The Nobel Prize Winner (De Nobelprijswinnaar)

My condolences. - Thank you.

My condolences. - Thank you.

My deepest sympathies. - Thank you.

My condolences. - Thank you.

My condolences.

You must have really loved him...?

Did you know him?

When I married him I was twenty, and beautiful...

How's that, for gold digging?

All the best.

"Last resting place"

Amazing story.

Stop this fucking noise in the middle of night!

You're not fucking deal, aren't you?

Is it any good? You've been working on it for ten years...

that might mean it's awful. Is it good?

Well it's not Dostoevsky, or Kafka.

You're the writer. You should think it's the best thing ever written.

I'm not really a novelist. I'm more of a short story writer.

Eighteen percent, no more. Just tell them.

No, you're not up there. So, where were we?

Our in-house Dostoevsky who came for an advance on his novel.

My landlord's threatening to throw me out.

Just when I'm almost finished.

So five hundred euros would a be great help.

Or even four hundred euros.

Three hundred?

Hello?

Hello hello?

You there, I can see you, under the window.

Can you open the door, please?

Are you the bailiff? - No, I'm not the bailiff.

I'm from 'lnterquête' I'd like to ask you a few questions.

It's totally anonymous.

May I ask you how old you are?

Forty-one. - Forty-one? Gender: male.

Star sign? - Taurus.

I'm a Virgo.

Are you religious?

No. - You don't believe in God?

No. - You don't believe there's 'something'?

No.

Life is life, and when it's over that's it?

But when you pass away you'll need to be buried of cremated, won't you?

Are you insured? - Insured?

Take a look at this, please.

Ah, you're not doing a survey. You're selling funeral insurance.

Insurance, yes. You want a respectable funeral, don't you?

They can put me in a bag and place it by the side oi the street.

I don't think your family and loved ones will agree with that.

They'll want a beautiful coffin. A last goodbye worthy of a man like you.

I don't have family, and I don't have loved ones, so...

"The End"

'Our in-house Dostoevsky'.

Eefje...?

Eefje...?

Good morning, sir. I'm from survey company "lnterquête“...

and would like to ask you some questions.

Good morning. I'm from "lnterquête“.

May I ask you some questions? If it isn't too inconvenient.

It's for a survey.

Just woken up?

Myself, I can't stand loud noises, when I've just woken up.

I'll keep my voice down.

Or I could sit a bit closer, so I don“t have to raise my voice?

What do you want to know?

Have you done a survey before?

There's a first time for everything.

Do you believe in God?

You've got lovely legs.

And not just your legs, actually.

May I?

Do you want to fuck?

Excuse me? Sorry.

You don't want to fuck...?

Isn't your mother at home? - She's at bingo.

I swear it'll be the death of me, one oi these days.

Thanks. - No, thank you.

You're not saying this was your first time, was it...?

I thought it was about time. And, am I any good?

Yeah. It was nice.

Are my teeth pretty?

I had my braces taken off yesterday.

So your manuscript is almost ready? - Yes, oi course.

I'd like to see it. - What?

Your manuscript. Your computer file.

You know I never show anyone what I'm writing, editor or not.

Don't count your chickens... Call me superstitious.

Everybody is on standby. Presses are booked.

You're our best selling author by tar, and we really need this new book.

Fabian, I want to see ii. - Don“t you trust me?

Isn't that the basis of the relationship between publisher and author, trust?

No, I want to see it. Come on.

Without trust no relationship. Without relationship no book.

No, Lea.

I hope you know what you're doing, Fabian.

Eefje. it's not going well with Fabian. He hardly eats any more.

What's happened? - That's between Fabian and me.

He is so upset about it he can hardly write any more.

He hasn't written a word in the last half year.

Can't you go back to him? If only temporarily...?

Eefje, this is very important.

All he has to do is finish the last chapter.

Are you sure? He hasn't written anything for the last six months.

Me leaving him has nothing to do with it. Bye, Lea.

What's going on? My typewriter. My belongings.

I'm the bailiff. You can always buy your typewriter back.

Didn't think it could go on with all the rent arrears?

It's not so much that I'm so attached to my typewriter...

it's more: now what...?

What do we do with this?

For a publishing company.

So he did have money for stamps.

I can put it in the mail, or dump it in the garbage.

"Without Airs".

Joachim West.

Was it you I spoke to on the phone?

You did, if you're that publisher.

I'm looking for Joachim West.

I told you before: he was evicted.

He owes you money as well?

No, no...

You really have no idea where I can find him?

Minimum price was twenty-five euro, but that wasn't offered.

Do you have his current address? - We don't have any information about him.

No Joachim West...?

"Salvation Army"

Could you take the upper bed? Got a problem with my leg.

Tell her I'm not here. - What?

If she asks for me, tell her I'm not here.

May I help you? - I'm looking for Joachim West.

Joachim? isn't here. Any more. - Not any more?

Tragic case. He died.

Died? How? - Suicide.

Jesus. When? - Last week.

That's strange. I've been to the police. They didn't seem to know.

They rather hush it up.

So as not to give other people ideas.

Other people?

He jumped off the Carlysle Hotel.

He wasn't the only one. Hip, these days.

I didn't know that.

Thank you.

Money, right?

My publisher. I got an advance, but never produced my book.

Perhaps you should go, in case she comes back.

And perhaps you should also change your name...

now that you've come to such a tragic end.

Were you serious, about the Carlysle Hotel?

I always am serious.

Nana! Nana!

Are you going to jump?

A house on fire.

My name is Fyodor. - Okay.

Hey Nana. Come here.

Front-page news. 'Escaped from death.'

Now it's a book with a story to it.

Most books have 'a story to them'.

How long will you have to slay?

It's just a precaution. I'll be discharged today.

I'll arrange a hotel room...

so you can finish the last chapter.

What exactly happened...?

Short-circuit.

Technical examinations will prove my computer short-circuited.

You did make back-ups, didn't you?

Oh no.

I'm finished with writing, Lea.

I can't any more.

About that roof...

I won't ask you any questions, and you won't ask me any, okay?

Okay.

Fyodor Painter...

Perhaps somewhere there's someone called Fyodor Writer.

And perhaps he is a painter.

That would be a real coincidence.

There's no such thing as coincidence or chance.

Chance, I think, is the insight...

that two seemingly unrelated matters coincide.

You do sound like a writer.

Shall I walk him?

Her. It's a girl.

Yes, your daughter is pregnant.

What actually happens to the... - To the what...?

Do they flush it down the toilet?

No, once a week it is removed by a specialized company.

What do they do with it?

Turn it into frankfurters. Just kidding.

Madame? Have you seen your daughter?

I heard it isn't going too well with Fabian Remarque...?

Fabian? Fabian is fine.

So his announced novel will be released exactly as planned?

Of course. "A City Depraved“ will be released next month.

I was told he was seen a little 'merry' in a cafe last week.

More than just 'merry'.

Just gossip about celebrities.

Who told you?

Contacts. My first thought, suspicious as I am...

was maybe he had... writer's block?

Nothing's the matter. He just has to finish the last chapter.