, Captain.

Three mountains.

Three Ms.

And so, this pattern

is what you call the "monster"?

Call it what you like.

But the next woman

will no doubt appear here,
on the other side of the river.

Listen.

Is the monster a receptive telepath?

It's a repetition. A silly voice.

Can you hear the voice now?

David?

What is it saying?

It's saying,

"Murder me, monster..."

M, M, M.

Like the chocolates.

Muore, mostro, muore.

Is that it?

A silly voice.

Do you want to trust a silly voice?

It's reassuring to think
Evil is outside.

You're fascinated.

If I say it's not the monster

but the Devil, walking around
with his red tail and his trident,

would you believe that, too?

There's always geometry to be found.

It's not about geometry,

it's about langaje.

Langaje.

Language?

Of course.

His language?

It's easy to be taken in.

People have always enjoyed
rubbing up against Evil.

You're talented.

How long have you been doing this,
Cruz?

Since I've had insomnia.

How long is that?

15 years.

That's a long time.

Captain, are you receiving me?

Captain?

Sara speaking.

I'm receiving you. Over.

Cruz was right, Captain.

They found it
on the other side of the river.

Cruz?

I should have listened to you.

They found your monster
on the other side.

Fucking hell.

Are you sure it's here?

No fucking clue, Kid.

I've never been here before.

Look on your mobile.

Stop it, you animal.

Stop it.

Your monster, Cruz.

And your woman.

- Are you sure it was here, Sir?
- Captain!

Don't move.

Cruz.

No wrapping paper.

Have fun but don't kill him.

Since when do you give orders?

No, thanks.

It's Tramadol, Cruz.
Only take one.

Do you hear me, Stammerer?

I can go and get
the Jeep's battery and the radio.

It'll be simpler.

Wait till the deluge stops.

Go together.

I'd rather go alone.

Me too.

Love's a funny thing.

It's up to you,
but you'd better forget the radio.

I'm going to the bridge,
no reception here.

Fuck off.

How long have they been gone?

Over an hour, Sir.

They changed my pills.

The new ones get me out of it.

I can't get used to them.

I'm going to stop
these fucking antidepressants.

I'm not sad.

Sir?

What?

I think we've got it wrong.

Did you have a look at the bites?

No human can rip a head off like that,

all in one go.

Are you serious, Cruz?

It's pure logic.

First headless woman:

this moron was at the scene
a few days before.

Second headless woman:

your woman or his.

That's not my business.

Third headless woman:

three days after this retard escaped.

Give me arguments.

Try to convince me.

The saliva, Sir.

Didn't you notice anything?

That liquid flowing from the bodies...

You a policeman or a novelist?

Think a bit

instead of imagining.
If only for a second.

Go and get your colleagues
and think.

And bring back the bottle of wine
under the seat in the Jeep.

Yes, Captain.

Forensics!

Know what?

I don't get a word you're saying.

If you want to talk,
make an effort to communicate.

That way I'm not so bored.

Let me go and get him.

Get who?

The monster?

Do you still not understand?

The monster...

...is me.

Sara...

Your colleague, Cruz.

Put that down and kneel.

Go with your sweetheart.

He hasn't moved from here.

I was awake the whole time.

How did you know it was here?

Answer.

So it was you, you bastard?

I didn't even realise.

You were under my nose all this time.

That's why you knew it all.

It's obvious.

That's why you knew it all.

You're the Evil, Cruz.

The fucking Evil.

You've got it wrong, Sir.

Look at the head.

Look at the head, Sir.

Do you believe now?

Are you going to tell me
that's a puma tooth?

M...

M...

M.

It's you it's looking for?

If it's looking for him,

we're going to hand him over.

I'm receiving you. Speak clearly.

I'm receiving you.
Speak clearly.

Is that you, Stammerer?

Is it you, you bastard?

Is it you, you bastard?

Who is it?

Who is it?

Who is it?

Who is it?

Who is it?

Go on, Cruz,

while I sort this mess out.

Do you want some help, Sir?

Have a few days off.

You've never been here.

Me neither.

Go, Cruz.

Very well, Captain.

He wrote this.

I thought you'd be interested.

Did you find him?

No.

I have to go.

Do you have to go
or do you want to go?

Can you live without having to obey?

My beloved,

my imprisonment
leaves me too much time to think.

My heart beats wildly

and my skin is as fragile
as an old canvas,

ready to tear
at the least contact from the outside.

Sometimes I manage to forget
that in a few days I will be dead.

The hope of a life similar
to the one I had before being confined

remains vague and lovely.

Like those dreams you're afraid
to remember in the morning.

My beloved, I'm scared.

I've never been so scared.

Is this squalid prison my true home?

Bit by bit,
my eyes get used to this darkness.

My pupils dilate

and then I see its shadow.

An aching monster, a tired monster,
but a monster.

I lean your head against my chest
like an absurd soldier

on an arid mountain
with no horizon.

And I try to escape...

Who is the real prey
in this cage?

I anxiously await better days.

I hope that when I'm executed

I will be
in good physical and spiritual state.

Could it be possible,
in spite of atrocious conditions,

for a glimmer of life to emerge?

Will I be able to see you again
and hold you in my arms?

For a condemned man

such ideas are a lifeline.

Is it absurd to think I am a happy man
and full of grace?

If God could watch me
through the window of the world

and hear me

I would only ask one thing of Him:

to find the right words
that my heart is looking for

to touch yours.

My beloved,

here I am,

setting off on this great odyssey.

MURDER ME, MONSTER