Claude Chabrol has a joke he’d like to tell you. It goes like this:
So a police detective walks into a doctor’s office. “What hurts?” the doctor asks. “Everything hurts,” the detective moans. He complains about his throat, his feet, his stomach. He can only sleep for a few hours at a time, and even then, only with his eyes open. The doctor listens carefully and asks if anything else is bothering the man. “I’m also suffering from acute paranoia,” the detective says. “I’ve got a feeling everyone’s lying to me.”
And then the detective discovers the doctor has killed his wife, and everyone really is lying to him, and so he beats the shit out of everyone—not because he needs information, since he already knows who’s guilty and who isn’t, but because they’ve pissed him off with all their lying, you see—and charges whomever he wants because he’s a cop and he can do whatever he wants.
Admittedly, it’s funnier when Chabrol tells it.
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