Original subtitles

Your Honor, the defendant is charged

with inciting a riot during a Christmas concert

at the Central Park Bird Sanctuary.

Your Honor, my client was merely trying

to put on a holiday concert

where the birds could tweet along

or land on your shoulder

like we've been promised by cartoons.

Instead, the music turned our feathered friends

into killing machines.

I would show you the photos, but-- hoo!--

you would never eat chicken again.

According to this report,

there are injuries to 12 drummers drumming,

11 pipers... piping?

10 lords a-leaping.

♪ Nine ladies dancing ♪

♪ Eight maids a-milking ♪

They wrecked the latte bar.

♪ Seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying ♪

♪ I want to drink ♪

♪ Four calling birds, three French hens ♪

♪ Two turtle doves ♪

Dan?

And a partridge--

Objection! Scrooge.

Don't hide that baritone

under a bunch of bah humbug, Counselor.

♪ And a partridge with a broke beak ♪

Merry Christmas to all.

And to you, $1,000 fine.

Just a little something to show my appreciation

at this special time. - Aw!

- Mine's empty. - Mine, too.

Unless...

did you blow a kiss in here, you scoundrel?

No, it's not my fault

that the city outlawed gift giving

between municipal workers.

Fingers crossed next year they ban small talk,

so I'll never have to answer "Sup, big man?" again.

Sup, big man?

Don't think I forgot my favorite judge.

I know it's empty.

But don't worry.

Even without gifts, we're still gonna do

something special for the holidays.

I signed us up for a Christmas escape room.

We got the invitation.

Rather unsettling that the only two RSVP options

were "yes" and "hell yes."

It's Titanic themed. The only other option was

Escape from Santa's Workshop, but I did that one,

and I got in trouble for not trying to escape.

Wait. We have to be there in three hours?

No way!

I mean, if Julianne was here, maybe.

But she's at her anger-management group's

Christmas dinner.

None of the food requires knives.

With Murray filling in, you might as well cancel.

I mean, it takes him two hours

just to do his pre-trial warmups.

I prosecute with every inch of my body.

I will be damned if I'm gonna pull a muscle

and let A.I. take my job.

Hey! New coat, these are my friends.

Friends, this is my new coat.

Where was this energy when I introduced you to my new hat?

The girls got this for me as an early Christmas gift.

All I had to do was pay for it, wrap it,

and then pretend to like the stuff they actually got me.

Wyatt, just so you know, we need to move fast tonight.

Hold up. Did you just put your coat under mine?

Did I?

I was listening to the judge talk about moving fast tonight.

It's just a strange thing to do,

given there are a number of open hooks.

This is the opposite of moving fast.

You know what? It is a bit odd.

Well, even if all the hooks were full,

you would go on top of a coat that was already there.

Nobody goes under a pre-existing coat.

That's what I'm saying. There's a lot to unpack here.

No, no, no, there's nothing to unpack.

Our bags are already on the Titanic. Let's go.

The judge is right. Time is of the essence.

We need to get in there and-- aah!

Aah! See this?

This is why I need to stretch.

Sir, you can't go around tearing down inflatable Santas

because you feel they draw attention away

from the birth of your Lord and Savior.

December 25th is Jimmy Buffett's birthday,

and you all have lost your way.

Jimmy saves.

Jimmy saves!

Well, it's 5:00 somewhere, but not where you're going.

One night in jail and $50 fine.

I gotta hand it to you Parrotheads.

Hawaiian shirts don't look good on anybody,

but you're sticking with it.

All right. We are one case away from boarding the Titanic.

I hear the first puzzle

is actually rearranging the deck chairs.

Last up-- the State versus Fred Norton.

The defendant is charged with trespassing

after he refused to leave a Christmas party.

I couldn't leave before those fine people heard all about

the suckiest vacuum cleaner money can buy,

or my name isn't... Sam Snead.

But that isn't your name.

According to your driver's license,

you're Fred Norton, and you're not a salesman.

You're an actor.

And it says here you're really willing to do nudity.

The defendant was hired to run a murder-mystery holiday party

and wouldn't break character,

even after it was made clear everyone wanted it to be over.

Wanting it to be over is implied when

you said "murder-mystery party."

Hey, murder-mystery parties are not on trial.

If so, I'd have to recuse myself because I love them.

Everyone gets dressed up, the lights go out,

there's a dead body,

and you have to figure out who did it

and why my date disappeared into a bedroom

with a different person.

I've got the perfect way to keep your man happy

this Christmas-- the Staininator 3000!

Would you care for a demonstration, ma'am?

"Ma'am"?

This because somebody said I was eating yogurt earlier?

Mr. Norton, it would really help your cause

if you would just speak as yourself.

This is a court of law, not a murder-mystery dinner--

Oh, no!

Flobert's dead!

Why?!

Take me instead!

No, wait.

Take Dan!

Sorry.

Darkness instantly puts me to sleep.

I am very dangerous driving through tunnels.

Judge, your chair.

"You're next. Ho ho ho."

Aw. Your first death threat.

No one move. You're gonna want to remember this.

I'll get a camera!

Detective Kratz, NYPD. How can I help you?

Besides finding the bastard that did this?

It might be easier if you took your sunglasses off.

After all, it is night, and we are inside.

Don't tell me how to do my--

Oh, yeah, that's much better. Thank you.

Detective, it's gotta be the murder-mystery guy.

I mean, you can't pretend to die 52 weeks a year

and not end up a little weird.

Well, I'm sorry, but we take all threats seriously.

There's something about this time of year

that brings out the worst in people.

You know, my wife left me on Christmas.

This Christmas.

I found the divorce papers in my stocking.

That's what I get for peeking!

Speaking of Christmas, some of us have plans.

Is there any way we can fast-track this investigation,

since, again, we know who did it?

We are talking about your safety here.

Detective, you take as much time as you want,

even if it means we miss the thing

that only Abby wanted to do.

Don't listen to him. He just hates fun.

- I don't-- - If this were a Christmas movie,

there'd be a pile of angels just trying to jumpstart his heart.

Well, unfortunately, you're all stuck here

until Vacuum Guy cooperates.

Although, he is a good salesman.

I almost bought one for my wife.

Ex-wife.

Now excuse me. I have to go deal with

some police feelings in the bathroom.

This is why men shouldn't be cops.

Excuse me, Wyatt.

I just need a place to put my folder.

Oh, I just put my folder under yours.

What a weird thing to do.

I should probably explain myself.

Fine, Gurgs.

Truth is, I did put my coat under yours on purpose.

I didn't want it to get stolen.

Oh, so you'd be fine if my coat got stolen.

Fine's the wrong word.

Shocked. Uh, I would be shocked

if it got stolen.

That's why it's the perfect cover for my coat.

Oh! Oh, well, my coat

doesn't want to be your coat's coat!

Enough with the coats.

Whatever happened with the folder--

now, that was interesting.

All right, guys, if we could just link Fred to this crime,

we can escape this room and head to a warehouse in Brooklyn

that used to be an underground dance club,

but now is a place we can get into.

I'm not going anywhere with that jacket ass.

I told you she was a hothead.

Yeah, she's that, too.

What your coat say about me?

Tell... your coat

to say it to my face!

People! People, please.

It's Jimmy Buffett's birthday. Show some respect.

Abby, just face it.

You're shipwreck's a train wreck.

We're never making it to the escape room.

Dan, I know you don't have the holiday spirit,

but we all fake it sometimes.

News flash-- we don't need another story about Louisiana.

We know where it is.

If it was that interesting, we'd go.

If I'm the only one who cares about this,

I'll just get us out of here,

go to that Titanic escape room alone,

and drown on Christmas all by myself!

Move it, big man!

So has he confessed yet?

'Cause I'm about to miss my boat.

Talking to this guy's a waste of time.

He suffers from what we on the force call a 55-20--

broken brain.

He's totally lost touch with reality.

He's stuck in whatever murder mystery he was playing in.

Speaking of 55-20,

this baby comes in 55 different colors

and has 20 different attachments.

That's 4,200 different ways of having fun!

You see what I'm dealing with?

I gotta go take a walk.

You know, my wife and I used to take walks.

They've got codes for broken brains,

but not broken hearts.

You just lost your good cop.

Now you're staring at a lady who,

for the first time in her life, is not excited about Christmas.

Tomorrow, I'm gonna take a bus upstate,

where I'm gonna spend my day setting up my mom's

digital frame just so she can remind me

that I haven't given her any grandkids to put in it.

Then I don't have anyone to kiss under the mistletoe

because my boyfriend's mom needed a wingman

for her singles cruise.

You not confessing is keeping me from the one thing

I was looking forward to.

So I'm gonna give you one last chance.

Come clean, bucko!

Did someone say clean?

Oh, my God. Just come back to reality

so I can get on the damn Titanic.

Whoa! Abby. Whoa.

You don't want to shake him.

What you want to do is you want to lift...

- Oh! - ...and shake like this!

Aw! You're helping.

Yeah, well, Christmas brings out the best in me!

Ooh!

Oh! Save some for the wedding night,

my little Georgia peach.

It was yogurt for men! John Stamos eats it!

Why does he keep calling you a woman?

You can't see the beautiful Southern belle

right before your eyes?

What kind of fortune teller are you?

Fortune teller? Southern be--

Dan! Dan! Dan. - Hmm?

He thinks we're characters in his murder-mystery game.

We gotta play along. Just, um...

buy a vacuum, buy a vacuum.

And remember, you have boobs.

My house...

is just in shambles.

I mean, I-I don't know what to do

since my husband, Ormel, died.

Well, I am sorry for your loss, but I'm happy for my gain.

Enchanté. - Mm.

Would you be a doll and put me down

for one of them little dirt suckers?

Oh, and if you'd like to see, uh, Louisiana,

it's beautiful this time of the year.

Well, I'll put you down for a vacuum,

and I'll pick you up for a date.

Let me get the paperwork started.

Dan, you did it. You played along,

and you're gonna get a clue.

Well, I don't have any invoices,

but you can just write your information here

on my invitation to this party.

Or you can always whisper it in my ear.

I have a photographic memory.

Click, click.

I'll write it down.

What is this? "You're cordially invited

to Colonel Strangleton's Malibu estate."

Do you think this is a clue?

Yeah, yeah, this is the game.

We go to this party, and then we'll get answers.

Why are you smiling?

Oh, my God, there's gonna be costumes, aren't there?

Okay, so the game that Fred is stuck in

is called "Murder in Malibu."

We're now all guests at an oil tycoon's Christmas party.

Abby, I can't hear you. Speak up!

Dan, this all would be a lot easier to explain

if you would just come into the room.

This is ridiculous.

Woman in my station--

this parasol is dramaturgical incorrect!

I'm just remembering how awful it was

seeing "Hamilton" with you.

Flobert, you're a climate scientist.

How you feeling? - Bad.

I've been doing some research to prepare.

Did you know we're losing the bees?

Without bees, who are the birds gonna have sex with?

I'm sorry. If I'm the oilman,

why would I invite this guy to my party?

Because none of this makes sense!

It's "Murder in Malibu."

I'm a Southern belle. You're an oil tycoon.

She's a fortune teller named Seymore Tomorrow,

and he is apparently a climate scientist from the future!

Without the bees, there is no future.

It is a murder-mystery game. It's not about making sense.

It's about dressing up with your friends in costume

so you can watch one of them die!

Just so you know, for now,

this costume includes this cool jacket.

I don't want to hang it up

until there's a basic coat to cover it.

You'll be waiting a long time.

What do you think about this coat, babydoll?

Great. Our showgirl's here,

and she's escalated the coat conflict.

Can we just focus on the game?

Our guest of honor is arriving.

Well, finally, a room full of guests and their wallets!

While we're waiting to have dinner,

would anyone like to see a demonstration

of the Staininator 3000?

It cleans up nice, kinda like you, missy.

He touches me, I'm suing the city.

All right, Colonel Strangleton, as our host,

would you like to get us started?

His name is Strangleton, but he gets shot.

This was written by a room full of monkeys!

Welcome to a home built on black gold.

I really think my character would be eating

a popsicle right now.

Why don't you take your coat off?

Oh, right, you won't, because deep down,

you know your coat should be my coat's coat.

That's a damn lie.

Enough. If you won't play your roles,

I'll just do it for you.

As I gaze into the future,

I see that the showgirl is

not in love with the oil tycoon.

She's in love with his money, a gold digger.

Well, I never.

I don't need to marry for money, see?

My real last name is Amtrak.

My daddy owns the railroad. Choo-choo, baby.

Ooh! I got train money.

If you're hellbent on drilling Mother Earth,

then I'm hellbent on drilling you full of lead!

Don't you dare point a gun at my fiancée.

She's a real man.

Don't marry her. Marry me.

I've been in love with you ever since that torrid night

under the magnolias.

Our dirty little secret isn't the only thing I'm carrying.

I'm also carrying your bastard child!

Wow. That was an insult to story logic

and to regional Southern dialects.

Shh, shh, shh. We're almost finished.

So the lights go out,

and when they come back on,

the showgirl's dead,

we all know the scorned lover did it.

we're finished, and Fred is...

Dying.

The vacuum salesman's not supposed to get murdered.

Ew. That's really in there.

He's dead.

Oh, God.

I did that, didn't I?!

Come on, it's Christmas. Help me hide the body.

Detective Kratz, what do we do?

Do we have to lock down the building?

Right. Yeah, we should, um,

call the chief or, uh, the commish, or, uh...

Ah! I'm not a cop. I'm an actor.

Not even a good one.

This badge is chocolate.

I'm a part of his murder-mystery troupe.

We were hired to run a game here,

but no one was supposed to die!

What do you mean, you were hired to run a game?

Who hired you?

It doesn't matter who hired him.

There's a killer loose in the building.

Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you.

- Thanks, Wyatt. - I was talking to my coat.

Everybody, hands up! You're all under arrest.

He did it. He talks about killing people every day.

Hey! Shut up! No! Don't shoot!

I didn't kill anybody. All I did was hire this guy

for one of the stupid murder-mystery parties.

Now there is a real dead guy,

and this is no longer a party.

Dan, you threw me a murder-mystery party?

Yeah, I mean, it's Christmas. I had to give you something.

But I swear to God, Jimmy Buffet,

whoever the hell is listening,

bring this guy back, and I promise I will never do

another thoughtful thing as long as I live!

Dan, he's moving. He's breathing.

It's coming back to life because you believed in Christmas.

Well, I fell for something, didn't I?

Big time. Stand down, everybody.

These are all fake cops.

All those badges are chocolate, too.

Fred, take a bow. You've earned it.

Oh. Thank you very much. Thank you very much.

Oh, and I think all of you guys

should give yourselves a big round of applause

for participating in this beautiful piece

of immersive theater.

Oh. Excellent job.

I gotta admit, Dan, you had me going for a while.

But then I saw the way you shook Fred.

That wasn't your everyday anger.

You know Dan's different types of anger?

Oh, yeah.

In our time together, I've seen every vintage.

I'm kind of an anger sommelier.

And that Fred shake-- that was a bottle you only pop open

when someone overcharges you, like at Chipotle,

when they make you pay extra for guac.

Everybody wants guac.

They should include it in the price.

After that, I went to Fred

and asked him to add another level to the game.

All it took was me investing too much money

in his all-female production of "A Few Good Men."

Oh, opening night is-- - I'm not going.

Now, I'm sure you're all wondering

how I made the murder look so real.

No, no, we're not.

All it took was a watermelon full of cow's blood.

And where'd you get cow's blood?

Just Google it.

So I guess that's game, set... back.

Did you just sacrifice your cool jacket to save mine?

It was my coat's turn to be on top.

- My hero. - It was nothing.

I was talking to your coat.

We will look back on this and laugh,

when the world is turned to sand

and we're riding our worms to work.

You know, I take back everything I said

about a pile of angels having to jumpstart your heart,

because this might be one of the best Christmas presents ever.

You know, I know you a little, too,

and the only thing you like more

than escape rooms or murder mysteries

is this place.

So I thought I'd mash them up

and give you a little Christmas gumbo.

Hey, and you didn't even have to go to Brooklyn for it.

Well, Brooklyn to me is an escape room.

You hear that? He doesn't need angels.

Why did we even fly down here?

Ah, don't worry. We'll get our wings.

Come on, let's grab some booze and sneak it back into heaven.

Hey, guys, you forgot your weird...

...guitar.

I really must have hit my head when I passed out.