Original subtitles

You know, Kay, now that you're my assistant editor,

maybe we-- we shouldn't do this anymore.

What if applied for an eight hour leave of absence?

Granted.

I can recommend the fillet of sole.

God, Martin, you've really got talent.

Just wait. It's gonna get a lot better.

No, I mean, your writing.

I knew you were a brilliant editor, but wow.

What is this, a short story? A novel?

Actually, it-- it started off as a short story,

but it's threatening to turn into a... a novella.

You know, I set it in a boarding school

to dramatize the alienation of adolescents.

You see, it takes place a-- a week before the Kennedy assassination.

What? This is about a teenage hockey

- player from outer space. - Huh?

"Tasman dreaded going out after the game.

He wanted only to return to the pod, hook his brain up to

the machine and give himself a good fucking."

I didn't write that.

Well, then who did?

What...

My son.

Did you know Jeremy's been writing?

Oh, isn't it terrific? You know, I really think he's got talent.

Wait a minute. He showed you?

Well, I am his mother.

You're not the only one he shares things with.

He didn't share anything with me, I just happened to find it while I was...

...poking around.

Well, what did you think?

Personally, I didn't think it was very good, but that's not the point.

He should have shown it to me. I'm his father, and an editor.

Well, maybe he was afraid.

You know, given your tendency to be overly critical.

What are you talking about? When have I ever been overly critical?

Oh, two seconds ago.

Please, come on. I was just being honest.

Have we forgotten a certain science fair incident?

What was I supposed to do?

Let him hand in his volcano without lava?

I mean, what is that? That's a-- a hill.

All right. Fasten this.

If it weren't for me and my lava, he would have lost to that kid with a potato clock.

So don't tell me that I'm overly critical.

Okay, okay. Just forget about the volcano.

The point is, Jeremy's interested in writing.

And now that you know that, you should be supportive.

I am supportive. I'm very supportive.

I'm even more supportive than I am not overly critical.

Are you going to wear that?

Well, I--

You read my stuff?

I just stumbled on it.

I mean, it's not like I was prying or anything, you know?

- And-- and-- - You hated it. I knew you would.

Hated it? No, not at all.

In fact, I take my hat off to you just for finishing it.

You should be very, very proud of yourself.

And?

And from now on, I don't want you to feel

like you have to hide anything from me.

- Okay? Now, come on. Let's get something to eat. - Wait.

What exactly didn't you hate about it?

I didn't hate it.

In fact, I thought the characters and plot were...

Ridiculous, asinine, imbecilic, and--

...unlike anything I've-- I've ever read.

They were original and...

Insane.

- Unique. - Really?

Wow, that-- that is great.

Because I think I want to be a writer.

A writer? You mean, like, for a living?

Yeah. I mean, getting paid to make stuff up?

That'd be great.

Jeremy, I--

Sit-- sit-- sit down.

This is a lot harder than you think.

You can have all the talent in the world

and still never get a break.

I mean, believe me, I know.

Well, I want to give it a shot.

You see all these manuscripts? You see them?

They're all by someone who wanted to give it a shot.

Most of them will never be read, much less published.

So you don't think I'm good enough?

- Uh... - Martin, I got the tickets to La Bohème--

Oh, I'm sorry. I'll come back.

No, no, no, no, no, come in, come in.

This is my son Jeremy. Jeremy, this is Kay Meadows, assistant editor.

Oh, Jeremy, I read some of your writing. I really enjoyed it.

- You did? - Kay.

Yeah, I really, really liked it.

- Kay. - Thanks.

- Thanks a lot. - Kay!

What?

You know, it could be the solution

to all of our problems.

Wait a minute. Every writer needs a good editor.

Why don't you let Kay here give you some pointers?

I mean, I'd do it myself, but I could never be objective.

You know, I love everything you do.

It'd be my pleasure.

- Cool. - Great.

I wash my hands of the whole thing.

That's why I'm writing my book.

I hope they read it.

Hey, Martin.

I have a trick that will amaze and delight you.

Toby, I really don't have time for that right now.

Everyone has time for magic.

Have they started sawing a woman in half yet?

Fine, fine. Go ahead.

Give me an ordinary $20 bill.

Now, watch closely, sir or madam,

as I defy the laws of nature.

Oh, I forgot something. Give me another 20.

Out. Out, out! Get out!

Could've used her against Melbourne in '74.

Oh, by the way, Marty, how was the surgery?

What surgery?

You're bobbing for panty fuzz with a co-worker

and making her edit your son's book on company time.

I was assuming you'd been fitted with a new pair of balls.

Seems to me I'm getting the old heave-ho.

Gibby... I can explain this, you know, I-- I--

Ah, the only explanation I need is how a Joe Middlebrow

like you could sire a talent like Jeremy.

We're going to publish him in the fall.

What?

His writing speaks to every part of me, Marty.

Not only does it bring a tear to my eye

but it also makes little Gibby stand up and reach for the five pence candy.

Really?

Wow. That's great. I mean, not that I'm surprised.

I recognized early on that-- that Jeremy had a gift.

That's not true. That's a wicked, slanderous lie.

And I-- I've always tried to be sort of a...

Well, maybe mentor's too strong a word. Maybe it isn't.

Maybe it is.

So, uh, so the fall, huh? Short deadline, huh?

I should make this my top priority.

Uh-uh-uh-uh. Back to the caboose, Marty.

Kay will be driving this train.

Gibby! Gibby, Gibby, I wouldn't do that.

I think Kay's a terrific assistant editor, but I really feel that--

- By the way, kudos on her. - Thank you.

You know, my old mom used to say,

never buy your meat where you buy your bread.

But I think you've made yourself one hell of a sandwich.

Gibby-- Kay!

I didn't mean to go behind your back.

Gibby was peeking down my blouse, and I gave him Jeremy's book to distract him.

Please tell me you're not upset.

Why would I be upset? Well, this is great news,

for you and for Jeremy and for all of us.

- I just want you to know... - I'm the captain here.

If you don't like it, I'll bust this over your skull.

If you need any help, just-- just say the word.

Really?

- That's so-- - Done! We'll start tonight.

The first thing to do is to forget everything you ever knew.

Everything you ever learned, forget.

What do you think about expanding this stuff about the penalty box?

Uh, we could.

Or we could just clean up what's already here.

- What do you mean? - Take this sentence, see.

You have five teammates, all threatening to strike,

and you use "he" to identify all of them.

I-- I can't tell one guy from the other.

That's the point, dad. They're interchangeable.

Like spark plugs.

Like in Neuromancer by William Gibson.

- Exactly. Now, that is the coolest book. - Isn't it great?

No speak English.

Uh, okay.

Okay.

How can I explain this? Uh...

- Say you have a bunch of boys in... - My book.

...a boarding school.

They may look the same, they may dress the same,

but when a writer, a real writer, breathes life

into the characters, they take on their own identities.

And I want you to be a real writer.

Yeah, but I like it this way.

Okay. Okay. It's just a suggestion.

I mean, if you'd rather write about spark plugs than vibrant,

complex characters, then it's... truly, it's really entirely up to you.

Jeremy, why don't we give it a try your dad's way?

Okay.

You're not much to begin with, but I'll do my best.

Martin, with all due respect, the whole coming of age,

loss of innocence thing, it feels a little too...

Too what? Too universal? Not too, uh, too poignant?

Too derivative?

Oh, come on.

Is Don Quixote too derivative of Beowulf?

Huh ? Is The Tempest too derivative of...

- ...Beowulf? - What does that have to do with my stuff?

Everything is connected, Jeremy.

Everything. Beads on a necklace. You know who said that?

Uh...

Uh, you know...

Kurt Vonnegut!

I'll make soldiers out of you, or kill you!

Okay.

Okay, okay, this is, uh--

It's not horrible, you know, take another whack at it.

Martin, he's been at it for hours now.

Yeah, I was kind of hoping to go over to Bobby's house tonight.

Jeremy, you have a decision to make. Okay?

Do you wanna grow up to be a writer,

or do you wanna grow up to be a boy who goes over to Bobby's house?

Work is what they want.

Good. Then we'll go back to work.

This boy has a father who's on his toes looking out for him.

Hey, Martin, guess who's here.

- Your son! - Jeremy.

- Come in. - At least I think it's your son.

You better check his wallet.

That's not mine. Mine's right here.

Oh... That is correct, because this is Martin's wallet.

What-- Who the hell is this?

$40. I'm going to lunch.

In England, for this sort of hocus pocus, you'd go to jail.

Dad, do you have a minute?

I always have time for my son.

So I've been reworking this embryonic chamber thing.

Sit down at the controls and tell me what you think.

Uh, actually, I'd rather not.

- We need to talk. - We'll talk later. Come on.

Strap yourself in. I really think you're gonna like this.

Come on. Go on. Take a look.

I've given this a lot of thought,

and I appreciate everything you've done.

I really do.

You don't owe me anything, Jeremy.

It's been a pleasure to work alongside nice people.

Hey, what are dads for, huh?

This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

Hey, nobody said writing was easy,

but I'll be here to guide you through the rough waters.

Actually, You won't.

Excuse me?

I think it's best if you and I don't work together anymore.

I don't-- I don't understand.

- It's just not working out. - Come on, champ.

I know I've been kind of tough on you, but that's my job now.

- You know, I'm your editor. - No, you're my dad.

Kay is my editor.

Like you said, it's hard for you to be objective.

Fine.

Fine. Fine. I mean...

You're the author, you know, so...

You-- you got to do what you got to do.

I knew you'd understand.

Well, I guess I better get back to work.

And this from my own son.

Dad?

- Yeah? - Open or closed?

Uh, closed, please.

Well, the whole point is the victim is an android,

so you can't reveal that he's an android before he comes in.

Hey, what are you doing back?

The opera started, like, a half an hour ago.

Oh, well, the village burns and everybody dies.

You know, I-- I've read the program.

Are we in your way? Do you want us to go somewhere?

No, that's okay. I'm just gonna...

Eat a banana and watch some television. So go ahead.

Go! Go, go, go, go.

All right. Anyway, if you wait to reveal the victim as an android,

it's much more shocking when he shows up to identify Tazmin as the murder.

That's great. Let's do that.

You are foolish.

You know, I'm not gonna say anything.

Okay? But if I did, it's only because you're my son,

- and I don't want to see you fall on your face. - What, dad?

Doesn't it diminish Tazmin's moral crisis just a smidge

if the guy that he kills isn't even a human being?

Well, not really, because Tazmin's an android too.

Since when?

Since we decided it would be better that way.

Oh, okay. So now all the characters are machines.

Well, that's relatable. And since so many machines buy books,

I guess you got a bestseller on your hands.

Martin, I mean no offense when I say this, but shut up already.

Obviously you don't agree with what we're doing, but we're quite happy with it.

And we're turning it in tomorrow, so.

No, you're right. You're right. What do I know, right?

I've only been doing this 15 years,

and you've been doing it, what, an hour and a half? Forgive me.

- Dad. - No, no, that's okay. You go ahead and finish.

I'll be out among the humans.

The living, breathing, three dimensional type.

Please, George.

I want to do it.

Don't do it, laddie.

And you will do it.

Oh...

Putrid. Putrid!

I'm sorry I got to do what I got to do, but I got to do it.

Now, this other story,

does that give you a lump in your throat,

or does that give you a lump in your throat?

Jesus, Marty.

You look like the business end of a sheep on "Farmers drink free" night.

Yeah, it's just I was up kind of late last night.

Is that Jeremy's manuscript?

- Indeed. - Oh. What do you think?

Well, I think this is one tree that did not have to die.

The old days were ruined.

- You didn't like it? - Yeah. I don't blame your lad, though.

It's Kay's fault. I bought a sexy science fiction novel,

and she turned it into a retard version of Catcher in the Rye.

Better tell him.

Gibby, thi-- this may not be entirely Kay's fault.

Now, now. Very noble of you to stick up for your little bayonet polisher,

but I'm gonna have to give her the old sack-a-roo.

Gibby, Gibby, wait, wait. You-- You can't fire her.

Marty, she has no talent, after all.

Now, if she were sleeping with me rather

than you, that would be a different story.

But then there's another example of her poor judgement, eh?

Wait. Wait! Wait, Gibby, wait.

You love the original. You know, I could get you a new draft in no time.

Marty, the magic is gone.

Little Gibby's gone back to scouring the floor for loose change.

- Gibby, come on. - Oh, oh, oh. And a word to the wise.

All that boarding school crap...

Bit of a Skip the Maloo! quality to it.

Keep a tight rein on the lad.

Otherwise he might end up dotting his eyes

with little daisies, if you know what I mean.

What have I done?

Martin, you look like you're about to cry.

You could probably use a handkerchief.

Oops.

Hi. Is Jeremy here?

- What were you thinking? - Look, don't start with me.

I just want to talk to him, okay?

He's in his room.

Why don't you just go in and tell him his penis is too small?

You want me to go to prison? Is that where I belong?

Now, look...

Hi. How's it going?

Uh, your label's sticking up there.

You probably want it that way, though.

Dad, I'm on my way out, so.

Look, Jeremy, there's no excuse for what I did, okay?

- I acted like a real-- - Dick?

In a word.

I thought I was making your book better.

You know, I really did.

But I-- I guess I was just making it mine.

Which makes me a lousy editor, and an even worse father.

Dad, you're not a lousy father.

No, no, let me finish. regardless of what I thought about it,

you wrote a book that-- that people wanted to read.

You know? So I-- I guess ...

I'm no writer. You're the writer!

It's kind of complicated.

And maybe someday when you're a father, you'll understand.

I think I get it.

It's like in my book, when the Overlord tries to

superimpose his program on Tazmin's heuristic path

so he can get to level 12 himself.

Well, that's just what I was gonna say.

Exactly.

Eaxctly, but I-- I'll make it up to you.

You know, I have a lot of connections and-- and maybe

we can get your book set up someplace else.

Dad, it's all right.

Random House is going to publish it.

What?

Kay took my version over there, and they made her an editor.

That's amazing. What--

You're on your way.

And from now on, I'm not going to superimpose anything on anyone's anything.

You just... You do what you want.

- Thanks dad. - In fact, there's a writing workshop in Yale this summer.

We'll sign you up, and you'll learn from people who really know what they're doing.

Uh, actually, I thought I'd go to photography camp this summer.

Wh-- What about your writing?

Ah, I'm sort of done with the writing thing.

What are you talking about?

A writer's never done writing.

Yeah, I know. That's what I hate about it.

It's like having homework all the time. What's fun about that?

Well, you don't have to write novels.

You could write screenplays.

You don't have to fill up the whole page. It's just dialogue.

- Dad. - No, you'd be good at it.

You're only 16 years old, you're already published.

- By the time you're my age-- - Dad, you're superimposing.

- But... - There you go again.

You're right. You're right. I'm sorry.

See you later, Dad.

Uh, what about poetry?

Or haiku?

There's only 17 syllables. You could do it on the bus.

Uh...

I guess I have got a lot to learn about being a father, haven't I?

You sure have, Professor Boyd.