by Michael Uhall 0. IntroductionForty minutes into Alex van Warmerdam’s Borgman (2013), we find a pivotal scene. Marina – one half of a well-to-do Dutch couple – crouches in the garden shed, frantically sweeping at a pile of spilled potting soil. Realizing the gardener’s been murdered, she’s trying to hide the evidence. Her husband Richard appears, and she makes a hasty excuse for the mess. Richard: “But, darling, you don’t need to tidy that up. That’s what the gardener is for.” She tells Richard the gardener resigned that afternoon before abruptly breaking down, clutching at Richard. “Oh, Richard. I’m so sorry. You are my only real love. You know that, don’t you? […] Sometimes everything seems unreal to me. […] There is something that surrounds us. Something that is outside us, but slips in now and then. A warmth. A pleasant warmth that intoxicates, but also confuses. The shell of something that means harm. At least that’s what I think. I’m not sure.” “That’s a delusion,” Richard…
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