Original subtitles

Cherished friends, family.

Thank you for volunteering your time

on this momentous occasion:

giving notes on the first draft of my memoir.

"Cherished friends"?

You made us sign NDAs.

Yes, well, one can't be too careful.

Now, I thought some visual aids might help.

Something to document your input. There we are.

"What we're loving."

Well, not the subtlety.

Oh, all right. Admittedly, I am

burning with anticipation.

Is that the only thing that's burning?

My baked brie en croûte!

Oh, my God.

I thought this was next week. I haven't read it yet.

This is my worst nightmare.

Oh, please, it's not a test. It's just

- a friendly gathering. - Have you read it?

Of course I have. What friend wouldn't?

Look, Frasier's probably feeling vulnerable,

so just make up something positive and thoughtful.

Like what?

Well, I-I plan on saying, um, I loved how the themes

of his childhood reverberated throughout his life.

Really is a richly woven tapestry.

All right, well, uh, the backup brie is in the oven.

All right. So, who'd like to go first then? Uh... Olivia?

Me?

Um... well...

I liked...

...how the themes of your childhood...

...reverberated throughout your life.

I thought... it was like a...

richly woven tapestry.

Oh.

Thank you very much, Olivia.

That's-that's very nice indeed and certainly

"what we're loving."

- Thief! - I'm so sorry. I didn't...

- How could you do that to me? - I don't know why. It just came out of my mouth.

Alan.

What did you think?

Oh. Um...

Well...

Actually...

Did you even read it?

Of course I read it.

And I...

too thought it was a richly woven tapestry.

Alan. Stealing from Olivia--

shame on you.

Of course you didn't read it.

You know who did read it? My dad.

He sends his notes because he couldn't be here.

Oh. Well, how very kind of Niles.

First note: uh, "Ten pages in,

"and I already suspect this memoir

"should be paired with a good port.

"So, go ahead, take it down to the docks,

and toss it into the brackish water."

That seems unnecessarily ornate.

- That's his second note. - Yes, all right, give me that.

Oh.

Oh, excuse me.

Brie is calling.

So sorry. The babysitter was late.

Once again, I have over-browned the brie.

I'm sure it's fine. Can we...

It's on fire.

I have no idea what to say about his book.

- You didn't read it? - Of course I read it.

See? Even the waitress has read it.

Do you guys call me "the waitress" behind my back?

Yes.

Of course I read it.

It's just so dense. Like, what does

"a rhapsody of elation

envelops my being" even mean?

That means he's happy.

Then why can't he just say, "I'm happy"?

Well, why can't Hamlet just say, "I'm sad"?

Can you compare it to some other literary works?

My dad compared it to Dante's Inferno.

Sorry, he compared it to being in Dante's Inferno.

I guess I can try it. But the only book

I've been reading recently is The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

Fire's out.

We did it! Well, he did it. But...

All right then, who's next? Um, Eve?

Uh, I thought that your memoir

reminded me of a great book

I just read about a very hungry... insect

undergoing an incredible

transformation.

You're comparing my book

to Kafka's Metamorphosis.

- Uh-huh. - See, you know, I had

hoped for Dickensian at most,

but Kafkaesque? My God.

Eve, you are a very keen critic

and a good friend. Alan.

Frederick, you've been sort of suspiciously quiet.

I mean, what-what were your impressions?

Oh, yeah, no, it's, uh, super... good.

"Super good"?

- That's it? - Uh, if it's helpful,

my dad wrote, "Overwrought, overwritten, over it."

I didn't even send him the memoir!

You're welcome.

Frederick, please, please, uh,

what might I have done to make it

"super-duper good"?

You know, I do vaguely recall something from, uh,

I think it was chapter three, last paragraph, last sentence.

You mean where I wrote,

"I'm very proud of my son, Frederick"?

How does it end?

"...my funny little alien."

That's an interesting way to describe your own son.

"Alien." You know, it's less something close to your heart

and more something that bursts out of your ribcage.

No, it's just a term of endearment.

I mean, come on, we're so different

in-in al-almost every way.

I mean, you don't like normal things

like b-ballet, chamber music, haikus about the sea.

Yeah, Freddy, why can't you be cool and relatable

like your dad?

You know what, Dad? Just forget it. Doesn't matter.

Who-who cares if we have zero common interests?

Well, I care.

I mean, you brought it up, so it's obviously on your mind,

and we should do something about it.

So you'll change the word "alien"?

Hmm.

It's such a terrific sentence. Um...

But I-I know what we should do.

Yeah, let's figure out something

that the two of us would like to do together.

Something not so alien, huh?

All right.

Surely we can think of something.

Mm, you know what really bonded me and my mom

when I was a teenager?

Smoking.

No bad ideas.

How about "teach David how to swim"?

Bad idea.

Of course they could run a junkyard together.

It's historically a father/son activity.

I feel like we keep coming back to "teach David how to swim."

No one wants to teach you to swim.

How about squash?

- Karaoke? - Karaoke?

Oh, yes, we could sing jazz standards.

Okay, karaoke's out. Uh...

Pickleball.

No, pedestrian.

How about...

squash?

Squash?

Squash. Olivia, that's a lovely idea.

Why didn't we think of that sooner?

You are a bad lady.

Yeah, I could do squash. I mean, I've played before.

Yes, of course. Squash. Tomorrow.

Now,

if you'll all excuse me,

I have got to go and change.

My agent is taking me to the opera tonight.

We're going to see Tosca.

Going to be spending the evening

with one of history's greatest villains:

psychopathic, power-hungry...

Scarpia.

...Bebe Glazer!

Frasier Crane.

The voice, the brain, the bod.

Well, I...

My favorite client, and

the man who broke my heart.

Oh, Bebe.

We spent the night together once just decades ago.

No, darling, when you quit your TV show.

You made Bebe sad.

Well...

They offered a five-year extension, triple the money.

I wanted to move on to new pastures.

With that contract,

you could have bought a hundred pastures.

Ah, well, well... I'm happy here now in Boston.

Teaching.

And writing my memoir.

So, what did you think?

Oh, I love it, love it, love it.

Can't wait to read it.

I-I thought a junior agent

could tackle your memoir while I focus

- on your TV career! - No, Bebe. Never again.

You tried that on me once.

You pawned off to some underling.

Fine.

I'll read it.

I hope you don't mind, I've invited

- my daughter Phoebe to join us. - Oh.

She just drove up from New York. She'll be here any second.

I didn't know you had a daughter.

Well, I also had a turtle, darling,

but you're the one with the memoir.

I think you two will get along famously.

Phoebe's an Ivy Leaguer.

- She enjoys the finer things in life, like opera. - Mm. Yeah.

Sounds like the exact opposite of my son.

He would never go to the opera with me.

I can't say I enjoy it much,

- but I do love a good tragedy. - Mm.

When Tosca throws herself out of that window,

I am on my feet.

So sorry I'm late. The usher...

Mwah. Mwah.

The usher misread my ticket

and took me to the most frightful place.

Mezzanine.

I felt like an Irish peasant

packed into steerage on the Titanic.

Ooh, I like her.

Phoebe, precious, meet Frasier Crane.

Enchanted to meet you.

Such a pleasure.

Please.

Well, do I spy the same opera glasses?

Oh, yes. I adore a box seat.

It forces me to bring these

- to live out the full opera cliché. - Yes.

The only thing missing is a deformed freak in the rafters

trying to kidnap the soprano.

God, I hate Phantom.

Oh, so do I.

But I suppose the tourists have to watch something.

Oh.

Alan, talk to me.

Why? So you can steal my words

and claim them as your own?

No, I've learned that lesson twice.

I'm sorry.

I'm... I have always hated it when people copied my homework.

It's just...

getting the reward without any effort.

I-I swear it'll never happen again.

But, ooh, the rush!

Really sounds like it's gonna happen again.

Hey, how'd the game go?

It was awesome. We dominated.

We destroyed people in their 50s, 60s

and even 70s.

Yes, in fact, if I knew the names

of two famous squash players, I'd say,

"Look out, you two. We're coming for you."

Nice shorts, Dr. Crane.

- Very courageous. - Thank you.

These are traditional squash whites.

In fact, next time,

I'm hoping Freddy joins me

in the spirit of the game.

No, no, no, I like the spirit,

I just wish the spirit covered

a little more thigh.

I had a good time today.

Hey, you still on for racquet shopping later?

- Absolutely. - All right.

Perfect ending to a perfect day.

The entire thing was hell.

But Freddy said you won every game.

Yes, we did, but we had absolutely no chemistry.

We're completely different on the court. I mean,

I play with my heart on my sleeve,

living and dying by every point.

He's just so even-keeled, so stone-faced,

so... alien.

It was nothing like when I used to play with Niles.

Speaking of my dad,

I do have the rest of his notes.

- Are any of them the least bit constructive? - Well, uh... Ooh.

Let's see. Here's one. Uh, "Great for the beach,

- specifically Normandy, 1944." - Thank you, David.

Oh, I... Oh, let's just try another.

"A triumph of the human spirit,

on my part, to get through it." Uh...

"A perfect coffee table book,

if one of the legs is uneven."

"I could put it down,

a real page-burner."

Uh, "Daphne thought it was pretty good."

Thank you, David!

I'm sure there's something else

you can try with Freddy.

No, there is nothing else.

You know, last night, my agent's daughter came along.

We had such effortless chemistry.

We had a-a lovely evening together.

Why is it I can-I can get along with a perfect stranger

- and not with my own son? - Painful.

Makes you long for death.

I think that's a bit much, Alan.

No, that's what Niles wrote on the back of your memoir.

Give me that.

Oh, hey, Dad, uh, at the courts,

I saw this flyer for a tournament

this weekend. You want to enter together?

Yes, of course, I...

Playing squash. Doing more of the thing

we both love doing together.

Okay, I'll sign us up.

Oh.

Oh, I'm sorry, Freddy. I-I can't go shopping

with you this afternoon. It-it seems, uh,

Something's come up with Bebe.

Oh, no. She headed down to Georgia to steal a soul?

No, actually,

her-her daughter's broken her ankle.

Oh, geez. Now I feel bad.

How'd she break her ankle?

Well, she didn't actually

break her ankle. She's just... dying...

- Oh! - ...to spend time talking about Tosca with me,

which I'd rather do than go shopping with Freddy.

Frasier! Really?

Too late. I've already rationalized.

Two back-to-back days of Frasier Crane!

What kind of good karma is that?

I must have been a saint in my past life.

Certainly not in this one.

Phoebe will be right back.

She had a terrific time chatting with you.

Yes, likewise.

Not often I meet a fellow opera buff.

She certainly didn't get it from me.

In the meantime,

shall we talk memoir?

You read it. I'd love to.

Marvelous.

Why the hell are you writing a memoir?

What do you mean? You didn't like it?

No, it's not that, treasure.

It's just that the only way

there could be any money in this book

is if you hollowed it out.

There are more important things than money, Bebe.

Spoken like a true fat cat.

But what about us poor skinny kitties?

I have producers ready to throw millions

at a revival of your TV show at me and you.

Yes, I have no interest in reviving my show.

I'm happy living here in Boston.

Which is why I found

some fabulous new studios in Bushwick.

- Bushwick? - Just a stone's throw away.

You could give it two days a month and be done with it.

No.

I would like to talk about my memoir.

Ugh.

You're going to have to make it a tad juicier.

More sex, more drugs, more rock and roll.

I have no interest in writing some-some vapid

celebrity tell-all.

Not a tell-all, a tell-some.

You know...

A chapter about our torrid affair in '95

would make for an interesting read.

Yes,

if I were writing a horror novel.

Sorry I had to step away, I ran into someone

I met at the Loro Piana pop-up in Zermatt.

I'm wearing Loro Piana.

Wow, look at us, two tweeds in a pod.

Yes.

For some reason, she's always dressed

like an authoritarian head of an all-girls orphanage.

- Oh, dear. - Oh, here, allow me.

What?

Are you reading The Complete Marivaux?

Oh, do you know his work?

Know it? Ha!

Almost moved to Paris to write a book

about his lost manuscripts.

Well, I just wrote an article about his critique

of 18th-century social norms.

Hilarious!

The coincidence, I mean.

Not the article.

It sounds terribly dry.

Small world.

♪ But if this ditty is not so pretty ♪

♪ At least it'll tell you how great you are. ♪

Oh, my God, forgive me.

I'm-I'm so embarrassed, I'm sorry.

I'm such a musical theater geek.

So was I! When I was 16, I almost joined

a street gang to do research for West Side Story.

♪ But if, baby, I'm the bottom ♪

♪ But if, baby, I'm the bottom ♪

♪ But if, baby, I'm the bottom ♪

♪ You're the top. ♪

My goodness, you're-you're a lovely singer.

- Oh. - Yet another thing

she did not inherit from me.

I'll go give the piano player a tip.

He should know the difference between andante and allegro.

Phoebe's father.

Any chance

he's a...

a gifted vocalist?

Perhaps a rich, silky baritone

comfortable anywhere from the bottom

of the second octave to the middle of the fourth?

It's impossible to say.

The '90s are such a blur.

So many lovers.

So, Phoebe is

- a '90s baby? - Ah, yes.

1995, to be precise.

Actually,

Phoebe, uh, we'll... we may have to take a rain check

on this drink.

We're leaving tomorrow, and Phoebe is taking me

to a 19th century Hungarian clock exhibit.

Unless I get my wish

and the Lord takes me first.

Oh, Mother, the Lord isn't the one who'll be taking you.

Well, this was a delight,

even if we didn't get to talk Tosca.

- Yes. - I'll go fetch the car.

I... I thought

you two might get along.

Phoebe is, uh...

Do you mind if I ask you a question?

Of course, you can ask me anything, peppercorn.

Is there any chance...

...that Phoebe is my daughter?

Of course not!

The nerve!

The dates do line up.

How dare you! Please.

Don't ever ask me that again.

I promise I won't.

It's all right, dear.

Don't you go worrying,

ruminating

or obsessing over this.

And definitely

do not

lose any sleep.

Sweet dreams, darling.

No, I'm worried about Frasier.

I mean, all of this pretending,

making up excuses, lying to his son.

He should know it's not all about shared interests

and hobbies, it's about showing up for your child.

At least while they still let you.

Oh, Alan, I didn't mean to stir up any...

No, no, no, it's-it's all right.

Just wish I was in a room with my daughter

so she could tell me we have nothing in common.

I'd give my right arm to have a tenth

of what Frasier and Freddy have with my Nora.

I'm sorry.

You know, it's good to vent to someone who isn't a cat.

Frasier, you look like hell.

Yeah, what's wrong?

I have a daughter!

What?

I think I'm the father

of my agent's daughter Phoebe.

They're leaving today and I...

I wonder if I should just try

- to discuss it with her. - What?

Wait a minute, what makes you think she's your daughter?

Well, there's a mountain of evidence.

We're both intelligent and sophisticated

and cultured and... and we both hate Phantom.

Mountain of evidence.

How can you hate Phantom?

We sang together! Oh, look,

I realize it's hard to explain, it's just that...

She makes me feel like the kind of father

I've always envisioned myself being.

Well, it sounds like you're pursuing

this flight of fancy with Phoebe

in order to avoid facing the distress

you're feeling over your relationship with your son.

Emotional avoidance, that cliché.

Honestly, Alan, you've really been phoning it in lately.

Well, I wonder if--

and-and this... this is just occurring to me...

...it's not about

shared interests and hobbies,

but...

...it's-it's more about

showing up for your child

while they let you.

I mean, think about it-- what parent

wouldn't give their right arm to have what you have with Freddy?

Thank you, Olivia.

I-I cherish your precious words.

Oh, heck, it-it's Freddy.

I've got an hour before the tournament starts.

And I've got to iron this out.

Uh, he's just gonna have to understand. I mean,

he's a big brother now, after all.

He's gonna have to learn to share.

I don't know what to say.

Would you like me to make something up for you?

Phoebe?

Hi. I'm sorry, uh...

there's just...

something I needed to tell you before you leave.

Me too. I wanted to say something earlier,

but I felt too shy.

Really? What... Go-go ahead.

I've never known who my father is, but...

growing up,

I loved watching your talk show

and listening to all your advice and...

My daughter's a fan.

Sorry?

Please, continue.

Your show filled that...

missing fatherly presence in my life.

And I know it sounds stupid, but I feel so close to you,

- as if... - I'm your father!

You are?

Maybe!

I should have led with "maybe," but...

But my mother has never once

- mentioned the possibility. - Yes, and have you

ever known your mother to be

honest and forthright?

Frasier, that hairline,

fuller and thicker by the day.

Bebe, you despicable swindler.

You knew all along that Phoebe was my daughter.

- How could you keep this from me? - N-No.

Uh, I suppose you could be her father,

I just never wanted to find out.

People see a single mother

and they think "hero, diva,

Madonna, whore."

How could I give all that up?

I'm so sorry this happened to you.

I-I swear I will make it up to you.

I'll do anything, anything at all.

Just knowing you might be

my father is

all I'll ever need.

Stay in touch?

You try and stop me.

Actually...

there is one thing

you could do for me.

Name it.

Well, I wish we could see each other more.

You know, I don't live far away.

Uh, just in Bushwick.

And I...

I don't know, maybe there's something we could

do together there?

Bushwick?

Aren't there some

new TV studios in Bushwick?

Are there?

I'll tell you what.

For you and only you,

I will consider reviving my show.

Oh.

After all,

as Marivaux once said,

"A father is the only friend

on whom one can always rely."

I love that Marivaux quote.

It might be my favorite.

Marivaux never said that!

Everyone knows it was Émile Gaboriau!

What sort of ridiculous charade are you putting on here?

Uh... okay. Okay,

I'm-I'm sorry, I'm not your daughter.

Phoebe, you goon! You bungled it.

Oh, my God, I knew I'd mess this up! I'm so sorry.

- I always mess everything up. - No, no, no.

I should have known you weren't ready.

Bebe, you are pure evil.

You designed this elaborate ruse

just to talk me into resurrecting my show.

- Well, I will never do it. - No, no,

no, Phoebe has been begging to be your agent

ever since she fell in love with your memoir.

This was a test,

which she obviously

and spectacularly failed.

Fell in love, you say?

Yeah, I couldn't put it down.

It's how I learned everything about you.

Look, I know I blew my chances, but...

...if I were marketing your book,

I'd focus on boutique publishers

and intellectual circles.

It's not some cheesy celebrity tell-all.

It's art.

Regardless, you ruined it!

No, it...

it is art.

Bebe?

I've realized that Phoebe is a very talented

and-and capable young woman.

And I insist that she be added to my team.

Oh, please, please, please,

please give me a chance, give me a chance!

Oh, fine. Stop hugging me.

I'm your mother.

But on one condition: I will never

revive my show. Is that clear?

- Deal? - Deal.

How dare you!

Freddy!

Is this her?

The one with the perfectly healthy ankles?

Thank you?

I called Alan.

He told me where to find you and what you've been...

up to.

I waited on that court for you.

I squeezed into these ridiculous shorts for you.

I even got us matching headbands!

Freddy, I can explain.

No.

No, you're coming home with me right now.

Go get in the car.

Here you are,

having an emotional scene i-in public and...

wearing your heart on your sleeve, showing thigh.

My...

my heart is so full.

You're not some alien.

You're my special boy!

I said get in the car!

Okay, bye.

God, what a fool.

Mother, you were so right.

I knew that he would never add anyone to his team

unless he thought it was his idea.

And now that he trusts me and my taste,

we can go and sell his dumb book.

Which means that we can go back to convincing him

to revive his talk show,

which is obviously the best thing for him.

- And us. - Yes, pet.

Mommy always gets her money.

Shall we celebrate with some steak tartare?

The bloodier, the better.

Y'all know how this goes.

♪ Hey, baby, I hear the blues a-callin' ♪

♪ Tossed salads and scrambled eggs ♪

♪ And maybe I seem a bit confused ♪

Yeah, maybe. But I got you pegged.

♪ But I don't know what to do ♪

♪ With those tossed salads and scrambled eggs ♪

♪ Life's callin' again. ♪

Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org