Carine McCandless:
[voice-over] The year Chris graduated high school, he bought the Datsun used and drove it cross-country. He stayed away most of the summer. As soon as I heard he was home, I ran into his room to talk to him. In California, he'd looked up some old family friends. He discovered that our parents' stories of how they fell in love and got married were calculated lies masking an ugly truth. When they met, Dad was already married. And even after Chris was born, Dad had had another son with his first wife, Marcia, to whom he was still legally married. This fact suddenly redefined Chris and me as bastard children. Dad's arrogance made him conveniently oblivious to the pain he caused. And Mom, in the shame and embarassment of a young mistress, became his accomplice in deceit. The fragility of crystal is not a weakness but a fineness. My parents understood that a fine crystal glass had to be cared for or it may be shattered. But when it came to my brother, they did not seem to know or care that their course of secret action brought the kind of devastation that could cut them. Their fraudulent marriage and our father's denial of his other son was, for Chris, a murder of every day's truth. He felt his whole life turn, like a river suddenly reversing the direction of its flow, suddenly running uphill. These revelations struck at the core of Chris' sense of identity. They made his entire childhood seem like fiction. Chris never told them he knew and made me promise silence, as well.
Frankie Lymon:
Do you love him?
Zola Taylor:
I told you, Frankie. He's a nice, good man...
Frankie Lymon:
I didn't ask that! I asked you do you love him?
Zola Taylor:
YES! I love him, okay?
Frankie Lymon:
Oh, no, no... You said that marriage would tie you down. You just didn't want to be tied down to me.
Zola Taylor:
No, I never said that Frankie.
Frankie Lymon:
Oh, yeah, that's what you said. Now, let me tell you something. You gonna always be tied down to me. Whether you like it ot not. We're like magnets... [forcefully kisses Zola]
Zola Taylor:
[pushes Frankie away] Mm-mmm. Don't do this to me, Frankie.
Frankie Lymon:
Don't leave me right now, Zola.
Zola Taylor:
[flashes ring] I'm married.
Frankie Lymon:
No, that was a mistake! That was a mistake!
Zola Taylor:
NO! I got a life, baby, and it ain't gonna include you. Now you got to go. GET OUT!
Ronnie Shields:
Damn, she got some boobies on her.
Wheeler:
You sure are a fan of the boobies, kid.
Ronnie Shields:
Oh yeah. Sometimes I call myself "The Booby Watcher". I even have my own comic book. "The Adventures of The Booby Watcher".
Wheeler:
Okay. You know, I have a theory about boobies.
Ronnie Shields:
Really?
Wheeler:
Oh yeah. You see, there are as many women as there are men in this world.
Ronnie Shields:
True dat, true dat.
Wheeler:
And every woman has two boobs, for the most part. So there are twice as many boobs as there are men. We're outnumbered and it's overwhelming. We're powerless, and we have to accept it.
Ronnie Shields:
I like yo' take on boobies. And I like boobies.
Wheeler:
Kid, you got a lot to learn.
Ronnie Shields:
I know what I'm doin'.
Wheeler:
Oh really? So you don't realize you've just committed one of the most common rookie boob-watching errors?
Ronnie Shields:
What you mean?
Wheeler:
Never stare at the boobies, kid. Once you get caught, the game's over.
Ronnie Shields:
But how?
Wheeler:
It's called training. You know, being aware without drawing attention. You don't think I've noticed those 34 C's in the camouflage tank top setting up a tent directly to the left of us? Or how about those twin cannons hiking up a mountain ridge 50 yards due west? Or the ridge itself? Round mounds of grass shaped like...
Ronnie Shields:
Boobies!
Wheeler:
Don't look over there. Look here. Focus... You'll get it.
Announcer:
Geritol. America's #1 tonic. Geritol, the fast-acting, high-potentcy tonic, that helps you feel... stronger... fast... presents the exciting quiz program...”Twenty-One." Brought to you by NBC, The National Broadcasting Company, broadcasting nationally coast to coast, from New York to Los Angeles, from Seattle to St. Petersburg... via a vast network of affiliates crisscrossing the country. Coming up next, "Twenty-One," starring master of ceremonies Jack Barry! [music cues build dramatically]
Announcer:
Two players racing to score 21 points... each in a soundproof television studio, not knowing the other one's score... with $500 riding on each point... as they both play...”Twenty-One!" [lively theme music plays]
Announcer:
And here's your host... Jack Barry! [the audience applauds as Jack runs on to the stage and stands behind his podium]
Jack Barry:
[looking at us] Good evening. I'm Jack Barry. Due to a series of ties, Herbert Stempel, our 29-year-old ex-G.I. college student, must play at $3,000 a point, which means that in a few brief minutes, he can either win as much as $100,000 - the most money won on television to date - or lose everything he's won in the last eight weeks. [as Jack continues to speak, Herbert and his opponent wait to be introduced]
Stempel's opponent:
You nervous?
Herbie Stemple:
[chuckles as he clean's his glasses] It's only money.
Jack Barry:
Isolated in their soundproof studios, neither player is aware of the other's score. I've been assured by our friends at the encyclopedia... that they've concocted some real brain-breakers this week, so we'll find out in the next 30 minutes... if the unstumpable Herbert Stempel can be stumped. Could I have the questions, please? [a drumroll plays as the questions are handed to Jack by a stagehand]
Jack Barry:
Thank you, gentlemen. Remember the questions on "Twenty-One" are secured each week in a Manhattan bank vault 'til just before show time. So right now, let's meet Herbert Stempel and his challenger as Geritol, America's #1 tonic, presents "Twenty-One." [a fanfare plays and the audience applauds as Herbert and his opponent make their entrances]
V:
[Disguised as William Rookwood, meeting with Inspector Finch] Our story begins, as these stories often do, with a young up-and-coming politician. He's a deeply religious man and a member of the conservative party. He is completely single-minded convictions and has no regard for the political process. Eventually, his party launches a special project in the name of 'national security'. At first, it is believed to be a search for biological weapons and it is pursued regardless of its cost. However, the true goal of the project is power, complete and total hegemonic domination. The project, however, ends violently... but the efforts of those involved are not in vain, for a new ability to wage war is born from the blood of one of their victims. Imagine a virus - the most terrifying virus you can, and then imagine that you and you alone have the cure. But if your ultimate goal is power, how best to use such a weapon? It is at this point in our story that along comes a spider. He is a man seemingly without a conscience; for whom the ends always justify the means and it is he who suggests that their target should not be an enemy of the country but rather the country itself. Three targets are chosen to maximize the effect of the attack: a school, a tube station, and a water-treatment plant. Several hundred die within the first few weeks. Until at last the true goal comes into view. Before the St. Mary's crisis, no one would have predicted the outcome of the elections. No one. But after the election, lo and behold, a miracle. Some believed that it was the work of God himself, but it was a pharmaceutical company controlled by certain party members made them all obscenely rich. But the true genius of the plan was the fear. A year later, several extremeists are tried, found guilty, and executed while a memorial is builterected to canonize their victims. Fear became the ultimate tool of this government. And through it our politician was ultimately appointed to the newly created position of High Chancellor. The rest, as they say, is history.
Finch:
Can you prove any of this?
V:
Why do you think I'm still alive?
Finch:
Right. We'd like to take you into protective custody, Mr. Rookwood.
V:
Oh, I'm sure you would. But if you want that recording, you'll do what I tell you to do. Put Creedy under 24 hour surveillance. When I feel safe that he can't pick his nose without you knowing, I'll contact you again. Until then, cheerio.
Finch:
Rookwood. Why didn't you come forward earlier? What were you waiting for?
V:
For you, Inspector. I needed you.
Michael Simmons:
40 days? Does Catherine know?
Caleb Holt:
I'm not gonna tell her. If she wants to go ahead and file, it's up to her.
Michael Simmons:
Divorce is a hard thing, man.
Caleb Holt:
Well, if it brings peace...
Michael Simmons:
But Caleb, you want the right kind of peace.
Caleb Holt:
What do you mean by that?
Michael Simmons:
You know what that ring on your finger means?
Caleb Holt:
It means I'm married.
Michael Simmons:
Yeah, well, it also means you made a lifelong covenant. You putting on that ring, by saying your vows. The sad part about it is when most people promise for better or for worse, they really only mean for the better.
Caleb Holt:
Catherine and I were in love when we got married. Today, we're two very different people. All right? It's just not working out anymore.
Michael Simmons:
Caleb, salt and pepper are completely different. Their makeup is different; their taste and their color. But you always see 'em together. And when you... Hang on a second. [Michael glues a salt and pepper shaker together]
Caleb Holt:
What are you doing? Michael, what did you do that for?
Michael Simmons:
Caleb, when two people get married; it's for better or for worse, for richer or for poor, in sickness and in health.
Caleb Holt:
I know that. But marriages aren't fireproof. Sometimes you get burned.
Michael Simmons:
Fireproof doesn't mean a fire will never come, but that when it comes you'll be able to withstand it.
Caleb Holt:
You didn't have to glue them together. [Caleb picks up the shakers and starts trying to force them apart]
Michael Simmons:
Don't do it, Caleb. If you pull them apart now, you'll break either one or both of them.
Caleb Holt:
I am not a perfect person, but better than most. And if my marriage is failing, it is not all my fault.
Michael Simmons:
But Caleb, man, I've seen you run into a burning building to save people you don't even know. But you're gonna let your own marriage just burn to the ground.
Caleb Holt:
Michael, you are my friend. And I have allowed you to speak freely to me on this job. Don't abuse it.
Dollar Bill:
Stripping business started in Africa. Long time ago, long long time ago, white man went to Africa. And he saw all these bootiful black women, walking around, dancing, working, living, in the nude. Bucked Nakeds! You could see their public hairs. This white man went from village to village to seek out these bootiful black women, watching them perform, in the nude. TITTIES! Asses. Free. White man got an idea. He figure he go back to Europe and start the same type of business, taking away from our black women, trying to get them white bithches to dance the same identical way, huh? But to no avail. Wasn't no shame in our black women walking around BUCKED NAKED! So he went over to Europe and tried the same thang. Them white bitches told that white man the must bootiful words you ever want to hear in our profession.
Ebony:
What did she say?
Dollar Bill:
Baby, them white bitches looked that white man dead in the eye and told him, "Fuck that. Pay me!" Ha ha! That's why I get 30 percent.
Ebony:
When can I start?
Dollar Bill:
Immedjately.
Paula Burns:
Onto new business. Mr. Radcliff is checking out of seven oh nine. Mr. Greenwald is checking in. He's back on the wagon, so let's clear out the minibar. Kanga CFO, Mr. Fukimoro is checking into eight fourteen. Stock Evian, shampoo the rugs and extra slippers for his guests. Marisa heads up on the Madison Suite.
Marisa:
Housekeeping.
Paula Burns:
Mrs. Sage is arriving with the children, preferably after Mr. Sage's girlfriend departs.
Mr. Sage's Girlfriend:
You son of a bitch!
Paula Burns:
Let's make sure it's a smooth transition. The Guedj sisters are back. Let's track them on surveillance, but do keep an eye on all bathrobes, cutlery and light fixtures. Sotheby's director, Caroline Lane has switched from the Four Seasons. She requested a park view and favors purple orchids and lavender scenes. Assemblyman Chris Marshall arrives today. He's gearing up his campaign, so his suite will be doubling as a conference centre, with the liquor and coffee bars turning over every four hours. And he's bringing his large dog, so we'll need proper accouterments. And finally, Mr. Newman is back in the Sherman Suite. Careful, ladies, he's a Full Monty.
Full Monty:
Oh... I had no idea anyone was here.
Stephanie Kehoe, Maid:
Don't worry about it, Mr. Monty. It's no big deal. And I do mean...
Marisa, Stephanie Kehoe, Maid:
...No big deal.
Will Grimm:
Ignore him. He wishes his whole life was something out of a book. And now he thinks he's in love.
Jacob Grimm:
Shut up, Will!
Will Grimm:
Angelika, do what your father wanted: leave the village now.
Angelika:
No, Will. I'm gonna find my sisters.
Jacob Grimm:
Will doesn't care about them. Will doesn't care about anything but himself!
Will Grimm:
This isn't a fairy tale. They are not coming back!
Jacob Grimm:
This is not your world, Will! [to Angelika]
Jacob Grimm:
Angelika, you know, don't you? The story, it's happening to us now. We're living it. It's-it's alive, it's real, it's breathing. And we can give it a happy ending.
Angelika:
Jake...
Jacob Grimm:
Angelika, we'll find your sisters. All right? We'll bring them back.
Will Grimm:
[getting angry] Bring back her sisters? [kicks Jacob]
Will Grimm:
Bring them back? Bring them back with what? Magic beans?
Jacob Grimm:
Why do you say that?
Will Grimm:
Magic beans don't work! They don't bring people back to life! They did not then and they will not now! You go wait by the horses! Jacob, wait by the horses!
Issac Millsaps:
So, Davy, all your Indian fightin'... you ever get into a scrape like this?
Davy Crockett:
I was never in but one real scrape in my life, fella.
Issac Millsaps:
Yeah, but you was in the Red Stick war.
Davy Crockett:
Yeah, it's true, I was in that. I sure was. I was just about your age when it broke out. The Creeks, uh, boxed up about 400 or 500 people at Fort Mims and, uh, massacred every one of 'em. 'Course this was big news around those parts, so I up and joined the volunteers. I did a little scoutin', but mostly I, I just fetched in venison for the cook fire, things of that nature. Well, we caught up with those redskins at Tallushatchee, surrounded the village, come in from all directions. Wasn't much of a fight, really. We just shot 'em down like dogs. Finally... what Injuns was left, they crowded into this little cabin. They wanted to surrender... but this squaw, she loosed an arrow and killed one of the fellas, and then we shot her, And then we set the cabin on fire. We could hear 'em screamin' for their gods in there. We smelled 'em burnin'. We'd had nary to eat but parched corn since October. And the next day, when we dug through the ashes, we found some potaters from the cellar. They'd been cooked by that grease that run off them Indians. And we ate till we nearly burst. Since then... you pass the taters and I pass 'em right back.
Henry Dawes:
We cannot allow a return to incivility.
Charles Eastman:
Incivility? And what has civility earned them, might I ask? Trained nurses? Even one hospital?
Henry Dawes:
All things the Sioux will provide for themselves, Charles, once this plan has passed. As you yourself agreed - they must adapt.
Charles Eastman:
Must they adapt, sir, to the point of their own extermination?
Henry Dawes:
Extermination? I suppose you say we've exterminated your Indian heritage rather than provided to you the benefits of an entire civilization?
Charles Eastman:
Senator, please sit. Sir, if every individual were taken personally under your care, as was my good fortune, I admit, the outcome might be what you seek. But I am not the example you held up to The Friends of the Indian. I am the example of nothing. I simply do not see how placing each Indian man on a desolate, 160-acre parcel of land is going to lead his children to medical school.
Henry Dawes:
It will, in time. But first, this must pass. Or I guarantee you, destitution is all the Sioux will ever know. I have many opponents, Charles, in the press, in Congress...
Charles Eastman:
You have an opponent before you, sir.
President Kennedy:
[addressing the NPIC photograph analyst] Okay - let's have it.
NPIC Photo Interpreter:
Gentlemen, as most of you now know, a U-2 over Cuba Sunday morning took a series of disturbing photographs. Our analysis at NPIC indicates that the Soviet Union has followed up its conventional weapons build-up in Cuba with the introduction of surface-to-surface, medium-range ballistic missiles, or MRBMs. Our official estimate at this time is that the missile system is the SS-4 'Sandal'. We do not believe that the missiles are as yet operational. Iron Bark reports that the SS-4 can deliver a 3-megaton nuclear weapon 1,000 miles. So far we've identified 32 missiles serviced by about 3400 men, undoubtedly all Soviet personnel. Our cities and military installations in the southeast as far north as Washington, D.C., are in range of these weapons, and in the evnt of a launch would have only 5 minutes warning.
General Marshall Carter:
5 minutes, gentlemen.
Gen. Max Taylor:
In those 5 minutes, they could kill 80 million Americans - and destroy a significant percentage of our bomber bases, degrading our retaliatory options. The Joint Chiefs' consensus, Mr. President, is that this signals a major doctrinal shift in Soviet thinking - to a first-strike policy. It is a massively destabilizing move.
Robert Kennedy:
How long until they're operational?
NPIC Photo Interpreter:
General Carter can answer that question better than I can.
Gen. Max Taylor:
GMAC - Guided Missiles Intelligence Committee - estimates 10-14 days. A crash program could limit that time. However, I must stress that there may be more missiles - that we don't know about. We'll need more U-2 coverage.
President Kennedy:
Gentlemen, I want first reactions here. Assuming for the moment that Khruschev has NOT gone off the deep end - and intends to start World War 3 - what are we looking at?
Dean Rusk:
Mr. President, I believe my team is in agreement. If we permit the introduction of nuclear missiles to a Soviet satellite nation in our hemisphere, the diplomatic consequnces will be too terrible to contemplate. The Russians are trying to show the world they can do whatever they want, wherever they want, and we're powerless to stop them. If they succeed...
Robert Kennedy:
It'll be Munich all over again.
Dean Rusk:
Yes. Appeasement only makes the aggressor more aggressive. And the Soviets will be emboldened to push us even harder. Now we must remove the missiles one way or another. Now it seems to me the options are either some combination of international pressure & action on our part, until they give in - or - we hit them. An air strike.
Mr. Jones:
Now when I went to bed last night. Didn't I tell you take out the trash?
Craig Jones:
Yeah.
Mr. Jones:
So, why didn't you do it?
Craig Jones:
I fell asleep.
Mr. Jones:
I wish you was sleeping right now, I knock you upside your head with a left hook make your ass wake up and take out that damn trash.
Craig Jones:
[Craig goes to the trash can to dump out his cereal]
Mr. Jones:
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?
Craig Jones:
I'm throwing this away. We ain't even got no milk.
Mr. Jones:
You better put some water on that damn shit!
Craig Jones:
Alright, I'll eat it.
Mr. Jones:
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Take the garbage out front son!
Betty Warren:
[Betty's Third Editorial Voice Over] Wellesley girls who are married have become quite adept at balancing their obligations. One hears such comments as, "I'm able to baste the chicken with one hand and outline the paper with the other." While our mothers were called to the workforce for lady liberty it is our duty, nay, obligation to reclaim our place in the home bearing the children that will carry our traditions into the future. One must pause to consider why; Ms. Katherine Watson, instructor in the art history department, has decided to declare war on the holy sacrament of marriage. Her subversive and political teachings encourage our Wellesley girls to reject the roles they were born to fill.
Katherine Watson:
Slide - Contemporary art...
Connie Baker:
No, that's just an advertisement...
Katherine Watson:
Quiet. Today you just listen. What will future scholars see when they study us, a portrait of women today? There you are ladies: the perfect likeness of a Wellesley graduate, Magna Cum Laude, doing exactly what she was trained to do. Slide - a Rhodes Scholar, I wonder if she recites Chaucer while she presses her husband's shirts. Slide - hehe, now you physics majors can calculate the mass and volume of every meatloaf you make. Slide - A girdle to set you free. What does that mean? What does that mean? What does it mean? I give up, you win. The smartest women in the country, I didn't realize that by demanding excellence I would be challenging... what did it say? [Walks over to a student and picks up her copy of the editorial]
Katherine Watson:
What did it say? Um... the roles you were born to fill. Is that right? [Looks up at Betty]
Katherine Watson:
The roles you were born to fill? It's, uh, it's my mistake. [Katerine drops the student's paper back onto her desk]
Katherine Watson:
Class dismissed. [Katherine walks out of the classroom]
The Shoveller:
Lucille, God gave me a gift. I shovel well. I shovel very well.
Lucille:
Honey, you shovel better than any man I've ever known, but that does not make you a super hero. [the Shoveller starts to say something, but Lucille cuts him off]
Lucille:
No, listen to me. You're a good husband, and a good father. But that's all. Nothing more. [she walks offscreen, a small boy wearing a Captain Amazing T-shirt hugs The Shoveller's leg]
Roland, The Shoveler's Son:
I believe in you, Daddy!
Lucille:
[calling from off-screen] Roland, do *not* encourage your father.
Nancy, Age 11:
They won't let me testify. I told the cops that you saved my life and they just acted like I was crazy. They talked my parents into keeping me away. They said that you done things that you didn't do. I told them that you saved me from that Roark creep, but they won't even check me out to see if I'm still a virgin. I'm still a virgin, still alive... thanks to you. They got it all backwards.
John Hartigan:
Sometimes the truth doesn't matter like it ought. But you'll always remember things right. That's gonna mean a lot to me. But stay away, Nancy. They'll kill you if you don't stay away. Don't visit me. Don't write me. Don't even say my name.
Nancy, Age 11:
Maybe you won't let me visit, but I'll still write to you, Hartigan. I'll sign my letters "Cordelia." That's the name of a really cool detective in books I read. I'll write to you every week... for forever.
John Hartigan:
Sure, kid. Now run on home. It's not safe for you here. [Nancy walks away]
John Hartigan:
Bye, Nancy. [Nancy turns around at the door]
Nancy, Age 11:
I love you.
Joe Nast:
[voiceover] Dear Bertie, You asked me before where I went. And I want to tell you. I went to a place where nothing's right, where every moment's backwards, every sky's without colour, without hope. I tried to come back, Bertie. But I got lost. And while I was gone, I met you. And I didn't even have the courage to realize I was home. A wise friend of mine told me "we all have our homes", and now I know it's true. I hope you get this letter, Bertie. I figure I got 75 chances. Cause if you do you'll know that in the end, that's where I was. I found home, Bertie. I found you. I hope you can find your's soon. Get there - as fast as you can. And write me when you do. Love, Joe.
Steve:
Better heroes, huh? Listen, girls. My name is Steve. I'm a monster. I've been coming here for three days, causing all sorts of damage to your town. And what do I get? Two days of no-shows, and now this. A flag girl who does rope tricks, some rabbit, and Little Miss Darkness who's afraid of a little sun.
Buttercup:
Hey! Do you have any idea who you're talking to?
Bubbles:
We're superheroes!
Blossom:
Real ones!
Steve:
Yeah, well, that's great and all, but what am I supposed to tell the guys back on Monster Isle? You see, when a monster visits Townsville, he must fight the Powerpuff Girls. And if he can hold his own and make it back to Monster Isle alive, he's a hero. Now this new bit is just not gonna cut it. Sure, you didn't have a thirst for vengeance, stickers with your face on them, or souped-up vehicles, cause you didn't need them! See? Even if you take away the costumes, props, and angst, you still have all the bravery and courage it takes to save the day. So what do you say? Powerpuff Girls?
Blossom:
Let's get him, girls!
Steve:
Now that's better!
Cat R. Waul:
[after pulling to activate a trap door on stage which an opera singing mouse falls into] Terrible! Terrible! Absolutely, positively apalling. I must have a voice to match the occulence of this sal... [Fievel, scrambles up behind Cat R. Waul, picks up a fork and stabs him in the butt]
Cat R. Waul:
OON! [Jumps out of his clothes through the ceiling to an upper level saloon where a lady grabs him]
Lady at Saloon:
Oh, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy! Pussy pussy! Oh, pussy! [Wriggles out, falls down the hole back into his clothes on the stage]
Cat R. Waul:
Humans! Yeeuk. So shiny and pleh! [to Chula]
Cat R. Waul:
Right. I want the subversive who tried to asassinate me found.
T.R. Chula:
I just love findin' subversives. Boss, what's a subversive?
Cat R. Waul:
Someone who doesn't have very long to live. [Fievel, with his shirt caught on the needle of a record player, tries to run and plays some music, which Cat R. Waul notices]
Cat R. Waul:
Ah. If it isn't my diminuitive friend from the train.
Fievel:
Cat R. Waul! I heard what you said about the Mouseburgers, and I'm gonna tell everyone. I'm gonna get Wily Burp. Cause he's the law.
Cat R. Waul:
The Wily Burp? [the saloon erupts in laughter]
Cat R. Waul:
That quaint historical figure? [Cat R. Waul picks him up on a fork]
Cat R. Waul:
Simply put, Mouseling. I am the law here. And you are a mere hors d'oeuvre.
