A Series of Unfortunate Events (2017–…): Season 3, Episode 5 - Episode #3.5 - full transcript
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Unless you were born yesterday,
in which case,
welcome to the world, little baby,
you have probably observed
that things aren't always what they seem.
The surface of a pond might seem calm,
when, in reality, any number of secrets
might be hidden beneath it.
The world is like a pond that way.
When you perform even
the tiniest of actions,
like dropping a stone...
it can ripple,
until the entire world has been changed.
My name is Lemony Snicket,
and I recommend you drop
your streaming device into a pond.
Your world will be changed for the better,
since you will not have to watch
the sad story of the Baudelaire orphans.
You will be spared the tragic tale
of the Hotel Denouement.
And you will never have to encounter
the suspicious parties staying there,
some of whom, I am sorry to report...
may already be familiar.
Please be careful.
There's a typewriter inside.
Things aren't always
what they seem, Baudelaires.
It may seem like I'm speeding recklessly
because I'm a taxi driver who doesn't care
about traffic safety laws,
but really, I'm trying to shake the car
that's been following us.
There's a car following us?
I suspect it belongs
to a pair of sinister villains
I recently encountered on a mountain.
We were there too.
I know exactly where you've been,
Klaus Baudelaire.
I wish I could have helped you all along,
but ever since the schism,
there have been more fires
than even a Volunteer Fire Department
can put out.
Those look like they burned down recently.
Our enemies are getting bolder.
But the tables are about to turn,
and so is this car, so hang on.
I know you have thousands of questions,
and I wish I had time to answer them
over a leisurely brunch,
but our agents are already on their way
to the Last Safe Place,
so I'm afraid you'll have to settle
for a quick debrief
and a picnic in the back of a taxi.
There's a picnic basket on the floor.
You said your name is Kit Snicket.
We met a man named Jacques Snicket.
He was my brother.
And he's the reason I need your help.
I received this telegram
instructing all volunteers
to go to the Hotel Denouement on Thursday,
and it's signed
with my brother's initials, "J.S."
We received the same telegram,
but it can't be from Jacques. He's...
Yes, Baudelaires.
I know that my brother is dead.
And I know that you tried to save him,
but I'm afraid someone is impersonating
him to gather all of V.F.D. in one place.
We could be walking into a trap.
So you need to find out if this J.S.
is a friend or an enemy.
Do you know what a flaneur is?
A person who observes
their surroundings, like a spy.
Very good.
Children make the best flaneurs,
since adults rarely pay attention to them.
There's a secret compartment in the bottom
of the picnic basket. Open it.
Uniforms?
Disguises.
Baudelaires, I need your help.
I need you to infiltrate
the Hotel Denouement as concierge
and learn the identity of J.S.
before Thursday.
I have an inside man
who's made all the arrangements.
All you have to say is yes.
Say you'll volunteer.
Of course we will.
They're back.
That wasn't the route I intended to take,
but here we are.
The Last Safe Place.
The Hotel Denouement,
that's where V.F.D. is meeting.
I'll give you a moment to be impressed.
You already knew that?
You don't say.
Well, I bet you don't know
about the incredibly deadly vegetable
I'm holding in my hands.
If a fungus is a vegetable.
Is it even a plant?
Hello? Hello?
Tell them thank you for the submarine!
They hung up.
Don't be so desperate for approval.
You sound like my husband,
what's-his-name.
I'm not desperate for approval.
I just want to pull off something big
so they'll be super impressed
and regret all the things they said
about me, which is totally different!
Let's just get back on the sub.
I feel like taking my anger out on Hooky.
Hooky told me to give you this note.
How could he give you a note?
He and his triangle-eyed sister
are locked in the brig.
Oh, not anymore.
What? Give me that!
An extra special messenger
is supposed to get an extra special tip.
I'll give you this rock.
Ew! I prefer gemstones.
I prefer little girls to be quiet,
so I don't get tired
of their annoying demands
and hit them with this rock.
"Sorry Boss."
What's that supposed to mean?
Hmm...
Oh, no! He's kidnapped
those Snow Scouts we kidnapped!
And that guy, Phil.
Now who's gonna play veterinarian with me?
-Well, at least the sub's a rental.
Hooky's defected.
Just because he doesn't have any hands?
Let him go.
I don't care.
We got everything we needed from him.
We needed a ride to the hotel.
We'll take the Olaf.
It's called the Carmelita II.
It's called the Olaf.
It's called the Carmelita II!
We'll discuss it on the way.
Do you think we can trust Kit?
Since we got in her taxi, she's broken
at least nine traffic safety laws,
driven into a hedge, and recruited us
to spy for a secret organization.
I like her.
Me too.
That's Frank Denouement.
He's one of the managers.
He's with us. You can trust him.
I must need new glasses
because I'm seeing double.
That's Frank's treacherous brother,
Ernest.
Do not trust him, no matter what he says.
The schism has turned many siblings
into enemies.
Remember, F is for Frank, who is friendly.
E is for Ernest, who is evil.
How can we tell them apart?
Unfortunately, the only way to determine
if someone is noble or wicked
is through close observation.
Be careful about what you tell them
because if the wrong brother
finds out what we're up to...
we could all be in danger.
I've sent a message to Frank.
He'll meet you in the lobby,
unless it was intercepted by Ernest.
You're not coming?
I'm afraid I have my own mission,
but I'll be back tonight.
If you've discovered that
the Last Safe Place is no longer safe,
we'll send a signal to warn V.F.D.
Do you understand?
We're going to disguise ourselves
as concierges
to determine if J.S. is a villain
or a volunteer.
A manager named Frank will try to help us,
but his brother, Ernest,
will try to stop us.
Perfect. Do you have everything you need?
I can't find my ribbon.
I always carry a spare.
Your mother always tied her hair up
when she needed to think, too.
And your father always adjusted
his glasses like that before a mission.
You remind me of them so much. You all do.
It's hard to believe our parents
went on secret missions.
Your parents put many brave deeds
on the books.
Without them, V.F.D. would never
have survived after the schism.
We heard about the schism,
but we still don't know what it was about.
It's a long story, but it all began
one night at the opera,
during a performance
of La Forza del Destino.
Isn't that where a gun
accidentally goes off and kills somebody?
It's a tragic opera.
I'm sorry, melancholy is a side effect
of my condition.
I'm distraught and I'm pregnant.
Good luck, Baudelaires.
I'll see you tonight.
And please be careful.
I was hoping I'd see you before I left.
Funny, I was hoping you'd stay.
I'll be back tonight.
And if everything goes according to plan,
we'll have the sugar bowl.
We can end this, once and for all.
Then what?
You, me,
a tropical island, and her.
Her? Is that a fact?
It's just a feeling.
I never want to be apart from you again,
except in the restroom, at work,
and when one of us is at a movie
the other one doesn't want to see.
I'll see you tonight.
Send my regards to Frank.
Evidence of a picnic,
like evidence of a secret meeting,
is best discarded,
or it is likely to attract
unsavory visitors or...
ants.
Lemony.
I thought you were dead.
Hello, Kit.
Could I get a ride?
The man in the back of that taxi
is myself,
many years ago when I was younger
and more naive than I am now.
If I could go back in time,
I would tell him
that a light gray suit looks good, but...
it is easier to hide in a darker shade.
I would tell him
that he is about to receive sad news
about someone he loves very much.
And I would tell him
to stay at the Hotel Denouement
instead of leaving in a taxi
with his sister, but...
I cannot change the past...
any more than I can stop that taxi
from driving away.
It won't be easy to find J.S.
in a hotel this big.
A big hotel can work to our advantage.
If Count Olaf turns up,
it won't be easy for him to find us.
Bellhop, take the luggage to the room
and the, uh, Carmelita II up to the roof.
Thank you.
Remember, we have to convince any flaneurs
that we're a normal, happy family
on vacation.
I don't wanna stay at some cakesniffing
hotel! I want to go to Littlest Elf Land!
Tell your darling little girl
to stop drawing so much attention.
If you spent more time with her,
she wouldn't feel the need to act out.
My real parents took me wherever I wanted.
Some parents.
They wouldn't even pay the ransom.
Your father is very stressed
about work, darling.
We're going to go on a real vacation soon,
Mummy promises.
Yes, lie to her.
That's excellent parenting.
I need a drink.
You!
Concierge.
Find the manager and tell him to bring
a nice bottle of wine to our room.
Something red. A sauvignon blank.
Yes, sir.
The manager's on our side of the schism.
Well, one of them is, anyway.
I hear this hotel has a spa,
which is perfect
because I'd like a face peel.
Do you get to pick whose face,
or you just peel it off whoever's around?
-I don't think it works that way.
-Well, I need to relieve my stress somehow
if you expect me
to be put in charge of planning--
-Not in the lobby!
-Oh!
There are eyes everywhere.
We'll talk about it in the room.
I don't want to go to the room.
I'm an adorable, beautiful, cute, dainty,
eye-pleasing, flawless girl,
and I want to go to the pool!
Remind me why we can't send her
back to her parents.
We burned down their house
with them inside.
Wait, what did you say?
Nothing, darling.
-Why didn't he recognize us?
-He only saw our uniforms.
The villainous hotel guests often treat
staff like they're invisible.
Do you think Count Olaf
is the one posing as J.S.?
I don't know, but it can't be good
that he's here.
We have to find out
what he and Esmé are planning.
Are you eavesdropping on our guests?
We're doing the job
we were instructed to do.
You must be our new concierges.
Welcome to the hotel.
I'm one of the managers.
Frank or Ernest?
Exactly.
I'm happy you're here, even though
one of you is unusually short
because we're unusually short-handed.
This way, please.
The job of the concierge is to give
our guests everything they ask for.
When they ring, you volunteer.
What do those numbers mean?
There can't be 999 rooms in this hotel.
That's an interesting question.
Do you know what they mean?
Some luggage arrived in a taxi,
but the driver said
the guest won't get here until Thursday.
Thursday?
Excuse me, concierges.
Do you think that was Frank?
He used the word volunteer.
Maybe it was a code.
Everything he said sounded like a code.
You must be our new concierges.
Welcome to the Hotel Denouement.
I'm one of the managers.
Are you Frank or Ernest?
I am. You're just in time.
We're anticipating a large number
of guests before Thursday.
Do you know why?
We think so.
Can you tell me?
Interesting question.
That's a smart answer. It's hard to know
who you can trust in a hotel lobby.
There are countless wicked people
in the world.
Sooner or later,
some of them will check into a hotel.
Sir, The Daily Punctilio arrived
with an update on those murderers.
Murderers?
Excuse me, concierges.
That had to be Ernest. The part about
wicked people sounded like a threat.
Unless it was a warning. I'm confused.
-How are we supposed to find anyone?
-I can answer that question.
Finding someone here
is as easy as finding a book in a library
because the Hotel Denouement
is not organized like a hotel at all.
It's organized like a library.
Well, a library organizes knowledge
according to a numerical
classification system.
That's right. All guests at the hotel
are placed in rooms according to where
they would be shelved in a library.
But anyone who works here would have
to know the library catalog by heart.
Room 610. That's for our guests
associated with the healthcare industry.
332, financial economics.
That bell doesn't have a number.
That's our rooftop sunbathing salon.
People who sunbathe usually
aren't interested in library science,
so they're not too picky about location.
Three bells, three rooms.
But you can't be in three places at once.
You'll have to split up, Baudelaires.
You know our names?
Are you Frank or Ernest?
That's an interesting question.
Your assignments await.
It is impossible for one person
to be in three places at once,
unless, of course, that person
is viewing a television program.
A person viewing a television program
does not have to choose
between seeing Sunny's mysterious meeting
on the third floor...
Klaus's discovery of a strange conspiracy
on the sixth floor...
and Violet's dangerous dilemma
in the rooftop sunbathing salon.
You may see all three of these things.
Just... not at the same time.
No one's ever looked good with a mustache,
so I guess I'll be the first.
Yippeekiyay, mateys!
I'm a ballplaying cowboy superhero
soldier pirate!
Of course you are.
Carmelita's been exploring
her tomboy side. Isn't she adorable?
As the vice principal of Prufrock Prep,
I can tell you Carmelita
was always an adorable girl,
and now she's an adorable tomboy!
Some girls find "tomboy" insulting.
That means their interests don't conform
to somebody else's expectations.
Some girls find tomboy to be
an insulting term that blah, blah, blah...
Who dares interrupt a genius
when he's sunbathing?
Must be the concierge. You're late.
I rang two whole minutes ago.
What is it you require, ma'am?
Don't address me.
I'd no sooner look at or speak to the help
than I would wear modest clothing.
You're speaking to the help right now.
I didn't summon you for your opinion.
I summoned you to give
that adorable little girl in the yacht
whatever her heart desires.
Everyone, watch me shoot a hoop!
Hey, concierge, I want an ice cream cone
with hot pink sprinkles,
and bananas, and lemon sorbet
because I'm lactose intolerant.
My daughter and I are here
on topsecret business.
If I may gush like an open wound,
I'm not just a vice principal,
but I'm also the vice president
of the Esmé Squalor Fan Club!
I'm your number one fan.
That is so charming.
I don't do autographs.
I'd love to hear more
about your topsecret business.
I've read every story about you
in The Daily Punctilio.
You are so glamorous and important.
You remind me of myself.
Please, tell me,
what are you planning next?
That's top secret. But I can tell you
it's gonna be the "innest" cocktail party
this hotel has ever seen.
A cocktail party!
People are going to be so excited.
Some will probably have heart attacks!
I hope so.
They're certainly in for a big surprise.
What kind of surprise?
If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise.
I don't mean to eavesdrop, but I'm
a member of the Esmé Squalor Fan Club,
and I'd love to hear about a big surprise
at a cocktail party.
Can't you give me a hint?
No!
Pretty please! With sugar on top.
I also want sugar on top.
No.
Does it have to do with the spyglass?
What spyglass?
When I was watching you
from under that table,
which I often do as your number one fan,
I saw that you were watching the sky
with a spyglass.
Why?
Because...
Bird-watching is "in."
Bird-watching in!
Wait until the readers of the Esmé Squalor
Fan Club newsletter hear about that!
You're such a wonderfully nosy man.
You must know all sorts of information.
Tell you what.
I'll give you a hint about the secret
ingredient in my party's hors d'oeuvres
if you tell me about a certain person
who's been inviting people to this hotel.
Hmm?
His initials start with J.S.
You of all people should know
who know J.S. is!
-He's your--
-Stupid cakesniffer!
That concierge is just standing there
instead of getting me
my lactose-free ice cream cone!
I'm so sorry, Carmelita.
Not so fast. How does a concierge
know my daughter's name?
It's on her boat.
That checks out.
Oh, there's one more thing
I forgot to tell you to get me.
I want a harpoon gun.
Excuse me, sir.
Is there a problem?
A guest asked for something.
I don't think I should give it to her.
The job of the concierge is to give
the guests exactly what they ask for.
Giving a harpoon gun to Carmelita Spats
would be wrong.
But not giving it to her
would be suspicious.
V.F.D. is aware of Ms. Spats' intentions,
and we've already taken them into account.
Sometimes what seems wrong
is really part of a larger plan.
Can I trust you, concierge?
If I can trust you.
The clock in the lobby
of the Hotel Denouement
was the stuff of legend,
a phrase which here means
"very famous for being very loud."
The noise it makes
sounded a lot like a word,
and that word described Violet Baudelaire
as she prepared to carry a harpoon gun
to the rooftop sunbathing salon.
Thank goodness you got here so fast.
I rang two minutes ago,
and it's an emergency.
Babs?
How do you know my name?
It's on your name tag.
Well, that makes sense.
I'm sorry I'm so jumpy,
but the last person I trusted tied me up,
stole my clipboard,
and burned down my hospital.
I'll never get that clipboard back.
You said there was an emergency.
Yes, it's terrible.
I'm supposed to meet my boyfriend
in the sauna,
but this hotel is poorly organized,
so I have no idea where it is.
Well, the 200s are the library
catalog numbers for religion,
and saunas are often a place
for spiritual contemplation,
so the sauna is on the second floor.
My, you're smart.
Have you considered being a doctor?
Right this way, ma'am.
Your boyfriend should be inside.
Who's there?
I can't see a thing in this steam.
It's your girlfriend! And the concierge.
Ah, the concierge!
I would love an aqueous Martini.
I'm hooked, although I know
they're terribly out of style.
You two are a couple?
Yes! We met at a support group for people
who were terrorized by Esmé Squalor,
and we fell hopelessly in love.
Isn't that right, love of my life?
It's definitely not a cover story,
fire of my loins.
I'll get that Martini.
He's gone.
I'm so anxious. How long
do we have to keep this act up?
There are enemies in this hotel.
We have to make them think
we're a happy couple
if we want to help the Baudelaires.
That's what J.S. said in that telegram.
Oh, the Baudelaires.
Letting them go
was the biggest mistake of my life.
I shouldn't have let that man
who said he was a doctor
-nearly cut off their heads.
-Hmm.
We just have to wait till Thursday.
That's when all these unfortunate events
will be over
and I go back to the real love of my life.
We met at a support group for people
who have escaped horrible partners.
He got a telegram from J.S. too,
but he couldn't be here.
He's busy at his lumber mill.
Oh, oh, oh.
Well, I have someone too.
She also received a telegram,
but couldn't make it either.
She's in prison for bank robbery.
Ah!
Well, J.S. did say that everyone who's
ever met the Baudelaires was invited,
so that makes sense.
Excuse me. I have a telegram from J.S.,
although I can't give it to you
until you give me his name.
You mean her name. J.S. is a woman.
I thought he was a sea captain.
Hmm...
Well, well, well.
What do we have here?
I fear I'm overdressed.
It's blood.
Ah, there you are, concierge.
I have an important job for you.
I need you to help me hang this
from the window of room 598,
but we must be careful.
It's so sticky that anything it touches
becomes instantly trapped.
Is it flypaper?
Yes, although our problem is not flies.
It's birds.
You want me to hang flypaper
out of the window of a hotel room
to trap birds? That seems strange.
Sometimes what seems strange
is really part of a larger plan.
Can I trust you, concierge?
If I can trust you.
As you know,
the noise made by the clock
in the lobby of the Hotel Denouement
sounded a lot like a word.
This word described Klaus Baudelaire
as he helped hang a strip of birdpaper
outside the fifth floor.
That's odd. I could've sworn
I heard someone knock at the door.
Ah!
Oh, there you are.
I rang two minutes ago, which is exactly
the amount of time it takes
to get from the third floor
to the lobby,
so you're neither early nor late.
My, the concierges are short
in this hotel.
I have no idea what you're saying.
So I have a very important meeting
in the restaurant in room 954,
but my secretary,
Jacqueline Scieszka, moved to Winnipeg,
and my other secretary,
whose name I never learned,
quit abruptly this morning.
So, do you have
any secretarial experience?
Excellent! Follow me.
You remind me of a toddler I know.
I mean, obviously you can't be her.
I mean, why would a toddler be working
at a hotel and as a concierge?
Oh, I just must be hungry
for a familiar face.
Hello, I'm Larry Your-Waiter.
I hope you're hungry for Indian food.
In room 954, which is the library
catalog number for India and South Asia,
we're proud to serve
a wide variety of Indian dishes.
The culinary history of the region
is quite fascinating.
I'll just have a glass of milk.
-Don't want to broaden your horizons?
-No, thank you. I'm afraid of foreigners.
One glass of milk coming up,
and something to bite for the little lady.
I swear I've seen that waiter
somewhere before.
It's the oddest thing,
but this hotel is positively packed
with familiar faces.
Ah, you must be J.S.!
Call me Snicket.
Jacques Snicket. We've never met.
Oh, you're most certainly right
we've never met.
I may forget a name,
but I never remember a face.
Well, lookee here. A small child.
As an upstanding, book-reading,
still-living citizen,
I sure love children.
I love 'em so darn much.
It's frankly kind of disturbing
how much I love children.
Which is why I am not going to let you
out of my sight.
This is actually my secretary.
Well, technically, she's a concierge.
Shall we get started?
Did you procure the items I requested?
I said "procure,"
when a perfectly normal word would do,
because I, Jacques Snicket,
am an insufferable know-it-all
who likes to show off.
-I read your telegram.
-Which I signed J.S.
Which you signed J.S., yes.
-Which are definitely my initials.
-Which are certainly your initials.
And as requested,
I gathered everything
I found in the Baudelaire case,
including all the information
that could incriminate Count Olaf.
Super. I'll just take that.
Then I thought I'd be remiss
in my duties as a banker
if I handed an incomplete file.
After all, you requested everything.
So I did some digging,
and do you know what I found?
Uh...
What?
Everything.
I combed through thousands of documents
until I found each bit evidence
that could relate to the Baudelaire case.
How tedious.
Compliment taken.
A bank is a bit like a library, although
we don't approve of people browsing.
And once I gathered it all up,
I came to a shocking discovery.
That you have to get out more?
This file is more than a collection
of esoteric documents
chronicling the unhappy lives
of several children. No!
When taken together, it forms
a complete history of injustice,
as demonstrated by a wicked villain,
his treacherous girlfriend,
and various well-meaning
yet ineffectual authority figures
who help him, intentionally
or unintentionally, along the way.
I even gave it my own title.
I call it,
The Complete History of Injustice
or Odious Lusting After Fortunes.
Mr. Poe, this is a shocking development.
I promise to keep that file safe,
or my name isn't Jacques Snicket,
a pompous dogooder
who is definitely not dead.
This isn't the file.
Beg your pardon?
This is the index.
The file was too big for my briefcase.
It's being delivered tonight
by another client
who requested the same materials.
You both have the exact same initials.
Larry.
Fancy seeing you here.
I forgot your milk.
-But it's on that tray.
-I'll go get it from the chef.
Odd service.
Hotel restaurants!
So tell me, who is this other J.S.
that seems so interested
in the Baudelaire orphans?
I'm afraid I can't discuss that.
Banker-client confidentiality.
Pretend your life depended on it.
Things are worse than we thought.
How soon before J.S. arrives?
The real J.S., not that imposter
in the dining room.
Tonight. And the package
will be arriving as well.
But our enemies are watching the skies.
If they intercept the delivery,
we will all be eating crow.
Crow is tough to eat.
I hope we have enough sugar.
Especially if there are mushrooms
on the menu.
That came from the kitchen.
Where did your secretary go?
Ah, concierge, I need you to come with me
to room 025, the laundry room.
I need you to put this special lock
on the door.
They tend to just wander off,
like orphans or cats.
I know how to make a cat stay.
You skin it.
If you see that waiter,
tell him I'm still waiting on that milk.
We'll take the service elevator.
Exactly. Sometimes what seems mysterious
is really part of a larger plan.
Larry, you're done ruining my schemes,
and also my lunch.
You haven't even tried the curry.
It's way too spicy.
Olaf, you lack more than an appreciation
for subcontinental cuisine.
You lack morals and ethics. And back-up!
Where are your associates now?
Where are yours?
Oh, right. I killed them all.
You can wear a fake mustache,
you can rent a tuxedo--
This isn't rented. I stole it.
You'll never be half the man
Jacques Snicket was.
At least I'm not going
to be cooked alive in curry.
Is that a threat?
Did it sound like one?
Yes, it did.
Good. It was.
We'll see about that.
Frank, would you please escort
this villain off the premises?
I think you mean Ernest.
Yippeekiyay.
Unhand me, you cretins!
You cads!
You man-handling imposters!
It's an insult! It's an outrage!
This is no way to treat a waiter!
I'm sorry it has to end like this.
Our little tête-à-têtes have been fun,
but this rivalry,
like this sauce,
has simmered far too long.
Do you expect me to talk?
No, Larry Your-Waiter.
I expect you to boil.
Great. This was dry-clean only.
It's important to keep this room secure.
Can I trust you, concierge?
The sound of the clock
in the lobby described Sunny Baudelaire
as she turned the laundry room entrance
into a Vernacularly Fastened Door.
But it also describes the story
of the Baudelaires
because everything they thought they knew
about their lives,
their situation,
and the Hotel Denouement...
was wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
It's all wrong.
This hotel is full of people we know,
but they can't all be part of V.F.D.
They were all invited by someone
with the initials J.S.,
but they each think
that J.S. is a different person.
Vice Principal Nero said J.S.
is someone that Esmé would know.
Like her husband, Jerome Squalor.
But Jerome Squalor said J.S.
is a woman who wants to help us.
Mr. Poe's secretary
was called Jacqueline Scieszka.
And Babs thinks that J.S.
is a sea captain.
One of Count Olaf's disguises
was Captain Julio Sham.
But Count Olaf is disguised
as Jacques Snicket.
He doesn't know
who the real J.S. is either.
There are other mysteries.
Why is Esmé planning a cocktail party,
and what does Carmelita want
with a harpoon gun?
Did Frank or Ernest give me the birdpaper?
And who told Sunny
to lock the laundry room door?
Why is everyone watching the skies?
Sunny, I don't know what you mean.
I know what she means.
The humorist John Godfrey Saxe
wrote a poem
that was a favorite
of the Baudelaires' father,
who would often torment his children
by reciting it.
In the poem,
six blind men encounter an animal
and are unable to agree
what it looks like.
The first man feels its tall side
and concludes it must be a wall.
The second feels its trunk and decides
it resembles a snake, and so on.
The moral of the poem
is that observing a part of something
is not the same as observing the whole.
But if you share your observations,
you may find that what seems confusing
is really part of a larger plan.
Or an elephant.
We've each heard parts of a larger plan.
If we put them all together,
we can see the whole shape.
Larry Your-Waiter said something
about a package being delivered tonight,
and crows.
What if he meant carrier crows,
like the ones Isadora used to send
couplets in the Village of Fowl Devotees?
That would explain
why Esmé's watching the skies
and why Carmelita needs a harpoon gun.
She's gonna shoot it down.
And I bet that's why Frank or Ernest
had you hang that birdpaper.
If a crow was shot at a certain angle,
it would strike the building
at the fifth floor,
and then it would stick to the birdpaper,
then the package would fall to the ground.
Maybe, or maybe not.
Where else could it land?
I saw a laundry vent under the window.
What if the plan
is for the package to fall in there?
It would end up in the--
Laundry room. Sunny locked the door.
If Frank gave her the lock,
then the package is safe.
But if it was Ernest, then it's not.
-We don't even know what the package is.
-Maybe we do.
What are both sides of the schism after?
The sugar bowl.
The sugar bowl.
Yes, you can take that to room 347,
please. Civil procedures and courts.
Justice Strauss!
Baudelaires! Baudelaires!
Oh, my sweet Baudelaires!
Look at you!
Oh, Klaus, you've gotten so tall.
Violet, you're so grown up.
And Sunny...
I see you're still a biter.
You recognize us.
I care about you children deeply.
I would recognize you anywhere.
What are you doing here?
Well, after that fraud of a wedding,
I couldn't forgive myself
for letting you down,
so I decided to set things right.
I went looking for you.
Next stop, Lousy Lane!
Next stop, Lake Lachrymose!
Next stop, the burnt remains
of Paltrytville!
Prufrock Prep!
Dark Avenue!
Village of Fowl Devotees!
Next stop, the hinterlands!
The burnt remains of Heimlich Hospital!
The burnt remains of Caligari Carnival,
and the Mortmain Mountains!
But everywhere I went,
you were already gone.
Then how did you find us?
I had some help
from a very strange book.
The book told me
about a secret organization
that was devoted
to fighting the fires of the world.
Exactly.
They were trying to help you, too.
So what did you do?
Well, I think we should sit down
for this part.
I realized finding you wouldn't be enough,
not if Count Olaf was still at large.
But if I could gather V.F.D.,
along with all the witnesses
of Count Olaf's crimes,
then the High Court
could hear the whole story
and we could bring him to justice at last.
You're putting Count Olaf on trial?
That's why you invited everyone here.
You've been helping us this whole time
and we didn't know?
I didn't do it alone.
Jerome Squalor shared personal anecdotes
about injustices in the financial sector.
He's sorry he let you down too.
Jacqueline Scieszka provided invaluable
note-taking and globe-trotting services.
Jacques Snicket may be dead,
but his research lives on.
And, of course, I read all about
the nefarious deeds of Captain Julio Sham.
I sent all my research to a bank
for safekeeping.
And here it is, all collected at last.
The Complete History of Injustice
or Odious Lusting After Fortunes.
We invited Count Olaf here too,
and my sources say he's arrived.
But after Thursday, he'll be behind bars,
and all your troubles
will be over at last.
Well, our troubles won't be over
until we find a home.
Well, my home could use
three lovely, clever, talented children.
That is, if you can forgive me.
We'd love to live with you.
Do you really mean it?
Of course.
Then this night is different
from all other nights
because this story is finally over.
It's late. We should get to sleep.
But rest easy, Baudelaires.
We'll be a family soon.
As the Baudelaires contemplated
a future with Justice Strauss,
they were excited to tell Kit
what they'd learned.
Though they wondered
what could be keeping her.
I can't believe you're alive.
The Daily Punctilio ran your obituary.
Oh, you can't believe anything you read
in The Daily Punctilio,
although they did spell my name right.
Where have you been?
On the lam.
It's better to let our enemies think
that I was dead.
What about your siblings?
I read about Jacques in the paper.
That's why I came back.
-I had to see if it was true.
-It isn't just Jacques.
While you've been gone,
we've lost so many good people.
Monty, Josephine, the Quagmires.
And... Beatrice?
Lemony, I'm so sorry.
I've missed so much.
I feel like I'm arriving
in the middle of someone else's story.
It can be your story, too.
Now that you're back, you can help us.
I can't help anyone, Kit.
You were there that night at the opera.
You know that everything that's happened
is my fault.
The world's troubles
aren't the fault of any one person,
but it is your fault if you do nothing.
Come back to the hotel with me.
Join V.F.D. again. Join us.
What can I do?
You're not dead yet. Do something.
I saw you with--
He's a good man.
I'm happy for you.
Four children.
I have missed a lot.
Four?
One on the way. I saw you
with three more at the hotel.
Lemony, those children aren't mine.
They're the Baudelaires.
You mean that they're--
A signal flare.
Looks like a self-sustaining
hot-air mobile home.
The Quagmire triplets and a flock
of eagles. They're gonna bring it down!
The Queequeg is just offshore.
I can take it to rescue them.
Kit...
How can I help?
Do you still have
a valid taxi driver's license?
Are you awake?
I can't sleep.
Me neither.
These sofas make terrible beds.
It's not the sofas.
There's something bothering me.
Me too.
We know who J.S. is.
We know the sugar bowl is being delivered,
but we don't know why it's important
or which brother put the lock
-on the laundry room door.
-That's the problem.
You said you were with Frank or Ernest
at three o'clock.
You heard the clock strike three.
Sunny was with the other brother
at the same time.
So...?
So I was with one of the brothers too.
All three of us were with Frank or Ernest
at three o'clock exactly.
I see what you mean. Two brothers can be
in two places at the same time.
They can't be in three places.
I wish this hotel was a library.
We could use the library catalog
system to find some answers.
Is there a library catalog number
for mysteries?
135. I already thought of that.
But there is no room 135.
Maybe it's not a room.
Remember when we stayed at that hotel
and we thought it would be fun to press
a bunch of buttons at the same time?
Father said when you do that,
you never know where you'll end up.
Let's see where we end up.
- We're going down.
- The basement laundry room.
The elevator isn't stopping.
There must be a sub-basement.
It looks like a library card catalog.
Someone's been repairing a book.
- The paste is still wet.
- The tea is still hot.
Kit, is that you?
You're not Kit.
And you're not Frank.
And you're not Ernest, either.
Because the Denouement brothers
aren't twins.
They're triplets.
Kit told me that you were clever.
My name is Dewey Denouement.
I'm pleased to meet you.
Why didn't Kit tell us about you?
My existence is secret,
which suits me fine
because my work is secret, too.
You see, the Hotel Denouement
is not just organized like a library.
It is a library.
We collect reports from every
V.F.D. agent, scholar, researcher,
inventor, scientist, explorer,
cartographer, poet, journalist,
naturalist, herpetologist, optometrist,
receptionist, chef, waiter, taxi driver,
sea captain, film director, ballerina,
children's book author, and mountaineer.
Our volunteers are everywhere,
observing the world
and writing it all down in books.
These books then pass through
a number of safe places,
from hospitals to carnivals,
to end up here...
the Last Safe Place.
Ever since the schism,
it's more important than ever
to keep our research
cataloged and secure.
So while Frank and Ernest run the hotel,
I do my work in the shadows.
Here we are.
Where's the library?
Look below the surface.
-It's a sub-library, so it's submerged.
-It's under the pond.
Our enemies could burn the hotel
to the ground and our work would be safe.
It's a secret library.
Then why are you telling us?
After Thursday, Kit and I are leaving
V.F.D. to raise our child.
The Last Safe Place
will need a new sub-librarian,
or three of them.
You want to give us your library?
I've read all about you, Baudelaires.
Violet, you've invented amazing things
under incredible pressure.
Imagine what you could do with the time
and resources that you'd have here.
Klaus, your research skills are on par
with V.F.D.'s greatest librarians.
Why not use them in service
of its greatest library?
And Sunny, I've heard wonderful things
about your cooking.
Never underestimate the way
that a good meal can change the world.
After Thursday,
Count Olaf will be behind bars.
You'll need a new home. Why not here?
Justice Strauss wants us to live with her.
She promised to keep us safe.
And I'm sure she would.
But you're not children anymore.
Is a safe life really enough?
Before we answer,
there's one secret we want to know.
What's in the sugar bowl?
Ah!
An interesting question.
I searched the hotel for you orphans,
which wasn't easy
because it's very poorly organized,
but you're in my clutches at last.
It's not poorly organized.
It's arranged like a library catalog.
We're not in your clutches.
We're standing at the edge of a pond.
That's what you think.
I'm afraid the man next to you
is one of my associates.
Hand them over, Ernest.
Oh, I'm not Ernest.
Well, then, hand them over, Frank.
You might want to consider doing your hair
different so I can tell you apart.
I'm not Frank either.
What, what? Well, you can't be Dewey.
He's a myth,
like unicorns or Giuseppe Verdi.
Giuseppe Verdi is real.
He's an Italian composer.
You're outnumbered, Olaf. This hotel
is full of volunteers who arrived early,
as noble people do,
while your accomplices,
being wicked, will arrive late.
Of course we will.
Being early is "out."
That's why they call it fashionably late.
Who wants to see me
hit a cakesniffer with a harpoon?
Don't wave that around, child.
It's dangerous.
But I need to practice.
If I hit a crow,
you promised to teach me how to spit
like a real ballplaying cowboy
superhero soldier pirate!
Esmé Squalor and Carmelita Spats.
My library is full of accounts
of your treachery.
Library? I'm beginning to think
you are Giuseppi Verdi.
You mean Dewey Denouement.
Dewey Denouement?
Like the unicorn? How exquisite.
I do hope you're coming
to my cocktail party.
We're serving mushrooms.
She means the Medusoid Mycelium.
That's their plan,
to poison everybody at the party!
With V.F.D. out of the way,
I'll be able to steal
the Baudelaire fortune
and anything else I feel like taking.
You would never unleash the Mycelium.
Not without the sugar bowl.
Funny you should mention that.
Once we shoot that crow,
we'll retrieve the sugar bowl
from the laundry room.
Only problem is some pesky volunteer
put a V.F.D. lock on the door.
You're a capable woman, Esmé.
You could be doing so much more
than playing second fiddle
in the last chair in the back row
of a thirdrate orchestra for Count Olaf.
I'm second to nobody.
Now, if you're really Dewey Denouement,
you know all about the sugar bowl.
You know what's inside
and how important it is,
and you know that it is mine.
The container is yours,
not what it contains.
Beatrice stole it from me!
There are worse things in this world
than theft.
There certainly are.
Give us the codes to the lock,
or this little girl will harpoon you.
I'm not shooting any harpoons
until Countie teaches me to spit!
You will do as I say. I already
bought you that ridiculous outfit.
Teach me to spit!
Teach me to spit!
Shoot the harpoon!
Teach me to spit!
Shoot the harpoon!
Teach me to spit!
I will never teach you to spit
as long as I can breathe!
Ha!
You apologize to our darling little girl!
She is not a darling little girl.
She is a spoiled brat!
I am tired of pretending to be a family,
and I am tired of a girlfriend
who undermines my authority!
You would have our fortune
if it weren't for Esmé.
You stay out of this!
If it wasn't for her,
you'd be rich and we'd be dead.
Yeah, those brats have a point.
I would be rich.
They would be dead.
You've never cared about me, Esmé.
All you care about is the sugar bowl,
free acting lessons,
and what's "in" and what is "out"!
Oh, I'll tell you
what's "in" and what's "out."
Being constantly unappreciated
by a man whose pant leg
doesn't even cover his ankle.
"Out!" Being stuck playing second-banana
in a series of increasingly ludicrous
schemes in increasingly remote locations.
Extremely "out"!
I think you're gonna love this one,
darling.
Losing time and again to three children.
Look at them. They're not even old enough
to rent a tuxedo,
and yet, they beat you every time!
That is the "outtest" thing of all!
Esmé...
you're fired.
And I'm breaking up with you.
You can't break up with me.
No one has ever done that before.
That's what makes it so satisfying.
You...
really want me out of your life?
To... ta... lly.
You haven't heard the last
of Esmé Gigi Genivive Squalor.
Come on, darling.
Is Countie not my daddy anymore?
He's not mine either, pet.
Baudelaires...
Going somewhere?
Olaf, put the gun down.
You've lost your associates.
I never needed them anyway.
All I need is the Baudelaire fortune
and the three phrases
to open the V.F.D. lock.
Even if you open it, you'll find nothing
in the laundry room except laundry.
The lock is a decoy.
I may have a handsome and youthful glow,
but I wasn't born yesterday.
I'll give you until the count of ten.
One...
-Two...
-If you want to shoot him,
-you'll have to shoot me!
-I can live with that. Three...
You'll have to shoot me too.
You're sweetening the pot. Four!
Baudelaires...
If he shoots us,
he'll never get the Baudelaire fortune.
There's still the baby. Five!
You have a choice. You can choose
not to pull that trigger.
Yes, and you can choose
death by harpoon. Six!
Seven!
Eight!
Uh...
nine.
You don't have to do this.
It's all I know how to do.
What's going on out here?
Good God, that man's been shot!
There is an opera called
La Forza del Destino
written by a composer
named Giuseppe Verdi.
"La forza del destino" is an Italian
phrase meaning "the force of destiny,"
and destiny is a word which tends to cause
arguments among the people who use it.
Some people think that destiny
is something that you cannot escape,
like death or curdled cheesecake.
Other people think
that destiny is an invisible force
that guides people through their lives,
as if they are simply characters
in an opera.
In the opera La Forza del Destino,
the characters argue, fall in love,
run away to monasteries, engage in duels,
and drop a gun on the floor,
where it accidentally goes off
and kills someone.
The opera is a tragedy,
and so is the story of the Baudelaires,
who were about to experience
a similar incident.
I said, good God, that man's been shot!
Kit...
Dewey!
Dewey!
The consequences
would ripple through their lives...
like water in a pond.
What do we do?
Baudelaires, you just shot that man
with a harpoon gun,
along with that other man
who I didn't get a really good look at.
You're going to wait right here
until I get the manager.
That was the manager.
Hey, what's going on?
- What was that racket?
- What's going on down there?
The sugar bowl.
Kit...
Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire.
My name is Lemony Snicket.
search Steam for PROJECT WARLOCK
Unless you were born yesterday,
in which case,
welcome to the world, little baby,
you have probably observed
that things aren't always what they seem.
The surface of a pond might seem calm,
when, in reality, any number of secrets
might be hidden beneath it.
The world is like a pond that way.
When you perform even
the tiniest of actions,
like dropping a stone...
it can ripple,
until the entire world has been changed.
My name is Lemony Snicket,
and I recommend you drop
your streaming device into a pond.
Your world will be changed for the better,
since you will not have to watch
the sad story of the Baudelaire orphans.
You will be spared the tragic tale
of the Hotel Denouement.
And you will never have to encounter
the suspicious parties staying there,
some of whom, I am sorry to report...
may already be familiar.
Please be careful.
There's a typewriter inside.
Things aren't always
what they seem, Baudelaires.
It may seem like I'm speeding recklessly
because I'm a taxi driver who doesn't care
about traffic safety laws,
but really, I'm trying to shake the car
that's been following us.
There's a car following us?
I suspect it belongs
to a pair of sinister villains
I recently encountered on a mountain.
We were there too.
I know exactly where you've been,
Klaus Baudelaire.
I wish I could have helped you all along,
but ever since the schism,
there have been more fires
than even a Volunteer Fire Department
can put out.
Those look like they burned down recently.
Our enemies are getting bolder.
But the tables are about to turn,
and so is this car, so hang on.
I know you have thousands of questions,
and I wish I had time to answer them
over a leisurely brunch,
but our agents are already on their way
to the Last Safe Place,
so I'm afraid you'll have to settle
for a quick debrief
and a picnic in the back of a taxi.
There's a picnic basket on the floor.
You said your name is Kit Snicket.
We met a man named Jacques Snicket.
He was my brother.
And he's the reason I need your help.
I received this telegram
instructing all volunteers
to go to the Hotel Denouement on Thursday,
and it's signed
with my brother's initials, "J.S."
We received the same telegram,
but it can't be from Jacques. He's...
Yes, Baudelaires.
I know that my brother is dead.
And I know that you tried to save him,
but I'm afraid someone is impersonating
him to gather all of V.F.D. in one place.
We could be walking into a trap.
So you need to find out if this J.S.
is a friend or an enemy.
Do you know what a flaneur is?
A person who observes
their surroundings, like a spy.
Very good.
Children make the best flaneurs,
since adults rarely pay attention to them.
There's a secret compartment in the bottom
of the picnic basket. Open it.
Uniforms?
Disguises.
Baudelaires, I need your help.
I need you to infiltrate
the Hotel Denouement as concierge
and learn the identity of J.S.
before Thursday.
I have an inside man
who's made all the arrangements.
All you have to say is yes.
Say you'll volunteer.
Of course we will.
They're back.
That wasn't the route I intended to take,
but here we are.
The Last Safe Place.
The Hotel Denouement,
that's where V.F.D. is meeting.
I'll give you a moment to be impressed.
You already knew that?
You don't say.
Well, I bet you don't know
about the incredibly deadly vegetable
I'm holding in my hands.
If a fungus is a vegetable.
Is it even a plant?
Hello? Hello?
Tell them thank you for the submarine!
They hung up.
Don't be so desperate for approval.
You sound like my husband,
what's-his-name.
I'm not desperate for approval.
I just want to pull off something big
so they'll be super impressed
and regret all the things they said
about me, which is totally different!
Let's just get back on the sub.
I feel like taking my anger out on Hooky.
Hooky told me to give you this note.
How could he give you a note?
He and his triangle-eyed sister
are locked in the brig.
Oh, not anymore.
What? Give me that!
An extra special messenger
is supposed to get an extra special tip.
I'll give you this rock.
Ew! I prefer gemstones.
I prefer little girls to be quiet,
so I don't get tired
of their annoying demands
and hit them with this rock.
"Sorry Boss."
What's that supposed to mean?
Hmm...
Oh, no! He's kidnapped
those Snow Scouts we kidnapped!
And that guy, Phil.
Now who's gonna play veterinarian with me?
-Well, at least the sub's a rental.
Hooky's defected.
Just because he doesn't have any hands?
Let him go.
I don't care.
We got everything we needed from him.
We needed a ride to the hotel.
We'll take the Olaf.
It's called the Carmelita II.
It's called the Olaf.
It's called the Carmelita II!
We'll discuss it on the way.
Do you think we can trust Kit?
Since we got in her taxi, she's broken
at least nine traffic safety laws,
driven into a hedge, and recruited us
to spy for a secret organization.
I like her.
Me too.
That's Frank Denouement.
He's one of the managers.
He's with us. You can trust him.
I must need new glasses
because I'm seeing double.
That's Frank's treacherous brother,
Ernest.
Do not trust him, no matter what he says.
The schism has turned many siblings
into enemies.
Remember, F is for Frank, who is friendly.
E is for Ernest, who is evil.
How can we tell them apart?
Unfortunately, the only way to determine
if someone is noble or wicked
is through close observation.
Be careful about what you tell them
because if the wrong brother
finds out what we're up to...
we could all be in danger.
I've sent a message to Frank.
He'll meet you in the lobby,
unless it was intercepted by Ernest.
You're not coming?
I'm afraid I have my own mission,
but I'll be back tonight.
If you've discovered that
the Last Safe Place is no longer safe,
we'll send a signal to warn V.F.D.
Do you understand?
We're going to disguise ourselves
as concierges
to determine if J.S. is a villain
or a volunteer.
A manager named Frank will try to help us,
but his brother, Ernest,
will try to stop us.
Perfect. Do you have everything you need?
I can't find my ribbon.
I always carry a spare.
Your mother always tied her hair up
when she needed to think, too.
And your father always adjusted
his glasses like that before a mission.
You remind me of them so much. You all do.
It's hard to believe our parents
went on secret missions.
Your parents put many brave deeds
on the books.
Without them, V.F.D. would never
have survived after the schism.
We heard about the schism,
but we still don't know what it was about.
It's a long story, but it all began
one night at the opera,
during a performance
of La Forza del Destino.
Isn't that where a gun
accidentally goes off and kills somebody?
It's a tragic opera.
I'm sorry, melancholy is a side effect
of my condition.
I'm distraught and I'm pregnant.
Good luck, Baudelaires.
I'll see you tonight.
And please be careful.
I was hoping I'd see you before I left.
Funny, I was hoping you'd stay.
I'll be back tonight.
And if everything goes according to plan,
we'll have the sugar bowl.
We can end this, once and for all.
Then what?
You, me,
a tropical island, and her.
Her? Is that a fact?
It's just a feeling.
I never want to be apart from you again,
except in the restroom, at work,
and when one of us is at a movie
the other one doesn't want to see.
I'll see you tonight.
Send my regards to Frank.
Evidence of a picnic,
like evidence of a secret meeting,
is best discarded,
or it is likely to attract
unsavory visitors or...
ants.
Lemony.
I thought you were dead.
Hello, Kit.
Could I get a ride?
The man in the back of that taxi
is myself,
many years ago when I was younger
and more naive than I am now.
If I could go back in time,
I would tell him
that a light gray suit looks good, but...
it is easier to hide in a darker shade.
I would tell him
that he is about to receive sad news
about someone he loves very much.
And I would tell him
to stay at the Hotel Denouement
instead of leaving in a taxi
with his sister, but...
I cannot change the past...
any more than I can stop that taxi
from driving away.
It won't be easy to find J.S.
in a hotel this big.
A big hotel can work to our advantage.
If Count Olaf turns up,
it won't be easy for him to find us.
Bellhop, take the luggage to the room
and the, uh, Carmelita II up to the roof.
Thank you.
Remember, we have to convince any flaneurs
that we're a normal, happy family
on vacation.
I don't wanna stay at some cakesniffing
hotel! I want to go to Littlest Elf Land!
Tell your darling little girl
to stop drawing so much attention.
If you spent more time with her,
she wouldn't feel the need to act out.
My real parents took me wherever I wanted.
Some parents.
They wouldn't even pay the ransom.
Your father is very stressed
about work, darling.
We're going to go on a real vacation soon,
Mummy promises.
Yes, lie to her.
That's excellent parenting.
I need a drink.
You!
Concierge.
Find the manager and tell him to bring
a nice bottle of wine to our room.
Something red. A sauvignon blank.
Yes, sir.
The manager's on our side of the schism.
Well, one of them is, anyway.
I hear this hotel has a spa,
which is perfect
because I'd like a face peel.
Do you get to pick whose face,
or you just peel it off whoever's around?
-I don't think it works that way.
-Well, I need to relieve my stress somehow
if you expect me
to be put in charge of planning--
-Not in the lobby!
-Oh!
There are eyes everywhere.
We'll talk about it in the room.
I don't want to go to the room.
I'm an adorable, beautiful, cute, dainty,
eye-pleasing, flawless girl,
and I want to go to the pool!
Remind me why we can't send her
back to her parents.
We burned down their house
with them inside.
Wait, what did you say?
Nothing, darling.
-Why didn't he recognize us?
-He only saw our uniforms.
The villainous hotel guests often treat
staff like they're invisible.
Do you think Count Olaf
is the one posing as J.S.?
I don't know, but it can't be good
that he's here.
We have to find out
what he and Esmé are planning.
Are you eavesdropping on our guests?
We're doing the job
we were instructed to do.
You must be our new concierges.
Welcome to the hotel.
I'm one of the managers.
Frank or Ernest?
Exactly.
I'm happy you're here, even though
one of you is unusually short
because we're unusually short-handed.
This way, please.
The job of the concierge is to give
our guests everything they ask for.
When they ring, you volunteer.
What do those numbers mean?
There can't be 999 rooms in this hotel.
That's an interesting question.
Do you know what they mean?
Some luggage arrived in a taxi,
but the driver said
the guest won't get here until Thursday.
Thursday?
Excuse me, concierges.
Do you think that was Frank?
He used the word volunteer.
Maybe it was a code.
Everything he said sounded like a code.
You must be our new concierges.
Welcome to the Hotel Denouement.
I'm one of the managers.
Are you Frank or Ernest?
I am. You're just in time.
We're anticipating a large number
of guests before Thursday.
Do you know why?
We think so.
Can you tell me?
Interesting question.
That's a smart answer. It's hard to know
who you can trust in a hotel lobby.
There are countless wicked people
in the world.
Sooner or later,
some of them will check into a hotel.
Sir, The Daily Punctilio arrived
with an update on those murderers.
Murderers?
Excuse me, concierges.
That had to be Ernest. The part about
wicked people sounded like a threat.
Unless it was a warning. I'm confused.
-How are we supposed to find anyone?
-I can answer that question.
Finding someone here
is as easy as finding a book in a library
because the Hotel Denouement
is not organized like a hotel at all.
It's organized like a library.
Well, a library organizes knowledge
according to a numerical
classification system.
That's right. All guests at the hotel
are placed in rooms according to where
they would be shelved in a library.
But anyone who works here would have
to know the library catalog by heart.
Room 610. That's for our guests
associated with the healthcare industry.
332, financial economics.
That bell doesn't have a number.
That's our rooftop sunbathing salon.
People who sunbathe usually
aren't interested in library science,
so they're not too picky about location.
Three bells, three rooms.
But you can't be in three places at once.
You'll have to split up, Baudelaires.
You know our names?
Are you Frank or Ernest?
That's an interesting question.
Your assignments await.
It is impossible for one person
to be in three places at once,
unless, of course, that person
is viewing a television program.
A person viewing a television program
does not have to choose
between seeing Sunny's mysterious meeting
on the third floor...
Klaus's discovery of a strange conspiracy
on the sixth floor...
and Violet's dangerous dilemma
in the rooftop sunbathing salon.
You may see all three of these things.
Just... not at the same time.
No one's ever looked good with a mustache,
so I guess I'll be the first.
Yippeekiyay, mateys!
I'm a ballplaying cowboy superhero
soldier pirate!
Of course you are.
Carmelita's been exploring
her tomboy side. Isn't she adorable?
As the vice principal of Prufrock Prep,
I can tell you Carmelita
was always an adorable girl,
and now she's an adorable tomboy!
Some girls find "tomboy" insulting.
That means their interests don't conform
to somebody else's expectations.
Some girls find tomboy to be
an insulting term that blah, blah, blah...
Who dares interrupt a genius
when he's sunbathing?
Must be the concierge. You're late.
I rang two whole minutes ago.
What is it you require, ma'am?
Don't address me.
I'd no sooner look at or speak to the help
than I would wear modest clothing.
You're speaking to the help right now.
I didn't summon you for your opinion.
I summoned you to give
that adorable little girl in the yacht
whatever her heart desires.
Everyone, watch me shoot a hoop!
Hey, concierge, I want an ice cream cone
with hot pink sprinkles,
and bananas, and lemon sorbet
because I'm lactose intolerant.
My daughter and I are here
on topsecret business.
If I may gush like an open wound,
I'm not just a vice principal,
but I'm also the vice president
of the Esmé Squalor Fan Club!
I'm your number one fan.
That is so charming.
I don't do autographs.
I'd love to hear more
about your topsecret business.
I've read every story about you
in The Daily Punctilio.
You are so glamorous and important.
You remind me of myself.
Please, tell me,
what are you planning next?
That's top secret. But I can tell you
it's gonna be the "innest" cocktail party
this hotel has ever seen.
A cocktail party!
People are going to be so excited.
Some will probably have heart attacks!
I hope so.
They're certainly in for a big surprise.
What kind of surprise?
If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise.
I don't mean to eavesdrop, but I'm
a member of the Esmé Squalor Fan Club,
and I'd love to hear about a big surprise
at a cocktail party.
Can't you give me a hint?
No!
Pretty please! With sugar on top.
I also want sugar on top.
No.
Does it have to do with the spyglass?
What spyglass?
When I was watching you
from under that table,
which I often do as your number one fan,
I saw that you were watching the sky
with a spyglass.
Why?
Because...
Bird-watching is "in."
Bird-watching in!
Wait until the readers of the Esmé Squalor
Fan Club newsletter hear about that!
You're such a wonderfully nosy man.
You must know all sorts of information.
Tell you what.
I'll give you a hint about the secret
ingredient in my party's hors d'oeuvres
if you tell me about a certain person
who's been inviting people to this hotel.
Hmm?
His initials start with J.S.
You of all people should know
who know J.S. is!
-He's your--
-Stupid cakesniffer!
That concierge is just standing there
instead of getting me
my lactose-free ice cream cone!
I'm so sorry, Carmelita.
Not so fast. How does a concierge
know my daughter's name?
It's on her boat.
That checks out.
Oh, there's one more thing
I forgot to tell you to get me.
I want a harpoon gun.
Excuse me, sir.
Is there a problem?
A guest asked for something.
I don't think I should give it to her.
The job of the concierge is to give
the guests exactly what they ask for.
Giving a harpoon gun to Carmelita Spats
would be wrong.
But not giving it to her
would be suspicious.
V.F.D. is aware of Ms. Spats' intentions,
and we've already taken them into account.
Sometimes what seems wrong
is really part of a larger plan.
Can I trust you, concierge?
If I can trust you.
The clock in the lobby
of the Hotel Denouement
was the stuff of legend,
a phrase which here means
"very famous for being very loud."
The noise it makes
sounded a lot like a word,
and that word described Violet Baudelaire
as she prepared to carry a harpoon gun
to the rooftop sunbathing salon.
Thank goodness you got here so fast.
I rang two minutes ago,
and it's an emergency.
Babs?
How do you know my name?
It's on your name tag.
Well, that makes sense.
I'm sorry I'm so jumpy,
but the last person I trusted tied me up,
stole my clipboard,
and burned down my hospital.
I'll never get that clipboard back.
You said there was an emergency.
Yes, it's terrible.
I'm supposed to meet my boyfriend
in the sauna,
but this hotel is poorly organized,
so I have no idea where it is.
Well, the 200s are the library
catalog numbers for religion,
and saunas are often a place
for spiritual contemplation,
so the sauna is on the second floor.
My, you're smart.
Have you considered being a doctor?
Right this way, ma'am.
Your boyfriend should be inside.
Who's there?
I can't see a thing in this steam.
It's your girlfriend! And the concierge.
Ah, the concierge!
I would love an aqueous Martini.
I'm hooked, although I know
they're terribly out of style.
You two are a couple?
Yes! We met at a support group for people
who were terrorized by Esmé Squalor,
and we fell hopelessly in love.
Isn't that right, love of my life?
It's definitely not a cover story,
fire of my loins.
I'll get that Martini.
He's gone.
I'm so anxious. How long
do we have to keep this act up?
There are enemies in this hotel.
We have to make them think
we're a happy couple
if we want to help the Baudelaires.
That's what J.S. said in that telegram.
Oh, the Baudelaires.
Letting them go
was the biggest mistake of my life.
I shouldn't have let that man
who said he was a doctor
-nearly cut off their heads.
-Hmm.
We just have to wait till Thursday.
That's when all these unfortunate events
will be over
and I go back to the real love of my life.
We met at a support group for people
who have escaped horrible partners.
He got a telegram from J.S. too,
but he couldn't be here.
He's busy at his lumber mill.
Oh, oh, oh.
Well, I have someone too.
She also received a telegram,
but couldn't make it either.
She's in prison for bank robbery.
Ah!
Well, J.S. did say that everyone who's
ever met the Baudelaires was invited,
so that makes sense.
Excuse me. I have a telegram from J.S.,
although I can't give it to you
until you give me his name.
You mean her name. J.S. is a woman.
I thought he was a sea captain.
Hmm...
Well, well, well.
What do we have here?
I fear I'm overdressed.
It's blood.
Ah, there you are, concierge.
I have an important job for you.
I need you to help me hang this
from the window of room 598,
but we must be careful.
It's so sticky that anything it touches
becomes instantly trapped.
Is it flypaper?
Yes, although our problem is not flies.
It's birds.
You want me to hang flypaper
out of the window of a hotel room
to trap birds? That seems strange.
Sometimes what seems strange
is really part of a larger plan.
Can I trust you, concierge?
If I can trust you.
As you know,
the noise made by the clock
in the lobby of the Hotel Denouement
sounded a lot like a word.
This word described Klaus Baudelaire
as he helped hang a strip of birdpaper
outside the fifth floor.
That's odd. I could've sworn
I heard someone knock at the door.
Ah!
Oh, there you are.
I rang two minutes ago, which is exactly
the amount of time it takes
to get from the third floor
to the lobby,
so you're neither early nor late.
My, the concierges are short
in this hotel.
I have no idea what you're saying.
So I have a very important meeting
in the restaurant in room 954,
but my secretary,
Jacqueline Scieszka, moved to Winnipeg,
and my other secretary,
whose name I never learned,
quit abruptly this morning.
So, do you have
any secretarial experience?
Excellent! Follow me.
You remind me of a toddler I know.
I mean, obviously you can't be her.
I mean, why would a toddler be working
at a hotel and as a concierge?
Oh, I just must be hungry
for a familiar face.
Hello, I'm Larry Your-Waiter.
I hope you're hungry for Indian food.
In room 954, which is the library
catalog number for India and South Asia,
we're proud to serve
a wide variety of Indian dishes.
The culinary history of the region
is quite fascinating.
I'll just have a glass of milk.
-Don't want to broaden your horizons?
-No, thank you. I'm afraid of foreigners.
One glass of milk coming up,
and something to bite for the little lady.
I swear I've seen that waiter
somewhere before.
It's the oddest thing,
but this hotel is positively packed
with familiar faces.
Ah, you must be J.S.!
Call me Snicket.
Jacques Snicket. We've never met.
Oh, you're most certainly right
we've never met.
I may forget a name,
but I never remember a face.
Well, lookee here. A small child.
As an upstanding, book-reading,
still-living citizen,
I sure love children.
I love 'em so darn much.
It's frankly kind of disturbing
how much I love children.
Which is why I am not going to let you
out of my sight.
This is actually my secretary.
Well, technically, she's a concierge.
Shall we get started?
Did you procure the items I requested?
I said "procure,"
when a perfectly normal word would do,
because I, Jacques Snicket,
am an insufferable know-it-all
who likes to show off.
-I read your telegram.
-Which I signed J.S.
Which you signed J.S., yes.
-Which are definitely my initials.
-Which are certainly your initials.
And as requested,
I gathered everything
I found in the Baudelaire case,
including all the information
that could incriminate Count Olaf.
Super. I'll just take that.
Then I thought I'd be remiss
in my duties as a banker
if I handed an incomplete file.
After all, you requested everything.
So I did some digging,
and do you know what I found?
Uh...
What?
Everything.
I combed through thousands of documents
until I found each bit evidence
that could relate to the Baudelaire case.
How tedious.
Compliment taken.
A bank is a bit like a library, although
we don't approve of people browsing.
And once I gathered it all up,
I came to a shocking discovery.
That you have to get out more?
This file is more than a collection
of esoteric documents
chronicling the unhappy lives
of several children. No!
When taken together, it forms
a complete history of injustice,
as demonstrated by a wicked villain,
his treacherous girlfriend,
and various well-meaning
yet ineffectual authority figures
who help him, intentionally
or unintentionally, along the way.
I even gave it my own title.
I call it,
The Complete History of Injustice
or Odious Lusting After Fortunes.
Mr. Poe, this is a shocking development.
I promise to keep that file safe,
or my name isn't Jacques Snicket,
a pompous dogooder
who is definitely not dead.
This isn't the file.
Beg your pardon?
This is the index.
The file was too big for my briefcase.
It's being delivered tonight
by another client
who requested the same materials.
You both have the exact same initials.
Larry.
Fancy seeing you here.
I forgot your milk.
-But it's on that tray.
-I'll go get it from the chef.
Odd service.
Hotel restaurants!
So tell me, who is this other J.S.
that seems so interested
in the Baudelaire orphans?
I'm afraid I can't discuss that.
Banker-client confidentiality.
Pretend your life depended on it.
Things are worse than we thought.
How soon before J.S. arrives?
The real J.S., not that imposter
in the dining room.
Tonight. And the package
will be arriving as well.
But our enemies are watching the skies.
If they intercept the delivery,
we will all be eating crow.
Crow is tough to eat.
I hope we have enough sugar.
Especially if there are mushrooms
on the menu.
That came from the kitchen.
Where did your secretary go?
Ah, concierge, I need you to come with me
to room 025, the laundry room.
I need you to put this special lock
on the door.
They tend to just wander off,
like orphans or cats.
I know how to make a cat stay.
You skin it.
If you see that waiter,
tell him I'm still waiting on that milk.
We'll take the service elevator.
Exactly. Sometimes what seems mysterious
is really part of a larger plan.
Larry, you're done ruining my schemes,
and also my lunch.
You haven't even tried the curry.
It's way too spicy.
Olaf, you lack more than an appreciation
for subcontinental cuisine.
You lack morals and ethics. And back-up!
Where are your associates now?
Where are yours?
Oh, right. I killed them all.
You can wear a fake mustache,
you can rent a tuxedo--
This isn't rented. I stole it.
You'll never be half the man
Jacques Snicket was.
At least I'm not going
to be cooked alive in curry.
Is that a threat?
Did it sound like one?
Yes, it did.
Good. It was.
We'll see about that.
Frank, would you please escort
this villain off the premises?
I think you mean Ernest.
Yippeekiyay.
Unhand me, you cretins!
You cads!
You man-handling imposters!
It's an insult! It's an outrage!
This is no way to treat a waiter!
I'm sorry it has to end like this.
Our little tête-à-têtes have been fun,
but this rivalry,
like this sauce,
has simmered far too long.
Do you expect me to talk?
No, Larry Your-Waiter.
I expect you to boil.
Great. This was dry-clean only.
It's important to keep this room secure.
Can I trust you, concierge?
The sound of the clock
in the lobby described Sunny Baudelaire
as she turned the laundry room entrance
into a Vernacularly Fastened Door.
But it also describes the story
of the Baudelaires
because everything they thought they knew
about their lives,
their situation,
and the Hotel Denouement...
was wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
It's all wrong.
This hotel is full of people we know,
but they can't all be part of V.F.D.
They were all invited by someone
with the initials J.S.,
but they each think
that J.S. is a different person.
Vice Principal Nero said J.S.
is someone that Esmé would know.
Like her husband, Jerome Squalor.
But Jerome Squalor said J.S.
is a woman who wants to help us.
Mr. Poe's secretary
was called Jacqueline Scieszka.
And Babs thinks that J.S.
is a sea captain.
One of Count Olaf's disguises
was Captain Julio Sham.
But Count Olaf is disguised
as Jacques Snicket.
He doesn't know
who the real J.S. is either.
There are other mysteries.
Why is Esmé planning a cocktail party,
and what does Carmelita want
with a harpoon gun?
Did Frank or Ernest give me the birdpaper?
And who told Sunny
to lock the laundry room door?
Why is everyone watching the skies?
Sunny, I don't know what you mean.
I know what she means.
The humorist John Godfrey Saxe
wrote a poem
that was a favorite
of the Baudelaires' father,
who would often torment his children
by reciting it.
In the poem,
six blind men encounter an animal
and are unable to agree
what it looks like.
The first man feels its tall side
and concludes it must be a wall.
The second feels its trunk and decides
it resembles a snake, and so on.
The moral of the poem
is that observing a part of something
is not the same as observing the whole.
But if you share your observations,
you may find that what seems confusing
is really part of a larger plan.
Or an elephant.
We've each heard parts of a larger plan.
If we put them all together,
we can see the whole shape.
Larry Your-Waiter said something
about a package being delivered tonight,
and crows.
What if he meant carrier crows,
like the ones Isadora used to send
couplets in the Village of Fowl Devotees?
That would explain
why Esmé's watching the skies
and why Carmelita needs a harpoon gun.
She's gonna shoot it down.
And I bet that's why Frank or Ernest
had you hang that birdpaper.
If a crow was shot at a certain angle,
it would strike the building
at the fifth floor,
and then it would stick to the birdpaper,
then the package would fall to the ground.
Maybe, or maybe not.
Where else could it land?
I saw a laundry vent under the window.
What if the plan
is for the package to fall in there?
It would end up in the--
Laundry room. Sunny locked the door.
If Frank gave her the lock,
then the package is safe.
But if it was Ernest, then it's not.
-We don't even know what the package is.
-Maybe we do.
What are both sides of the schism after?
The sugar bowl.
The sugar bowl.
Yes, you can take that to room 347,
please. Civil procedures and courts.
Justice Strauss!
Baudelaires! Baudelaires!
Oh, my sweet Baudelaires!
Look at you!
Oh, Klaus, you've gotten so tall.
Violet, you're so grown up.
And Sunny...
I see you're still a biter.
You recognize us.
I care about you children deeply.
I would recognize you anywhere.
What are you doing here?
Well, after that fraud of a wedding,
I couldn't forgive myself
for letting you down,
so I decided to set things right.
I went looking for you.
Next stop, Lousy Lane!
Next stop, Lake Lachrymose!
Next stop, the burnt remains
of Paltrytville!
Prufrock Prep!
Dark Avenue!
Village of Fowl Devotees!
Next stop, the hinterlands!
The burnt remains of Heimlich Hospital!
The burnt remains of Caligari Carnival,
and the Mortmain Mountains!
But everywhere I went,
you were already gone.
Then how did you find us?
I had some help
from a very strange book.
The book told me
about a secret organization
that was devoted
to fighting the fires of the world.
Exactly.
They were trying to help you, too.
So what did you do?
Well, I think we should sit down
for this part.
I realized finding you wouldn't be enough,
not if Count Olaf was still at large.
But if I could gather V.F.D.,
along with all the witnesses
of Count Olaf's crimes,
then the High Court
could hear the whole story
and we could bring him to justice at last.
You're putting Count Olaf on trial?
That's why you invited everyone here.
You've been helping us this whole time
and we didn't know?
I didn't do it alone.
Jerome Squalor shared personal anecdotes
about injustices in the financial sector.
He's sorry he let you down too.
Jacqueline Scieszka provided invaluable
note-taking and globe-trotting services.
Jacques Snicket may be dead,
but his research lives on.
And, of course, I read all about
the nefarious deeds of Captain Julio Sham.
I sent all my research to a bank
for safekeeping.
And here it is, all collected at last.
The Complete History of Injustice
or Odious Lusting After Fortunes.
We invited Count Olaf here too,
and my sources say he's arrived.
But after Thursday, he'll be behind bars,
and all your troubles
will be over at last.
Well, our troubles won't be over
until we find a home.
Well, my home could use
three lovely, clever, talented children.
That is, if you can forgive me.
We'd love to live with you.
Do you really mean it?
Of course.
Then this night is different
from all other nights
because this story is finally over.
It's late. We should get to sleep.
But rest easy, Baudelaires.
We'll be a family soon.
As the Baudelaires contemplated
a future with Justice Strauss,
they were excited to tell Kit
what they'd learned.
Though they wondered
what could be keeping her.
I can't believe you're alive.
The Daily Punctilio ran your obituary.
Oh, you can't believe anything you read
in The Daily Punctilio,
although they did spell my name right.
Where have you been?
On the lam.
It's better to let our enemies think
that I was dead.
What about your siblings?
I read about Jacques in the paper.
That's why I came back.
-I had to see if it was true.
-It isn't just Jacques.
While you've been gone,
we've lost so many good people.
Monty, Josephine, the Quagmires.
And... Beatrice?
Lemony, I'm so sorry.
I've missed so much.
I feel like I'm arriving
in the middle of someone else's story.
It can be your story, too.
Now that you're back, you can help us.
I can't help anyone, Kit.
You were there that night at the opera.
You know that everything that's happened
is my fault.
The world's troubles
aren't the fault of any one person,
but it is your fault if you do nothing.
Come back to the hotel with me.
Join V.F.D. again. Join us.
What can I do?
You're not dead yet. Do something.
I saw you with--
He's a good man.
I'm happy for you.
Four children.
I have missed a lot.
Four?
One on the way. I saw you
with three more at the hotel.
Lemony, those children aren't mine.
They're the Baudelaires.
You mean that they're--
A signal flare.
Looks like a self-sustaining
hot-air mobile home.
The Quagmire triplets and a flock
of eagles. They're gonna bring it down!
The Queequeg is just offshore.
I can take it to rescue them.
Kit...
How can I help?
Do you still have
a valid taxi driver's license?
Are you awake?
I can't sleep.
Me neither.
These sofas make terrible beds.
It's not the sofas.
There's something bothering me.
Me too.
We know who J.S. is.
We know the sugar bowl is being delivered,
but we don't know why it's important
or which brother put the lock
-on the laundry room door.
-That's the problem.
You said you were with Frank or Ernest
at three o'clock.
You heard the clock strike three.
Sunny was with the other brother
at the same time.
So...?
So I was with one of the brothers too.
All three of us were with Frank or Ernest
at three o'clock exactly.
I see what you mean. Two brothers can be
in two places at the same time.
They can't be in three places.
I wish this hotel was a library.
We could use the library catalog
system to find some answers.
Is there a library catalog number
for mysteries?
135. I already thought of that.
But there is no room 135.
Maybe it's not a room.
Remember when we stayed at that hotel
and we thought it would be fun to press
a bunch of buttons at the same time?
Father said when you do that,
you never know where you'll end up.
Let's see where we end up.
- We're going down.
- The basement laundry room.
The elevator isn't stopping.
There must be a sub-basement.
It looks like a library card catalog.
Someone's been repairing a book.
- The paste is still wet.
- The tea is still hot.
Kit, is that you?
You're not Kit.
And you're not Frank.
And you're not Ernest, either.
Because the Denouement brothers
aren't twins.
They're triplets.
Kit told me that you were clever.
My name is Dewey Denouement.
I'm pleased to meet you.
Why didn't Kit tell us about you?
My existence is secret,
which suits me fine
because my work is secret, too.
You see, the Hotel Denouement
is not just organized like a library.
It is a library.
We collect reports from every
V.F.D. agent, scholar, researcher,
inventor, scientist, explorer,
cartographer, poet, journalist,
naturalist, herpetologist, optometrist,
receptionist, chef, waiter, taxi driver,
sea captain, film director, ballerina,
children's book author, and mountaineer.
Our volunteers are everywhere,
observing the world
and writing it all down in books.
These books then pass through
a number of safe places,
from hospitals to carnivals,
to end up here...
the Last Safe Place.
Ever since the schism,
it's more important than ever
to keep our research
cataloged and secure.
So while Frank and Ernest run the hotel,
I do my work in the shadows.
Here we are.
Where's the library?
Look below the surface.
-It's a sub-library, so it's submerged.
-It's under the pond.
Our enemies could burn the hotel
to the ground and our work would be safe.
It's a secret library.
Then why are you telling us?
After Thursday, Kit and I are leaving
V.F.D. to raise our child.
The Last Safe Place
will need a new sub-librarian,
or three of them.
You want to give us your library?
I've read all about you, Baudelaires.
Violet, you've invented amazing things
under incredible pressure.
Imagine what you could do with the time
and resources that you'd have here.
Klaus, your research skills are on par
with V.F.D.'s greatest librarians.
Why not use them in service
of its greatest library?
And Sunny, I've heard wonderful things
about your cooking.
Never underestimate the way
that a good meal can change the world.
After Thursday,
Count Olaf will be behind bars.
You'll need a new home. Why not here?
Justice Strauss wants us to live with her.
She promised to keep us safe.
And I'm sure she would.
But you're not children anymore.
Is a safe life really enough?
Before we answer,
there's one secret we want to know.
What's in the sugar bowl?
Ah!
An interesting question.
I searched the hotel for you orphans,
which wasn't easy
because it's very poorly organized,
but you're in my clutches at last.
It's not poorly organized.
It's arranged like a library catalog.
We're not in your clutches.
We're standing at the edge of a pond.
That's what you think.
I'm afraid the man next to you
is one of my associates.
Hand them over, Ernest.
Oh, I'm not Ernest.
Well, then, hand them over, Frank.
You might want to consider doing your hair
different so I can tell you apart.
I'm not Frank either.
What, what? Well, you can't be Dewey.
He's a myth,
like unicorns or Giuseppe Verdi.
Giuseppe Verdi is real.
He's an Italian composer.
You're outnumbered, Olaf. This hotel
is full of volunteers who arrived early,
as noble people do,
while your accomplices,
being wicked, will arrive late.
Of course we will.
Being early is "out."
That's why they call it fashionably late.
Who wants to see me
hit a cakesniffer with a harpoon?
Don't wave that around, child.
It's dangerous.
But I need to practice.
If I hit a crow,
you promised to teach me how to spit
like a real ballplaying cowboy
superhero soldier pirate!
Esmé Squalor and Carmelita Spats.
My library is full of accounts
of your treachery.
Library? I'm beginning to think
you are Giuseppi Verdi.
You mean Dewey Denouement.
Dewey Denouement?
Like the unicorn? How exquisite.
I do hope you're coming
to my cocktail party.
We're serving mushrooms.
She means the Medusoid Mycelium.
That's their plan,
to poison everybody at the party!
With V.F.D. out of the way,
I'll be able to steal
the Baudelaire fortune
and anything else I feel like taking.
You would never unleash the Mycelium.
Not without the sugar bowl.
Funny you should mention that.
Once we shoot that crow,
we'll retrieve the sugar bowl
from the laundry room.
Only problem is some pesky volunteer
put a V.F.D. lock on the door.
You're a capable woman, Esmé.
You could be doing so much more
than playing second fiddle
in the last chair in the back row
of a thirdrate orchestra for Count Olaf.
I'm second to nobody.
Now, if you're really Dewey Denouement,
you know all about the sugar bowl.
You know what's inside
and how important it is,
and you know that it is mine.
The container is yours,
not what it contains.
Beatrice stole it from me!
There are worse things in this world
than theft.
There certainly are.
Give us the codes to the lock,
or this little girl will harpoon you.
I'm not shooting any harpoons
until Countie teaches me to spit!
You will do as I say. I already
bought you that ridiculous outfit.
Teach me to spit!
Teach me to spit!
Shoot the harpoon!
Teach me to spit!
Shoot the harpoon!
Teach me to spit!
I will never teach you to spit
as long as I can breathe!
Ha!
You apologize to our darling little girl!
She is not a darling little girl.
She is a spoiled brat!
I am tired of pretending to be a family,
and I am tired of a girlfriend
who undermines my authority!
You would have our fortune
if it weren't for Esmé.
You stay out of this!
If it wasn't for her,
you'd be rich and we'd be dead.
Yeah, those brats have a point.
I would be rich.
They would be dead.
You've never cared about me, Esmé.
All you care about is the sugar bowl,
free acting lessons,
and what's "in" and what is "out"!
Oh, I'll tell you
what's "in" and what's "out."
Being constantly unappreciated
by a man whose pant leg
doesn't even cover his ankle.
"Out!" Being stuck playing second-banana
in a series of increasingly ludicrous
schemes in increasingly remote locations.
Extremely "out"!
I think you're gonna love this one,
darling.
Losing time and again to three children.
Look at them. They're not even old enough
to rent a tuxedo,
and yet, they beat you every time!
That is the "outtest" thing of all!
Esmé...
you're fired.
And I'm breaking up with you.
You can't break up with me.
No one has ever done that before.
That's what makes it so satisfying.
You...
really want me out of your life?
To... ta... lly.
You haven't heard the last
of Esmé Gigi Genivive Squalor.
Come on, darling.
Is Countie not my daddy anymore?
He's not mine either, pet.
Baudelaires...
Going somewhere?
Olaf, put the gun down.
You've lost your associates.
I never needed them anyway.
All I need is the Baudelaire fortune
and the three phrases
to open the V.F.D. lock.
Even if you open it, you'll find nothing
in the laundry room except laundry.
The lock is a decoy.
I may have a handsome and youthful glow,
but I wasn't born yesterday.
I'll give you until the count of ten.
One...
-Two...
-If you want to shoot him,
-you'll have to shoot me!
-I can live with that. Three...
You'll have to shoot me too.
You're sweetening the pot. Four!
Baudelaires...
If he shoots us,
he'll never get the Baudelaire fortune.
There's still the baby. Five!
You have a choice. You can choose
not to pull that trigger.
Yes, and you can choose
death by harpoon. Six!
Seven!
Eight!
Uh...
nine.
You don't have to do this.
It's all I know how to do.
What's going on out here?
Good God, that man's been shot!
There is an opera called
La Forza del Destino
written by a composer
named Giuseppe Verdi.
"La forza del destino" is an Italian
phrase meaning "the force of destiny,"
and destiny is a word which tends to cause
arguments among the people who use it.
Some people think that destiny
is something that you cannot escape,
like death or curdled cheesecake.
Other people think
that destiny is an invisible force
that guides people through their lives,
as if they are simply characters
in an opera.
In the opera La Forza del Destino,
the characters argue, fall in love,
run away to monasteries, engage in duels,
and drop a gun on the floor,
where it accidentally goes off
and kills someone.
The opera is a tragedy,
and so is the story of the Baudelaires,
who were about to experience
a similar incident.
I said, good God, that man's been shot!
Kit...
Dewey!
Dewey!
The consequences
would ripple through their lives...
like water in a pond.
What do we do?
Baudelaires, you just shot that man
with a harpoon gun,
along with that other man
who I didn't get a really good look at.
You're going to wait right here
until I get the manager.
That was the manager.
Hey, what's going on?
- What was that racket?
- What's going on down there?
The sugar bowl.
Kit...
Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire.
My name is Lemony Snicket.