Original subtitles

‐ Hi, hi.

Norman Mailer lived, uh, two doors down.

I saw him bite Rip Torn's ear off one night.

Seems like a different lifetime.

If you're looking for more action, I can, uh,

show you something on Commercial Street.

But you should know that by November, even downtown

is so empty and quiet that you could hear a gnat fart.

‐ I like the quiet.

Need my privacy.

How's the ventilation?

These old houses can get pretty stuffy.

‐ You a writer?

Painter?

Hermit?

I know you're not here for the social scene,

whatever's left of it.

I've been here for 50 years.

You know, back in the day, you'd walk downtown,

and you'd see boys getting butt‐fucked on front porches

like some kind of perverted Norman Rockwell painting.

It was true homosexual Americana.

Now it's Mom and Dad or Dad and Dad or Mom and Mom

and baby stroller gridlock all fucking summer long.

‐ I just left my job at a lab in Providence.

‐ What are you, a chemist?

‐ It was an ugly divorce.

I just need some time alone.

‐ Let's cut the bullshit.

A big‐city chemist looking for a quiet place

with great ventilation in a town where the things

that are most plentiful for eight months a year

are methheads, choppy seas, and depression?

That sounds like a woman looking to set up

her own little meth lab.

‐ I have a PhD from Harvard.

Meth is well below my pay grade.

‐ Good.

'Cause the sheriff has a nose like a truffle pig

for that junk.

‐ Just lookin' for some quiet.

I'll take it.

‐ Do you know that guy, uh, Tex?

He cruises the docks?

‐ Wait, don't tell me. He's from Texas.

‐ Yeah. How'd you know?

Anyway, he taught me this trick

you do right before a guy comes.

‐ Mm. ‐ You press down on his taint,

you time it just right,

you can get him to come again right away.

‐ Mm, but you'll charge me for just the one, right?

‐ Exactly.

‐ You're playing out of your league.

Scram.

‐ Look, can I just borrow ten bucks?

‐ I said scram, methhead.

‐ Hi. ‐ Hi.

‐ I'm new in town, got a few extra bucks.

You do girls too?

‐ Yep. Here.

Look at that. I'm a gentleman.

Don't touch anything.

‐ So, uh, what do you want?

Kind of do things as a standard

sliding scale kind of deal.

It's, uh, $50 for oral.

Straight‐up sex, that's $100,

but I'm currently running a Halloween special.

I'll do anything for 20 bucks.

‐ But Halloween isn't for a week.

‐ Mm. It's a, um, seasonal thing.

‐ I just wanna talk.

I'll pay you for your time.

‐ All right.

‐ Tell me about your dreams.

‐ Like, at night?

‐ No. Like, in life.

You ever wanna be a model or play for the Yankees?

‐ You really think I could be a model?

‐ No. But you must have something.

Everyone does.

‐ Well, I write a little.

‐ You any good?

‐ I don't know.

I don't think I've ever shown anyone

anything I've written before, but, uh...

um, yeah, you know, I think I'm pretty good.

Why, you, like, a big‐time movie producer or something?

‐ I'm a biochemical engineer.

Spent the past nine years working with the U. S. military

trying to understand and unlock

the creative parts of the brain.

‐ They wanna make more creative soldiers?

‐ Less.

They don't want them to think for themselves.

But to lock up the creative mind,

we also have to understand how to unlock it.

We have tons of research

from studying highly creative people.

Every one of 'em says the same thing.

They don't know where it comes from.

But I do.

The occipital lobe.

Talented people have denser, more numerous clusters

of neurons in that area.

I don't care if you are Bill fucking Shakespeare.

If I whack you hard enough in that part of your head,

you'll never write again.

So I started developing a drug to target that area.

Made the neurons in that part of the brain fire at 10,

50, 1,000 times faster and more frequently

than they usually do.

‐ Uh, wow, um...

Did it work?

‐ We started testing it on primates.

And yeah, it worked...

on some of the apes.

The ones who tested higher on cognitive tests

before we gave them the medicine.

Suddenly, they could play complex notes on a keyboard.

‐ So, um, what happened to the ones it, like, didn't work on?

‐ They became highly aggressive.

Bloodthirsty.

Tore the other apes limb from limb.

I think the medicine has different effects

on creative and noncreative people.

It's almost like the noncreative ones

can tolerate their lack of talent

until they're confronted with it.

Then their mediocrity drives 'em mad.

So...

Wanna try one?

‐ Fuck no!

‐ Maybe you're one of the talented ones.

‐ Um...

Thanks but no, thanks.

Uh, look, can I just get my money?

‐ It's a long winter.

I'll give you $50 for anyone you convince

to come take one of these lil' black beauties.

‐ Maybe I should sing tonight.

Do you think they have any Joan Baez?

‐ Ooh, wow, Joan Baez.

Wait, doesn't, uh, singin' make your cough worse anyway?

‐ Yeah, but...

good news is, it's October and I've only had bronchitis

five times this year.

‐ Oh, that's a‐‐ a real victory, Karen.

‐ I always get depressed this time of year.

‐ Oh, no, no.

I love it.

All the assholes leave town, and the galleries close, and...

none of the paintings inside them mock me when I walk by.

‐ Do you think you're talented?

Like, uh‐‐like, uh‐‐ like, if you just had,

like, a little bit of help,

you could paint things good enough for those galleries?

‐ Oh.

No.

No, I'm shit inside and out.

Can I have a hit, please, before I bore myself to tears?

‐ ♪ Don't go changing ♪

♪ To try and please me ♪

♪ You never let me down before ♪

Hey.

I'm a singer.

Mickey sent me.

‐ Welcome, welcome to our last

Autumn Reading Octoberfest event.

Some people come out to the Cape to see the foliage,

others for a fresh bag of cranberries

or a walk in the dunes.

But the authors we've been lucky enough

to bring here to read their new works

are just as satisfying a draw, if you ask me.

Today I'd like to welcome Belle Noir,

a romance novelist, self‐published,

who will be reading from her new book,

"Martha's Cherry Tree,"

a rather racy retelling

of the George and Martha Washington story.

‐ Thank you.

I'm going to read you a section of chapter 17.

Martha suspects George is sleeping

with one of their maids.

And upon searching the maid's bed,

she finds one of George's wooden teeth.

Rather than confront George,

she decides to seduce the maid herself.

"'I cannot tell a lie.

"I cannot tell a lie.'

"Had he whispered those false words

"to innocent little Penelope

"when he drove himself into her?

"Had he lied about loving her?

"Lied about her being the only one?

"Lied about never lying?

"The only thing that distracted her from these thoughts

"was the soft skin of Penelope's breasts and belly

"as Martha slowly kissed her way down to the hairy warmth

between the young maid's legs."

Who should I make it out to?

‐ The Chemist.

You're a good writer.

‐ That's very kind of you.

‐ Got some real potential.

‐ Tell the publishing houses for me, would you?

You said you were going to come in for the reading.

‐ Your books gross me out.

‐ It grosses you out to hear your wife talk about sex?

‐ Yes, especially this book.

I can't look at a $1 bill or Mount Rushmore anymore

without wantin' to puke.

How many books did you sell?

‐ One. ‐ For fuck's sake.

I would've just bought a book from you at home,

and we could've skipped this bullshit.

‐ It's not bullshit.

It's my dream.

‐ What do you want from me, Belle?

I'm here, aren't I? I agreed to puttin' up

a big chunk of our retirement for this dumb book tour,

during which we've sold six books.

You want me to support your dream?

Here I am, supporting the fuck out of it.

‐ And I'm grateful.

But can't you see I'm doing it for both of us?

I could be the next Danielle Steel.

She's worth a billion dollars.

‐ How many times has she been married?

‐ Four, maybe five.

‐ Well, I guess then there's one way you could be like her.

Let's go back to the hotel and freshen up

and then watch the sunset from Muse.

I hear it's beautiful.

‐ Do you want me to suck some cock while I'm in there?

‐ What? No.

‐ Then why are you asking me to go to a homo bar

and do something totally gay like watch the fucking sunset?

I wanna do something actually fun,

like the haunted dune tour.

‐ Sounds scary, I don't wanna have nightmares.

I need my sleep before the next tour stop in the Vineyard.

‐ You know why I'm really so angry at you?

It's not the stupid book tour

or the fact that you write about sex all day

but haven't touched my dick in two years.

It's that you're weak

and scared

and boring.

‐ I'm the same as I was when you married me 40 years ago.

‐ Well, I was at work for those 40 years.

Now that I have to be with you all the time,

it's intolerable.

‐ I hear they have great calamari!

‐ Hey.

Pretty cool color on your nails.

You mind if I join you?

‐ What are you, a hustler?

I wrote a book about a hustler

who ends up sleeping with the head of the KGB

and then becomes head of the CIA.

‐ That sounds awesome.

I'd like to read that.

‐ I'll send you a copy.

You're wasting your time with me; I'm married.

‐ Wait.

I know you.

You're the author that was doing the reading

at the bookstore, right?

‐ Were you there? ‐ Uh, well, no.

They, uh‐‐they don't let me in there anymore

after I stole the, uh, "Screenplay for Dummies" book

a while back, but, uh,

I saw you through the window.

‐ You write too?

‐ Ah, sometimes, but not like you.

You're, like, a real published author.

‐ Self‐published.

‐ Hey, I mean,

just finishing a book's a big deal, right?

‐ Let me buy you a drink.

‐ Yeah.

‐ I know they say that anyone can be a writer,

because all you have to do is sit down and write,

but that doesn't make you a writer any more

than a kid playing catch is a ballplayer

or a sperm donor is a dad.

I know I'm not the greatest writer in the world.

I mean, a lot of my stuff is schlock, but...

I'm a writer; I know I am.

I can't stop.

Even if it wrecks my marriage,

even if I go broke doing it,

even if I never sell a book,

it's who I am.

Can I ask you a question?

Do you have any cocaine?

I always wanted to try it, and you look like a drug addict.

No offense.

‐ Oh, none taken.

'Cause I am. ‐ Mm.

‐ But, um, no, no coke. But...

I've got something better.

‐

‐ Give me a Bloody Mary.

‐ Hey, dude, you don't look good.

‐ I feel sick.

I think that bitch Karen gave me bronchitis or something.

‐ You sure? 'Cause she says

she hasn't been sick in a while.

‐ I'm gonna puke.

‐ I'm so happy.

‐ Uh, yeah, that's the drugs.

‐ Then I want more.

‐ Yeah, you see,

it doesn't really work that way.

First time's the best, and then, uh,

you end up chasing that high forever,

and you never catch it.

‐ That's some bullshit.

‐ Mm‐hmm. ‐

‐ Uh, you know, I, uh‐‐

I know someone that can give you something else.

Something that can make you happy forever.

‐ How come you're not taking it?

‐ 'Cause it's, uh‐‐ it's not for me.

It only works for people like you.

Artists.

We've been waitin' half an hour.

‐ I wanted to read this first.

You have talent.

‐ Thank you. ‐ Took everything in me

not to rub one out during that threesome

with George and Martha and Ben Franklin.

‐ I've always found heavier‐set men

to be extremely attractive.

‐ Mickey tell you what I'm offering?

‐ Making all my dreams come true.

I'm in. ‐ You wanna know about

the side effects?

‐ I know I'm talented.

‐ The pills create certain cravings.

And they cause aggression

even in the subjects with positive results.

‐ I could use a little of that too.

According to my husband.

Please, I need this.

‐ The effects are temporary.

You're gonna have to keep taking them as it wears off.

And you're gonna have to stick around

and agree to let me study you.

‐ Whatever it takes...

To finding my destiny.

‐ You've reached Ray. Leave a message.

‐ Asshole.

‐ Good morning.

What's wrong with you?

‐ I wrote a book last night.

A whole book, and it's‐‐

it's beautiful.

‐ Bullshit.

Let me see.

You didn't write this.

‐ What?

Yes, I did. ‐ You couldn't have.

It's good.

‐ I did write it!

I went out and danced

and took methamphetamine

and met a chemist and had the time of my life!

And then I came home, and I wrote this!

Where the fuck were you?

‐ I went to the dunes tour,

and I got drunk,

and I met a woman who doesn't dress like a schoolteacher,

and I fucked her right there in the sand

until we passed out.

Then we woke up and fucked again.

‐ ‐ Now I'm gonna take a shower.

I'm gonna pack my things.

I'm gonna go over to the Red Inn.

I'm gonna fuck her for a third time.

Because this marriage...

is over.

‐ What?

You got something you wanna say?

‐ Ah!

‐ What was the feeling exactly?

‐ I don't know. Rage?

Like Braveheart or a beast of the wild.

But that's not what made me attack him.

‐ What was it?

‐ Thirst.

I could smell his blood through his skin.

I was gonna die if I didn't drink it.

‐ Fascinating.

Not surprising, but fascinating.

‐ You knew this was going to happen?

After the rages,

the apes would drink the blood of their kills.

When we autopsied the ones before they drank,

we noticed a depletion of sodium, potassium,

calcium, and magnesium in their blood.

I wasn't sure it'd have the same effect on humans, but...

makes sense that it would.

‐ Am I going to have to keep drinking blood

to keep writing like that?

‐ Would that stop you from continuing to take the pills?

What happened after you drank from your husband?

‐ I, uh, sat down and...

wrote the first 50 pages of part two of my book.

I didn't even care about Ray.

I just had to write.

‐ First things first,

you got to get rid of your husband's body.

‐ Come on.

Mm.

Ah!

No, no, no, no, no! Back, back, back.

Jesus.

Ew.

‐ Did your hair all fall out on its own?

‐ Most of it.

I shaved the rest.

Otherwise I'd look like Riff Raff from "Rocky Horror."

‐ Your skin is looking rather creamy.

Probably a form of anemia.

How's your temper?

Have you shown any aggression towards anyone?

‐ No.

I'm a fucking Buddhist.

I wanna be like Bono and use my music to help people.

I need more pills.

The dose you gave me must have been too low.

I have never felt a jones like this before.

‐ I told you, I set the protocol.

And you don't get another pill until day five.

It's day three.

‐ What did you do to me?

Why is this happening to me?

Please, give me a fix.

Just one more pill.

‐ You're part of a very important study.

And y1 ‐ Hi, hi.

Norman Mailer lived, uh, two doors down.

I saw him bite Rip Torn's ear off one night.

Seems like a different lifetime.

If you're looking for more action, I can, uh,

show you something on Commercial Street.

But you should know that by November, even downtown

is so empty and quiet that you could hear a gnat fart.

‐ I like the quiet.

Need my privacy.

How's the ventilation?

These old houses can get pretty stuffy.

‐ You a writer?

Painter?

Hermit?

I know you're not here for the social scene,

whatever's left of it.

I've been here for 50 years.

You know, back in the day, you'd walk downtown,

and you'd see boys getting butt‐fucked on front porches

like some kind of perverted Norman Rockwell painting.

It was true homosexual Americana.

Now it's Mom and Dad or Dad and Dad or Mom and Mom

and baby stroller gridlock all fucking summer long.

‐ I just left my job at a lab in Providence.

‐ What are you, a chemist?

‐ It was an ugly divorce.

I just need some time alone.

‐ Let's cut the bullshit.

A big‐city chemist looking for a quiet place

with great ventilation in a town where the things

that are most plentiful for eight months a year

are methheads, choppy seas, and depression?

That sounds like a woman looking to set up

her own little meth lab.

‐ I have a PhD from Harvard.

Meth is well below my pay grade.

‐ Good.

'Cause the sheriff has a nose like a truffle pig

for that junk.

‐ Just lookin' for some quiet.

I'll take it.

‐ Do you know that guy, uh, Tex?

He cruises the docks?

‐ Wait, don't tell me. He's from Texas.

‐ Yeah. How'd you know?

Anyway, he taught me this trick

you do right before a guy comes.

‐ Mm. ‐ You press down on his taint,

you time it just right,

you can get him to come again right away.

‐ Mm, but you'll charge me for just the one, right?

‐ Exactly.

‐ You're playing out of your league.

Scram.

‐ Look, can I just borrow ten bucks?

‐ I said scram, methhead.

‐ Hi. ‐ Hi.

‐ I'm new in town, got a few extra bucks.

You do girls too?

‐ Yep. Here.

Look at that. I'm a gentleman.

Don't touch anything.

‐ So, uh, what do you want?

Kind of do things as a standard

sliding scale kind of deal.

It's, uh, $50 for oral.

Straight‐up sex, that's $100,

but I'm currently running a Halloween special.

I'll do anything for 20 bucks.

‐ But Halloween isn't for a week.

‐ Mm. It's a, um, seasonal thing.

‐ I just wanna talk.

I'll pay you for your time.

‐ All right.

‐ Tell me about your dreams.

‐ Like, at night?

‐ No. Like, in life.

You ever wanna be a model or play for the Yankees?

‐ You really think I could be a model?

‐ No. But you must have something.

Everyone does.

‐ Well, I write a little.

‐ You any good?

‐ I don't know.

I don't think I've ever shown anyone

anything I've written before, but, uh...

um, yeah, you know, I think I'm pretty good.

Why, you, like, a big‐time movie producer or something?

‐ I'm a biochemical engineer.

Spent the past nine years working with the U. S. military

trying to understand and unlock

the creative parts of the brain.

‐ They wanna make more creative soldiers?

‐ Less.

They don't want them to think for themselves.

But to lock up the creative mind,

we also have to understand how to unlock it.

We have tons of research

from studying highly creative people.

Every one of 'em says the same thing.

They don't know where it comes from.

But I do.

The occipital lobe.

Talented people have denser, more numerous clusters

of neurons in that area.

I don't care if you are Bill fucking Shakespeare.

If I whack you hard enough in that part of your head,

you'll never write again.

So I started developing a drug to target that area.

Made the neurons in that part of the brain fire at 10,

50, 1,000 times faster and more frequently

than they usually do.

‐ Uh, wow, um...

Did it work?

‐ We started testing it on primates.

And yeah, it worked...

on some of the apes.

The ones who tested higher on cognitive tests

before we gave them the medicine.

Suddenly, they could play complex notes on a keyboard.

‐ So, um, what happened to the ones it, like, didn't work on?

‐ They became highly aggressive.

Bloodthirsty.

Tore the other apes limb from limb.

I think the medicine has different effects

on creative and noncreative people.

It's almost like the noncreative ones

can tolerate their lack of talent

until they're confronted with it.

Then their mediocrity drives 'em mad.

So...

Wanna try one?

‐ Fuck no!

‐ Maybe you're one of the talented ones.

‐ Um...

Thanks but no, thanks.

Uh, look, can I just get my money?

‐ It's a long winter.

I'll give you $50 for anyone you convince

to come take one of these lil' black beauties.

‐ Maybe I should sing tonight.

Do you think they have any Joan Baez?

‐ Ooh, wow, Joan Baez.

Wait, doesn't, uh, singin' make your cough worse anyway?

‐ Yeah, but...

good news is, it's October and I've only had bronchitis

five times this year.

‐ Oh, that's a‐‐ a real victory, Karen.

‐ I always get depressed this time of year.

‐ Oh, no, no.

I love it.

All the assholes leave town, and the galleries close, and...

none of the paintings inside them mock me when I walk by.

‐ Do you think you're talented?

Like, uh‐‐like, uh‐‐ like, if you just had,

like, a little bit of help,

you could paint things good enough for those galleries?

‐ Oh.

No.

No, I'm shit inside and out.

Can I have a hit, please, before I bore myself to tears?

‐ ♪ Don't go changing ♪

♪ To try and please me ♪

♪ You never let me down before ♪

Hey.

I'm a singer.

Mickey sent me.

‐ Welcome, welcome to our last

Autumn Reading Octoberfest event.

Some people come out to the Cape to see the foliage,

others for a fresh bag of cranberries

or a walk in the dunes.

But the authors we've been lucky enough

to bring here to read their new works

are just as satisfying a draw, if you ask me.

Today I'd like to welcome Belle Noir,

a romance novelist, self‐published,

who will be reading from her new book,

"Martha's Cherry Tree,"

a rather racy retelling

of the George and Martha Washington story.

‐ Thank you.

I'm going to read you a section of chapter 17.

Martha suspects George is sleeping

with one of their maids.

And upon searching the maid's bed,

she finds one of George's wooden teeth.

Rather than confront George,

she decides to seduce the maid herself.

"'I cannot tell a lie.

"I cannot tell a lie.'

"Had he whispered those false words

"to innocent little Penelope

"when he drove himself into her?

"Had he lied about loving her?

"Lied about her being the only one?

"Lied about never lying?

"The only thing that distracted her from these thoughts

"was the soft skin of Penelope's breasts and belly

"as Martha slowly kissed her way down to the hairy warmth

between the young maid's legs."

Who should I make it out to?

‐ The Chemist.

You're a good writer.

‐ That's very kind of you.

‐ Got some real potential.

‐ Tell the publishing houses for me, would you?

You said you were going to come in for the reading.

‐ Your books gross me out.

‐ It grosses you out to hear your wife talk about sex?

‐ Yes, especially this book.

I can't look at a $1 bill or Mount Rushmore anymore

without wantin' to puke.

How many books did you sell?

‐ One. ‐ For fuck's sake.

I would've just bought a book from you at home,

and we could've skipped this bullshit.

‐ It's not bullshit.

It's my dream.

‐ What do you want from me, Belle?

I'm here, aren't I? I agreed to puttin' up

a big chunk of our retirement for this dumb book tour,

during which we've sold six books.

You want me to support your dream?

Here I am, supporting the fuck out of it.

‐ And I'm grateful.

But can't you see I'm doing it for both of us?

I could be the next Danielle Steel.

She's worth a billion dollars.

‐ How many times has she been married?

‐ Four, maybe five.

‐ Well, I guess then there's one way you could be like her.

Let's go back to the hotel and freshen up

and then watch the sunset from Muse.

I hear it's beautiful.

‐ Do you want me to suck some cock while I'm in there?

‐ What? No.

‐ Then why are you asking me to go to a homo bar

and do something totally gay like watch the fucking sunset?

I wanna do something actually fun,

like the haunted dune tour.

‐ Sounds scary, I don't wanna have nightmares.

I need my sleep before the next tour stop in the Vineyard.

‐ You know why I'm really so angry at you?

It's not the stupid book tour

or the fact that you write about s�