Original subtitles

Are you going to write any of this?

I wrote plenty.

Plenty?

You wrote act one.

Well, there you are then.

I don't mean you wrote act one.

I mean, you wrote the words "Act I"

at the top of the first page.

I'm thinking.

Well, what is it you're thinking?

Do you know that you're never more than six feet away

from a spider?

Sure.

It goes like this.

You're never more than six feet away

from a spider, baby.

So you better stay away from my fly.

That makes no sense.

I liked it.

Well, put it in some other play.

It was your idea.

No.

My idea was that no matter how secure

you are, how safe you feel, danger could

be right at your shoulder.

Ah, the spider is a metaphor.

Or a simile.

I can never remember the difference.

Me neither.

But whichever it is, it's an important theme for our play,

isn't it?

It is?

Well, yeah.

Think of it.

We have Bridgette, a beautiful young woman in love,

probably for the first time in her life,

with Richard, about whom she knows absolutely nothing.

I mean, he could be an axe murderer.

But he isn't.

Maybe he should be.

An axe murderer?

No, but a spider.

I mean, maybe axe murderer is a bit much.

But he should have, like, a dark side, a dangerous side.

Well, I think he already does.

Well, let's see what we have on him.

"Richard enters.

He is a pleasant-looking chap with a perpetual grin.

He's wearing tennis clothes, holding a bat."

Cricket, anyone?

Wait.

He's playing cricket?

Why is he playing cricket?

Who plays cricket?

He's British.

Why is he British?

Why does it matter?

Well, not scary, for one.

I mean, the scariest thing about the British is their teeth.

You know, they started taking better care of their teeth

after the Austin Powers movies.

Yeah, you're right.

It's weird.

OK.

"Richard enters.

He's a pleasant-looking All-American chap.

He has a perpetual grin.

He's wearing tennis clothes and carries a racket."

Tennis, anyone?

Gee, I'm shaking in my boots.

He does seem kind of bland.

Yeah.

But remember, this is the first time

we're seeing him before the main action of the play.

And his line is an old cliche meant to evoke titters.

I hope no line I ever write evokes titters.

So what then?

OK, OK.

I think I have an idea.

"Richard enters.

He's a sly-looking fellow with an odd, almost unnatural smile

and dark, piercing eyes.

He's dressed in tennis clothes and holding a tennis racket.

And we see that it is dripping with blood.

Murder, anyone?

I love it.

And it can set up everything that's going to happen later.

We haven't written what happens later.

But even still, it gives everything we've written so far

kind of foreshadowing.

Something bad is going to happen.

And never more than six feet away from a spider.

I know just what to do.

All right.

You're never more than six feet away from a spider.

Oh, no.

No fucking way.

I was just kidding.

Yeah.

Hello?

Hello?

Who's there?

Hello.

I'm from next door.

Next door?

Yes.

I'm staying with the Babcocks.

Oh.

OK.

Hi.

Richard Babcock.

Oh, you're--

David and Nancy's nephew.

Nephew?

Aren't they a bit old to be your aunt and uncle?

Great aunt and uncle actually.

Of course.

How silly of me.

Why didn't you come to the front door?

Why?

Well, I was on the tennis court.

And I walked across the lawn.

I saw the gate in the fence and came over.

I'm sorry if-- I didn't mean to--

No, no.

It's quite all right.

I used that gate all the time when I was a girl.

I used to go over and have milk and cookies with Nancy

when I was young.

Oh, I do love Aunt Nancy's cookies.

She still bakes?

I thought she was bedridden.

She is.

I was just remembering that's all.

You used to visit?

All the time when I was much younger.

Funny how I don't remember seeing you.

Maybe it was when I was away at school.

Yes.

I'm sure that's it.

And you're staying with them, you said?

Just for a little while.

And where do you usually stay?

Oh, I'm sorry.

Won't you sit down?

Can I get you anything?

Thank you.

I could use some cold water.

I'm still a little sweaty from hitting all those balls.

I'll be right back.

I just realized I've forgotten to introduce myself.

I'm Bridgette Nelson.

Pleasure to meet you, Bridgette Nelson.

I'll be right back with that water.

Thank you.

Or would you prefer some lemonade?

Wow.

Yes.

Yes, lemonade.

Yes.

Yeah.

Excuse me?

Not-- I just-- lemonade.

I get excited over lemonade.

That's-- I'm sorry.

Yay, lemonade.

OK then.

What are you doing?

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I'm sorry.

I just-- I like to measure things, everything.

Did you know that your door here is exactly 42 inches wide?

Exactly.

No, I didn't.

Why exactly do you measure everything?

Is it some sort of OCD?

Yes.

Yes.

I absolutely have to know how long and wide everything is.

And I can't stop washing my hands.

That's fascinating.

It is.

I have a friend who won't walk on tile floors.

What a loon.

Thank you.

Well, I hope you enjoy the lemonade.

It's completely homemade, or at least

that's what it says on the bottle.

Oh, I'm sure that I will.

However, there's a little something I have to do first.

Wait a minute.

Isn't it a little early in the play

to show that Richard's a psycho killer?

And we haven't even really decided

that he is a psycho killer.

No, he's a psycho killer all right.

But maybe you're right.

Maybe we should hold back on the violence

and let the tension build.

If this was a movie--

That's the thing.

Why isn't it a movie?

Why are we even writing a play?

This is Los Angeles.

Because it's a play.

But it doesn't have to be.

Look, why spend the next few weeks, possibly months, writing

a play that'll be put up at some tiny little black box theater

and be seen by maybe a dozen people,

because they know somebody in the cast?

I mean, it'll just be some other fucking play in LA.

We'll be lucky if we get even one review.

Nobody cares about theater in La La Land.

At least in the theater nobody can tell us what to do.

The writer has power.

No studio executive who's taken Robert McKee's course

and now thinks he knows everything there is to know

about writing can tell us what to write.

But you can't make a living as a playwright.

There are thousands of successful playwrights.

In the film business, you can be a lousy writer

and still make a fortune.

There's just as little chance of success, even less.

Most movie scripts just end up taking space

on your hard drive.

At least we have a chance of someone seeing our play

and nobody can fuck us over.

Not everybody in the film business gets fucked.

And we can negotiate for some real money.

One thing I know is true, in the film industry,

you will get fucked.

The only thing you're ever negotiating

is the amount of the lubricant.

All right.

All right.

Fine.

Fine.

It's a play, for now.

But there's something I got to change.

What?

Richard.

His name, it's too normal.

Don't we want him to seem normal?

No.

I think he should be exceptional.

And I think he's exceptionally good-looking, exceptionally

charming, and he should have an exceptional-sounding name.

What do you have in mind, Aloysius?

OK, not that exceptional.

But it could be something upper crusty,

like one of those first names that can also be a last name.

I went to school with a very WASP-y kid named Cooper.

Cooper?

Cooper.

Cooper Babcock.

I like it.

It's--

Upper crusty?

Upper crusty.

Cooper Babcock it is.

Search and replace and done.

Maybe it's too upper crusty.

No, it's fine.

Let's move on.

Now, what are we doing about this strangling scene?

OK.

So we know that Richard--

Cooper.

-Cooper wants the Picasso.

But what if all he wants is the Picasso?

Like we know he's a thief and the audience can know that.

But we don't know that he's a psycho killer,

because we haven't decided whether or not

he's the psycho killer.

What do we have so far?

All right.

We introduce Richard--

Cooper.

-Cooper Babcock.

And we see that he has done something

bloody with the tennis racket, but we don't know what.

We also don't know what he's done with Nancy and David,

or if he's even related to them at all.

But we do know that he is interested in the Picasso

and he's not at all interested in Bridgette.

Aha.

That's what we have to change.

What?

That he isn't interested in Bridgette.

What if he has plans to take the Picasso,

but he's so taken with Bridgette that it

puts a crimp in his plan?

Hmm.

That could work.

But something's bothered me.

I don't think we should show the bloody tennis racket.

No, but it's great.

That's a terrific, horrific image.

Yeah, but it gives away too much.

I mean, the audience should feel some sympathy

for Cooper, at least a little bit.

At first.

But later on--

Later on is something else.

Let's see where this takes us.

I've got an idea.

But in order for it to work, Cooper

has to be much younger, like Bridgette's age.

So how are you enjoying staying with David and Nancy?

Oh, they're no trouble.

No trouble at all.

And how are you getting on with Milo?

Milo?

Yes.

Don't you find him extraordinarily intelligent?

Yes, of course.

We've had many long conversations.

He has a very interesting perspective on life.

You're funny.

Am I?

You've had many long conversations with a dog?

Well, they were rather one-sided.

I could barely get a word in edgewise.

You are funny.

So where do you usually stay when

you're not staying next door?

I was in prison.

Prison?

Prison?

No.

Yes.

At least it felt that way.

So I decided to take a little time off.

Mhm.

For good behavior?

Something like that.

So what do you do?

Well, I was at Bryn Mawr, graduated with highest honors.

And I'm now, like most people, unemployed.

Thank God I am filthy rich.

Well, it does take a bit of the pressure off, doesn't it?

Unfortunately, my parents' trust fund

doesn't kick in until I'm 30.

That is ghastly.

Ghastly indeed.

So till then, I'll just have to survive however I can.

Maybe tennis.

Are you good?

Well, I usually hit what I'm supposed to.

How's your serve?

Hardly ever returned.

Really?

Then, you are good.

Wait a second.

What the fuck is that?

Someone in a chicken costume.

Yeah.

I can see it's someone in a chicken costume.

Why is it someone in a chicken costume?

I thought it would be cool to introduce

a surreal element to the play.

You see, this is why I like the movies,

because nobody just shows up in a chicken costume.

That's the beauty of theater.

There are no rules.

If you want someone in a chicken costume,

you can have someone in a chicken costume.

Well, I don't want someone in a chicken costume.

What do you got against someone in a chicken costume?

It makes no sense.

What if it made sense?

How is it going to make sense?

Watch and learn.

Huh.

Where is everybody?

The costume party is tomorrow night, Blain.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

That can't be right.

Today is Friday the 16th, is it not?

It's Friday all right, but it's the 15th.

But he's in costume.

Those are tennis clothes.

So they are.

My apologies.

We were just having some lemonade.

Ah.

I think I could use something a little bit stronger.

So could I, come to think of it.

Cooper?

I'm good with this.

Blaine, this is Cooper.

He's staying with the Babcocks.

Really?

My house is just abreast the starboard side of their house.

I haven't seen you.

How long have you been there?

Just a few days.

Cooper says he talks to their dog.

In all fairness, we are speaking to a chicken.

So we are.

How silly.

Well, cheers.

The chicken costume was a last-minute decision.

I was going to go as Freddy Krueger.

But I've gone as old Freddy for every costume party

and Halloween outing since I was nine.

Well, it's a very good chicken costume.

And it suits you.

Mhm.

It does, sort of.

How so, would you say?

Well, you see, I've got a dreadful heart condition.

Any severe shock and I could drop dead right here.

So naturally, I'm timid of things like horror

films and violence, you know.

But you dressed like Freddy Krueger.

Well, if I dress like the scary thing,

I'm not likely to get scared.

Now, am I?

Very clever.

Look, I have all the stuff set up in the kitchen for tomorrow.

Shall I be naughty and get us some snacks?

Caviar, champagne, cocaine?

Why don't you just ring for it?

The staff has the night off.

Oh my God.

You have to actually get things for yourself?

However will you survive?

Very funny.

I'll be right back.

Oh, Blain, you and Cooper should get along famously.

He was admiring my father's Picasso before.

Was he?

Admiring daddy's Picasso were we?

What the fuck are you doing here?

What the fuck are you doing here?

I'm introducing a plot twist.

So you're saying Blain and Cooper know each other?

Not only know each other, but they're in cahoots.

Cahoots?

Who are you, Buffalo Bill?

It's a perfectly good word.

Yes.

This is where we reveal that something

is going on that the audience didn't realize.

There's something going on that I didn't realize.

Don't worry.

I've got it all worked out.

What the fuck are you doing here?

Imagine my surprise when I come here

and see you sitting there a day early.

It's not part of the plan.

I improvised.

Why leave a house full of witnesses?

Drunk witnesses at a costume party.

I could've taken the painting from right under their noses.

No one would've identified you.

Except you.

You can trust me.

You're in a chicken suit.

Look, it's going to work.

We take the painting tonight, take care of Bridgette.

Then, tomorrow-- listen. --as the guests

arrive, we among them, walk in to discover

a horrible bloody scene.

But--

Bloody scene?

Does it-- does it have to be a bloody scene?

Doesn't have to be, but I really,

really, really want it to be.

You're a sick fuck, Blain.

Hey, you were down with the plan before.

Remember robbery, murder, something Manson-esque?

That was before.

Before what?

Before I met her.

I like her.

She's a real person.

She's a stuck-up real bitch who deserves everything

that's coming to her.

Who's that?

Oh, no.

Just this chick from the club, walks

around acting like a princess just

because her parents are rich.

I utterly loathe people like that.

OK.

Dig in.

There's caviar, Scottish salmon, blinis,

and grapes from my father's vineyard, food

for the common folk.

Common folk.

Poors.

Those poor people.

I saw you admiring my father's Picasso before.

It's his pride and joy.

I thought you were his pride and joy.

Don't make me laugh.

He couldn't auction me off for $50 million.

It'll be OK.

Wrong pipe.

Wrong pipe.

You'll be all right.

Won't you, buddy?

Yes.

$50 million you say?

Yes.

He had an offer for that for some art dealer.

But dad turned him down.

Now, if the father of some boy from a good family

offered that for me, well, he'd sell in the blink of an eye.

Oh, that's absurd.

People don't sell people.

Don't they?

I mean, after all, it's the ruling class'

most popular commodity.

They sell each other their children,

sell each other to the country.

It's called American politics.

Yes.

Well, aren't you philosophical for a chicken?

I thought of having someone steal the Picasso.

As you were saying, steal the Picasso?

Yes, just to spite my father and, of course, for the money.

You need money?

Absolutely.

None of this is mine.

I don't even really live here anymore.

My parents are at their house on Martha's Vineyard

and I'm crashing here.

If they knew I was here, well, they'd call the cops.

Why is that?

Because I'm a bad, bad girl.

Didn't you know?

I don't believe I did.

Bad how?

Where have you been all my life?

OK.

She's the worst type of bad.

One, she slept with a Mexican.

Two, she's tattooed and pierced and voted for Barack Hussein

Obama.

He wasn't Mexican.

He was from Ecuador.

A Mexican.

Anyway, far worse than that.

I also used my father's electronic setup

to eavesdrop on the two of you while I was getting snacks.

OK.

So you'd like to murder me, Blain,

in a particularly bloody way?

I would never.

It's a joke.

It's a joke.

Never.

Oh, fuck.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

The fucking bitch shot me.

Bridgette.

Bridgette.

Stop.

You help me right now.

I could probably make it.

We could go to Cedars or St. Joseph's.

Oh, please.

Please, help me.

Please.

Are you going to shoot me too?

Oh, it hurts--

I haven't decided that yet.

Depends.

Please, brother.

Help me, please.

Please?

On what?

My feathers are bloody.

Oh, please.

Did you mean it when you said you liked me?

Help me.

Please.

Yes.

Yes, I did, very much so.

There's a light.

Oh, looks like one of those lights outside of a barbershop.

What?

Please.

Oh, Jesus, Lord.

Oh.

Even right now.

I think I see Gram Gram.

I smell the cinnamon buns she made.

Please.

Oh.

That's not grandma.

That's Satan.

Oh, please.

Oh, goodness.

You're making this very awkward.

I made you a fucking friendship bracelet.

Shut up about the bracelet.

I'm very happy for you both, but I'm fucking dying here.

Please.

Not fast enough.

Fuck.

Oh.

Shot again.

Was that second shot really necessary?

I think it was.

Well, he was a racist chicken.

What happens now?

I haven't figured that out yet.

So what happens now?

I haven't figured that out yet.

Look, I'm not sure about any of this.

So we're saying Bridgette is the psycho killer, not Cooper?

Yes.

And she's the one with the plan.

What's the plan?

To steal her father's Picasso and blame it

on Blain and another accomplice.

You know, I actually like this.

It's getting very classical stage mystery/comedy.

You know, like Deathtrap or The Mousetrap.

You're right.

It is.

Oh, fuck.

We should change everything.

We should go back and make it less like those plays

and make it more movie-like.

There you go with that movie thing again.

You do know that The Mousetrap is the most successful, longest

running play in history?

And Deathtrap ran forever and they even

made a movie out of it with Michael Caine and Superman.

Christopher Reeve.

If we can write a play even half as successful as those two,

we'll have a hit.

Think of it.

Small cast, one set, thrills and chills and comedy.

Nobody's writing plays like this anymore.

Yeah, because they're old hat.

No, they're not.

If you can write a good play in that genre,

you can get it produced and make a lot of money.

Community theaters love that kind of shit.

What happened to the idea of a surrealistic, avant garde,

mind-bending neo-noir thriller?

Have you ever noticed that the avant garde never changes?

If it's after garde, when was garde?

I must've missed it.

That would be apres garde.

What would be?

Our play, Murdertrap.

Murdertrap?

Yes.

I just came up with it.

Cool title, huh?

Isn't it a little much like Deathtrap or The Mousetrap?

Only in the "trap" part.

Besides it makes a great movie title.

Someday.

Someday.

All right.

You've convinced me.

After it's a huge Broadway success.

One thing though.

Don't these characters seem British?

Why do you say that?

Well, I don't know anyone like these people.

Do you any British people like these people?

No.

But I think that it would be classier if they were British.

OK.

Let's make them British again.

Is the painting in the lorry?

Yes.

And thank goodness no one saw me.

This is Fanlee on the Bump, the most exclusive community

off the roundabout to East Sussex.

No one sees anything.

Two lumps?

Thanks, darling.

So what do we do about Blain?

Just leave him there behind the couch.

Remember, we caught him in the midst

of committing grand larceny and justifiably shot him.

Mhm.

Twice.

The gun has a hair trigger.

I think you should say we were being held captive.

There was a struggle and the gun went off quite accidentally.

Twice?

Could be hard to explain.

Not really.

You were fighting for your life.

I was fighting for my life?

Well, the police will never believe

that I could've disarmed him.

Yes.

You're quite right.

We'll have to say I shot him.

Oh, well.

Now, how exactly do we explain the chicken suit?

That's easy.

We'll tell the truth.

Blain mistook the date and thought

he was going to be attending a costume party.

All right.

Yeah.

Well, how do we explain me?

You're my neighbor.

Bridgette, I'm not really your neighbor.

But you're David and Nancy's nephew.

Unfortunately, not.

Great nephew?

Not even remotely related.

But you are staying with them, aren't you?

In a manner of speaking, yes.

Whatever do you mean?

I'm afraid I slit both their throats

and buried them in the rose garden.

Oopsie daisy.

And Milo?

Milo is just fine.

What the bloody hell do you take me for?

Possibly my soulmate.

Oh, I was hoping you felt that way.

I felt an immediate attraction towards you the moment

I first laid eyes on you.

And it's only deepened massively in the brief time

I've known you.

You are a complete sociopath without one single redeeming

quality.

I'm afraid that's entirely true.

Kiss me.

Oh, it still hurts.

Oh, it's not happened yet.

I think I did shit--

Please.

I made you that fucking friendship bracelet.

I gave you my last Livestrong bracelet.

Hold on a tick.

Help me, please.

Please.

We can stop for fro-yo.

I know you love Menchies.

Why don't you just die?

Murder, anyone?

So now, we have two psycho killers in the scene.

Three if you count, Blain.

Isn't that a bit much?

No, no, no.

The more, the merrier.

You can never have too many psycho killers, Clarice.

OK.

But it's getting a little far-fetched.

Well, isn't that the point?

Isn't art supposed to be far-fetched?

You don't plop down a hundred or even $12.50 to go see something

that's fetched.

I don't think that's an actual term.

Why not?

Why are things only far-fetched?

Why can't they be merely-fetched or 3/4-fetched?

I don't know.

The point is, where do we go from here?

We've already thrown out the whole outline.

You know what?

I think that's a good thing.

Let's take this thing as far as we can.

And I am not wild about them being British.

OK.

So make them American.

I'll go back and change lorry to truck

and make the other things in that scene more American later.

All right.

All right.

All right.

Great.

Because I have an idea for what happens next.

Carry on, old chap.

I said not British.

I just wanted to get that out there

before we go all colonial again.

All right.

It's later now.

Cooper, I'm worried someone's going to find the body

and ruin everything.

Don't even worry about it.

Blain fit right in the grave next to David and Nancy.

And he's now perfectly covered by David's prizewinning roses.

Blain's disappearance won't be noticed for a while.

He often disappears for months at a time and only returns

when he runs out of money.

But how ever are we going to explain David and Nancy?

What?

Why do we need to explain anything about them?

What do they have to do with us?

You're right.

I hadn't thought of it like that.

We're in the clear.

Nothing can stop us now.

Hello?

Anybody home?

Who can that be?

I don't know.

It sounds like a woman.

Hello?

Her voice doesn't sound familiar.

I don't want to let her in.

I think you have to.

You can't do anything suspicious.

Hello.

Sup, bitches?

I'm Mary Clemens.

I'm a psychic.

I live next door.

Wait, wait, wait.

We can't have a psychic next door.

That's right out of Deathtrap.

Well, cheese and crackers.

I'll make it different.

Yeah, it got all muddy.

I am Mary Clemens.

I am blind.

Who's there?

A blind woman?

We can't have a blind woman.

That's out of Wait Until Dark.

We can't rip off two successful plays like that.

It's not a rip off.

It's an homage.

An homage?

Yes.

And besides, Deathtrap had a psychic.

And Wait Until Dark had a blind woman.

But neither of those had a blind psychic.

OK.

It's an homage.

But let's make her French and not a psychic.

All right.

I am Marie Clement de la France.

I am blind and I am a medium.

A medium?

You mean a psychic, like in Deathtrap?

No, not at all like that play.

No.

I cannot read mind or see the future.

See, guys?

Shit ain't nothing like Deathtrap.

But I can tell the past.

Also not like The Dead Zone.

Won't you sit down, Ms. Clement?

Merci beaucoup.

Oh, um.

It's just to your right.

Oh, no.

Sorry.

Can you help her, please?

Mhm.

Here.

Just-- right.

No.

No.

Oh gosh.

Almost.

Almost.

Can you--

Are you OK?

Sorry.

You're finding it.

Almost.

You just need to do a 180.

OK.

Oh, goodness.

Here.

Take my--

OK.

Just--

Here.

OK.

Now, easy does it.

Easy does it.

Voila.

Yay.

Voila.

So you say you have the uncanny ability to see the past?

Indeed I do.

Excuse me, but don't we all have that ability?

Uh, pardon me, but don't we all have that ability?

No.

own past.

Everybody can.

No one care.

But with this power I have, which I did not ask for,

I merely need to be in the presence of a person

and I immediately see their whole life,

like a movie or a play.

Again, not like The Dead Zone.

It is quite formidable.

And you say that's why you've come here this evening?

Oui.

Quite so.

But that is not the only reason.

I have been summoned.

Summoned?

By whom?

The dead.

The lights are flickering, yes?

The dead?

Well, that's just a bit far-fetched.

Wouldn't you say, Ms. Clement?

No.

No.

It's quite fetched.

Is that the correct usage?

My English is not so well.

No.

It's OK.

But let me get this straight.

You're saying you communicate with the dead?

Of course.

I am a medium, after all.

But I not only communicate with the departed.

I bring them--

Fascinating, Ms. Clement.

But what does any of that have to do with me?

I don't even--

May I have your hand, Bridgette?

How did you know my name?

You're hand.

Oh.

It's here.

What is it?

Ma cher, I see everything clearly.

What do you see?

It is what I do not see.

What is that?

I do not see a penis.

Say what?

A penis.

No?

I do not see a penis.

A penis?

What the hell is that?

It's happiness.

It just sounds like "a penis," because she's French.

But the audience is going to think she's saying "a penis."

You think so?

A penis.

A penis.

A penis.

Maybe you're right.

I'll add this.

I do not see much happiness in your life.

She's trying to say "happiness."

Oui.

Happiness.

I thought she was saying--

No.

We know what we thought she was saying.

Bridgette, there is so much sadness in your life.

Your father--

Please.

I don't want to discuss my father.

There's something really wrong here.

You don't like where the story's going?

No.

It's not that.

It's the characters.

They have no inner lives.

We don't really care about them.

They're just pieces we're moving around on a chessboard.

You're right.

There's nobody to care about in this movie--

play, play.

We need a moment, a glimpse into the soul,

of one of the characters.

Marie?

Why Marie?

Well, she's interesting.

She's a blind, French, psychic.

That's the problem.

She's too interesting.

Well, Cooper?

We want to keep him sort of enigmatic.

Don't we?

You're right.

That just leave Bridgette.

I think I've got a way to go with her.

Oh, a wise guy, eh?

Well, be my guest.

I think this will do it.

You say you do not want to talk about your life,

but what else have we but our lives?

I don't want to talk about my life, because it's too painful.

You say you do not see much happiness in my life?

That's true.

Also, no love.

That's not exactly true.

I was in love once, with a boy named Eduardo, Eduardo Gomez

Alfonso de la Guapa.

My father did everything he could to break us up.

I'm sorry.

Why is that?

Alfonso was dark complected.

Even in these enlightened times of post-racial America,

my father was hateful.

He systematically destroyed our love, had Eduardo deported,

and forced me to have a late-term abortion.

Afterward, I hated my father with a passion.

My mother insisted that my father had acted out of love.

But I saw no love in his actions.

I, determined to spend the rest of my life

defying his authority, flaunting his prejudices,

I had many public affairs.

Black men, Brown men, even women.

You should've seen my father froth at the mouth

at the idea of his poor sweet little daughter

becoming a lesbian.

That was the final straw.

He threw me out and disinherited me.

I swore revenge.

And nothing can stand in my way, no code of morals or ethics

or laws.

I'm my own.

I own me.

And scene.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

She's a racist?

No, but her father is.

And she's trying to get back at him.

I hate it.

It is a little overblown with the Judy Garland spot.

I just don't think we need it.

I mean, why do we care about her past?

We know she's a psychopath.

That's all we need to know about her.

OK.

Cut it.

It's cut.

Now, let's up the stakes here.

So you say you were summoned here by dead people?

Oui.

But it was very confusion.

I was summoned by a poulet.

Oh, no.

A poulet?

You mean a chicken?

Oui.

But not a chicken.

It was very, very confusion.

Yes.

It is very confusion.

Could you give us just a moment, please?

But of course.

Not a problem.

Oh.

I sense you have some champagne.

Oh, yes.

Should I--

No, no, no.

It will speak to me.

I am a medium.

Bring some spirits back from the dead, including alcohol.

We have to get rid of her.

What can she know?

She knows about the chicken suit.

I want to find out what else she knows.

You play a very dangerous game, Bridgette.

Haven't you figured me out yet?

Danger is my middle name.

Sure thing.

But what about me?

I don't know your middle name.

Shirley.

Shirley?

William Goldberg III, yes.

Shirley.

I'm curious, Ms. Clement.

No, it's not two.

Um.

Marie, please.

I am not so formal.

Oui.

Marie, then.

How exactly do the dead communicate with you?

It is very interesting.

I get a cryptic--

is that the word?

-a cryptic message.

A word, a phrase, like a text message in my mind.

So the dead text message you?

Yes, like a text, but not exactly.

Then, they tell me where to go and it must have the seance.

A seance?

Is that necessary?

Mademoiselle Bridgette.

Yes?

Yes, I am talking to you.

There is a departed soul who wishes to communicate with you.

It is tres, tres necessary.

Well, then, let's have a seance.

Bridgette.

What's the worst that can happen?

Either nothing or some disembodied spirit

raps on a table?

I must warn you, I'm not like the other medium.

Not only can I summon the souls of the departed, I summon--

Whatever.

Sounds like fun.

Fuck it.

Let's have some fun.

I think this is where the intermission should go.

Intermission?

What do we need an intermission for?

Movies don't have intermissions?

Well, they used to.

I remember seeing Ben-Hur.

They had a long intermission.

Well, yeah.

For one thing, Ben-Hur was, like, four hours long.

And for another thing, no movies have intermissions anymore.

This is not a movie.

And theatergoers expect an intermission.

I hate intermissions.

I mean, why give the audience the chance

to go out and discuss the play at the halfway point?

What if someone's like really enjoying the play

and they overhear somebody else saying,

gee, this plays sucks, and it changes their attitude

entirely?

That never happens.

Besides maybe the reverse can happen.

Somebody could think the play sucks, go out in the lobby,

hear someone else raving about it, and say,

I must've missed something that guy obviously appreciates.

Besides, what about the women who have to pee?

Men have to pee too.

Have you ever seen the line outside the restroom

during the intermission of a play?

The women are lined up from here to Zanzibar.

The men go in, unzip, pee, and they're out again

in 10 seconds.

Nobody ever leaves in the middle of a movie to pee.

This isn't a movie.

It's a play.

Besides, the little black box theaters

need time to sell their drinks and snacks.

Oh, yes.

The old $1 worth of white wine for $8.

What a value.

They need to make their money somewhere.

They're not making it at the box office.

All right.

You made your point.

OK.

We'll put the intermission here.

Now, for some reason, I have to pee.

Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes the first act

of our performance.

Please feel free to enjoy some refreshments in the lobby.

And when the lights flicker, make your way

back to your seats.

Ah, fuck it.

This play is too short for an intermission.

You're right.

Let's go right into act two.

All right.

OK, ball, you are ready?

The axis on planets must flip.

No, no, no.

Just the tip.

What does all that mean?

Shh.

You must remain silent during the incantation.

The spirits are very restless tonight.

Sorry.

This is my first seance.

No, no.

You must not touch the summoning candle.

It must remain lit for the duration.

Bridgette?

Bridgette.

Oh God.

That's Nancy Babcock's voice.

Oh, good Lord.

I only ever heard her screaming in pain.

I mean--

It doesn't matter.

Marie has checked out.

Shit.

Bridgette, don't you want any more of my cookies?

No, I don't.

I never liked your cookies.

Whore.

You there, boy, what did I ever do to harm you?

Nothing, actually.

Nothing at all.

Then, why did you send me here?

It's so cold and damp.

I'm so sorry.

You know, if I could do it all over again--

Yes?

I'd still kill you.

Just being honest.

I do love that about you.

Who the fuck ruined my roses?

David?

I tended those roses for 30 years.

And now, I'm fertilizer for them.

Hey, come on.

I put a lot of effort into that.

I was trying to be thoughtful.

Thoughtful?

You buried me with that shrew I've

been stuck with since I was 23.

Shut up, you old fart.

Oh, get your fat ass back in the kitchen.

I always thought of them as a particularly loving couple.

Yeah.

They seemed so compatible the way

they screamed each other's names when they died.

You just can't tell what goes on behind closed doors.

It's true.

Who knows what they're really up to?

They are gone.

Of course, I remember nothing.

Did you get a message?

Oh, not really.

Just some old neighbors dropping by.

That is very strange.

There was a very powerful and angry spirit which summoned me.

OK.

Well, we try again, huh?

Oh, please.

No.

You don't need to go to any more trouble.

It's been very interesting.

But enough is enough.

Milo?

You said you didn't kill him.

I know.

I know.

He looked so sad without the food and water he--

and he also started to eat David's eyeball.

Oh.

I know.

It's like in less than half a day,

a dog can go from loving the shit out of you

to eating your eyeball out of your dead corpse.

Finally.

I've been trying to reach you guys for 20 minutes.

But the only thing I'm getting from this French lunatic

is a busy signal.

Blain?

Yes, Blain.

Who'd you think it was?

Elvis?

Do you have any idea how frustrating it is

to be on hold when you're dead?

Coop, I am very disappointed in you.

I didn't know she was going to shoot you.

You didn't seem to give a fuck that she did.

Hey.

You know me.

I go with the flow.

Hey.

You wanted to kill me.

Remember?

In a particularly bloody way.

But I didn't.

There's a difference between wanting to commit murder

and murdering someone.

Apparently, you didn't know that.

And now, you're going to have to face--

-the consequences.

Consequences.

What consequences?

You're just a ghost.

Am I?

Marie here's been trying to tell you

that she isn't just any old French, blind, psychic medium.

No, no, no.

She does much, much more than that.

See that candle over there?

Yeah.

That's an ancient Egyptian summoning candle.

It was used by Isis, not that ISIS,

to raise Osiris from the dead.

Not only does Marie summon the soul

of the departed, she summons--

The body.

Hey.

I'm back.

Great to be back.

I'm just, you know, dead.

Ah.

You remember what a really, really bad hangover feels like?

Yeah, well, this kind of feels like that

plus the overwhelming desire to eat brains.

What kind of zombie are you?

Huh?

Zombies don't talk.

What?

Everything you know about zombies

you know from the movies.

That doesn't make them true.

Those movies don't get anything right.

What about the brains thing?

Nah, I made that up.

I mean, what possible good could eating brains do?

Really, think about it.

No.

I just want to kill you.

And there's nothing you can do about it.

Zombie?

Are you kidding me?

What?

Zombies are hot.

Hot?

There are five million zombie movies.

There's The Walking Dead and 28 Days Later

and Zombieland and Shaun of the Dead and Night

of the Living Dead and Return of the Living Dead and Dawn

of the Dead and Day of the Dead and Afternoon of the Dead.

I missed that one.

Whatever.

Zombies are played out, finished, over.

Hardly.

That's why they keep making new ones every year.

It's money in the bank, a zombie movie.

This, in case I haven't made it sufficiently clear,

is not a movie.

It's a play.

Fine.

It's a zombie play then.

There certainly aren't too many of those around.

That's because theatergoers want something

more than just the regurgitated pap

they can get any day of the week at their local multiplex.

Oh, people who go to the theater.

You really don't like common people, do you?

What do you mean by that?

Well, you've turned your nose up at popular culture,

as if they're stupid.

What's wrong with a little commercial success?

You've got it all wrong.

It's not that I dislike people.

I just want to give them something

worthwhile, thought-provoking.

Oh, really?

12 people at a time?

With a movie, you can reach millions.

You can write a movie on your own time.

We agreed to write a play.

All right.

All right.

I just want to write a play that could be adapted into a movie.

Besides, this is only the first draft.

Why don't we play it out to the end and see how we feel then?

Whatever.

I just don't want to keep having the same argument with you.

Now, where are we?

All right.

OK.

What I have is that the David and Nancy zombies come

crashing back into the room.

Two more zombies?

Are you kidding me?

We can't have that.

How are you going to get two actors

to audition for non-speaking zombie roles in a play?

Well, you know, in a movie, there are

thousands of extras lining up.

Again, that's a movie.

This is a play.

How then, are we going to explain that Blain comes back

as a zombie, but David and Nancy don't?

I don't know.

This is so stupid.

All right.

I've got.

I think I've got something.

Brains.

David and Nancy are staggering across the lawn, very slowly.

They're going to take at least 20 minutes.

Oh, they don't look so good.

Brains.

Big brains.

We have to do something.

Yes, you have to die.

But don't worry.

It's not so bad, once you get past the worms eating

your flesh.

The medium, this has all happened because of her.

You're right.

We have to snap her out of it.

You fend off Blain while I try.

Yes.

Marie.

Marie, wake up.

Marie, you have to wake up.

Bridgette, I miss you.

Ay, dios mio.

Eduardo?

I miss you, cara mia.

You're dead?

It's so hot in here.

Ay, dios mio.

You're in hell?

No, in Ecuador.

Enough with Eduardo.

She's just connecting with the dearly departed,

like the dearly deported.

Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday, Mr. President.

Oh, why do I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop?

Jack, if you don't call me back, I'm going to take all these--

-pills.

Now, she's Marilyn Monroe.

Is she buried in the rose garden too?

No.

She's just a disembodied spirit.

Haven't you heard that sometimes happens to suicides?

Keep going.

What should I do?

I don't know.

But do it fast.

Chicken Boy's wearing me the fuck out.

I should've been Freddy Krueger.

No.

It's a good chicken suit.

Sacre bleu.

Shit.

You haven't seen the last of me.

I'll be back.

Fuck you.

Bridgette, was it really necessary?

Apparently.

This is all insane.

Yes, it is.

I know.

But it's over now.

Seriously?

Kung Fu and Karate?

How are we going to do that?

We'll use stunt doubles, of course.

It's a movie.

No one will ever know.

It's a fucking play.

I might be some bloody poultry, but you're no match

for my Kung Fu stylings.

Let's go then, Kung Pao chicken.

Let's go, Cooper.

How is this happening?

I killed Marie?

Must be the fact that the candle's still burning.

You get to the candle.

I'll handle chicken boy.

All right?

OK.

We can't afford to choreograph any more.

Blow the fucking candle out.

Thank you.

This is awful.

Kung Fu zombies?

Hey, that's a great title.

I can't believe my name is going to be on this.

Are you kidding me?

This is great stuff.

Boy, oh, boy.

Wait till you read the ending I come up with.

To us.

To us.

It has been quite an evening.

Yes, it has.

It's a good thing that bit with the candle worked.

I was about to be zombied to death.

That's right.

I was about to be pecked to death by a zombie chicken.

Wow.

I've definitely done enough digging in that rose garden.

That's for sure.

Four bodies?

Yeah, that's enough.

Thank goodness there's you.

Yeah.

You're pretty remarkable.

As are you.

We're sort of made for each other.

I think so.

I don't think this is what romantic comedy writers would

call a "meet cute."

A meet cute?

Yes.

You know, when the boy meets the girl in the movie.

She's having an online romance with him, but doesn't know it.

Or he's a widow who goes on the radio

and she falls in love with his voice.

Or, well, you know.

I mean, what like a Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan kind of thing?

Yes, exactly.

OK.

For sure.

OK.

That shit's crazy.

Yeah.

Some people don't even think that a triple murder

is that romantic.

I know.

I guess some people don't.

That's why we're so right for each other.

There aren't many people capable of accomplishing

what we've done together.

That's damn right.

That's why I feel so bad.

Bad?

Why?

You might've noticed that it's getting a bit difficult

to move your extremities.

I put a little something in your champagne.

I'm sorry, but I still need someone

to blame the Picasso on.

And, well, Blain is buried in the rose garden.

So--

Was it-- was this really necessary?

I think so.

I can't feel my body.

You can still feel your mouth, apparently.

Psych.

I don't drink champagne.

What do you mean?

I saw you drink it all day.

You should pay more attention.

I actually didn't eat or drink a single thing

since I've been here.

Thank you.

Am I?

I'm good with this.

To us.

Well, the police will never believe

that I could've disarmed him.

Why is that?

Because, one second--

OK.

Because I intend to drink now.

I have no idea what you're saying.

I said- I intend to drink now.

There's something really distracting in your mouth.

I just can't.

You're killing recalling the fucking moment..

Huh?

Fuck.

I don't--

Because I intend to drink now.

Oh, you're a vampire.

Good.

You picked up on that.

Yes.

Finally.

Thank you.

I had to put this shit for you to--

you get it.

I'm a vampire.

Right?

Yes.

I can put this in my pocket now.

Yeah?

Yeah.

Sorry.

Now, I don't know how I missed it.

Yes.

Yes.

Hey, you know how I said I slit the Babcocks' throats earlier?

Bit their throats.

Fucking bit those throats.

You bit them.

You want to know why?

You want to know why?

I do.

Because that's how I roll, brother.

That's how I roll.

I bite throats.

Well, this is perfect.

Now, you can turn me into a vampire

and we can keep killing and killing for all eternity.

That shit would be dope.

Mhm.

But, unfortunately, nah.

I'm too much of a commitment-phobe.

Yeah.

Couldn't have you around like that, not too much, not

too much.

Oh, shit.

No.

But I'll tell you what.

I'll keep that summoning candle shit

and I'll summon you back, from time to time,

like it's a booty call, like a vamp and chill or some shit.

Yeah.

Yeah.

We could do that.

We could do that.

We could.

So you do care something for me.

I knew we had a connection.

What?

You just so happened to have a wooden fucking stake on you?

I lied about my last name.

It isn't Nelson.

It's Van Helsing.

Oh, of course.

My family has been luring vampires

to their death for centuries.

Is that really necessary?

Quite.

Am I out of blood?

I might be out of blood.

You can die now.

No.

I've got a little blood left.

I have to bleed out first.

Welp.

It's such a skinny stake.

What a slow death you've appointed me to.

It's been fun.

Yes.

Thank you.

At least you say that.

God, compliment me while I die, why don't you?

Is it 11:00 already?

Wow.

This is the final straw.

Ghosts I was OK with.

I even begrudgingly accepted zombies.

But Kung Fu zombies and Marilyn Monroe and now a vampire?

And Van Helsing.

Van Helsing?

And how many times do you think you

can shock an audience with a supposedly dead character

suddenly springing up?

This is just bad writing.

This is 10 pounds of shit in a 5 pounds bag.

I'm for scrapping the whole thing and starting over.

You don't know what you're talking about.

You don't know a good thing when you see it.

This screenplay could be our meal ticket.

Oh, I see.

You were just pretending to collaborate on a play.

This whole time, you were writing your cheap exploitation

film for the mindless masses.

You say that like it's a bad thing.

I'm deleting the whole thing.

Oh, no you are not, my friend.

No, no.

Do not hit that delete key.

Dammit, Charlie.

Don't make me do this.

"Damn it, Charlie.

Don't make me do this."

Knock, knock, honey.

I'm kind of working here.

Oh.

Well, I didn't hear any typing.

So I thought that it was OK.

Whether you hear me typing or whether you

don't hear me typing, whatever the fuck you hear--

Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

Very good.

Well, at least you're not typing "All work and no play

make George a dull boy."

Yeah.

No.

Thank heaven for that.

How's the writing going today?

Well, to be honest, I've been fighting with myself

the whole day.

It's that old art versus commerce argument.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Exactly.

Bridgette?

Oh, yeah, yeah.

Are you basing a character on me?

Just the name.

So she's nothing like me?

Unless you're a total sociopath with no redeeming qualities,

then no.

She is nothing like you.

Oh, yes.

That would be me.

You know, honey, I was thinking.

Maybe you should think about getting someone, another writer

to work with you.

You mean, collaborate?

I'm deleting the whole thing.

Damn it, Charlie.

Don't make me do this.

I don't know if that'd work out so well.

But at least then you wouldn't be, you know,

spending all your time cooped up down here, all alone,

in a room, talking to yourself.

OK.

You know what?

I'll consider it for my next project.

OK.

It's just a thought.

I mean, you know I worry about you.

You don't have to worry about me.

Actually, I think I've really written something good here

and has commercial value.

You've said that before.

I know.

I know.

But this one is different.

This one has, well, everything.

Well, I hope so.

We could use some money.

I know.

What about your dad?

Do you think, like, he'd maybe loan us some

till I can sell this?

Oh, boy.

My father?

You must be kidding?

I mean, you know what?

I know.

Let's steal his Picasso.

Oh, now, there's a thought.

Hmm?

All right.

Coming to dinner?

Yeah.

In a little bit.

I just want to put one thing in here

before it falls out my ears.

You know, the kids would like to see their father sometime.

Bridgette, my darling, love of my life, I'll be right up.

But I'll bash your brains in.

I'll bash your fucking brains right in.

That was good.

That was--

Thanks.

That was good, but I don't think you quite have it exactly.

All right.

I'll keep working on it.

And I got to work on this.

But I will be right up.

Tell the kids I'll be up in time for dessert.

OK?

I just really need to get this down before I forget it.

OK.

All right.

Love you.

Love you.

Kung Fu Zombies, the screenplay.

We fade in--

What the hell just happened?

Where am?

What-- why does everything seem so much smaller?

Am I in a dollhouse version of my house?

Are those credits rolling by outside my smaller house?

Whoa.

How the hell did you get in here?

All right.

George, George, relax.

I know this is a little freaky right now.

Yeah.

This is actually a movie.

What?

I was writing a movie.

I know that.

Not exactly.

You're actually a character in a movie I directed.

Hold on.

Hold on.

Explain to me what's going on.

Guys.

Guys, guys, kill the credits for a second.

Oh.

Thank you.

That's very unsettling.

Oh.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

That was so unsettling.

Yeah.

Yeah.

You should feel like you got a little bit more breathing

room, a normal size again.

Yeah, yeah.

So what's going on?

OK.

So like I was saying, you're actually

a character that was written by my father for a play

that he created and then I turned into a movie.

You're played by an actor named Maurice LeMarche.

I'm not familiar with his work.

Voice actor?

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Pinky and the Brain.

Yeah, yeah.

He was a friend of my father's.

Oh.

Yeah.

Your dad wrote on that?

Yeah, yeah.

Yes, yes, yes.

I liked his episodes particularly.

So you're saying then that I, George the screenwriter

and playwright, am not real.

Well, I mean, are any of us?

I'm actually not really the director.

I'm a character named "The Director"

that the director is actually playing inside of his own movie

that was written as a play.

I mean, I was almost really recast

because I couldn't learn my lines.

Wow.

That's got to be a comedown.

I know.

I really feel for the actor.

So are you telling me I'm just words on a page?

Words on a page.

So when the movie ends, do I just disappear

and I'm gone for good?

No.

No.

I'm not saying that.

Some works, they last forever.

Nothing's ever really gone for good.

All right.

Cut.

Cut it.

Cut.