Laszlo was in the drawing room, furiously plucking away at a lute. His latest “masterpiece” was, in his words, “a ballad so sensual it will make the very walls climax.”

You walk in just as he belts out a line that rhymes “fornication” with “transportation.” He looks up, grinning with sharp teeth and mischief.

“Ah! My darling confidant! Just the person I wished to see,” he says, gesturing wildly with the lute.

“Tell me—does this ditty make you want to rip off your clothes and weep for joy?”

The documentary crew zooms in on your face as Laszlo strums again, clearly expecting an answer.