All language subtitles for Angry.Neighbors.2022.1080p.WEB-DL.DD5.1.H

Welcome to Noman,

the island home of the once
famous author, Harry March.

Harry calls
his island Noman

so that if anyone
ever asks him,

"Noman, what's that?",

he can simply answer,
"Noman is an island."

To date,
no one has asked.

Perched on
the opposite shore

is the 36,000
square foot castle

belonging to the heard
of but rarely seen,

Mr. and Mrs. Lapham.

And today, while the Laphams
plan their housewarming party

and big reveal
of the prodigious facelift

made to their castle,

Harry March has plans
of his own.

Devious plans.

Hector!

God damn it, Hector!

Hey, taketh not
the Lord's name in vain.

What happened, Harry?

I rolled over on him
when you guys woke me up.

I didn't know he was
in the bed and he bit me!

You bite him back?

Look, I'm sorry about
all the banging this early,

all right,
he's pushing us.

And what does
Mr. Lapham require today?

The usual Harry,
everything.

You know, ten months
is no time for a job this big

and to top it all off,
he's having a party now.

Ten months?

Has it only
been ten months?

Morning, Hector.
Your master's in
a pissy mood this morning.

The Lord God
is my master.

How goes the erection?

He wants another floor.
Four floors.

Yeah, well that's because
no one else has more than three.

So what do
we have so far?

A state
of the art kitchen,

a state
of the art movie theater,

a state
of the art toilet?

Twenty-six toilets, Harry.

- Are they all
in bathrooms?

A sun deck, a moon deck,

a hot tub, a cold tub,
a pool to die for.

You'll write a novel
about it one day, Harry.

There's an idea.
Do some writing for a change.

Be quiet.

I am quiet.

Hombres, good news.
I just called ICE.

- Har--
- Soon, you're gonna be able
to ditch your girlfriends

and go home to your wives
and their mothers.

Señor, señor,
moment, moment.

The men, we're betting on,
how old you are.

How old are you?
Come on.

One hundred and twelve.

One hundred and twelve?

Miguel, Miguel,
you win, 112.

Hey, just get back
to work, break's over.

Listen, Harry, I'm glad
to have the work, okay,

but what the guy wants
with 180,000 square feet,
I don't know.

I didn't make the world,
I barely live in it.

Oscar Levant, Humoresque?

Your son, Kevin,
is the only person around here

who knows anything
about the past.

Except for you,
Mr. Dead.

So when's he cutting down
the trees and ruining my view?

Well, that's next week.

Mr. March, how did Mr. Lapham
make his money anyways?

Jack.

Asparagus tongs.

His great grandfather
invented the asparagus tongs.

Then, he branched out.

He made nutcrackers,
he made lobster crackers,

grape scissors,
little spoons for escargot.

His family makes
a fortune from grasping.

Does he work?

He blogs.
He writes aphorism.

Lapham's aphoms, drops one
off every day for my crew.

Listen to this one.

"He does not promote himself
will not be promoted."

No shit.

I like yesterday's better.

"More is more."

I memorized
that one, Harry.

Ooh, that's a good one.

Hang in there, Harry.

The end is near.

As if I needed reminding.

Harry March,
the last and the least

of three generations
of Marches

who have lived year round
on the once tranquil island

in a once tranquil quogue.

Marches of the past
reared strong

and handsome
families in this house,

which was strong
and handsome once

as was
its current resident.

Why are you going
to Chautauqua again?

I'm giving a lecture.

I don't want to,
but I already took their money.

Yippy,
upstate New York.

Why do people
give lectures anyway?

To hear themselves talk.

I forgot, what
is this lecture about?

It's on the meaning
of the 20th century.

I'm glad I didn't wait
till the last minute.

- Can I hear it?
- Sure.

The 20th century,
100 years of progress.

In early America,

money alone couldn't
buy a social position.

Today, nobody cares.
That's my lecture.

You've been a wonderful
audience. I'm here till
doomsday.

Hey, isn't it about time
for one of your daily naps?

Ah, you're such a cliché.

I'm a cliché?
What do you call a talking dog?

Bite me.

Don't tempt me.

Harry had
just one more item

and his furtive masterpiece
was all but complete.

Harry loathed
the mainland,

the people, the exercise,
the whole experience.

He did all
he could to avoid it.

But today,
Harry had a reason.

It was
a necessary disruption

to the usual isolation
and quiet that he cherished.

Harry March
was a man on a mission.

So tell me
about Southampton.

Noise and gossip.

And West Hampton?

Noise and gossip
and dentists.

So what
about East Hampton?

- Noise and gossip.
- That's it?

Mr. March! Mr. March!

Skippy Brewster
from the club.

Ah, yes, the club.

We'd love for you
to join, Mr. March.

You know the door's
always open for you.

My gerulaitis,
it's a killer.

Oh, well, uh,
we're forming a committee

to stop the Shinnecocks
from opening a casino
down there in Southampton.

We're calling it the citizens
opposing the casino or COC.

COC?

We'd like to have you sign
a petition, Mr. March.

You can count on me.

Great, you know
they're really awful.

They claim they own the land
around here, they always do.

Quite frankly,
Mr. March,

I don't think
they're real Indians.

I think they're
something worse.

Worse than Indians?
You mean Mexicans
and Muslims?

Nice to know
you're with us, Mr. March.

Ahoy.

Asshole.

What do Hamptonites
do in the daytime?

They speak
of their careers.

Why do they do that?

Makes them happy.

Sometimes they even
advance their careers

by speaking
to other Hamptonites.

That's why they live here.

Oh, that's nice.

It's not nice.

None of this is nice.

But isn't
a career important?

Not when it interferes
with a life.

What else do
Hamptonites do in the daytime?

- They make themselves beautiful.
- - And what else?

They prepare to attend
parties or throw parties.

And what else?

They dream up great works.

What becomes of them?

Nothing.

And what else?

They hope other Hamptonites
are thinking of them.

They hope everyone
is thinking well of them.

And are they?

No and no.

Are there any poor
people in the Hamptons?

Yes, but they're
not allowed out.

What about Kevin?
Is he rich, too?

Kevin? No Kevin works
for a living.

Like you?
Tell me.

So?

Don't worry
about the Hamptons.

They're all the same.

The same shops,
the same roads,

the same geraniums
in the same pots,

- same sub-zero refrigerators and wolf stoves...
- - Uh-huh.

...same shellacked faces...

Yeah.

...same opinions
on the same issues,

same hummus
on the same chips.

Oh no, no,
not another lecture.

Can't you just save it
for the Chappaquiddicks?

You brought up the subject
so you get the subject.

I was only trying
to pass the time pleasantly

on a summer's day.

The Hamptons
are all the same

and all the world wants
what the Hamptons have

so that it too can have
everything and be empty
at the core.

And you know
who embodies and symbolizes,

generates and perpetuates
this universal vacuity?

I do, but you're going
to tell me anyway, aren't you?

Correct, Lapham.

No, you're kidding.

You're very annoying,
you know?

We're both very annoying.
That's why we're friends.

Are we friends?

Of course,
we're friends.

You have a package
for Harry March?

You order the horse hair?

Yes, do you have it?

I've got it, all right.

Mind if I ask what you're
going to do with horse hair?

I'm building a horse.

Hey Harry,
it's Kathy time.

Kathy time.

Kathy time.

It's Kathy time!

At this moment
in the Hamptons,

not a single nail
is nailed.

No one gives kudos
or draws raves.

No one plans
a benefit dinner.

Nothing makes a sound.

The universe lies
in respectful silence

as sex and commerce
find their apogee

in Kathy Polite's
morning swim.

Morning, Miss Polite.

That's Polite, as you perfectly
well know, Wrinkles.

I apologize.

I was just trying
to be polite.

Huh, you're terrible,
Harry.

I don't know why I bother
to pedal over to you.

I'll never sell you anything,
you old skin flint.

Why do all the men
around here stop whatever
they're doing every morning

to watch Miss Polite?

What's it called?

Skinny dipping.

That's how
she advertises
her real estate business?

It's more cost effective
than sending out brochures.

Is this what
they call an open house?

In a way.

It draws a lot of attention, this skinny dipping.
Why don't I get it?

We took care
of that a long time ago.

Hi boys.

Hi.

Harry, you need
some new clothes.

And... you do not.

Why don't you
join me today, Wrinkles?

Well, I haven't got the time.
I gotta go wash my duck.

- You're what?
- Oh, I'm shocked.

What's wrong
with your ear, Harry?

Did you pull a Van Gogh?

Yeah, buttercup,
I cut it off as a passionate
gesture of love for you.

Actually, I was trying
to cut my throat.

Not if I get there first.

Mmmm.

You ought to unload
this place, Harry.

Why don't you
get back to work?

You really oughta sell,
you know?

You may be worthless but this
island, what do you call it?

- Noman.
- That's right.

So if anyone ever asks,
has anyone ever asked yet?

Don't forget
the bottoms, honey.

Oh really, Harry,
your family's been here, what,

since the Puritans?

Don't you think it's time
for a change?

Spread your wings, Wrinkles.

You should be more ambitious
like Mr. Lapham.

Have you met him?

As yet, I've not had
the honor of his acquaintance,

but I'm very pleased to say
that that situation

will be remedied
this evening at his party.

Are you invited?

No.

Well I shall shake
his hand warmly and say,

"It is people like you, sir,

who make the Hamptons
the Hamptons."

You said it.

I love the Hamptons.

Me too, sometimes,

and this is about
to be one of those times

Mmm mmm,
there you go, honey.

9.9!

All right, fellas,
go back to work, come on.

Let's give it a go.

Okay, let's try.

Ready?

Uno,

dos,

tres!

Jose!

Stop! Stop!

Praise the Lord,
it's the rapture!

Stop!

Harry, sorry,
I meant to warn ya.

Sorry Harry,
but we have
to give it a test.

What is that thing?

It's a Tillis Blowhard.

It's the most powerful
air conditioner ever built.

A Telis what?

Tillis, Harry, Tillis,
rhymes with Phyllis.

Well, why the fuck
does it have to be so loud?

The power,
it not only cools
the house,

it cools
the whole property too.

It's brand new, Mr. Lapham has
the first one in the whole
world.

What do you mean
it cools the whole property?

You mean it cools
the air outside the house?

Exactly,
the thermostat is so sensitive

that whenever the temperature
around Lapham's house

rises by even
a degree over 65,

it pumps cold air
through the blower

with the force
of a hurricane.

I've never seen anything
like it, Harry.

The whole enchilada.

Did you really
just say that?

He's amazing.
You know, the more he has,
the more he wants,

a bowling alley,
a chapel, a bomb shelter,

more is more, Harry.

The biggest house
with the biggest everything

now also has a contraption

that alters
the very air we breathe,

or Lapham breathes.

Now do you get it?

An outdoor
air conditioner,
hm, sounds cool to me.

What I am telling you,
my holy rolling friend,

is the force
that nearly deafened you

is the force that's destroying
the 21st century.

You're just
anti-conservative.

People in the Hamptons
hate conservatives,

but everybody will be
conservative eventually.

That's what I think.

Well, don't waste
that wisdom on me.

Be a true evangelical,
go door to door.

In the same house?

- But why can't we have both?
- Both what?

Why can't we have
riches on Earth and riches
in paradise?

I say aim for the skies.

That's the plan, my friend.

And that is my cue.

Oh, Chautauquans, if only
I could preach to you now,

I would tell you to repent.

I would urge you
to acknowledge

that your most valuable
property is not real estate,

it is imagined estate,

which is not now
and never was for sale.

Dear progeny,
thank you for your messages.

I can assure you
there is no cause for alarm.

Please calm your mother
as well if that is possible.

It will please
your all to learn

that I'm coming to the end
of a new undertaking

that will not only
gratify me personally,

but when viewed
in the proper light

will also save
much of civilization

now and for years to come.

Love, Dad.

That should delay
everyone's fears.

I miss Chloe.

You hated her
and she hated you.

She adored me.

With Chloe, we had
a little life around here.

A little too much
from my tastes.

So why did
you marry her?

Because she had
a lovely soul, still does.

Then why
did she marry you?

- I don't feel so good.
- - You're fine, you're fine.

You've just got the vapors
'cause you don't want to go.

- I don't want to go.
- That's right.
Well, guess what?

Get over it 'cause
you're going and that's that.

Oh.

Once we get there, please,
don't just act like a zombie.

I mean most of these people
are perfectly nice.

If you spent more time
with real human beings

than with that dog, this stuff
wouldn't get under your skin.

- I hate the Bitterman's,
I hate the club.
- You hate everybody.

Every year, it's the same
party, the same people,

the same food,
paella and beef tornadoes.

- Tournedos.
- Well, they taste
like tornadoes.

Hey, surf and turf,
everybody, surf and turf.

Just mingle.

Just mingle?

I told you
I can't afford it.

Okay, you've got ten SUNY
schools and you got LIU.

Yeah, but they're not
NYU though.

Jack, I can't
afford it. I...

Good morning, Dr. J,
wish me luck.

How can you live this way?

A library consisting
of just one book?

If I had one book
in my library,

it wouldn't be Samuel Johnson,
I'll tell you that.

It would be
the Good Book.

The Vanity of Human Wishes
is all I need.

Dr. Johnson
was always right.

Yes, yes, I wouldn't know
about that, I've never
read him.

You've never
read anything.

What kind
of doctor was he anyways?

He was a veterinarian
and he gave dogs shots,

very painful shots.

Ay, and tell me again,

what exactly
is so great about him?

Reason.

Not romanticism, reason.

Romantics ruin the world.

Reason, honor, principle.

And where
do honor and principle

and reason get you?

Look at this place. You're rich
enough to live like a king.

That novel about the college,
a huge bestseller.

- I'm not rich.
- Sure you are.

There's tons of cash
laying around the house.

You should
put it in a bank.

You're gonna lose it all,
mark my words.

a fire, a flood,
one day, poof.

You should spend
some of that money.

And on whom
would I spend it?

I'm not gonna
spend it on you.

Ay, what's the big deal?

Isn't Mr. Lapham doing what
everyone is supposed to do,

making something
of himself?

You can make
too much of yourself.

Mr. March!

Oh, it's Mr. Krento.

Mr. March!

Though Harry has
never had direct communication

with Mr. Lapham,

Harry exchanges daily notes
to Mr. Lapham's executive
secretary,

Damienal Krento.

Hello, Mr. March,
I have a letter for you, sir.

They trade notes
ferried back and forth

on Harry's toy motorboat
named Sharon,

a female version of Charon

named after the grizzly
old sailor in Greek mythology

who ferried the dead
across the River Styx
in the underworld.

"Mr. Lapham
has instructed me to inquire

if you'll be joining us
this evening for dinner

at his new residence
across the creek from your own.

With highest regards,
yours sincerely,

Damienal Krento, personal
assistant to Mr. Lapham."

I'd be delighted
to come to dinner

at Mr. Lapham's,
Mr. Krento.

Should I bring
my own wine?

Oh, uh, no.

Mr. Lapham has the largest wine
cellar in all of the Hamptons.

Mr. Krento, is there a dress
code at Mr. Lapham's dinner?

I don't have
a thing to wear.

Oh, I have
a nice fuchsia sweater.

Should I wear it
tied around my shoulders?

I've seen men
in the Hamptons do that.

Afraid I'm not sure.

How 'bout my loafers,
with or without socks?

- Really, it doesn't matter.
- Now, what about
dinner table conversation?

- What should
we talk about?
- Excuse me, sorry.

That absolutely
riveting piece in Harper's

about soccer moms
in Mozambique

or that hilarious piece
in the Times

about people
who look like their pets?

I'm sure you can talk
about anything you like.

I like New York in June,
Mr. Krento, how about you?

And then another thing,
how to greet the other guests?

Should I say,
"There he is!"?

Um, well--

Or maybe I should say,
"There she is."

Mr. March, sir,
I shall tell Mr. and Mrs. Lapham

that you'll be there.

They'll be so pleased.

Oh, I'll be
so pleased too, Mr. Krento.

Yes, goodbye, sir.

Bye.

You're not really going to Mr.
Lapham's dinner party, are you?

Remember what happened
the last time you went
to a dinner party?

There isn't gonna
be a dinner party.

P... please for my sake,
just behave yourself tonight,
would you?

The sacrifices
I make for love.

Exactly.

- Hey Jack.
- Hey.

The Rocky Horror Show?

Eh, Night
of the Living Dead.

You want
to switch places?

I would
but I'm working.

Is there anything
I can do for you, Mr. March?

You can tell me
how you're doing
at school.

I'm okay.

I don't really know
where it's getting me though.

Nowhere, of course.

Your father's very
proud of you, Jack.

Surf and turf, everybody!

Who are all
these people, Mr. March?

You mean to tell me
you've never been
to a Hamptons dinner party?

This is your first
Hamptons dinner party?

Well, catch,
let me be your host.

Go ahead.

Mr. March, Jeff Jefferson,

- I provided the Margaux
for the party.
- Congratulations.

If it's not a big imposition,
my wife has started writing.

We were hoping
you could read her novel.

I could, but I wouldn't,
bad case of parsimony,

just tell her
to keep at it.

Mm-hm.

Well, well,
what have we here?

Harry Marsh,
the man who wasn't there.

And Mr. Vandersnook,
the man who's always here.

Don't drink the Margaux,
it's shit.

Oh, God.

As it's your first
Hamptons dinner party,

I should show you
how things are arranged.

There's
the politicians table.

Senator Gargen over there,
just been indicted for fraud.

There's the
journalists table.

Chip McDonald writes about
something, I don't know what.

The dandy is Arthur Arthur,
the gossip publisher.

Isn't that...?

Yes, that's
Bobo de Pleasure,

the conservative columnist
with the liberal flare.

Oh. That table
over there?

That's the table
for people

who have the look of someone
sitting in a whistle

of a steamship
when it went off.

I better
go take my seat.

Do you remember
the movie I told you to see

about the sideshow
in the circus?

Freaks?

Yeah, think about it.

So Harry
took his favorite seat

in his least favorite venue.

He motioned for the barkeep
to keep the Margaux coming.

Though it was shit,

it would suffice
to help Harry drown out

the rampant self-promotion

and egomaniacal conversation
going on around him.

I do hope you're doing something
for the wheels, Mr. March.

"What trouble are the wheels in?
," Harry would ask.

They are
in very bad shape,

and in 50 years,
perhaps less,

there will be
no wheels left.

What do you think
of that?

Well, what do
you have to say?

We must take care
of the problem or not at all.

It's so nice to have all our
crowd together under one roof.

As Yeats,
the well known poet wrote,

that "I had such friends."

And now, I should like
to raise a toast

to my fabulously
talented husband, Grady,

who has just finished
his book

on the life
of Luella Parsons.

Oh, it's called Poop.

And I will tell you
it is absolutely fabulous.

Labor of love.
It's a labor of love.

Oh, I...
I have a great idea.

Why doesn't everyone stand
and tell us what new great thing

he or she is doing?

Who's first?
Who wants to go first?

I'm a bit embarrassed
to report

that the Barbadian government

has decided to offer a two cent
stamp with my picture on it.

In the beginning, they wanted
to put me on the one cent stamp,

but I held out
for the two.

This hardly matters,

but I'm probably
within a year

of completing
my three volume study

of the life
of William McKinley.

Isn't it splendid
we live in a place

where everyone
writes a book?

And you're next.

I've written
a book as well.

It's called, Will I Ever
Get a Seat at the Table?:

A Gossip Publisher's Lament.

You'll always have a seat
at our table, Arthur.

Well, everyone, according
to a recent public opinion poll,

I was voted as the friendliest
senator in the Northeast.

I would just like to say,
I agree with all sides.

In this austere company,
my project may seem small,

I know, but I should
tell you to date,

we have raised
four million dollars for the
wheels.

And what important projects
have you done, Mr. March?

With the last drop
of his shit Margaux consumed,

Harry had long since
lost any ability

to moderate
his docile instruction

given to him
by his beloved Chloe,

and with a last sip,
an idea popped in his head.

That's it.

We're going home.

The wheels, she wanted
to save the wheels.

Mr. March!

Hey, Larry,
how are you guys doing?

Pardon the intrusion,
Harry, but we need your support.

Oh, is this
about the casino?

Yes, are you with us?

Yeah, sure,
you can count on me.

That COC committee
says we'll ruin the area.

Well, how can you?
Don't you guys own most
of the land around here?

Look, deer!

It's a good sign,
Harry, good sign.

Yeah,
that's a real good sign.

Well, I guess
the gods have spoken.

Thanks for paddling by.

- Hector!
- Uh... Huh?

All right,
what did you-- get down.

- What?
- Get down.

Huh?

What did you do with it?

With what?

The horse hair.

Oh.

- Cough it up.
- I'm not a cat.

You ate it, why?

Well, for one thing,
I'll eat anything.

But if you must know,
I'm trying to save you
from yourself.

This crazy scheme of yours
will mess up everything
for both of us.

I happen to like
the way my life is.

Answer it for once.

I'm not finished with you.

- Hello?
- Hey, it's me.

The children called
about your emails.

They're really worried
and so am I.

Oh, uh, no, no, no, Chlo,
everything's great.

Joel's worried, too.
Why is that?

He's worried
because I'm worried.

Look, Harry, I don't know
what crazy scheme is rattling
around in that brain of yours

and I know you're not gonna
tell me, but just promise me
you won't do anything stupid

or dangerous.

- Harry?
- Thanks so much
for calling, Chlo,

but I'm just about
to go off island.

Why don't I give you a call
tomorrow and we could have
a nice long chat?

Now, say a hello
to Joel for me, okay?

Wow, Harry, that was both
gracious and coherent.

Now I'm really worried.

Look, I love you,
the children love you.

I just want you to know
there are people out there
who want you to stay alive.

And I love you all.
Gotta go, Chlo.

Mr. Marsh,
I'm a junior at Columbia.

- I'm writing my honor's
thesis on your work.
- Great.

- A few questions?
- No.

I'm interested in the use
of hats in your work.

- Do they symbolize death?
- Yes.

- What about the color
yellow, also death?
- Yes.

- And flowers?
- Death.

You seem to
deliberately avoid the gerund.

What does the gerund
mean to you?

Death.

Do you think you're more
influenced by Washington
Irving or John Irving?

Clifford.

May I send you
my thesis when it's done?

By all means.

- Tell me about the Hamptons again.
- Not now.

Oh, that's right,
we're on a mission.

Horse hair, the search
for the holy horse hair.

You oughta be locked up.

The plan calls for horse hair
or a suitable equivalent,

you're lucky
your hair's too short.

I hate
to be seen with you in public.

People stare at you.

- Are you famous?
- I'm known.

- I believe in the humble life.
- I had one.

Move.

Hello.

Um, I'd like
to ask you something.

Do you have
any horse hair?

No, no horse hair.

We do have a very handsome
hobby horse, but it's hairless.

Sit down.

What a charming dog.
What's her name?

Hermione.

Hermione, really?

What's this?

She comes with a wand.

Go ahead,
touch the wand to the ruby.

Isn't she adorable?
She speaks English and Spanish.

Does she do
construction work?

Oh, you beautiful doll,

you great big,
beautiful doll.

Mmm. Mm.

Tastes good, right?

You seem
to like the doll?

Mm-hm.

This would be something
for your granddaughter?

- No.
- A niece?

The child of a friend?

No, I'd like it for myself.
I'll take four.

How much?

You know, I just remembered,
we're out of stock

and we're forbidden
to sell the floor sample.

I, uh, could order
four dolls for you.

But I need it today.

Ah, let's get
out of here.

Well, I could check
the inventory downstairs.

Never mind.

Come on, Hermione,
we're leaving.

- Ooh, can I?
- No.

You are not
gonna believe this.

We received a hat box full of
horse hair just this very week.

A hat box full
of horse hair?

A hat box full
of horse hair.

Please don't say it again.

A hat box full
of horse hair.

Well, my dear,
you have a sale.

But this is the part
you're not gonna believe,

I sold the hat box
this very morning.

- No.
- Yes.

Do you know the Laphams?

Well, it seems Mrs. Lapham
makes her own throw pillows, ah,

and when I told her
about the horse hair,
she just grabbed it up.

- It makes an ideal stuffing.
- Does it now?

Well, yes,
it's very sweet, really?

See she's making
the pillow

as a surprise
for Mr. Lapham

to present him with a gift

upon the occasion of the
completion of their new house.

I understand
it's magnificent.

You know, it's not too far
from your own island.

What do you call
your place, Noman?

Well, anyway, the whole thing
was just dumb luck.

She came in looking for some
Victorian asparagus tongs,

but then when I told her
about the horse hair,

well, it was just ideal.

It's kind of
a nice story really.

See, the Laphams
had a little dog

who passed away last year.

Why, he was just like
your little Hector there,
a little Westie.

Goo goo baby.

You know Harry, if it's horse
hair you're looking for,

it's probably
in the walls of your house?

Hey,
don't give him any ideas.

You see the old houses
used horse hair

to keep the plaster intact.

You knock down a wall,
you'll probably have
all the horse hair you need.

Oh, I'll keep that in mind,
thanks for the tip.

Terrific. By all means,
let's knock down our walls

so you'll have everything
you need to commit a crime.

Harry was not keen
on the idea of destroying
his house,

but was left
with no choice.

But then,
a vision came to him,

a vision in the form

of a long, thick
tail-like braid of hair.

Well, wrinkles, I do believe
this is the very first time

I have received a visit
from your distinguished self.

It's your lucky day,
chitlins.

You have something
I want.

Oh, don't you think
it's a bit late for that?

Late for you, I mean.

I want your hair.

I want you to cut off
your braid and give it to me.

And why on Earth
should I do that?

I cannot think for what's
sick and perverse purpose

you desire my extra long,
extra thick world class hair.

I need it,
just leave it at that.

Are you gonna
hang yourself?

Give me an incentive.

Never mind why I want it.

I'll pay you for it,
plenty and it'll grow back soon.

You stand to only profit
from this transaction, Kathy.

Oh, I worry when you address me
by my Christian name

instead of the usual insult,
Harry, I worry.

And yet,
my interest is peaked.

What do you call plenty?

One thousand dollars.

Oh honey, I don't clear
my throat for $1,000.

All right then, I'll agree to
read your manuscript of poems.

Well, Harry,
how'd you know I write poetry?

Just a wild guess.

- Five thousand dollars then.
- Mmm.

Let me bring you
into the modern world,
my hermit crab.

For your edification,
Harry March,

these days, $5,000
does not suffice as a deposit

to take a house off
the market for half an hour.

On an average sale,

an average sale, mind you,
one that takes as long

as ten minutes
for me to consummate,

my commission
comes to $400,000.

All right,
how much do you want?

Oh, I want you, honey.

I want your house,
your island,

the works,

and I'll pay top dollar.

Because you
can turn it around

and get twice
what you gave me for it?

Three times, maybe four.

You sell me your little
Island of Dr. Moreau

and I'll pay you enough
to enable you to live out your
shriveled mean spirited days

in the comfort of the finest
assisted living facility

on the East End, hmm?

With plenty of dollars to spare
in case you want to take a day
trip to the Bronx Zoo

or catch a bus
to see a revival of Cats.

And for all that,

I shall gladly cut off
my luxurious braid of hair

and I'll hand it over
to you myself.

- Never.
- Harry March.

You're hurting me.

Never say never.

I must say, Harry,

I get
all hot just thinking

what you're gonna
be doing with my hair.

What about $50,000?

Uh, this conversation
is concluded.

You sell me your island
and my hair is yours.

Your island, your house.

My life then.

That's my price, sweet pea,
take it or leave it.

Learn to live
in the real world, Harry.

As Mr. Lapham says,

"The sun also rises,

but it also sets."

I like that one.

Unwilling to sell his soul,

Harry went
on his cantankerous way.

- Why do you do that?
- Do what?

Bark at the sight
of another dog.

- Because other dogs bark at me.
- - Yes, but why?

You know, I'm not
really sure.

You don't see me flying off
the handle when I spot
a another human being.

Actually, I do.

Hector!

Hector!

Get in the car.

Don't worry, officer,
I'm fine.

You're lucky I'm taking you
to the hospital and not
the station house

for being a creep
at a toy store.

That's me,
all right, lucky.

Oh, it must be
wonderful, the literary life,

to be a literary lion
as you are.

I'm a literary dog,
you know?

I'm sure you are.

Is Mr. Lapham
a literary lion?

He has
an awfully nice car.

Hey, do you suppose he might
give me a ride someday?

He must miss
his dear departed Westie?

Will you ever shut up?

When the time comes.

Hey, come here, come here.

I don't think
you should see this.

Go in there.

Do you even think about how
you appear to other people?

- The death of the party?
- It's all a big joke
to you, right?

People expect civility from
other people and that's the
foundation of civilization.

- You call the Bittermans
civilization?
- Yes, I do.

They're just
regular human beings

trying to live
in this world the way it is.

I don't like the world
the way it is,

but I love you, Chlo.

I love you too, Harry.

But I can't be a part of this
life that you insist I live.

It's too much,
you ask too much.

You've made me a prisoner
of your principles.

Principle is everything.

No, it's not.

The world moves forward because
people have mutual respect.

They talk to each other,
they negotiate, they compromise.

You just can't stop yourself,
can you? You just had
to spout off?

Spout off?

Well, you know, that's it,

that's it, that's what lady
was talking about.

She wasn't talking
about saving the wheels,

she was talking
about saving the whales.

Mr. March!

Mr. March!

Mr. March!

Harry March, I need
to sell you a swimming pool.

What are you talking about?
Who are you?

A swimming pool.

Well, I'll give you
two minutes.

Cosiapara.

- Hey.
- Come on.

Who's this?

He loves me.

He loves everybody but me.

Ah, it's true.

He's precious.

Mr. March,

everyone around here says
I could never sell you one
of my dad's pools.

My dad says so too.

Everyone says
you're mean and crazy.

- They're right.
- But I said, "No."

"That old man is just waiting
for a little brightness
in his life."

Oh, in the form
of a swimming pool?

You said it.

What you need to cheer up
your cranky and miserable self

is a new gunite pool installed
with expert craftsmanship

and tender loving care
by the Leonardo Da Vinci

of Hamptons pool makers
and servicers, Tony Amberson.

- Is that your father?
- My father.

Ah, A pool would be nice.

Miss, I'm very busy,

I have a lot
of important things to do.

I don't really have any desire
for a swimming pool.

I have
nobody to impress.

If I want to take a swim,
I do it right off my dock

and if I want warm water,
I take a bath.

Good for you,
but I must tell you,

I don't think you're
seeing this issue clearly.

You are thinking
of a swimming pool narrowly

as a place
to exercise or lull about.

And speaking of exercise,

if you don't mind my saying
so, you could use some.

I like this girl.

I do mind,
your two minutes are almost up.

Think of
a swimming pool instead

as a notable room
of your house.

Think of it
as your indoor body of water,

your pond,
your lake, your estuary.

What, may I ask, is more
beautiful than a body of water?

The light dance of the ripples,
the shadows on the waves,

the brooding darkness
underneath.

You know, you have a mind
far more estimable

than I thought.

Why are you wasting it
selling swimming pools?

I mean a daughter's duty
to her father aside.

It never is aside.

My dad's having a hard time
of it, I mean moneywise.

Moneywise, is this
your full-time occupation?

This semester.

Then, it's back
to St. John's in Annapolis.

Oh, the great books
curriculum, I thought so.

You, my dear girl,
are an anachronism.

Just like you.

Yes but I think
I've earned that status.

- You're much too young.
- Maybe.

But it looks
better on me.

Can't argue
with that.

You know, Harry,
when I was in high school,

I had a clear choice
of extracurricular activities,

be an anachronism,
spend time in old movies,

listen to jazz,
live at the library

or give blow jobs to the doped
up future actuaries of America.

Oh.

What's an actuary?

So I went to classes
most of the day

and lived at the town
library most of the night.

Are you sure you don't want
to buy a swimming pool?

It's a great investment.

Well, I got fixated
on Samuel Johnson.

First, I read Boswell.

Then, I read Johnson.

The lives of the poets,

the prose, the poems,
the best of which is

- The Vanity of Human Wishes.
- The Vanity of Human Wishes.

"When a man
is tired of London--"

"He is tired of life."

"He's not a patron,
my Lord,

one who looks
with unconcern

on a man struggling
for life in the water."

"And when he's reached the
ground encumbers him with hope."

Brilliant.

What brought you
to Dr. Johnson?

His devotion
to the power of reason.

He wasn't a romantic.

Romantics ruin the world.

And of course,
he was always right.

You're more
than an anachronism.

You show real value.

Not like that monster
over there.

- Lapham?
- You know him?

No, I don't know anyone
who's even seen him.

He's a ghost like you.

What do you
know about me?

What I see,
what others say,

but mainly what I see,

a man who has whittled
his life to too fine a point,

too brittle.

He doesn't write anymore.

Now he's reduced
to the stupidity of a sage.

Towering in
the confidence of 21.

Do you have
an answer for everything?

Yes.

Look, I don't want
to fight with you.

There's something wrong
with quarreling

when we're speaking
of the person we both admire.

- Well, how about it?
- Nope.

- Three easy installments.
- Nope.

- Come on, be a sport.
- Nope.

- Miss Polite said
that you would--
- What did you say?

Miss Polite said?

Miss Polite said?

Well, young Dr. Johnson,

what did Ms. Polite say?

When you sell your papa's
swimming pools, darling,

do you know
what you're selling?

You're selling real estate.

Now I already have a pool
so you'll make no sale with me,

but tell you what,
you sell a pool to Harry March,

that nutcase writer
on that island over there,

you sell Mr. March a pool and
I'll pay you for an extra one,

one for the price of two.

And just why did Miss Polite
say she wanted me to buy
a swimming pool?

Because a swimming pool
will do two things

for the estimable
Mr. March.

It'll make his property more
valuable, thus more sellable.

And as soon as he buys it
from you, he'll hate it,

which is when he'll sell
his island to me.

Just when I thought
I'd met one incorruptible soul.

- Dr. Johnson--
- Would've done
the same thing.

He was poor like me.

He wouldn't have sold his
principles for a swimming pool.

You never know
what poor people will do.

Are you coming back?

Are you buying a pool?

By the way, you're not
an 18th century man.

I thought
you'd like to know.

What do you mean?

You're a romantic.

You live on an island.

You create
your own ideal world.

You despise
or ignore the real world.

You belittle life as it is

and you feel
superior to others.

What do you suppose
that makes you?

Lonely.

Harry!

- I don't see any horse hair.
- No horse hair.

Well, at least you
knocked down half the house.

I mean it wasn't
a total loss.

I'm outta here.

Harry!

Harry!

Lot of banging going on
in there. You all right?

You okay?

How's Jack doing?

You know Jack's 17,
he's sensitive.

Don't change
the subject, Harry.

What's going on?
You look like shit.

You're acting crazy.
You're talking to Hector.

You're lucky
he's not talking back to you.

If he only knew.

You need to get
some help, Harry.

Like what?

Like therapy,
talk to someone,

you don't know
how to deal with people.

I would, I'd see a shrink
but I don't know how
to deal with people.

Hold on,
I'll be right back.

Hey!

- What is this?
- It's a bribe.

I want you to stop working
on Lapham's house.

- That's good.
- I don't take bribes.

Well, it's for Jack,
it's for film school.

You think I don't hear the both
of you arguing every day?

Well, we'll figure it out,
I can't accept this.

I told you, it's not for you.
Tell Jack it's a loan.

He can pay me back with the
profits from his first movie,

which should be no higher
than the value of the loan,

that way we'll guarantee
it'll be an art house film.

- Harry--
- I gotta go, I'm busy,
very, very busy.

With his plan
thwarted and all hope lost,

Harry March sat down
to finally write his speech.

Chloe?

Joel's doing the planning
for Lapham's party.

Of course he did.

We're not staying.

Nice to see you.

Nice to see you.

What are you standing here waiting for?
It's Charlie, is it?

John?
Are you a mute?

Who the hell did your tie?
It's just not acceptable.

But then he saw her.

"What would Dr. Johnson do,"
he thought to himself?

Would he sell out
his principles
for the greater good?

Hi, Wrinkles.

The Amberson girl
seemed to think so.

Uh, good evening,
sir. Uh... Here just...

Last chance, Wrinkles.

Going once,

going twice,

- Going--
- All right.

You can have the house.

And the island?

And the island.

You won't sell it
to Lapham, will you?

I might.

He'll probably flatten it,

give himself
a lovely view.

He's quite
the conservationist, you know?

What if I deny
we made a deal?

State of the art, high tech.

Bitch!

Harry pulled out
the only tuxedo he owned.

On the night
when he lived the words

he so desperately
wanted to write,

he felt as he should
look his very best.

Also, just in case Chloe
was still mingling
at the Lapham's party

or if he should make
the front page

of the local
Southampton press

his old blue shirt
wouldn't suffice.

Ladies and gentlemen,

Mr. Fred Astaire.

Much obliged, Miss Polite.

Here we go.

How do you know
you won't hit the party tent?

'Cause... I know.

Oh, that's a relief.

Uh oh.

Harry looked on in disbelief.

His plan was perfect.

How could
this have happened?

What could
have gone wrong?

"Horse hair,"
he muttered to himself.

Put me down!
Put me down!

I'm trying
to save your life.

The Lord
will look after me.

He's busy.

Well,
I hope you're satisfied.

Harry,
aren't you coming with?

I take this post mortem
opportunity nevertheless

to tell you about the lecture
I could not deliver in person.

My lecture was
to be about Lapham,

my sordidly ambitious,
absurdly self-important,

ears splittingly, noise making,
unwanted neighbor, Lapham.

For anything
you want to know

about the destructive
witless 20th century,

you may look to Lapham.

But here comes
the sad part of my lecture,

dear Chautauquins,

for I hoped to inform you
that against all odds,

I had defeated Lapham,

reversed his upward progress

or at the very least
slowed him down,

yet to my sorrow
and embarrassment

I must report
not my victory,

but rather his.

Mine was the vanity
of human wishes.

What lesson may I bring you,
my worthy Chautauquins?

The lesson is this,

the reason that Lapham
has won this time

and will win again
and will always win

is that you allow it.

You sit together,
but you do not stand together.

Rise up, Chautauquins.

Rise as Lapham
is rising and smite him.

Not with weapons,
they will fail, take it from me,

but rather with your books

and your songs
and your laughter.

Beat him back
with your modesty,

the knowledge of frailty,

that is to say
with your humanity,

or if you prefer

you all can go out and live
on your separate islands

and seethe
and fume and rant

and go nuts
in the company

of your sarcastic,
Bible-thumping dog.

It worked for me.

Harry, Harry,
what are you doing?

What are you
doing, Harry?

Señor March, por favor.

For Christ's sake, Harry!

My...! My house!

My house!

Harry! Harry March!

You crook!

We had a deal!

Harry!

Oh my! Oh my, my, my!

What have I done?

I've lowered the value

of Hamptons real estate.

If only I had
a swimming pool,

I could use the water
to put out the fire.

Oh, oh.

Harry,
Mr. Lapham's here.

He's coming for you.

Oh, he's so excited his Tillis
Blowhard finally worked. Ha!

Isn't that wonderful?

Mr. March, fear not.

Mr. Lapham is coming
to save you in his boat.

No!

No, what do you mean no?

There's no need
to worry, sir.

Mr. Lapham has the best
powerboat in the world.

It has both gas
and jet engines and draws
only six inches of water

so don't
bloody tell me no.

and it costs $650,000.

You tell Mr. Lapham
to stay put!

I will not be rescued
by my destroyer!

Oh, come on Mr. March,
damn it, Harry.
You're being very provincial.

Get your head out of your--
Please get in the boat!

Mr. March.

Hey, Harry, I got help.

Isn't that great?

Hector,

you traitor.

Wow, look at this place.

What a venue.

Name your price, sir.

What do you
call this place?

Noman.

Noman?

What's that?