All language subtitles for The.Fox.Hunter.2020

Foxes were commonly
known as beasts of the chase

by medieval times.

The equestrian tradition

eventually found
its way to the States.

Hell, George Washington
owned a pack of hounds.

It takes discipline.

You have to know how
to ride. Know the calls.

You have to have your wits about
you on cold autumn mornings.

The bourbon can only do so much.

I've come to
love it, the chase that is.

There are those
that would condemn it.

They wouldn't understand.

We are all chasing something.
Something we may never see.

Something so elusive,

it was never
there to begin with.

My name is Cotton.
No, it's not a nickname

but it is an appropriate one.

The old South is all
but forgotten, so I wrote

a short story about it years
ago. Got it published and it was

read, widely.

I was just a boy then.

There is a way of life
that's been lost.

Unable to wash the stains
of history from its linens.

But there's something
sweet in the seams.

You'll read
about it in my novel,

so I'd rather not spoil it.

Well,
this should be humiliating.

All the other girls have
proper escorts and I have you.

Although it's not your fault
my father's a complete asshole.

Don't fuck
this up for me, Cotton.

The annual Debutante Ball.

My niece is the one in white,

though I'm not
sure she deserves it.

Everything in
the South is tradition.

Becoming a
gentleman is expected.

Becoming a lady is showmanship.

It's a facade. A
pony show for society, where

everyone pretends life is the
way we see it in photographs,

perfect and clean.

Like those white gowns.

What are we hiding?

My brother Whitman vanished some

years ago, for what
or who we still aren't clear.

My sister
would just as soon shoot me as

she would give me a smile. My
father spends more time on

ancient soils for blood sport
then he does tending the family

or its business, a decently
circulated yet poorly written

newspaper coined The Carolinian
by our Great Grandfather nearly

a century ago. My mother would
care if there was more oolong

than booze in her tea. There is
one silver lining in the whole

lot of them, Grandmother. I
could tell you her life's story

but you'd have
to hear it in her words.

Then there's me, Cotton.

One of the last gentleman the
old South has to offer,

though no one would ever care.

Amanda Hastings.

Going once,
going twice, sold American!

Where have you been?

I was, I was looking
for you this whole time.

Oh my God. Christ, you smell
like a distillery. Real nice.

You don't even know-

Okay, I don't care just,
just walk me center stage,

and get out of my way.

You look fantastic, by the way.

You disgust me.

Oh, come on.

Lily O'Connor.

Miss June,
nice to see you again.

Good evening, miss.

Uh,
it was so much fun Aesop.

I love this place.

Quite a show, out there.

What? Oh, yep.

Becoming a lady
has always been a spectacle.

Well I wasn't
referrin' to the ladies, Cotton.

One would think you'd
have more a bit more couth.

What, with
your recent induction.

Oh relax, relax.

No one gives a damn
what us dogs are barkin' about.

It's been really
tough, lately, Mr. Wentworth.

Oh yes, of course.
How could it not be, what, for

a, the youngest heir of a
well-to-do publishing dynasty.

It's harder than it sounds.

There is a code
that a Gentlemen must adhere to.

Our code.

I understand.

I'm proud of
my selection, I assure you.

Then act like it. You knew what
you were getting into when you

took that oath. You are an
O'Connor, the first of our Order

and the future
publisher of The Times.

Publisher?

My brother
Whitman will return, someday.

Look at 'em.

Spinning
about in blissful ignorance.

If they only knew about
the men behind the curtain.

Louise.

Where are you running off to?

I was just um, nowhere.

I'm sorry about the
Ball. Lily despises me.

Oh, she'll be fine or she'll

harbor it for years,
but, eh, what does it matter.

Ya know
I really thought he'd show.

If not for his daughter, then
at least for his reputation.

He gave that up long ago.

If you knew where Whitman was,
you'd tell me, wouldn't you?

Sure.

Whitman
will return, eventually.

For the paper, if nothing else.

I'm sure this hasn't
been easy on you, Louise.

No, no it hasn't.

To you all, this is goodbye.

I have to see what
lays beyond the pines.

Out there
among faceless strangers and

hurried travelers
scurrying to far off lands.

I can't write anymore
because I have no more to say.

And who would care to
know what we have become.

Whitman had it right.

Do not think this
is for lack of love or kinship.

You are my family.
Wherever I am out there,

I will think of
you often and fondly.

Know that you didn't do this
to me, we did this to ourselves.

And though I may meet an end,

I know, somewhere,
there is still hope.

And who knows,

maybe I'll find
something to write about.

That's terrible news.

No, no, do what
you have to do.

I'll be in as
soon as I can. Oh, and Aesop?

Call the lawyer.

May I use your phone.

Call for you, Sir.

My Grandmother's dead.

¿De lo que se murió?
(What did she die of?)

They didn't say.

Hello?

Hello Mother.

Darling, you're home.

Oh, it's been so long.

I'm so glad to see you.

I do wish it were under better
circumstances, of course.

I'm sorry. I came as soon as
I could. When's the funeral?

But, it was this morning.
That's what all this is about.

How could this happen?

Arrangements were made.

It was a lovely
service, darling, truly.

You would have approved.

Most of the city was there.

She was a fine woman, Cotton.
A fine woman, indeed.

May I have a word,
Mother? In private.

Excuse us, will you?

Where's Father?

Well I have absolutely no idea.

Last I heard, he speared
a cougar through the throat.

Absurd. What of
Whitman and Marietta?

Wait, don't tell me.

It's insanity that
none of us were here.

Well Aesop was.

He's practically family.
Will you be staying long?

Why? So you can save
face at the club, for once?

My mother has just died.

Mother in law.

How did she go, by the way?

Hm, I find that so strange.

That's all people keep asking.

Have you been to church lately?

Jesus Christ.

He seems different.

Esse Quam Videri.
(to be seen)

You know,

that woman adored you.

White's a bit much.

It's off white.

How long are you in for?

Not sure.

How's Paris?

I moved back. Turns out,
not all Frenchmen are romantic.

I've been staying
in the blue room, actually.

Well, it's not
really blue anymore.

More of a lilac.

At our house?

Yes. Your mother
insisted after my folks

moved to Charleston.

Turned out
my father had an entire second

family, I'd
rather not talk about it.

I can't believe
I missed her funeral.

It was nice, but I got out of
there pretty quick, and at least

you're here now. Marietta's been

delayed out
of Atlanta three times.

That's terrible luck.

Not really.

She owns the plane.

Thank you.

June, glad you're here.

Mildred, how are you?

I'm sorry
I'm late, this is Cotton.

He's an old friend.

Good. That was the Inspector.

How did it go?

It could've
been worse, but he signed off

and our finals
at the end of the week.

What is this place?

Well, Mildred and I have spent

the last eight months
renovating this old house.

The state was
off-loading them, hell half of

them will have
to be torn down either way,

but soon,
this will be our shop.

I don't get it. A shop for what?

Um, how old of
friends, did you say?

I've been away.

Cotton.

Weatherly, I
haven't seen you since-

Since the ball.

Hm, yes.

I see you've grown.

I thought I
recognized that voice.

Ah Fitzy.

Mildred, thank you.

Drinks on me, soon.

Great to see you old friend.

Good to see you.

Now this is a sight!

Mmhm. June's latest
design. Stunning, of course.

Did we get the alpaca?

As promised.

Oh, have you
read much about Alpaca?

A thing or two.

Apparently it's hypoallergenic.

Alright, turn around.

Right.

Is he alright?

You
know, I'm not entirely sure.

Hm.

Did you read
the Times this morning?

I did.

Bit macabre, if you ask me.

These
times certainly are, Ma'am.

You know, I've
missed entertaining, Aesop.

This morning, the funeral,

it almost felt, like old times.

I can't
believe you ended up back here.

Well I considered
New York, even LA.

But I found that if you held

the door open for someone in New
York they looked at you like you

were crazy. You hold the
door open for someone in LA,

they don't look at you at all.

I'm gonna use that someday.

Be darlings, would you, grab my

bags and pay the man.

I'll
be staying in the Green Room.

Old age? That's just something

people say,
Mother. What killed her?

Ugh. Does it matter, Marietta?

Yes. Could be hereditary.

I'm worried about Cotton.
You know how close they were.

The woman coddled him.

Any word from my
other illustrious brother.

No. Louise is here, though.

Huh,
came to collect, no doubt.

How are things at The Times.

Well, if I cared, I'd ask.

The paper's always
been the mens' game.

You know that
better than anyone.

Any word from the Lawyer?

Apparently all beneficiaries

must be present at time of

disclosure,
less they have since departed.

What does that mean?

It means we better hope your

illustrious
brother comes home soon.

And if he doesn't.

Well, I
hadn't thought of it.

We should probably
have him declared dead.

Miss June took the liberty of
hanging out your scarlets.

In case you're up
for a ride in the morning.

Oh! I love this coat.

Where is she?

Retired for the evening.

I prepared the
living room for you.

What?

Are all the others are taken?

What about the yellow room?

Under renovation.

Still?

I'm afraid so.

This is what rock
bottom feels like, Aesop.

I highly
doubt that, sir.

Aesop?

Sir?

Did you... raise me?

I tried. Sir.

She's not exactly
solid in the saddle.

You're not exactly
solid in the saddle.

Hm?

What?

That mare is lovely though.

She's new.

I know.

And then he said,
there are no virgins left in the county!

Well, well, well, so,

the prodigal son returns.

Excuse me, Gentlemen.

I'm just gonna see if I can
squeeze out of these boots.

My condolences to the Family.

Viola, she was
one hell of a woman.

She was
definitely something else.

Yeah. Cotton,
I must say, we are-

we are very anxious
for your elucidation.

What? Oh, the Order.

I don't care for that anymore-

Well, see
that's not the way it works.

Boy.

Well, in the course of cubbing,

not every hound
makes it to the pack.

I'm sure
they'll understand.

Oh yeah, but see
this isn't sport, Cotton.

There's nothin' I can
say that's gonna help you.

Blood in. Blood out.

I get it, Wentworth. You want
an O'Connor 'cause you want the

press, but I ain't home to
take over the family business,

nor pick up where we left off.

Too much has changed, believe
me, you wouldn't want me.

Good hunt, sir.

Where is he?

Somewhere along
the Limpopo River,

I realized, I was the beast.

You missed the funeral.

Our convoy was
sidetracked in Jo-burg.

I take it you
were in attendance.

I was not.

Well.
I believe my mother would understand.

If anyone could.

I knew she
was sick for sometime,

hell, still hurts.

Your mother seems torn up.

Yes.

Rather vapid.

A North Carolina country

gentleman
galloping after the fox.

Never understood that tradition.

Good lookin'
coats, but no armament.

Not every
situation requires a bullet.

What's it been?

Jesus, three years.

You should come
down to The Times.

Look, you would
hardly recognize the place.

I'm sure it's
doin' fine without me.

Your Great Great
Grandfather, Arthur Niall-

I know the story, Dad.

What did I ever do to you?

You wouldn't let
me write for the paper.

You were
under-qualified.

We own it!

We're publishers!

You made everything
so hard on everyone.

You killed my dog.

It was a family dog.

So you admit it?

Meanwhile...

That was in!

Thank you.

Well, I played well.

I let you win.

Look at these bitches.

Staring at us.

"There she is.
The silver spoon queen, still

hasn't married you know, and the

other one who so badly
wants to be an O'Connor."

Please, child.
That's what they're saying.

They're probably talking about
Cotton. Your family's chaos is

regular chatter on an off-day.

Especially now that he's home.

Cotton? What a dunce.

He's your brother.

Only by blood.

Do you think he'll take
Whitman's place at the paper,

now that he's back.

As future Publisher?

I know you
harbor some deep-seeded love for

the boy, but you
must stop encouraging him.

It's not healthy.

Relationship advice from
the single, silver spoon queen?

Single?
I've been married for six years.

Susan is the best
thing that ever happened to me.

Christ, June.

You can certainly
smoke 'til you're twenty five.

After that, it's just sad.

Give
it to me straight, old friend.

My lady gettin' out there?

There have been
quite a few inquiries, sir.

A date or two.

Flowers every Thursday.

Thursdays!
Son of a bitch.

And you, are you,
getting out there Sir?

In so many ways, Aesop.

Your mother was one of the
sharpest women I have ever had

the pleasure of knowing.
She lived with rare grace.

Yeah. Can't really
believe she snuffed it.

Thought the old
dame would outlive us all.

Indeed.

So,

what are we
gonna do about these flowers.

Best to put them in vases, Sir.

Oh! I'm sorry, Louise.

No, no, June. Sit
with me, won't you?

Hmmm, what is that?

Lavender. I'm
practically addicted to it.

My therapist suggested
it to me after Whitman left.

Apparently,
it's good for stress.

Is everything-

I slept with... someone.

Hey, good for you lady.

It's nothin' to be ashamed of.

Oh, no, I'm not.

Though, I had
only ever been with Whitman.

Oh hell, Louise
it's not my place,

but no one else is sayin' it.

Fuck him.

Fuck him?

Fuck him!

Why should you
have to do or say a damn thing.

That man should
march his soggy bottom back here

and grovel at
your pretty little toes.

Whitman this and
Whitman that. I mean-

That fool,

he'd be lucky you
ever look at him straight again.

Thank you Miss Moore.

Let me know
if you need anything.

Alright.

Ah,
Mr. Wells. How are things?

Just dreadful.

By the time we
run with it, every online

service in the world has covered
it and ten stories that we never

even saw coming.

Advertisement is down and that
used to be our golden river.

Once and again, rivers dry up.

This is not a
laughing matter, Whit.

I ran papers for your
Father, when I was just a boy.

The Times is an institution.

And it always
will be. Oh by the way,

Edwin McCushing
is gonna be dropping by.

McCushing.

Why, does
he want his old job back?

No, it's more
of a-a gentleman's visit.

Guys like McCushing are diggin'
our graves, even as we speak.

You know that, right.

Well,
somebody's gotta tend to that.

Just be nice
to the man. That's all.

I trust you'll do right by us,
when the time comes, Whit.

Apparently the
piano player's blind.

Blind?

Well,
he's no Beethoven.

Beethoven was deaf my dear.

Ha! I knew that, of course.

I blame the gimlets!

Uh, potent, as always.

Fitzy, shoots for
The Times, now, you know.

Well, I like to think the
paper works for me, I'm still

freelance. Speaking of which
I understand your pops was

thinking of sellin' out, Cotton.

He'll take the
paper to his grave.

Well, it's good to
have you back Cotton.

I imagine you've been
out there, like Kerouac.

Lost in the American terrain.

I think of myself
as more of a Huck Finn.

You're too predictable
to be a Huck Finn!

You're more like a Tom.
I would be Huck.

Who am I?
And don't you dare say Jim.

Don't you
run away from this!

I'll be back.

You were gonna
say it, weren't you.

You
disappeared on us, back there-

June! Remember when we used to

put on plays
here for our Families.

I miss this.
Reminds me of simpler times.

They certainly
seemed that way.

What's that?

Grandmother's copy of my novel.

Ah, I was thinking, might
be better suited as a play.

I think, It'd
be best suited in a jacket.

I had such a
vivid image of you in my head

these last three years.

You're
much softer than I recall.

And you...

Well, you're certainly not the
girl you were before Paris.

It must terrify you.

Jesus Christ! Whitman!

You know the
front door still works.

I have no doubt, little brother.

Who's in my
room? And why is it purple?

June.

What, does she live here now?

You missed Lily's debut.

Debut?

That must
have been some time ago.

How'd she look?

Disappointed.

What about Grandmother? I
assumed that's why you're here.

Right.

How'd she go, anyway?

Does it matter?

S'pose not.

Wait, you can't leave. We need
you here for the reading of the

will, or some shit.

Damn. Well, I
can't simply be here

when everyone wakes up. That's
no way to make an entrance.

True, the
window was bold.

I ain't
sticking around after.

I doubt anyone expects you to.

She was one of the good
ones, wasn't she? Grandmother?

I never read your
novel, by the way.

I never finished it.

What's
the deal with the pool, Lily?

Apparently, its gone to shit.

It was the
middle of the night.

We could hear
the leopards breathing.

Smell their breath.

I readied my spear.

It was the only time I've
ever been truly afraid.

He pounced, and
I struck, caught-

Atrocious! What'd you do if
someone were to hunt you.

Haha! I would welcome the sport.

Enough Whitman.

I doubt our guest wants
to hear all those gory details.

Why don't you save
them for your journals.

Or the paper.

I think readers would
respond to your adventures.

It's not all
curtains and cocktails.

Why wouldn't they?

Teddy Roosevelt
was a hunter. Churchill.

Hemingway.

Aldo Leopold.

Aesop, the quail, are they
farm-raised or from one of my

husband's many exploits?

Farm, ma'am.

Oh! Thank goodness.

The last time I
had quail, I spent the

entire morning pickin'
buckshot outta my teeth.

What are you still doing here?

Manners, Cotton. I've offered

Mr. McCushing
stay during his visit.

He and your Father used to
work side by side at the paper.

Edwin, please. I remember you.

You were just
a child at the time.

In what room.

I'm sorry?

In what room
is Edwin staying in?

Oh, the yellow room.

But the renovations?

Completed first
thing this morning.

Aesop, nothing brings me
home like your egg scramble.

I haven't had a
proper brunch in ages.

I'm not leaving this
time without your secret.

What secret is that, Marietta?

How to break an egg?

You know what,
join us, Aesop.

Cotton.

Perhaps another time.

Nonsense, take my chair.

Is this about the yellow room?

No, this isn't
about the yellow room,

though that is unfortunate.

Mother, you,
yourself said Aesop is family.

I believe I said, practically.

Whitman?

I'd, uh, ask for a seat,

but they seem
slim-to-none at this table.

You look
amazing, Lou.

Don't start with that.

Ok. You go first.

How did you
hear about your Grandmother?

Cotton, of course.

How's Lily?

She graduates in the spring.

Hm, our little girl.

She's twenty one.

I'll have to
buy her a drink then.

What's she studying?

Like you give a damn!

You really
do look amazing though.

This doesn't change anything.

You don't smoke.

Where is she, Whitman?

Havana. With her family.

She went the one
place you couldn't follow.

Smart girl.

Well, relations with
Cuba are better than ever.

Lucky you.

What?

Just looking at you.

I look old.

I'd blame myself,
if that were true.

I can't
imagine that you would take the

blame for much of anything.

Fair shot. What else you got.

Sit down or leave.
I have no energy for this.

Come on, Lou.

You know, I never should have

said yes to
your foolish proposal.

Foolish?

I was knocked up, at the time.

I was proud of that.

Is that right?

Yeah.

And was it pride that drove

you away the
second time around?

She hates me.

She doesn't hate you.

I don't blame her.

No, I suppose you can't.

Anything you'd
like to get off your chest.

Why, what did she say?

Look, Nancy,
you get the contents of this library, all

her gowns and jewelry,
except for three rings.

The
sapphire for Marietta, the

white gold for Whitman the Fifth
and Cotton, you get the diamond.

The Manor on Bloodworth Avenue

is yours, Whitman,
and the house in Nag's Head,

will be
sold for conservation purposes.

Conservation?

Aesop. How'd she put it,

"To my dear friend, Aesop, I
leave a sum of twenty-three

thousand dollars and twelve
acres off Peach Orchard Road."

Is that it? What of The Times?

Viola sold her shares-

It's all quite confidential,

but, but uh,

since we're all family here.

Lily.

Children.

My love.

Aesop.

I'm selling,
The Carolina Times.

The hell you are.

At what price?

Mr. McCushing is here
to appraise the business.

Edwin?

Yes, after leaving
The Times, years ago,

he took the lead role
over at Dagger Digital.

That's my paper.

Your paper?

Yeah!

You're a publisher,
your father was a publisher,

his father was
a publisher, his fath-

His father was a ship
builder! What have you built.

You would
really abandon it so easily?

I assure you there
is nothing easy about it.

The peo-the
people depend on us.

For what?

The Truth!

The Truth. In the news?

Yeah!

You'd have
better luck finding God.

Cotton!

Look, Viola wanted you to have
this. I'm sorry for your loss.

She was... well, you know.

I'm surprised
they took it like that.

They all stand to
make quite a bit of money.

Give Marietta
a dollar, she'll save it.

Whitman? He'll lose it.

And give Cotton
a dollar, he'll spend two.

I'm not sure when they
became so goddamned entitled.

They'll come around.

It's not them I'm worried
about to tell you the truth.

What am I gonna say to everybody
out there on the floor.

Well, the sooner the
better I say. No one wants to

find out their captain's jumped
ship by watchin' him swim away.

I'm just glad knowing that

those, those presses
are gonna keep on rollin'.

You gotta be kidding me.

Those archaic machines are gonna
be the first thing that go.

Hey.

Hi. Your photographer is here.

What, oh, of course, um,
sure, where do you want us.

Well, I say we keep it
simple. How about by the couch?

Did I miss it?

Not a thing, Mr. Wells.

Good, good. Well uh,
ol' Fitz here's the best.

I think we've bought a
couple negatives, ourselves.

Really? Who are you with?

Dagger.

Dagger... Digital?

Yeah.

Alright, gentlemen.
Let's get this over with.

Old man O'Connor would be proud.

Yep, well, some people will
bitch and moan, but at least

they will have a
newspaper in the morning.

That's great,
gentlemen, thank you.

Alright, well, uh, boys I'm off.

I'll walk out with ya.

Alright.

I will have those papers on your
desk by the end of the week.

I take it, you'll be discreet.

I hear nothing Mr. O'Connor.

May I ask you a question
it-it's Fitzgerald, right?

Yes that's right. Fire away.

Do you think the
world will remember us?

Long from now.

The Times?

That's hard to say.

You know, the paper, as much as
the film in the camera, has told

our story for over a hundred
years, but things change.

It may not be on fiber,
or celluloid, Mr. O'Connor,

but our story, will continue.

So... it's forgotten.

You know, they say the Earth
will be engulfed by the flames

of the Sun someday,

but that's nothing
to fuss over right now.

Hi baby.

Hey.

Damn, I remember
when we bought you this horse.

It's not the same horse.

My sweet gentleman.

I'm sure this
must be hard for you.

You've always been
such a sensitive young man.

I always loved those plays you
and June put on in the attic,

Your paintings were
inspiring and your novel.

I believe I finally understand.

It's about us. The Family.

Bit harsh, though I
suppose it is a fair portrait.

I imagine it wasn't easy being
raised in the shadow of your

brother, or The Times,

but I
want you to know, there have

been many Whitman's, Cotton,
but there's only one you.

And I love you, for all that
you are, and will come to be.

Goodbye, sweet boy.

What's on
Peach Orchard Rd, Aesop?

My wife.

My children.

Three Grandchildren.

The sum covers the deed,

I've been buying it from her.

What are they like?

They get on just fine.

What are you still doing here?

There's nothing left
but a pack of wolves.

And you. Are you a wolf?

I'm a sheep in wolves' clothing.

Pull!

Nice shooting, Sir.

Don't ever
call me that, again.

Whitman?

You and I have never
really seen eye to eye, have we?

Hard to teach anything
to a man who knows everything.

Yeah, okay, enough
of the wisdom, old man.

What do you want.

Father. He's
not thinking straight.

No worse than usual.

I'm challenging the sale.

I want to
make sure you're on our side,

when this all shakes out.

Selling the Times
could ruin this family.

If you say so.

Okay.

Good.

Good talk.

When I first
approached June two years ago

with the idea
for Bloom & Thorn,

she never once hesitated.

I am
humbled and honored to be,

not only your
partner, but your friend.

To June.

To June!

Thank you.

Damn, this place.

Real proud of you, June.

Okay.

What is it?

They're sellin' The Times.

Goodnight y'all.

June!

Goodnight.

Before you left, you stood tall.

Puff out your chest to let
us all know you're comin'.

But, now you're like
me, when I first came back.

Disenchanted.

What about us?

Cotton O'Connor.

A
thousand times we had a chance.

You let every
one of them blow on by.

You know you're Grandfather gave
me that bottle, years ago.

Did you know him well?

As well as
anybody could, I guess.

Oh, he lived for the paper.

They're selling it.

In certain circles

voting is
done by, uh, placing small

marbles,
black and white, into a jar.

Now, if one is to receive
just one black marble the

inductee is denied.

I took a chance on you.

And I removed a
black marble from your jar.

Why?

"There is a place you never see.

A place of
endless fields of gold,

shrouded
by uplifting pines.

Caught between sinking

mountains
and drifting sand dunes.

A place where fallen
tobacco barns lie alongside

quiet country roads like fallen
giants from some forgotten war.

A place I love and you would too

if you had come
to know it as I have."

You read my short story.

Many times.

We never
wanted you for the paper Cotton.

You see the Order is old and,
let me tell you, it is as tired

as it is aged.

I just thought
there would be young men,

like you, who'd be next in line.

But you know it's
all just slipping away.

Perhaps it should.

You know what your trouble is?

You like to romanticize about
the way things were.

But the
truth is you don't want to

have anything to do with it.

Oh you
dress the part, but Cotton,

your heart, it's your
heart that knows better.

Oh.

You're
not a bad guy, Cotton.

You're just not
one of the hounds of dixie.

Now, my advice,
drop the act. Just be you.

But what's the point?

I've been
chasing this novel for years.

And still have
nothing to show for it,

no real story to tell.

Oh, I don't believe that.

Perhaps your novel
has been with you all along.

How's that?

Cotton, you know these
hunts we cherish so dearly?

Well let
me ask you something.

Have you ever
actually seen a fox?

Can't say that I have.

Well Cotton, that's because
there are no foxes out there.

Not anymore.

We killed them all.

My name is
Cotton O'Connor.

I'm a newspaperman
by birth, an outcast by the pen.

I have seen
much of the world, great walls

over ancient lands, romantic
spires down the Rues of France.

Felt the rumble of hooves at the

great corrida in Pamplona, lost
everything along the tracks of

the Curragh, only to make it back
in the dingiest dives of Calcutta.

I have sailed, not drifted

down the peaceful,
but on the hardest seas

on the other side of the Earth.

I believe I was chasing
something, but standing at the

foot of Kilimanjaro
I realized I was running,

running from a name,
a place, an existence,

lost along the way news came
that my Grandmother had passed.

We never said goodbye.

When I came
home it all looked the same,

but nothing
was as it would appear.

My Grandmother was gone
and with her, and the wind,

a whimper of a way vanished.

The old South died and a new
South, one full of change and

wonder stood in its place,

I could tell you
of the breeze in Dingle,

or the thirst in Mumbai,

or the bravery
endured in the arenas,

though I am no aficionado.

I will, however,
tell you of the world I know,

the one I was given. Both a
curse and a blessing of manner.

Where wars have been fought and

loves lost and
things left unsaid,

but it was not their fault.

It's just the life I was given.

They birthed me to
privilege, gave me everything,

and in the end I'm just a man
with life at his fingertips.

Too stubborn to accept it,

too foolish to
clench it in his hands.

It's not awful.

Predictable.

Forced at times.

A tad
heavy handed on the homage

but, not awful.

I never apologized.

For ruining your Ball.

Yeah.

Well this family was
never cut out for fairy tales.

What are you gonna do?

Now, that
The Times is changing hands.

I don't know.

The Times
were never really mine.

What about you?

I always thought I'd
work for the paper, someday.

But I think it's good, ya know.

Now we can do whatever we want.

Why should
I care if he sells it?

It's our heritage, Marietta.

Hey.

What is your plan?

I'll bring
it to the board.

It sounded like a done-deal.

The O'Connor name has sat
perched upon the header of every

issue that's ever
gone to print for The Times.

I will see
to it that it remains there.

Tonight, the O'Connor Family
passes on the baton to Dagger

Digital and with that,

the responsibility to
seek truth in journalism.

Though, a wise man once said

you'd have
better luck finding God.

I so wish your
Grandmother was still with us.

She would be proud.

I know this is hard, Cotton,

but this transition's
not about you and me.

It's about those to come.

The next generation.

The faster we advance,

the stronger
this world's gonna become.

You must see that.

Pretty soon, were gonna be
traveling at the speed of light.

Two World Wars.
Civil rights. Terror.

It has also seen what man
has become. Both good and evil.

If our only
concern is traveling fast

then we
might just forget to live.

Faster than the speed of light?

We might all just disappear.

My Grandmother...

What's this?

Wait, so this isn't an apology?

Lily, I'm sorry.

We have the
rest of our lives to therapize

with one another if need be.

What is wrong with you,

like, inherently?

It's not me! It's
your Grandfather.

He's clearly
insane and unfit to make

decisions on
behalf of this family.

Who's insane?

Hey! Hey!

Who's unfit?

Lily!

My father is
unhinged, you see that, right?

Whitman, you're
starting to scare me.

So this truly is
the end of The Times.

Are you sure
that's what you want?

No other way, darling.

I suppose I should be
hurt that I wasn't consulted.

Did you really
not see it coming?

No, I didn't.

Don't think I'm proud,

cause you finally
decided to finish something.

That's all, O'Connor?

No sweet talk, no serenade?

You wasted
enough time on me, June.

I do love you,
in case I never mentioned it.

Goodnight, June!

I messed up, Lou. Okay.

I- wh-I d-I don-I
don't know what to say! I... I...

I...

I fucked Cotton.

Pigs be fed,
yet hogs be slaughtered.

Whitman?

Pigs be what?

I said, pigs be fed,
yet hogs be slaughtered.

Whitman...

Oh my God.

This is between you and I.

You and me, little brother.

Boys!

Put down the weapon, son.

This is madness!

Madness is a man's own brother

sleeping with his wife
in a time of weakness.

What are you talking about?

Oh shit.

Cotton O'Connor, my brother.

You're son. Slept with my wife.

The mother of my child.

I was so lonely, Whitman.

You're being ridiculous.
Just put the gun down.

Y tu, hermana. Supposed
to be us, versus them. Remember?

Well, you're a bit off-script.

I blame myself
for all this madness.

I blame you too.

You both seem surprised.

Now that Viola and Whitman
the Third have both passed,

I can no
longer hold my tongue, stand by,

and watch
you disembowel each other.

Now I feel the need to remind
you all that you're family.

Though if savage you've become

then civilized
words are already lost.

Whitman, I-

Cotton, I know, I know, I
know, I just-I just wish that-

Somebody call
the ambulance! Somebody!

Be still, be still.

It's gonna be alright,
kid. Your gonna be alright.

Hold on, Cotton.

I love you, too.

Don't say that. Why would
she say that? Why now in the end?

I have no more words to share.

No poetic
sympathies for you to consider.

It would always end like this.

Bittersweet and too
obvious to make it exciting.

They finally
caught up to this old fox.

They've ripped him to
shreds and left him wondering

what could have been if he
had just seen tomorrow's sun.