A Series of Unfortunate Events (2017–…): Season 2, Episode 6 - Episode #2.6 - full transcript
I'm afraid I have some bad news
that you will not like to hear,
which is that some people in this world
enjoy hearing bad news.
I heard Count Olaf was murdered
in his jail cell last night.
That's bad news.
I was excited to burn him at the stake.
What is bad news to one person might be
good news to someone else.
And sometimes,
what seems like good news...
Olaf's been murdered?
Olaf hasn't been murdered at all.
That's Jacques Snicket.
...might actually be something
full of sadness, misery and grief.
My name is Lemony Snicket.
The story of the Baudelaire orphans
haunts me
the way my brother's death haunts me
in a small, dusty town.
It fills me with sadness,
misery and grief.
But you have no reason
to be as haunted as I am.
Look away.
This is nothing you ought to see.
Let's go, children.
This is nothing you ought to see.
Not so fast, daddy-o.
It's not cool to dismiss
suspects at the scene of a crime.
Suspects? If anyone did this, it was you.
It's extra just not cool
to disagree with Detective Dupin.
Your name isn't Dupin, it's...
Silence in the crowd! Gather round!
The Council of Elders has called
this emergency town meeting.
There have been
a lot of emergency meetings lately.
I'm fallin' behind on my stories.
It's imperative that we discuss
this most mysterious murder.
I don't think it's imperative.
I think it is absolutely necessary.
"Imperative" means
"absolutely necessary," Esmé.
My name is not Esmé.
It's Sarah Petunia Alexandra Maryellen.
- Is that what she said yesterday?
- But you call me Officer Luciana.
It's my duty to lock up prisoners
in the Uptown Jail,
and I make sure Jacques was safe
in his cell last night.
Who's Jacques?
It's my nickname
for Count Olaf.
Oh.
I have the only key to the jail,
so his death is a mystery.
I do love a mystery.
Especially when it takes place
in a cozy village
and stars a detective with a funny voice.
You're right, moldy oldies.
But lucky for you cats,
I'm a peachy detective with a face for TV
and I've already cracked
this Popsicle case.
Mmm! This is so exciting!
It's horrible. An innocent person is dead.
I'm as shocked as you are.
But you know
that Count Omar was far from innocent.
Count Olaf.
Yes, see? Even the name gives the shivers.
That bushy eyebrow
and tattoo of that eye on his ankle.
Not an eye. It was the letters V-F-D.
That doesn't make sense.
Why would Count Olaf have
the name of this town on his ankle?
We don't know. But we do know
that man's the real Olaf.
And that police officer is Esmé Squalor.
They kidnapped the Quagmires
and now they murdered Jacques Snicket.
These kittens have flipped.
I am a groovy man of the law, man.
I wouldn't harm the hair on a shoofly.
But reconnoiter this, villagers.
The Baudelaires are pointing
their bony little fingers at me
because they are, in fact, 100%...
the murderers.
These Baudelaires can't be the murderers.
They're children.
Detective, you must have evidence for
this startling and handsome accusation.
Correcto, lady cop.
It's just not cool to accuse people
of murder without having evidence.
Lucky for you, I'm a great detective
and I found some.
Orphans are dragsville, man.
They come into your village,
sneak into your jail.
They kill and they pillage.
With the help of these!
Blue bird. Blue sky.
Blueberry pie. Uh-uh.
Blueprints! Yeah, man.
That's what the Baudelaires used
to find a weak space in the wall,
so they could use...
Uh, what is that thing?
I think
it's some kind of mechanical device.
Oh, yeah. A device of mechanics so mean,
the Baudelaires used that thing.
They punched a hole
in the wall of the jail.
Crept in on bad cat paws.
And snuffed out the light
of Count Olaf, um, in the night.
Orphans.
- That's very shocking.
- He's wrong.
So these blueprints
and mechanical device are not yours?
They are. But we're not murderers!
The spunky sister is right.
These two aren't murderers.
They're accomplices.
- That means "helper of murderers."
- We know what "accomplice" means!
What are you talking about?
Detective, talk to them
about what you're talking about.
I'm talking about tooth marks
on Count Olaf's body.
There's only one person so uncool
as to bite someone to death.
The murderer who murdered Count Olaf
by murder
is none urder than Sunny Baudelaire!
That can't be right. I'll admit
she has unusually sharp teeth, but...
That's what I'm saying. She's a killer.
A killer baby with deadly teeth.
Dig those choppers, man.
Our sister didn't bite anyone to death.
Detective Dupin is lying.
Instead of dropping accusations
on cool detectives,
maybe you orphans should tend
to your own accusational woes?
Sì. Sì. They should
give everyone an alpaca.
Yes! Wait. What?
- Alibi?
- Yes! Alibi!
Baudelaires, where were you last night
between the hours of dusk and dawn?
We were at Hector's house.
- He'll tell you.
- Tell them you were with us.
Well... Well, I... See, I...
- Hector, please.
- Hector, we're waiting.
No, no. Not again.
Oh, no.
Hector. Hector.
It's true! The children were with me.
They're not murderers.
Where did these items come from, Hector?
Did you provide these children
with illegal materials,
in violation of VFD rules?
Hector didn't do anything.
Trying to pull an innocent cat
into your bad vibes?
That's low, man, real low.
We've heard enough. The evidence is clear.
We've adopted murderers.
VFD can no longer serve as guardians
for such terrible orphans.
So, trial over.
I say we burn them at the stake!
We're talking about children.
I won't wait a minute.
We're talking about murderers.
I say we burn them right now!
Hold on a moment.
We can't simply burn people
at the stake whenever we want.
We're civilized people.
- How about after supper?
- Okay.
I'll keep these bloodthirsties on ice
at the Uptown Jail.
We're not going with you.
Resisting arrest? Chiefie!
We can do this the quiet way.
Or it can get very noisy.
See you at the burning.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Do you smell smoke?
There's hickory in the dumplings.
- Not literally. Figuratively.
- I always smell smoke figuratively.
- I heard from Mr. Poe.
- Sorry, but you work for him.
He has to stay in town
later than anticipated.
- Something's wrong.
- There's nothing in the paper.
- Olaf's dead?
- Our troubles are over.
Count Olaf isn't dead.
Jacques Snicket is.
Our troubles have just begun.
- I'll get the motorcycle.
- I'll get the sidecar.
Oh, Baudelaires, I'm so sorry.
I should have seen this coming.
Children with your troubled background
often wind up in jail. I...
I blame myself.
Mr. Poe, we're innocent.
They're going to burn us
for a murder Olaf committed.
Oh, listen to yourselves.
You blame positively everything
on this Olaf,
and now you claim
he's responsible for his own murder?
I find that somewhat difficult to swallow.
Can't you use our parents' fortune
to bail us out?
- Or hire a lawyer?
- Oh, no, no.
The Baudelaire fortune is off-limits
till Violet comes of age,
which seems unlikely now.
It certainly can't be used
for criminal matters.
No, no, no.
Take responsibility for your own actions.
- Especially you, Sunny.
- You're not gonna help us?
- Why are you here?
- Oh, I'm here to say goodbye.
Goodbye.
I appreciate you allowing me
a moment with my clients.
It's simply dreadful.
Olaf was terrible.
It's hard to believe he's dead.
Believe it, Daddy Poe.
He's cold as a snowman eating
a bowl full of ice cubes in an igloo.
There you are, darling.
I mean, Police Chief.
You're the police chief.
- Deputy?
- Detective.
Sure, that works. Anyway,
I found this reporter loitering outside.
She wants to do an interview. Come.
Eleanora Poe, editor in chief
for the Daily Punctilio.
Darling.
- Arthur?
- Eleanora.
What are you doing here, love of my life?
I'm here on business, fire of my loins.
- What are you doing here?
- I'm here on business.
We could have carpooled.
- It's a tragically long drive.
- And a tragic occasion.
It's the story of the century.
"Baudelaire Orphans
Now Baudelaire Murderers."
This story has everything.
Adventure. Crime. Moral quandary.
Will the world rejoice that vicious
criminals have been caught
or breathe a sigh of relief
that a repugnant villain is dead at last?
- "Repugnant"?
- It means "horrendous and disgusting."
Man, I heard that cat
was out-of-sight handsome.
Oh! I wouldn't say handsome.
He had an extraordinarily
ungroomed eyebrow.
No. No! Zonk it on the record,
scribbler dame.
He was pretty
as a shined-up platter of silver nickels
in the mouth of a golden calf.
You have quite a way with words,
Detective.
Oh. You should hear him scat.
Let me just deliver these digestibles
to the troublemaking troublemakers,
then I will zip up here and scoop you up
a lengthy menu. Can you dig it?
I'm not quite following.
He give you interview after he give
Baudelaires bread and water.
Oh!
I love your artwork.
There's joy in my eyes.
Can you see it?
You're wearing sunglasses.
How about now? Do I look like a man
who's about to become very rich?
You won't become rich.
Your scheme will fail,
like they always fail.
Not this time.
You see, a scheme is like a fire.
Everything must be in order
for it to work.
You need matches, torches,
an angry mob that won't listen to reason,
and the right sort of kindling.
Orphans, for instance,
tied to the wooden stake.
If you burn us,
you'll never get the fortune.
Oh, you never know.
One orphan just may escape
amid all the smoke and the confusion.
But for the rest of you, your last meal.
The chef has prepared
some very stale bread
and a cup of water served with
what my Aunt Evelyn liked to call
"a handful of dust."
How does that...
- If you take them off the tray...
- What?
If you take the bread
and water off the tray,
- you can slide them...
- Like this?
You're not...
It's not...
How about this?
Your last meal, Baudelaires,
all alone in the deluxe cell of a jail.
- What makes the cell deluxe?
- It comes with a noose.
There's nobody to save you.
There's nobody to comfort you.
Nobody will even stop by...
- Is it visiting hours?
- Who are you?
Oh, you're that guy
that faints all the time.
It's not something I can control.
I've tried all kinds of herbs.
The police chief said I can come in
and visit the children.
If you faint at the sight of a birdie hat,
I'm not sure
I should leave you with two murderers.
You could stay with me if you want.
Should I tell the reporter
you're unavailable?
- No. No, I'll be right back.
- You sound different.
Are you happy now?
I had to see you on my way out of town.
- You're leaving?
- The hot air mobile home is almost packed,
and the best time to launch
is cocktail hour.
If you escape by then,
you could float away with me.
- That would take deus ex machina.
- What's that?
It's a Latin term meaning
"god from the machine."
Something helpful happening
when you least expect.
That's not going to happen.
We're in a deluxe cell
with bread and water,
about to be burned at the stake
for a crime we didn't commit.
I know you're innocent, Baudelaires.
I tried to help you best I could.
But the Council of Elders overpowered us,
just as they overpowered my poor old ma.
You never told us what happened.
She wore white after Yom Kippur.
The Council caught and punished her.
- Did they burn her at the stake?
- No. She was forced to pay a fine.
- A fine?
- Yes.
Then she moved to the city
and opened up a successful art gallery.
Now it is time to do something difficult.
- Break out of this jail?
- Say goodbye.
You've been dear friends,
and I've enjoyed our time together,
even if that time was spent
doing other people's chores.
Which reminds me, I found this
when I was sweeping the feathers
under Nevermore Tree.
I hope to see you soon, Baudelaires.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
"The first thing you read contains a clue
An initial way to speak to you
Inside these letters the eye will see
Nearby are your friends and the VFD"
It's two more couplets from Isadora.
A crow must have dropped it
by the Nevermore Tree.
This is all wrong!
We were supposed to free Jacques
and find the Quagmires.
We're in jail, Jacques's dead.
We'll never save our friends.
Unless we break out.
There must be something
I can use for an invention.
Think of something useful you've read.
I...
I just remembered something.
- Will it help us escape?
- No. No. I, um... I...
I just remembered
that it's my birthday today.
- Oh, Klaus. We forgot all about it.
- I forgot, too.
I was thinking of the book
about a boy that goes to prison
and becomes a long-distance runner.
I remembered I got that book
a year ago exactly.
I remember Mother and Father
made that terrible bread pudding.
The worst we ever tasted.
And they promised me that next year
I'd have the best birthday in the world.
I don't mean to sound spoiled,
but I was really hoping for better
than being imprisoned for murder
and burned at the stake.
This is a terrible birthday.
But I think there's a gift
waiting for you.
Stale bread and dusty water?
Deus ex machina.
Yes! Now give me justice.
Protect and serve.
Do you think
that being naturally photogenic
makes you better police officers?
Please! Who could refuse
to stop in the name of the law
after gazing upon this?
My beauty is powerful and instills fear.
Can you dig it?
Yes, I think I can dig that.
Poetry can be difficult to interpret
even when you're not searching
for a hidden message.
This bread is so hard,
I don't even think Sunny could bite it.
Perfect.
Officer Luciana, you seem
like you've been photographed before.
No. Don't be ridiculous.
I always been police officer in
whatever this dusty little town is called.
Baudelaires,
you're annoying the chief of police.
What's that infernal
singing and thwacking?
Don't make me come down there.
It's Klaus' birthday. We're celebrating.
- It's the boy's birthday.
- The teenage years are tough.
Not if you have really long fingernails.
I was the only child in my class
who was not Bar or Bat Mitzvahed.
- Me, too!
- Oh!
Oh! This pounding in my helmet.
I cannot take it.
I am going to blow my top.
And I'm going to blow my cover.
The interview is over.
We have a funeral pyre to build.
I'll interview the townspeople
for some mob mentality angle.
Good thinking, Eleanora.
Hey!
Klaus. You're smiling.
- I am?
- You're in jail, and you're smiling.
- I think I know where the Quagmires are.
- Really?
Look at all four in order.
Isadora couldn't tell us where
she and Duncan were hidden directly
in case the crows were intercepted.
So she hid her location in her poems.
Like Aunt Josephine
hid her location in her note.
"The first thing you read contains a clue"
We initially thought
that was the first poem.
But I think it's the first letter
of each line.
"For sapphires we are held in here
Only you can know our fear"
- So on, until you get...
- "Fountain."
As in, Fowl Fountain.
- That's brilliant. You're brilliant.
- Isadora is brilliant.
And Fowl Fountain
is right outside that very wall.
We'd better keep smashing
that very wall then.
Hey!
Come on, kids.
I guess they couldn't escape.
Ah, cocktail hour.
When the sky is gold
with the promise of fortunes
and sparkling with the light
of a thousand stolen sapphires.
- Who said that?
- What?
- Is it a quote?
- I just made it up, turtledove.
Olaf. You have the soul of a poet.
Yes. And her brother's, too.
We shoved them in that fountain, remember?
Everything is going exactly as I planned.
So, you planned
for Jacques to come to town
so you could frame the Baudelaires
for his murder?
Parts of the plan were unplanned.
That's the plan.
You don't want to overplan a plan.
The point is I'm able to give my ladylove
the best gift in the world...
an enormous fortune.
I already have that.
What I don't have
is the most important part of a tea set.
- The teapot?
- The sugar bowl.
That librarian told me where it is.
I want to go after it.
We will. After we take care
of the Baudelaires, my dumpling.
Goodbye, crow hats! Goodbye, rules!
Goodbye, punishments!
Goodbye, Town Hall,
where I always used to faint.
Goodbye, Uptown Jail,
where I was afraid I'd get locked up.
Goodbye, dry saloon
and dry fountain and dry county.
Goodbye, crows. You were scary.
Goodbye, donkey. I'll miss you.
Goodbye, barn. Goodbye, Nevermore Tree.
Goodbye, Baudelaires.
Build faster. The faster we build,
the faster that fortune is mine.
All that's left to decide is
which Baudelaire to smuggle out of town.
The baby. They go with everything.
We have to bring
those Quagmire brats, too.
We could shove them in the red herring
and strap them to the roof.
But that's not viable in the long term.
They'll hit growth spurts eventually.
We need something
big enough to store children
until they come of age
and their fortunes are ours.
A place that's large and mobile
and away from prying eyes.
- Boss.
- Hmm?
Look.
- What is it, darling?
- Something big enough to store orphans.
Like a sack?
Think bigger.
A huge cloud of dust
is not a beautiful thing to look at.
Very few painters have done
portraits of huge clouds of dust.
Directors rarely choose
huge clouds of dust
to play lead roles in romantic comedies.
And, as far as my research has shown,
a huge cloud of dust has never placed
higher than 25th in a beauty pageant.
Nevertheless, the huge cloud of dust
you are about to see on your screen
was the most beautiful cloud of dust
that the Baudelaires ever witnessed.
That is because it was composed of
the brick and mortar of a jailhouse wall.
Hey!
Violet's invention worked.
Your invention worked.
Isadora and Duncan
must be trapped inside the fountain.
Perhaps there's a hidden mechanism
that opens a secret entrance.
There has to be a clue inside the poems.
There's something
that bothered me about them.
"This sad beak" is an odd choice of words,
even for a poet.
Isadora doesn't usually rely
on overly florid imagery.
We jumped to the conclusion
that she meant the VFD crows.
What if she meant
the beak of the Fowl Fountain?
We need to get a closer look.
- Just a little higher.
- Why "beak" and not "crow" or "bird"?
Poets choose their words carefully.
It has to mean something.
I don't know how much longer
we can hold Sunny up.
Do you see anything?
Sunny!
- Duncan!
- Isadora!
You found the poems.
- Are you okay?
- Much better now.
How did you get here?
Olaf smuggled us out of the auction
inside a red herring.
We found it in the saloon.
We knew you were close.
You didn't happen to see
anything written inside?
We didn't have time to examine it closely.
How much farther?
It's hard to say. Just a few miles
as the crow flies. Why?
I see something strange on the horizon.
I was thinking, dearest darling dreamboat,
what if you didn't smuggle
one of the Baudelaires out of town?
Now that you're with me,
it's not like you need the money.
Let them burn. Orphans are out.
And sugar bowls are in...
- You're killing the mood, darling.
- Police! Police!
Scram, police!
Wait, wait! That's us. Right.
I don't know where the chief of police is.
I yelled for her loudly.
Hmm. That always worked with the last one.
This hole is a violation of the rule
against extraneous remodeling!
We have rules that forbid
criminals from escaping,
but not for what to do when they escape.
"Murderers Break Out of Jail!"
Wait until the readers
of the Daily Punctilio hear about this!
This is terrible.
When I told them they couldn't use
their fortune to get out of jail,
I didn't want them
to resort to a battering ram.
We should've expected that
from a murdering baby.
And her accomplices.
How dare they escape?
I gave them bread and water!
Let me handle this, my darling.
Citizens of VFD!
You took the Baudelaire orphans in,
and your kindness was repaid
with misery, rule-breaking and woe.
Will you allow these bambino
to ruin your village,
or are you going to deliver
some woe of your own?
As you stand there squawking,
the Baudelaires are getting away
with murder and rule-breaking.
They are literally getting away!
It's time to unite to hunt down
these criminals and burn them!
Yeah!
- Pitchforks for everyone!
- Who wants a pitchfork?
- Pitchfork! Pitchfork!
- Who wants a pitchfork?
Sugar bowl.
Olaf hid us in the fountain
so we'd be out of his way.
It was Isadora's idea
to use the couplets as a code.
Duncan figured out
how to smuggle them out.
It was damp from dew, and there were
always crows on the fountain.
We waited until one landed
and wrapped a wet couplet around its leg.
The paper dried overnight
and fell from the tree.
How did you know we were here?
We didn't. We just knew you'd find us.
It's what friends are for.
This way.
What do we want?
- And when do we want it?
- Now!
- What do we want?
- To burn children!
- When do we want it?
- Now!
I don't approve of children being burned,
but it is the rules,
and one must follow the rules.
"Angry Mob Leads
to Record Pitchfork Sales!"
Wait until the readers
of the Daily Punctilio hear about this!
- What do we want?
- To burn children!
- When do we want it?
- Now!
- Where can we go?
- We're in the middle of nowhere.
- We know a way out.
- A self-sustaining hot air mobile home.
If we reach the town border,
we can escape.
We'll be safe forever. In the air.
- "Forever"?
- But we'll never learn about VFD.
The real VFD, not this vile village.
Jacques said he was part of it.
That's why he and Olaf
have the same tattoo.
The firehouse was their headquarters.
We wrote everything we learned
in our commonplace books.
What are your thoughts
on your daring escape?
- Run.
- You can't hide from the press!
There!
Where did those two
additional children come from?
Blast those brainy Baudelaires.
Hey, everybody, those half-cat
murder birds have recruited accomplices.
I say we burn them all!
We need a distraction.
Let's murder them murderers!
Good idea, Sunny.
Aw!
- Look at that donkey go!
- He's adorable!
Oh, he's strutting.
We're out of places to hide.
- Is that a mechanical device?
- It's a motorcycle.
- It's Jacquelyn.
- And Larry the waiter.
There's a term to describe the arrival of
someone helpful when you least expect it.
The term comes from very old plays.
Near the end of the play
when things seem especially dire,
a powerful authority figure arrives
on a mechanical device to save the day.
For this reason, the term for such an
occurrence is "the god from the machine,"
or in the original Latin,
"deus ex machina."
Is that my secretary?
Jacquelyn, what are you doing here?
I could ask you the same question.
All of you.
Where's your conscience?
Where's your sense of decency?
This town should be ashamed of itself.
You city folk don't belong here.
So scat, man.
This is village business.
Some city folk come from villages.
Hello, Mr. Lesko. How's retirement?
- Eh.
- Mrs. Morrow?
You were in a book club with my mothers.
Read anything good lately?
We only read magazines now. I hate it.
This was a good town once,
with good people who helped each other,
who put out fires.
It can be a good town again.
A noble man has been murdered.
Look in your hearts and ask yourselves,
what do you really want?
To burn children!
You can't stop us,
we're the deus ex machina!
They're coming.
How far to the hot air mobile home?
It's not how far, it's how high.
We have to catch it.
- How?
- Burn those kids!
You're out of buildings
to hide behind, orphans.
Burn those kids! Burn those kids!
- Your sister drives?
- Apparently.
- Sunny, keep your eye on that balloon.
- And the road.
- Was the baby driving?
- She's more of a toddler now.
Oh, hi. The orphans are escaping.
Both sets of them. Get the car!
Darling, it's time
to try out your new toy.
Larry. Jacquelyn.
- Now they've destroyed the gas station.
- They had the best wieners.
Hector!
- Baudelaires! I'm so glad you made it!
- I hope you don't mind extra passengers!
Not at all.
The self-sustaining hot air mobile home
needs several people to keep it running!
- You first.
- We'll be right behind you.
Burn those kids! Burn those kids!
It looks like
a self-sustaining hot air mobile home!
Don't let them escape,
or we'll have to find other orphans
to do our chores!
And burn.
Do your own chores!
Or take turns
according to a fair schedule.
The aphorism is,
"It takes a village to raise a child,"
not, "Three children
should clean up after a village."
- Is that Hector?
- He's a traitor and a rule-breaker!
Burn him, too! I'll get more kindling!
Birdland! Groove on this.
I am deputizing
the whole kit and caboodle.
Now let's scoot up that red-hot jalopy
and drag down those killers!
- There's no water.
- They don't know that.
Stand back! She's got a hose.
That's right!
So if you want to stay dry, stay back.
- Right, Klaus?
- Absolutely right.
Although this truck
is a 1956 International R190,
it's been retrofitted to the specs
of a triple-pump La France,
with 800 gallons of water on board,
and anyone who's read
about fire trucks knows
can be shot out at a rate
of 1,600 pounds per square inch.
Which is a lot of power.
- How was that?
- Comprehensive.
Out of my way! Move it!
Is that a harpoon gun?
Sì. My boyfriend bought it for me.
It fires hooked harpoons
that are perfect for popping balloons.
- What if you hit one of the children?
- It's cool, big daddy.
Open fire, officer.
- Isadora!
- Hang on!
- Impressive.
- Well, I do try.
This time I'll hit a handyman.
Oh!
- Oh, no.
- Ooh!
It's okay.
It's just my supply of cranberry juice!
Ooh!
They're almost to the top.
Good. Get Sunny. Start climbing.
I'll hold off the mob.
What are you waiting for? Shoot!
Try loading a harpoon gun
without ruining a manicure.
I have!
I hope the children don't fall!
We need to burn them in a fire!
Burn them in a fire!
Burn them in a fire!
Burn them in a fire! Burn them in a fire!
Burn them in a fire! Burn them in a fire!
Burn them in a fire!
Hurry. The mobile home
can't take any more damage.
He's right. If Esmé hits another balloon,
it'll crash and the Quagmires
will be in danger.
Then we have to let them go.
Hector, head higher!
- But how will you reach us?
- We won't!
- Hold your fire!
- They're climbing down!
They must be surrendering.
- No!
- What are you doing?
What friends are for.
They're getting away
with my sapphires!
Darling, calm down.
I will hit a balloon or an orphan.
Stop shooting at them!
With your mechanical device!
Mechanical device?
Mechanical device?
Officer Luciana,
is that harpoon gun mechanical?
She's breaking rule number 67!
She's capturing murderers,
you square!
The murderers...
The Baudelaires have already come down.
They're not going anywhere.
You can't let people break the rules
to catch people breaking the rules.
They're getting away with my inheritance.
Put down that harpoon gun
in the name of these wonderful birds.
The only bird I like
is in a chicken sandwich.
If we don't see each other again,
this is all the information
about the real VFD!
Everything you need
is in these commonplace books.
- About Olaf's plan.
- About Jacques and his associates.
You helped us, Baudelaires.
I hope we can help you.
- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.
- Goodbye, Quagmires.
Bye.
You harmed a crow.
You broke rule number one!
That is the most important rule of all.
It's just a stupid bird.
A stupid bird? A stupid bird?
Young man,
this is the Village of Fowl Devotees.
We take our fowl devotion very seriously.
Relax, man. Everything's cool.
Everything was cool before you showed up.
You and your funny talk,
and you with your harpoon guns.
- It'd be a shame to waste the kindling.
- And pitchforks.
Burn them!
Stop in the name of the law!
Stop in the name of the law!
No...
I had everything.
Two sets of orphans. Two sets of fortunes.
And now it's all gone. Gone!
You have not lost everything.
You still have me.
And I have the location of the sugar bowl.
Let's fly this coop.
Where do you think you're going?
Detective Dupin,
you let the murderers escape.
Officer Luciana, you injured a crow.
Now you will pay for your crimes.
Burn them at the stake!
It seems unwise to burn anyone
now that you've lost your fire truck.
Another mechanical device?
That's more than a mechanical device.
It's a getaway vehicle.
Eat my dust!
- Hurry! Hurry!
- Rule-breakers!
- And worse!
- Now we must go after them!
No, citizens.
We need to get this crow to a vet.
- Are the children on board?
- It's the Quagmires.
They're rising higher,
where villainy and treachery
can never reach them.
Then they're finally safe.
They go up so fast.
As the Baudelaires watched
their friends vanish up in the air,
their own feelings
were up in the air as well,
a phrase which here means,
"they weren't sure how to feel."
They felt sad, because they might
never see their friends again.
But they also felt relieved,
because their friends were safe.
And as the self-sustaining
hot air mobile home rose into the sky,
the Baudelaires felt up in the air
about everything that was happening
and the mystery of what would happen next.
- We're going fast.
- We need to keep moving.
- And go where and do what?
- We have to be self-sustaining.
How much did we salvage
from the commonplace books?
Hard to say. Everything's in scraps.
Notes. Research. Sketches. Codes.
This looks like a poem.
- Isadora's?
- It's Duncan's handwriting.
"When you drive away in secret,
you'll be a volunteer."
"So don't scream when we take you."
"The world is quiet here."
that you will not like to hear,
which is that some people in this world
enjoy hearing bad news.
I heard Count Olaf was murdered
in his jail cell last night.
That's bad news.
I was excited to burn him at the stake.
What is bad news to one person might be
good news to someone else.
And sometimes,
what seems like good news...
Olaf's been murdered?
Olaf hasn't been murdered at all.
That's Jacques Snicket.
...might actually be something
full of sadness, misery and grief.
My name is Lemony Snicket.
The story of the Baudelaire orphans
haunts me
the way my brother's death haunts me
in a small, dusty town.
It fills me with sadness,
misery and grief.
But you have no reason
to be as haunted as I am.
Look away.
This is nothing you ought to see.
Let's go, children.
This is nothing you ought to see.
Not so fast, daddy-o.
It's not cool to dismiss
suspects at the scene of a crime.
Suspects? If anyone did this, it was you.
It's extra just not cool
to disagree with Detective Dupin.
Your name isn't Dupin, it's...
Silence in the crowd! Gather round!
The Council of Elders has called
this emergency town meeting.
There have been
a lot of emergency meetings lately.
I'm fallin' behind on my stories.
It's imperative that we discuss
this most mysterious murder.
I don't think it's imperative.
I think it is absolutely necessary.
"Imperative" means
"absolutely necessary," Esmé.
My name is not Esmé.
It's Sarah Petunia Alexandra Maryellen.
- Is that what she said yesterday?
- But you call me Officer Luciana.
It's my duty to lock up prisoners
in the Uptown Jail,
and I make sure Jacques was safe
in his cell last night.
Who's Jacques?
It's my nickname
for Count Olaf.
Oh.
I have the only key to the jail,
so his death is a mystery.
I do love a mystery.
Especially when it takes place
in a cozy village
and stars a detective with a funny voice.
You're right, moldy oldies.
But lucky for you cats,
I'm a peachy detective with a face for TV
and I've already cracked
this Popsicle case.
Mmm! This is so exciting!
It's horrible. An innocent person is dead.
I'm as shocked as you are.
But you know
that Count Omar was far from innocent.
Count Olaf.
Yes, see? Even the name gives the shivers.
That bushy eyebrow
and tattoo of that eye on his ankle.
Not an eye. It was the letters V-F-D.
That doesn't make sense.
Why would Count Olaf have
the name of this town on his ankle?
We don't know. But we do know
that man's the real Olaf.
And that police officer is Esmé Squalor.
They kidnapped the Quagmires
and now they murdered Jacques Snicket.
These kittens have flipped.
I am a groovy man of the law, man.
I wouldn't harm the hair on a shoofly.
But reconnoiter this, villagers.
The Baudelaires are pointing
their bony little fingers at me
because they are, in fact, 100%...
the murderers.
These Baudelaires can't be the murderers.
They're children.
Detective, you must have evidence for
this startling and handsome accusation.
Correcto, lady cop.
It's just not cool to accuse people
of murder without having evidence.
Lucky for you, I'm a great detective
and I found some.
Orphans are dragsville, man.
They come into your village,
sneak into your jail.
They kill and they pillage.
With the help of these!
Blue bird. Blue sky.
Blueberry pie. Uh-uh.
Blueprints! Yeah, man.
That's what the Baudelaires used
to find a weak space in the wall,
so they could use...
Uh, what is that thing?
I think
it's some kind of mechanical device.
Oh, yeah. A device of mechanics so mean,
the Baudelaires used that thing.
They punched a hole
in the wall of the jail.
Crept in on bad cat paws.
And snuffed out the light
of Count Olaf, um, in the night.
Orphans.
- That's very shocking.
- He's wrong.
So these blueprints
and mechanical device are not yours?
They are. But we're not murderers!
The spunky sister is right.
These two aren't murderers.
They're accomplices.
- That means "helper of murderers."
- We know what "accomplice" means!
What are you talking about?
Detective, talk to them
about what you're talking about.
I'm talking about tooth marks
on Count Olaf's body.
There's only one person so uncool
as to bite someone to death.
The murderer who murdered Count Olaf
by murder
is none urder than Sunny Baudelaire!
That can't be right. I'll admit
she has unusually sharp teeth, but...
That's what I'm saying. She's a killer.
A killer baby with deadly teeth.
Dig those choppers, man.
Our sister didn't bite anyone to death.
Detective Dupin is lying.
Instead of dropping accusations
on cool detectives,
maybe you orphans should tend
to your own accusational woes?
Sì. Sì. They should
give everyone an alpaca.
Yes! Wait. What?
- Alibi?
- Yes! Alibi!
Baudelaires, where were you last night
between the hours of dusk and dawn?
We were at Hector's house.
- He'll tell you.
- Tell them you were with us.
Well... Well, I... See, I...
- Hector, please.
- Hector, we're waiting.
No, no. Not again.
Oh, no.
Hector. Hector.
It's true! The children were with me.
They're not murderers.
Where did these items come from, Hector?
Did you provide these children
with illegal materials,
in violation of VFD rules?
Hector didn't do anything.
Trying to pull an innocent cat
into your bad vibes?
That's low, man, real low.
We've heard enough. The evidence is clear.
We've adopted murderers.
VFD can no longer serve as guardians
for such terrible orphans.
So, trial over.
I say we burn them at the stake!
We're talking about children.
I won't wait a minute.
We're talking about murderers.
I say we burn them right now!
Hold on a moment.
We can't simply burn people
at the stake whenever we want.
We're civilized people.
- How about after supper?
- Okay.
I'll keep these bloodthirsties on ice
at the Uptown Jail.
We're not going with you.
Resisting arrest? Chiefie!
We can do this the quiet way.
Or it can get very noisy.
See you at the burning.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Do you smell smoke?
There's hickory in the dumplings.
- Not literally. Figuratively.
- I always smell smoke figuratively.
- I heard from Mr. Poe.
- Sorry, but you work for him.
He has to stay in town
later than anticipated.
- Something's wrong.
- There's nothing in the paper.
- Olaf's dead?
- Our troubles are over.
Count Olaf isn't dead.
Jacques Snicket is.
Our troubles have just begun.
- I'll get the motorcycle.
- I'll get the sidecar.
Oh, Baudelaires, I'm so sorry.
I should have seen this coming.
Children with your troubled background
often wind up in jail. I...
I blame myself.
Mr. Poe, we're innocent.
They're going to burn us
for a murder Olaf committed.
Oh, listen to yourselves.
You blame positively everything
on this Olaf,
and now you claim
he's responsible for his own murder?
I find that somewhat difficult to swallow.
Can't you use our parents' fortune
to bail us out?
- Or hire a lawyer?
- Oh, no, no.
The Baudelaire fortune is off-limits
till Violet comes of age,
which seems unlikely now.
It certainly can't be used
for criminal matters.
No, no, no.
Take responsibility for your own actions.
- Especially you, Sunny.
- You're not gonna help us?
- Why are you here?
- Oh, I'm here to say goodbye.
Goodbye.
I appreciate you allowing me
a moment with my clients.
It's simply dreadful.
Olaf was terrible.
It's hard to believe he's dead.
Believe it, Daddy Poe.
He's cold as a snowman eating
a bowl full of ice cubes in an igloo.
There you are, darling.
I mean, Police Chief.
You're the police chief.
- Deputy?
- Detective.
Sure, that works. Anyway,
I found this reporter loitering outside.
She wants to do an interview. Come.
Eleanora Poe, editor in chief
for the Daily Punctilio.
Darling.
- Arthur?
- Eleanora.
What are you doing here, love of my life?
I'm here on business, fire of my loins.
- What are you doing here?
- I'm here on business.
We could have carpooled.
- It's a tragically long drive.
- And a tragic occasion.
It's the story of the century.
"Baudelaire Orphans
Now Baudelaire Murderers."
This story has everything.
Adventure. Crime. Moral quandary.
Will the world rejoice that vicious
criminals have been caught
or breathe a sigh of relief
that a repugnant villain is dead at last?
- "Repugnant"?
- It means "horrendous and disgusting."
Man, I heard that cat
was out-of-sight handsome.
Oh! I wouldn't say handsome.
He had an extraordinarily
ungroomed eyebrow.
No. No! Zonk it on the record,
scribbler dame.
He was pretty
as a shined-up platter of silver nickels
in the mouth of a golden calf.
You have quite a way with words,
Detective.
Oh. You should hear him scat.
Let me just deliver these digestibles
to the troublemaking troublemakers,
then I will zip up here and scoop you up
a lengthy menu. Can you dig it?
I'm not quite following.
He give you interview after he give
Baudelaires bread and water.
Oh!
I love your artwork.
There's joy in my eyes.
Can you see it?
You're wearing sunglasses.
How about now? Do I look like a man
who's about to become very rich?
You won't become rich.
Your scheme will fail,
like they always fail.
Not this time.
You see, a scheme is like a fire.
Everything must be in order
for it to work.
You need matches, torches,
an angry mob that won't listen to reason,
and the right sort of kindling.
Orphans, for instance,
tied to the wooden stake.
If you burn us,
you'll never get the fortune.
Oh, you never know.
One orphan just may escape
amid all the smoke and the confusion.
But for the rest of you, your last meal.
The chef has prepared
some very stale bread
and a cup of water served with
what my Aunt Evelyn liked to call
"a handful of dust."
How does that...
- If you take them off the tray...
- What?
If you take the bread
and water off the tray,
- you can slide them...
- Like this?
You're not...
It's not...
How about this?
Your last meal, Baudelaires,
all alone in the deluxe cell of a jail.
- What makes the cell deluxe?
- It comes with a noose.
There's nobody to save you.
There's nobody to comfort you.
Nobody will even stop by...
- Is it visiting hours?
- Who are you?
Oh, you're that guy
that faints all the time.
It's not something I can control.
I've tried all kinds of herbs.
The police chief said I can come in
and visit the children.
If you faint at the sight of a birdie hat,
I'm not sure
I should leave you with two murderers.
You could stay with me if you want.
Should I tell the reporter
you're unavailable?
- No. No, I'll be right back.
- You sound different.
Are you happy now?
I had to see you on my way out of town.
- You're leaving?
- The hot air mobile home is almost packed,
and the best time to launch
is cocktail hour.
If you escape by then,
you could float away with me.
- That would take deus ex machina.
- What's that?
It's a Latin term meaning
"god from the machine."
Something helpful happening
when you least expect.
That's not going to happen.
We're in a deluxe cell
with bread and water,
about to be burned at the stake
for a crime we didn't commit.
I know you're innocent, Baudelaires.
I tried to help you best I could.
But the Council of Elders overpowered us,
just as they overpowered my poor old ma.
You never told us what happened.
She wore white after Yom Kippur.
The Council caught and punished her.
- Did they burn her at the stake?
- No. She was forced to pay a fine.
- A fine?
- Yes.
Then she moved to the city
and opened up a successful art gallery.
Now it is time to do something difficult.
- Break out of this jail?
- Say goodbye.
You've been dear friends,
and I've enjoyed our time together,
even if that time was spent
doing other people's chores.
Which reminds me, I found this
when I was sweeping the feathers
under Nevermore Tree.
I hope to see you soon, Baudelaires.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
"The first thing you read contains a clue
An initial way to speak to you
Inside these letters the eye will see
Nearby are your friends and the VFD"
It's two more couplets from Isadora.
A crow must have dropped it
by the Nevermore Tree.
This is all wrong!
We were supposed to free Jacques
and find the Quagmires.
We're in jail, Jacques's dead.
We'll never save our friends.
Unless we break out.
There must be something
I can use for an invention.
Think of something useful you've read.
I...
I just remembered something.
- Will it help us escape?
- No. No. I, um... I...
I just remembered
that it's my birthday today.
- Oh, Klaus. We forgot all about it.
- I forgot, too.
I was thinking of the book
about a boy that goes to prison
and becomes a long-distance runner.
I remembered I got that book
a year ago exactly.
I remember Mother and Father
made that terrible bread pudding.
The worst we ever tasted.
And they promised me that next year
I'd have the best birthday in the world.
I don't mean to sound spoiled,
but I was really hoping for better
than being imprisoned for murder
and burned at the stake.
This is a terrible birthday.
But I think there's a gift
waiting for you.
Stale bread and dusty water?
Deus ex machina.
Yes! Now give me justice.
Protect and serve.
Do you think
that being naturally photogenic
makes you better police officers?
Please! Who could refuse
to stop in the name of the law
after gazing upon this?
My beauty is powerful and instills fear.
Can you dig it?
Yes, I think I can dig that.
Poetry can be difficult to interpret
even when you're not searching
for a hidden message.
This bread is so hard,
I don't even think Sunny could bite it.
Perfect.
Officer Luciana, you seem
like you've been photographed before.
No. Don't be ridiculous.
I always been police officer in
whatever this dusty little town is called.
Baudelaires,
you're annoying the chief of police.
What's that infernal
singing and thwacking?
Don't make me come down there.
It's Klaus' birthday. We're celebrating.
- It's the boy's birthday.
- The teenage years are tough.
Not if you have really long fingernails.
I was the only child in my class
who was not Bar or Bat Mitzvahed.
- Me, too!
- Oh!
Oh! This pounding in my helmet.
I cannot take it.
I am going to blow my top.
And I'm going to blow my cover.
The interview is over.
We have a funeral pyre to build.
I'll interview the townspeople
for some mob mentality angle.
Good thinking, Eleanora.
Hey!
Klaus. You're smiling.
- I am?
- You're in jail, and you're smiling.
- I think I know where the Quagmires are.
- Really?
Look at all four in order.
Isadora couldn't tell us where
she and Duncan were hidden directly
in case the crows were intercepted.
So she hid her location in her poems.
Like Aunt Josephine
hid her location in her note.
"The first thing you read contains a clue"
We initially thought
that was the first poem.
But I think it's the first letter
of each line.
"For sapphires we are held in here
Only you can know our fear"
- So on, until you get...
- "Fountain."
As in, Fowl Fountain.
- That's brilliant. You're brilliant.
- Isadora is brilliant.
And Fowl Fountain
is right outside that very wall.
We'd better keep smashing
that very wall then.
Hey!
Come on, kids.
I guess they couldn't escape.
Ah, cocktail hour.
When the sky is gold
with the promise of fortunes
and sparkling with the light
of a thousand stolen sapphires.
- Who said that?
- What?
- Is it a quote?
- I just made it up, turtledove.
Olaf. You have the soul of a poet.
Yes. And her brother's, too.
We shoved them in that fountain, remember?
Everything is going exactly as I planned.
So, you planned
for Jacques to come to town
so you could frame the Baudelaires
for his murder?
Parts of the plan were unplanned.
That's the plan.
You don't want to overplan a plan.
The point is I'm able to give my ladylove
the best gift in the world...
an enormous fortune.
I already have that.
What I don't have
is the most important part of a tea set.
- The teapot?
- The sugar bowl.
That librarian told me where it is.
I want to go after it.
We will. After we take care
of the Baudelaires, my dumpling.
Goodbye, crow hats! Goodbye, rules!
Goodbye, punishments!
Goodbye, Town Hall,
where I always used to faint.
Goodbye, Uptown Jail,
where I was afraid I'd get locked up.
Goodbye, dry saloon
and dry fountain and dry county.
Goodbye, crows. You were scary.
Goodbye, donkey. I'll miss you.
Goodbye, barn. Goodbye, Nevermore Tree.
Goodbye, Baudelaires.
Build faster. The faster we build,
the faster that fortune is mine.
All that's left to decide is
which Baudelaire to smuggle out of town.
The baby. They go with everything.
We have to bring
those Quagmire brats, too.
We could shove them in the red herring
and strap them to the roof.
But that's not viable in the long term.
They'll hit growth spurts eventually.
We need something
big enough to store children
until they come of age
and their fortunes are ours.
A place that's large and mobile
and away from prying eyes.
- Boss.
- Hmm?
Look.
- What is it, darling?
- Something big enough to store orphans.
Like a sack?
Think bigger.
A huge cloud of dust
is not a beautiful thing to look at.
Very few painters have done
portraits of huge clouds of dust.
Directors rarely choose
huge clouds of dust
to play lead roles in romantic comedies.
And, as far as my research has shown,
a huge cloud of dust has never placed
higher than 25th in a beauty pageant.
Nevertheless, the huge cloud of dust
you are about to see on your screen
was the most beautiful cloud of dust
that the Baudelaires ever witnessed.
That is because it was composed of
the brick and mortar of a jailhouse wall.
Hey!
Violet's invention worked.
Your invention worked.
Isadora and Duncan
must be trapped inside the fountain.
Perhaps there's a hidden mechanism
that opens a secret entrance.
There has to be a clue inside the poems.
There's something
that bothered me about them.
"This sad beak" is an odd choice of words,
even for a poet.
Isadora doesn't usually rely
on overly florid imagery.
We jumped to the conclusion
that she meant the VFD crows.
What if she meant
the beak of the Fowl Fountain?
We need to get a closer look.
- Just a little higher.
- Why "beak" and not "crow" or "bird"?
Poets choose their words carefully.
It has to mean something.
I don't know how much longer
we can hold Sunny up.
Do you see anything?
Sunny!
- Duncan!
- Isadora!
You found the poems.
- Are you okay?
- Much better now.
How did you get here?
Olaf smuggled us out of the auction
inside a red herring.
We found it in the saloon.
We knew you were close.
You didn't happen to see
anything written inside?
We didn't have time to examine it closely.
How much farther?
It's hard to say. Just a few miles
as the crow flies. Why?
I see something strange on the horizon.
I was thinking, dearest darling dreamboat,
what if you didn't smuggle
one of the Baudelaires out of town?
Now that you're with me,
it's not like you need the money.
Let them burn. Orphans are out.
And sugar bowls are in...
- You're killing the mood, darling.
- Police! Police!
Scram, police!
Wait, wait! That's us. Right.
I don't know where the chief of police is.
I yelled for her loudly.
Hmm. That always worked with the last one.
This hole is a violation of the rule
against extraneous remodeling!
We have rules that forbid
criminals from escaping,
but not for what to do when they escape.
"Murderers Break Out of Jail!"
Wait until the readers
of the Daily Punctilio hear about this!
This is terrible.
When I told them they couldn't use
their fortune to get out of jail,
I didn't want them
to resort to a battering ram.
We should've expected that
from a murdering baby.
And her accomplices.
How dare they escape?
I gave them bread and water!
Let me handle this, my darling.
Citizens of VFD!
You took the Baudelaire orphans in,
and your kindness was repaid
with misery, rule-breaking and woe.
Will you allow these bambino
to ruin your village,
or are you going to deliver
some woe of your own?
As you stand there squawking,
the Baudelaires are getting away
with murder and rule-breaking.
They are literally getting away!
It's time to unite to hunt down
these criminals and burn them!
Yeah!
- Pitchforks for everyone!
- Who wants a pitchfork?
- Pitchfork! Pitchfork!
- Who wants a pitchfork?
Sugar bowl.
Olaf hid us in the fountain
so we'd be out of his way.
It was Isadora's idea
to use the couplets as a code.
Duncan figured out
how to smuggle them out.
It was damp from dew, and there were
always crows on the fountain.
We waited until one landed
and wrapped a wet couplet around its leg.
The paper dried overnight
and fell from the tree.
How did you know we were here?
We didn't. We just knew you'd find us.
It's what friends are for.
This way.
What do we want?
- And when do we want it?
- Now!
- What do we want?
- To burn children!
- When do we want it?
- Now!
I don't approve of children being burned,
but it is the rules,
and one must follow the rules.
"Angry Mob Leads
to Record Pitchfork Sales!"
Wait until the readers
of the Daily Punctilio hear about this!
- What do we want?
- To burn children!
- When do we want it?
- Now!
- Where can we go?
- We're in the middle of nowhere.
- We know a way out.
- A self-sustaining hot air mobile home.
If we reach the town border,
we can escape.
We'll be safe forever. In the air.
- "Forever"?
- But we'll never learn about VFD.
The real VFD, not this vile village.
Jacques said he was part of it.
That's why he and Olaf
have the same tattoo.
The firehouse was their headquarters.
We wrote everything we learned
in our commonplace books.
What are your thoughts
on your daring escape?
- Run.
- You can't hide from the press!
There!
Where did those two
additional children come from?
Blast those brainy Baudelaires.
Hey, everybody, those half-cat
murder birds have recruited accomplices.
I say we burn them all!
We need a distraction.
Let's murder them murderers!
Good idea, Sunny.
Aw!
- Look at that donkey go!
- He's adorable!
Oh, he's strutting.
We're out of places to hide.
- Is that a mechanical device?
- It's a motorcycle.
- It's Jacquelyn.
- And Larry the waiter.
There's a term to describe the arrival of
someone helpful when you least expect it.
The term comes from very old plays.
Near the end of the play
when things seem especially dire,
a powerful authority figure arrives
on a mechanical device to save the day.
For this reason, the term for such an
occurrence is "the god from the machine,"
or in the original Latin,
"deus ex machina."
Is that my secretary?
Jacquelyn, what are you doing here?
I could ask you the same question.
All of you.
Where's your conscience?
Where's your sense of decency?
This town should be ashamed of itself.
You city folk don't belong here.
So scat, man.
This is village business.
Some city folk come from villages.
Hello, Mr. Lesko. How's retirement?
- Eh.
- Mrs. Morrow?
You were in a book club with my mothers.
Read anything good lately?
We only read magazines now. I hate it.
This was a good town once,
with good people who helped each other,
who put out fires.
It can be a good town again.
A noble man has been murdered.
Look in your hearts and ask yourselves,
what do you really want?
To burn children!
You can't stop us,
we're the deus ex machina!
They're coming.
How far to the hot air mobile home?
It's not how far, it's how high.
We have to catch it.
- How?
- Burn those kids!
You're out of buildings
to hide behind, orphans.
Burn those kids! Burn those kids!
- Your sister drives?
- Apparently.
- Sunny, keep your eye on that balloon.
- And the road.
- Was the baby driving?
- She's more of a toddler now.
Oh, hi. The orphans are escaping.
Both sets of them. Get the car!
Darling, it's time
to try out your new toy.
Larry. Jacquelyn.
- Now they've destroyed the gas station.
- They had the best wieners.
Hector!
- Baudelaires! I'm so glad you made it!
- I hope you don't mind extra passengers!
Not at all.
The self-sustaining hot air mobile home
needs several people to keep it running!
- You first.
- We'll be right behind you.
Burn those kids! Burn those kids!
It looks like
a self-sustaining hot air mobile home!
Don't let them escape,
or we'll have to find other orphans
to do our chores!
And burn.
Do your own chores!
Or take turns
according to a fair schedule.
The aphorism is,
"It takes a village to raise a child,"
not, "Three children
should clean up after a village."
- Is that Hector?
- He's a traitor and a rule-breaker!
Burn him, too! I'll get more kindling!
Birdland! Groove on this.
I am deputizing
the whole kit and caboodle.
Now let's scoot up that red-hot jalopy
and drag down those killers!
- There's no water.
- They don't know that.
Stand back! She's got a hose.
That's right!
So if you want to stay dry, stay back.
- Right, Klaus?
- Absolutely right.
Although this truck
is a 1956 International R190,
it's been retrofitted to the specs
of a triple-pump La France,
with 800 gallons of water on board,
and anyone who's read
about fire trucks knows
can be shot out at a rate
of 1,600 pounds per square inch.
Which is a lot of power.
- How was that?
- Comprehensive.
Out of my way! Move it!
Is that a harpoon gun?
Sì. My boyfriend bought it for me.
It fires hooked harpoons
that are perfect for popping balloons.
- What if you hit one of the children?
- It's cool, big daddy.
Open fire, officer.
- Isadora!
- Hang on!
- Impressive.
- Well, I do try.
This time I'll hit a handyman.
Oh!
- Oh, no.
- Ooh!
It's okay.
It's just my supply of cranberry juice!
Ooh!
They're almost to the top.
Good. Get Sunny. Start climbing.
I'll hold off the mob.
What are you waiting for? Shoot!
Try loading a harpoon gun
without ruining a manicure.
I have!
I hope the children don't fall!
We need to burn them in a fire!
Burn them in a fire!
Burn them in a fire!
Burn them in a fire! Burn them in a fire!
Burn them in a fire! Burn them in a fire!
Burn them in a fire!
Hurry. The mobile home
can't take any more damage.
He's right. If Esmé hits another balloon,
it'll crash and the Quagmires
will be in danger.
Then we have to let them go.
Hector, head higher!
- But how will you reach us?
- We won't!
- Hold your fire!
- They're climbing down!
They must be surrendering.
- No!
- What are you doing?
What friends are for.
They're getting away
with my sapphires!
Darling, calm down.
I will hit a balloon or an orphan.
Stop shooting at them!
With your mechanical device!
Mechanical device?
Mechanical device?
Officer Luciana,
is that harpoon gun mechanical?
She's breaking rule number 67!
She's capturing murderers,
you square!
The murderers...
The Baudelaires have already come down.
They're not going anywhere.
You can't let people break the rules
to catch people breaking the rules.
They're getting away with my inheritance.
Put down that harpoon gun
in the name of these wonderful birds.
The only bird I like
is in a chicken sandwich.
If we don't see each other again,
this is all the information
about the real VFD!
Everything you need
is in these commonplace books.
- About Olaf's plan.
- About Jacques and his associates.
You helped us, Baudelaires.
I hope we can help you.
- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.
- Goodbye, Quagmires.
Bye.
You harmed a crow.
You broke rule number one!
That is the most important rule of all.
It's just a stupid bird.
A stupid bird? A stupid bird?
Young man,
this is the Village of Fowl Devotees.
We take our fowl devotion very seriously.
Relax, man. Everything's cool.
Everything was cool before you showed up.
You and your funny talk,
and you with your harpoon guns.
- It'd be a shame to waste the kindling.
- And pitchforks.
Burn them!
Stop in the name of the law!
Stop in the name of the law!
No...
I had everything.
Two sets of orphans. Two sets of fortunes.
And now it's all gone. Gone!
You have not lost everything.
You still have me.
And I have the location of the sugar bowl.
Let's fly this coop.
Where do you think you're going?
Detective Dupin,
you let the murderers escape.
Officer Luciana, you injured a crow.
Now you will pay for your crimes.
Burn them at the stake!
It seems unwise to burn anyone
now that you've lost your fire truck.
Another mechanical device?
That's more than a mechanical device.
It's a getaway vehicle.
Eat my dust!
- Hurry! Hurry!
- Rule-breakers!
- And worse!
- Now we must go after them!
No, citizens.
We need to get this crow to a vet.
- Are the children on board?
- It's the Quagmires.
They're rising higher,
where villainy and treachery
can never reach them.
Then they're finally safe.
They go up so fast.
As the Baudelaires watched
their friends vanish up in the air,
their own feelings
were up in the air as well,
a phrase which here means,
"they weren't sure how to feel."
They felt sad, because they might
never see their friends again.
But they also felt relieved,
because their friends were safe.
And as the self-sustaining
hot air mobile home rose into the sky,
the Baudelaires felt up in the air
about everything that was happening
and the mystery of what would happen next.
- We're going fast.
- We need to keep moving.
- And go where and do what?
- We have to be self-sustaining.
How much did we salvage
from the commonplace books?
Hard to say. Everything's in scraps.
Notes. Research. Sketches. Codes.
This looks like a poem.
- Isadora's?
- It's Duncan's handwriting.
"When you drive away in secret,
you'll be a volunteer."
"So don't scream when we take you."
"The world is quiet here."