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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.