All language subtitles for Graves s01e06 A Tincture of Madness.eng

Previously on "Graves"...

It's just the Senate.

And if I decide to run,

it would mean a lot to know
that you were on board.

- Yo.
- Man: Jeremy, picture this.

Son of a president, newsman.

Jeremy: Like Wolf Blitzer?

Lil bro's gonna be a TV star.

My assistant will give
you his private number.

If there's anything you
ever need, call me.

This came for you.

It's divorce papers.

Man: You've had a panic attack.

It felt like a heart attack.

I need you to come with me.

Not what I was expecting.

- Sammy?
- Hmm?

- I like you.
- Don't.

Former Prime Minister
Trevor Lloyd has cancer.

Samantha: This was his friend.

Graves: I watched as he shed

the anchor of regret.

(drumroll)

(cannon blast)

(drumroll)

Man: Today, a nation in mourning

honors Former President Richard Graves,

dead at the age of 80.

The son of a cattle rancher,

Richard Graves was a true cowboy

turned conservative icon,

and arguably the most
polarizing president

to occupy the Oval Office.

Despite his critics, he garnered respect

for his commitment
to his hard-line beliefs

and celebration of American idealism.

But mostly, he was a fucking asshole.

So, I've been contemplating
something recently.

A very big decision I have to make.

Your father knows about it, of course.

And since I have you
both back home again,

which makes me so happy,

I've been asked to run for Senate.

Cool, yeah. Good for you, Mom.

Thomas Nash would be
my primary opponent.

He is not fit to run.

Yeah, well, you'll kill it, no problem.

- Olivia?
- Mm-hmm. Sure.

Hey, Charlize went brunette again.

On me... what do you think?

"Mad Max" hot or, like, "Monster" not?

Graves: I'm dying!

Mags. Maggie, I'm gonna die.

Yes, dear. We all are.

No, I can't.

Not yet. No.

Not yet. Not yet.

Oh, what fresh hell is this?

Richard, wait!

No.

Jerems?

- I love it.
- Right?

(theme music playing)

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Hell on Earth, getting old.

Just remember not to move, sir.

If you move, they'll have to start

the whole thing over again.

Just nice deep breaths, in and out.

- Nice and calm.
- Shut the fuck up.

Absolutely.

I've got an email from Jacob, ma'am,

about issuing a statement regarding

Martin Treadwell's furlough hearing.

As usual, no comment.

We also got a letter from the Colorado
corrections facility,

offering someone from the family
to be at the hearing,

a victim impact statement

as to why Treadwell
shouldn't be allowed out

to see his dying mother.

The man shot a president.
I don't care how long ago.

And tell Jacob I want to keep
that victim impact thing

- away from Jeremy.
- Yes, ma'am.

Man: We're talking about guns today.

We have one side who says

we need to control these guns.

And we have the other side,

who says, "Hey, Second Amendment."

Gun violence. What do we do?

Well, I like guns.

I mean, I own a whole slew of 'em.

But who gives a rat's ass what I like?

Let's say you're, I don't know,

any guy with a wife and kids at home

while he's out of town
and some scumbag breaks in

to do harm to your family.

Well, where I'm from,
a 911 response time

is basically like ordering a pizza.

You know, you pray that
it arrives in 30 minutes

'cause you're starving,
or in this case, dying.

So, if the difference between this guy

being a childless widower

and being able to keep his family

is his wife blowing
that scumbag's face off,

then I say "Annie,
get your goddamn gun."

But let's defer to the Supreme Court.

Yeah, we've got a problem,

but gun control isn't gonna fix it.

The only thing that's gonna
fix it is an amendment.

And that's the Supreme Court
talking, by the way, not me.

And the only way that's gonna happen

is if two-thirds of the same people

who can't even agree on whether or not

the world was created
in seven days or a billion years

suddenly agree to give up their guns.

It's just not going to happen.

Right or wrong, gun control is nothing

but a bleeding heart circle jerk

with zero chance of a happy ending.

Jeremy Graves, folks.

Beating the truth, his version
of it, right into me.

Thanks, Jeremy. We'll do this again.

(exhales)

You shouldn't be in here, mijo.

Oh, no, no. Ramona, it's fine.

I'm working, so...

Okay, okay.

This one's for you.

I'm gonna make you some lunch.

_

(phone ringing)

Would you like to buy some cookies?

What's your name, little scout?

Tanya.

You want to know what I really
think about your little...

cookie cartel?

I was one of you once,

part of the self-oppressed harem

of little diabetes pushers
you've got yourself mixed up with.

I mean, look at you, Tanya.

All whored up, turning sugar tricks

for your corporate pimp daddy.

But hey! Hey, hey, hey.

Who needs dignity, when we can
have more American fat kids

who will eventually die of horrible
heart-related diseases

just so Mommy and Daddy can
brag about your quarterly sales

at Thanksgiving dinner?

Don't let them do it to you, Tanya.

Do you hear me? Fuck them.

Sam: Hello?

Hey, Sammy. It's me, Isaiah.

Isaiah, you just caught me

at a really bad time right now.

I can't talk.

Oh, that's fine. When would be...

That call was so tragic,

my hymen grew back.

Man: For a man your age, Richard,

everything's normal.

- Anything else?
- No, thank you.

I'm fine. Thank you, doctor.

I do have one more thing
I'd like to talk about, sweetheart.

Your mood swings... the recent highs

and this particular low.

Let's not kid ourselves, Richard.

We're getting older.
You just lost a friend.

At our age, you can't help but start
thinking about our mortality.

Depression, anxiety,
that's all part of it.

- I'm fine.
- Based on conversation

I had with Margaret earlier,

I recommend psychiatric evaluation.

A shrink?

Lawrence told me you had a panic attack

after his rehearsal dinner.

I didn't even know that.

- I want you to talk to the therapist.
- No.

Dr. Sandra Schwartz
is the top of her field.

She's been fully vetted by me.

A lot of her clients
are high-ranking officials

and politicians. She gets it.

You know what? We'll all sit
down with her, the whole family.

God knows, there's a lot
of shit we could work out.

Bullshit. The doctor said I'm fine?
I'm fine!

I'm fine.

Margaret: Damn it, Richard,
it's already arranged.

She'll be at the house in a few hours!

Rockefellers wanted mediation,

so no court, which is good.

But what if I want to go to court?

No, you don't want to go to court.

With mediation, the records
are sealed from the public.

- (phone chimes)
- Jacob: They can say whatever they want

about you in open court,

and he's claiming gross
misconduct on your part.

Clearly, William thinks he's got
dirty laundry he can air

that'll lower any monetary settlement.

- What haven't you told us, honey?
- I need a break.

I can hardly breathe in here, okay?

(phone chimes)

(hip-hop music playing)

And in other Graves news.

(music continues)

-
Eat it

It's being shopped.

A contact at Gawker just sent it.

I don't want you worrying about this.
I've taken care of it.

No one will ever see it.

(screaming)

(cell phone buzzing)

Hi, Annie.

Look, I talked to my kids
about maybe running,

and because Richard is so depressed,

I don't think this is the right time.

Annie: Are you near a television?

Turn on channel three, right now.

Man: Richard Graves is the very model

of an establishment politician

that Americans are sick of... the worst.

And now we hear that Margaret Graves

may jump into the race
at the last minute?

Oh, come on.

I think the people
of New Mexico are smarter...

This man is a disease.

I care about action, not dynasties.

And with all due respect
to the former First Lady,

stick to your socialite fund-raising

while I get down to the business
of radical change,

because this state, this country,

is in big, big trouble.

Listen to that son of a bitch.

Everyone is. He's polling
through the roof.

And that's how he's responding
to rumors of your possible run.

_

_

(gunshots)

(crowd screaming)

Fuck you, you motherfucker.

(phone ringing)

- Hello?
- Sam: Hello?

Sammy? Is that you?

I'm so sorry. You gave me your number,

and I swear I wouldn't have called

if there was anyone else,

but I really need your help.

So, what exactly did Sammy say?

- Just said she needed me.
- Are you sure it was you?

You know, are you sure
it's not "you" plural,

as in both of us, or just me, maybe?

No. No chance.

(siren wails briefly)

Oh, my God.

Graves: Well.

Yeah. Oh, shit.

Olivia: Relax, mother.

Olivia, why would you
do that to yourself?

- Why not?
- Because you're too upset right now!

You might regret it.

I just want to be anyone
else for one moment,

for one fucking moment!

Okay, we are postponing
your divorce mediation.

You are clearly not
in the right headspace.

No, this isn't about me and my hair.

This is about you wanting me
to stay that perfect little Livvy!

That's why you keep my room...

I keep my children's things!
All mothers do this.

No, that is like a shrine to someone
who doesn't even exist anymore.

Mrs. Graves?

What a lovely home, Mrs. Graves.

You must be Dr. Schwartz.

Olivia, this is the therapist,
Dr. Schwartz.

- Oh, you didn't.
- (siren wails)

- Thanks, Jimmy.
- Man: You got it, Mr. President.

Well, Jimmy is one of the good guys.

So, it's okay. No report.

- Thanks, Prez.
- Sure, sure.

It just sucks.

I'm gone, Sammy. So fuck you
and the space you need.

Oh, yeah, take all your ironic
Pearl Jam shit and jet, man,

'cause I'm done with
your possessive bullshit.

You knew the deal with me.

- You knew!
- Hey, everybody, calm down.

Calm down.

And are these two the ones

that have been flying you
around on private jets?

- Maybe.
- Oh, no,

actually,we've already met before.

- Fuck you.
- Okay, fuck me, yeah.

Okay, seriously, Heller,
you just need to go.

You're gonna be alone
for the rest of your life

because you're a closed-off,
self-hating bitch.

Okay, man, time out for a second...

What are you doing?

Oh, my God.

- Are you fucking crazy?
- (yells)

I don't know.

Isn't this great?

(crowd screaming, gunshots)

(crowd screaming, gunshots)

- (gunshots)
- (yelling)

Fuck!

- I know why you're upset, kid.
- God damn it!

Oh, yeah.

Does Dad know?

We don't want either of you
worrying about this.

Sure, yeah, I mean, why would I worry?

It's not like this hasn't stuck to me.

It's not like, you know, this is,

like, my own fucking private
boogeyman, you know,

that sometimes it never goes away.

Fuck this. I got it, I got it.

Look. Never happened, okay?

It's all good, Uncle J.
Jeremy's been handled.

Okay? Fantastic talk.

Who the fuck are you?

So, I want everyone here
to know that this depression

your father and husband
is experiencing is totally normal.

And we're gonna show your father
as much love and support as we can.

- I have never seen him this low.
- Hey, babe!

Daddy's home!

Margaret: Oh, my God, honey!

What the hell happened to you?
You're bleeding.

- Yeah.
- Where have you been?

Well, we were defending
the honor of a fair lady.

Yeah, it was actually more

of a domestic disturbance, ma'am.

Speaking of honor, dear,
may I have a hug?

Hello, President Graves.

I'm Dr. Sandra Schwartz.

She's Al Gore's shrink.

Maggie!

Mother thinks you've gone all

blow your brains out sad on us.

So, honestly, I can only mourn
so many things at once.

Sweetheart, we're just sitting down,

all of us, as a family.

We have a lot of shit to deal with.

We're just gonna talk.

- Just talk?
- Yes.

Just talk about everything.

Well, I don't know.

Okay.

So, there's a cure for everything

except death.

I mean, my funeral
will never be about me.

They maybe romanticize my presidency

or might put my face on a mountain,

and probably remember me
on President's Day,

but I have no control over that.

What really matters is right now, today,

this breath, this moment,

helping whomever I can,

and feeling everything.

Well, that seems to be
a very healthy perspective.

Okay, I'll go now.

I'd like to discuss in this open forum,

something that has
been nibbling at me today

like an anorexic on her last almond...

my mother running for Senate.

Okay, you did not even so much as grunt

when I mentioned this this morning.

Yeah, but you didn't really
ask us if you should.

You just sort of told us that you were.

Margaret: That is so not true.

I can't even tell you

how much I've agonized
about this decision.

Let's listen to Olivia.

Thank you, doctor.

You know what this means for me.

This is campaign stops, Chanel suits,

standing next to you
at the end of speeches

just waving at the middle class.

You don't have to do anything
you don't want to do.

Bullshit.

My entire life has
been about doing things

that I don't want to do, but have to.

I do not understand her.

I don't understand her at all.

Can we talk about my shit now?

Let's take a breath.
What would you like to address?

- Him.
- Aw, Jesus! Here we go.

You don't even know
what the fuck I was gonna say.

You never listen to me, either of you.

Watch this.

What have I been doing for weeks now

that I'm actually
really fucking good at,

and might be able to make a credible

if not also lucrative career out of?

Anyone? Anyone at all?

- (gasps)
- Not you, Liv.

I think Jeremy might be feeling

you are undervaluing him.

Ding ding ding!

We want to know
what you're talking about.

Doesn't matter.

We're listening to you!

It's not the listening.

It's the fucking machine
that doesn't end.

It's the Graves engine that just
like runs over any grain of truth.

And what for, to protect us?

- Who gives a shit?
- Okay, enough!

Oh, my God!

All of this has to stop.

We all have to pull our shit together.

Okay, I'd like to address
my two children.

Forgive me, but the two of you
need to grow up.

And, Olivia, you know, you're going
through a terrible, terrible time,

and my heart breaks for you
every single second,

but this pain will be over soon,

and how you show up in the world,

who you decide you are is up to you.

And, Jeremy, honey, you're
just finding yourself.

You were a late bloomer and who cares?

Whatever you choose to do,

you will do it, I have no doubt.

And your father and I want you

to do whatever it takes
to make that happen.

And you, oh, my God.

I love you so much,

but you are driving me crazy!

And whatever it was that was happening,

and whatever it was that happened today

that made you snap out of it,

I am really happy for you.

Now, let's see if after 40 years,

you can find a way to do the same
thing for me, for fuck's sake.

If I might make a few observations?

Well...

I would assume we're paying you enough.

Good.

Well, Mr. Graves,

of course, we would need
to speak one on one,

but on the surface, I see nothing
suspect about your mental state.

Mortality is real.

It's scary, and you are smack
dab in the middle of it.

I also might suggest
you could be suffering

from a debilitating sense of guilt

brought on because you are only now

coming to grips with the truth

that dedicating your life
to serving your country

came at the expense
of raising your children,

who, as we have just witnessed,

regard you as little more
than an absentee landlord.

Jeremy, Olivia,

your mother makes a very good point.

You both need to find a way

to let go of some adolescent wounds

for either one of you to move
forward as healthy adults.

Now, I understand that as children,

very little could grow in the shadow
of parents as large as yours.

The shadows are long gone now.

That said, Mrs. Graves,

what is not helpful to your children

is the near-constant hypomaniacal state

you appear to be living in.

- Excuse me?
- You have a son on the verge

of an emotional break in
his search for identity,

as well as unresolved
issues of his past...

issues, Jeremy, I would recommend
you finally confronting

with a hope you could lessen
the grip they have on you...

not to mention you're so
hypercritical of your daughter.

She can hardly function
at any level of normality,

all of which could be rooted

in a parental narcissism you each feel

borne out of overcompensation

and shame regarding the past,

and from what I am now hearing,

the possible future.

Fuck you, lady.

Mags.

Mags.

How's Al Gore?

-
If it all came back to you

How did you even find me?

I was thinking the whole time...

I was excited that you texted...

-
What would you say

I almost never know what I'm doing.

Are you okay?

Yeah, are you?

- Are you?
- Yeah.

(music continues faintly)

I can't remember the last time

you made pasta for me like this.

Oh, let's just leave. Get out.

Go to Provence, France. Just live.

Just us, like we always talked about.

You know, the last time
you suggested that

we had just won a second term.

Well, I meant it then.

- I mean it now.
- Oh, honey.

You know we can't do that, sweetheart.

Why not?

Because my wife

is going to be a senator.

Honey, don't say that if you really
don't mean it, because I want it.

I just can't do it.

I won't do it if it means
everything else falls apart.

Do you want me to call Annie?

Or do you want to call Annie?

So, I got your letter...

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