As sick as she is—gross blood-spewing and everything—the wife is still remarkably perceptive; so she soon finds out that he’s cheating on her. And by “remarkably perceptive,” I mean that she’s not blind, and happened to see him ogling over the other chick in public at some point. She’s understandably distraught and soon becomes suicidal.
Yes, she’s suicidal. And you would feel sorry for her, if, you know, she could act. But a brief recollection of her sexually-hyperactive past with this man clears her head. She begins to see why he had no choice but to fuck another, and so she lets him off the hook to do whatever. As in “she wants him to be happy,” or something.
If that weren’t creepy enough, she soon wants to join the fun. (Not literally of course, because she can barely breathe, and isn’t nimble enough to be of any fun.) She begins to hide and observe them make love; I guess vicariously having sex with her husband as he’s screwing the real estate agent.
By this point you’re like, “Surely this must be the end. I mean, how much more downhill could they possibly go from here?” And before you can finish that thought, you realise how shockingly wrong you are as the next “twist” presents itself. Our little astrophysics friend wasn’t cheating on her with any somewhat-hot real-estate agent. Oh no. He’d carefully picked a kind and generous chick who’d (as clearly stated on her driver’s license) agreed to have her insides donated for the good of others when she passes.
Yep. Attractive. Organ-harvestable upon death. Dying wife needing organ?
(I still want you to act surprised when I reveal the ending.)
Long story short, at about 3/4ths through the movie, he uses his PhD genius (like his amazing ability to modify sound files on a computer. Huh?) to kill this other woman. Not just have her die anywhere, but conveniently, as they were procreating at a home specifically picked for its proximity to the hospital where is wife (now too sick to even hide in the closet and observe the fun) is dying.
Genius, I tell you. Genius!
Briefly. Something bad happens, real-estate agent almost dead, ends up at the hospital near his wife, dies, doctors put 2 and 2 together, rip her lungs out and drop it in the wife, and voilá! Wifey is soon back and capable of satiating him. And if it weren’t for the thick 14″-long scar running across her breasts, you’d never know anything was ever wrong with her.
OK, any somewhat rational-minded person would have ended this god-damned 4-hour-long weep-fest right about now. I mean, this is a pretty acceptable—even if evil—ending, isn’t it?
But noo, there’s even more.