All language subtitles for Alfred Hitchcock s06e25 Museum Piece

Good evening.

This object, which looks like a
gentleman who innocently wandered into a

Cross bandaging class, is a mummy.

This particular one is an Egyptian
pharaoh and was buried with all his

wives, a rather extreme example of
togetherness.

A few of his more progressive colleagues
subscribe to this custom.

but with a difference.

They buried their wives first, promising
to follow at their earliest

convenience.

Appropriately enough, the title of
tonight's theatre piece is Museum Piece.

First, however, we have an item with no
title, but perhaps after watching it,

you can think of a name to call it.

As near as we can tell, this skull
belonged to a civilization here in the

southwest that we call Proto Pueblo.

Now, one of its marks, as you see, is a
flattening of the head at the rear

caused by strapping the baby onto a
cradle board before the skull was

calcified.

Let's compare him with a modern male
Caucasian.

You see, his head is not flattened in
the back at all.

Now, this is essentially...

A present -day American, very much like
you and I.

Grim thought, isn't it?

Well, that concludes the tour, ladies
and gentlemen.

It's about time to close anyway.

You're welcome.

Thank you very much. Do come again.
We're getting in new things all the

Good day.

Good day. Thank you for coming.

Don't let me keep you. Not at all.

I'll be leaving in a minute. Take your
time.

These knives fascinate me.

Obsidian, aren't they? That's right.
Purely utilitarian. For skinning hides,

fleshing hides, so on, that kind of
thing.

But made by a totally different man.

This man was down -to -earth, practical.

But this fellow was mentally an artist.

But the two men are about a thousand
years apart in time.

Makes no difference.

Men haven't changed.

In my field, we try to diagnose the
psyche of ancient man from his

You see, the thing you fellows overlook
in your collecting is the internal

chemistry of the men who made these
things.

What is your field, Mr... Clovis, Newton
B. Clovis. I'm an archaeopsychologist.

Dear me.

Even a man's bones have something to
say.

What, for instance?

Well, from the shape of his skull.

Rather intelligent man.

Athletic at one time.

Athletic? A skier.

Break in the leg just above the ankle.

Typical ski injury.

You too?

Double spiral fracture.

Made in my leg an inch and a half
shorter.

Ah, but this man was a football player.

Just a guess, of course.

You mean you knew him?

Yes, I did.

Very well.

Died not too old.

Many years ago?

Many years ago.

Modern medicine might have saved him.

No.

No medicine would have saved this man.

Mr. Clovis, how would you like to join
me in a drink before dinner?

Delighted.

After you.

You say you can diagnose ancient man
from his possessions, Mr. Clovis. How

modern man?

Who would that be?

The man all these things belong to.

There's a bucket more of these in this
pitcher. Cheers.

Yes.

Falco Mexicanus, prairie falcon.

He tried to gentle him. Kept him in a
cage.

Wouldn't do. Some things you can't keep
in a cage.

Everything in this room was his.

Just about.

Watch out.

Merit badges.

Over 30 of them.

Bird's nest.

But no eggs.

He didn't believe in collecting eggs.

No heart for it. He could take the nest
after the little ones were gone.

Fog.

Urocyan canario argentius. Gray fog.

I call her Cersei. Why Cersei?

You're supposed to divine these things,
aren't you? Drink up.

Yes, Cersei.

Cersei the Temptress.

What do you make of the man?

Gentle.

Probably full of idealism.

Obviously loves the outdoors.

Compassionate. Bravo.

You were close to him?

Yes. He was my son.

Was?

That's where Cersei comes in.

Cersei the Temptress.

I call her Cersei because she led him to
his doom.

Worked her wiles on him, brazenly let
him track her. Almost as if she knew

lay in wait for him.

He never hunted for sport, but once in a
while he collected an animal.

In this case, he had his heart set on
Cersei.

She'd been raiding hen houses in the
neighborhood.

Sooner or later, some farmer would trap
her or shoot her anyway, so Ben decided

to take her for his collection.

He spent several days and nights
learning her habits.

He discovered her latest port of call
was an old barn just over the property

line.

He'd invented a foolproof gadget for
night shooting, a spotlight mounted on

.22 in such a way...

that his shot would strike the exact
center of the circle of light.

What was that?

Rice. It's your father.

Don't be silly. You know he's at a lodge
meeting.

What do you think you're doing here?

I'm sorry, I didn't... Hollister!

Make your boy Hollister.

I didn't know anybody else was around
here. You saw the sign outside.

Yeah, but I didn't think your father
would mind. You're a liar.

Stealing pigeons, that's what he's up
to.

I wasn't stealing anything. All I wanted
was... You're a liar.

I'm sorry, Tim.

If you'll excuse me.

You're a coward, too.

If you want to step outside, I'd be very
happy to soak your head in the watering

trough.

That's not a bad deal, Tim.

I'd be giving away 15 pounds.

Tim! Murderer!

Murderer!

You don't have to

explain my duties to me, Mr. Hollister.
They're spelled out very clearly in the

oath of office the district attorney
takes.

It wouldn't hurt you to look it over
once in a while, Mr. Henshaw.

There's no need to be impertinent.

You'll have to excuse me, sir, but my
boy's life is at stake.

If he'll have his day in court, the law
guarantees him a fair and impartial

trial. That's just the point. He's being
tried right now in the papers.

You call that fair and impartial? I
didn't give out that interview.

The report has checked it with you. You
didn't deny it. You let them print it.

Take it up with the publisher. I'm not
responsible. A statement from you could

have stopped it. They're saying he
killed a McCaffrey boy on purpose, like

kill a specimen for his collection. You
know that isn't true.

Now, look, Mr. Henshaw, this town is
ready to lynch him. They won't lynch

He's innocent, and you know it. All
right, if he's innocent, he'll go free.

up to the jury.

But what chance has he with this sort of
trash setting the town on fire? And

with your approval?

You probably thought it up.

You want to kill him.

Old man McCaffrey put you in office, and
now you're going to deliver for him.

That's right, isn't it? Mr. Hollister, I
happen to take my responsibilities very

seriously.

They are not primarily to convict, but
to see justice is done.

I intend to do everything in my power to
achieve that end in this and every

other case in which I am involved.

And that is all I intend to say on this
subject. Good day, sir.

Would you try to reach the mayor again,
please?

Thank you.

You'll excuse me, Mr. Hollister.

Good day.

Shot in the eye.

In each case, finesse, precision.

A mathematically calculated shot in a
spot where it would kill immediately,

do no harm whatsoever to the specimen.

I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, do you
think this man's act was unintentional?

Stop it!

I tell you, it was an accident.

He threw the pitchfork ahead.

That won't do any good. But he's lying.
I'm not a murderer.

I'm not a killer. I didn't mean it.

Order, order, or I'll clear the
courtroom.

A man is on trial for his life.

Please conduct yourselves accordingly.

Proceed, Mr. Henshaw.

I don't have to repeat the medical
testimony.

Five brain shots.

Each of them precisely in the middle of
an eye socket.

The last one, a human being.

I ask you, ladies and gentlemen,

To reflect on the odds against the
defendant's contention that this last

was accidental.

He threw up the rifle in self -defense,
he says.

The shot struck the precise center of
Tim McCaffrey's left eye.

What are the odds?

One in a million? A billion?

Think about that.

Isn't the other explanation far more
plausible?

That Tim McCaffrey caught him
trespassing?

ordered him off the property, that he
walked off into the darkness, thought

about it, that a cold rage took
possession of him, that he hefted the

his hand, and then, with calculating
precision, he turned and aimed and... I

didn't! I didn't do it!

I'm demanding that you do your duty as
citizens of this state.

I demand the death penalty in the case
of the people versus Benjamin Hollister.

Benjamin Hollister, will you please
rise?

Benjamin Hollister, you have been found
guilty of murder in the first degree.

Therefore, you will, on the 22nd day of
this month, be removed to the

penitentiary at Glendale and there be
incarcerated for the rest of your

life.

Pioneer Ranch on Alamo Creek. Big adobe
ranch house.

Apache bullet pox in the wall.

Even has its own well in the courtyard.

Fourteen rooms?

Fourteen rooms?

I'm going to turn it into a private
museum. Put a sign on the highway.

admission. Make this collecting bug pay
off after all these years.

I wish I could help you.

Well, you can.

I've got the room plotted out for your
thing.

Now, here, here is an east window, and
there is a door.

Now, you do the rest.

Do what?

Design the inside.

Cases for your book, drawers for your
mounted specimens, display cases.

I'll fix it any way you want it.

You do it.

I want it to be yours, Ben.

You kidding?

I know what you're going to say, Dad.

I could have hope.

Something to hang on to.

I'm sorry, but... It's no good, Dad.

But we've got 15 minutes.

Goodbye, Dad.

Goodbye, boy.

I'll see you next month.

He don't belong here.

If he'd only eat.

That's the trouble. He won't eat.

It's out of the question.

He's been examined by a board of
psychiatrists and found perfectly

Medically, he's 100%. Except that he'll
die inside of a year if you leave him

where he is.

Mr. Hollister, would you care to read
the medical report?

I'm not talking about his blood pressure
or his respiration or his metabolism,

Mr. Henshaw.

I'm talking about his soul. That boy is
dying right now.

Mr. Hollister, I understand your
concern. But it's out of your hands,

know. I'm only telling you that your
signature on a petition would probably

him a parole.

Mr. Hollister. Please, please hear me
out, Mr. Henshaw. The election's come

gone. You're secure in your job. You've
got nothing to lose.

Old man McCaffrey can't touch you now.

Please.

Please, look into your heart, Mr.
Henshaw, and ask yourself if you really

believe that boy belongs in prison.

If he really is a menace to society.

I'll forgive you everything, Mr.
Henshaw.

I... I know you're under enormous
political pressures and have to give in

them sometimes.

I'll forgive you everything.

If only you would try to do that boy
justice now.

He can't live in prison.

He's like a hawk in a cage.

He won't eat.

He's just withering away.

Come now, Mr. Hollister. Get hold of
yourself.

Two months later, he was dead.

He'd lost interest in life.

That was years ago.

It's all here.

All in this room.

What he had.

What he did.

What he was.

How many years?

I don't like to count them.

It doesn't matter anyway.

I have him here with me.

I can feel his presence in this room.

From his books, from his things.

Nothing on this earth is permanent, Mr.
Clovis. We aren't given title to

anything, you know. Just a lease.

His was short.

Mine's longer.

At least he was not the one to be left
behind to grieve.

That's some consolation, isn't it?

I suppose so.

So perhaps you can understand now why I
was a little amused at your

archaeopsychology. There's only so much
of a man imprisoned in his possessions

and the things he makes with his hands
so much, no more.

Ben's spirit hangs above this room, but
you can't sense it from these cold,

inanimate things.

Not unless you knew Ben.

Well, I'd better lock the back door.

You'll excuse me? Of course.

Satisfied, Mr. Clovis?

Now I am, yes.

I ought to tell you that I'm not an
archaeopsychologist. I sort of invented

that. You're from the district
attorney's office.

That's right.

A murder case never goes out of date.

You know, it took almost a year to put
him there.

I remember the excitement of the
manhunt. The most dangerous game.

Not a game.

Murder. Disagree.

It was neither.

It was an execution.

The execution of Henshaw, the man who
murdered my son.

I don't think the law will look at it in
quite that light.

Tell me, how did you do it?

Did you lie and wait for him outside his
house, or did you...

as we can tell, this skull belonged to a
civilization here in the southwest that

we call Proto -Pueblo.

One of its marks, as you see, is a
flattening in the rear of the head

strapping the baby onto a cradle board
before the skull was completely

calcified.

Let's compare him with a modern male
Caucasian.

You see, his head is not flattened in
the back at all.

Notice how an injury left a mark on the
bone.

The same thing here. Another male
Caucasian, about 45 years old, I'd say

the degree of calcification in certain
areas.

Athletic type.

Double spiral fracture.

Typical ski injury.

Leaving one leg about an inch and a half
shorter than the other.

Unfortunately, the police took a dim
view of the old curator, personally

a new exhibit for the museum.

Sometimes I find the attitude of the
authorities puzzling. They seem bent on

stifling initiative, but enough of that.

Now we shall watch while my sponsor
makes an exhibition of himself.

That is all until next week, when we
return with another story.

Perhaps we should put our gift wrap
friend back in his box.

His last will?

No.

Listen for dial tone before depositing
money.

Good night.