Original subtitles

[♪♪♪]

- Don't sleep outside with your mouth open

tomorrow night, Joanna.

- Why, are the neighbors complaining?

- No, but the way my left knee aches,

I predict torrential rains moving in tomorrow evening

from the north, continuing through the night,

tapering off by mid-morning.

Total rainfall: about two and a half inches.

Ow, make that three inches.

- Very impressive leg work.

- Well, I could be wrong.

My knee also predicted snow last August.

Still, I better get my tools and bolt down the shutters.

- Oh, damn!

- Package for Dick Loudon.

- What is it?

- What, are you deaf?

I said I've got a package.

So I've got a package for Dick Loudon. Sign here.

Yeah, I've got to get home, bolt up the old shutters.

Torrential rain due tomorrow night.

Two and a half, maybe three inches.

- How did you know that?

- Well, didn't you notice the way

that your hired hand was limping?

'Course, it was his fault

that I bought that snow blower last August.

Well...

- Oh--oh, it's here. Why--why didn't you tell me?

- Honey, you don't just tell someone a box has arrived.

You break it to them in stages.

What's in it?

- My new book.

- Wow, I can use the box to store my drill bits.

- Now if we can only figure out what to do with all these books.

- You could stack them and make a nice stand for the box.

- Murder at the Stratley , a Dick Loudon mystery.

I didn't know you were writing a novel.

- Well, I didn't want to say anything

just in case it didn't turn out well,

but now I think it's safe to say

it's just about the greatest story ever told.

- Well, the Bible's pretty good too.

- Yeah, but that was written by a lot of different guys, George.

This is pure Loudon.

- What's the Stratley?

- Oh, that's a beautiful old New England inn

where this story takes place.

- So it's like the Stratford?

- No. No, not at all. It's the Stratley.

I-I made it up.

- Sounds a lot like the Stratford,

especially the "Strat" part.

- Well, it's completely different.

- Of course it is.

Who's Johanna?

- The--the innkeeper's wife.

- Is she the hauntingly beautiful object of desire?

- Yeah, until page six when she gets

bludgeoned to death by a typewriter.

- Dick, I read Murder at the Stratley last night

and personally, I think it's the greatest story ever told.

- You know, you're not the first person who's said that.

A-Actually, I'm surprised you read it.

- Well, to be honest, I just read the pages

about the beautiful maid, Stephanella.

- Yeah, the rest is just filler anyway. So...

- Maybe your next book should include pictures of Stephanella.

I mean, words can only say so much.

- Morning, honey.

- Don't "morning" me.

Not after you bludgeoned me like that.

- She isn't you. She's Johanna.

There is no "H" in your name.

- Dick, it's me.

She's tall, she's blonde, she's from Painesville, Ohio.

- Well, of course, if you're going to go over the book

with--with a fine-tooth comb.

You're bound to find some similarities.

- And funny how the lead character, the innkeeper,

just happens to be a writer and talk show host.

- There is a world of difference between a man named Dick

and a man named Rick.

- Oh, good morning, Joanna. My, you look beautiful.

- Well, thank you, Stephanie.

- Dick, you know what would have made your book even better?

- What's that?

- The character Johanna just goes on and on and on.

Couldn't you have killed her off on page one?

- Couldn't you have killed Stephanella?

- He'd get too much hate mail.

- Besides, a-a great murder mystery needs a butler

and a maid is as good as a butler.

- Oh, really? Can a butler do this?

- No, it didn't work for me.

- See?

- It's bad enough you bludgeoned Johanna,

but then to dismember her and drown her in the lake?

So you would be free to run away

with the voluptuous man-hungry librarian.

- Which--which part didn't you like?

- Morning, everybody. Great book, Dick.

But it left me a little confused.

- How's that, George?

- How could Rick kill Johanna if he was spotted

fishing for mackerel in Caracas that same day

by 14 seafaring Venezuelans?

- He just looked like Rick.

- But all the sailors called him Rick.

- Coincidentally, his--his name was--was Rick.

- Ah! Huh! Now it seems so obvious.

Sorry about page six.

- Thanks, George.

- By the way, it was nice of you to mention me.

- You're not in my book, George.

- You can't fool me.

I'm Jorge, the Bolivian handyman.

- George, Jorge is a Bolivian Don Juan.

H-He's known for his sultry flamenco dancing

a-and his wild sexcapades.

- That's me. Don't you remember

what happened at Harley's wake?

- Morning. - Don't morning me, Dick Loudon.

What gall, describing me as the town's

drunk and corrupt mayor.

- Chester, it was just a fiction--

- I do admit I like an occasional nip of sherry

when I listen to my Arthur Thebla albums.

But this is an outrage.

- I, however, was deeply moved and as the town librarian,

I've chosen Murder at the Stratley

to be displayed as the library's book of the week.

- In--in the glass case un-under the big lamp?

Wow.

- However, there is one thing you'll want to change

for future editions.

My eyes are not limpid pools of emerald green.

My limpid pools are azure blue.

- At least you weren't bound and gagged

with a typewriter ribbon.

- Well, let's go, Miss Goddard.

I don't want to be late for my wine tasting group.

Today we're sipping white zinfandels.

- Sorry about page six.

- I guess you're right, Dick.

It's just a fictional story about people you made up.

- All right, all right, have it your way.

I-It's true.

I'm a cold blooded killer, I lust after Ms. Goddard

a-and George is a Bolivian flamenco dancer. Okay!

- Oh, that Dickie is mucho loco, no?

- Miss Goddard?

- I haven't seen you at the library lately, Stephanie.

Reading is fundamental, you know.

- Not when you get by on your looks.

What are you doing here?

- I was waiting for Dick.

Do you know when he'll be back?

- Well, I didn't know he was out.

I've been in my bubble bath all evening.

- Perfect place to read.

- It's pretty hard to read with cucumber slices on your eyes.

- Wow, it's raining kitties and cockers out there.

- Hi, Michael. - Hi, Steph.

Hi. Miss Goddard?

- Michael, you still owe late fines

on those Greek statue books.

- I've been a little lonely.

I came by strictly as a friend, of course, because I know

how deathly afraid you are of thunder and lightning.

- You're the one who's afraid of thunder and lightning.

- Steph, don't try to pawn off your neuroses on me.

Make it stop. Make it stop.

- Michael, it's just thunder.

Mother used to say it was angels

kickboxing little girls who don't read.

- Yeah, when you think of it like that,

it's not so scary.

- Oh, that's childish.

Let's do what we used to do.

- Dick, come sing with us. - Shut up, Michael.

I was out in the rain for two hours

trying to--trying to fix a flat,

and when I finally get the lug nuts loosened,

some idiot drives by and splashes mud all over me.

- Oh, was that you?

I would have stopped but it was pouring.

- Where's Joanna?

- She's on a--on a train to Albany.

Her mother's hip flared up.

Miss Goddard, what are you doing here?

- Dick, I'm perfectly flattered by your unbridled lust for me,

but you are a married man and the town is talking.

Therefore, the flame in your heart must be doused.

- Consider it doused.

- Hi, Dick.

Did you go somewhere?

I saw you putting those two suitcases in the car,

but I never heard you leave.

- That's odd. In the book it says Jorge the handyman

had ears so sharp, he could hear a pig drop.

- That's supposed to be "pin drop."

There're a couple typos in the book.

- Okay, people, buddy up and listen hard.

- Officer Shifflett.

- I'm looking for one Joanna Loudon

aka mistress of the Stratley.

- The Stratford. She is visiting her mother.

- I didn't know that.

- It seems an eyewitness, my sharp-eyed offspring,

one Shelly Shifflett,

spotted your late model Oldsmobile Cutlass

parked by Johnny Cake Lake earlier this evening.

- That's not where Joanna's mother lives.

- Of course not. I was parked there.

I was--I was fixing a flat.

- Nice try, Alibi Ike.

That story has more holes in it than, I don't know,

something with a lot of holes in it.

When I arrived on the scene, all I found was...

exhibit A.

- That's Joanna's sweater.

I mean, who else would wear something like that?

- How did it get by the lake?

- It was in the trunk. It's an old sweater.

I-I used it to wipe myself off

after Michael's car splattered me.

- Funny, that's the same excuse Rick tried to pawn off

on the dimwitted sheriff in your little literary potboiler.

- Look, I-I told you before. Joanna's on a train going--

- Trains aren't running due to the storm.

- What?

- If you ask me, the only choo-choo she's on

is pulling into St. Peter's Station.

- What are you insinuating?

- Toot, toot, tootsie, goodbye.

- Dick, a murderer? He couldn't murder anyone.

He's courteous.

- Thank you, George. - See?

- 'Til proven otherwise, I'm going to be all over you

like Chester on a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

- Officer S., couldn't there be a reasonable explanation

why you would pull over by the lake

and find her pullover by the lake?

- Such as?

- Well, she could have been out

washing her clothes against rocks.

[OVERLAPPING CONVERSATION]

- Or maybe she was streaking through town

as part of a sorority initiation.

- I told you she's on a train going to Albany.

I-I'll call the station and they'll tell you her train left.

The phone is dead.

- Thomas Hill Bridge is out, Thomas Hill Bridge is out.

- So?

- I just thought you should know.

- Thank you.

- Then how did you get here?

- Well, I drove across the river.

It's only two inches deep.

What's going on around here?

- It seems Loudon went psycho and rubbed out Joanna.

- Oh, no. She was so young and beautiful.

- He didn't say me, Chester. He said Joanna.

- Why would I murder my wife?

What--what possible motive would I have?

- Well, in the book,

Rick killed Johanna for insurance money

so that he and the librarian could escape to Yugoslavia

for a life of lively dancing and depravity.

- You have insurance, Loudon?

- Of course.

- Uh-oh.

- And if memory serves, at the Library Jubilee

Miss Goddard did a mean hokey-pokey.

- That's right, she could really shake it all about.

- I may be a librarian,

but first and foremost, I'm a woman.

- This--this is insane.

There's nothing going on between Miss Goddard and me.

- Then how do you explain her lively dancing

and your buying insurance?

- Gee, I don't know, Chester.

Ann Miller likes to dance.

You think I'm taking her to Yugoslavia?

- Why don't you tell us?

- I'm on your side, Dick, and I'm sure

you were just joking this morning

when you told Joanna that you lusted after Miss Goddard.

- Dick, you said that?

- Well yes, but-- - Jorge should know.

Remember, he can hear a pig drop.

- Question: Can you have a case

if you can't conjure up a corpse?

- Answer: Beats me.

Where'd you pop the cold one, Bluebeard?

- There isn't any cold one.

- I remember, it's at the bottom of Johnny Cake Lake.

- That would explain the two suitcases.

He cut her in half and dumped her in the lake.

Sorry, Dick.

- Wait. The book clearly says

he cut her into three pieces.

If there were only two suitcases,

where's the third piece?

- And what's the third piece?

- I remember. It's her head.

- Ew.

- In chapter eight, when the dimwitted sheriff

found the sweater by the lake, he said,

"What's that up the road... a head?"

- That was another typo.

It's supposed to say, "What's that up the road ahead?"

- Sure. Blame the proofreader.

- I'm not blaming anybody.

No crime has been committed here.

- Maybe not in your sicko world.

But in our town, you still need a permit to murder.

Nobody touch anything.

We're going to reconstruct the crime.

- I'll get the murder weapon.

- I'll get the refreshments. Anyone for cocoa? Hands.

- I'm not feeding you people.

- A murderer and a lousy host.

- Here it is.

[ALL GROANING]

- Sinister looking, isn't it?

- Now we need someone to play Joanna,

the defenseless victim,

and someone to play Dick, the demented killer.

Ms. Vanderkellen, how would you like to be Joanna?

- [SCOFFS] Not even for a laugh.

- And I should disqualify myself.

I have more than a nodding acquaintance

with the demented killer.

- Okay, we'll all just imagine Joanna sitting on the sofa.

- My, she looks so pretty.

- Radiant.

- What a bunch of imbeciles.

- We still need someone to play Dick, the demented killer.

- How about you, Dick?

- Not even for a laugh.

- Don't worry, I'll prove your innocence.

I'll play Dick, the demented killer.

- George, remind me to fire you.

- As librarian and the town's best oral reader,

I'll quote some appropriate passages from the book.

"Rick moved ever so quietly,

"creeping up behind his innocent wife,

"with 30 pounds of metal and ribbon.

"Slowly, he lifted the lethal hunt-and-pecker

"and bringing it down in a swift swat,

"he hit her hard.

"He hit her real, real hard.

"So hard seagulls screamed in another village."

- Ah... blood.

- Yuck.

- Oh, mama.

Explain this one, Rick.

- I-I can't.

- I'm sure there must be a bazillion reasons

why there's blood on that pillow.

- Sure. Maybe Joanna was piercing her ears.

- Sure, she could be doing that.

- You don't own a pitbull, do you?

- Dick, where did that blood come from?

- I don't know.

- You have the right to remain silent.

- Wait--wait a minute.

Doesn't a criminal usually commit the crime

and then write the book?

- Correctomundo, unless Dick had bludgeoned in the past.

- Dick, you've never been married before, have you?

- Yeah George, 19 times,

and I killed each and every one of them.

And I'm glad, I tell you.

I'm glad. [LAUGHS HYSTERICALLY]

[SHOUTING]

CHESTER: Oh dear! We're in the dark

with a murderer, and he's got a gun.

STEPHANIE: A gun? MS. GODDARD: Oh, no.

DICK: I don't have a gun.

CHESTER: Well, he's got a typewriter.

He's bludgeoned before, he'll bludgeon again.

[DOOR CREAKING]

STEPHANIE: What was that?

JOANNA: Dick.

MICHAEL: It sounded like Joanna.

DICK: Is that you, honey?

JOANNA: I'm going to kill you, Dick.

[SHOUTING]

CHESTER: Merciful heavens, it's the ghost of Joanna.

[SHOUTING]

MS. GODDARD: And she's out for blood.

[SHOUTING]

MICHAEL: Quick, anyone got a candle?

MS. GODDARD: I do. You never know

when you're going to stumble across a birthday cake.

GEORGE: Anyone got a match?

JOANNA: I do.

[SHOUTING]

- What the hell, Joanna? Your hair looks like hell!

CHESTER: She's back from the lake to kill us all.

[SHOUTING]

- Freeze, zombie.

- Michael. - Steph.

Sorry, force of habit.

- Yeah, me too.

- What are you people doing?

- Well, we thought Dick murdered you

and threw your lifeless body in the lake.

- Thank God she's alive, Dick.

I couldn't picture you in the big house as a boy toy.

- I want you all to get out of my inn.

- And by the way, Dick, thanks for your concern.

I hadn't even gotten up to the ticket window

when you were burning rubber out of the parking lot.

- Well, you know, I mean, you know,

it was starting to sprinkle.

- Oh, shut up, Dick.

It's bad enough I had to walk home,

but then some idiot in a Toyota screaming,

"Thomas Hill Bridge is out" splashed mud all over me.

- Oh, dear.

- Well, you may have squeaked by on this one, Loudon...

but at dawn's next crack I'll at Johnny Cake Lake,

trolling for those 19 other stiffs.

- Wait a minute.

If there's no murder, what about the plasma on the pillow?

- I'm not cleaning it up.

- That's not blood. That's Clamato juice.

- Oh, that would really hit the spot right now.

Anybody for Clamato juice? Hands.

- Nobody is drinking anything. Get--get--get out of here.

- He may not be a murderer, but he's still a lousy host.

- I'm sorry, the next time I murder my wife,

I'll--I'll order a-a deli platter.

- The next time you murder your wife?

What do you mean, the next time you murder your wife?

- Honey, it's been a long, long night.

- Well, that was fun.

What do you want to do tomorrow night?

- Get the hell out of here.

[APPLAUSE]

[♪♪♪]

- Meow.