All language subtitles for The Odd Couple - 03x04 - The Pen Is Mightier Than the Pencil_prob3

Hi, Felix.

Murderers!

How could they?!
How could they?!

Somebody litter the hallway?

What happened?

Look at that!

It looks like a
wrinkled playground

and wrinkled children.

Smooth it, smooth it.

Oh, it's your picture spread

in Manhattan Today magazine.

It looks pretty good. Yeah.

There's a nice picture
of the playground,

nice picture of kids playing.

What are you so upset about?

Why am I upset?!

Look what they
did. That... Look!

You remember my concept;

"The playground: an oasis
for children of all ages"?

Yeah. Well, look
what it says there!

"Neighborhood playgrounds:

wonderland for weirdoes."

Good alliteration.

That has nothing to
do with my pictures.

Some writer comes
along, changes everything.

And he gets all the credit!

What are you talking
about all the credit?

It says, "Text by Arthur Dunlow.
Photographs by Felix Unger."

Yeah, look at the
size of the type.

It says, "Text by
Arthur Dunlow"!

"Photographs by Felix Unger."

Talk in smaller type, will you?

This is the last time I'm ever
going to do a magazine spread

and somebody else does the text.

From now on I'm going
to do my own writing.

Do what you want, but
writing is tough, Felix.

How can I miss with
you to teach me?

Hi, teach.

"Hi, teach"?

On November 13, Felix Unger
was asked to remove himself

from his place of residence.

That request came from his wife.

Deep down, he
knew she was right.

But he also knew that
someday he would return to her.

With nowhere else to go,

he appeared at the home
of his friend, Oscar Madison.

Several years earlier,

Madison's wife
had thrown him out,

requesting that he never return.

Can two divorced
men share an apartment

without driving
each other crazy?

♪ ♪

Don't pay any attention to me.

I'll be sitting right here.

You'll work.

You won't even know I'm here.

I'll be out of your way.

There we go.

Now...

Go to work!

I can learn by watching you.

I'm not here, I'm not.

First... before you start,

you mind telling me
what you're writing about?

I'm writing about the
featherweight champion

who keeps avoiding a fight
with the prime contender, okay?

Uh-huh.

And you call that the "theme."

No, I call that what
I'm writing about.

Ah. Thanks.

What does a featherweight weigh?

Between 118 and 126.

Light as a feather.

That's very good, Felix.

It's shorter to
say featherweight.

Yeah. It's a little
bit shorter to say.

Somewhat shorter.
It's not a lot shorter.

It's a...

That's very interesting.
Why did you begin...?

How would you like
your eyeballs rubbed

with carbon paper?

I'm sorry.

I thought you were
taking a break.

I'm not taking a
break. I'm thinking

of stuff to write.

Ah! Thinks... of... stuff.

Ah, boy. You're really
going now, aren't you?

Yeah, I got a thought.

Yeah, that's good.

That's very interesting.

You single-space,
don't you? Yeah, always.

Why do you do
that? Because I like it.

Wouldn't it be better
if you double-spaced?

Why? I like this way.

Because if you double-spaced,
it'd be a little bit easier

to read, you'd have more space
in between to make corrections.

I don't have to
correct. Myrna corrects.

Let me just put it...

No, it's been all
right for 20 years.

Felix, don't do that.

Felix, no! Leave me alone!

If you don't leave
me alone, I'll go crazy!

I can't write that way!

Now I'm telling you, if
you don't leave me alone,

I'm going to flatten you.

I'm going to roll you
up in the typewriter.

I'm going to type "I hate
you" all over your body!

Single spaced!

Does that mean you're
not gonna help me?

Excuse me.

Is this where Creative
Writing meets?

Uh-huh. You just join up? Yes.

My name is Felix Unger.

Oh. Al Katleman.

How do you do? How do you do?

Oh, let me help you.

Is that something you're
working on for class?

No, it's my book.

May I inquire what it's about?

Can you keep a secret?

Certainly.

It's the big one, Felix.

The book I've been
waiting all my life to write.

It's going to blow the lid
off the upholstery business.

I take it you're in the
upholstery business, huh?

Right now I am,

but when this thing
comes out, I'll be finished.

I name names.

Well, class, good evening.

Good evening.

For those of you who
are here for the first time,

I am your instructor,
Gerard Ferguson,

president and founder of the

Gerard Ferguson
School of Creative Writing.

Oh, uh, question?

Yes. Felix Unger,
professional photographer,

portraits a specialty.

Book jackets.

I don't want to take
up the class's time

with a lot of silly questions,
but there is one matter

of some personal concern
I'd like, uh, cleared up;

to wit: I am not familiar with
the objectives of this class.

I've never taken a writing
class before, so I'm aware

that my questions may
sound somewhat ignorant.

Uh, Mr. Unger, will you get

to the point? Yes.

Your ad guarantees assistance
in making our first sales.

Now, I only want to learn
enough about writing to...

Now, now, uh-uh, Mr. Unger,
you are worrying about nothing.

You see, each student
has a different reason

for wanting to write.

Oh, of course.

You see, the
objectives may vary.

Sure. They do vary,

but the fundamentals
are always the same.

Ah, right.

Now, if I may proceed.

Tonight we are going to discuss

the use of narrative
prose. Good!

Thank you.

Thank you.

Now, uh, I believe,

I believe that the best
way to teach narration

is, uh, to give each of you

several different subjects

and, uh, let you write,

oh, perhaps 200 words on each.

200 words.

Does that include the title?

No, Mr. Unger, it does not.

Sans title.

Now, I am going

to give you three
different subjects.

First, narrate
something that you see

on the way home tonight.

Sounds like fun.

Second, describe, oh,
how you spent last summer.

Mm, yes, yes! My boat trip.

And third, write about

the most fascinating
person you know.

Can that be autobiographical?

After class was over...
I was walking home.

The streets were deserted.

I had the city all to myself.

I could commune
with my thoughts.

As I passed that
construction site

on 68th street,
suddenly I was frozen!

I couldn't move!

Wet cement?

Oscar, I wrote this poem.

"Ode to a Skyscraper."

Born from the
rubble that lies there,

Nurtured through
snow and through rain,

By men whose only companions

Are derrick and
shovel and crane.

Center for great institutions,

Place where conglomerates grow,

Yet home for the
little cigar shop

With the candies all in a row.

"777" they will call you!

Towards heaven, heaven,
heaven you will soar!

Only God can make
a tree, I will grant you,

But only man can
make a 40th floor.

What do you think?

I knew it!

You can't talk!

It leaves you speechless!

Oh, I knew it would!

Oscar, I made a copy for you.

I'll put it in an
appropriate place.

Oh, Oscar, Oscar, Oscar!

Listen to this, "Ode
to a Toothbrush"!

He writes a poem about
every move he makes.

Last night on the way
home from our date,

he wrote "Ode to a Doorman."

And then he gave
it to the doorman

instead of a tip.

Listen, is he really going

to read these poems
in class tonight?

He said he was, including
the one about the skyscraper.

Oh, poor Felix!

Well, at least he's gonna know

how rotten his poems are.

Ooh, and he's gonna
be so depressed.

That's why we have
to cheer him up.

Oh! Here he comes.

You can see him from here?

Yeah, I can tell.

There's a man down there
picking lint off a policeman's jacket.

Even when he's
depressed, he's neat.

Oh, now, those
cookies are for Felix.

Oh, okay.

Now remember, when
he comes in that door,

please, I want you
to be very, very kind.

I will, Miriam. I
really will. Okay.

Now look, we have the, the
hot chocolate and the cookies.

Can you think of anything else

that'll cheer him up?

Yes, I can, but we don't
have time to shampoo the rug.

Oh!

I think I hear him.

Felix! Oh... Oh, Miriam!

Oscar and I think
you're just wonderful!

Yeah, buddy, let me hang it up.

I'll hang up your coat.

My goodness gracious, I
hardly know what to say!

Don't you say anything.

Just come right over here
to the couch and sit down.

Aw!

Oh, will you look!
Cookies and cocoa.

Yeah, I, I know how you like

to make a mustache.

How did you know?

Well, we knew.

Mm. Have a cookie.

How could we help but know?

Naturally, I thought
my poems were good,

but I never expected
to get an A-plus.

A-plus!

Give me that!

That is a perfect
figure of speech!

Oh, fantastic!

Oscar! Oscar! Oscar, listen.

Do you think I should...?

That's an A-plus.

What's that noise?

I fixed the radio.

The music interrupted
my train of thought.

Now I've got to get
back on the track.

Train... track!

You see? I'm
writing all the time.

I rhyme all the time.
Rhyme all the time!

Ha, very good.

Anything, anything.

Table, label,
Mabel, gable, sable.

Chair, fair, hair,
dare, compare.

Rug, chug, lug, mug!

Orange...

Fruit! Boot! Loot! Suit!

Root!

Oh, it's, it's...!

Nutty!

Cruddy, fuddy, duddy, buddy!

That's great! Great!

Miriam, delirium.

Come into my solarium.

Is he still rhyming?

Still rhyming.

Last night I was afraid
to pick up a glass.

He thinks he's
such a great writer.

I know. I haven't
heard him this excited

since we went to the
opera and he sang along.

I know. There's no stopping him

since he got that
A-plus on the poem.

We've got another poem.

Another poem? He gave
this one to me last night.

And-and I was both touched

and offended at the same time.

Now-now, wait a minute, Miriam.

If that's intimate,
maybe I shouldn't hear it.

Oh, yes, you should.

Are you ready?

"Your glowing eyes,
your smiling face.

"Your every move
so filled with grace.

"And when sad fate doth
make us part, part, part,

you'll live forever within
my heart, heart, heart."

Sweet.

It's sweet, but it sounds
like I died, died, died.

Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!

Listen to him! Listen to him!

He's going bananas, this guy!

You know he bought
an electric typewriter,

tape recorder that
he takes every place.

I know. Yesterday we
were on the subway.

Nowhere, out of the blue,
suddenly, "Ooh! Ooh! Oh, boy!

"Oh, metal tube!

"Oh, mighty snake
that weaves its way

beneath the teeming masses."

Everybody looked at
us like we were nuts.

That's the first time

I've ever been embarrassed
in front of a wino.

The sad part is that
he's so enthusiastic.

Yeah, I know. I'd hate
to be in your shoes

when you have to tell
him how rotten his work is.

When I have to tell him?

You're the one
that has to tell him.

What do you...?
You're his girlfriend.

You're the one he's
writing the poems for.

Besides, he
wouldn't listen to me.

Well, who would he listen
to? Probably his teacher.

Well, then, you have
to go talk to his teacher.

That fraud? He's the one

who's telling him
how great he is.

Besides, it would hurt Felix...

Look at that. Usually
I want to hurt him.

Felix Unger, you are brilliant!

Resilient!

One in a "millient"!

I'll hurt him.

"I do get tired of
the crazy hours,

"the special clothes,
and the crowds.

"But while being married

"to a jockey has
its disadvantages,

I really love the little guy."

Very good, Mrs. Flood.

Very, very good.

And good luck to your
husband next Friday.

Now, class, I have saved
Mr. Fegivney for the last.

Mr. Fegivney, may we
hear part of your novel,

please?

Go ahead, Mr. Fegivney.

Uh, I don't know where to begin.

Well, uh,

why don't you just read
us the last paragraph?

Fine.

"As the sun sank
slowly over the hill,

"Martin turned to Jessica

"and pressed his strong,

"hot lips firmly against hers.

"Seized by an almost
uncontrollable passion,

"she wanted to tear the
clothes from her body.

"Martin paused for a second

"to savor her incredible
voluptuousness,

"then buried himself slavishly

"in the hysterical
ecstasy that was Jessica.

"The last sliver of red

"disappeared behind the hill,

and they were one."

Very moving.

Very moving, Mr. Fegivney.

It has a strong narrative flow.

I tell it the way it was.

All right.

Thank you again, Mr. Fegivney,

and class, that's
all for tonight.

We will meet again next week.

Uh, Mr. Ferguson? Yes?

Uh, may I speak to you
for a moment, please?

Is it about the
course? Well, in a way.

My name is Oscar Madison.

I'm Felix Unger's roommate.

Oh, well, I'm sure
we can fit one more in.

Yeah, well, see, no, I'm not
here for the writing course.

I'm already a writer. I write
for the New York Herald.

I would like you to look at a
column I'm thinking of doing.

Uh, Mr. Madison, I'm, I'm sorry.

I would love to help
you, but I'm afraid

you would have to
join one of my classes.

Well, see, it's called
"Gerard Ferguson,

Man with a Racket."

I'll meet you by the swings.

Yeah, I thought
you'd be interested.

I see. Uh, yes, uh...
Hmm. Very clever.

Very clever, Mr. Madison.

Uh, the way you've, uh,

developed your story
into a sports column.

Mm-hmm.

"Underhanded.

"Uh, underhanded
style, weak service."

Yes. You have a good,
crisp way of writing.

Yeah, well, I don't want to
talk about my way of writing.

I know that.

But may I point out
to you, Mr. Madison,

that in the objective case,

it is "whomever he deceived,"

not "whoever"

Yeah, well, why don't
you send me a bill

along with Felix Unger's refund?

Mr. Madison, I see no reason
to send Mr. Unger a refund.

He likes this course and
is doing very well with it.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I have a... Now, uh...

She'll wait for
you on the swing.

Now, look.

Your ad says your course

will make a professional
writer out of anyone.

In Felix's case, a poet.

Now, no professional
poet goes around saying,

"Lamp, camp, scamp, bam."

But that's an exercise.

Yeah, but the point is,

a professional gets
paid for what be does.

Who's going to buy a
poem about the 40th floor,

except maybe a
sensitive window washer?

Mr. Madison, I
think that Mr. Unger

is of an extremely
professional caliber,

and he will get paid.

And as a matter of fact,

if I cannot absolutely
get him a definite offer

by this time
tomorrow for his work,

I will return every
single penny to him.

Now, is that fair enough?

Okay, but if you
don't, Mr. Ferguson...

Oh, you will never
need to print that column,

Mr. Madison. But if you do,

when you spell "thief,"

will you just remember

that it is "i" before "e"

except after "c."

And I want you to remember

it's "bail" before "jail,"
so you'd better not "fail."

Hi, Felix.

Dinner ready?

It's ready.

You angry about something?

No. I'm not angry.

Well, I hope we settle it
before you slam the soup.

Snakes in the
grass don't get soup.

Teacher told you, huh?

Yes, he told me.

Felix, I did it for
your own good.

He was deceiving you.

He was telling you
your stuff was great,

and he knew it wasn't.

That's your opinion, huh?

It's not my opinion, it's
my professional judgment.

I am a writer, you know.

I don't accept the
judgment of a man

who puts ketchup on his salad.

I like ketchup.

It's like tomato wine.

I never thought my best friend

would color his
judgments with jealousy.

Felix, I'm not jealous.

Wasn't I thrilled when your baby
portraits won the Silver Nipple?

That was a totally
different sphere, wasn't it?

That was no conflict
there, no threat to you.

Oh, come on.

When you cool
off, you'll realize

that Ferguson is a
fraud and a phoney.

He said you would
sell something.

If you sell anything,
I'll eat my hat.

Ho, ha, hee.

Gee whizzums.

What's that?

That happens to
be a check for $25

for my first poem, which
Mr. Ferguson sold for me.

Bon appétit.

Well, Mr. Madison,

I didn't expect
to see you again.

Don't play coy, Ferguson.

What do you mean?

The swings.

I saw that check.

That was not from a publishing
company or a magazine.

Now, that was from
a personal account

of someone named Ida Moskowitz.

You may have fooled Felix,

but I know that wasn't
a professional sale.

You happen to be
wrong, Mr. Madison.

Mrs. Moskowitz may
not be a publishing house,

but she did buy one
of Felix's love poems

with her own money.

One of his love poems?

Yes, for the tombstone

of her deceased
wire-haired terrier.

You sold his poem
for a dog's tombstone?

Yes.

For little Spot Moskowitz.

It's a beginning, Mr. Madison.

Look, come with me, will you?

Now, look.

We don't, we don't
make any claims

to be able to turn
any of our students

into Ernest Hemingway
or anything like that.

We just say that after
they take our course,

they will be good enough
to get their work sold.

Now, Mr. Madison, will you
just read this, please, right...

This one here? Right there.

"Loose Lips Sink Ships."

Yes.

Now, that was written
by Fenton Gilroy,

one of my students
during the war.

That slogan appeared
in every defense plant

across this country. What,
you're telling me that's writing?

Mr. Madison, you
mustn't be such a snob.

Not all of us can work
for the New York Herald.

Now, there are tremendous
opportunities for writers

in many, many other fields.

For example, look at here.

Now, match... matchbooks.

Ah, ah, cocktail
napkins, coasters.

All written by former
students of ours.

And one of our
graduates, Sanchez Vega,

has just climbed to
the very top of his field.

What did he write, "Occupado"?

What are you saying that
Felix is good at writing mottos

and slogans like
"Do Not Litter"?

I wonder if he wrote that one.

No, I think that Felix Unger
is much better than that.

I think that he could
write bumper stickers.

Bumper stickers?

Don't laugh.

There's a lot of money in that.

Did you tell him that?

No, no.

I didn't get a
chance to talk to him.

He was so excited when I
told him that I'd sold the poem

that he just grabbed the
check and ran out of here.

But, of course, I'll get into
all of that with him tomorrow.

Good, because I think
the novel he's writing

is a little too long
for bumper stickers.

Felix, I had to work late.

Here I am, Oscar.

What are you doing?

Writing a poem about traffic?

No.

Just sitting.

Well, you look terrible.
Where you been?

Spot's grave.

You know, huh?

I called up Mrs.
Moskowitz to thank her,

and she invited me over
to see the tombstone.

It's shaped like a fire hydrant.

All my deepest thoughts,
my most private feelings

for a wire-haired terrier.

Here, eat, eat.

You fixed me food even
though you felt so terrible?

Well, you worked late.

I knew you'd be hungry.

If it had been a French
poodle, I wouldn't have minded,

but a wire-haired terrier.

You made my favorite.
Why don't you take a bite?

No, no, I couldn't eat
if you paid my tongue.

Is this what I'm
good for, Oscar?

After all my lofty ambitions,
terrier tombstones.

Well, it's not so bad.

Hmm.

And I thought I
could write a novel.

Some novel I could write,
A Tale of Two Terriers.

I'll get you a beer.

Oh, Felix, don't take it so bad.

All right, so you're
not a great writer,

but you are a
great photographer,

which is what you're
supposed to be.

All right, your
poems aren't so good.

But I'll bet you Carl
Sandburg's photographs

couldn't win the Silver Nipple.

But the embarrassment,
Oscar, the humiliation.

What humiliation?

Who's going to visit the
grave of Spot Moskowitz?

Three little dogs
with yarmulkes?

Cheer up, come on.

I guess the least thing I can do

is apologize to you for
the things I said to you.

Oh, that's all right.

I don't know if this
will make it up to you,

but I want you to have this.

"To a Chum."

"There are times when
you may feel lonely,

"there are times when
you may feel glum,

"but those times will not last

if you only have a buddy,
a comrade, a chum."

Thanks, Felix.

Where, where you going?

I want to put this in an
appropriate place, too.

You're some kind of guy,
you know that, Oscar?

That's eight.

Oscar. What?

Listen, I've had the
most terrific day today.

Yeah? I took the
greatest pictures.

You were so right.

I should stick to photography.

That's my bag.

What have you
got there? Nothing.

Is that your column?
No, it was a little doodling.

Let me see what
you got. It's nothing.

You ought to be
ashamed of yourself.

"My heart will always cherish

"that cheerful, happy sound.

"And my love will never perish,

for my faithful basset hound."

25 bucks a shot.