Anatomie De L enfer Anatomy of Hell
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For the most intimate scenes, |
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ANATOMY OF HELL |
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Why did you do that? |
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Because I'm a woman. |
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I don't understand. |
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You understand very well. |
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Thanks. |
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Why did you go back |
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People like you don't look at women. |
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When you touched me, |
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You touched me, right? |
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So what? |
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It was touching... |
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At first I paid no attention to it, |
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then I got scared: |
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I was sure of what you did, too. |
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I know why you went to the can! |
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To get sucked, like all men. |
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Dumb bitch! |
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That's what you all do. |
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You're all alike. |
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What do you want to do now? |
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I'll pay you. |
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To what end? |
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To find out. |
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You don't like women, |
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I mean, impartially. |
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What's this about? |
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Just that. |
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Watch me where I'm unwatchable. |
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No need to touch me. |
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Just say what you see. |
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It'll cost you a lot. |
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I'll pay you. |
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That's how the deal was made. |
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First night... |
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Excuse me. |
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You're early: |
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I'm paid to watch. |
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That's all you can ask me to do. |
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You're right. |
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But I can still hope for more... |
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You didn't say |
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I had to take a train, then a cab. |
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That will cost you extra. |
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I'll pay for everything. |
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He'd been tricked into this meeting. |
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It sickens him to be here: |
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He hoped for something new, |
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though he knows it won't be. |
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At last. It's about time! |
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Why do you exhibit yourself |
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The fragility of female flesh |
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inspires disgust or brutality. |
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Women depend on one or the other. |
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What should we fear more? |
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Nothingness... |
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or brutality? |
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It takes ages |
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Between the offer |
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That's what we call |
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Thereafter, nothing flows, |
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it's all fake... |
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Artificial catching up, |
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the clumsiness of hasty brutality... |
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You talk too much. |
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Your words are inept reproaches. |
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Should I have shaved my armpits? |
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It would still show... |
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However much women shave. |
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Even if you removed |
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you wouldn't be rid |
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on the contrary. |
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The skin stays lumpy |
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like the neck of a plucked chicken. |
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Every pore exudes |
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like microscopic sexual swellings. |
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So we can't do a thing about it? |
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No, you can't. |
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It's the depth of this obscenity, |
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its feminine depth, |
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that men who don't like women |
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and that those who like you, |
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It's not what we see, |
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though when you spread your legs, |
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by the overly bright color, |
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the sloppy, shapeless aspect |
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the thinness of their skin, |
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though... |
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here and there, it's lumpy, |
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a skin that sweats, that oozes, |
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a pestilential skin, |
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like the skin of frogs. |
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Frogs, at least, |
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but their thighs, |
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symbolically, |
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It's not what we see: |
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Your denial of the obscenity |
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Keep going... |
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So I wonder if what first |
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wasn't the deep violence they provoke |
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So far, I'd been honest. |
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But you must have an inkling |
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because thoughts tend to wander... |
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And you can't channel them forever |
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You can't deny |
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with their shiny putrid hairiness? |
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A just-hatched bird, |
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so touching |
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in its newborn weakness. |
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Still today, the child, |
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who would become all men, |
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retained his horror |
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Do you understand? |
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I was learning what I knew, |
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That the body of women |
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And yet no part of it is excessive. |
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Men rant against |
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It's late, and you still know nothing |
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Why did you go and sit down? |
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Come take a closer look. |
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Isn't that what I pay you for? |
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Know why people drink |
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Because they have nothing to say. |
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They hope a bedroom |
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It's worse. |
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We drink because |
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Nothing... |
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You speaking for me? |
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Not at all! |
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Man or woman, it makes no difference. |
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When you offer up |
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when an opening in the flesh |
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I lack words and thoughts... |
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I need alcohol... |
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I need to forget that bestiality. |
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That loneliness. |
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Aren't you afraid? |
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No, I control my impatience. |
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The waiting has become |
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It's inherent in my demand. |
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Can you understand that? |
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It reminds me of a time |
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when I was still naive |
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The silly local boys, |
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descended on our garden |
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like a flight of partridges |
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After a short period of hostilities, |
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since I was the only enemy, |
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so we agreed to be friends... |
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To seal the peace, we played doctor. |
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I was the patient, of course. |
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A girl is a man's sickness. |
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So maybe |
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were disgusted forever |
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of the sight |
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I bless the day I was born |
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and of all of your kind. |
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The elastic resistance |
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about the tightness |
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of his lower intestine. |
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The lie about the softness of women |
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the malevolent triviality, |
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that turns them into a trap. |
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The horror of Nothingness |
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I'm sick of your dallying! |
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You've hardly looked at me. |
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Look at me when I can't see myself. |
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Look at me when I can't see myself! |
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The ocean, |
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rolled in the darkness |
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This ocean, like a woman, |
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and make you vanish into its loins. |
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So I felt trapped by a kind of sorcery |
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of the signs |
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Surrounded by the pleading moans |
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only I was strong... |
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Helpless against the whole world. |
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It doesn't matter, |
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it doesn't matter, |
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it's just the first night. |
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It's the first night. |
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Second night... |
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Last night you wanted to kill me. |
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You fought that urge a long time. |
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How do you know? |
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It's an urge all men have, |
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that's how they are. |
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That's why they lie beside us. |
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The veils they adorn us with ritually, |
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anticipate our shrouds. |
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But you're not part of that. |
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You know nothing of it. |
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You don't know the harm you could do. |
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Third night... |
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Anyone could have come in. |
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Or anything. |
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That's what men can't stand. |
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It's why they've tried |
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in all eras, all places, |
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To protect us from ourselves, they say. |
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To break the spell of women. |
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In fact... |
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they're afraid |
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They don't believe in basic freedom. |
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They threaten us with belts, padlocks, |
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their concept of chastity, |
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their foolish morals, |
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since they always need reassurances. |
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Yet they know one can't ask for proof. |
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Or else love has no meaning. |
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I wore it to keep blood off the sheets |
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But now that you're here... |
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Pull. |
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Pull. |
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It comes out easily. |
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See, that's all there is to it. |
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Because of this blood, |
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Sometimes they won't shake our hands. |
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And no intercourse during the period |
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In fact, |
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they're scared of this blood |
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What they call impurity, |
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I... |
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on the contrary... |
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I can put it in a glass of water, |
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I watch the haze of red blood |
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spreading in the water... |
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Don't we drink the blood |
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Isn't that what women are to men? |
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Here, drink! |
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We make such a big deal of it. |
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See the space it takes up, |
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The same space |
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Proof that in intercourse |
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but its meaning. |
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I can push it in just like that, |
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to the tip... |
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Without feeling anything, |
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no sensation of pleasure at all. |
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A very ordinary gesture... |
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Look... |
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There's a whole device |
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So one can insert it, |
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without touching oneself, |
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keeping one's virginity intact. |
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Without exploring one's genitals. |
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You insert the tip of the cardboard, |
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push on it like a syringe |
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to inject yourself like... |
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shooting up into your veins, |
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only feeling the hygiene |
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As if to staunch a wound |
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that is painful and highly sensitive. |
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I don't feel a thing... |
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Nothing! |
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Isn't that laughable? |
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I'd gladly laugh, but it foretells |
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Something terrifying |
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of whoever designed, |
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on this infamous thing! |
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A man, for sure. |
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Who feels superior and protective. |
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Who doesn't like us. |
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In fact, men never understood |
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They fear us, like kids |
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Tell me... |
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Did I lose all my dignity |
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Tell me! |
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Fourth night... |
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See anything? |
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You can't see anything, right? |
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I can hide it inside me, |
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I can also make it come out |
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when I want. |
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You don't like us replacing you. |
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No. |
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Yes. |
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Everything you see there |
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The only thing that gives me pleasure |
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is the movement of your hand, |
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as you put the stone dildo |
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Because, you see, |
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you see... |
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It's beautiful, |
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You're afraid |
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even though you know you're not. |
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This hemorrhage is from |
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You worry that I may have cursed you, |
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ruined your penis for life. |
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Right... |
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When you stick it into a man, |
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You're not angry at them, |
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Sometimes it happens. |
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But fecal matter is inert. |
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It has been through the life-cycle. |
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In that, it's like human nature. |
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Man can't give life. |
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He takes it. |
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He gives death. |
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And so gives eternal life. |
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As I left, |
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By keeping the money, |
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I knew it at once. |
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But in fact, I'd been caught off guard, |
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and took the money |
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Paul! |
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Same again, please. |
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Make that two. Another for him, too. |
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Don't think about it anymore. |
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Forget it. She was a bitch. |
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A slut, |
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like any other. |
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Yes, but the queen of sluts. |
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I reamed her pussy so hard, |
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You're right, |
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you have to hump 'em like goats! |
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As many as you can! |
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So you're immunized against them all. |
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If you let one get under your skin, |
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you're fucked, you're done for! |
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But she took everything! |
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Get it? She took all I had. |
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You can get drunk, |
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They can't take that away. |
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They can't, get it? |
01:06:21 |
I made her crap her shit |
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That slut! She was a pigsty |
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A human being wouldn't let |
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But she always wanted more! |
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She wanted more and more! |
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I should've ripped her guts out |
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You're right, you're right. |
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Drink! |
01:07:12 |
I don't even know her name. |
01:07:18 |
I really knew her... |
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I experienced total intimacy with her. |
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And I don't even know her name. |
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I don't need this. |
01:07:51 |
Neither do I. |
01:09:30 |
I refused to believe |
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and I could draw on it |
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I wanted to start all over again, |
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This time fully aware |
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I didn't want to admit |
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That nothing can be done |