All language subtitles for Californication S06E08 Everybodys A Fucking Critic (1080p BluRay x265 BugsFunny)

Previously on Californication...

It's time, Becca.

Time you stop this funny business
and went back to school.

No, I'm not doing that.

There's a lot more,
little Missy, to being an artist

than just altering your consciousness
on a daily basis.

- Which is why I'm writing.
- How many pages you got?

- I'm closing in on three hundy.
- I hate you.

"If I'm going to do this thing,

"get me the guy who wrote
the fucking book."

Do what?

God Hates Us All.
I fucking loved it, man.

They're turning it
into a Broadway musical.

You write the script,
I write the music and lyrics.

Let's make a fucking masterpiece.

Congratulations.

You have made it to the next round.

I'll give you one of daddy's
long, slow tongue baths.

Men are the enemy.

I advocate the use of a cock cage.

Ophelia is gonna be so pissed at me.

We have sex
for the first time in years,

and this is the first thing
to cross your mind?

So how was the fucking Fun Zone?

There was this one mom...

- Did you do something with her?
- No.

I'd know
that bent fucking chode anywhere.

- Is that what I think it is?
- It sure is.

- Would you mind taking a look?
- Of course.

I'd be honoured.

What are you doing?

I'm studying your face for the truth.

You hate it.

That's not true.
Why would you say that?

- No. No, no, no.
- I can see it on your face.

Have you met me, Becca?

I could be hating on
a million other things right now.

Wow. Thanks.

Is it perfect? No, it's not.

But first drafts rarely are,
sweetheart.

OK. So what are your notes?

OK, this is what I would do.

I would take this draft,
and I would put it in a drawer.

It doesn't have to be a real drawer.
It could be a virtual drawer,

and then go out tonight
and celebrate its birth.

You know, hoist
an alcoholic beverage or two.

I will join you.

And then in the morning, you shut
that drawer and forget about it.

And then you start on the next one.

- The next one?
- Yeah.

Well, what kind of note is that?

A big one?

- So it's a disaster.
- No, I didn't...

No, not at all. Not at all.

You don't even think
I'm a writer, do you?

I think you're a writer
if you keep on writing, Becca.

Am I a writer?

Well, I know that
when I saw you read your pages here

in the coffeehouse,
I was proud of you.

- You saw me?
- Yeah. Yeah, I snuck in

and then out again, unseen.

I asked you not to come.

I know, but you didn't really mean it.

Yes, I did.

Well, aren't you secretly touched

that I cared enough
to disobey your wishes?

Thanks for the destructive criticism,
Dad.

To be continued, sweetheart.
One page at a time.

I'm an asshole.

- Hey.
- Hi, Charlie.

What's up?

How come you haven't been returning
my calls, my texts?

Yeah, well, I think that I really took
a major step backward,

and I disrespected my she-ness.

Wait. Your what?

I don't... Your "she-ness"?

I don't know what the fuck that is.

Is this about
the Housewife Hannah thing?

Because I'm sorry,

but come on,
you've been to the Fun Zone, right?

I mean, if somebody offered you
an ice cream cone in hell,

wouldn't you take it?

You know you would.
You know what I'm saying?

Wow. His pictures
don't do him justice.

- Thank you.
- What a worm.

I'm sorry?

Yeah, you should be,
you fucking creep.

OK, who is she,
and why is she being so mean to me?

Well, this is Ophelia Robins.

This is Ophelia, the author.

Hey, congratulations.

Cos you've really created quite a cult
for yourself

with those books out there, right?

I'm Charlie Runkle, formerly of UTK.
Very nice to meet you.

How dare you offer me
that diseased appendage?

She's very hostile.

Well, I just can't see you
any more, Charlie.

- Why?
- Why?

You've disrespected this woman
time and time again.

You've had your chance. You blew it.

- Go away.
- OK, wait.

I don't know
who the fuck you are, lady, OK,

but you have no business
telling me what to do...

How dare you raise your voice to me?

And I bet you're probably
one of those guys

who likes to raise his hand
to women, too.

No!

I mean, unless she wants it.

Cos there are some women
who sometimes want to be

a little light slapping now and again.

Some even like to have
their breasts slapped a little bit...

God, he's even more of a monster
than I ever imagined, Marcy.

- Let's go.
- Even you asked one time.

- Don't!
- You asked me to!

Marcy! Marcy! I'll call you.

Jesus.
I have to schedule the deprogramming.

How's the next Broadway smash
coming, buddy?

Is it whiskey, weed,
and Zevon time yet?

Almost. Just hold your bald horses.

You're way past deadline, you know?

Stu and Atticus were expecting
a draft weeks ago.

Yes, I'm well aware,
but I've been busy, putting 'em off.

- You're not helping.
- Sorry.

How do you feel about it?
Is it any good?

How the fuck should I know?

I do like writing musicals, though.
You just write a few pages,

and then somebody
suddenly breaks into song,

and I don't have to worry
about that part. Winning!

I love musicals.

Really? Since when?

High school production
of Guys and Dolls.

The time of my young life.

I fingered a girl for the first time
at the opening night party.

She was incredibly dry, Hank.

I think I was hurting her. She cried.

Nothing like a sweet, little
Chuck Runkle coming-of-age story

to make you want
to stab yourself in the dick.

Done. Hit it!

- Where's my weed?
- We're out.

Well, you can't really have whiskey,
weed, and Warren Zevon

without the weed.

I know.
I'll pick some up on the way back.

I'm making copies,

and I'm hand-delivering
to Atticus and Stu.

Yeah, because that's just the kind
of simple-minded lackey you are.

Hank?

Karen is here,
and she does not look happy.

What else is new?

Hey.

Peace out, bitches.

What did you say to her?

What did she say I said?

She said that you said
it was a piece of shit,

and that she should throw it out
and start again.

That is not what I said exactly.

Why would you do that?
Why would you be so blunt?

Why do you want to hurt her feelings?

I didn't want to. I didn't mean to.
She kind of ambushed me.

And she does need to throw that out
and start again.

It's a good lesson for a young scribe.

Get all the bad shit
out of your system.

She's way ahead of where I was
at that age.

OK, good. So did you tell her that?

No, I didn't get a chance.

She stormed off
into a silent treatment.

Just like her mom.
She gets that from you.

Very effective. Works every time.

She stormed off because
you don't know how to talk to her.

I think I know how to talk
to my own daughter, Karen.

I don't think you do.
Because if you did,

she wouldn't be
so depressed right now.

She's talking
about going to law school.

Really? Awesome.

- That's awesome?
- Yeah.

Because if I can talk her
out of being a writer,

then she shouldn't be a writer.

Why? Because there's only room
for one writer in this family?

- You called us a family.
- Shut up.

No, because people who aren't writers
should not be writers, Karen.

- Does that make any sense?
- I can understand that.

What I don't understand

is how you can be so harsh
and so mean to someone you love.

You could save that shit

for when you have to go back
to teaching.

Who's being mean and harsh now?

There it is!
Storm off into silent treatment!

Must be me.

Say, have you met
this Ophelia character?

She is a fucking fruitcake.

I know. She slapped me.

You think that's bad?
She had me in a fucking cock cage.

What is a cock cage?

It traps your penis in its flaccid...

Ladies, enough of your jibber-jabber.

You haven't said anything
about the script.

Have you even read it?

I have.

OK. What'd you think?

It was very you.

What the fuck does that mean?

It's a little dark, Hank.

Dark is what I do.
That's what you hired me for.

It's a Broadway musical, Hank.

It's a rock opera,

and it's true to the book,
which is what Atticus wanted.

Thank you for coming, everybody.

Unfortunately,
I have to go in a moment.

I'm flying to London

to sit down with Eddie Nero
and Sir Bob Geldof.

We're talking about doing
this global relief concert thing.

Speaking of relief,
this is a fucking disaster.

- What?
- It's shit, Hank.

It's a fucking shambles.

It's bollocks.

I agree. Hank, I'm sorry.
It needs work.

Yeah, we're really gonna have
to roll up our sleeves on this one.

What the fuck
are you guys talking about?

It's a rock opera
with the tone of my book.

That's what you wanted.

I don't even like the fucking book.

You said you loved it.

Remember? On your flying whorehouse?

Yeah, I remember, but
when I said that, I hadn't read it.

- So you lied?
- I wouldn't look at it like that.

I liked the title.
It was quite striking.

Titles mean a lot to me,

but when I got around
to reading the fucking book,

oh, my God, it's so depressing.

It's like it's Dickensian
but not in a good way.

The working classes want to leave
a Broadway theatre feeling

the way they feel
when they leave one of my concerts.

- With tinnitus?
- Happy, uplifted, inspired,

preferably a little bit horny.

Yeah, well, that's very funny,

cos I'm not feeling
very horny right now.

Just homicidal maybe.

Hank, we're gonna need you
to burn this draft.

Just forget all about it.

Chalk it up to a creative miscarriage.

But when you get up tomorrow,
you take a fresh page,

you put it in your typer,
and you start a new one,

one that hues closer
to the tone of the movie.

Can you do that?

Otherwise, Aaron Sorkin
has expressed interest

in working with Atticus.

I hear he's quite good, isn't he?

He's the best in the business.
Just ask him.

And he is a big admirer of your work.

As I am of his.

This is bullshit.

- You know why, Hank?
- No, why?

Because you can't handle the truth!

That's so good.

You think Hank'll be able
to pull a decent draft out of his ass?

Sure, sure. Look, it's just...
It's his process, Stu, OK?

He brings in something underwhelming,
and then he knocks it out of the park.

It's a classic bait-and-switch,
that's all.

Right, right.

And when has
he ever done that exactly?

You know what? Enough about Hank.
Look, I got a confession to make.

Look, look, Runkle,
I know you are broke.

I'm not going to lend you any money.

Don't be a fucking beggar.
It's unbecoming.

I don't want your fucking money, Stu.

OK. Cool. What is it then?

I slept with Marcy the other night.

You did? You fucking dog.
Now, I am jealous.

Well, good for you, bro. Up high.

- I'm still in love with her, Stu.
- Me, too.

So what are we gonna do?

Well, I don't know
what you're going to do,

but I am prepared to write you
a cheque right this very instant.

What?

You just said
you would never give me...

I will not lend you a fucking dime,

but I will pay you
not to pursue Marcy any longer.

So how much you want?

Give me a number.

I don't want your...

How much are you willing to pay?

I would sign over my entire fortune
if it meant I could have

that sweet and sour little firecracker
back in my life.

Seriously?

This is crazy, Stu.

No, no, no.
It ain't over till it's over.

May the best man win,

and by best, I mean the richest
and the most well-hung.

OK, how do you propose
we get past this Ophelia broad?

She seems determined to cock-block us
at every turn.

- We could have her killed.
- You think?

Well, it's just a matter of money.
Now I don't know a guy,

but I probably know a guy
who knows a guy.

Solid plan,
but perhaps a little extreme.

You know, maybe we talk
to Marcy first.

You're right, Runkle.

And if I know my favourite
pint-sized stoner chick,

I bet she is running low on weed.

Hank Moody. Long time no see.

He's been working.

Good. Good to hear.

Yeah, well, you had a lot
to do with it, lady.

After our weekend in New York,

I banged out a draft of that thing
I'm doing with Atticus.

- It's what I do.
- Yeah.

How'd it go?

I like it. Others, not so much.
They're...

Well, they're calling it
a creative miscarriage.

- Oh, God, no.
- Yeah.

That is no way to talk
about our love baby.

It isn't. And I wanted to ask you
if you might take a read,

give me your notes.

I don't know if you muse types
do that sort of thing,

but I'd appreciate it.

Of course I do that.

But only if you can handle the truth.

Don't use that phrase.

OK.

All right. Yeah. Grab a drink.
I'll read it.

- Thanks.
- Take a swim.

- That that sounds pretty relaxing.
- Yeah.

Or we could have sex.
You seem a little mopey.

Baby! Poor you.

Maybe we should combine the two.

Where is it? Hand it over.

Sit. Marcy, please.

I don't want to sit, Stu.

I just want you to give me my weed,
so I can go home and smoke it.

Sit down, Marcy. Just hear us out.

Fuck, I knew this was a fucking setup!

We are worried about you.

This Ophelia broad
has you acting all loopy.

Look, I know
she comes off a little intense,

but her heart is in the right place,
and she speaks the fucking truth.

Marcy, the woman put me
in a cock cage.

You deserved it, Stu.
You betrayed our love.

I did, and I will forever be sorry,

but at what point
can I take the damn thing off?

- You're still wearing it?
- Yes.

I'm trying to prove that I'm deserving
of this woman's love.

- Doesn't it hurt?
- It's excruciating!

Do you have the key, Marcy?

No. Only Ophelia has it,

and she's the one who decides
when it comes off.

This is ridiculous.

- I'm still in love with you, Marcy.
- I'm still in love with you.

Yes, but we have a child together.

True, but I am far more capable
of taking care of you,

both financially and sexually,

and I know what you are thinking
at all times.

I mean, OK,

look at that pool table over there.
See, I know you are thinking,

"Maybe we could play
Jodie Foster in The Accused."

We had such fun together, Marcy.
Our bedroom games were so delightful.

See, there you go.
Now, I find that revolting.

But it proves that you're still
in there somewhere.

- I'm going.
- Stay, Marcy!

One drink. One drink. One drink.

One drink, one drink.
Just hear a couple brothers out.

Some appletini to start?

What do you think? You hate it.
You hate it.

I can tell you hate it.
That's all right.

- I don't hate it.
- And that totally bums me out,

- but then you could...
- I don't hate it.

You could have pool sex with me again,
and I'll maybe feel a little better.

What do you think?

What do I think?

It's very dark.

Dark, funny. Funny-dark.

And I do really get
what you're trying to do as far as...

You're doing something
really different with it. I get that.

- But...
- But...

It doesn't have any heart.

And if there is one thing
that I know about you, Hank Moody,

it's that you have a huge...

Heart.

I think that maybe
you were posturing a little bit.

You were trying to show the world

that you are not gonna write
some fluffy Broadway musical.

And I think,
in the process of doing that,

maybe you forgot that it's still
a story of boy meets girl.

You know? It's simple.

I think I get that. I do. I get it.

Anyone can be cynical, Hank.

Dare to be an optimist.

You know, it's all just a big can
of karmic whoop-ass anyway.

Cos my daughter,
she just wrote her first novel,

and I was really fucking hard on her.

You have to be really gentle
with those little girls, Hank.

God, my parents, they hit me
pretty hard once upon a time.

I'm still smarting.

About what? What happened?

Do you know Big Yellow Taxi?

- No.
- By Joni Mitchell?

No, I don't know
any Joni Mitchell songs.

No? None?

What self-respecting guy knows any?

Don't it...

Don't it always seem to go

That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone

Paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

I played that song
at this stupid, little church social.

I was obsessed with Joni Mitchell
when I was a teenager.

I wanted to be a Lady
of the Canyon when I grew up.

Me, too.

We have so much in common.

And so I got together with
this cute boy who played a guitar,

and we practised
every day after school.

And finally, the big day came,

and we played our little hearts out,

and he forgot a few chords,

and I forgot a few words,

and my voice cracked and...

But people clapped.

And I was so thrilled.

- They kind of loved us.
- Yeah.

And I went looking for my parents,

and of course, all my mom had to say

was that I looked like
a slut up there.

And my father said,
"Don't quit your day job, kid."

Nice, huh?

The whole thing
was not a bust, however.

I lost my virginity
to that cute guitarist.

Yeah.

I think it's becoming a pattern.

I heard that screen door Siam

And a big yellow taxi
Took away my old man

Take that, bitches.

- Marcy.
- Oh, my.

I'm so disappointed in you.

I mean, I'm not surprised.

The road to she-ness is long,
and it's paved with potholes.

OK, that just makes no sense at all.

You don't pave with potholes.
You pave over potholes.

It absolutely makes sense.

It's in my third book,
Menis to Society.

M-e-n-i-s.

Catchy title. And subtle.

And what have you written
that's changed lives,

you pathetic, little simian?

Marcy, let's go. I'll drive you home.

Wait one second, Ophelia.

How did you even know
where I was just now?

I tracked your iPhone.

OK, that's just... What?
That's so fucking weird.

It's not that weird.

I mean, I've seen you check
your e-mail, like, several times,

and I happen to be very good
at recognising keystrokes.

And your password is distinctive
and disgusting.

And that's when I really realised
that we had a problem

that was just much bigger
than I ever imagined.

You're kidding. It's not still...

"I love my hubby's big, fat cock,"
all one word.

Yes, it is. You must be so proud.

I am, and you still care.

I was too lazy to change it!

Yeah, well, either way, I am thrilled.

And I'm nauseous.

Marcy, are you ready to come home?

You can spend the night at my house.

OK, you know what?

I think that you should let
Marcy embrace her she-ness

and make up her own mind
where she wants to spend the night.

You know? I heartily concur.

Need I remind you, Stu,
that I hold the key to your cock cage?

Do you have it on your person?

I'll write you a cheque
right this very instant.

This is just ridiculous.

Look, Marcy, you know what?
Don't worry.

We will make sure you get home.

Are you gonna lay
your hands on her now?

You want worse than you got yesterday,
you slimy, little sea otter?

What are you gonna do?

You gonna slap me again, is that it?
In front of all these people?

Woman, you are a fucking fruitcake!

Oh, my God! Ophelia!

What the fuck is the matter with you?

What? It's fine.
I stunned them, you know?

Marcy, every woman should have
one of these puppies.

It just totally neutralises
the height-weight advantage.

I'll get you one. Let's go.

No, man. This is too fucking weird.
You just go. You get out of here. Go.

Marcy.

You're gonna regret this.

Jesus. Are you OK?
What did that feel like?

This table is all wet.

Gross. You pissed your pants, Charlie.

What? No!

Who pissed on my pants?
Who pissed on my pants?

Wow. I didn't take you
for a book burner.

What else am I gonna do?
It's a piece of shit.

You might as well
throw another one on the pyre.

What's that?

It's the play
I was writing with Atticus.

Apparently, it's not very good.
They don't like it very much.

- Really?
- Yeah.

It happens to us literary lions, too.

How does that feel?

Like getting shanked in prison.

I would imagine.

You know, maybe you
could read it for me

and give me your thoughts?

Why would you want my thoughts?
I'm not a writer.

Becca, you wrote a fucking novel.
Do you know how amazing that is?

Nobody your age is doing that.

They're too busy texting,
tweeting, and facebooking

and feeling entitled to a life
they don't want to work for.

Way to slam an entire generation, Dad.

Thank you.

And I'm sorry that you stormed off

before I could give you
my notes, you know?

You know, what I really dug
about your work was the relationship

between the daughter
and the asshole father.

I mean, obviously you took
a lot of creative license there,

but it felt authentic to me.

And I think, if you flesh it out,

you could maybe turn it
into a novella.

- You think so?
- I do.

And I'm sorry
that you walked away from me

thinking that I didn't think
you were special, Becca,

cos I do. I think you're so special.

And I hope you don't go to law school,

cos I don't think that's you,

and I don't think
the world needs another lawyer.

I'm not sure it needs
another writer either.

Yeah, maybe not,

but if you're doing
what you were born to do,

then that's a good thing. You know?

- I guess.
- Yeah.

Anybody can be cynical.

Dare to be an optimist.

Who are you right now?

Just your asshole father. Who else?

OK.

I'll think about my next move.

In the meantime, I'll read this.

But I'm going to be brutal
with my thoughts, Dad.

I think you need some help
reaching a younger demographic.

Fuck the younger generation.

I just like you.