Original subtitles

There she is.

Good old Hollywood.

Sold as a land of dreams,

this is a deeply backwards town for the majority.

Fablers and thespians flock to the twinkling lights,

where they fight to make believe,

until a select few rise up

and metastasize into the gatekeepers themselves.

When some reach new heights, they withhold a helping hand

and instead spit on the fellow creatives below.

Hey everyone, welcome toEntertainment Evening.

We have lots to unpack for you tonight,

including a red carpet altercation...

But on Christmas Eve,

a sextuplet of struggling artists

will have their fortunes altered

by an unexpected and mysterious holiday gift.

Dear distinguished guest,

you are cordially invited to...

... a remarkable and exclusive evening

that will forever change your life.

Enclosed is your golden ticket.

And a $1,000 preview of a fortune to be had.

Inscribed on the ticket is your pseudonym,

call time, and address.

You are Ghost.

Lastly, there are three rules for the event.

Don't bring cell phones,

don't discuss your personal lives

and don't be late.

See you tonight.

-I bet some pretty famous people Uber up here, yeah?

-They don't ride UberPool.

Right. Right.

Right.

Hey, what's the craziest thing you've seen while driving?

Okay, okay, I got one.

I once saw a pigeon fly out of a woman's bag.

Now this is a true story.

So I'm sitting up here in the front seat.

Now, two women who don't know each other

are sittin' in the back.

Now, grocery bag lady falls asleep,

and no sooner does she do that than bang!

A pigeon flies out, and this guy is flapping,

and he is going crazy.

And the old lady sitting next to her,

she grabs the pigeon,

snaps the bird's neck real casual,

and puts it right back into the grocery bag.

And the craziest part about this

is grocery lady never even woke up.

Made me realize how much we miss

just by closing our eyes.

-Shit...I remember that monologue

from Leonard Kahn's class.

-What are you talking about?

-Yeah, went there in 2017.

Did the same monologue.

You're good.

You gotta slow it down though.

On, um, on which part?

Thank you for the invitation to...

Thank you. Thank you.

Good day. Thank you so much for this surprise invitation

to your humble abode.

No one says that.

Hello. Good day. It's nice to meet you.

It's nice to be at your sophisticated

and yet humble abode.

You're late and you sound Mormon.

-Yeah. No, no, no.

Sorry. My--my driver dropped me off

a little bit down the road.

He doesn't have it.

- No, no. No, no. I have it.

-The card? -Yeah, I have it.

Yeah, it says--it says-- it says I'm a Hero.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

-All right, hold on.

Read the sign. Wipe your hooves.

Yeah.

It's a little tarpy in here though.

-Yeah, a lot of tarps. Very American Psycho.

-Whooh. Yeah, I'll say.

-Hey. -Hello, everyone.

-Here. Drink this, but drink it slowly.

We don't have a lot of alcohol here.

Okay, guys, this is Hero.

He's late. Hero, this is everyone.

They've been waiting.

Go ahead, introduce yourselves.

-My card says I'm a Ghost, but I'm not a ghost.

-Yeah, no, I'm the spaceman. -Great.

-I was a goat, though, in a past life in Scotland.

No, but I'm here in front of you right now.

-Hi. Princess. -Howdy. Cowboy.

-And I'm the Dame.

So, you coordinate this rendezvous?

-No. No, I--I wish.

Well, this is it then. Us six.

And how do you know that?

-There's six chairs.

- Right. Okay, right, that--

yeah, math checks out, everybody.

Um, so does anybody know each other, or is—

-No. -Nope.

No one knows anything,

but clearly this is a game show.

So I just want to put out right now,

when we do split up into teams,

I just want to let you know that I'm very lucky.

I'm unusually lucky.

Like, every dog I've ever known has lived more than 15 years.

Fifteen years! Ha! That's unheard of.

-I doubt it's a game show.

-Maybe this is a cult thing.

-Honestly, I thought it was another intervention.

So I've already won.

-You know, they might be single-filin' us

through that Great Blue Door.

-A Blue Door is a cow's entrance to a slaughterhouse.

-See, they don't know where they are

before they get popped right between the eyes.

Hang on, what is that?

-What is that?

-Come on. Hey, hey, hey, guys, come on.

Rule number one on the invite is no cells.

You brought your cell phone with you, didn't you?

-No, you saw me leaving the apartment.

-Then what's ringing? Is it in your sock?

-Did you bring your phone? -It's not my fucking phone!

-I didn't bring my phone.

-Okay, rule number two is don't talk about your personal lives.

What--what is happening right now?

-Well, you--you--you did say the dog thing.

But dog's not the same thing.

-Dog is not personal life. -Quiet!

-All right, well, he's my brother.

-He's always up my ass. -telling them--

-They would have figured it out eventually.

I don't know what you want from me.

-You got to shut your gizzard.

-Jesus Christ. -Everyone, shut up!

-Listen. -Shut up!

-God, it's still sealed. -Is it in there?

Wait.

-What does the card say?

-“Saddle up for a wild night.”

-Think someone's supposed to come in?

-Yeah, right.

Well, you missed your cue.

Saddle up.

Nobody? Come on, come on.

That was an amateur clue.

Any of you guys could have made a better clue than that clue.

-Maybe there's something under one of our chairs.

-Maybe it's like a sexual thing

and we're supposed to partner off?

-My God. -What?

Fun fact, he actually took dialect classes

to get rid of his accent,

but he does call in reservations

as Matthew McConaughey.

God, why?

-Because this town is chock-full of smug folk,

and it is my way of keeping pace.

How clever.

I mean, I just assumed we're all in the industry.

-You're actress? -Yeah.

But I just dropped my manager,

and I'm actually saving up for some new headshots, so—

All right.

I bet I could guess everybody's jobs.

So, overconfident producer?

Wait, wait, guys.

I don't think we should be talking about our lives.

-Okay. So, producer, actress...

Writer, and...

directing duo.

-Nope. -Yeah.

Who never agree on anything.

-Yeah. And actor.

-Ha! No. -Bad actor.

-No, listen, you don't know anything about me.

-Who has thin skin.

-Okay, fuck off.

Let's figure out what,

saddle up means.

-It doesn't have anything to do with the chairs.

-The welcome mat!

- Jesus! ! The welcome mat!

-We're all idiots.

-You want another one of these?

-Yeah, fill her up. -All right.

- The welcome mat. The welcome mat.

It's the welcome mat. It's, um--okay.

“Wipe your hooves!”

Guys, it says “Getting warmer.”

Getting warmer. Getting warmer.

- Getting warmer. They got a barbecue.

Smokehouse out back.

- Warmer. The sun. The sun.

The solar eclipse?

-Riddles are my nightmare. -Fireplace.

I was just going to say that.

-The fireplace. Yes.

That's brilliant.

My— That's it. That's it. Yes.

Um, there's... there's nothing.

-Look under the logs.

-What? -Here. Try this.

-You're going to love it. -Thank God.

-The thingy under the logs.

-No. There's--there's-- there's nothing in—

Holy shit. It's a safe.

-How did you see that?

What kind of safe?

Two hours and four minutes.

Guys, it's a safe, and it's open.

Look, look, look, look, look.

Wait, what?

Any dinero in there?

What is that note screenplay thing even say?

-The font's too small.

Give me the logline, what it says.

-It looks like they'll give us a shit ton of cash

if we steal five Best Picture Awards

from some producer.

-More specifically, “Return the five awards

"to this self-locking safe by midnight tonight,

"and another hidden safe will be remotely opened

"containing a life-changing amount of money.

One million dollars each.”

-Holy shit.

-Yeah, I'm gonna go ahead

and say this sounds a little too good to be true.

-Whooh! I am in! Come on now.

Only awards I ever got my hands on

was the Omaha Horror Fest Audience Award,

so yes, I am in.

-Well, you can be in, but I'm out.

Ain't no bullwhip or no crescent moon

that's gonna pull me into this business.

-Come on.

-Hey, we actually agree on something.

Yeah. I mean, I'm fucking out.

-I'll take my grand-- -Dame, you're kidding me.

and head to Vegas. Please.

Hero. Princess. Come on.

Come on, give me—

-Really? You guys, five to one?

We just gonna chicken exit out of here

and just let me get the six mil by myself?

-Okay, well, hold on.

Can you read me back the thing?

Start from the top.

-“Exterior mansion, 1400 Kings Road--Night.

We see six struggling filmmakers--

-That's Jack Woodrow's house.

Jack fucking Woodrow?

Darth Vader of Hollywood.

-Now that is a big bad buck on our bowstrings,

ladies and gentlemen.

-Hold on. How do you-- how do you know it's his house?

-Yeah, how do you know that? -I've been there.

How--how have you been to Jack Woodrow's?

-My real passion is being a caterer.

I just act to pay the bills.

Get the fuck back.

-Are you sure about this?

-Yeah.

-And everyone knows Jack Woodrow's awards

mean everything to him.

-Everything.

- I'm sorry, I... who's Jack Woodrow?

You know, this is Orson Welles' old house.

- Wow. It's beautiful.

-The decorations are—

Can't take any credit.

Ex-one bought all of it. Ex-two rearranged it.

-Did you practice your acceptance speech?

In the bathroom?

The award. Yeah.

No, I mean— Is it real?

Hoh-hoh.

Look, you're nervous.

It's okay, I get it. But stop.

Let's just talk. Emma and Jack.

We're both filmmakers.

-Okay.

-You like Citizen Kane? -Of course.

-You're leaning on the table.

-I'm sorry.

-One from the archives room at the beginning.

I used to own the sled, too.

But I gave it to Leo as a wrap gift.

I'm gonna remake it.

-The sled? -The movie.

-Right. Yeah. Remake the perfect movie.

-Almost perfect.

No one's in the room when he says "Rosebud."

Do you meditate?

-Sometimes.

-Ikea. Adult Legos.

Break for my brain.

Don't have to do anything except follow instructions.

But, your script whisked me away.

-That's— wow. Thank you.

-How did you get it to Mary?

-I knew she was your longtime assistant,

and I Twitter stalked her.

Sounds desperate.

-Me and my--my roommate took shifts.

Tell me about you.

-Well, my script, Self-Made Woman,

is sort of autobiographical.

-So you sculpt like the main character?

-No. I—

So you're unconfident in your artistic abilities,

and you haven't yet stood up

to the lover who broke your heart?

-I meant more of the East Coast upbringing.

We're finished.

Let's break some stuff.

Safety first.

Take the first whack.

-A...Are you sure?

-I'm sure. -Okay.

-You can do better than that.

That's all you got? Come on, let it out.

-There we go.

That's what I'm talking about. Come on.

Whoa, it feels good!

-You're a natural.

-Let me show you how it's done.

Mary will set up agency meetings.

They'll negotiate your end of the deal.

-This was incredible. Thank you so much.

-Emma...

speak up when you know you're right.

This town will carve you up if you don't defend yourself.

-Okay, I will.

His assistant never called.

I never got in with an agent.

Jack blocked all of my pitch meetings,

and then two years later,

he won his fifth Best Picture Award.

-For Self-Made Woman.

-Did you sue him?

-I tried, but he's pretty freaking powerful

and pretty freaking famous,

which makes me wonder, how do you not know who he is?

-Okay. Okay, yes.

How the hell would I not know who this guy is?

Okay, I'm just trying not

to reveal that much about myself.

I mean, you guys don't know how much money I have,

how many cars I drive, who I know.

-Your tag's hanging out.

-Hero, it says everyone must participate

or the plan will fail.

-Okay. Okay, but can't I ask some questions?

I mean, can't I try to poke some holes in this?

Like--like this guy who's supposed to pay us,

I mean, what's their motivation?

-I mean, it has to be someone with a well of hatred

for Jack that's as deep as their pockets.

-Like a bitter independent financier?

-It's six million in cash.

-So a bitter studio exec.

-More like Studio Head.

-Everybody gets a damn code name.

-Right, right. And the so-called Studio Head,

they expect us to rob a Bel Air mansion

with a map of the house, some directions,

and those ratchety things?

-All right, look.

I don't know any of you.

So I'm gonna be raw-dogging this heist

with a bunch of strangers.

But this “Studio Head” didn't invite us here

because we're on movie posters or fucking Fallon.

No, we got invited here because Hollywood fucked us.

So let's fuck it back.

-Hell yeah.

- God. Guys...Guys, it's robbery.

-Yeah. Here's to being millionaires.

-Midnight is the deadline.

The garage is this way. Let's roll.

-I'm driving. -Come on. Let's move.

Let's giddyup.

-Hero. Come on.

This could change your life.

-Yeah. Not like this.

-What?

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!

Hey, where are you going?

We need you. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.

Come back! You're supposed to be the hero.

He just runs away!

So he ran away.

-Why the hell didn't you stop him?

-He's gonna go to the cops. -No, he won't.

-He needs the money. -Great.

If you don't think he'll rat, then get in the fucking van.

-No! No!

-Come on, we got less than two hours.

-No! No, no. We are not going.

The Studio Head's plan states six people,

and I have to be the distraction outside.

-Well, then we'll have four people

trying to steal five awards.

-No, it's easy.

Someone'll just have to cut dirt and snatch two.

- No, no, we can't. The house is too big.

But we've got all this kick-ass heist gear.

-Well, if the place is too big and we don't have enough people,

-then how are we even gonna— -Stop!

I did UCB for a few months.

-What is that? -Improv school.

I was pretty good.

After I take the first award,

I'll improvise a way to take the second.

-Well, we're fucked.

Princess?

Fuck. So stupid.

-Saddle up.

Magnetic little doohickeys.

How fun is that?

-Mr. Woodrow? -Boomer?

Mr. Woodrow, you here?

-Boomer?!

Mr. Woodrow?

-God damn it!

fucking assistants does it take

to answer the goddamn door?

Mr. Woodrow?

-This better be fucking good.

This better be fucking great!

Ten frickin' minutes to myself.

-Mr. Woodrow! Hey, man!

-What the fuck! -Wow.

Love the robe. I'm your two o'clock.

Ben Donaldson. Film producer.

Like you.

-My office assistant, Boomer, set this up?

-Listen, I had to pinch myself when I got the call.

Well, he's fired.

-What the hell are you doing with your upper torso

in my living room

and your ass souring Helen Hunt's view

from her back porch?

Yeah, she's your neighbor? Wow.

-Heidi/Dawn!

Si?

-I know, right?

Heidi/Dawn, this is an intruder

and probably registered sex offender,

and he has a movie he wants to pitch me, I'm sure.

True. The movie, not the sex offender part, Dawn.

-Intruder, this is Heidi, or Dawn, my weekend maid.

-It's Monday, I'm Dawn.

-Can you grab the cordless and dial 9-1?

We're gonna let the intruder pitch his movie,

and if you get bored, hit the last 1.

-We'll have him arrested. -No, no, that's not—

-If I get bored, I'll shoot him.

-Whoa, whoa, wait. -Go!

No, whoa, no, whoa, no!

-No, that's not— -I'm drifting off.

-Giant flying jellyfish over Japan!

-Well, that was just a random assortment of nouns.

-It's the next great scary genre.

We can make six movies minimum.

Vampires, aliens, zombies, ghosts—

they're all played out, Mr. Woodrow.

The genre needs some fresh ideas.

-And this, this Mad Libs pitch of yours

is the new horror staple?

-Giant flying jellyfish over Japan are real.

-You certainly have an entertaining

amount of conviction.

-Well, thank you.

Look, Mr. Woodrow, I'm a huge fan, okay?

I know all of the legends about you.

The--the Twister rap party.

Yeah, yeah.

That's, that's why Helen moved next door.

Okay, the assistant graveyard.

-Graveyard's a strong word, but we added a headstone today.

- Boomer. Um, your Fridge Scripts.

-What's this one? -The Fridge Script.

It's the next Best Picture winner

that you're gonna greenlight.

Yeah. You keep it in there on ice,

so to speak, and then you save it

until you think it's gonna be a weak awards season,

and then boom.

You whip it out, you make it.

That's how you got both of your Best Picture awards.

That's a very creative wives' tale.

Completely false.

No script.

A lot happens between green-lighting a script

and winning Best Picture.

-Yeah, but you make it all not even matter

because of the way you campaign.

-Could I campaign an award out of the jellyfish thing?

-You could make a lot of money.

Yeah.

Get an even bigger house.

-It's great to meet you.

My office will be in touch.

So he stuck a six-shooter in your face

and annexed the bee in your bonnet?

Just like Princess.

-He bought it right then and there.

Fucked on the terms?

Tremendously.

And guys, really, like,

read your contract before you sign it, okay?

And--and look up the big words.

All right, let's get to our spots.

-How many of those stupid movies are there now?

Mr. Clooney,

you got your Jesus holidays mixed up.

The bunny one comes in April.

-I got eyes on that skeezy dinosaur.

Action, boys.

-God damn it.

-Very funny little prank, George,

but, bunny's going to have to freeze tonight,

'cause I'm not fucking throwing out my back picking it up--

Jesus, fuck! You're in the rabbit, George?

Wow.

Spaceman in.

-Ghost attempting entry.

-Cowboy in. Well, I'll be.

-Damn.

-Hello, pretty little lady.

What the...?

-Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! -What the shit is that?

-Is that awards music?

-Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

-Bro, what the fuck did you do?

-Guys, what the fuck is going on up there?

-Ghost is struggling, but persevering.

Thank you, sweet baby Jesus

and Indiana Jones.

-Ghost has entered the building.

Say hello to Daddy.

Ghost clear.

-Spaceman out.

-Cowboy clear.

-Dame's got the first one.

Heading to Jack's bedroom for the second.

Gotta whip up another minute, Princess.

-Hey, George. You coming in for a drink?

-I'm not George, you naughty boy.

Mrs. Clooney.

One second, Jack.

Stop!

What the hell are you wearing?

-Just something fun.

-Looks more desperate than seductive.

What role are you after?

-Ian Somerhalder's girlfriend in this new episode of--

-A guest star? A TV fucking guest star?

You only get to take me on your merry-go-round

so many times before I get sick of your saddle.

Come on.

We're just having some fun, right?

-This is a transaction.

-I thought we actually connected.

-Fuck.

Carry yourself with a little more confidence.

Open your eyes to the situation

and come to the table with a little creativity.

What is that? Is that from Target?

Whooh, such raw intensity.

I feel like I'm in Teen Wolf.

-Don't waste your energy trying to draw a lawsuit.

And please,

get the fuck out of my house.

-No, no.

I'm serious.

You're uninspiring.

You're not talented enough to even waste a Viagra on.

Get out.

Every second you're in my house

is a year I make sure you don't book another role.

One, two,

three, four,

five.

Say goodbye to your 20s.

Six...

Don't forget your shit.

Seven, eight, nine...

ten.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

-Toodle-oo.

Jingle bells, jingle bells,

jingle all the way.

What fun it is to...

-Go home.

-How old are you?

You okay on time out there, Princess?

-Negative.

-Let's see who's really in there.

Clooney wouldn't waste his fucking time

on this Mickey Mouse nonsense.

-Wait, Mr. Woodrow!

Not tonight.

-Everyone, get out. Now!

-I'm out of the barn.

-Ghost fucking crushed it.

Shit.

Bathroom window open.

- Dame, what's going on?

Jack's fucking inside.

-I'll hightail it and check in on her.

- Son of a bitch. I'm stuck!

Come on!

Come on.

I'm out!

Timed alarm activated.

-Babe?

Dame, where the hell are you?

-Babe?

-Something's not right. I'm heading back in.

Christ.

Come here. Come on.

Bathroom tile can be scrubbed.

We got business, motherfucker?

-Jesus!

Five-gonna do shit about this?

-Barbara was shot at noon.

We can expect a retaliation by six o'clock, but then—

- Thank you. We've seen enough.

- No, no. Um, there's—

there's— there's- there's more to the scene.

Do you have any notes?

I can— I can try it again.

-I can see you're trying to get a job.

-What?

-Thank you for coming here. -No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

It's okay. I'm...I'm gonna do it again.

Come on. Okay.

Um, a retribution by, six o'clock.

Um, a retaliation by six o'clock.

We should be expecting one-- we should be expect—

Goddamn it! Come on.

Come on, man. Why?

Why did you interrupt me?

Why did you do that?

I mean, why can't people

in this town just have some respect?

Why can't you be good fucking people?

-Who's next?

Success.

Don't worry, the cameras are off.

He shuts them all down with an app on his phone

whenever a girl comes over alone.

So whoever set this up must have known that then?

-Don't look at me.

-You're suspect.

Damn. No Fridge Script.

Here, lean her back

so she doesn't throw up on herself.

Okay, good.

-Wait. Is she one of the cops on SVU?

-What? No. I don't... Chicago Fire, maybe.

I've never seen it.

Outer Banks .

-You watch Outer Banks?

-It's a really good show.

-Clock's ticking. Is he still out?

-I don't know, but he looks annoyingly comfortable.

-Just looked around.

She's right. All the cameras are off.

-Yeah, but he saw my face.

I saw crow's feet.

-The bird tracks weren't fresh either.

Means we had a night, what, maybe ten years ago?

-Hey! I will fucking kill you!

Tell me your name first.

-Damn. -Boy.

-I'm gonna need more than just your initials.

- Riverdale?

-No. We weren't supposed to bring those.

He had a fucking silent alarm?

-Yeah, rooster's crowing pretty loud to me.

-Hello, security company.

-They need me to say a password.

-Shit. -Shit, just leave them.

-No, he's seen my face.

-Well, if we don't answer that phone call,

sheriffs are on their giddyup towards us.

-Yeah, and if we answer, he's not gonna say

the right password.

-We are not leaving. He's gonna remember me.

-Go hide out or something.

-No, I'm not giving up my fucking career.

-What fucking career?

-Okay. That's it.

Get out of my way.

-Whoa. No, no, no, no.

Dame, don't do that.

No, no, no. Don't do that.

-Ho-ho-ho, you fucking idiots.

-Just settle down.

Well, new plan.

-What the fuck, man? -Wait, stop.

-No. -Think about this.

I'm thinking about it.

-Why'd you bring a gun?

-Why'd I bring--?

Some guy you don't know pays you to go to a strange house

in LA, wouldn't you pack?

-I was and I didn't!

-Well, I did. Give me that.

-Look at me, Jack. -Who the fuck are you?

Doggy door guy?

-Donaldson. Ben Donaldson.

-The jellyfish movies are still going strong.

- I know. Say the password.

-It's actually “jellyfish.”

Yeah. Yeah? Okay.

AIT Security.

Am I speaking with Mr. Woodrow?

Hold the line, please.

Jack, say the password. Let these people go.

They're good people.

You know what? Forget about them.

You saw my face. You know me.

I made you lots and lots of money,

and you can find me, and you will.

And I'm gonna take credit for this whole mess.

My idea. My execution.

I acted alone.

Mr. Woodrow, are you there?

-This is Jack Woodrow.

What's your password, sir?

-Rosebud.

Thank you, Mr. Woodrow,

and happy holidays.

-You made the right choice, Jack.

My office will be in touch.

-Fucking idiots.

-We gotta go.

-All right.

All right, you're living up

to the stereotype, Dalt.

Listen, they've got the softest TP

in any public restroom north of the 10.

-Which China Donuts is this?

A true gentleman doesn't shit and tell, Hastings.

-Typical. You know, you LA cops

are just like the rest of the people out here.

Always looking out for yourselves.

Where's the loyalty?

-Enjoy your Christmas Eve, Hastings.

And when that liquid laxative kicks in,

try not to get a rash with that bush-league TP.

-That's just really fucking criminal, Dal.

Come on, come on. Which one is it?

-Yeah, yeah. You're breaking up.

You're breaking up, Hastings.

Sorry, losing you.

Nice try, Dal.

My God, you are smart.

Car 127, car 127 -- we have a 459A

at Beverly Hills, address is 1400 Kings Road.

-Great. On it.

Just a burglar alarm.

Dispatch wants a Girl Scout to go knock on the door.

You're in the area.

-I'll see if he wants any Thin Mints.

Merry Christmas, 127.

-Merry Christmas, Maureen.

Boy.

- Damn it! What was that?

What the fuck just happened?

Shit! God.

Where the hell are they...

where the hell are they going?

Hey, where the hell are you going?

The van's stuck. We need to leave.

-He's not dead.

-I don't give a fuck.

-Well, we can't just leave him here like this.

-Hey, come on, we got to get out.

Come on, go, go, go, go, go!

Tick-tock, motherfuckers.

-It's almost midnight.

Come on, come on!

-Hey! Hey! Hey!

Stop! Freeze!

LAPD!

Ground on the hands!

God.

-Get on the ground, ma'am! Get on the ground!

-Okay, okay. I am. -Jesus.

-Ma'am, get on the ground!

Okay.

-I'm barely over 30. -Ma'am!

-How about you quit it with the ma'am shit?

I'm going. I'm going!

You got bitch wrists.

I can see them from here.

Dame, shut up!

-What about our rights?

-Okay, ma'am, we don't need to read you

your Miranda rights unless you're being questioned.

They just do it every week on The Rookie.

-I fucking crushed a self-tape for that show.

-Okay, a little help here, please.

Thank you. Okay, here we go.

Easy does it.

Everything's gonna be just fine.

All right, and you in here.

Okay, head in. Yep. Okay.

How many people in the back of the van, ma'am?

-Okay, now you're questioning me?

I'm gonna need an answer.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

LAPD! Get out of the van!

Guys.

Guys, what the hell was that?

Guys!

-Shit. -Okay.

-Hey, man.

-We cool? -We're totally cool.

Come out with your hands up.

Nice and slow.

-Super slow. -Nice and slow.

-Let's go. Let's go.

That's not slow—

-hey, come back here. -Come on.

-What the shit happened in there?

Drive safely and I'll tell you

-You're under arrest! -Okay, okay.

How the fuck do I drive this with an airbag?

Why are you covered in blood?

-Hey, hey, hey!

-Let's go! -Okay, okay.

What about the brothers?

Fuck the brothers!

And that's a curb.

-No, no, no, no!

Not again.

Hah!

This is not good.

-You fucking idiots.

Stop the car.

Please stop the car.

-Your makeup's running, hun.

-Yeah, you might--you might wanna slow down over here.

Just a little bit.

-It's fine.

Red light, red light.

Hey, that's a red light.

Unbelievable.

-You got blood on the fucking dash!

-You drove like a moron!

-Just shut up and get the vodka!

-Why, why, why? -Okay, okay, okay.

-Why, why, why the fuck did you steal the car?

-We got this. -No, we don't.

-Okay, you need to get your shit together, sister!

And you! What the fuck?

You need to get your shit together.

-No, no, you need to get your shit together.

-My shit is together.

Clean the fucking car.

-Goddamn it.

All right, let's wrap this up.

We have four minutes till midnight,

and this safe automatically locks,

and these have to be in there.

We--we just close one door

and blindly assume another's gonna open?

-But that's what the instructions say.

-Come on. -No.

-This is our leverage. -What?

I am taking these the fucking safe.

-No, no. That's how we get paid.

-You still think we're getting paid?

Please. I'm keeping these.

-What are you gonna do? Auction them on Deadline?

-Okay, what are you,

like a fresh transplant or something?

-Hey, I have six years in LA.

-Okay, so you haven't been here since you were a teenager.

You didn't get knocked up, you didn't raise a kid here.

-You're a parent?

Wow.

-I'm--that... -Wow.

-was not meant to be an insult.

-Well, it felt like one.

-It wasn't meant to be. -Okay.

-You know what, I may have crossed a line.

-That monster, he saw my face.

Everything is gonna get fucked up for me now.

Everything is gonna change.

And we put our only bargaining chip in the safe,

and then it's out of our fucking hands.

-We're fucked. -Okay.

We robbed a house.

We stole a cop car, thanks to you.

-Okay.

-And now we have three minutes to fucking deliver.

So can you just quit it

with the fucking broken actress sob story

and finish the job?

Please.

-Okay. God.

-Thank you.

What the hell is this?

-Is this a fucking joke?

Where are the awards?

-Ghost. -That trout fucker!

Where'd you go, you creepy sack of shit?

-Two minutes till the safe locks.

Ghost!

-Ghost! Shit! Fucker!

-Ghost!

Hey, what's up?

- What the shit? Stop that, please!

What the hell? What-- What are you guys doing?

-The bag!

The bag is filled with garden gnomes,

you fucking dickhole!

-What the fuck happened to the awards?

-What--awards? Where did you get the gnomes?

-Why are we talking about gnomes?

I went to the neighbor's house to use the garden hose.

So you were in a yard.

-The bag! There was a bag that had trophies in it,

and now there are no trophies, there are gnomes!

-You punched me in my face, you're rambling on about gnomes.

Imagine if you were me in this scenario.

-Yes. No, he's right.

He didn't switch them. He would've ran.

-Thank you!

-Cowboy and Spaceman!

-Jack saw the stars align with your film.

Subdued pageantry.

Unwavering vision. He adored it.

-We're just happy Mr. Woodrow's taking a leap on this, truly.

-Why, of course.

-Certainly, it's not exactly in Jack's wheelhouse, you know.

Grounded sci-fi, that is.

-Well, I've been Jack's assistant

for a long time,

and I can attest he's immeasurably appreciative

that you chose him.

-Well, I gotta say,

we were definitely the hot pony of the parade.

-Yeah, Sam Hartfeld,

he plumped us with a 62-ounce porter,

hoping we'd sell with him.

Sam is sci-fi royalty.

-Yes.

But, we are just truly

so, so very excited

to be working with Mr. Woodrow, ma'am.

And with yourself. Come here.

Okay, that's enough.

We're all excited.

-Now, Mary, don't tell Jack,

but we got him some Salt Lake Bar-B-Q sauce,

and we're gonna give it to him at the end gala tonight.

-Jack flew back to LA last night.

S--sorry, Jack wasn't planning on being here?

-The following statements about to be said

in this Austin Embassy Suites on March 13th

are not to ever, ever be repeated.

-You're kind of— you're dancing around

the barrel race here, Mary.

-Jack bought your movie to spite Sam Hartfeld.

-What?

-It will never, as long as Jack's alive,

be seen by anyone.

What about all that flannel mouthin'

about eating sushi at the premiere?

I mean, we talked about that.

-Your film is the movie

Sam could have ostensibly catapulted

into an awards contender.

Jack knew that.

Jack resented that, so he bought it.

But Jack already has his horse

in the Best Picture race this year.

-Give us the fucking briefcase, Mary.

-Just take solace in the fact you're not the first.

Fuck not the first, Mary!

-Give us the contract now, Mary.

- Jesus, bitch! I'm gonna—

Fuck! God!

-Sorry. -Stop it! That hurts!

-You can't pepper spray people like that, you fucking psycho!

you're such a fucking idiot!

Goddamn it!

-We gotta get a lawyer. -Fuck.

We worked on this for five fucking years, man.

-I'm sorry, partner.

-I can't believe this shit.

We used everything Dad left us.

-I will make this up to you.

Somehow.

Thirty minutes until we're millionaires,

ladies and gentlemen.

-This is top five of my top five Christmas Eves ever.

-Really? -Yeah.

-Did you have a difficult childhood?

No.

-Whoa, whoa, whoa. -Dame, slow down.

-Slow down! -Take it easy, Dame.

Holy shit,

-Stop backseat driving! -Dang it!

Fucking pigs!

-What the hell was that?

-What was that?

What the hell?

Damn it!

Where the hell are they--?

-Where the hell are they going? -Hey, the van's stuck!

-We need to leave! -We're stuck?

-What do you mean we're stuck? -We got to go!

Get out! Tick-tock, motherfuckers!

Get on the ground, ma'am!

-I'm barely over thirty! -It's the fucking cops.

-Shut the fuck up!

How many people in the back of the van, ma'am?

Hell no.

Not on Christmas Eve, motherfuckers.

-Put it the fuck away!

-What are you doing? -I'm telling you to shut up!

Whoa, whoa. LAPD!

-No, no, no, no! -Get out of the van!

-What are you doing? What are you doing?

-Get down, man! -Stop it!

My bad. You okay?

-I'm gonna kill you.

No, listen.

No. Listen.

It doesn't have to be like that.

Don't--stop.

-It doesn't have to be like that.

-You shot me!

-It was an accident.

Complete accident that your brother did.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

You okay? You okay?

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

- Shit. There's so much blood.

-It's fine. -God.

-But a little plump. -God.

Do you think I was shot? Did I get shot too?

-No. Ghost took the duffel bag.

-Can you walk? -Yeah.

-Let's go. One, two, three.

You're under arrest!

-Other side.

-What about the money? -Screw the money.

We'll never make it back in time.

Fuck.

-Shit, the safe! -Freeze! Freeze!

-Hey, hey, hey. -Whoa, whoa, whoa.

-Get on the fucking ground! Right now!

-Okay.

This Christmas sucks.

-Answer this next question right,

and we could all come out winners.

What did you take from Jack Woodrow's?

-We're not talking until we get a lawyer.

-We took his awards. -Hey, shut the fuck up.

-Best Pictures? -That's right, buddy.

All five of them. It was impressive, right?

-Tell me more. -Lawyer!

-Okay, this is off the record.

Take a drink.

-Excuse me?

-A statement is inadmissible in LA County

if the police officer has traces of alcohol

after interrogation.

-No shit?

-What are you, a lawyer?

-A well-researched screenwriter.

-Two years AA. Not gonna happen.

Congratulations.

-That's amazing. -Thank you.

-I hear they give you back rubs and blowjobs after three.

Aren't you clever.

-Just give us a fucking lawyer, asshole.

Come on.

What? No. No, no, no.

-See that? Now see what you did?

-What is he doing? -No, no, no.

Hey, two years, man. Don't, don't, don't.

Don't. Goddamn it.

Dame just drop kicked him off the wagon.

Damn, I forgot how good that was.

Jack's awards go.

-Wow, what did he do to you?

-Jack Woodrow made my favorite movie,

Self-Made Woman .

-Hey. -Bravo, Princess.

So where's the award?

Give me the Self-Madeone, and I will let you go.

-He's like a bona fide fanboy.

-Yeah, this girl wrote that movie.

No, I don't think so.

Jack Woodrow's sister with Tourette's did.

-Jack's got a sister?

She was so brave doing her acceptance speech.

-Fuck that cunt swap bitch licker.

-Okay then.

I think she has Tourette's.

-I don't have Tourette's.

You sly little slut.

-What? -Yeah.

My God, you're the Studio Head.

You have the awards.

-My God. -What?

-Yeah. I see it now.

You hate Jack even more than I do.

-You. -I don't.

We were supposed to put them in the safe.

What's that we're talking about here?

-Is he still drinking?

-Somehow Ghost knew about,

even though he was halfway across the room.

Excuse me, I have no clue

what she's talking about, Your Honor.

You know exactly what I'm talking about.

-No, I don't.

-Yes, when he was making your drink over there.

-Yeah.

-He told Hero to look under the logs.

-Yeah.

-How could you see it from all the way over there?

-Shit. How did you see the safe from all the way over there?

-Wait, wait, wait. Let's stop this, okay?

How the hell am I the one that's being stared at

from the back of your heads over here?

-You set us up.

-I didn't set anybody up, Princess.

Dame is the one that wanted to kill him.

Dame set this whole thing up.

-Not everybody has fucking royalties

from the Jellyfish franchise.

-I didn't get back end.

So you did set this up?

I didn't set anybody up.

Listen, I did check every nook and cranny in this motherfucker

to make sure that there were no CIA bugs,

and that's how I found out that the safe

was under the logs, Princess.

So I have nothing else to say.

-Right. Okay, fuck it. You know, my money, my guess.

You want to know? You really want to know?

Hero is a tremendously guilty character, okay?

I mean, really, where's he been this whole night?

Case closed, Your Honor.

-I'm sorry, who's Hero?

-Well, someone has the awards.

And who would that someone be?

Ghost, playing stupid.

-Or the brothers took them.

-Okay, I'm so sorry. Could we just back up?

Who are the brothers?

Tracy!

-Fuck! God!

Hey, Tracy!

-The fuck, man?

-Hey, T. T, we need your help, man.

-What the hell? Hey, my snacks!

What the hell is going on?

-Why are you bleeding? -Fuck. Shit.

-I took a lead plumb while clipping a bandit's horns.

-You know what the fuck he's talking about?

-Yeah, no, he got shot during a heist.

-A heist? -Yeah.

It's a long story.

Hey, do you know how to remove a bullet?

-I'm not that kind of doctor.

I'm a podiatrist.

-Well, everyone we know in the city's in movies.

-Okay, so you come to the Muggle's house.

-Please, please, T. Come on, help us out.

Look at it. Please? Okay, come on.

-Okay, first of all,

how are we supposed to play pickleball on Friday?

You know what? All right, guys, all of this

is not fucking cool, all right?

I'm a little stoned right now.

I work on feet, all right?

I don't know how to remove a fucking bullet.

-You want any of this? -Yeah, please.

Thank you.

Shit.

-Well, let's learn from the best.

-I never know what the fuck he's talking about, man.

- This time I don't know. I don't--

- ICU Blues,man.

So good.

Yeah.

Give me that. Give me that shit.

-We need distal control of this artery

or she'll flatline.

-Holy sakes alive.

That's--that's the fancy lady from JW's house.

ICU Blues, that's the show she's on.

It's in God's hands now.

-Rewind, rewind, rewind. Let me see that again.

I just didn't want to have to tell him.

-Pause it, pause it, pause it.

All right. Logan, give me the tweezers.

-Tweezers? -Yeah.

-Tweezers.

Hey, hey, T, I gotta ask you a question, pal.

You think this is gonna put a hitch in my giddyup?

-Well, the bus driver did have a cane

at the end of the episode, but it didn't look permanent.

All right.

-Tweezers. -Okay.

All right, good. All right.

Here we go.

Before you get after this business now,

I want a pour of that whiskey, please and thank you.

-Yeah, that's a good idea.

I'm going to need to drink this too.

All right. All right.

On three, baby.

-Good. On three.

-Here we go. -Three.

-Three...

two...

one.

Shit! God!

- I can feel it. I can feel it.

I hate you, T.

I hate you.

-Look at you. -Yeah.

- The head trauma your wife endured

still could have happened

even if you were in opposite seats

when the tandem bike crashed.

Her coma is not your mistake.

- I can't lose her.

- It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay.

-He choked the toilet.

-Fucking rat!

-You know what?

Guys, I still do not want to know

where or who you were screwing with tonight.

I just got one question.

Who's gonna give you a fucking million dollars?

-Good question. See, we branded them.

-They're Studio Head. -What?

-Yeah, the Studio Head gave us a grand just to show our faces.

That's just a grand.

-Yeah, but a grand each.

Yeah.

-You know, we, did rob a house.

Never took anything for ourselves.

-Yeah, but we took the trophies.

-Yeah, we don't have them.

I mean, we should go back and nab other goods.

-No! No, we're not going back. -Yeah.

-Hell, yeah. -Yeah

-What? -Yeah Yes. Yes, we are.

Non-negotiable, man.

This is my chance to make up South Best to you.

This is our real shot at getting our contract back.

Fuck!

-We could take that Fridge Script

that you ramble on about.

We could take the art.

-We could take-- -No. Hey, hey.

There's nothing in the fridge. I checked, okay?

-Take the fridge. -Well, then the art.

-Take the whole fridge. -The painting, man.

Fuck the script, man. I don't care about the script.

I want the movie, man. I want our movie.

-What has gotten into you?

-A goddamn 38, brother.

I got shot.

- She woke up from the coma.

-You can take my car. After you unclog my toilet.

Nasty motherfucker.

-Brother, the timing of your bowels

is crazier than.

I'll tell you what, we got a lot of shut

before JW busts out of them lovemaking restraints.

We got all day.

-To be clear, it is not Jack who I'm worried about.

The Studio Head set us six up.

They are calculated.

They knew everyone's histories.

They knew where everybody lived.

They rigged a house with a scavenger hunt full of clues,

set us all up to be there,

and they knew we were desperate enough

to hop along for the ride.

No, it is not Jack who I'm worried about.

I'm worried about the psycho who organized this whole night.

You sly little slut!

My God, you're the Studio Head!

-Emma, speak up when you know you're right.

This town will carve you up if you don't defend yourself.

-Okay. I will.

-Let's see who's really in there.

Not tonight!

Fuck!

Hey!

What's going on in there?

I got the script that we're pulling the trigger on

in the fall.

You'd be great as the love interest.

How long does it take

to go to the bathroom?

-Who's the lead?

-Do your business and get back out here.

My life is over.

-Okay, time's up.

Hey, hey!

-Stop it, stop it! -No, no, no.

Help me, help me, help me, help me!

All right.

-No. No, no, no. -Wait.

-You got to get more leverage.

-Okay, get back here.

Hands behind your back, please.

-Now pull that. Pull it. Yes!

So goddamn perfect!

Yes, yes!

-This is insane behavior!

-Should we make a run for it?

There's some front end for you.

-And breathe.

Simmer. Down.

You gotta be kidding me.

Come on, stop. Please!

-Can you stop it? -No.

-Now, I take back my offer.

Fucked it up.

-I didn't fuck anything up, you stupid—

-That's it! -dick kicker!

-Everyone's going to their own rooms.

-Okay, that's tight.

-Hey, what's your fucking play?

-Listen, lady, I just want a freaking Best Picture award.

-Bullshit.

You set this all up.

You're working with Hero. Yeah.

He was your inside man, your Gerard Butler.

I see what's happening.

He came here to make sure everyone shows up,

and then he has us do the fucking messy part.

And now he's back at Jack's turning the place

upside down,

taking way more than fucking statues.

-You don't know anything.

She knows everything.

-What?

-She knows we're partners.

-How? -I don't know.

She's a lot smarter than she looks.

Except she thinks you're a Hero

and that Gerard Butler is in that movie Inside Man.

-That's Clive Owen.

-Yes, I know.

-Dalt, what exactly does she know?

Start from the beginning.

Yeah, Maureen.

I got another shoplifter.

Living the dream.

Yeah, don't sound too excited, 127.

Hello, fellow screenwriters.

-My name is John August. -Shit.

My name is Craig Mason.

This is episode 44 of Scriptnotes,

a podcast about screenwriting

and things that are interesting to screenwriters.

Screenwriter masquerading as cop.

Only in LA.

-Hey, pays the bills.

Most people would just drive Uber.

This seems rather involved.

I get the occasional free coffee.

Is it for research?

-I'm a rom-com guy.

-This is one hell of a meet-cute.

-You're a writer too?

-In the middle of breaking the biggest movie of my life.

-Here you go. Everything good?

-Exquisite. -Exquisite?

Hey, I'm sorry, this is so stupid

and honestly kind of rude,

but, my manager and I have a bet going

on how many Tinder meetups happen here, so—

-Ding, ding, ding! Guilty as charged.

-We met when he pulled me over.

-Tinder date, yeah.

-I blew a 0.14.

But then I talked him into letting me buy him a drink

instead of booking me.

- Really? He's not even drinking.

-Win-win.

Okay.

Yeah, no, not Tinder. Way weirder.

-Now, this night's not going to end up as a scene

in one of Jack Woodrow's movies, is it?

You're more of a movie buff than you let on.

-Cops just troll Reddit a lot.

-No, this romantic DUI stop won't end up in a movie,

but it's not above Jack Woodrow to steal ideas.

-Should I go arrest him?

I've got more stories than you can imagine.

Huh.

-Another round.

-Woo! Woo!

Fun.

Isn't it?

So there's these directing brothers from Texas,

a producer with a jellyfish franchise,

an actor Jack humiliated at an audition...

-We've been working for months on this.

This is just a last-minute rewrite.

-Is that why you handcuffed me?

-I'm--I'm trying to help us out here.

-Why the hell did you bring up Self-Made Woman?

-I'm not a good improviser.

-You pulled the AA chip out of nowhere.

-It's a prop.

I use it for motivational speeches at DUI stops.

-Well, don't. A guy's been shot,

Jack is tied to a Citizen Kanetable,

and some poor actress is strung out and unconscious.

So not all of the rules were followed.

-Whoa! Who's strung out?

-Some actress is blacked out at Jack's.

Is she famous?

-She's not in anything you would know.

So on the CW or something?

-Lower tier than that. Actually, maybe.

I haven't watched anything on there since Buffy.

Underrated show.

-No one ever said it was bad.

-Well...

for everything that's gone wrong—

-There is no bright side to any of this.

-Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Hear me out.

The bright side is that I tied up Dame and Ghost

in the other rooms and they can't see you.

-No. -No what?

-I know what you're getting at.

-No, you don't.

Don't shoot down my idea

before I've even finished saying my idea.

You said you'd stop doing that.

-Don't even pitch it.

I did my part. Do yours.

-You know what?

This plan has gotten discombobulated

eighteen ways to Sunday.

Don't tell me it hasn't.

-I did my part. I made the invites.

I chaperoned the fuckwits through the heist.

I got them to steal the awards.

I made the switch with the gnomes.

I put the awards in the bush by his front door.

Now go blackmail him.

This was the plan all along.

Go get the awards from the bush,

walk in all big and tall with your badge,

tell him you caught the guys who robbed him,

but you're not gonna give him the awards

until he greenlights our script.

It's an easy negotiation, Dalton.

He knows he's lost favor with the LAPD

ever since they had to sweep a million MeToo's

under the rug.

He'll be scared of you, Dalton.

-What if Dame and Ghost try to escape?

They have to know I'm here.

-Just do your fucking part, Dalton.

-Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.

Come on. Come on, you can do this.

I'm more of an idea guy.

I'm not really the,

you know, so.

Remember what you told me.

There's no secret to Jack.

Just wants to be impressed.

My God.

No.

Hey.

-Merry Christmas, Jack.

-Baby writer with a statue script

is going to kill me.

-Best Picture-winning statue script.

And no. We're going to work together.

-Says who?

-No one, because no one will take a meeting with me.

I don't have enough credits.

No one recognizes my voice.

Nothing I write is based on IP.

-Maybe you're just not that good.

-Fuck you! -Jesus fuck!

-I wrote a script, Jack.

Biopic. It's called Self-Made Man.

-Love the title.

-Think Wolf of Wall Street,

but about Hollywood mogul Jack Woodrow.

You stalk my assistant to get me a script,

and now you stalk me to write a script?

-You're gonna sign the title page.

Say it's your Fridge Script and then make the proper calls

to greenlight it.

-The Fridge Script... the Fridge Script is bullshit.

It's a marketing ploy

to give me a leg up on awards season.

I tell people it's important and it becomes important--

-Then make this script important.

-What constitutes that happy ending?

-The best biopics have tragic endings, Jack.

I think I think me killing you

and getting caught on Christmas Eve is perfect.

-That's not my favorite ending.

There's no secret to this town.

Cream rises, but you turn into foam

if you can't handle the heat.

And beautiful, you have handled it

with fucking vigor.

I'll read it when the town gets back from Christmas break.

-It's not done.

I need to rewrite the climax.

-Rosebud, cocksucker.

Hey. Need to use the bathroom?

-Call the center. I know you're working with Hero.

-Okay.

-Hastings?

What's up, Dal?

-Could you stop by a house for me, please?

1400 Kings Road.

Tell me where the China Donuts

with the good TP is.

Come on, Dal.

Made it.

Tell me where it is.

Last chance, take it or leave it.

Fuck my fucking life.

-Suck my fucking ass, Jack!

-Suck his ass while you suck my dick!

-My name's Gia, by the way.

-Hey, hey.

Listen, you don't ever have to do that.

I mean, you're more talented than that.

-Can I use the bathroom now?

-Sure, Gia.

-Thank you.

-Bingo! Got our contract!

Jackpot!

My Lord in heaven, you shit in his briefcase!

-Hey, you good?

- I'm fine! Fuck off!

Hey, hey, hey, hey.

Let's look for Hero, brother.

I can help you find him.

No thanks.

-Goddamn it.

-Whoa! -Don't move.

Princess, we're leaving!

Prince--what did you do to her?

-Nothing.

-Open the fucking door.

-Yeah.

-Are you okay?

-Yeah. What are you doing?

-You know, I'm just taking care of business.

Don't worry about it.

Hey, Dal, Hastings here.

I'm at the house.

-Okay, slow.

Dal.

-Go ahead. -My God, Dal.

You're not going to believe this.

The awards aren't here.

-Really? -I'm just joshing.

The trophies are— whatever you call them— are here.

Who would want those things anyhow?

They look like tacky-ass paperweights to me.

-Okay, this is not a time for jokes, Hastings.

- Forget the trophies. Let's wrap it up.

Place is spotless. Door was slightly open.

That could have caused the alarm,

but no one's here.

Wicked quiet.

I'm calling it a night, Dal.

Guy's got 20,000 square feet

and Bel Air Country Club as his backyard.

I'm sure his Christmas will be more than merry.

-Yeah, yeah. Gotta go.

-Hey, wish her a Merry Christmas.

Wish it.

-Merry Christmas, Hastings.

Aww, you're so sweet.

-Merry Christmas, Dal. -That's good.

That's better.

Princess, we gotta go.

-Can I just say something? -Go fuck yourself.

-So you guys just made this all up?

You don't have the awards

and none of you are actual criminals?

I--I mean, except for the holding a gun

in a cop's face part.

That feels pretty real.

-Fuck yeah, it does.

-Let's bounce.

So who was behind all this?

-Hey, hey, hey. -My money, my bet.

Helen Hunt or the Illuminati.

What happened with Jack?

-I improvised.

-That's for not doing your fucking job.

Again, Jack?

My God, my God, my God, my God, my God!

All right everybody, welcome back.

We have some shocking breaking news to report.

Legendary producer Jack Woodrow was found dead today

in his Hollywood Hills mansion

along with up-and-coming ICU Blues actress Anna Rossi.

Both appear to have died from drug overdoses.

Since news of his death,

several sexual harassment allegations

came to light early this morning.

This could mean redemption for a number of women in Hollywood

who have courageously come forward

with their truths.

As the producer who was best known—

Holy shit.

Jack Woodrow OD'd with some actress.

-What? -Who?

-Jack Woodrow. -Excuse me.

Did you say Jack Woodrow died?

-Yeah, last night.

-Ben fucking Donaldson.

Remember the name.

-Awesome.

-Yeah, it is.

-Jack Woodrow's death determined to be an overdose.

Thank God.

-She was on ICU Blues.

-Did you shred the Woodrow contract?

-I wiped my ass with it.

-Sam Hartfeld will see you now.

-Hey, let's sell this one for Dad.

Hello, gentlemen.

Great to see you again.

-It's Jack Woodrow's coup de grâce.

-Risk-reward.

That's what life's all about, isn't it?

Are you willing to make sacrifices

to chase your dreams, or—

In the entertainment industry,

it's populated by dragons posing as producers.

Are you willing to keep your moral footing,

stay true to who you are, or—

in the face of— just brutal and loyal as fire,

fucking breathing competition?

Or are you gonna let your environment burn you?

Transform you until you can spit fire back?

I guess for me, um,

I don't think I'll ever have what it takes

to become a dragon.

-Great. That was really great.

No, truly, it was wonderful.

You really captured the essence

of Jack Woodrow's more humble beginnings.

- Thanks.

-He's perfect.

-Are you serious?

There's no way we can cast him.

-The next group of actors are here.

-Got it.

-He will recognize you.

-He says he's not a dragon. But look.

Look at his eyes. Right there.

Look. He doesn't mean it.

He regretted not taking the chance on Christmas Eve.

He hated being in the waiting room

with all the other mishmash clones of himself.

-You're guessing. -I'm not.

We're casting him.

And if he doesn't take the role that will launch his career,

then...then what is he?

-Talented and morally sound.

Come on.

Let's go pretend like the other guy's got a shot.

And thus we witness

how the system perpetuates itself.

One cog wrenched out

as another rises to take its place.

The mechanisms of an old system depend on it,

and I suppose heroes depend on it too.