All language subtitles for MrSWr4E21.Deadpan.

This show is going to run forever!

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

What we're dealing with here is a perfect crime.

The entire company will have you to thank

when the show closes.

He smells blood.

He's circling like a vulture.

Everybody's a critic.

Consider yourself an arrested person.

Actors and rewrites-

that's a worse combination than drinking and driving.

Pow! Right in the kisser!

- That's it! - Jessica!

After all we've been through!

Good evening.

Elliot Easterbrook with your live at 5:00 mini-cam

at the woolcott theatre.

Do you know that it has been said

that the theater is a temple?

If so, it is a temple which has frequently worshipped

false gods.

Only time and astute critical judgment

will tell if Mainely Murder,

which opens here tomorrow night,

will honor the gods or yet again profane them.

You and I have the benefit of meeting the show's creators

before they have to face the critical faculty.

With us this evening

are producer Shayna Grant, who, in the past,

has brought us such unforgettable evenings

in the theater as the musical biography

of Louis XVI,

Heads, you lose.

524 performances, Elliot.

And J.B. Fletcher, whose book Murder comes to Maine

forms the basis of this play.

And don't you look just like a mystery writer from Maine?

Thank you.

Those are two things of which I'm very proud.

Yes, and neophyte playwright, Walter Knapf,

who has adapted Mrs. Fletcher's book to the stage.

Mr. Knapf, you must be terribly excited

to see your opus go straight to Broadway.

Uh, yes, I'm, uh... I'm thrilled.

I'm-- excited-- that's the word.

Yes, and you must be exhausted

from doing all those rewrites you're working on?

No, rewrites, Elliot.

The play works like a dream.

Mrs. Fletcher, I must tell you

that I'm not particularly interested in mysteries.

However, there's one that intrigues me:

how a neophyte playwright was able to convince

an experienced writer to let him adapt her property.

Well, Mr. Easterbrook,

that is an easy mystery to solve.

You see, Walter was a very talented student of mine.

So there's no truth in the rumors

that you rushed into town to do emergency rewrites?

No rewrites, Elliot.

Mr. Easterbrook, I am here to attend

the opening night and to bask in Walter's success.

Uh, "bask"?

Is that a prediction, Mrs. Fletcher, or just hype?

Isn't it true that the only thing

you can predict about the theater

is that it is unpredictable?

Oh, bravo, Mrs. Fletcher.

You must have stayed up all night thinking that one up.

No, actually, Moliere did it for me about 200 years ago.

Pow! Right in the kisser!

Hey, I like that broad.

Not too smart, though.

Easterbrook's going to review her show in about 24 hours.

Come on, Denise, a single-cell battery's got more power

than that smirk in a suit.

A lot of people watch his review, Danny.

Yeah, and they forget about what he said

by the time the airhead gets on with the weather report.

Oh, I forgot.

The only people who count are the ones who read

Danny O'Mara's reviews in The Chronicle.

You better believe it.

I'm not sure that I really want to do

another TV interview after yesterday, Mr. Mapost.

I know. I know.

It wasn't that flattering,

but it did get us a lot of exposure.

Easterbrook is going to kill us.

He smells blood.

He's circling like a vulture.

If you could get us an interview with Danny O'Mara--

Danny O'Mara? Are you crazy?

Just try and get the most popular critic

in the city to do an interview.

Oh, then he must be the drama critic on The Chronicle?

J.B. Fletcher!

Danny O'Mara.

And I like your style, lady.

Well, thank you.

That's very flattering from a fellow writer.

Oh, I never read any of your books.

I'm talking about the way you took out that hack Easterbrook.

Say, Danny--

Off the record, J.B.

have you seen your show yet?

No, no, actually, we're seeing a dress rehearsal

right after lunch.

Ah, well, from what I hear,

you better make it a light lunch.

He's going to draw and quarter us.

He's going to flay our entrails all over Times Square.

Actually, he'll give you a clean shot.

Oh, uh, Jessica, Walter, this is Denise Quinlan,

Danny's right hand, his left hand, and entire brain.

Not at all. I'm more like the guy

who walks behind the elephant in the parade.

Believe it or not, you'll get a fairer shake

from Danny than from any of the others.

Ah, which makes me trepidatious

about the others.

Well, you'll find out soon enough...

at the party.

I guess I'll see all of you there tonight.

Nice meeting you.

You mean you actuallyinvite critics

to the opening night party?

No, that was Shayna's idea.

You know, she does it all the time.

She thinks it's good publicity.

Oh, my gosh! Why are you listening to me?

We got a rehearsal to go to.

Uh, Jessica, just a second.

Now, I know that you like the first draft that I sent you.

Walter, you don't have to fish for compliments from me.

I like your work.

Yeah, well, you see, the thing is,

I just don't want you to be upset by the witch.

Which "witch"?

Double trouble! Poil that bubble!

Make the haystack

turn to rubble!

Curtain! Curtain! Cut it!

Put out that flame before it burns the bloody place down.

All right, gentlemen, let's fix the fire

before we continue.

God, why hast thou forsaken me?

So, Mrs. Fletcher,

what do you think of our little opus so far?

I've, uh, never seen anything like it.

Wait until Act II.

When that effect works properly, it makes quite an act curtain.

Well, it's, uh... it's certainly very unexpected.

But aren't you confusing Maine with Massachusetts?

Oh, no, no, darling,

by including all of perceptual New England,

we're broadening the show's appeal.

Jason, what's with Tony?

He was like a black hole of energy on that stage tonight.

He's got the flu.

Well, put in the understudy for God's sake.

I will not have him dragging the show down.

You despise and loathe it, right?

Walter, "despise" and "loathe" are very strong words.

But what I don't understand is,

what happened to your wonderful first draft?

It got buried underneath all the improvements.

I figured they know what they were doing.

And so I did what they said, and then suddenly, we had this.

Well, who knows, Walter? The audience will like it.

I mean, don't they say

a bad dress rehearsal means a great opening?

Walter, calm down. You'll get whiplash.

My God, my entire life is riding in that man's hands.

I mean, what if he had a lousy dinner?

Walter, listen to me.

You are a very talented, young writer,

and this is only your first play.

Ladies and gentlemen, in tonight's performance,

the role of Woodsman, normally played by Tony Jasper,

will be played by Craig Donner.

How can they start?

Easterbrook isn't here yet.

Please hurry. Curtain going up, darling.

I hope you don't think

by inviting me to your postprandial party

you'll color my reaction to your little play.

Of course not, darling,

but missing the first scene might.

Finally, I get it. He likes being late.

He's only comfortable in the dark,

like all creatures who prey off the living.

Refreshments are available during the intermission

in the outer lobby.

I'll get us some drinks.

The best party I've been to in years.

Daphne was there and with Charles.

Can you believe it?

Don't you tell me how tired you are.

You know what my day was like?

First, I rode the carpool.

Then I had to run all over town looking for your--

White wine and a double anything.

First, I get an estimate,

and then I got to knock down the wall.

I mean, I got to knock down the whole wall.

No one's talking about the play.

Well, at least they're not saying

anything negative about it, Walter.

Well, that's great.

That means it's taking their minds off their lives.

All they're talking about is their lives.

Oh, well, that is wonderful.

That means the play has relevance.

You know, Easterbrook,

all you TV blowhards know about theater

is makeup and hair.

Well, Mr. O'Mara, if I didn't know better,

I'd say you were jealous of my exposure.

Exposure?

Exposure means zip without influence, buddy,

and I got influence.

How tragic to mistake

the power of one's forum for one's own.

Besides, everyone knows The Chronicle

is past its prime.

My God, they're both gonna hate this play.

Give me a break, Easterbrook.

Everyone knows you lost out the Chronicle job to me.

Grammatically speaking, "out"

is incorrectly used in that sentence,

further demonstrating your intellectual ineptitude.

- You simpering-- - You're getting violent.

How appropriately Neanderthal.

I need a drink.

You just had a drink, Walter.

I need many more.

Jessica, I'll see you at the party.

Walter!

Mrs. Fletcher.

I've been just dying to meet you.

I'm Barbara Blair. I play Prudence, the witch.

Of course.

- It's a small part. - But memorable.

So how did you like the play?

I've never seen anything quite like it.

- Denise. - Yeah.

Have you seen Walter anywhere?

Uh, no, but if he's like most playwrights,

he's probably somewhere getting plastered.

All right, everyone!

Attenzione! Attenzione!

We're going to hear the review.

Easterbrook's review, uh, turn this up.

It is always difficult to review a mystery

without giving away the plot.

This unpalatable witch's brew is such a muddle of cliches

and troll dialogue

that it is impossible to figure out the plot.

Neophyte playwright Walter Knapf

at least has the excuse of inexperience.

As for the cast,

Vivian Cassell brings her usual

long-in-the-tooth charm to the lead,

and Barbara Blair shines briefly as a witch.

Tony Jasper as the Woodsman is appropriately wooden.

If you're looking for a good thriller,

walk right by the Woolcott Theatre.

The only mystery about this one, folks,

is how it ever got to Broadway in the first place.

Oh.

Elliot Easterbrook, until we meet again.

My glass slipped.

J.B., you're not leaving?

Well, it was a lovely party, Shayna,

but it's after 1:00,

and I'd like to get an early start in the morning

back to Cabot Cove.

Thanks for everything.

J.B., you don't understand. You can't leave.

It'll look like you're deserting the ship

before the early newspaper reviews come out.

Shayna, what on earth is that man doing here?

I invited him, Jason. I always invite him.

But who would have dreamed he'd have the nerve to show up?

It does seem odd that he would attend the party

of a show that he just panned.

In all my years in the theater, I've never seen--

Yes, and if you want many more years

in the theater, Jason, you won't make any trouble.

This is not the last show

any of us are going to be involved with.

Elliot, darling.

We're a hit!

Wait till you see!

This show is going to run forever!

O'Mara loved the show.

Walter, are you all right? Get some coffee.

Oh, no, I'm... perfect! Listen to this.

"Mainely Murder is mainly magnificent,

the one must-see of the season."

Easterbrook, this is for you.

"This is a real audience pleaser."

"Just the kind of show a certain low-caliber,"

"high-ego TV critic is sure to hate."

"You know who I'm talking about, that Live at 5 guy"

"who thinks he's smarter than you."

"If he hates this show,"

"maybe you should let his TV station know"

"that you've had enough of his condescending crap."

Now, I wonder who he's talking about?

What an amusing joke.

I wonder if Mr. O'Mara is ready for the punch line.

Elliot, you know Danny.

Well enough, Ms. Quinlan.

I think someone has to silence this undereducated,

ill-informed windbag permanently.

I'd better give Danny a call.

What? I can't hear you.

You got to speak a little louder.

Shots? Where?

Okay.

I'm Mr. O'Mara's assistant. They told me to come up.

I assure you, Lieutenant,

that I arrived only seconds before your men.

And you just happened to be carrying the murder weapon?

I picked the gun up off the floor

because I felt the assailant might still be present.

- Who let you in? - The door was open.

Listen, we got an anonymous call

there was some shots were fired.

We find you standing over the body

with the murder weapon.

I'm sorry, it just doesn't sound kosher to me.

You said, you would silence Danny

once and for all.

Yes, silence him by costing him his job at The Chronicle.

I came here to tell him I intended to sue him

if he didn't remove what he wrote about me

for the next edition.

Excuse me.

Jarvis, Aloysius Jarvis. You're--

My name Jessica Fletcher.

I'm sorry to interrupt you,

but I felt it was very important that you should know

that Denise and I were at the same restaurant

as Mr. Easterbrook, and just--

Just after he left, Denise tried to call Mr. O'Mara.

But there was no answer.

Well, just because he didn't pick up the phone

doesn't mean he was dead already.

Well, I just wanted to be sure that you understood

that we came straight here from the restaurant.

And Mr. Easterbrook left only a few moments before we did.

Yes, plenty of time to kill him.

Well, forgive me, Lieutenant,

but if those shots were fired as recently as that,

I mean, wouldn't you have noticed

a slight smell of gunpowder?

Well, it was a .22 caliber. It was small.

Smell fades fast.

Well, maybe I'm confused,

but if Mr. O'Mara was shot when you think that he was shot,

uh, why does his skin have that bluish look to it?

Funny. He doesn't look bluish to me.

I'm sorry, lady. I've been on double shift.

I got to book this gent before I go into a coma.

Take him out.

The facts will clear me, Lieutenant,

and then you're going to find yourself in a spot of trouble.

And, Mrs. Fletcher, I would sincerely appreciate it

if you would direct your attention

to Murder at the Quilting Bee

or whatever your next potboiler is going to be called

and leave my defense in more capable hands.

The guy gets paid for being insulting.

My cousin Marvin spent his lifetime

doing that for free.

Oh, here she is! The woman of the hour!

You got quite a nice mention from O'Mara, Mrs. Fletcher.

It was a good thing he finished his review

before he packed it in, eh?

And wait till you hear about the spectacular interviews

that Barney has lined up for you!

Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

You're the ones who should be enjoying the spotlight.

I, uh--

Well, I was thinking that since I had

so little to do with the production,

wouldn't you like to take my name off the marquee?

Oh, isn't that sweet?

She wants Walter to take all the credit for this success.

But you know, J.B. Fletcher does mean something,

and you know, we do have a contract

stipulating your name in lights all over New York.

We sure are glad O'Mara wrote his review

before he cashed in his chips,

or we wouldn't have any quotes at all.

What astonishes me is the motive.

Killing somebody because he's insulted you?

I can't believe anybody's that self-centered.

Well, actually, the evidence seems to indicate that

Mr. Easterbrook did not kill him.

Oh, you have got to be kidding.

Just when everything was going so well.

Anybody who kills a critic ought

to get a special Tony Award

for his contribution to the American theater.

I wonder who did kill O'Mara.

Shayna!

Um, your message, it--

It said something about script changes?

Just a tiny touch-up here and there, darling.

Walter, you look dreadful.

Are you-- are you ill?

Industrial strength hangover.

I was up most of the night, celebrating.

Walter, Danny O'Mara was murdered last night.

I know. I heard.

Did anybody see Steve Cahill's column this morning?

He gave us a terrific write-up.

See it? I wrote it.

Really?

It read just like Cahill.

Yeah, I have this knack

for imitating various columnists' style.

I mean, it makes it easy for them.

All they have to do is print the release.

Well, I must run along, or I'll miss my plane.

Walter, I want to wish you the very best of luck.

You're leaving?

Call me when you have some time,

and we'll talk about everything.

Good-bye.

Oh, Shayna, take a look at this, will you?

Jessica, please,

you can't leave me stranded here like this.

You've got to help me straighten out this play.

Everybody seems satisfied with it

the way it is, unfortunately.

Well, I'm not.

And I know it's more embarrassing for me

than it is for you.

Maybe not.

I don't know what to do, Jessica.

And I can only dread

what Shayna's changes are going to be,

but we both know that it's not gonna make it any better.

Look, maybe you could take advantage of this opportunity

to put back in some of the things

that you cut out of the first draft.

Well, like what?

Well, the theme, perhaps.

Theme?

Oh, you mean the idea in your book

about not walking away and letting an injustice occur?

No? That's not it?

Oh, that's it, all right, Walter.

And thank you for reminding me.

You know, there are several questions

about Mr. O'Mara's death

that I just can't walk away from.

I remember enjoying reading Gerald Greeley's reviews.

He was very gentlemanly.

He was the best theater critic we ever had.

Course after he had that stroke,

Gerald couldn't handle Broadway anymore,

so now he's reviewing television programs.

And now you have to replace your drama critic again.

Any ideas who it might be?

What's your angle on this, Mrs. Fletcher?

Oh, I know.

Never hurts to steal from the headlines, right?

Excuse me?

Well, you're researching a new book,

Murder on the Great White Way, that sort of thing, right?

Guilty as charged, Mr. Cullen.

But, of course, as you know, in mysteries,

timing is of the utmost importance.

Yeah, naturally.

I mean, for example,

what time did Mr. O'Mara leave here last night

after he finished his review?

Oh, he didn't come in here at all.

He wrote at home.

Oh. Oh, I see.

You mean a messenger picked up his review?

No, no, no, no. We're all on computers now.

You see, O'Mara wrote his reviews

on his home computer

and then sent it in here by modems over the telephone.

Oh, my goodness, how modern.

Oh, yeah, the reviews came in on a printer, like this one.

Oh, those machines can do anything except write.

But some of our reporters can't do that either, so...

but the machines check out the spelling,

and they even note the time pieces come in here.

And what time did Mr. O'Mara's review come in last night?

Let's see.

11:15.

Oh, I see what you're getting at.

He must have died right after that.

Talk about going with your boots on.

Mrs. Fletcher, come on in.

Mr. Cullen told me you were here.

I hope you don't mind.

No, not at all. I'm just cleaning up the files.

Actually, I'm happy for the company.

It's kind of spooky here.

Mr. Cullen also told me about your new assignment--

Temporary drama critic. Congratulations.

Yeah, thanks.

It must be a little intimidating

stepping into the shoes

of the foremost drama critic of New York.

Oh, no, not really. I've done it before.

Last year, Danny asked me to write a review

under his byline while he was out of town.

And nobody knew?

Well, his style was fairly easy to copy.

I mean, he wrote the way he talked.

Why don't I show you his program from last night?

Should be over here somewhere.

He always scribbled notes all over his program,

and they showed up verbatim in his review.

Here. See?

- Denise, that's odd. - Hmm?

I mean, these notes aren't anything like his review.

"Barbara Blair, hammy.

Dialogue stiff and unprofessional."

Really?

I hadn't had a chance to look at it yet.

"Craig Donner, amateurish." Oh, yes, of course.

He was the last-minute cast change.

But he certainly didn't like any of the actors here.

This is weird.

Why would his review be so favorable?

I don't suppose you have a copy of his review.

No, but I have the original.

Oh, you mean it's in the computer?

Yeah, sure.

But, Denise, that's odd.

That review doesn't square with his notes.

I gather you don't write on a computer, Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh, no, no, I still use my good old,

bucket-of-bolts typewriter.

It's very noisy, but it's comfortable.

Yeah, you should consider switching.

No, I've heard too many dreadful stories

about people punching the wrong button

and losing everything.

Oh, well, it's not quite that easy.

I'll show you.

I'll ask the computer

for a directory of what's on the disk.

There.

Now we know the name of the file that contains the review.

Now watch. I'll erase it.

There. You see? You've lost everything.

Uh-uh, but what you can erase, you can also unerase.

- Oh. - There.

Now everything that was erased has been retrieved.

Now, that's odd.

There seem to be two files now.

One that we didn't see before.

Could we look at that one?

Yeah, sure.

"A sickening spectacle calling itself Mainely Murder"

"opened tonight at the Woolcott Theatre."

"This alleged play features stiff dialogue,"

"hammy performances,"

"and a plot almost as mysterious as a corned beef sandwich."

"The only lucky individual involved was actor Tony Jasper,"

"who somehow got himself replaced"

"by the amateurish Craig Donner."

But this doesn't make sense.

I mean, why would Danny change his mind so radically?

I suspect he didn't.

But then why the two reviews?

Because I think whoever killed Danny O'Mara

also killed his review.

So the deal is, somebody came to O'Mara's apartment,

killed him, erased the bad review,

sent in the good one.

That still doesn't eliminate Easterbrook.

Except that he was on the air at 11:15

when that review was received at The Chronicle.

He could have been on tape.

No, no, I checked it. It was a live broadcast.

Oh, I don't know, Mrs. Fletcher.

Finding him with the murder weapon in his hand--

It's just too good to ignore.

Exactly. It's too good.

Wait. What are you saying?

He was framed?

Lieutenant, if I remember correctly,

you received an anonymous phone call

saying that shots had been heard.

But at the apartment last night,

you said that O'Mara had been killed with one bullet.

Right.

Well, did you find any other bullets

that had been fired?

No.

Well, then how could somebody have heard "shots"?

The witness could have been confused.

What about the other tenants in the building?

Did they hear a single shot or several shots?

Nobody heard anything.

Now, let's face it, Mrs. Fletcher.

He died just around the time we found Easterbrook.

Here's the coroner's report on O'Mara.

Thanks.

No other shots were heard at any other time either.

Easterbrook's are the only prints

that were found on the gun.

Of course, he, uh, could have died earlier.

Well, then I suppose the question is,

who would benefit from a good review?

The producer, the director, the novelist.

Now, let's face it.

That still doesn't eliminate Easterbrook.

Not to mention the actors

and everybody involved in the production.

Yes, and with my luck, they can probably

all alibi each other at that party.

Excuse me.

Okay. Okay.

Yeah, hold on.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher. I got to take this call.

Think about it, Mrs. Fletcher.

Who was at the party? Who wasn't at the party?

Who came late? Whatever.

Hello.

Who came late?

This is Walter Knapf.

If I don't pick up the phone in a second or two,

it means I'm out,

or I'm having an anxiety attack.

Please leave a message.

Walter, this is Jessica.

I have to talk to you. It's really very urgent.

I guess I'll just have to keep trying.

I certainly hope you haven't come here

expecting gratitude, Mrs. Fletcher.

The charges against me were dropped

because the facts were obvious to anybody

with a single brain cell still active.

I quite agree.

And please, don't embarrass yourself

by pleading for your show.

I have no intention of promoting it on the air.

Mr. Easterbrook,

doesn't it get tiring being the voice of disdain?

I never tire of putting people in their place.

And I can't help but wonder what interests are served

when critics make destructive remarks

simply to be, well, amusing?

Surely, you didn't come here

simply to discuss the vagaries of criticism.

I see you do your homework.

Mr. Easterbrook, you have a copy of the play on your desk.

Yes, well, occasionally,

a publicist will send me a script

before a play opens.

I must confess I rarely read them, though.

They end up changing so much before they open,

although, not often for the better.

Now, on that, we agree.

Walter's first draft was just delightful.

Indeed?

Well, then perhaps your Mister, uh, Knapf, is it?

Yes, perhaps he has a future in the theater after all.

He's-- he's a very neat typist.

There's one review in particular that intrigues me.

The, uh, phony O'Mara review, and who could have written it.

And why would that interest me?

Well, you seemed more than anxious last night

to sue Mr. O'Mara over it.

Aren't you curious to see who did write it?

Well, it wouldn't require much talent

to imitate O'Mara's style, or lack thereof.

That means it could have been anyone

connected with Mainely Murder.

Jason Richards springs to mind.

O'Mara panned his last five plays.

I'm not in the mood to chitchat, Mrs. Fletcher.

If it weren't for you,

we wouldn't be in this dreadful situation.

Well, I only wrote the novel, Mr. Richards.

That's all.

Sit down.

I see you haven't heard the result of your handiwork.

The chronicle is retracting O'Mara's review

and printing the one that you unearthed.

I hope you're satisfied.

Surely you understand that once I found that other review,

I was obligated to show it to the police.

How noble.

The entire company will have you to thank when the show closes.

Well, if the show does close, I mean, isn't it possible

that it's because of the quality of the play?

Oh, please, Mrs. Fletcher, don't be so naive.

We had one single rave review,

the only review that mattered, and you've taken it away.

Look, I'm truly sorry, Mr. Richards.

But certainly it is more important to find out

who killed Danny O'Mara?

Why?

He was a speck on the flypaper of theater.

Besides, why does it matter to you?

Well, I-

I can't help but think that it is somebody

who stood to gain from a good review.

Somebody involved in the show, you mean.

Like me, presumably?

Well, if you recall,

I was at the party here at Vincent's

with all the other members of the company save one.

So that's it.

You suspect your darling little playwright,

and you're trying to palm off the blame on one of us.

Well, it won't work.

Walter?

Walter!

Oh, Barney.

Well, I guess I should have known

it was too good to last.

The only quote review

and The Chronicle threatens to sue

unless we take it down.

Well, whoever wrote that review

did a good job of imitating Mr. O'Mara's style.

Oh, I never tried doing O'Mara.

I mean, he wasn't the type

who appreciated being sent plugs.

Nobody appreciates a publicist.

Well, I imagine that if the show closes,

it would be devastating to quite a lot of people,

wouldn't it?

Oh, sure, everybody except me.

But you'd be out of a job.

Well, between you and me,

for a publicist, it doesn't matter.

I mean, another show will come along,

probably also a turkey.

But not so for Walter.

He's taking this pretty hard.

Oh, have you seen Walter? Where is he?

Oh, he's backstage doing some rewrites.

Jessica, oh, I followed your advice,

and I put back a lot of the character stuff.

And guess what. Shayna loved it.

You know, this play's been changed so many times,

she doesn't even remember

what she cut out in the first place,

but, you know, I really think this is making it better.

Walter, forget the changes. You are in serious trouble.

Oh, no, I don't think so.

I think these revisions are gonna save the play.

Walter, this play could not be saved

with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Now, I'm sorry, but I need to know

where were you during the opening night party.

You mean the party at Vincent's?

Yes.

Walter, where were you?

Maybe I can tell you that.

The way I see it, he was at Danny O'Mara's apartment,

killing him.

You must have some idea where you were

between intermission

and when you arrived at the party.

I went to a few bars.

Walter, which bars?

I was drunk. I didn't pay attention.

Send in Mrs. Rizzo.

But can't you at least remember

which street they were on?

Was it 8th avenue? Was it 9th avenue?

Those were some of them.

That's the boy that was in the hallway.

Mrs. Rizzo, you live in the building with Mr. O'Mara?

On the first floor, and O'Mara's on the third.

You ought to be ashamed of yourself,

a nice boy like you.

Mrs. Rizzo, are you absolutely certain

that it was Walter that you saw?

What, are you calling me blind?

I never forget a face.

Take Sally Mazursky, for instance--

Mrs. Rizzo, we believe you.

Just tell us what happened last night.

Again? Oh.

Okay, so... let me see.

Around 11:00--

I remember it was 11:00 because the news just come on,

you know, with that pretty young newscaster.

- What's her name? - We believe you.

11 o'clock, what happened last night?

Well, he comes banging on my door.

So I opened the door on the chain--

You looked nice in your tuxedo.

And he tells me that he had to see a Mr. O'Mara.

So I tell him he lived upstairs, and he went away.

You smelled like a saloon.

Did you see Walter walk upstairs?

No, I closed the door.

Mrs. Rizzo, why didn't you come forward

and talk to the police sooner?

Well, my husband, you know how it is.

He didn't want me to get involved.

But when I read in the papers that they didn't know

who killed this nice Mr. O'Mara,

I said, "honey, listen,

I got to tell the cops what I seen."

So here I am.

Thank you, Mrs. Rizzo.

Would you be so kind as to wait outside?

More waiting?

Oh, mama mia, no wonder people don't like to get involved.

Okay, okay, I'll wait.

Look, it isn't the way it seems.

Well, maybe you can tell us the way it was.

Well, after I left you at the theater,

I did go out and have a few drinks.

All right, a lot of drinks.

But the more I drank, the more I thought

that this play, that my career,

that my entire life depended on what Danny O'Mara wrote.

And so I decided--

And I know it was stupid--

But I decided that I'd go and talk to him

and, well, beg for mercy.

He refused, and you plugged him.

No, when I realized I was so drunk

I couldn't find his apartment,

that's when I knew that I wasn't thinking straight.

So I went out and got really plastered.

I'm not buying that for a minute.

You were in the building.

You had motive to switch those reviews.

You're a writer.

You could have very easily copied his style.

You know how to use a computer.

Lieutenant, how do you know that?

We got a court order to search his apartment.

He owns a computer.

Since when is it a crime to own a computer?

Besides, if I want to write a favorable review of my play,

I would have written a better one than that.

Whoever wrote it missed the whole point.

Everybody's a critic.

Consider yourself an arrested person.

Lieutenant, look, I know Walter.

Believe me, he--

Mrs. Fletcher, I know this isn't type-casting,

but the killer in this script

has Walter Knapf's name written all over it.

Jessica, please.

Don't you worry, Walter.

I have another script in mind with some different casting.

Like it? I'm a troll.

Shayna asked me to come in early

to try on the new hair and makeup.

She read in some review that witches are cliche.

Well, I hate to think what Shayna will do

when somebody writes that trolls are cliche.

Maybe it is a bit much.

I mean, nobody would even recognize me.

You must be very proud

of having gotten that good notice

from Elliot Easterbrook.

It is really nice, isn't it?

I thought, he really understood

what I was trying to accomplish with the role.

Oh, yes, yes.

Of course, an advanced look at the script

must have helped him with that.

Oh, I don't know.

I mean, it changed so much since he--

Wait a minute.

What makes you think I loaned him my script?

Well, I saw it in his office.

I assumed that you'd left it there.

Oh, no.

He probably just crammed it in his briefcase

along with everything else when he left my place.

I take it that you're dating Mr. Easterbrook?

If you can call it that. We only went out once.

Just once?

What he wanted was so disgusting.

Oh, I see, yeah.

Oh, nothing kinky.

Just four hours of dinner

when all he did was talk about himself.

It was all Shayna's idea.

I told her she could do her own dirty work.

But, Morris, baby, I'm doing you a favor

by letting you in on this new show early.

Come in.

Yes, well, I hold an option. Mm-hmm.

On another book by the same author,

J.B. Fletcher--

Um, sweetie, baby,

I'm going to have to get back to you.

Mm-hmm. They need me.

Ciao, baby.

I wasn't aware that we were negotiating.

Oh, well, I was going to call your agent

first thing in the a.m.

I suppose I really should thank you, Shayna.

I was just talking to Barbara,

and it seems that I have underestimated you.

Oh, people do.

That's part of being a woman in business.

Well, I don't have to tell you, darling.

I just had no idea that you were so resourceful

about assuring the success of your productions.

I mean, Barbara told me

how you "introduced" her to Elliot Easterbrook.

Oh, that. That was nothing--

A favor to Barbara, really.

They seemed to be the kind that could develop

a mutually beneficial relationship.

Shayna, I got those TV reviews you wanted to pull quotes from.

Easterbrook's on top.

Mm, thanks.

Jessica, this might interest you.

Pulling pearls from swine.

And Barbara Blair shines briefly as a witch.

Tony Jasper as the Woodsman is appropriately wooden.

That's it!

No, no, Jessica.

We're trying to find the good bits.

I'm sorry, Shayna.

I have to see a man about a play.

Jessica! After all we've been through!

I'll match any offer!

Forget match!

Mr. Easterbrook?

Thank you for joining me.

Curiosity, Mrs. Fletcher, and nothing more.

I do hope you don't construe this

as an agreement with your proposal

that we collaborate on a play.

You know how I feel about mysteries.

Well, that's why I wanted your opinion on my idea.

I knew that you would give it a frank appraisal.

Won't you sit down?

Don't say I didn't warn you.

The setting of the story is the theater.

The victim is a powerful critic.

Oh, dear.

Art imitates life.

Our killer is very meticulous,

but he also has a flair for the dramatic.

He plans his murder

to coincide with the opening of a new mystery play.

After the curtain comes down,

the killer goes to the critic's apartment.

They know each other, and even though

the critic is working on his review of the show,

he lets the killer in.

Once inside, the killer shoots his victim.

The killer erases from the computer disk

the bad review his victim has been writing

and replaces it with a rave review

the murderer wrote earlier

and took with him on his own disk.

He calls the police with an anonymous tip

that later proves to be partially incorrect,

making it look as if he's been framed,

which, of course, he has, but by himself.

This is why I don't like mysteries.

This anonymous tip achieves what?

He knows the police will ultimately determine

the time of death to be two hours earlier.

Once he's been cleared,

it's extremely unlikely that he'd be accused again.

But to be cleared, he must have an alibi.

He has the best.

He was appearing live on television

when the phony review was received in the newspaper.

Quite a brilliant touch.

But I can't imagine

how he could be in two places at the same time.

Oh, he wasn't, of course.

Everyone assumed that the phony review

was transmitted from the victim's apartment

as his reviews usually were.

But it was actually transmitted from the killer's own computer

at the television station while he was on the air

delivering his review of the same play.

A bit far-fetched but quite brilliant.

I doff my chapeau to you, madame authoress.

What we're dealing with here is a perfect crime.

It could be perfect, yes, except that Moliere was right.

In what respect?

The theater is unpredictable.

You see, Mr. Easterbrook,

there was a cast change opening night.

And since you came in late, you missed the announcement

and used the name of the wrong actor

in your TV review and in the phony review

you wrote under Mr. O'Mara's name.

I see we've switched

from the third person to the second.

Even a fictional judge and jury

would hardly accept that as proof.

True.

But they would accept the TV station's phone log.

I beg your pardon?

Your station's log

shows a five-minute call to The Chronicle at 11:15,

exactly the time it took to transmit the phony review.

Even the finest works of art have their flaws.

Congratulations, Mrs. Fletcher.

The only thing missing is a motive.

Yes. I wondered about that.

Imagine a young and impressionable writer

who has his first play produced off-off-off Broadway.

It's not perfect.

But he has talent, and it's a start.

And imagine a critic from a second-rate newspaper

trying to make a name for himself.

His review of the play is devastating--

So devastating

the young playwright never writes another play.

No, instead, he becomes a critic himself

and vows to best his destroyer at his own game.

But it's not enough.

It's not enough to eradicate the pain.

Only one thing can do that.

Mr. Easterbrook?

The detective in the wings, Mrs. Fletcher?

I suppose I should have expected a climax so cliche.

You know, personally, I liked this guy's ending.

But there's one thing that bothers me.

How did you know the tv station logged their phone calls?

Well, if they don't, they ought to.