All language subtitles for Frasier.2023.S02E09.NTb.English-WWW.MY-SUBS.CO

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- Hey, Cyrano!
- Holly!

- It's good to see you.
- Nice to see you, too.

Macallan, right?

- Mm-hmm.
- Okay.

So, I got to tell you,

I laugh every time I think

about your big Valentine's Day
fiasco here.

- Fiasco is a bit, uh...
- Yeah.

...accurate.

It's nothing compared to
what happened to me last night.

- Really?
- Mm-hmm.

I tell you what.

If you make me laugh

as hard as you did on Valentine's Day,

Macallan's on the house.

Tonight only
or is that a standing offer?

Anytime you have a story
that makes me laugh.

Oh, and if it's at your expense,
I'll make it a double.

- Well, then get ready to pour.
- Oh.

Now, everyone knows
that the Art History department

is the most attractive at Harvard.

Hotter than Applied Mathematics?

All right.

So there was no sex on Cape Cod,

but we did play mini golf
on a pirate ship.

What could be better than that?

Well, sex.

But maybe I'm playing
mini golf all wrong.

So I had no other choice but to pretend

to be my own twin.

- You are making this up.
- Trust me,

if I were making them up,
I'd come off a lot better.

As would my twin.

Okay. So listen,

does this mean that when we go out,

something stupid's gonna happen to us?

When we go out?

Yeah.

- Aren't you still seeing...
- No.

Mac and I broke up, like, a month ago.

I have been dropping a ton of hints.

I couldn't tell if you were
a gentleman or just

lousy at subtext.

It's both.

Would you like to go
to the ballet on Sunday?

The Bolshoi is in town.

Oh, shoot, this Sunday?

Um, let me see.

Oh, darn.

Yeah, I hate ballet.

But if you want to see Russians
flying through the air...

Don't worry, that's supposed to happen.

But why am I telling you?

This is clearly not
your first hockey game.

I'll admit,

it's not my usual scene.

The last time I saw a puck this frantic,

it was my brother Niles
in his junior high production

of A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Hey, ref!

Check your phone, you're missing calls.

Go on. Yell at the ref. It's fun.

I'm not really much of a heckler.

Pretend the sommelier is leaning

the bottle of wine on your glass.

"Thou art unfit
for any place but hell," ref!

They got it.

Yeah. And also, the Bruins scored.

- The Bruins. Thank you.
- Yeah.

I didn't want to have
to ask a third time.

You got Frasier to a hockey game?

- Mm-hmm.
- Did you lead him there

with a trail of playbills?

No.

I told him it was Shakespeare on Ice.

- Hi.
- Olivia.

- Hi.
- Olivia, come say hello to Holly.

- Oh. Hi, nice to meet you.
- Hey. Nice to meet you.

I'm just stopping by to make sure

you're all going to be there
tomorrow night?

- Yes.
- Oh, indeed.

You know, it'd be nice

if Holly could join us.
Would that be okay?

Oh, um...

- Join you for what?
- Olivia's giving

an olive oil tasting party

for some of our Harvard colleagues.

Oh! So both

the menu and the guest list
are extra-virgin?

- Sorry, we just met.
- Yeah.

I like her.

If you guys break up, I'm
team... what's your name again?

- It's, uh, yeah, Holly. Yeah.
- Holly.

So, so why don't you join us?

Would that be all right, Olivia?

Of course, of course.

I-I-I can, I can make that happen.

I just need to go and make
some... adjustments.

Adjustments? To your olive oil tasting?

Yes, to my olive oil tasting.

She was nice and then weird.

- Kind of how it goes with her.
- Oh.

Hey, I-I hear you guys were rink-side.

Where'd you get such good seats?

- Oh, I used to date Mac McReidy.
- What?

You dated Mad Dog McReidy?

- You know who he is?
- Yeah.

He's a Bruins legend. He owns a ranch,

he rides a motorcycle,
he didn't invent the fist bump,

but he definitely popularized it.

I know, I went
from Mac McReidy to this guy.

- Right? I mean, life is a trip.
- Yeah.

- Would you excuse me?
- Oh, yes, of course.

It's-it's just up...

- Oh, thank you.
- Mm-hmm.

So...

She says trip. You think
she means good trip?

Like sailing the Adriatic,

or more like Hunter S. Thompson
on a bender?

I don't know.

Mac McReidy is pretty cool.

Oh, come on, I'm cool.

But just more like Cary Grant
or Charles Boyer

or Dave Brubeck.

And, of course, all of those people

- have been dead for decades.
- Well.

Maybe I have been leaning
into my cerebral side

too much with Holly.

I got to figure out some way
to show her I'm more her type:

rugged, laid-back, down-to-earth...

The three things I think of
when I think Harvard

olive oil tasting.

Oh.

God. It's the worst
second date ever, isn't it?

Well, isn't this all a bit dramatic?

I mean, how much cooler than Frasier

- can this Mac character be?
- Thank you.

I mean, I don't bel...

So this is what a man-crush feels like.

Oh.

Wow, quite a crowd.

A couple of bees and a handful of nuts

and we could take out the whole room.

Oh, boy, look who Olivia invited.

Bowen. Sharma. Grimsby.

Why did she invite the three
nerdiest professors at Harvard?

Because she's the fourth.

Well, I can't even talk to them.

She'll think that's who I am.

Well, there's the cool kids
over there. You know,

I got to figure out some way to
get Holly over there with them.

Perfect. Now, here's the plan.
I'll get drinks...

Here, Holly, come meet some friends.

Frasier, bonsoir.

Not that friend.

What ho, Frasier!

Or that one.

Harold Grimsby.

BA Princeton '01, PhD Columbia '08.

Oh.

Holly Quagliano. OD'd Woodstock '99.

- That was a joke, I only blacked out.
- All right.

Let's say, let's say hello.
Roz, you've met, of course.

- Hi.
- Hi.

- This is my son, Freddy.
- Hey.

And Eve, our neighbor
from across the hall.

- Nice to meet you.
- Uh, Dad, we're gonna have to

head out pretty soon.

Eve's worried about missing
her dumb reality show.

And a dumb football game is better?

You'd probably hate both.

Oh, no, not really.

I-I enjoy a good scrap on the gridiron.

Really? So you, uh,

do you think the Panthers got
a shot at the playoffs?

Nice try, Freddy.

There is no team called the Panthers.

Yeah, I think they got a nice shot.

Excuse me.

So, what's the name
of that reality show?

- Alan, this was a mistake.
- Hmm?

When I'm with the cool kids,
I look like the nerd.

Maybe I should hang out with the nerds,
so I look like a cool kid.

Smart. Yes.

Then you can be the James Dean
of this olive oil tasting.

Oh, olive oil tasting?

I thought this was a beer tasting.

Uh, Olivia told us
this was a caviar tasting.

Where is Olivia, anyway?

Oh, God.

There's only one reason she
would've lied to get us all here...

The party she's always
threatened to throw,

the bullet I've been
dodging for years...

Get out!

Get out while we still can!

Ladies and gentlemen.

Welcome

to my surprise murder mystery party!

So much for showing Holly
that you're cool.

Now quickly,

shatter my femur
so I can get out of here.

Welcome to Regency-era England, 1835.

Leave your inhibitions at the door.

I'm kidding,

it was a stiflingly judgmental period.

I am Lady Macaw,

and you are about to experience
a murder most foul.

I'm sorry for this.

No. Are you kidding? This is great.

It's only our second date
and I'm already in one

of your stupid Macallan stories.

I got to get proof.

My scullery boy Rutabaga

will be collecting
your magic talking devices.

At your service, mum.

That was really good. Really good.

For historical accuracy, of course.

Well,
if we're being historically accurate,

I'm over 60, so can I be dead?

These are your character cards.

After the murder,

secondary cards shall provide a "twist"

for everyone.

My show's finale starts soon.

How long is this gonna take?
Like, half an hour?

To go over the rules?

It took twice as long as that
at tech rehearsal.

This replica of Lady Macaw's manor

shall provide some clues
as to who is the murderer.

Oh.

And also clues as to why
you're still single.

Who said that?

As will this ice sculpture of...

the Brontë sisters.

Oh!

Uh, that's a brontosaurus.

Actually, that's an apatosaurus.

This is a nightmare.

David, why did you sign for this?

Does this look like
the Brontë sisters to you?

Maybe. They were famously reclusive.

I got to get you out of here.

Let us begin

to spin our web of intrigue.

And perhaps, it shall catch a murderer.

If we stand back-to-back, I think

I can stab a knife through both of us.

Aim for the throat.

This must be a happy surprise
for you, Dev...

...king of the game nights.

Ah. Is this a game night?

Yeah.

I don't see a themed hors d'oeuvres.

Perhaps we're all the victims.

How do, dear creature?

I don't want to be here.

But this is right up your alley.

Well, normally, yes, but...

I'm trying to show Holly how cool I am,

and a second date cannot be

a murder mystery party.

You insisted on bringing her,

and I spent all night
crafting her character! Okay?

That's why I didn't notice they
got the Brontë sisters wrong!

Actually, the Brontë sisters
were Victorian era,

not Regency era,
so they were already wrong.

- You better get out of here.
- Shut up, Grimsby!

You are not going anywhere.

Your character is integral
to the mystery.

- You are staying.
- Yeah, but...

Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee.

Keep pushing, and there will
be a murder with no mystery.

Dollhouse must be a clue.

Do you think
that the mystery has something

to do with Ibsen's
A Doll's House?

That's a clever theory, Eve.

You should get that down on paper.

Shall I bring you some crayons?

I could snap you in half, old man.

Would you? I'd love to get out of here.

I'm afraid we're gonna need
to stay a while longer.

It's not really my usual scene.

Oh. Sure it's not, slick.

Listen, you powered through hockey,

I can power through, you know,
whatever this is.

I mean, how much worse could it get?

"And finally, number 30, Isadora.

And those are all the lambs
in my flock."

How are we still awake?
She is literally counting sheep.

How come Alan doesn't have
to wear a costume?

Freddy, will you just read
your card, please?!

"I'm Ambrose, the stable boy,
and, uh..."

Oh. I'm illiterate,

so I don't have
to read the rest of this card.

Seriously, Alan?
You're looking for clues?

No, I'm trying to start a fire.

Can we just get on with the murder?!

Not until
everyone has introduced themselves

in their full accoutrements.

All right.

"I am Professor Hoarsely of Oxford."

Oh.

"Famous for my world-renowned research

on diseases."

Other side.

"Most of which I contracted."

"Due to poor sanitary practice,

"skin ravaged by boils,

"more hump than man,

too hideous to live,
too cowardly to die..."

Oh, please.

Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh, David, damn it!

My accoutrement.

A storm is gathering on the moors.

I hope it doesn't blow out the torches.

I hope it doesn't blow out...

The torches, David!

I can't take this anymore!
I have to end this party!

Yes! Take that!

Oh, I'm not the dead one. Damn it.

My dollhouse.

My cards.

It's all ruined.

Someone murdered
my murder mystery party!

I don't want to point fingers,

but he did it.

I worked on this for weeks!

No one is leaving until
we figure out who did this.

Just before the lights went out,

Frasier said he
"couldn't take it anymore"

and "had to end this party."

He was also brandishing a cane.

And a bad attitude.

Is this true, Frasier?

Did you ruin my party so you
could get Holly out of here?

Whoa, did you?

Would you do that?

That is really uncool, Dad.

Of course I didn't do that.

It could have been anybody.

I even heard a dog.

Oh, this is ridiculous.

You're all accusing Frasier
just because he had

the motive, the means,
and the opportunity.

Just because he was brandishing
a weapon high above his head

shouting he would do anything
to end this party.

You should be ashamed of yourselves.

Damn it.

David just died.

The killer has struck again.

Oh, no. How'd he get you?

- As you may have guessed,
- OLIVIA: David?

- I am the bastard heir
- David?

- to the viscount's fortune...
- David?

David, the game is over!

Oh, okay.

So, uh...

is everyone heading out now,

or in four hours when the key to the box

of phones melts
out of the ice sculpture?

Bring in the Brontë sisters.

Bring in the brontosaurus!

Bring in the apatosaurus.

Shut up!

She's got a knife!

N-No, I can have that key out
in five minutes.

And then I think I'm gonna go.

Well, thank God
this evening's nearly over.

It's been a living hell.

Thank you so much for having me.

We must do it again.

Frasier, what is going on?

Are you okay?

I have five minutes to clear my name.

If I can't prove I'm innocent

by the time that key is out,

I'm afraid that'll be the end
of me and Holly.

Well, how are you gonna prove
you didn't do it?

Hold on.

Hold on.

I got nothing.

Okay, key's out.

We're all free to go.

Wait, wait!

There's no way
Dr. Crane could've done this.

And I can prove it!

Oh, this should be good.

What do you think happened, Eve?

Just as the lights went out,
David poured

flour all over Dr. Crane's shoes.

He tracked it everywhere.

But look.

The footprints never make it
to the dollhouse,

thus inferring he couldn't have done it.

You mean "implying," not "inferring."

I told you to shut up.

I solved it.

Who needs crayons now, Professor?

You know, Eve,

it doesn't cost you anything to be kind.

Okay, great.

Frasier didn't do it.

Sorry I accused you.

Then who did do it?

Who cares?

Go home.

Well, I'm glad you're not the killer.

I'm still confused.

Not so confused
that I want to know more.

I'm sorry about all this, it's...

Think I could redeem myself?

Maybe we could take this
to a second location?

That would be nice.

I mean, we're not our best
selves in the Regency era.

I just have to say good night.

I'm sorry about your night.

I'm sorry, too.

I really thought you would enjoy this.

That's why I based your
character on who you really are.

Boils and hump and such?

The part you didn't read.

"Diseases, coward."

"But if the other guests
can look beneath the surface,

"it's my brilliance and generosity

that just might save the day."

"Also, I have leprosy."

I mean, I-I know that

this isn't everyone's thing,
I just thought that people

might get into it.

You know, gasping and laughing,

and secrets exposed

and the killer revealed
in a grand finale.

I just thought
that everyone would have fun.

Come with me.

All right, everybody grab
your phone on the way out.

I'm-I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Holly, I can't leave just yet.

In fact...

no one is leaving!

I am Professor Hoarsely.

And I am plagued by one desire.

To find a killer!

Oh, come on, people.

You could've at least given me
a little bit of a gasp.

Everyone in this room

had a motive to kill this party.

Or did they?

I got you.

Thank you.

Maybe it was Holly, hmm?

She was anxious to leave, wasn't she?

Perhaps her natural beauty
masks a brutish nature.

Okay, now I'm torn,
you accuse me of murder,

but you called me pretty, so...

But let's take

a closer look.

Or...

listen.

Holly, would you please

walk to the dollhouse and back?

- The bells!
- Precisely!

We would have heard her if Holly
had committed the crime.

That is the jingle of an innocent woman.

Now...

Freddy and Eve

are likely suspects.

They were dying to leave.

But would they kill?

If Eve had done it,

she wouldn't have cleared your name.

But in the dark we heard Freddy
shout, "Yes, take that!"

And he was hiding something
when the lights came on.

All right, guys,

I palmed my phone
instead of giving it to David.

Oh!

Then when it was dark,
I checked the score,

the Pats were winning,
I got a little excited.

Wait a minute,
that game hasn't even started.

What are you hiding?

The barking dog!

Ooh, ooh, I know the answer!

What was the name
of that reality show you love?

No, no, Roz has got it right.

I ruined the party. What a jerk.

Sorry, everyone.

All right, let's head out.

It's called
Doggie Dance Battle...

All-Stars!

Fine!

I got addicted to that

stupid show watching with Eve
every week and I couldn't

wait to see what happened tonight.

And then when that...

frisky little Pomeranian beat

that conceited, holier-than-thou
Hungarian Vizsla

in the salsa competition,

you bet your ass I cheered.

And I'd do it again!

His story checks out. Pom-Pom won.

- Spoilers!
- Spoilers!

So...

it wasn't Holly.

It wasn't Eve.

It wasn't Freddy.

That leaves Roz and the professors.

I mean, does anyone really think
that Roz did it?

- Great. We'll just skip Roz.
- Oh!

Well, it's got to be Alan.

He has been complaining all night.

Right.

Right.

But I do have one hypothesis
left yet to explore.

You see,

before the lights went out,

Alan's waistcoat

was not buttoned.

After the lights came up,

it was buttoned.

- I felt underdressed.
- Hmm.

Or was he hiding...

...this?

The envelope that held
the secondary cards!

The ones that were ripped up!

That proves he did it!

I can't believe
this is my Saturday night.

Except...

Alan did his thesis

on the doyenne of British crime fiction,

Dorothy L. Sayers.

Which leads us to just one conclusion.

Frasier, you promised. You swore to me.

I'm sorry, old friend.

Freddy,

will you please read what's
on the back of this envelope?

"Freddy hiding something."

"Frasier has cane.

David is viscount's bastard?"

Wait, these are notes.

He was trying to solve
the murder mystery.

Look, he wrote "Ibsen" in all caps!

You told me that was stupid!

That's because you were getting
too close!

- The truth is...
- Frasier, no!

Alan loves a murder mystery party!

Damn you, Frasier.

I didn't want Olivia to know
we had something in common.

Why not?

I love Dorothy L. Sayers.

Oh, we could start a book club!

That's why!

I had to solve it myself!

So, no,

I could never kill
the murder mystery party.

Because I loved
the murder mystery party.

Thank you, Alan.

That leaves us with just one
of the professors.

Grimsby!

Okay, I admit it.

I'm not wearing a wedding ring
because I'm having an affair.

Grimsby seems unlikely.

Sharma...

...loves a game.

- Oh...
- He would never ruin one.

Or...

would he?

Frasier, you've got
to stop making statements

and then questioning
the statement straightaway.

You're right. I do.

Or...

do I?

Sharma hosts a competitive game night.

But at the last one,

he and Olivia almost came to blows.

I underestimated you, Frasier.

- I never expected you to outwit me.
- Mm.

Wait, wait,

is this about
the Pictionary incident?

Come on, Dev.

I'm sorry. Your drawing,
it didn't look like a camel.

It looked like a...

Go ahead, Olivia.

Tell everyone what you said
my drawing looked like.

A brontosaurus.

That's right!

That ice sculpture was no accident.

You ruined my game night!

So I ruined...

This isn't dramatic enough.

Oh.

Sorry.

He had a Diet Coke earlier.

You ruined my game night!

So I ruined yours.

I may be the villain in your story,

but I am what you made me.

Oh,

but don't you see, Dev?

In your attempt to ruin my party,

you actually saved it.

This was everything
I wanted tonight to be.

Thank you.

And thank you, Frasier.

My pleasure.

I will have my revenge!

I still need my phone!

- Great detective work.
- Thank you.

Sorry I had to keep you here
longer than you wanted,

- but we can go now.
- Oh,

it's just starting to get fun.

You were enjoying yourself.

Yes. Because you were.

You know, Mac was always so concerned

about what other people thought.

It's a lot more fun when you don't care.

Well, it must be exhausting

having to be so cool all the time.

Yeah.

I'm glad I don't have
to worry about that with you.

I'm just gonna take the win this time.

Y'all know how this goes.

Yeah, maybe.
But I got you pegged.