Original subtitles

Okay, so I kinda had an epiphany.

What I realized is that one of my problems

is that I'm just really resistant to new things.

I just say no too often, which is totally fear.

So I decided I'm just gonna start saying yes to stuff.

So when you needed someone to drive you,

I just said yes because maybe I can learn something, you know?

Anyway. I guess what I'm trying to say is,

I really think you can help me with some important life stuff,

and I really appreciate the opportunity.

Were you talking to me?

Yes.

I'm sorry, dear girl.

There are certain octaves of the female voice that I am no longer able to hear.

I'll take it as a compliment you knew I was a girl.

Honestly, I do appreciate the support.

As you know, I would not have broken my solitude

were it not a matter of utmost urgency.

Yeah, that sounds like some serious shit, man. Where are we going?

To the home of an old writer friend. Well, it's a foe.

He's an untalented hack who stole the love of my life.

We haven't spoken in 40 years,

and recently he reached out and begged me to come and see him.

Says he wants to apologize.

That's nice.

-So you guys are gonna make up? -No.

I'm gonna fuck his wife.

Look, I'm not sure I'm totally comfortable with this.

Don't worry about it. I'll be in and out in 15 minutes.

Yeah, it's not the time that's the issue.

It's more the part where you're gonna, like, fuck some guy's wife.

I'm not literally gonna have sex with his wife.

Anne died years ago. I'm speaking figuratively.

I've come here to cuckold Peter.

Emasculate him beyond repair by flaunting my many successes.

That's sounds super petty and unnecessarily convoluted.

That's what they said about my books.

That didn't stop me from besting Peter in that department.

I'm gonna crush him beneath the weight of my literary oeuvre.

And then when the moment is right, I'm gonna whip it out.

Do not whip it out.

Oh, yes. I'm whipping it out and shoving it right in his face.

-My Nebula. -Thank God.

You can help. Talk me up in there.

Say nothing of the video games.

It's looked down upon in the literary world.

Focus on my books.

This isn't what I had in mind.

Finding answers doesn't always follow what you had in mind.

Jump the fuck in. Get weird.

You might actually learn something.

Hello. You must be Mr. Longbottom.

Yes, you're right.

And you are?

Magda. It's a pleasure. Peter is expecting you.

-Cool house. -Well, thank you, dear boy.

I'm a girl.

Apologies. It was the hair.

-Peter. -Carl.

Hello, old friend.

It's been a long time.

Yeah, a long time indeed.

-You look well. -I look terrible, but I feel great.

So happy to see you.

-Sorry. Hi, yeah. I'm-- -This is my driver.

Yep. I'm the driver.

And yet you came in.

Yes.

That was an interesting choice.

-Nice to meet you. -Nice to meet you.

How's everyone doing out here?

Can I offer you something to drink? Tea, lemonade?

Whiskey, neat. My driver will have the same.

-It's kinda early. -Indeed.

And I'm driving.

Very professional.

I hire only the best. I'll have hers.

Of course.

She is lovely.

That's Magda.

She's been with me a few years. Don't know what I would do without her.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Hey. Is this you, C.W.?

Yes.

I'm surprised you keep this up here, old boy.

Why wouldn't I? It was one of the greatest times of my life.

Oh, yes.

This was when I met Anne.

Yes.

And together we made this wonderful brood.

Ten grandchildren, if you can believe it.

That's a lot of grandchildren. I have 12.

-She's one. -What?

Your driver is your grandchild?

Calpurnia. She's my biggest fan.

-Yes, I am. -She's also gay.

Yep.

Yep, yep, yep.

The Nebula. This looks familiar.

This is Anne's, of course. All of these are.

She was quite celebrated.

Peter, on the other hand, well, he was...

Is "prolific" the right word?

I suppose you could say that.

What else can you say about someone who wrote 19 novellas?

Nineteen! And all about the same character, mind you.

Called The Hammerfall Cycle.

You wouldn't have heard of them.

Maybe you'd like to read one?

Yeah, thank you. That's nice.

-Start with this one. That's Anne's. -Okay.

She was a true genius.

She was. One of a kind.

Here you are.

Why, thank you.

Well, on to the matter at hand.

Ladies, would you excuse us, please?

No need to take more of your time.

No, I suppose, 40 years is long enough to wait for an apology.

I should think so.

It's hard to know where to begin.

Whenever you're ready.

I'm quite ready.

Yeah, so am I.

Go ahead.

Me?

I'm not apologizing. You are.

I am not.

Then why did I drive all the way up here?

You're going to apologize to me.

Like hell I am. You reached out to me.

Said you wanted to set things right.

-Set things right? -Yeah.

Damn it.

Ginny. My daughter. Just like her mother. Headstrong.

She must have set this up.

And you thought I--

What on earth would I have to apologize for?

For breaking up the tripod.

You disappeared from our lives, Carl.

You didn't even come to Anne's funeral.

She made her choice.

I see.

I always suspected that you were jealous.

Jealous? Of a boob?

A man so dunderheaded he was duped by his own progeny? Hardly!

That's enough of that.

You can go.

Not until I get my apology.

Don't be absurd. What am I meant to be apologizing to you for?

I don't know.

Perhaps for hanging yourself around Anne's neck like an albatross.

For poisoning her against me.

You became an insufferable blowhard after you won the Nebula.

Disparaging me at every turn.

I did no--

You told Anne I was a fecund literary slut.

That was taken out of context. But I also stand by it.

You did everything you could to turn her against me!

Was I the one who gave you a face like a fucked ass?

I presumed that was your mother!

You son of a bitch!

Hey! Hey! Hey!

You've got some nerve coming here.

As do you, churning out 19 installments of that Hammerfall dross

while married to one of the great writers of our age.

Anne loved The Hammerfall Cycle.

-She called them vibrant and electrifying. -"Electrifying."

Yes, I've seen the dust jacket note.

It's the same one on every book.

I guess I held up the standard.

Is that the holdup on book 20?

Can't find anyone to read the damn thing?

Never wrote the damn thing.

When I lost Anne, I lost my muse.

Oh, please. Don't blame her for your undercooked literary miscarriages.

What glowing quotes grace the covers of your books these days?

I'll have you know Harper's called my last book

"unbridled space smut."

What happened to you, dear boy?

You began with such promise.

Tears was...

a triumph.

You couldn't finish the trilogy. Why?

I'm writing it.

Not that you'd know it, dear boy, but good writing takes time.

And what does 42 years of drinking and whoring around take?

I won a Nebula Award.

You can write 10,000 books and never accomplish that.

Whereas I could never write another word for as long as I live,

but I would still have hard proof

my very first book was a stroke of genius.

But the sequel...

it didn't quite stand up, did it?

It's a bit limp.

Who does he think he is? Tw-- Myself? Not a chance.

That was intense. Are you ready to get out of here, Grandpa?

No. No, no, no. I'm not leaving yet. I'm gonna fuck his wife.

I know. Figuratively.

No, literally. I'm literally gonna have sex with his new wife.

-Who are you talking about? -That Eastern European strumpet.

I'm gonna take her as my own.

Magda is his nurse, man.

Then that changes everything.

I'm gonna fuck his nurse.

Good God.

Is everything okay out here?

-Yes. -No.

-So are you staying for dinner? -No.

Yes.

Yes.

This chicken is beyond, Magda. You're a fantastic cook.

-Oh, no. I'm not-- -No, no, no. Don't be modest.

It's wonderfully moist.

Carl, she didn't make the food.

She's the nurse, remember?

-Don't back talk me, Cassandra. -Calpurnia.

Oh, right.

I'm confusing her with my many other grandchildren.

The Longbottoms are notoriously robust of seed.

I'm glad you like the food, Carl.

It means a lot coming from a man who knows his way around a rotisserie spit.

Were you aware that your grandfather hawked chicken at the state fair?

It was the Renaissance fair.

And I was the Grand Roast-Master

of an award-winning rotisserie chicken victualler's.

No wonder you didn't write any good books for 40 years.

You were busy basting.

I've been busy finishing my trilogy.

Also award-winning.

-One of them. -Yes. The books vary.

You see, some of us don't like writing the same book 19 times.

It's called a nonodecology.

I'm sure it is.

Speaking of endlessly repeating things, I'd love a refill.

Nurse.

I'll drink as fast as I like, California.

I think you've had enough.

I'm just getting started.

Really?

'Cause all I see is a man who's finished.

That's it! I'm going.

-Well, it's been fun. -To the bathroom.

Jackpot.

Call me a chicken man.

Well, this chicken man...

is gonna shit in your desk, daddio.

So, Calpurnia, how long have you been a lesbian?

-I should check on him. -No need. Here I am.

What is this?

I'd like to apologize for my previous transgressions.

I'm feeling a bit more myself now.

I'm not sure that's a relief.

I'll darken your doorway no longer.

Calamari, we're leaving.

Go start the car. I'll be just a minute.

Yes!

Yes, well, thank you for having us,

and for the books.

I will read them both.

And I'm sorry, and yes.

-I'll walk you out. -You don't have to. It's okay.

-No, please. -Okay.

Let's not part on bad terms.

The truth is I respect you.

How could I not? You've written 19 books.

That's commendable.

It's an odd number though, 19. Why not go for 20?

Yes, you stopped writing after Anne died.

You lost your muse. Or was it... your career?

Annihilation Entire. The 20th book of the Hammerfall series.

What are you doing with that?

What are you doing with it? You said you never wrote it!

But there it was in your desk drawer for anyone to find.

Why not publish?

-I'm still tinkering with it. -Liar!

You finished this. You even copyrighted it.

Give me that!

Give me that!

Careful, old boy.

You're no longer as spry

as the writer of Hammerfall 1: The Darkest Hour.

Peter, pray tell, who published this gem?

Here we go. Random House.

And who was Anne's publisher at that time?

Yes, Random House. What a coincidence.

But then she switched publishers at one point, didn't she?

And who was the new one?

What was that--

Tor, of course.

And isn't this interesting?

You switched publishers that year.

And who had the good fortune to publish your newest volume?

Tor. My, my.

In fact, Tor continued to publish both you and Anne.

Every book, all the way up until her death. Wow.

Of course, they could no longer continue publishing Anne at that point.

She was gone. But why did they stop with you?

I'll tell you why.

Because they only published you as a favor to her.

The star!

And when she died, they cut loose the baggage.

You'll never be able to end the saga

because there's no one around who cares to hear it.

Well, they rejected my last book.

At last we know the truth!

And shame on you for using your own daughter

to lure me here so you could get me drunk and make me embarrass myself.

I did no such thing.

Really? Then why did she do it?

Because I'm dying, you idiot.

What?

I'm dying.

And my daughter's still young enough to believe...

that closure exists.

Well, it does exist.

Just not for you.

And by the way, the chicken was dry.

Carl.

"Watch out for stobor."

Drive!

-Drive! -I'm driving.

Jesus Christ, dude.

So did you get what you wanted?

Did you cuckold him or whatever?

Yes.

I am victorious.

Okay. That's good, I guess.

I don't know, man. I feel more confused than when we started.

I mean, I jumped in, and shit definitely got weird.

But I don't feel like I learned anything.

Watch out.

-What? -Watch... out... for... sto--

sto--

No, no. C.W., no! No! No!

I have been saying yes all goddamn day.

I am not saying yes to you puking in my car!

Oh, my God, dude. I said yes to driving you

and to the weird fucking cuckolding thing.

And watching you get blasted out of your mind. I'm sick of it.

Stobor.

Sto--

C.W.?

C.W.?

-C.W. -Carl.

Carl.

Carl.

Carl.

Are you okay?

Anne?

Oh, no. I'm Ginny, her daughter.

My God, you look just like her.

Thank you, yes.

I inherited my mother's looks and my father's acid reflux.

Here. Drink this.

How'd I get back here?

Your granddaughter brought you back.

You passed out in her car, and she thought you were dying.

I got it.

Perhaps she's right.

So this is C.W. Longbottom.

I have to say you're not at all what I expected.

Well, I'm not what I expected either.

I'm sure your mother told you horror stories.

Actually, she never mentioned you once.

Until, one day, she comes home with this.

She asked me to put it in the VCR.

It's not every day your 70-year-old mother comes home with a video game.

But then she tells me that an old friend wrote it.

She kept this totem of my failure to humiliate me.

What? No. No.

She was proud of you for finding your thing.

She said you predicted the whole video game thing

back in the '70s or something.

I did. Yes.

She remembered.

Yeah. She also said you snorted the next three decades up your nose.

Also yes.

Anyway... I'm sorry for tricking you into coming here.

Silly of me to think two old men who share the same profession

and the same wildly specific interests

might rekindle a friendship before one of them dies.

I guess forgiveness is hard to find

when you're a stubborn ass who can't admit when he's wrong.

I'm talking about you, by the way.

Yeah, I got that.

Great.

Don't forget this bad boy.

God, do they just give these out to anybody?

Yes, they do.

I'm just gonna steal one of these.

Hey.

"Watch out for stobor."

Nothing.

Goodbye, old girl.

Peter, my behavior last night, I acted like a contemptible fool.

And I said things which were unforgivable.

You also took a shit in my desk.

Oh, yes. That too.

You didn't say anything that wasn't true.

I just wish...

He needs some fresh air.

I...

May I?

Oh, my goodness.

She started it the day we moved in.

"To the seeds that blossom."

Indeed.

Of course, I wanted to live in the city, but...

You did it for her.

You're a better man than I, Peter.

Yeah, a good man...

and a mediocre writer.

Well, I don't know about that.

How many writers can claim they've written an icosology?

How do you--

Doesn't matter.

You know, it's sad the world will never know how it ends.

It ends with a dead body. Mine.

No, I mean for Bjorn Hammerfall and the crew of the Bellerophon.

The last we saw them,

they had just slipped into hyperspace from the Andromeda sector.

You read volume 19?

I read them all.

Some more than once.

I've always been a fan.

Was jealous, yes.

Angry, certainly.

Drunk most of the time.

Always a fan.

Take it.

At least one person will read it.

I'd prefer to hear it read by the author himself.

It's quite long. How much time do you have?

Till it's over.

"The only sound

in the command center of the USPC Battle-Cruiser Bellerophon

was the low pulse of the sub-light drives.

The crew stood silent as they looked out upon the shattered remains of Antigone V."

"Shattered remains"?

What happened to Antigone?

"Hammerfall awoke with a start. It was a dream.

Or maybe a nightmare.

Perhaps a vision of the future.

He swung his legs off the zero-G hammock,

strode over to the comms panel and punched through to the bridge."