#simon newton

[bostonchris22]

[slouph]

Trance (2013)

If the role of James McAvoy(Simon)’s love internet/therapist was played by Michael Fassbender(David). 

Spoilers for Trance (2013)

Simon is an art dealer who has a gambling addiction. He’s in deep and he ends up borrowing money from a dangerous man(Franck). In a last ditch effort to clear his debts, he’s roped into pulling off a heist at the auction house where he works. 

The heist goes wrong and he suffers a serious concussion. He wakes weeks later in hospital and remembers he was in on the heist, he was meant to deliver the painting to Franck but failed and somehow now can’t recall what happened to the it, the memory is just… gone. 

—

It’s not long before Franck and his men catch up with him. He’s beaten badly, they pull out his nails and come close to pulling teeth but nothing they do can pull out the memory of what happened to the painting. The doctors advise that only time may recover missing memories, however psychotherapy has also been known to help. 

—

When Simon walks into David’s practice, the therapist regards him intensely. His grey eyes piercing as they catch the bruises and scrapes on Simon’s face, the bandages on his fingertips and the wire peeking out of his shirt. After Simon has left, David investigates and finds out about the heist, about Simon, the concussion and weeks of recovery. Aggrieved, he runs his hands down his face and knocks back a tumblr of whiskey. 

The next time Simon comes in for a session, David quiets Simon with a finger held up against his lips, turning on a pre-recorded tape of his voice. Simon smiles, curious, but tenses, eyebrows furrowing as David shows him the cue cards he’s prepared. 

‘Are you in trouble?’ Simon nods. 

‘Are they listening?’ Another nod. 

‘How many?’

Simon holds up four fingers. He starts when David shows him the next card, a picture of the missing painting. 

Then David is grabbing Simon by the back of the neck, pulling him close suddenly. Too stunned to react, Simon can only cringe as David speaks into the wired mic, confronting the men listening in the van parked outside. He shows Simon the final card, Simon’s eyes round, blue and worried. 

‘I can help you’

—

When David meets Franck, he demands an equal cut of the money as the condition for his co-operation. Without David Simon might never remember, and Franck will never find the painting. Franck attempts to brush him off, intimidate him, but David hold his gaze, his eyes intense, steady and calculating. Franck concedes. 

—

They’re all seated in a circle in a dim room as David’s steady voice leads Simon down, down, down into a trance state. 

—

Simon is safe in his apartment, waiting for a delivery, the package that contains his memories of the events of that day. It arrives wrapped in black plastic, secured with duct tape and zip ties. It’s shape is organic and it’s heavy, with an unsettlingly give when he holds it. Franck and his men crowd around his dining table as he peels back the layers of plastic, but there seems to be no end, the web of zip ties rip the bandages on his fingers as he tears through layer after layer, his fingertips are leaving streaks of blood on the black plastic, his hands are shaking, his breathing quickens, heart vibrating in his chest as the men close in around him- 

With a jolt, he wakes from the trance. Stifled in the dark room surrounded by Franck’s men, eyes boring in to him, he walks out, desperate for the fresh cool night air. David follows him out onto the roof. He stands on the ledge, a precipice. As David talks him down, distracting him with questions, Simon opens up about how he meet Franck, about the tightening noose of his gambling addiction, about the money he owes, the trouble he’s in. Wryly he jokes that he should have tried hypnotism for his addiction and David’s eyes crinkle in the corners. Maybe next time. 

—

When they return, David pulls Franck aside. The problem, he says, is Simon’s fear and paranoia that Franck and his men will hurt him once they have what they want. Franck is silent in a way that does nothing to reassure him. David leans in, eyes never breaking contact, putting weight into the words he says next. ‘We only need to make him /believe/ his fears are unwarranted. If you and your men go under, he will be reassured.’

Franck scoffs, ‘Absolutely not’. 

—

Franck and his men are seated in the dim room before David, Simon is standing off to his side. 

‘I have prepared a word, when I speak this word, you will descend into a world of your own deepest fears. Only I can bring you out again.’ 

When David speaks the word, nothing happens and Franck looks around, his men chuckle, even pretending to play along. Franck has a snide remark ready but it dies on the tip of his tongue when he realises Nate, seated beside him, has his head is bowed, seemingly deeply asleep. 

The man writhes in his chair, sweat beading on his brow, struggling to cry out as if robbed of breath, jerking but fixed in one spot like an animal caught in a snare. 

Simon’s eyes flicker between Nate and David but David’s eyes remain fixed ahead, impassive and entirely unmoved by the choked cries of man before him. Simon grabs his shoulder. 

‘David? David, stop it! Say the word-‘ 

‘Cerebro.’ 

—

After that exercise, Franck’s frustration and suspicion of David grows, and his patience with Simon wears thin. David explains to Franck that only some people are particularly susceptible to falling into a Trance state. A specific person, under specific influences, can be compelled to think anything, to do anything. And Simon will do what David wants. He guarantees it. 

—

Once more, they’re seated in a circle in the dark room. David’s steady voice leads Simon down, down, down into a trance. 

—

Simon’s in a the passenger seat of David’s car, he’s profile catches the sunlight, strong nose straight, lips curved upwards. He’s smiling. They’re driving through the sun drenched French countryside, through a grove of trees that throws dappled shade over the long straight road, flanked by endless fields of wildflowers. They arrive at a church. The vaulted stone ceilings high, a feat of architecture but inside are even more wonders. The lost paintings. Caravaggio, Cezanne, Vermeer, Van Gogh, Manet, Degas and Rembrandt, all together in one room. As he marvels over the paintings, David takes his hand and leads him to the final room. The tablet that holds the memory of what happened that day sits on a pedestal, itself looking like a priceless painting. With one hand on the small of his back, David gently guides him towards it. He needs to know, he’s ready.  

—

He sees himself that day at the auction house, as the alarms go off and the crowd panics, he follows the procedure that’s been drilled into him. He takes the painting to the back room, but before he zips it up in it’s protective case, he cuts the painting from its frame with a razor and conceals it. When Franck goes to verify the artwork, he distracts him and gets concussed for the effort. He turns away, wants to hide from the pain, the fear when Franck had pushed the barrel of the shotgun to his chest, but David’s low voice murmurs soothingly by his ear. Go on. He watches himself as he comes to, he still has the painting. There’s something else too, a niggling thought that keeps slipping away when he tries to grasp it, the pain in his head distracts him, throbbing behind his eyes. 

He gets up, stumbles, his heart is near vibrating out of his chest, then he realised it’s his phone. He sees Franck’s ID pop up on screen but it seems wrong somehow, the face strangely familiar but at the same time not. He needs to find somewhere- someone safe. He needs to find -

‘You, I need to find you.’ Simon’s head snaps up, blue eyes clear as they lock on David. 

—

‘How does he know you?!!’

Franck shoves David harshly. In a back room, he paces back and forth, restless and unsettled over the possibility that Simon and David have some unknown connection, are conspiring against him. Something about the way Simon has always looked at him sets him on edge, piercing blue eyes intent, like he’s looking through Franck.

David’s voice never wavers, steady as he tries to calm Franck. 

‘He’s confused. When the mind forgets, it leaves a gap, and it’s desperate to fill that gap. He’s replaced his memories of the painting with memories of me.’ 

Franck sneers, skeptical. David continues, conviction solid in the tone of his voice.

‘But this obsession, we can use this. We’re close.’ 

—

When David and Franck rejoin the group, Simon is sitting, face drawn, hemmed in by Franck’s men. 

David speaks. ‘You look tired Simon. Why don’t we take a break, grab some food?’

Franck nods at his men, and they let them go. 

—

The restaurant David takes Simon to is slighty upscale and Simon feels underdressed. ‘This is nice.’ Simon remarks. ‘The steak is good here.’ David lips quirk up briefly, and Simon could have sworn he’s been here before. 

When the server arrives, Simon orders the steak and David surprises him by ordering wine to pair with their meals. 

‘Very good, the usual then.’ The waitress smiles warmly at them but David’s returning smile seems tight. 

As dinner goes on, the view of the city, the wine or the ambience of this particular place sets Simon’s mind at ease. His mind feels slow and David’s gaze on him feels heavy. He can’t tell if he’s just.. over thinking things, but David’s smile is warm, his eyes hold a twinkle and Simon is entranced. 

When David’s fingertips skim his it feels electric, when the other man leans close and murmurs in a low intimate voice for Simon to listen carefully, he can’t pull away. 

‘I overheard them talking Simon, they’re going to kill you.’ 

Though dinner is now a leaden stone in his stomach, Simon can’t help but laugh, a high helpless sound. David takes his hands then, his grip is crushing. 

‘Do you remember the cards I showed you in my office Simon?’ 

Throat tight, Simon nods. 

‘I can help you.’ David says, and Simon grasps David’s hand tightly like a lifeline.

—

When they return, David disappears to talk to Franck and Simon is left alone. Simon heads to the back room of the building, in the top drawer of the filing cabinet, he finds a gun, just as David whispered there would be, lips grazing his ear on the way back from the restaurant.

Loaded gun in hand, he feels calm and ready. When he sees the silhouettes of Franck’s men are lined up behind the frosted glass wall, he squeezes the trigger in quick succession and they drop like sacks of wheat, red blooms on the glass like modern art. 

Franck rounds the corner of the hallway, hands held up, appeasing, but Simon shoots him when he approaches, once in the chest and again in the head. Franck’s body falls heavily, out of sight.

Then David appears, standing in the doorway where Franck had just been. Simon’s points the gun at him but he’s frozen. There’s a noise, and then movement when Franck’s body had fallen. He watches in disbelief as Franck rises and speaks, just as though the top half of his head hasn’t just been blown off. 

‘He’s using you Simon, just like he used us, he’s been using you from the start!’ 

Simon shouts and shoots him again and again, keeps shooting until the gun clicks, chamber empty. 

David advances towards him then, pushes him against the wall, traps his wrist and kisses him. The gun clatters to the ground. ‘Simon, you’re safe now.’ David growls out, his kiss is full of teeth. ‘Where is the painting Simon? Take me to the painting.’

Simon takes David’s hand, there’s a place he knows, an apartment between the auction house and David’s practice, they go there together. 

In the parking garage of the apartment building, there’s his car. The same one he drove on the day of the heist, exactly where he had left it. When he opens the trunk his heart stops. Amongst layers of black plastic, zip ties and a container of gasoline, he sees his own body, eyes sunken and skin grey, sallow skin crawling with maggots, clutched in his hand is the painting. His heart jumps, thumping so hard in his chest it feels as if it’s vibrating. As soon as they find the painting, he’s as good as dead, and now he’s lead them right to it. 

With a cry he bolts upwards, broken from the trance, he’s back in that dark room. He throws himself out of his chair and tries to run but Franck’s men are on him. He tries to plead with them, begs David to help him but the man stands still, just out of reach, face cold as he passes a hand over Simon’s eyes and Simon drops like a stone, vision fading to black. 

—

When he comes to, Franck and his men are standing around him, David is standing with them. 

‘Let’s go.’ Franck pulls him up by the arm and Simon feels the barrel of a gun pressed to his side. 

They pile into Franck’s van to drive to the apartment and the security guard lets them into the parking garage with little fuss, much to Simon’s despair. His car is parked exactly just where he remembers it. 

When he pops open the boot of his car, everyone holds their breath. There it is, the painting neatly rolled, worth 25 million pound and Simon’s life. 

Franck zip ties Simon’s wrist to the steering wheel before he slides into the back of Simon’s car, David sits in the passenger seat and then Simon drives, the barrel of Franck’s gun, cold and hard pressed to the back of Simon’s neck. Franck’s men follow behind them in the van. Franck directs Simon to drive to the industrial area on the outskirts of the city.  

—

Memories never truly disappear, they’re buried deep in the mind, locked away to avoid facing some unbearable truth, but a shock, a concussive force, can break that lock. It began the day of the heist, when Franck broke Simon’s temple with the butt of his gun, first an inkling then a torrent. As Simon drives, all the memories come flooding back.

—

He met David a year and a half ago, seeking a psychotherapist to help him with his gambling addiction. The spark is there from the start. They converse easily, Simon is charming and witty and he speaks about the renaissance, baroque and romantics, about contrapposto in early greek sculpture, when the form of the human body gained sensuality and life. David is charmed by the red bow of Simon’s lips as he speaks, it’s too easy to just lean forward and catch them with his own. In no time, the therapist/client relationship between them grows into something more. 

The therapy works, or maybe it’s just David himself, Simon’s addition wanes, replaced by a different hunger, a different longing. 

One afternoon, David stands naked in the hallway of their shared in-between apartment, his body like a God of Greek sculpture, defined planes of hard muscle, standing contrapposto in the golden light of late afternoon. Simon is breathless, brought to his knees at the vision before him, David’s hand slides into his hair, pulling him close until his lips touch upon skin. That’s the first time they make love. 

It’s wrong but David continues to have casual sex with Simon, and Simon is falling in love. The deeper Simon falls, the more discontent David becomes, he pushes Simon away, and is increasingly cold towards him but Simon is infatuated, obsessed, persistent. David can’t stand it and he knows it’s deeply wrong but he perverts his practice to make Simon forget. Simon forgets the progress made on his gambling addiction, forgets his obsession, forgets David. 

Even after he’s forgets, there’s a gaping hole in his mind, an itch he can’t seem to scratch. His gambling habit spirals out of control, he takes bigger risks, suffers bigger losses. Then he meets Franck. There’s something familiar in the straight strong line of his nose, the calculated coldness in eyes. It draws Simon towards him, though he can’t quite place why. And he then bets it all. 

—

‘Y-You made me forget, how could you make me forget-‘

Simon’s voice cracks, his blue eyes sting with tears but David doesn’t even look at him, the muscles in his jaw is tense but he is unmoved, gaze fixed on the road ahead. It’s stupid but this revelation, in the face of his own peril, is what hurts him the most. 

Franck’s eyes slide between the two men, and even Franck admits he is impressed by David’s indifference. 

When they arrive at an empty warehouse of a car junk yard, all the men aside from Simon pile out of their cars. Nate hands Franck a container of gasoline and Simon panics, he thought he had more time, that  he might be able to reason with Franck, with David. Simon shouts, as Franck splashes the car with gasoline, crying out as Franck opens the driver side door and douses him for good measure, his nose and eyes burn. The car door slams in the cavernous warehouse, echoing with a sense of finality. 

Franck walks a distance away, leaving a trail of gasoline before he discards the empty container and aims his gun at the ground, a spark to snuff out the troublesome art auctioneer first, then David, who’s deal is done, his usefulness at an end. 

A gun fires off in quick succession. 

Flames engulf the car, Simon fumbles with the car keys, using them as a saw to break the zip tie at his wrist. He tries to start the car, to do something, anything, but the tires are melted by the heat of the fire and smoke is quickly filling the cabin. Eyes blurred by smoke he can hardly make out the solitary figure of the man left standing in the warehouse.

—

Careful to pick up Franck’s gun with the corner of his trench coat, David’s mouth forms around a single word, fire reflected in his grey eyes.

‘Cerebro.’

Confusion furrows Nate’s brow as he come out of the trance, standing amongst the carnage of Franck and his other men dead, before a hole is blown cleanly between his eyes. David discards the gun like it’s filthy to the touch before he runs to the burning car, wrenching open the door and dragging Simon out, miraculously unburnt. 

David’s frantic hands are on him, stripping him of his gasoline soaked shirt and shrugging off his coat to wrap around him, crushing him to his chest and peppering kisses to his sweaty hair, shaking as Simon blearily clings to him. The smoke makes tears stream down Simon’s face, his lungs and throat tight.

This can’t be real, Simon thinks, he’s in a trance, a dream.

—

The drive back is quiet. The fluorescent streetlights of the city cast a glow over Simon’s weary face, red, yellow, green, blue. Bundled in the coat of a man who would lie to him, who would cheat for him, steal for him, kill for him. 

It terrifies him and it thrills him.

‘I could make you forget. We could start again. Start fresh.’ 

‘Fuck you David, you fucking prick.’ 

But Simon still takes his hand, and David grips it like a vice and doesn’t let go. 

—

The missing painting is recovered and it hangs on a wall in the gallery, a beautiful 19th century study of a male nude. A world away, Simon and David are tangled in the sheets, the curves and angles of their naked flesh illuminated by the golden late afternoon sun, a tableau of two lovers entwined. 

The end. 

[sweetivymcavoy]

[xgijames]

[sweetivymcavoy]

[sweetivymcavoy]

[sweetivymcavoy]

Favorite character!!

Simon Newton - Trance

[sweetivymcavoy]

[Fassavoy-AU]Super Psycho Love

Credits to: Asymptote X

I really liked this video, editions with scenes from the movie Trance are my favorites!

🤩🤩🤩🤩