The Amelia Project - Episode 49 - Monsieur Rêve

Episode Date: February 11, 2022

"Only the bravest souls dare enter Monsieur Rêve's Dream Interpretorium..." Episode 49, Season 4 With Alan Burgon, Tim Meredith, Julia C. Thorne and Julia Morizawa Written by Oystein Brager with story and audio editing by Philip Thorne Sound design by Alexander Danner Music by Fredrik Baden For full credits see our website Website: ameliapodcast.com  Transcripts: ameliapodcast.com/transcripts  Twitter: @amelia_podcast  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Created by Philip Thorne and Oosten Ulsbeck-Braga With music and sound direction by Frederick Barden And sound design by Alexander Dana Episode 49 Monsieur Rêve. Oh, good lord. Oh, god. Welcome. Oh, hello. Was it difficult to find me? No. Rue Merveille, left off Avenue Cauchemar, the purple door with the painted stars.

The only logical place in Paris for a business like yours. Ah, logic does not enter through these doors, monsieur. Your name? I would prefer

to stay anonymous. Ah, monsieur, anonime it is. You know, monsieur anonime, only the bravest souls dare enter monsieur Rêve's dream interpretorium. Oh? Why is that? Because dreams reveal truths for which we may not be prepared. Yes, but that's why I'm here.

No, you see, I can't get this dream out of my head. It was rather unsettling. So I've decided I need to know the meaning of this dream, otherwise I'm... No, no, no, no, no. You are already mistaken, Monsieur Anonym. Excuse me? Oh, what, so I didn't have a dream? Of course you did, but you cannot come here seeking meaning. Don't you interpret dreams? I thought this was a dream. My interpretations reveal truth, not meaning.

Aren't those the same thing? Monsieur, if I ask you what is the meaning of life, and then I ask you what is the truth of life, do you give me the same answer? No, probably not. Pas de tout.

Are you ready for this, Monsieur Anonym? It may be uncomfortable, even painful. Painful? But ultimately you will leave Monsieur Rêve's dream interpreterium a wiser man. Yes, yes, I'm ready. Well then, sir, take a seat. Thank you. Oh, you want me to sit on the floor?

No, monsieur. Just take the chair right there. Yes, monsieur, but there is no chair right there. Oh, there's no chair. Oh, there's no chair. Well, what do you mean, sir? What do you mean by that? Well, I mean, this room is very dimly lit, but I'm pretty sure there is no chair to be... Did you dream about that chair, sir? What does it matter if I dreamt about it?

Oh, yes, actually, as a matter of fact, I think I did. Ah, what kind of a chair, monsieur? An armchair? A deskchair? An eggchair? A massage chair? A folding chair? A rocking chair? A cardler chair? A dentist's chair? A wheelchair? A pushchair? A high chair? A swivel chair? A deck chair? The electric chair? Or maybe an adirondack chair with a light blue stripe and a side table with a crossword puzzle and a Singapore sling. No, it wasn't any of those. It was an early 15th century Italian Renaissance throne chair

in walnut with pierce-carved acanthus leaves, a bird crest, lion heads, and a central carved medallion engraved with the bust of a soldier. It was standing opposite an orange Proust low chair by Alessandro Mendini. Monsieur, two chairs? Yes, two chairs. Why is that significant? Did the 15th century chair look anything like this? Mount me like a rocking horse! Where did that early 15th century Italian Renaissance throne chair and walnut with pierced carved acanthus leaves, a bird crest, lion's heads and a central carved medallion engraved with the bust of a soldier come from?

Monsieur Rêve's dream interpétorium holds many secrets. Please, sit. Oh, I think I just got a splinter. It's not very comfortable. I did warn you, sir. This might not be the most comfortable experience. Right. May I have a drink? A warm one, if possible.

Of course. Ah, is that... Café Crème. Fresh from Café de la Paix. As dark as the devil's soul, as smooth as an angel's wings. Oh, well... You do not like coffee? No, no, no. For a second I thought it was... Never mind.

Oh. I told you, it is good. Oh. Hmm. Oh, but it can't be. Monsieur Café Le Pays serves the best café crème in Paris. The perfect companion to revelations, concessions, and lies. Are you sure this is café crème?

Where? Why? It doesn't taste like café crème. No? It tastes like cocoa. Specifically, cocoa from Les Dumas Gaux. Do you prefer cocoa? I do. Mysterious.

But then, we are no strangers to the strange here at Monsieur Rêve's dream interpretorium. We unveil the dream and stare into its face of terror and luminescence. Yes, but this is not a dream. Are you sure, Monsieur? What? Could I please have a glass of water instead? I don't think I can drink this. But it tastes like cocoa. And you said you preferred cocoa. I do, but this is unsettling.

Not to worry. I will get you some water. Not to worry. I will get you some water. Thank you. Dip me in sprinkles and call me a cupcake. Now what is wrong with the water? It also tastes like cocoa. My hand tastes like cocoa. My sleeve, my bow tie, my teeth, everything tastes like cocoa. And whatever he touched, it turned to gold. I feel a bit sick. I don't think I'll drink anything. Suit yourself, monsieur, but I would also ask you to refrain from licking anything further as well. I think I should just tell you about the dream that brings me here.

Where? Commence. My dream begins in a room very much like this. I enter through a velvet curtain. Not a beet curtain? No, thick blue velvet. Is that significant? Potentially yes, or maybe no. Go on, sir. I enter a darkly lit room with burning incense and wind chimes and a water display. It was this room. Now that I think about it, it was this very room. Très intéressant.

How odd. I must have been here before. I mean, how else could I dream about it? How indeed. Although, in my dream, that sofa wasn't there. And there was an aquarium instead. But there were no fish, just a coral reef. And I wasn't me. So who are you in this dream? I work for Cadbury's, testing new chocolate inventions. Sounds like a fun job. Yes, it is, but I'm not happy. Why not? Because of a bad dream. No, monsieur, I meant why were you

not happy in the dream? Because of a bad dream. No, no, I... Yes, I'm in a dream and I'm dreaming in the dream that I'd had a bad dream. I'd had a bad dream in the dream. Ah, monsieur, so you mean that you had had a bad dream just one level down in bad dream in the dream. Ah, monsieur, so you mean that you'd had a bad dream just one level down in this dream? That's right. And so I came here to get it interpreted. And what happened next? Well, the dream interpreter in the dream

asks what the dream was about. And so I start reliving the dream. And? And the dream dream takes place in a room almost like this. Oh, Lord. Only the armchair you're sitting in was over there, and the dream interpreter was a rhino, and there was a silk curtain, not a velvet curtain, but there was a sofa.

And were you yourself in this dream dream? No, I was a pika. Monsieur Pardon, a what? In this dream, I was an illy peeker. It's a small Chinese mammal. And I, the peeker, say to you, the rhino... I am nothing like a rhino. Yes, no, no, I meant no offence.

I know that you're not a rhino. I mean, in my dream, you were a... Well, maybe an eagle, sir. Maybe you could call me an eagle, flapping nobly above the canyon, or a lion hunting down my prey in the savannah, but not a stinky-bottomed wobbly rhino. Well, I mean, the rhino was peeking at me over a pair of horn-rimmed glasses,

much like the ones you're wearing now. Oh, glasses, yeah. Yes, well, anyway, I tell the rhino I had a dream, but now it's gone and I can't remember it, and... Well, you see, losing the dream left me rather devastated. Nobody likes losing things, dreams, keys. Yes, but then the

rhino, you see, reaches into a jar. Oh, what a large jar. And he throws a handful of glitter in the air and then suddenly... Without fingers, sir, let's not get bogged down. You can remember your dream now. Yes, then I can remember my dream. So this dream, within a dream, within the layers

of the dream... Sir, it appears we have prepared some sort of dream lasagna and it is confusing to eat. Confusing and upsetting. But did the dream take place in a room like this? No, no. It took place on a yacht. Oh, thank God. I think we are all getting a little bit tired of this room. But that sofa was there. And that desk.

And the incense. And that water display. And that bead curtain. Plus a velvet curtain and a silk curtain. Ah. So despite being on a yacht, it is a yacht that looks remarkably like this room, sir Well, yes, that's true And you were there

I was? Yes And this time I wasn't some disgusting, stinky, horned animal? No, you looked like you Which is strange, now that I think about it We must have met before. Oh, well, sir. We must have.

What would the other explanation be? Yes. Well, you see, we were on deck, and you kept walking in and out of the curtains, disappearing and reappearing, but never reappearing from the same curtains behind which you had just vanished. And all the time you were chanting this eerie verse.

Do you recall the verse, monsieur? Yes. Me, oh my, me, oh my, I know when you're going to die. Yes. Oh, I remember now. What is it, monsieur? Going to die. Yes. Oh. I remember now. What is it, monsieur?

The first thing that frightened me. Me eerily chanting that I knew when you were going to die was not the thing that frightened you first. You had disappeared and I was waiting to see which curtain you would appear from next. When you suddenly sit next to me holding a fan in front of your face. So I ask, are you feeling hot? And you wave the fan quickly, and I smile, and you flick the fan closed, and I can see that you have my face. Okay, so first I am a rhino, now I'm a coquettish fan-waving version of you, sir. I'm not sure what is worse. Seeing my own face staring back at me, I close my eyes in shock. But when I open them again, I'm no longer in the yacht. I find myself in an empty theatre.

It's the dead of night and no one else is there. I'm standing on stage looking into the huge auditorium when I hear a sound. It's a gust of wind rushing through the stalls, followed by the distinct smell of Limburger cheese. Do you like Limburger cheese? I mean, I can take it or leave it. I call into the empty hall. Hello? Is there anybody out there?

And the wind answers, No, no one here. Oh, naughty wind. Then a spotlight comes up in the middle of the auditorium. Propped up between the seats is a mirror. Now, I know I must look into this mirror, so I walk into the auditorium. As I stroll up the aisle, I hear snippets of music, voices and laughter echoing through the air,

memories from my long life as a thespian. Ah, you are an actor. Oh, I mean, I have been known to tread the boards. I did play the gravedigger in Hamlet once, but the person in the dream is not me. I am a famous diva, loved by many, feared by all. As I approach the mirror, the sounds fade. All other lights dim. Just the spotlight remains. I know the mirror is the end, my final bow. I will never again feel the heat of the footlights. But I must look into

that mirror. If Monsieur is about to say that you saw your own face again, I must inform you that is what happens when you look in a mirror most of the time. Close my eyes. Position myself. Open my eyes and look into the mirror. Well, what is it that Monsieur sees? It's this room. But where you are sitting, Harlequino, in his brightly colored outfit and his red and black mask, smiling. That's it. That's the dream. And I can't make head nor tail of it. It keeps flashing in front of my eyes over and over and over, so I need you to make sense of it for me, or as you say, find the truth in it. Monsieur Anonym, you have come to the right place. Thank god. Let us start the dream interpretorium. Yes, let us... What? Wait, what do you mean start? I already told you my story. Yes.

And now, your dream is in the air. Captured between these walls. Saturating every scepter of dust. Every atom, every particle of light. And the dream is the story I will work its magic. Pull your dream apart. The eye of the earth, the quarks Repeat the colors, the sounds, the vibrations It will, it will, it will ஹா!

ஹா! ஹா! Your truth is ready for you, Monsieur Anonyme. Oh, I'm dizzy. Ah, the dream interpatorium has revealed the hidden answers, Monsieur. Thank God, what are they? Your dream. Yes. It is complex yet simple.

It is confusing yet clear as day. It is terrifying yet encouraging. Encouraging? Oui. First, you said there was an aquarium. Yes. Yes, although I didn't think it was...

Truth often hides in the details, monsieur. I thought the devil was in the details. Exactly. Then you are on a yacht, sailing on the ocean, I presume. I guess. And then finally, you looked into the mirror. And isn't a mirror just like the surface of a steel pond? Or the other way around? Your dream is full of water, Monsieur Anonyme.

And water signifies constancy. Come again? The constant, Monsieur Anonyme. Law, vasa, aqua. It is one of the constants of life. We always need it. It is always inside of us. It is always available. constants of life. We always need it. It is always inside of us. It is always available.

That doesn't seem... Secondly, you dreamed about a rhino. Then a Pikachu. An Illipika. Both us old species. Um... Animals known to any four-year-old. The rhino, maybe. What does this tell us, monsieur?

Nothing. Oh, monsieur anonyme, you are funny. What does this tell us, monsieur anonyme? I don't know. Take constancy and add it to the commonplace and you

get... Yes? The truth. The truth, Monsieur Anonyme. It's that you are bored. Things are too much the same. You crave adventure and yet you feel like you have grown stale, like an old baguette at a neglected boulangerie.

Your roots have dug too deep. Really? That is what the Dream interpatorium says, and the dream interpatorium is never wrong. All right, but what about the fact that I keep seeing the wrong thing reflected?

Do you doubt, Monsieur Rêve, and the power of the one and only dream interpatorium in the world? Well... Do you? Um... Do you, Mr. Anonym?

Uh... How did I do? Eh? How did I do? How was the interpretation? Was the... What's happened to your accent? Come on, come on, tell me, how was it? How was...

Well, to be honest, it was really bad. Really, was it? Yes. Really? Yes. Was it really, though? Yes. You're telling me it wasn't good at all?

It wasn't good at all. Not even a bit good, it wasn't slightly good. My good man, it was shit. Well, why? Why? Oh, come on, because it made no sense. I mean, peakers aren't commonplace, and water does not signify constancy. Water is the element of change. That's something any four-year-old could tell you.

But what about all of the... I mean, you didn't even mention any of the things that actually frightened me. Instead, you just kept harping on about insignificant details. No, no, no, but the music and the lights and the smoke. No, I've heard enough of this. I'm out of here. Please, please, please, wait. Give me another chance. Good day to you, sir. Good Lord, where did this velvet curtain come from?

And where is the opening? Ah, there it is. Ah, Monsieur Anonime, I am so glad you are back. Oh, uh, wasn't I just leaving? You just got here. Did I? My memory is a bit fuzzy. Ah, you are tired from the walk, Monsieur. Please, sit.

Thank you, but... But there is no chair. Did you dream about a chair? No. Not that I can remember. No chairs. Not even one. Like this?

An orange Proust low chair by Alessandro Medini. Where the devil did that come from? Ah, ha, ha. Monsieur Rave's dream interpretorium holds many mysteries. Oh, it's not very comfortable. Have a pillow. Thank you. Cute pattern.

Rhinos. You are here today because you wanted to give me a second chance to interpret your dream. Oh, yes. Yes, that must be it. I have the answer for you now, monsieur. Yes? Well, the dream interpretorium has been tirelessly at work since you left. Every night the machine has gone clank, clonk, and sometimes bonk, and the music has played until the birds on the roof have started repeating the tune.

It has been very hard, sir. No sleep in many dead birds. Oh, dear. Sorry about the birds. Do not be, monsieur. All work and no play makes Jacques very successful. Oh, frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, Dormez-vous, rêvez-vous? Yes, yes, I see what you did there.

In the end, a deeper truth was revealed. Really? What? I am sorry to break this to you, Monsieur Arthur Mon ami, but you have had a premonition. A premonition? You mean like a bad omen? Wait. How do you know my name?

But, Monsieur, I do not. But, Monsieur, you do. You just said my middle name. I said Monsieur Anonyme. It is my cute nickname for you. You must have misheard. Maybe. So, a premonition? Oui, monsieur.

You have predicted a major catastrophe. Oh, no. Is it an earthquake? A tsunami? An alien invasion? There will be a worldwide shortage. Famine? Of Maltesers.

Oh, no! But fear not, monsieur. Now that you know, you can stock up. Yes, yes, I must. I really must. Wait a minute. How did you read that from my dream? It's ludicrous. Monsieur, do you doubt the power of Monsieur Rav's dream interpretorium? Yes, I do.

There was nothing in my dream about Maltesers or shortages or even chocolate. And I love chocolate. I dream about chocolate all the time. Monsieur, Monsieur, you seem agitated. Perhaps you would like a hot drink to calm down. I have here a red bush with gold leaves, specially delivered from La Fontaine de Belleville. It is what I always serve, and it goes perfectly with a little bit of insight and also a scotch of enlightenment. Listen, Monsieur Rêve, your so-called interpretation is absurd.

I mean, it's like you didn't even listen to what I said. You didn't use any known methods of dream interpretation. There wasn't a single mention of Adler or Freud or Hall or Jung, nor even any references to mythological archetypes. Monsieur Rêve. Oui, monsieur. You're a hack. Well, yes, of course I am.

What do you mean, of course you are? Of course I'm a hack. You would know that better than anyone. I would... How would I know that... Because it was you who set me up with this ridiculous identity in the first place. Remember? London, 2008. I came to you when I lost my job at the confectionery factory. That was after I confused synthetic fertiliser for bonbons and accidentally blew up the Duchess of Bracknell's fairground-themed wedding. I was lucky I wasn't arrested. You suggested this identity, Mr. Dream,

this place. You decided Paris was the right city for me to start anew. The whole Dream Interpretorium idea was yours. This is your idea that you don't like. Well, if you knew who I was, why ask my name? Why interpret my dream? Oh, I don't know. I thought you were being weird, you know, doing a bit of role play, checking to see how I was doing as if you cared. Bit of role play? It's a show. Oh, so you admit it's a show? Yes, I admit it's a show. I make up any old bollocks and people lap it up. And to be fair, despite what you seem to think, I'm actually very a show. I make up any old bollocks and people lap it up. And to be fair, despite what you seem to think, I'm actually very good at what I do.

The spiel is down, the accent is perfect, and that's what makes me one of the world's leading dream interpreters. You are one of the world's leading dream interpreters. You really don't remember my case? I don't. I don't remember, to be honest. I don't even remember how I got here. Rue Merveille? Left off Avenue Cauchemar? The green door with the painted stars? Oh, yes.

The only logical place in Paris for a business like this. Which is why you chose this spot, and which is why we built this machine. I painted the door, you painted the stars. It was quite nice, actually. Huh. Well, I think it's time for you to reinvent yourself again. This dream interpretorium of yours is nothing but some sticks of incense and a shabby sofa and an empty aquarium.

When you are ready to move on, call us. Yes. Goodbye. Weren't those curtains velvet a moment ago? Ah, monsieur, these curtains have always been silk. Oh, hogwash, cheap magic tricks, ropes and pulleys. I suppose. Chick tricks, ropes and pulleys. Now, see here, I feel like this isn't over until we toast. Do you have any champagne?

Well, ever since you and I toasted with Verve Clicquot back in London, I can't drink anything else. Well, yes, it is rather good, isn't it? Well, what do we toast to? To, um... Longevity? Oh, no, no, no. Continuity? No, no, no.

No, no, no. Okay. More problems than answers. My mind is a blank. I could see. To justice. Or to evil. No, no, both.

I'm usually so good at this. Interruptions. No, no, no, no. Fine, fine, fine. A lot of no's, not a lot of ideas, though, is there? A lot of no's. Make a suggestion. Do you want to make a suggestion? I'm just shooting down all of nose. Make a suggestion. Do you want to make a suggestion?

I'm just shooting down all of mine. I suppose we could toast to champagne. No, that would be stupid. Why don't you try another one? Oh, my. Uncertainty? Maybe. Cheers. Cheers. Cheers.

Cheers. Tastes like cocoa. Stay tuned for credits and epilogue, but first an announcement. Incredible as it seems, we're coming up to our five-year anniversary, so we've got some special events planned for later this year, including a behind-the-scenes episode, and for that episode, we'd love to have some contributions from you, our listeners. So, if you'd like to record an audio clip telling us how you found the show or what your favourite episode is,

or maybe you have a funny story or anecdote related to the show, anything you'd like to share with us, you can record an audio message on your phone and email it to implodingfictions at gmail.com. We'd love to hear from you and we might even use your message as part of the show. This episode was written by Ostein Breger with story and audio editing by Philip Thorne. It was designed by special guest sound designer Alexander Danner, who is behind such wonderful shows as Greater Boston and What's the Frequency? Music by Frederick Barden, direction by Philip Thorne and Einstein Breger and engineering by Dominic Hargreaves.

The episode featured Tim Meredith as Monsieur Rêve, Alan Bergen as the interviewer, Julia C. Thorne as Alvina and Julia Morizawa as Amelia. Graphic design by Anders Pedersen and production assistance by Marti Patsival to all our patrons whether you're supporting us with two dollars

twenty dollars or more thank you we couldn't do this without you and on that note a shout out to our super patrons Angel Acevedo Sophia Anderson Sophie Leveso Jem Fiddick

Alban Assant Rushab Shukla Amelie and Alison Stephanie Weitenhiller Mintz and such Next Friday, we're releasing a new Patreon-only bonus episode, the next instalment of the Alvina archives, titled Casino Fatale. It'll be available as from the $5 tier, so if you haven't already, do consider going to ameliapodcast.com and signing up as a patron. Every new sign-up makes our day.

And now, the epilogue. Good morning, Alvina. Morning. Do we have any coffee? Coffee? Yes. Do you know if there is any? But you never drink coffee. You drink tea. Nothing in that cupboard.

Wouldn't you rather have some cocoa? We got a fresh delivery only a minute ago. If there's ever been a morning for a big black coffee, this is it. Nothing in here either. I might have to go back out again and get a takeaway coffee. Ah, there it is. I found the coffee jar. Are you okay? I'm fine. I was just very startled when I woke up this morning. It ruined my whole morning. Startled how? It's silly. Tell me. I woke up from a nightmare. You too? You also had a nightmare? Yes, I haven't been that frightened in years. I woke up in a cold sweat. Me too. What was your nightmare about? You first. I dreamt that... Oh, jumping Jesus!

Good morning to you too. Do we have any coffee? Oh, I can hardly keep my eyes open. I'm making some right now. Rough night. Tell me about it. Oh, were you working? No, sleeping.

That's normally not that exhausting. It is if you have dreams like mine. You also had a dream. Did I have a dream? Ha! Wait, what do you mean, also? What was your dream about? Well, it was a nightmare, actually.

The likes of which I haven't had since I was a child. What happened? Yes, what happened? Coffee first. Then I'll tell you all about it. The Fable & Folly Network, where fiction producers flourish. In June of 2020, an amateur podcaster disappeared from the Carson National Forest while searching for the legendary thin treasure.

But he was adamant that he was onto something big. He was obsessed. He showed her some hand-drawn map to a treasure out in northern New Mexico. The subjective truth is part treasure hunt, part paranormal docudrama. Starring Addison Peacock as Graham Anderson. Back at home, I placed the box on the counter, and I just stared at it for a while. You'd never be able to guess its social impact on the human race by looking at its simplistic design.

UFOs, ghosts, reincarnation, and liars. This is The Subjective Truth. Subscribe now. Listen wherever you get your podcasts.